Djinniyeh and Growing Pains

Mozenrath looked curiously at the small cavity his tapping had uncovered. 'Get in there,’ he ordered Xerxes. 'And don’t forget to bring out what you find...if anything,’ he muttered darkly under his breath. How is it, he thought to himself, that Destane managed to keep this area hidden from me for so long? I’ve cast countless spells to determine all the secrets in this place, and yet...I didn’t find this one.

Motioning Xerxes back, he placed a small flame on the palm of his hand, and peered inside the little space. It revealed dull, listless grey metal. Lead shielding. No wonder I couldn’t find it. And at least two inches of it...for a space that’s not more than six inches square. That must mean something important’s in there. He felt the old familiar sensations: his gut churned, and every inch of his skin throbbed, though his face remained impassive. There was power here: he could taste it!

As he turned, the light caught the small shape of a dark wooden box: some form of black oak, he guessed. He’d found it. He moved back to allow his familiar access to the hole. 'Get the box,’ he commanded. 'Whatever’s in there had to be important to the old goat: why else would he hide it?’ Xerxes slipped into the crack like a wraith, and emerged seconds later with the box in his teeth. He handed it to his master, dropping it into his palm.

The box was nondescript: plain, without ornamentation, except for a brass clasp that held it shut; there was no lock. He raised the catch with a sliver of wood: he knew enough not to underestimate his former mentor. He’d heard of poisoned pins being used in catches far smaller than this. The lid sprang open. All that was inside was a plain golden ring. No gemstone, nothing. Mozenrath frowned. What was this? He touched the ring with a gauntleted finger. A small spark leapt up between his hand and the ring: proof of magic. And the thin thread of smoke that emerged was indicative that there was something inside it.

Probably a genie, he thought, using his hand to stifle a yawn. Allah knows they’re all over the place. Wonder why Destane kept him -- or her -- hidden all this time. Must have been a powerful one. Ah, well, I can always use another servant. I hope...

The thread of smoke slowly thickened. It proceeded slowly, langourously, as if it had all the time in the world. It made Mozenrath angry: he disliked lassitude, and sloth, in any form. 'Come on, why don’t you!’ he snapped at it. 'Your Master hasn’t got all day!’ The smoke paid him no attention. It continued to drift out, and gradually began to take on solidity, and form. Mozenrath had been right. It was a genie. But not what he’d been expecting at all.

She was a djinniyeh, that was certain. But of a type he’d never seen before. Her harem pants and halter were a combination of purple, grey, and black: dark, depressing colours. But as he looked closely, he saw the thin material of her pants had been slashed, as though by a sharp blade in several places, revealing pale, almost white skin. The slashes, he noted, were also deliberate, arranged in lines and patterns: perhaps she had taken the blade to them herself. It looked bizarre.

She wore no covering on her head: her hair had been shaved, and one short braid left that dangled halfway down the crown of her head, like a rat’s tail, dyed a combination of natural black, red, green, and he believed, purple. Her eyes were dark, and expressive, her lips full, but her face was thin. And that was another thing that shocked him. Her face.

Mozenrath believed he had never seen so much metal in one place. The djinniyeh’s delicately pointed ears had been pierced at least seven times each: the amount of gold that dangled from them could have been the economy of a small country. More gold was evident: a pair of rings pierced one fine eyebrow, one ran through her nose, and he now saw that ring held a delicate chain that stretched from her nose to her ear.

One shoulder had been covered by an elaborate design in ink: some sort of orchid, he thought, also rendered in purple and black. How very odd. But what shocked him the most, was the youth of her appearance. Her face was pretty, but not beautiful, her limbs slender, but not entirely graceful: her body still showed the softness of adolescent puppy fat: a certain roundness in her body, with none of the curves associated with the onset of maturity. Her bronze wristlets, Mozenrath saw, the sign of an indentured genie, were too large, they slid up and down her bony arms as she moved.

