The Forbidden Wish(8)

I coalesce into a tiger as white as the moon, crouched on the sand before this Darian. He is not much older than Aladdin, but his face, though handsome, is rounder and softer.

Aladdin is down on one knee before him, his hand pressing his cloak to his shoulder. He has yanked out the arrow, and it lies on the sand beside him. Aladdin’s face is pale, but his eyes burn. He watches me silently.

“Tremble, mortal,” I say in a gravelly tiger voice, my eyes flickering away from the old master and to the new. “For I am the jinni of the Lamp—”

With a wild cry, Aladdin suddenly lunges up and makes a desperate grab for the lamp. Before he can make it, one of the other riders—the archer—swings his bow and clouts Aladdin on the ear, knocking him down again. Quick as a snake, Darian is on him, kicking him in the stomach and then roughly stepping on his injured shoulder. Aladdin hisses and seems to nearly faint, but hangs ruggedly on, trying to grab Darian’s ankle with his other hand. The prince laughs at this feeble effort and kicks him again, this time in the chest. With a grunt, Aladdin curls up and spits blood on the sand.

I watch like a statue, telling myself it doesn’t matter, that none of this matters, that I can’t do anything anyway. And why should I feel sorry for this boy? I do not know him. I should not care. But I wince as Darian kicks him one last time just for spite.

He didn’t make the wish.

They could kill him, but still he didn’t make the death wish.

Then the prince stands over Aladdin, breathing heavily, his eyes going from me to the injured boy. He leans over, pulling the ring off Aladdin’s finger. He tosses it high before catching it and slipping it into his pocket, and then he spits on Aladdin.

“I’ll take that back, you dirty, thieving bastard.” He grabs Aladdin by his shirtfront and hauls him to his knees. Aladdin’s head lolls on his shoulders, but he manages to glare at the prince.

“Who told you about the ring?” Darian demands. “Why did it work for you and not me?”

Aladdin only laughs, though it sounds strangled. The fire does not fade from his eyes. Darian pulls a curved dagger from his sash and presses the blade against Aladdin’s throat.

“Go on, then,” Aladdin says through his teeth, his eyes blazing with defiance. “Do it. Get your hands dirty for once. But be careful. Your father’s not here to clean up after you.”

“You’re not worth another minute of my time. Count yourself lucky, bastard. Nobody steals from me and gets off this easy.” He digs the blade into Aladdin’s neck, drawing blood, and I tense and look away. I have seen thousands of men die, Habiba, but murder always makes me feel cold and hollow. How cruel humans can be. I am sad for this thief. His spirit is strong and wild, but it seems he is lost.

He doesn’t have to be.

The thought comes out of nowhere, sounding so much like you I almost believe your ghost is standing behind me. I look back at the thief, struggling against the prince’s blade.

There is something of you in him, Habiba. A certain unyielding steel. He took an arrow for me.

And you know I never could resist stirring up trouble.

I rise on all four paws and brace myself, even as my mind revolts. What are you doing, you stupid, stupid jinni? You’ve been down this road before—you know this will end in disaster! Remember Roshana? Remember the war?

But I’m committed now. I roar mightily at the prince, startling him enough that he lets go of Aladdin before he can slice the thief’s veins. Quick as lightning, Aladdin throws himself backward, flinging sand into Darian’s eyes. The prince cries out and stumbles, flailing blindly with the knife. His men shout and dash forward, but not before Aladdin snatches the lamp from Darian, dodging the prince’s swinging blade.

I feel the power of possession shift from prince to thief, and I go dizzy. Changing masters so quickly is disorienting as my alliances reverse and the connection between master and jinni collapses and re-forms, until Aladdin and I are bound once more.

As a half dozen swords come swinging at his head, Aladdin cries out, “I wish to go home now!”





Chapter Four


FOR A MOMENT IT ALL FREEZES: The moonlight flashing on the swords swinging at Aladdin’s neck. The prince’s roar of anger. The wide, reckless hope in Aladdin’s eyes.

In that eternity between heartbeats, I think.

I dream.

I create.

Time slips back into motion, and I rise from tiger to girl, dressed in crimson silk, my face veiled. I lift my hands. The blades deflect off thin air, bouncing away and throwing the men off balance. Ignoring them, I slide seamlessly into the next movement. The will of this boy thief flows in golden streams. It is the thread with which I weave, the colors with which I paint, the element with which I create.

Sand begins to rise from the ground. It coils and swirls, making Aladdin’s robes flutter. I summon the wind and charm it, sending it spiraling around my astounded master. Into the air I weave the ancient songs of the people of Ghedda, who lie buried now beneath the cold ash of the Mountain of Tongues.

The force of the spiraling wind throws the prince’s men wide, and they go sprawling on the ground. Darian falls to his knees and struggles to stay upright, a hand in front of his face as he snarls in rage.

I slip inside the whirlwind and stand facing Aladdin, who stares at me with eyes like twin moons. He is half dazed, the lamp clutched tightly in his hands. Blood runs down his neck and from the corner of his mouth.