#jinn

He can sense the warm presence that hovers in front of the display of various rings, necklaces, and bracelets that have protective spirits tied up in them. His mind has a harder time maintaining coherency in the amulet than it did in his lamp, but he’s had practice. His powers are bound but he can manage a glint, can’t he? If he can just… 

“How about this one?” you ask, your voice polite and curious. Ilari wills you to be talking about his.

“An unusual sort, but powerful. The amulet needs a spark of magic to summon the guardian, but they are stronger for it.” It is his necklace. There aren’t any others that require magic to activate, he’s checked. He feels your fingers wrapping around the intricate etched stone that encompasses his prison and lifts it off the rack. “You said you were a mage, right? Give it a try and see what you think of the spirit.”

Those warm, steady fingers turn over the dark stone of his amulet, tracing the runes. Ilari would be holding his breath if he could. He feels the spark that unlocks him from these chains. He must convince you if he’s ever to get free. Ever to get his revenge. 

Determined for you to be his ticket out, he carefully rises from the amulet like smoke, aiming for a powerful and mysterious impression. He swirls up high first, to get a view of the room, before forming directly in front of you on one knee. 

As he straightens, he lets his long iron gray hair settle elegantly behind him. The purple tone of his skin offsets well against the silver of his clothes and mercury markings which cover his body. “Pleased to be of service,” he says smoothly, the charm in his voice honed over years of servitude to others as a jinn, before he was cursed to the warped creature he is now. 

“Pleased to meet you,” you reply, just as polite and curious as you had seemed earlier. Ilari’s terrible with human ages, but you appear to be an adult. Pretty. Sturdy. You’re not haughty enough to be noble nor defensive enough to be destitute. The glasses speak to academia, but that’s a broad generalization. The spark of magic you’d employed to wake him up, it had been warm—fire? Light? Something of the sort surely. A mage by profession most likely.

“You are a guardian spirit?” you ask, and there’s no judgment or skepticism in your tone. There is evaluation, the weighing of options. His skin prickles, but with anticipation not nerves. Perhaps you’re from a merchant family. They excel at banal, inoffensive politeness while maintaining focus.

“I’m bound to protect whomever wears the amulet with all the power at my disposal,” Ilari replies, careful to say just enough. He keeps his eyes averted, knowing some are unsettled by his silver eyes with their purple irises.

“I’m traveling through the Southern Mountains, alone,” you say, watching Ilari carefully and giving little emotion away. You are so careful and yet there’s no defensiveness, no paranoia, and no coldness associated with how much you’re keeping to yourself. It feels natural, you must just be a private person. “And need protection while I sleep to guard the camp.” 

Now that you’ve said so, his eyes hone in on the bags under your eyes, the stiffness in your stance, the weariness hovering at the edge of your voice. This is not the beginning of your journey. 

“I am strongest at night, with the strength to defeat and defend against all manner of creature. My abilities of flight, manipulation, conjuration, and illusion are my primary strengths,” Ilari lists, aiming for calm and collected. No one likes desperation, but he must convince you. “I have previously traveled through those mountains. I have experience against the native animals and monsters.”

Your eyes are assessing as you look him over. Ilari knows he doesn’t look like a typical guardian spirit. His form is not animal enough nor particularly knightly, for that matter. Your eyes light up with magic, pure gold. He wonders which parts of him you can see.

You blink the glow away only a second later. “Do you have a standard oath? Or should I recite one for you to copy?”

“Before any oaths are exchanged, does this mean you’ll be purchasing the amulet?” the forgotten assistant shopkeep butts in to say. “If not, we can’t have it bound to you.”

You look up at the shopkeeper, open your mouth, and then close it. Your eyes dart back to Ilari, assessing. “What’s your name?”

Names can have power, but that’s not what you’re asking for or why. He’s certain of that. What are you trying to ascertain? 

You meet his eyes easily, neutrally. 

It's odd, but he feels like you’re trying to tell if he’s a person. If he’s an intelligent being or an inanimate spirit made flesh. A tool or a pet or a guard. Which is the right answer… “Ilari,” he replies, hopefully smoothly enough you don’t notice any falter. Perhaps you merely can tell the truth.

You give nothing away at his answer. After a glance behind Ilari at a price tag, your eyes are back on the assistant. “Yes. I’ll take the amulet.”

-/-

Ilari knows you’ll want to test his power out. You’re no fool. Once out on the road, you turn the stone over in your hand, tracing the etching with intent. He thinks he even hears you murmuring under your breath as if reading from a magical spellbook. Whatever you do, it changes nothing about the nature of the amulet or the curse. You don’t discard it or curse or mutter gleefully the way others that found you have. It doesn’t even seem like that’s what your aim was. 

