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

“Not your kind, old one. Your kind died out a long time ago.”

He received a soft, toothless smile. “Yes. They did. But you are my kin, are you not? The children of my children of my children’s children. How long have I been here?”

“The last of your kind died out over three thousand years ago.”

The ifreet’s eyes changed colour, the fire turning red, and the djinn felt something probe his mind, checking his memories.

“You speak the truth.”

Here was his chance. “That is why I have come. You have knowledge that is long gone. Tell me how to kill the sun.”

A dry chuckle. “Kill the sun? Has the heat addled your brain? How can you kill the sun?”

“Tell me.”

The ifreet gave him a curious glance. “Why do you want to know?”

No reply.

Its eyes flared vermilion, and its voice gained a harsher, stronger edge. “I see you, sorcerer. I see what you desire. And why.”

“I will bring her back.”

“Is that it? Is that why you want this knowledge? Or is it greed? I see you, sorcerer. Even after all this time, after your punishment? Oh, young one, have you learned nothing?”

A blast of hot desert wind rushed through the chamber, stirring the dust and, for a second, the ifreet staggered. “Still your tongue and tell me what I want to know!… Tell me…and I will free you from this place.”

The ifreet’s hollow eyes grew large in wonder. The djinn listened carefully to what it told him.

When he emerged, the sun had crept past the horizon. The blue stripe across the world was as thick and bold as a master-painter’s stroke. He checked on the animals; they were almost dead, poor things. He’d been forced to draw the energy from them to summon the wind. They wouldn’t be able to be ridden.

The djinn drew on the last vestiges of their energy to cast a spell. Then he took a long drink of water, topped up both waterskins again, and picked up the sleeping boy. He slung one pack on each shoulder and carried the boy on his back. He bunched a headcloth behind his neck to serve as a pillow. Checked the faint stars, and began to walk east.

When they were no more than a dot on the horizon, the spell began to take effect. The pyramid began to sink beneath the sands. Within seconds, what had once been the tomb of an ifreet was a sand dune like any other. Streaks of sand were silver under the moon. Only a tiny pebble remained to mark the spot, and when a gale blew and moved a fine layer of material, even that too was covered. Silent dunes were the only land under the moonwashed sky.

It was a small town, but essential for trading. All the caravans stopped at the oasis, so it was natural that a town should spring up there. The water was strictly rationed and the food was often scarce, but the people made up for it by trading what they had in excess with what they needed from the caravans.

The boy and the djinn arrived with the latest caravan, which bore news of the king’s death. The djinn pulled the boy into an alleyway and told him to hush while he listened to what the leader was saying to the crowd that had gathered. He murmured a spell that would prevent the child from hearing what was said.

“The king and queen are dead! They were both found stabbed in the heart. All the ministers and castle guards were slain too!”

“What of the prince?” someone shouted.

“He is missing. For now, the Captain of the Guard holds the throne as Regent.” His voice fell. “Brothers and sisters, darkness has fallen over the land. There is chaos in the capital. No one knows what will happen next. I urge you all to take caution and prepare for the worst. We may be the last caravan to pass by here in a very long time.” He whipped his camel and led the procession out of the town to a restless series of murmurs and conversations.

We must move fast. The djinn broke the spell and pulled the boy deeper into the alleyway.

The beggar was taking a nap behind a stall in the marketplace. He had his bowl in front of him, just in case, and his hat over his eyes to protect from the sun. Just when he thought he was going to get some rest, he heard the chink of coins landing in his bowl, and someone saying, “Beggar. Look at me.”

Cursing in his native tongue, he pushed his wide-brimmed hat back and squinted at the man. He was tall, with almond skin and a black, neatly trimmed beard.

“What do you want?”

As always, he received a shocked look. Qian was from fairer, and wetter, lands to the East, and the fact that one of his people was here always seemed to surprise the natives. But the man quickly became solemn again. “You speak our tongue very well,” he said. “It’s been a very long time since I’ve met one of your people.”

“So you’ve met us, eh? And no doubt you think we’re barbarians?” He scowled.

“Not at all. I admire your people deeply. When I was younger, I journeyed east myself, and I met the philosopher Kong Qiu. He was a very wise man, though we often disagreed on his ideals on family.”

“You…” Then it dawned on him: The stranger was telling a joke. He laughed. “You’re a funny one,” he admitted, “but don’t tell me you’ve come to make jokes.”

The stranger fixed him with a long flat stare, and then squatted to look at him in the face. He looked at the coins in the bowl, and Qian saw him mumble something. The bowl rocked to one side, as if pushed, and a rat jumped out and scurried away.

Qian’s face paled. As a child, his mother had told him stories. His grandmother had told him stories. He knew them all. But, he had never truly believed them.

“Wizard,” he breathed, unconsciously slipping into his own tongue.

“Not exactly,” the stranger replied in the same tongue, “but close enough.”

Qian had a thousand questions, but the first one that came to his lips was, “Kong Qiu? Truly?”

“Yes.”

“What…what do you want with me?” He was almost afraid to know the answer.

“I want the thing you have hidden in your robes.”

“This?” He held up a large lodestone. It was nothing special, just the last of his trinkets nobody wanted to buy. A child’s toy.

The stranger’s eyes brightened. “Yes. I will buy it from you. What do you want for it?”

Qian was dumbfounded. He’d come to this land two years ago, and for a while had made a living selling and trading curiosities and trifles like the lodestone. Later, when he’d had enough money, he began trading weapons, foodstuffs, spices, and jewels. He used to be rich. But six months ago he’d lost everything on a business venture that went horribly wrong. The lodestone was the only thing he’d kept, simply because its properties fascinated. They were almost like magic.

And now this stranger wanted to buy it from him. A sorcerer, as they called them here. He would use this opportunity.

“Home. Take me home.”

The stranger’s gaze softened, and he sat down beside Qian. He asked, “How long have you been away, my friend?”

“Long enough. I want to go back now. I want to get away from this place. If I were back in my village, I wouldn’t have to trade; I could simply grow my crops and live easily. I might even find myself a pretty wife, who knows? Start a family, cultivate plants, and every year I’d thank the gods for their bounty with a portion of the harvest and enough wine to drown a cow.” He glanced up at the sun, cresting its arc at the zenith. “But here, here no plants grow. What little isn’t sand is dry and arid. And no woman even wants to look at me.”

“And the wine?”

Qian shook a clay bottle. “All gone,” he said.

The stranger laughed, drawing looks from people nearby. “Very well,” he said, smiling, “I agree to your price.” He held out a hand for the lodestone.