The djinniyeh stretched her slender arms over her head, and yawned. Mozenrath saw there was also a gold stud in her tongue. She acted like someone waking up from a long sleep. She padded across the floor towards him, saying something. It was partially obscured by the yawn, but he made it out:

'All right, Grandpa, what do you want me to do this time?’

Then her eyes focused on him, and she frowned. It was rather pretty, despite the incongruity of all the metal in her face. 'You’re not him. I mean, you’re an old guy, but you’re not as old as him.’ Another stretch, and yawn. 'So whaddya want, Dad? Gold, jewels, silver? Can do. Poof! Ask for it, you got it.’

Mozenrath was stunned. This was not what he expected at all. 'My name is Mozenrath, and I’m your Master. What’s your name?’

Another yawn. 'Maridah. What’s it to ya?’ She produced a square of some small substance: some kind of tree resin, Mozenrath thought, and placed it in her mouth, where it distended one of her cheeks, like a chipmunk. Then her jaws began to work, with loud, obnoxious smacking sounds; table manners, Mozenrath noted, were not this young lady’s forte. He watched, dumbstruck, as she pursed her lips and blew a bubble, that exploded with a loud pop. Then, she drew the mess back into her mouth with a loud sucking sound, and began again. Disgusted, Mozenrath made a gesture, and the genie suddenly found her mouth empty. 'Hey!’ A snap of her fingers produced another hunk of resin, larger, and she began to chew on it with even more force. Mozenrath gestured, and the gum vanished. Then, he sent a small power bolt into the stones at her feet, to get her attention. The djinniyeh skipped backwards, glaring at him. There was no fear in her eyes, but a deep smouldering resentment. 'Allah, what’s your problem?’ she muttered. 'Can’t a girl have any fun around this place?’

'This place,’ Mozenrath said tightly, 'is my Citadel. It is not here for me to have fun. It is where I study, train, and plan to subjugate the Seven Deserts.’

Maridah waved a hand in exasperation. Mozenrath saw each nail was a different colour: coral pink, sky blue, off-white, royal purple, and cherry red. 'God, you sound just like that old guy whossname, Distican, Dustbin -- Destane, that was it! Every minute he was off doing something, running around like a chicken with his head cut off. Study this, research that, abuse the apprentice (in her own world, she didn’t see Mozenrath’s face tighten), never have time for any fun! Grown-ups, I ask you!’ She exhaled her breath in a huff, transformed her legs to vapour, and floated a good six inches off the floor. 'I mean what’s a genie to do?’ She conjured a mirror, and gazed in it. 'Oh great, another pimple. I mean, I do everything to prevent these things, but they still come after me.’

'Enough!’ Mozenrath snapped. It brought Maridah’s head around, momentarily startled. 'You’re a genie. I released you, so I’m your Master. I haven’t time for these childish antics!’

The djinniyeh glared at him. 'Who are you calling a child? I’m two hundred and fifty years old: I’m not a child!’ She stuck her tongue out at him, and the stud there winked briefly in the torch light. Then she folded her arms over her bony chest, and turned her back on him.

'You’re a genie,’ Mozenrath said, 'it is your purpose to serve --’

Maridah turned around and looked at him balefully. 'Oh, puh-leeze. Now you sound just like Mum and Dad. Decades of telling me how I had to prepare for my career, get ready to make a contribution to society, amount to something. Why should I have to stay cooped up in some cramped ring granting wishes to people: especially with no guarantee that the boy I want to release me might be there. Did I ask for this? No! It’s stupid!’ She struck the ground with her fist. 'My first time out, and I end up serving some old buzzard. Now you’ -- she keenly appraised Mozenrath -- 'now you, you look pretty good, but you’re a little too old.’

Mozenrath flushed. 'I’m twenty-three.’

'That’s old in human years.’

'No it isn’t.’

'Is!’

'Isn’t!’

'Is!’

'Now look! Return to your ring until I summon you! I don’t have to listen to this adolescent angst!’

