Once Upon a Rainbow, Volume One

by Mickie B. Ashling

  For the first time, Tariq doubted everything his master said and did. If only he’d been able to discuss it with Ridha, though he wasn’t sure what that might accomplish. He couldn’t forget the disapproval on Ridha’s face when he’d asked if Tariq was certain.

  But for the last year, his entire life had revolved around Malik. Between his unnatural interest in men and the demands of his apprenticeship, he’d given up his few friends, had barely seen his father. He was alone and painfully aware of it.

  Even Ridha’s absence now nagged at him, some empty spot inside his mind he’d never noticed before. An effect of their bond? Tariq knew only that it added to his distress.

  When Malik arrived at the shop, Tariq wondered if his betraying thoughts showed on his face. Or had his distraction sent customers scurrying to his master to complain?

  “Is the jinni not returned yet?” Malik said, his gaze raking the shop as if Ridha might be hiding in plain sight.

  “I—no. Would he not return to your workroom?”

  Malik gave him an impassive stare. The corners of his mouth turned down briefly before he said, “I am not his master.”

  A flush heated Tariq’s face, and he looked away as if it were his fault, as if Malik hadn’t intended for him to open the jar all along. “His jar, master. I thought he would return to his jar.”

  His master studied him, face devoid of expression. “Perhaps. When you’re done here, come along to the workroom for dinner. I shouldn’t like my servants to see a jinni arrive in the courtyard.” He turned to leave without waiting for Tariq’s reply.

  Tariq supposed it didn’t matter what he might have to say on the matter. Nothing he had to say seemed to matter.

  Later, as he ate, he tried not to fidget as he worried after Ridha.

  He felt Ridha’s return before he saw it; some empty spot inside was restored moments before Ridha himself manifested. Tariq was already on his feet and caught Ridha’s stumble before the jinni drew himself up and said grimly. “It is done. I must rest.”

  He vanished physically, but Tariq could still feel him.

  Malik was staring into the space Ridha had but briefly occupied. He visibly collected himself and said to Tariq in an eerily conversational tone, “For my next wish, I would have you instruct the jinni to respond to my desire as if it were your own. I think it would be more efficient.”

  Tariq did not like the sound of that at all. “What will you wish, master, if I may be so bold to ask?”

  “It’s none of your concern, dear boy. Take yourself to bed. Tomorrow, I need you to prepare Dragon’s Blood in quantity. You will be quite busy.”

  Chapter Eight

  TARIQ FELT STRANGELY hollow inside as he raised the heavy fabric of the shop’s awning. He knew what it was—Ridha was away from the city, doing Malik’s bidding. He could feel the jinni’s absence, somehow. It wasn’t the same as not seeing him when he was relegated to his jar in Malik’s study. He had felt it the moment the jinni had left the city; something inside him he’d not noticed before was suddenly bereft. His thoughts kept drifting to the absence, poking at it.

  Perhaps it was part of the magic that bound Ridha to him until his wishes were granted. Malik might know, but Tariq felt a strong reluctance to ask his master anything about Ridha.

  Tariq had not much time to discuss Malik’s politics with Ridha or express his doubt that the progressive attitudes Zeyn ibn Safwah permitted were evil. But he thought he might see a benefit to having one rule for all the Free People. And Malik had explained after the first wish that the army his golem Tariq led was an apparition, that this would be a bloodless revolution.

  His life, and the lives of all the ordinary people, would not significantly alter, regardless of who sat on the throne, or so he understood. It was meant to be reassuring, and Tariq had been reassured. Until he could think about it and wonder—if nothing would change, then why was a change in rulership so needful?

  He felt uneasy that his last wish had been to grant Malik’s wish. He was responsible for his wishes. For a moment, it seemed the floor of the shop just dropped from beneath him, leaving him hollow and horrified as he realized he no longer trusted his master.

  Tariq concentrated on smiling and selling the small spell boxes and potions, sweeping the floor when no customers walked in.

  He stood by the door, bare-headed to lure in customers, hawking, “Potions to heal what ails you! Aches and pains of the body and soul!” He grinned at the ladies, who giggled and shyly drew their veils across their faces. “Aid for the sick at—” His smile vanished. Ridha was back in Merzouga.

