"Wishful Thinking"

The following is a short story written in my "Red Valor" universe. Enjoy.

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“It’s mine! Mine, mine, mine!” Isaac Renvalli shouted. The short but lithe young man shook his head furiously, his unkempt blond hair flying wildly.

“No it’s not. I found it,” replied his companion, a darker, taller man with a lean face and a wiry frame. The scar that ran across his left eye rippled as he growled viscerally at his counterpart. “As my apprentice, you’re not technically entitled to anything.”

“Oh, what a load of troll dung!” Isaac spat furiously. “I’m no more your apprentice than you are the King of Ketta, Atrus!”

The duo were drifters, a pair of forlorn travelers who seemed to always find some niche to fill. Boundaries and governments couldn’t contain them. Of course, some would say—and certainly had said in the past—they were “thieves,” “scoundrels,” “ne’er-do-wells,” and a host of other exasperating titles, but as Atrus was fond of saying, “You can only be a thief if you accept the idea of ownership."

Atrus rolled his eyes. “Ketta doesn’t have a king, Isaac.” His voice was calm and cool, carrying the weight of authority. “They have an emperor. This is why I’m your mentor.” He lifted the object in question, a rather unremarkable flask made of cheap tin, high in the air, grinning broadly as Isaac jumped at it unsuccessfully.

Isaac’s ears were turning red. “I found it, therefore I should be the one to open it! I told you, it’s mine!”

Atrus looked around the crusty old tomb, replete with sand, dust, and poorly-maintained stonemasonry, attempting to find a distraction. “Fine. I’ll let you have it if you can find some drinkable water in this place.”

Isaac’s eyes narrowed. “You’re lying,” he growled. “I’ve been doing this for long enough to know when you’re trying to distract a mark.”

Atrus put his hand up to his chest, clenching the tattered shirt he was wearing. “Your words are venom to my heart, my friend! I would never regard you as such.” A look of agony crossed his visage.

Isaac gave him a bored glare. “Another lie.” Stomping his foot in frustration against the stone crypt floor, he turned away. “Have it your way then.” Giving a sharp look over his shoulder, his voice lowered dangerously. “But I get the second turn.”

Atrus offered a deep bow. “I am indebted to your kindness, dear fellow.” He lowered the flask cautiously, one eye on Isaac and the other looking over a strange inscription across its metal. “Curious.”

Isaac jumped at the taller man, knocking him to the ground and taking the flask. Rolling to the side, he kicked sand into Atrus’s eyes, eying the flask greedily. Despite the assault, when Atrus stood, his hands rubbing at his eyes, his voice remained calm. “That was low.”

Isaac shrugged. “What can I say, I learned from the best...” He squinted at the flask. “What’s this say? I think it’s in Dontorran...”

Atrus shut and opened his eyes repeatedly. “Even if I had my vision at the moment, I can’t read Common, much less Dontorran. So be careful with it.”

Isaac mimed Atrus’s words mockingly before responding. “It’s just a piece of cheap metal.”

“If you believed that, you wouldn’t have been so adamant to have it,” Atrus grumbled.

Isaac arched an eyebrow at his visually-impaired ‘mentor.’ “You really don’t know me in the least, do you?” Returning his gaze to the flask, he groaned. “Now it’s covered in sand, too.”

The first hint of annoyance crept into Atrus’s voice. “If you had honored our agreement, perhaps...”

Isaac couldn’t contain a laugh. “Honor? You are lecturing me about honor?”

Atrus’s response was delivered almost half-heartedly. “Haven’t you ever heard of honor amongst thieves?”

Isaac turned his attention back to Atrus for the moment. “A thief with honor is like a king with morals. Both have their place, but only in the tales mothers tell their sons.” Swiveling back to regard the flask, Isaac stretched his arm forward. “I’ll just clean it off...” Bunching the rough burlap of his sleeve, he rubbed the sand away from the flask.