Maridah huffed again. 'Mum and Dad all over! "Well, young lady, go to your ring this instant, and you won’t get any falafael until you’re prepared to come out and behave!" I’m so sick of it! Oooohhh!’ There was a loud poof, followed by a puff of purple smoke, and a crash of thunder, that shook the books on the shelves and set some fine tapestries on the wall to shaking. Mozenrath picked up the ring and put it in a pocket, then sank down with his back against the wall, head in his hands. Xerxes swam over. 'Master?’

'Now I know why Destane kept her hidden,’ he said softly.

Morning flooded grudgingly into the Citadel, and at long last crept into the bedchamber of the Lord of the Black Sands. Mozenrath cracked an eye open, stretched, and yawned. He’d slept better than he’d expected, and the sleep had done him wonders. He began to think last night’s encounter might have been little more than a bad dream. He washed, dressed, and headed downstairs. Some food would do him wonders right about now.

He reached the dining table and stopped dead.

The table was literally heaped with dirty crockery. Plates balanced on bowls, balanced on crocks and trays, like some bizarre balancing act. Looking down, he saw the floor was not much better: apple cores, melon rinds, eggshells. And behind the edifice of cooking apparel was a sound that reminded Mozenrath of horses at the trough. He had a sudden misgiving.

A shaven head, lock dyed silver, black and gold this morning, peeped round the edge at him. 'Hiya!’ Maridah said. 'And good morning to ya, as well! I’ve been up since sun-up. Funny, I’d have thought a guy with as many plans and schemes as you say you have would have been up at the crack of dawn.’ She smiled, which looked painful with all the studs in her face. She produced a plate with a boiled egg and toast fingers on it. The egg-cup was gold, and the toast was browned to perfection. It looked appetising. The djinniyeh seemed to be in good spirits this morning. He took the plate from her, not exactly knowing why, and looked for a place to sit. The crockery was in his way. His gauntlet began to glow.

Mardiah saw what he was looking at. 'Oopsie,’ she said, dimpling rather cutely. She snapped her fingers. The cloud of purple smoke made him cough, but when it cleared, he saw he at least had a place to sit. He sat down, noticing suddenly that he’d got melon rind, flesh, and pip fragments all over his clothing, but he decided to say nothing. He dipped one of the toast fingers in the egg, and ate it slowly. It was quite good, but damned if he was going to say so.

'Do ya like it?’ Mardiah asked

'Didn’t I say you weren’t supposed to emerge from your ring unless summoned?’ he said. She smiled again, a trace of last night’s impertience appearing in her gamine grin.

'You’re not my parents,’ she said seriously. 'You’re not the boss of me.’ Oh yes I am, he thought, but it’s a pity you don’t seem to realise that, young lady. 'Oh, look!’ the genie said happily. Xerxes had swam over to look at her. 'It’s your familiar -- what’s his name?’

'Xerxes.’ He returned to eating his egg, affecting to ignore what seemed like a blatant attempt to get on his good side -- not that he had one.

'Xerxes.’ The djinniyeh sounded almost wistful. 'It’s a cute name, but he looks kinda -- threatening, don’t you think? Let’s see how he is a little more inoffensive.’ Another puff of smoke, and Xerxes was now a short-haired Pekingese. 'Perfect!’ Maridah said, and clapped her hands. Mozenrath looked at her sourly.

'Do you mind?’ he said, sounding peeved. 'I appreciate my familiar in his own form, thank you very much. Nobody polymorphs him but me, understand?’

The djinniyeh’s lip trembled for a moment, and her eyes filled with tears. Mozenrath cursed. He’d forgotten, in genie years, and emotional terms, Maridah was the equivalent of a fourteen-year old girl. And I don’t have the time to play parent, he thought acidly. If I’m to get this genie to do anything for me at all, I suppose I’ll have to let some things slide. 'Never mind,’ he said shortly, and went back to eating. Handled that one rather neatly, I thought.

'So,’ Mardiah said, touching his arm, 'any wishes to grant today?’

'It’s rude to discuss business affairs when eating,’ the sorcerer said shortly. 'After.’

