Wish of the dead

It was sand, it was dead, yet Zara's heart soared at the sight. Faceted domes gleamed in gold that warred with the sun; diamond-tipped spires and minarets speared the cloud-dusted sky. The domes nestled into buildings of creamy stone, their doors welcoming, their windows open. A mirage. 

She picked up the sand and let it slip through her fingers. It grounded her, reminded her that it was just the desert playing tricks on her. and also hiding something. She retraced her steps like a Ghuls and continued on, and there, she could see it now. The cave was obscured by a thin layer of mist, the shade of shimmering eggplant, hiding the entrance from unsuspecting travelers. She heard movement. Her hands immediately knocked an arrow, tense and ready, but it was only the curl of a scorpion’s tail scuttling beneath a slab of stone. 

Zara was only a few steps inside the cave when a grumbling voice echoed around her.

 "Why disrupt my sleep, mortal?"

"I seek wishes," Zara answered with a lift of her chin. The cave of the jinn did not tolerate cowardice. It exploited it.

Deep laughter shook the entire cave, skittering the rocks and shaking the living. It was a laugh that already deemed her dead. What a pity. She did not fear death, could not

"Then seek you shall, but beware of the cost." The ground whisked with a poof and down she tumbled into a net of golden dust. Her breath came in short wheezes, coating the air in a gleam of fog. It was Daama cold! 

But the drop in the temperature was not what absorbed her, for she could not actually feel it. It was the circular jumu'a of black stone that stole her breath. The trees there cackling and shifting, curving upward to form a dome of twisting branches, vines, and jewel-like foliage. it wasn't a row of trees---there were four of them, their wide trucks lined with age, branches entwining to form an enclosure. Protecting something. She stepped closer. A golden, intricately designed lamp sat in the middle. On its spotless surface was only one swab of dirt. It beckoned her, begged her to come near, so that is what she did. The lamp needn't have wasted its whispers because she had made up her mind and nothing could change it. With one swipe of her hands, the lamp started oozing rose and azure smoke.

 Zara sensed it before she saw it.

The Genie had a wispy haze for legs, a rosy tint for skin, a nose like pinched balsa wood, and the trickery of a smile. She stretched her arms with a yawn, her silver cuffs glinting in a light that shimmered purely from her. At the center of her brow hung a teardrop ruby the size of her thumb; its mate dangled from a thin chain around her bare waist, grazing the silk sash of her trousers 

"Wish away your wish, Habibi." The Genie said in a lazy drawl, her movements cat-like, yet Zara could see the hidden malevolence in the jinn's black kohl and liquid gold-stroked eyes. But she was not afraid. The genie would never discover a flaw in her words if they were worded correctly, and then she would laugh while the creature whined. 

"I wish to surface the sands of Ababa again, to feel the steel of my jambiya, the wisp of my arrow, the strength of my mother's love, the taste of dates and roasted almonds, and the perfume of lavender and cinnamon." Her voice broke. "I wish to live again," she whispered, studying the eerie glow of her own limbs--her phantom features. You could not fear death when you weren't alive in the first place. Zara was a shadow of what she used to be---she wasn't quite dead but wasn't exactly alive either.

The genie now studied her with interest, its face so close that Zara was forced to take a few steps back. A slow grin unfurled on the genie's face, her lip edges widening until she looked like a Cheshire cat. "The dead girl wishes to live, and my cuffs wish to be free but we don't always get what we want" she snapped her fingers, her bangles jingling.

Thousands of tiny Roses bloomed out of nowhere and settled on Zara's skin. Its petals twisted open, prodded to life by an invisible hand. Her skin lost its eerie pallor replaced by a glow found only in humans, and her ethereal form started to dissipate until she felt solid flesh. Zara let out a cry of happiness, as she realized she could breathe again, she could smell again. As the magic expanded, a delicious perfume filled the space between them, sweet and perfect for an instant . . . but soon, it became overpowering. Cloying. The edges of the flower changed from a brilliant, deep pink to shadowy rust in the blink of an eye. And then the flower began to wither. That's when Zara's screaming rented the air.

The new skin on her body began to peel. A pungent, decaying smell filled the air with a mix of the genie's high-pitched laughter. "You asked to live, Azizi, not be alive," she giggled. "Now you can live, you can live as an undead creature."

"NO, NO, I still have a wish left. I can still---" 

Tut tut. The genie bopped Zara's nose as if she were a foolish child. "No, silly, I said wish, not wishes." You only had one wish and you used it. "

Zara wailed, her tears fell on her rotten, moth-eaten skin, covered with moss and lichen. Yes, now she will live. but she will live as a monster. A rotten, half-eaten thing. Living, breathing but not quite alive.

Dismayed, the genie watched her from a distance. watched the little abal welt like a dying flower on the marble floor. 

There is a price. There is always a price.