Isaac yelped in surprise as the inscription began to glow, the flask levitating out of his hands. A rumbling noise seemed to permeate the chamber even as the cap on the flask began to shake violently. Atrus, his vision finally restored, gave first the tin container and then his companion a disapproving look. “Now look what you’ve done,” came the older man’s taunt.

Isaac opened his mouth to respond, but was cut short. The cap flew off the flask and ricocheted off the wall, striking Atrus squarely in the forehead, apparently with enough force to cause him to reel in pain. An orange smoke filled Isaac’s lungs, though it did not hurt, and a gout of flame spewed forth from the opened flagon. A thunderous voice, belonging to a bronze-skinned humanoid who the clouds parted to reveal, echoed powerfully in the cramped tomb. “I am the mighty Alarin su-Sural, Genie Lord of the Third Kingdom! For my peoples’ crimes, I was bound to this container, forced to serve whomsoever releases me with three wishes.” The being’s eyes were pools of orange-red energy.

Though normally frightened by the supernatural, Isaac instead was intrigued by this mystic creature’s offer. His eyes lit with avarice as his voice trembled with excitement. “A genie, huh? I knew it was something important...”

Atrus frowned, rubbing his forehead. “Lucky guess.” The dark-haired man lifted the cap that had struck him from the sandy floor of the chamber, his calculating hazel eyes sizing up the genie. “If that’s the case, wish some water for us. I’m thirsty.”

Isaac looked at his companion incredulously. “Are you kidding? Why would I wish for that?”

The genie grinned widely, his sharp teeth an unsettling omen. “You ‘wish for that,’ then? Very well.” Waving his hand, the genie said a brief incantation, and before Isaac could protest, Isaac, Atrus, the genie, and the unopened bottle were in the ocean.

Isaac took a deep lungful of water, thrashing and screaming about. “I... ca...n’t... swim!”

Atrus scowled at genie, who was cackling madly. “Then wish us somewhere else!”

Isaac nodded. “I wi... sh... that we...”

“Be careful what you say!” Atrus screamed.

Managing to breathe air, Isaac started again as he kicked about. “I wish that we were in the Kettan Royal Treasury!”

The genie waved his ring-covered hand, but stopped, staring at Isaac blankly. “I cannot comply with your command, Master.”

Atrus became angry. “Imperial Treasury! Ketta is an Empire, boy!”

“Fine!” Isaac rasped. “I wish that we were in the Kettan Imperial Treasury!”

The genie nodded, holding his hand out again. “Very well, Master.” The being stretched an arm out and Isaac felt his stomach roll as the scenery morphed around him again.

Isaac rubbed his eyes as they adjusted to the torchlight. “That was cruel,” he spat venomously.

An unfamiliar voice resounded from behind them. “Not half as cruel as where you’re going.”

Isaac twirled around, seeing a squadron of heavily-armed, heavier-armored soldiers. “How did I not see that coming?”

Atrus didn’t wait to act. Springing forward, he placed the cap on the flask, the smoky form of the genie dissipating. As the soldiers aimed their crossbows, Atrus rubbed the lamp, and the orange smoke billowed in all directions. Lifting both the bottle and Isaac’s collar, he ran in the opposite direction, the smoke and the emerging genie providing ample cover. “I am the mighty Alarin su-Sural, Genie Lord of the Third Kingdom! For my peoples’ crimes...”

“I’ve heard it already!” Atrus shouted. Rounding a corner, another approaching squad raised their spears, an alarm sounding. Atrus looked both ways as Isaac wrestled out of his grasp, formulating a plan. Confidently, Atrus stated, “I wish that time would stop for everyone but myself, you, and Isaac, for a period no longer nor shorter than from this point until I say a command word of my choosing for the second time, that word being ‘Asparagus.’”

The genie pondered for a moment. One of the guards approaching from the rear lifted his crossbow, firing it at Atrus; the tip of the bolt was dripping with poison. The genie waved his hand, his booming voice filled with disappointment. “Your wish is granted.”

Atrus’s emerging grin was cut short by the crossbow bolt burrowing into his shoulder. Spinning around, he screamed angrily, “I told you to stop time!”

