Adijan and Her Genie

by L-J Baker

  Numb with shock, Adijan watched her severed hand bulge and swell. The fingers jerked as the flesh bloated and grew at a prodigious rate. Within two or three heartbeats, Adijan’s hand had become a column of flesh as tall as a person. It looked like a massive lump of clay waiting to be molded into shape.

  Baktar gasped.

  The flesh convulsed from base to top and back. Without sound or magical light, it snapped into a definite form. A woman. Zobeide. She now stood just beyond Adijan’s bloodless stump wearing only a look of vengeance.

  Baktar swore and backed away.

  “I challenge you,” Zobeide said. “By right and the ancient laws –”

  “No!” Baktar lifted a hand to cover his earring. “You have no right. I won’t allow –” He raised a fist.

  Zobeide shouted something in a language Adijan didn’t understand. Baktar jerked upright. His earring flashed brightly enough to wash the whole chamber in red, blue, yellow, and green light. The pulsing colors made his half-anguished, half-angry expression look grotesque.

  “You, of all people, should know that I know how to invoke the challenge.” Zobeide stepped away from Adijan to take her stand in front of the statue. “You whispered the word to me as you urged me to challenge Ardashir. Now, I claim the right to challenge you, enchanter, for the legacy of Ardashir. Shall we end what you began two decades ago?”

  The air took on a brittleness that made Adijan’s breathing harder. She watched uncomprehending as Zobeide and Baktar mumbled to strange and swiftly changing rhythms. The chamber bristled with unseen forces that made the air blur and waver. Zobeide’s naked body showed the tension in her muscles. Baktar’s forehead wrinkled and beaded with sweat.

  Baktar clenched both fists. A searing blast of heat, straight from the oven-heart of the Devouring Sands, scoured the chamber. Adijan threw up both arms to cover her face. Her clothes felt scorched. The acrid smell of burnt hair swirled about her.

  Zobeide bit out her spell. The heat vanished. Baktar yelped. Adijan opened her eyes and gasped. The chamber had gone. The three of them and the statue appeared to be falling amongst the stars. Adijan could feel the wall rough and solid against her back, but her mind insisted that she was tumbling through eternity. Baktar stumbled backwards, arms flailing for balance. He tripped on the hem of his robe, fell onto his backside, and must have hit the wall, because he looked relieved.

  Baktar mumbled and lifted his pudgy fingers. The stars vanished, but the chamber didn’t re-appear. The darkness drank up even the flashes of light from his earring. His voice trailed off as if he’d forgotten the rest of his spell.

  Adijan, cradling her amputated arm without daring to look at it, heard the tinkling of little bells. Zobeide stood clothed in an illusion that made her look exactly as she had when she first appeared to Adijan, right down to the gold nipple bells. The buxom, irresistibly beautiful sex slave smiled. Baktar gaped. Zobeide stepped closer to him. She interposed herself between Adijan and the enchanter. Adijan had no clear view of what happened next. All she sensed was the darkness become overwhelmingly, impenetrable nothing. Her whole body strained to remain in one piece against a force that tried to suck her in all directions at once.

  Baktar screamed. “Stop it! Please! No… no!”

  “This is what you and Ardashir condemned me to for the rest of my existence.”

  “Stop it.” His arms flailed against the nothing. “Please! Zobeide!”

  “Every time my masters banished me into the necklace, this is what it felt like.”

  “No…”

  “You condemned me this for eternity.”

  “Stop it!”

  “Why should I not leave you here forever?”

  “No!” Baktar’s shout of terror raised the hairs on the back of Adijan’s neck. “Marry me. Remember our plans. We can share the legacy. We love each other.”

  “You do not love me,” Zobeide said. “And I am disposed to believe that you never did.”

  “That’s not true! I –”

  “Had you truly loved me, you would have found me many years ago.”

  “I tried!” he said. “I searched –”

  “If you did search, it was with the intention of keeping me enslaved in the necklace where you would have no need to fear me.”

  “No! I wanted to free you. And marry you. I love you.”

  “No,” Zobeide said. “I have been given a lesson in the fidelity of love, and the lengths it will drive people to, from the most unexpected of sources. You are not it.”