The genie rested her chin in her hands, and watched him. Mozenrath finished, and sent the dishes away, then cleared the whole table. He spun his chair around, sat on it, and faced Maridah. 'Now then,’ Mozenrath said, 'do you know Agrabah?’

'Yeah!’ Maridah said enthusiastically. 'We went there for my first centennial. It was great!’

'Well,’ Mozenrath said, 'that kingdom is in my way. It prevents me from reaching my goal of conquering the Seven Deserts. I wish Agrabah to be placed totally under my control, and to become part of my kingdom.’

The change in the genie’s face was remarkable: it was like a door closing. No resentment, but an abrupt shift to the frustrated adolescent he’d witnessed last night.

Maridah put her feet up on the table: she wore no harem slippers this morning, and her toenails were as multi-coloured as her hands. Then she produced a gold nail-file from somewhere, and began attacking the nails on her left hand. 'Done.’

'Well, where is he?’ Mozenrath demanded.

'Where is who?’ the genie responded.

'The Sultan of Agrabah, come to present me with the documents of his abdication, and for his people to acknowledge my suzerainity. My wish, you silly girl!’

The genie arched an eyebrow at him in an I-don’t-have time-for-this look. 'What? You mean you want it granted right this minute?’

'Yes!’ Mozenrath almost spluttered. 'Why hasn’t it been granted?’

Maridah looked at him: a what-are-you kidding? look this time. 'Can’t you see?’ she said. She held up the nail-file: she’d switched to the nails on her right hand now. 'I’m busy. But I’ll get round to it, never fear.’ She started on her toes.

'Is this how you work?’ Mozenrath said, almost strangling with fury. 'Grant wishes when you, as you say, get round to it?’

Mardiah sighed. 'Yadda, yadda, yadda. It’s my parents all over again. They asked me to clean up my ring: I said, I’’ll get round to it, or I’ll do it when I get back from Getzistan. Nothing ever satisfied them. I mean, girls just wanna have fun, you know? Genies or mortals: we’re all the same that way. I work on my own schedule.’ She stopped filing, and placed a finger against her cheek, in thought. 'Come to think of it, I don’t think I ever got round to granting Destane his second wish. Wanted some magical artefact from the ends of the earth. Well, I was on the phone with Aefreetah, she’s been my friend since, like, forever, and she was telling me about the great new gem-studded belt she was moving into, and this great Master she’d just got. Seventeen-year old boy and to die for -- she sent me his picture. I mean, I had to have my priorities straight, you understand. I couldn’t go traipsing off to the ends of the earth when my best friend calls, and I haven’t talked to her in fifty years, now could I?’

Mozenrath was grinding his teeth.

'I mean, is that reasonable to expect of anyone? I’m a teen-ager; we’re supposed to have fun. That also reminds me: I never was able to keep Aefreetah’s date to go bazaar-crawling; we’re a regular couple of bazaar-rats, we two. I’ll have to call her.’ She produced a strange rectangular object, with buttons on it, and pressed a few of them, then held the object to her ear. 'Hamid? Hi. It’s Maridah. Is Aefreetah there? Yes, I can hold, thanks.’ Mozenrath tried to say something, but the young genie just made shooing gestures with her free hand. 'Freetah? Hi. It’s Mari. Listen, remember, oh, about a decade ago, when we decided we’d go bazaar-crawling? I don’t think we got around to it, did we? We’ll have to make another date, won’t we? A fortnight? Yeah, I think I can swing it. So, you’re still with Hamid, I hear. Oh-ho! Saving his last wish is he? That sounds like fun! And how’s the belt? Well, that’s good to hear. Roomier is always better. I’m thinking I should check out something in a brass bottle: the ring’s getting a little cramped these days.’ A giggle. 'What? Get outta here! He didn’t say that, did he? Allah, what was the man thinking? Oh dear, I hope you didn’t hurt him too badly: he sounds like a cute sort to me, I’m sure he is. Anyway --’

'I wish,’ Mozenrath suddenly shrieked, yes, shrieked at the top of his lungs, 'that I was free of you!’