The genie’s sharp-toothed grin reappeared. “For everyone, not everything.” Angrily, Atrus slammed the cap back onto the bottle, the genie’s form vanishing once again.

Isaac looked to his companion with a hint of worry. “That looks poisoned. You might want to wish for a cure.”

Atrus glared at him. “Oh no.” He could feel his blood already beginning to slow through his veins. “No, I wasted one wish already, to get us out of this mess you caused.” Sweat began to from on his brow as he held the flask to Isaac. “Your wish.”

Isaac took it angrily. “Fine.” He removed the cap, watching the genie’s smoke furl forth. The genie stared imperiously toward him, but Isaac was unperturbed. “I wish that the events of the last few minutes could be undone, up until the point where I made my first wish.”

The genie put a hand up in objection. “If this is your wish, it will not undo the amount of wishes you have used. You will no longer have any wishes left.”

Isaac counted on his fingers and grumbled. Taking one long look at Atrus, he debated whether he should amend his wish—after all, he was already in the Royal Treasury—or if he should help his only ‘friend.’ “Oh, by the Nine Hells,” Atrus growled, falling to one knee. “Time can’t be returned to normal if I’m dead.”

The smaller man nodded reluctantly. “Yes, my wish still stands.”

The genie nodded, waving his hand. “Your wish is granted.”

As quickly as it had started, they found themselves in the crypt. “Great, now we’re back on Dontorr,” Isaac moaned, “And I don’t have any wishes left.” His brow furrowed as he faced the genie. “Wait, how do I remember that? If time was turned back...”

The bronze-skinned being shrugged. “When it comes to time travel, sometimes it is best not to ask such questions.”

“Asparagus.” Atrus snickered as he snatched the flask from Isaac’s hands. “All right then, I still have two wishes left.” He tapped his foot impatiently. “But what to wish for? Hmm.”

Isaac rolled his eyes. “You should wish to be the Emperor of Vestin or something.”

Atrus gave him a dull look. “No, Vestin doesn’t have an Emperor, it’s a democracy.”

Isaac threw his arms upward. “That’s what makes it so brilliant!”

Atrus looked away, indignant. “Your definition of ‘brilliant’ is sorely lacking...” The genie growled fiercely, and Atrus took the hint. “Fine, fine. I wish...” He snickered. “I wish to have the sacred blade, Red Valor.”

Isaac’s face brightened. “Ooooh, good one.”

The genie stretched a hand out, his trademark grin causing a knot to form in Atrus’s stomach. “Very well. Your wish is granted.”

A bolt of lightning slammed into the crypt, causing a portion of the ceiling to collapse around them. Standing before them was a man with short-cropped blond hair, golden robes with black trim, and a confused look etched onto his face. His golden eyes narrowed as he lifted his sword, which gleamed with magic. Atrus recognized both the sword for its scarlet hilt and its owner, a legendary swordsman, and mumbled, “I wish I hadn’t done that...”

The genie laughed. “Your wish is granted.”

As another bolt of lightning carried the man away, Atrus kicked the flask angrily. “Oh, come on! That one counted?”

The genie nodded. “Yes.” The genie sighed deeply. “Now, my duties here are done. Replace the cap to return me to my prison.”

Atrus looked to Isaac. “Go on, do it.”

Isaac’s eyes widened. “Wait, what? I thought you had it.”

Atrus checked his bag nervously. “No, you took it off last when you made that wish...”

The genie’s malevolent grin broadened even more. “Perhaps you left it in the Imperial Treasury.”

Isaac looked to the entity, slack-jawed. “I told you to put everything back!”

The genie shook his head. “No, you said that you wished that ‘the events of the last few minutes could be undone,’ there was nothing specific. I simply chose certain events to undo.”

Atrus looked to the bottle and then the genie. “Does this mean that you’re free? For all intents and purposes?”

The genie nodded, a blazing falchion materializing in his hands. “For all intents and purposes.”

Neither Atrus nor Isaac had ever ran for so long or far than on that hot desert afternoon.