  “But –”

  Zobeide bent. Baktar howled. The sucking void vanished. The three of them again inhabited a mundane chamber. Zobeide, also shorn of her illusory body, shifted enough that Adijan could see blood trickling down the side of Baktar’s neck from his earlobe. He no longer wore the strange earring. He stared up at Zobeide with grey-faced fear.

  “Please,” he said. “You – you have the legacy. There is no greater hurt you could –”

  “I should do to you what you did to me,” Zobeide said. “It’s no less than you deserve. But I have more important things to attend to. I shall be kinder to you than you were to me.”

  Zobeide stepped back, seized the hilt of the magical sword, and wrenched it from the floor. She whipped it in a shining arc across the front of Ardashir’s statue. The glowing blade cleaved the stone. Zobeide gave the head a jab with the sword point. Ardashir’s head and shoulders slid backwards to crash and crack on the floor. She lifted her free hand. Rainbow flashes from between her fingers showed that she clenched the earring in her fist.

  Baktar lifted his arms as if warding off a blow. His mouth opened to scream but no sound emerged. His skin granulated. Adijan, stunned, watched Baktar shrivel and disintegrate into a small pile of sand on top of his golden silk robe.

  Zobeide scooped up a handful of her erstwhile lover and blew the grains at the headless statue. Adijan’s mouth dropped open as the statue grew new shoulders and head. The image was Baktar’s. Wide-eyed terror petrified on his face.

  “I shall have the roof removed and the chamber walls demolished,” Zobeide said. “The wind will slowly erode you to nothing. That should afford you ample time to consider how you have wronged me. And to repine, if not repent.”

  Adijan shuddered.

  Zobeide let the magical sword fall to her side and put a hand to her forehead as her legs buckled. She collapsed to the stone floor with a meaty crack of her knees and sprawled lifelessly. The shining scimitar skittered away from her hand. When it hit the base of the statue, it vanished with a loud snap. Colored sparkles from between her fingers showed she still clutched the legacy stone.

  “Zobeide?” Adijan said.

  Zobeide neither moved nor spoke.

  “You’d better not be dead. Oh, Eye.”

  Adijan cradled her fiercely painful amputated arm as she awkwardly shuffled across the floor on her backside. Thank the Eye that the magical sword-stroke that cut her flesh and bone had cauterized the wound. However bad it felt, at least she was not in danger of bleeding to death.

  Zobeide felt warm, and breathed. Yet, what was Adijan supposed to do now? She could hardly drag herself down to the dock and leave Zobeide lying here.

  “Pustules on flea-infested camels.”

  Male voices carried from outside. Adijan bit her lip and looked between the screen and the recumbent enchantress. She had no idea what ailed Zobeide. Between her ankle and arm, Adijan felt in danger of passing out herself. She was already feeling cold to the core and shaky. How would Baktar’s thugs take to the idea that their old boss had been turned to stone and their new boss lay helpless and naked? The searing ache from her stump scratched at her thoughts. She had to act and act fast for them both.

  Adijan dragged herself to Baktar’s remains. She experienced a squeamishness at touching the sandy clothes and cast a nervous glance up at the statue. Need drove her to tug the robe free of the empty pantaloons and shirt. She gave it a quick shake. Grit scattered across the floor. B
aktar’s purse clunked to the ground. She scooped that up and dropped it inside her shirt. She also stuck Baktar’s big turban, with its large ruby, on her head. Clumsily, she wriggled back across the sandy floor to drape the gold silk cloth over Zobeide’s nakedness.

  “Hey!” she called. “You out there! The enchantress needs you. Do you hear me?”

  She heard muttering.

  “The enchanter Baktar is dead,” Adijan called. “His legacy has passed to –”

  Baktar’s eunuch secretary burst into the chamber. He sweated and panted as if he’d run all the way from the Enchanter’s House. He skidded to a stop. His gaze swiftly took in Adijan, Zobeide, and finally stuck on Baktar the statue’s terrified face.

  “By the Eye…” he whispered.

  “As you see, things have changed a bit,” Adijan said. “That really is Baktar. Zobeide Ushranat il-Abikarib il-Sulayman Ma’ad has successfully challenged for the legacy. She is drawing deeply from its magical power, so I don’t suggest you get any ideas about trying to take it from her.”