On the second night, once you’re deeper into the wilderness and made camp, you pull the amulet over your head and jolt it with the spark of magic needed to summon him. 

Ilari manifests with a bow. You ignore his deference, proceeding with the same politeness you had in the shop even away from other eyes, as if he were a mercenary or guard you hired. It’s intriguing, but certainly not worse than any others who’s held his amulet or even his lamp prior to the curse. It's always a nice reprieve. He’ll accept the few days of civility before you decide he's a tool or pet. Never a person. 

“How much weight can you lift?” you ask first, referring to his professed powers of manipulation.

It's a fair question. “Not your wagon,” Ilari says, eyes narrowed as he considered the objects around. “But I could lift...” His eyes land on a boulder taller than you and twice as wide. Obligingly it steadily lifts into the air. “Not much more than this. I can push more.” It moves away from them a little faster than it had lifted. “And I can target multiple objects.” The boulder is set down where it came from and multiple smaller rocks and branches lift in its place to hover around waist height.

You jot something down. “Illusion?”

“Useful for misdirects in a fight. I cannot hide the entire camp or even the wagon.” Ilari concentrates and a pair of illusionary finches burst from behind the boulder with corresponding cries. 

“Understood,” you say with a nod, having flinched at the sound, but not angry about it. Ilari hates the relief he feels at that. Masters with tempers were his least favorite, but it doesn’t matter. He just needs to remain useful enough you use up his sentence. You don’t need to be pleasant. He just has to be able to tolerate your use of him. “And conjuration?”

He points at a stump and a small bowl appears. “Minor and simple items only.” As a jinn, he’d excelled at conjuration and transformation. Those were greatly diminished with the curse. Probably because that was how he’d given his last jailer the karmic wishes he’d deserved. It had also been what led to his current cursed and twisted form. The bastard had found it ironic. 

At least he’d died screaming.

“Thank you,” you reply, jotting a final note down. You set it aside and meet his eyes easily. “The plan for tonight is for you to act as if I am asleep and defend from any predators. This is a known site for a few different species so I expect at least one to visit. Obviously, if I need to I’ll step in—”

Ilari cuts you off before you can say more. “Understood.”

Your eyes hold his for another few seconds before you nod. “Good.” Ilari appreciates your even keel. Your seeming confidence. It's strangely reassuring. 

You know nothing of his plans to finally be summoned enough to be free, but this will help him achieve his goal regardless. You don’t seem to be hiding unusual motives, when you had discussed your plan to journey to a remote research site to finish your thesis and then return to your college. Ilari had no sense you were lying. After years of being held captive by those with complex schemes and plans, he’d developed a very good sense of that sort of thing. He doesn’t think you feel the need to lie. Why would you?

You didn’t count out the days or length of the trip, but between there and back, even if it would be frustrating to wait while you did your work, he thinks the end is in sight. No more wasting away on a shelf, impossible tasks, grueling fights he’s thrown in the middle of and then discarded because obviously he wasn’t a perfect warrior. 

He can do this. He will do this. He’ll prove it tonight and every other night until he’s free.

He does so. You set up to doze in your wagon, a light sleep that leaves you free to startle awake at most sounds. (If this is how you’d been sleeping the entire journey so far, he’s surprised you don’t look even worse.) 

Early in the night a swarm of vampire bats tries to surround the camp, diving and swirling in a cloud of hunger. They don’t expect an opponent who also flies and he’s able to drive them off under your assessing eye before any even touch the wagon, let alone you. Later a shadow fox nearly breaks into your food supplies, sneaky and subtle, but Ilari catches it before it does any damage. The night’s final test is as the day breaks when a giant beetle scuttles into the camp. 

You stretch in the early morning light before walking over to survey the beetle, pinned and beheaded several yards away. “Good work last night. In the future, I won’t pick a campsite with so much draw on purpose. Also, anything with feathers or wings—try to keep them intact. Some might be useful for my research.”

“Understood,” Ilari replies, forcing himself not to grin with triumph or relax even with your positive attitude. He’d had masters before that liked to lull him into security before attacking themselves to gauge his strength or throw harder challenges at him. Test him. He’s not taking the chance. It still feels like you’re not done with him yet.

Your hand goes to the amulet before slowly dropping once more. He knew it. What else do you want? He mentally braces himself. 

“Before you go,” you ask, something more tentative in your voice, “can you lift me up?”

“Yes,” he replies, waiting for the real question because that can’t be it. What would make you different from any other object he can lift? 

You smile and gesture as if to say go ahead.