  “Aid for the sick at heart!” he called, pasting his smile back on.

  The sun seemed to linger above the souk walls, holding Tariq to the shop. At last, he ducked inside and locked up early, unable to resist the pull that demanded he go to Ridha. Was that part of the curse that bound Ridha to a master for five wishes?

  He had many questions, and no one to ask for answers.

  TARIQ BURST THROUGH the door of Malik’s study to find Ridha curled on the floor and gasping. He darted across the floor and knelt, almost afraid to touch him. “Ridha!”

  Ridha raised his head, handsome face drawn tight, dark eyes muddied with pain. He smiled faintly.

  Tariq looked up at Malik, seated behind his desk, quill still in hand. “What did you do to him?”

  A thin smile crossed Malik’s face. “It wasn’t me, dear boy. It was your wish.” He dipped the quill in a small pot of ink and continued to write, heedless of the jinni writhing on the floor. “He’s finished his report. He’ll recover in his jar.”

  Certain that Malik wasn’t watching, Tariq leaned close to Ridha. “After he banishes you, go to my room.” He knew Ridha had some small ability to read his mind, so he kept his voice almost inaudible and hoped the jinni understood. He’d already said the jar was uncomfortable—how much more so in this condition? A distressed sigh escaped him before he could call it back as his fingers smoothed Ridha’s hair, the long tendrils damp and disheveled.

  Malik growled out the spell of banishing and Ridha disappeared. Even though he’d been expecting it, Tariq was nearly unbalanced.

  “On your feet, boy. Don’t look so worried for the evil one.” He tapped the desk. “Just two more wishes and we’re done with him.”

  “What did you have him do, master?” Tariq kept his eyes lowered and his voice meek, but he wanted to shout.

  “Nothing you need trouble your head about, my boy. Go get some supper in the courtyard. I’ll be eating in here.”

  Tariq’s first instinct was to bow and obey, but he dared to speak once more. “May I ask another question?”

  “If you feel you must.” Malik’s eyes were sharp on him as he laced his fingers together.

  “What of the law that a saahir cannot rule the Free People? Master,” he added belatedly. “I know you said I would not be sultan long, but then you say I must be for a time… I do not understand.”

  Malik pursed his lips, and it no longer made him look desirable. There was a darkness in Malik that Tariq had not seen before, and it swallowed all his infatuation. “I thought you might have worked this out already. A saahir also cannot command the power of the bound jinni. Which means, dear boy, that you are not saahir.”

  Tariq’s jaw dropped. “I am only begun my apprenticeship.”

  “No, no, foolish boy. You have not the gift. I chose you for the date of your birth, and your name. And because you are almost completely talentless. I needed an apprentice who could command the jinni, come the day I discovered where the jar was hidden away. Now be off to bed.” Malik gestured dismissively towards the door, his eyes already going to the green glass jar.

  He was…talentless? The past year of his life was all based on a lie? “Y-you—?”

  “Leave me now, Tariq.”

  He ate listlessly, not tasting the food as he tried to comprehend the magnitude of Malik’s words. It was as if he’d been staring at his reflection in a fountain
and the water had stopped, giving him a clear view for the first time. The picture he had made of the distorted pieces was prettier by far than the reality, and oh, was he not the greatest fool in all the Maghreb?

  Of course he’d been but a tool since finding the jar. He had ignored his doubts and allowed his lack of political knowledge to excuse doing things—using Ridha—he knew were wrong. His wishes, his responsibility. There had to be some way to make it right. Not just for the Land of the Evening Sun, but for Ridha as well.

  He had two wishes left.

  Tariq climbed the stairs to his room with measured tread, both eager and anxious to see the jinni. “Ridha?” he whispered into the murky shadows as he slid closed the door behind him. He struck a light for the small oil lamp he kept just inside the door. Ridha was in his bed, asleep. The soft yellow flame of the lamp created a flickering glow over the long dark hair, smooth and shiny now. In repose, Ridha’s face was still drawn, the warm spice brown of his skin seeming almost translucent. My fault, Tariq thought with a stab of guilt.