  He tore his gaze from the Baktar statue to stare down at Adijan. “Of course, she is lost in the legacy if she has – but – but aren’t you the apprentice of an enchanter from Qahtan?”

  “Oh, that. Yes. I’m Zobeide’s apprentice. Since she is now the enchantress, she needs carrying back to the Enchanter’s House.”

  “Naturally.” He drew himself to his full height. “I, madam apprentice, am an experienced enchanter’s secretary. I aided my master during his transition on first attaining the legacy.”

  “Great. You’ll know what to do, then. If you behave yourself, I’ll put in a good word with her for you.”

  The eunuch sniffed and strode outside to issue orders. Adijan slumped against the wall and closed her eyes. By the Eye, she hurt. It was a good thing they were so close to the docks. She wouldn’t be able to drag herself far. But she had to get a ship for Pikrut today. Before the tide. Shalimar.

  Her world blurred, swirled, and sucked her away into blackness.

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Adijan woke to the faint smell of lemons and opened her eyes to discover that she still dreamed. She lay on a huge bed with blue silk hangings like those she would imagine gracing a caliph’s bedchamber. The cool room was lined with pale tiles and furnished in a princely style. A large window showed a view of lush greenery that could only be Paradise.

  She frowned. She had not expected, after her short and stained life, to be rewarded so well in the afterlife. And if this was Paradise, then Shalimar should be –

  She struggled to free herself from the fine linen sheet. A sharp discomfort in her left wrist brought her up short. A clean white bandage snugly bound her lower forearm. She had no hand on the end of her arm. No left hand. Gone. This was no dream.

  A slap of sandals on the mosaic floor approached. Instead of a divine handmaiden come to welcome her to Paradise, Muqatil the middle-aged eunuch neared the bed.

  “Honored madam apprentice,” he said. “Praise the Eye that you have returned to our humble world. I took the liberty of installing you in this suite of rooms, for the miserable and unworthy quality of which I apologize.” He spread his hands in a deprecating gesture.

  “What? Oh. Yeah. Thanks.”

  No hand. Amputated. She’d cut off all chance of her dreams to save her life. Hers and Zobeide’s. Oh, Eye, what had she done? And for Shalimar. To get her back. She had sacrificed all possibility of the future she had always dreamed of. Had it worked?

  “I exist to serve, oh magnificent madam apprentice,” Muqatil said. “I can assure you that our exalted and unparagoned mistress has received the most attentive service that –”

  “Zobeide? Where is she?” Adijan wriggled across the expanse of soft mattress. “I need to speak with her.”

  “She rests, yet, madam.”

  “She’ll see me. How long have I been here?”

  “Two days have passed since –”

  “Two days? But that – that makes it only thirteen days! Oh, turd. I’ll never make it in time.”

  Adijan swung her legs over the edge of the bed and stood naked except for a bandage around her ankle. She felt only a twinge of discomfort from her sprain.

  “Where are my clothes?” she asked.

  Silent servants glided in.

  “Seeing that your own belongings are somewhat travel-worn,” Muqatil said, “I took the liberty of having some clothes selected from the many chests throughout the Enchanter’s House. These should prove to be of the correct size, madam apprentice.”

  Adijan accepted aid in dressing, since it would have proved an awkward business with one hand. Despite her distress, she caught herself looking at her reflection in a polished silver mirror. She had never worn silk before. The red shirt felt creamy and sensual against her skin. Her new white pantaloons tucked into boots embroidered with shiny silver thread. Over it all she wore a light, loose robe which she kept open, and topped it off with a high-quality fez with a golden tassel. The complete effect was quite dashing. Would Shalimar think so? She did not much resemble that Adijan al-Asmai who was floor sweeper, drunkard, and failure as a wife. But would this prosperous outward appearance, backed by the reward that Zobeide had promised, prove sufficient to wrest Shalimar from her ambitious brother?

  She tucked Baktar’s heavy purse into the broad black sash around her waist and noticed that efficient Muqatil had retrieved her belongings from the Blue Oasis, including the blanket Shalimar made her.

  Muqatil clapped his hands. Serving girls entered bearing trays of food. Adijan’s rumbling stomach reminded her that it had been days since she ate.