'...well, anyway, I -- what? No, not you, Freetah, my master seems to be yelling about something. Hold on a second.’ Putting a palm over the instrument, Mardiah looked at him. 'Yes, Mozenrath? Did you say something?’

'I wish,’ Mozenrath said, back in his normal range of voice, 'that I was free of you. Leave the Citadel, leave the Land of the Black Sand. Just leave me alone!’ He tossed her ring to her, and she caught it, effortlessly. He turned on his heel, and stalked off. The dining room doors shut with a thunderous bang.

'Freetah, he’s just freed me from him! Now isn’t that nice?’

Famished, several hours later, Mozenrath entered his dining room. He was looking forward to a substantial meal: something with lots of sweets, to drown his sorrows in. It wasn’t often that he got them, but he did get them. He entered, and stopped dead. Maridah was floating on her back, instrument in hand, still chatting gaily away without a care in the world. She looked as he approached.

'Just a second, Freetah, he’s back.’ She looked at Mozenrath. 'Whaddya want now? I’m no longer bound to you, but I’m perfectly happy to do you a favour.’ She rolled over on her stomach in the air. 'Well?’

'I wished to be free of you,’ Mozenrath said slowly. A desperate whine had begun to creep into his voice. 'Why are you still here?’

'What?’ Maridah said. 'Oh. Well, I thought I’d told you.’

'You’ll get round to it,’ Mozenrath said. He sounded very weary. 'You’ll get round to it. I should live so long.’ He went out the door very quietly. Behind him:

'OK, Freetah, he’s gone now. Now what were you telling me about...’

In the corridor, Mozenrath’s foot kicked the box that had contained Maridah’s ring. He lifted it up, and stared at the black oak, polished to a high sheen. He looked at the box, thought of what Destane had endured; wondered even if the sorcerer had hidden it for him to eventually find.

'You old goat,’ he said bitterly. There wasn’t much force to it. He felt drained, weary, tired.

'How did you do it? Capture an adolescent genie, for Iblis’s sake. And how did you ever manage to endure her, much less leave her here? You damned fossil.’

He stared at the box again, and felt his rage grow: pure, bright, clean, and hot. He felt his will surge into the gauntlet.

The wood was magical, but it burned none the less brightly or well for that.

A series of excited barks and yips behind him.

'Oh shut up, Xerxes.’

I confess, in some ways, this has echoes about it of Wendy Lee’s excellent Pairaka Nights series. However, I hope it is different enough to a) capture the reader’s interest, and b) dispute any possible charges of plaigiarism.

My main idea was sparked by reading about djinn, and the revelation that they are long-lived, but mortal. Assuming that’s true, a genie would then go through the normal stages of development: infancy, childhood, adolescence, and adulthood, growing and maturing in much the same way as their human counterparts do.

The next idea considered how adolescence usually means a stage of rebellion: children are less inclined to accept authority, and to express themselves in various ways. Maridah’s ripped harem pants, head shaving and dyeing, tattoo, and studs, are basically her way of expressing herself: Arabic punk, if you will. I wanted to mix adolescent angst with phenomenal cosmic power.

Coupled with this, was a statement of Mozenrath’s from The Secret of Dagger Rock: 'I don’t put up with obstinate servants.’ Moze, as we know, is the ultimate control freak. A servant that disobeys, angers him. An adolescent genie, learning about herself, and her world, already inclined to distrust authority, would be a major headache for him. And for those who are wondering why Moze never blasted her: all I can say, is it’s the same sort of reason that parents put up with their teen-age kids, (having been a relatively unrebellious teen -- honest!, I have only observation and guesswork to base this on.) he doesn’t love her, but he is somewhat fascinated by her attitude, and her refusal to conform. With the heroes, he expects it. With a wild card of this nature, he’s somewhat shocked.

Perhaps it doesn’t work as well as I’d hope, but I enjoyed doing it.