  He replaced the lamp, extinguishing it, and removed his clothes. He crawled onto the bed, trying not to disturb the jinni. Sharing a small bed had to be more comfortable than the perfume jar. Even his incorporeal form must find such a small vessel cramped.

  Tariq didn’t recognize the feeling that stole over him as he gave into the urge to nestle against the jinni’s warm body. Comfort, or security, layered over desire and topped with a glaze of guilt. He wrapped an arm around Ridha in what he hoped was a comforting way.

  “Tariq,” Ridha murmured.

  He wasn’t sure if Ridha was actually awake. “I’m here. I’m so sorry.”

  Ridha expelled a vocalized breath, a rumbling sigh, and rolled to face Tariq. He gathered him close in strong arms.

  “I meant to offer you comfort,” Tariq said.

  “This comforts me.” Ridha’s eyes remained closed.

  “I won’t make any more wishes for Malik.”

  “Hmm?”

  “Is it too late to reverse what he has done?”

  Ridha didn’t answer right away. “Things have been set in motion that will rapidly grow larger without magical help. It is more than two wishes’ worth of undoing. Even expending such effort as I have these past days.”

  “Would you help me, if you were freed of the curse and its limitations? To restore things to the way they were?”

  Ridha ran a warm hand down Tariq’s back. “Does the answer to a hypothetical question truly matter?” His voice was low, warm.

  Tariq shivered, the underlying desire growing stronger. “Is it hypothetical if I use one of my wishes to wish you free?”

  Ridha’s subtle seductions halted. “You would do that? And all you ask in return is that I undo what I’ve done at your master’s behest?”

  “Yes,” Tariq whispered. He had no right to ask for more.

  “And what would your other wish be?” Ridha sounded dubious.

  “I…I don’t know. There wouldn’t be any others.” Tariq had no desire for great wealth. His only wish would be (for Ridha) for someone to make him feel the way he felt with Ridha.

  “Your master would not keep you if you defy him.”

  Tariq hadn’t been able to imagine a future for himself, not yet, not so close on the heels of Malik’s admission. For the first time, it occurred to him that his master would not be happy to be thwarted. He knew enough of Malik’s magic to keep himself safe, surely.

  “I’ll survive,” he said, hoping his doubt didn’t reveal itself in his voice. “But you—you should be free.”

  When Ridha didn’t speak, or even move, he asked, “Can it be done?”

  “Perhaps,” Ridha said, his tone careless. He drew circles and swirls with his fingertips on Tariq’s skin.

  Tariq trembled, his cock growing hard. He returned the touches eagerly, and if he was inexpert, Ridha never indicated. His growing erection seemed happy enough.

  Perhaps if he proved a desirable lover, Ridha might not abandon him.

  MALIK ACCEPTED HIS dinner wordlessly. His servants were thanked well enough by their wages.

  As he ate, his thoughts were for once not on his plans or the steps he must take. Instead, he was seeing Tariq kneeling by the spent jinni. Tariq running his fingers through the jinni’s hair.

  Although he’d made certain to limit Tariq’s access to the jinni, somehow he had lost the boy’s affection. He supposed it was some jealousy—not for the boy himself exactly but for his loyalty—that made him confess the truth to Tariq. He could no longer depend on Tariq’s devotion to serve him.

  No matter. There was more than one way to secure someone’s compliance.

  After dinner, he returned to his workroom and wrapped mint leaves and dried citrus peel in a loose-woven sachet and went by litter to see a certain dyer about his wayward offspring.

  Chapter Nine

  MALIK GRANTED RIDHA a few days “to recover in his jar,” informing Tariq as if he’d granted them both a great favour. He’d reached for Tariq’s head as if forgetting his confession. Tariq ducked away from the touch, garnering a frown.

  Ridha spent almost none of that time in his jar, accompanying Tariq everywhere, except Malik’s study. Invisible everywhere but Tariq’s room. While Tariq performed the mundane tasks of the shop—sweeping the floor, dusting the jars, inventorying the shelves, and making sure they looked both attractive and mysterious, Ridha told him what he’d been doing in the Land of the Evening Sun.