  “Are my humble preparations in any way satisfactory, most illustrious madam apprentice?” Muqatil said.

  “What? Oh, yeah. This is great.” Adijan dug a spoon into a spicy-smelling dish of stew. “But, look, I really need to see Zobeide. Oh, and no wine. I don’t drink. But I’m sure that I would really enjoy that stuff if I did drink. I bet it’s the best quality I would ever get the chance of tasting. Oh, Eye… Muqatil, quickly, tell me what else there is to drink.”

  “Of course, honored madam. We have purest spring water or a sweet yet refreshing sherbet for your delectation. Both, I hardly need add, chilled with snow fetched from the tallest peaks of the Black Mountains.”

  Adijan completely forgot the wine and the awkwardness of eating with one hand when she sipped the water. She had never felt anything so cold before. “What is snow? Is it magical?”

  Muqatil knelt before her divan and bowed low enough to touch his forehead to the tiled floor. “A thousand, thousand pardons, puissant madam, for my ignorance. I know not what snow is, save it is colder than the coldest night. And white. I shall send our fleetest messenger to the Enchanter Hujr to ask him about the snow he brings.”

  “Enchanter?”

  “The Enchanter Hujr’s legacy is but the faintest gleam of starlight reflected in a dusty mirror compared to the effulgent brilliance of our magnificent mistress’s legacy. And Shabak is a small town. He must earn his living in ways that would demean our great mistress.”

  Adijan discovered that drinking too much of the cold water gave her a sharp pain behind the spot between her eyebrows.

  “The Enchanter Hujr travels to the Black Mountains twice a month on his flying carpet to bring the snow back in chests, which our head cook purchases for –”

  “The one with passengers on his flying rug,” Adijan said. “We saw him fly past the ship.”

  “That would be him,” Muqatil said with distaste. “He hires himself out for purposes that are beneath the dignity and skill of our magnificent mistress.”

  “Look, this food was terrific. I’m stuffed. Thanks. Now, I really need to see Zobeide.”

  Muqatil protested that the enchantress was unfit to receive any visitor, and continued to protest, in the politest terms, all the way to Zobeide’s chamber.

  The enormous bed dwarfed Zobeide. The tall enchantress looked like a pale, sick ch
ild. Only intermittent twinkles from the legacy stone, still clutched tightly in her fist, gave any hint of life.

  “As you see,” Muqatil whispered, “our magnificent mistress remains in thrall.”

  “Zobeide? It’s Adijan. Can you hear me? It’s really, really important. We’ve both been asleep for two days. I’ve only got thirteen days left before Shali marries. You’ve got to wake up and help me. I won’t be able to make it back on my own. Not now. It’s too late. And I’ve only got one stupid hand.”

  “When my late master took the legacy, he was many days in its power,” Muqatil said. “It is one of the most substantial of the legacies in the whole world. Such immense magical powers –”

  “Many days? Oh, Eye.” Adijan dropped onto the soft bedding and touched Zobeide’s arm with her good hand. “You’ve got to wake up! You’re my only hope. The quickest boat and the fastest horse aren’t going to get me back to Qahtan in time. You promised to help me. I need magic.”

  The enchantress lay as still as a cursed princess in one of Shali’s stories.

  “There has to be a way to wake her up,” Adijan said. “What if we tried prying that earring from her fingers? Would that do it?”

  Muqatil threw his hands up as if warding off mortal danger. “Madam, surely you jest?”

  “No, there’s nothing funny about this. Camel crap! Well, I have no choice. I have to make a run for it. I need a bag of food. I have a ship to catch. If there is one going to Pikrut.”

  “I’ll send the fleetest messenger to scour the moorings, illustrious madam.”

  “Great. Oh, and I’ll need to leave her a note to let her know what I’m doing. Bring me something to write with.”

  Muqatil bowed himself out.

  Adijan tugged out Baktar’s purse, loosened the ties with her teeth, and up-ended it on the bed. Gold and silver coins spilled out. She swiftly sorted the coins.

  “There must be twenty – thirty – forty gold wheels here. And some silver. Eye, I’ve never seen this much money before. It’s real. And smells like rich people have sweaty hands, too. Look, I’ll keep this as part of my reward. I’ll get the rest off you later. This will have to do for now.”