SL Huang - Up and Coming - Stories by the 2016 Campbell-Eligible Authors

“WHAT? Absolutely not. This is ridiculous! I challenge you !” Tekhno stood up and tapped a few buttons on his arms and stomach.

Gob started its droning monotone, “If a loser of a challenge wishes to re-challenge the challengee, he or she or it must wait for a period of no less than seven thousand years, and at that time fill out forms 1098A, X-860, 826-R-C-”

“Actually, I think that challenging me would constitute bothering me, and we’ve just established you can’t do that.” Zeus crossed his arm with a smirk.

“But—”

“He’s right,” said Themis. “Now Tekhno, I believe you have some post-challenge paperwork to fill out.”

“This sucks. This sucks SO HARD. But just you wait. I’ll expand and become the god of innovation, too. I have this startup idea…”

*

A week later, it was time for the next therapy appointment.

“So,” said Dr. Brinkman, “how are things?” He leaned back in a leather burgundy armchair and twitched open the button on his burgundy corduroy blazer.

Zeus filled him in. “And you know what? You should be really proud of me. I didn’t kill anybody . I used the breathing techniques and everything.”

“Well,” Dr. Brinkman looked a bit uncomfortable, not looking up from his yellow legal pad. “I mean, that’s not quite true. The massive blackouts killed a few patients on respirators who couldn’t get on backup generators fast enough, and there were three plane crashes when the air traffic controllers lost power. But overall,” he hurried to add as he looked up, “you didn’t do so badly! After all, you didn’t know that those were the consequences, and you refrained from slaughtering Tekhno. You didn’t even enact an overly-onerous punishment. I am proud. So what are you doing now?”

“Oh, nothing much. I’m staying retired, like we talked about. But with these new funds I’ve upgraded to a bitchin’ bachelor pad, and this one’s in New York City. Everything is now voice-activated—the fridge, the lights, the shades, the rotating bed…and lemme tell ya: the ladies love it.” Zeus grinned. “Between that and me offering to file taxes, fill out loan paperwork, and do immigration forms for free, I’m the most popular guy in town.”

Originally published by LIGHTSPEED MAGAZINE

They travelled all day, and at night came to rest by one of the large rocks that jut from the desert. The last caveat to voyagers before the plains of windswept sand.

Here is what the boy heard:

“Long ago, almost fifty years by official counting, there was a boy named Alladin living in the alleyways of the city, a scavenger, thief, and trickster.

“When he had seen seventeen summers pass, he thought it high time he sought out his fortune. So, with all the arrogance and strength of youth at his side, he set out for the mountain caves where the sorcerers were said to live.

“When he asked to join them he was turned away. He was too young, too inexperienced. Full of anger he left, swearing revenge.”

The rest was…vague. The djinn seemed to have slipped into another language, one the boy didn’t know. The little he was able to make out made little sense. He caught the words “punishment” and “fools” and “beloved,” but aside from that…

Eventually the djinn’s tirade subsided and he continued:

“The guardians told him what the place was, who I was, but that only seemed to encourage him. He killed them, and entered the chamber. He freed me from my shackles…and bound me again. In a lamp. Cheap copper bought from a trader. To contain me.

“For the next forty-eight years he kept me a slave. Had me kill the magicians and build him his kingdom and win your mother’s heart. Forced to do his bidding, for…forty-eight years…”

Two hundred years in chains, overall.

The djinn looked up at the night sky to clear his eyes from the smoke. Two tears slipped down his chin to lie in the sand. My love, he thought sadly. He glanced at the boy, asleep curled up like a cat.

“Sleep well,” he said. “Tomorrow we go to kill the sun.”

The desert stretched out before them. Waves of sand rolled across the vista under a blue, empty sky, boiling in the heat of the sun. Every breath the djinn took felt like fire in his lungs. He shifted in his saddle and glanced at the boy. He was slumped over the back of his camel as the beast plodded its way along. His lips were cracked and bleeding. If they didn’t find water quickly…

He looked to the horizon, ignoring the shimmering mirages, and his heart lightened as he saw a dark blot perhaps two miles away. As they got closer it became clearer: a cluster of reddish rocks shaped like a pyramid, twice his height, one side open to reveal darkness and the sound of cool, flowing water.

The boy wasn’t asleep, but he had been struck hard by the heat. The djinn made him lie down in the shade of the structure and ventured inside.

It had been made by human hands a long time ago, for weathered steps cut into the rock descended into darkness. But those would have to wait. The dripping sound he had heard came from a tiny well set into the floor. A crudely excavated hollow flung the echoes of the flowing stream upwards, one of the many that crisscrossed the desert just like the caravans. There was no bucket, so the djinn called forth the water with magic, using only the barest amount of energy required. He would need it all later. He filled both waterskins and took them to the boy.

The lad was so tired he couldn’t even sit up, so the djinn forced water in between his lips and washed his dusty face. Somewhat rejuvenated, the boy sat up and drank by himself.

“Slowly now, not too much all at once.” He took the chance to water both himself and the camels and to chew a strip of dried meat, tough as leather between his jaws. The boy ate what little he could and promptly fell asleep with his head on his chest. Let him sleep. I’ll be long enough.

He took off his cloak, covered the boy with it, and disappeared into the cave. The steps were steep and there was no light to see by, which didn’t really bother him. He’d spent half a century languishing in a prison far darker than this.

He couldn’t tell how far down they went, or how long he descended, but it felt like hours. When the steps leveled out into a long corridor, the djinn cast a small spell and summoned a little light for him to see by. A flickering will-o’-the-wisp hung suspended over his head.

At the far end there was a large stone chamber, directly below the stream he had heard earlier. A tiny trickle of water had wormed its way through and laid a sheet of water on the floor. Drip. Drip.

Standing in the center of the room was a figure that stood head and shoulders above him, and human save for two dappled wings emerging from his back. They shimmered in a translucence of rainbow hues.

Ifreet. The djinn had heard stories of them in his youth, but he had never believed them. They were all dead. Yet here one was.

The legendary being looked at him with eyes filled with yellow flames. The djinn watched as two shimmering wings spread to either side. They were so long they almost touched the walls.

But it was old. Its face was deeply lined and haggard, its beard tangled and grey, and it stood hunchbacked. Naked, its feet were longer than his and twisted backwards like the old minister his jailer had kept, the one who’d danced so nicely with the pokes from the djinn’s sword.

“How strange,” the ifreet said, “to see another of my kind here, after all these years.”