His brows raise. Those who hold his chains rarely want him to demonstrate his powers on them. What are you trying to prove? Yes, as the holder of the amulet he could never hurt you this way. He cannot throw you or drop you from a height, the magic’s protective nature would forbid it. Is that what you’re asking about? 

Holding out his hand, Ilari carefully wraps his power around your waist. He rarely has to be so delicate with his hold. He can feel the flex of the barrier that prevents him from harming you, but it's closer to your skin than most. Less the hard shield it has felt like in the past when he has wanted to harm those he was bound to protect. You must trust him somewhat if it's so subtle.

You shiver, like maybe you can feel Ilari’s magic and the amulet’s barrier. He meets your eyes to find them glowing faintly with your golden magic. He lifts his hand and your body obediently floats a foot and then two higher.

You give a little gasp of what he realizes is delight as a smile spreads across your face. Instinctively, your knees bend, like they might if you were jumping. You make as if to turn, but you aren’t controlling this flight, he is. You stay in the air where he holds you.

Your eyes widen when you seem to understand, but you don’t complain or grow frightened at the demonstration of his control. You merely keep smiling. “Thank you. Can you set me down now?”

Ilari nods and gently lowers you back to the floor. It's not like using a physical limb, but he swears his magic tingles from being wrapped around you. 

How peculiar.

-/-

The outcome of Ilari’s trial night is enough to make you feel comfortable with his role as night guard. Easily, you two settle into a routine. You drive your strange wagon throughout the day, going even faster than a pair of horses might. You don’t wear his amulet, but you keep it in your pocket. Sometimes he can hear the sound of the road or you murmuring to yourself. It's quiet after the bustle of the shop. A welcome respite, if he’s honest. He doesn’t see a reason not to be honest after all these years of lying to himself that he would make it here. Where the end might be in sight. It's a refreshing relief. 

You make camp as the sun sets, fixing a fire and hot food for yourself. Only once you’ve readied for sleep do you call on him. After he soars out of the amulet, you talk briefly about the camp location, any peculiarities you’d noticed, any creatures rumored to be around, and then duck into the wagon for bed. You keep the curtain open to better hear if there is an attack, but you only would wake once or twice each night as far as he can tell. The bags under your eyes get lighter at least.

He takes the time to explore the area, drift around the perimeter, and yes, since you haven’t strictly prohibited it, go through some of your belongings. Most of the books are in a language he can’t read but not all are. He certainly needs no great source of light to see. It helps him start to figure out how many years have passed. And therefore, how many of his enemies might still be alive to wreak vengeance on. The joys of his soon-to-be-had freedom.

As dawn approaches, Ilari will put everything back as it was and circle the camp, arranging the bodies of any enemy he’d slain over his watch that you might want to scavenge. You wake up on your own, without needing his aid. Sleepily, you wish him a good morning and request a summary of the night's events. Once Ilari’s given his report, back into the amulet he would go.

The rhythm of these days is welcome and comforting. The only disruption to the routine comes a few days in.

Ilari doesn’t think about his physical form much. It had changed when he was cursed, but he hadn't given that part of the curse much thought. He hated the warp to his powers, the new limits and challenges. The new ways he was forced to serve his owners. 

In contrast, his body has always been malleable. He doesn’t normally bother with physicality much. Paying attention to sensations like taste and smell and touch was a waste of time. Most of the world stunk anyway. He prefers to manipulate things with his power and magic directly, rather than with hands. He barely remembers to manifest legs most of the time. He flies and floats and hovers—they simply aren’t necessary.

Maybe that’s why your hand on his arm had startled him. He’d barely managed to suppress the urge to yank his arm away or flinch. He knew, perhaps, it’d been a long time since he last touched someone unless it was a fight, but surely that didn’t explain such a dramatic reaction. The way the sensation had spread across his skin, into his arm. He’d managed to give nothing away. Your hand had dropped within seconds once you’d gotten his attention and pointed him where you wanted. 

It’s not even that your touch had been unpleasant. Not at all. Your fingers were warm and delicate. Sure. Your grip hadn’t been overly tight the way some humans had been. You were trying to guide, not manipulate and control. He’s chained to this gods-forsaken amulet, but not by you. There are no cuffs in your grasp. No collars. An end to his sentence is in sight. If anything, you hold the key. 

Is that why your touch had been compelling? Because it had been gentle? He’d never craved gentleness before so he’s not sure why he would start now. It must have been novelty only. 

Still, he thinks that makes this your fault. 

Your fault his mind keeps wandering his next watch and every watch after that.

The way Ilari can’t stop looking at your fingers, your hands. You've got them curled up close to your chest as you sleep. One is fisted in your blankets,keeping the soft material close. The other slides under and then back on top of your pillow as you turn and adjust throughout the night.