  “At first, I took the time to learn of the current sultan’s reign and how fare the people under him,” Ridha said. “Your master feels I ought to have resentment to Zeyn ibn Safwah for being a descendent of the one who cursed me, but I am not the kind to blame the sons for the sins of their fathers.”

  “Malik told me you are shaytan,” Tariq murmured.

  Ridha did not answer right away. “You don’t believe him.”

  “No.” Tariq tilted his head curiously. “Should I?”

  “I don’t think I am a devil, though I admit my behaviour when I was free was not always… I do not think I deserved such a punishment as this curse.”

  “How long-lived are the Jinn?”

  “Our lives are measured much as human lives are.” This he said without emotion.

  Tariq understood the implications immediately. “The jar prolongs your life?”

  “It is no blessing. Should I ever be free of the curse, everyone I ever cared for is…gone.”

  Tariq tried to hide his feelings, not something he’d ever been good at. Much less so with Ridha who seemed a very part of him.

  “Explain your reaction,” Ridha demanded.

  “Tell me about the Land of the Evening Sun.”

  “I have made you unhappy.”

  Tariq shook his head adamantly, unwilling to explain. “What did Malik have you do?”

  He thought he saw Ridha narrowing his eyes. But all the jinni said was “He had me fracture myself into dozens of different…illusions; the bodies were illusions, but it was a piece of me in all of them. That’s why it was so debilitating. To start a campaign of doubt against Zeyn ibn Safwah, to create dissatisfaction, so a change seems desirable.”

  Tariq’s head dipped in a contemplative nod, and then a frown crossed his face.

  “Fine morning, saahir!”

  Tariq banished his frown, not correcting the patron. Malik had long ago told him that customers wanted the shop to be run by a saahir, and it was best to let them assume he was such. After a year of being Malik’s apprentice, Tariq knew all the potions and powders in the shop, what they were alleged to do, what he was supposed to say they did, what they actually did.

  When they were alone again, Tariq asked softly, “If I make a wish you can’t grant, does it count against the five you’re obliged to fulfil?”

  “Why?” Ridha turned visible, risking discovery.

  “If I wish you free and it doesn’t work, I may need both of the remaining wishes.”

  �
��Are you so anxious to be rid of me?”

  “Rid of you?” Tariq began rearranging potions that he’d already fixed.

  “That you wish me gone before I’ve granted your five wishes?”

  Tariq shook his head in denial. “I would not have you with me against your will.” If Ridha could think of no reason to stay with Tariq of his own will, then it must be the jinni who was unhappy with their bond.

  Ridha stroked his chin with strong fingers and drew it upwards to meet his gaze “What is your wish, my master?”

  Tariq drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t expected to make it so soon. Surely one more night in Ridha’s arms? But now it was too late. “I wish,” he said uncertainly, “for you, the jinni known as Ridha, to be free of this curse that binds you.” He gave Ridha an anxious look. “Did I word it properly?”

  Ridha shrugged, waved his hands in a gesture of sahir, and vanished without warning.

  He wasn’t just invisible. He was gone from the city of Merzouga. Or perhaps not. Perhaps it was only the bond between them was broken. Yet Tariq still felt that absence, like an ache.

  Now what? Ridha had promised to undo what Malik had set him to do.

  What if Malik was right? What if Ridha was shaytan? No, Tariq could not believe it. He couldn’t explain his certainty any more than he could explain the feeling of Ridha’s absence.

  As the minutes turned to hours and customers came and went, Tariq tried to still his ever-increasing anxiety. Without the last two wishes, Malik could not complete his plan, and the sahir of the illusory army would eventually disappear. Malik was simply not powerful enough to maintain it. That would have to be enough. He’ll come back.

  He worked at maintaining a semblance of his usual self for Malik’s benefit, but Malik was so wrapped up in his thoughts he never noticed.

  Tariq was asleep in his room when Ridha’s return roused him. Not just the sudden awareness of Ridha but the immediate tender kiss that followed.