Koran 7:12-18
God said, “What prevented you from bowing
when I commanded you?”
Iblis said, “I am better than he: You created me of fire,
but You created him of clay…
And I intend to come upon them, to their faces
and behind their backs
and from their right and their left:
and You will not find most of them grateful to you.”
God said, “Get out of here, despised and rejected:
Indeed, if any of them follow you, I will fill hell with you all.”
Ali Qadir bin Saud lurched to his feet, his eyes fixed on the upended copper object. Mist rose from it in a languid spiral that flavored the air with the odor of sandalwood and skin. The long exhalation that pressed through the spout was not as he imagined it would be. The sound was hushed, and held doubt and secrets. Ali Qadir’s glance flashed to the closed tent flap. Captain Rais stood sentry just outside and could be summoned with one yell. But Qadir waited. The mist rose further and set into the blur of a hulking figure, greater than the height of two camels, one atop the other.
“Allah, protect me,” Ali Qadir called out. He stepped back and raised his hands in resistance, not ready to concede fear.
The image before him, gray and muscular, shimmered in opalescence like the underside of an oyster shell. Arms raised above its angular head in a stretch. The wide gash of a mouth traveled through a drama of emotions. A glint of teeth intimated pleasure tinged with malevolence. A final solemn expression beneath restless eyes was like the impatience of a lover once betrayed.
Bluish skin blushed yellow against the air. Black orbs showed no iris, no white globes, until a slow, purposeful blinking constricted the black to a center pupil and infused the eyes with the golden color of dunes after sunset. Dark coils of hair formed a tight wreath against its head, so black that it reminded Ali Qadir of the utter void of a starless sky. And like the silvery etchings of distant constellations, strange symbols and lines carved illuminated scars into the being’s forehead. At first, the marks appeared raised and angry, but gradually faded to an opaque tattoo that revealed itself in bits as the hair swirled and fell across its brow.
The apparition’s countenance twisted between a smile and a sneer. “Your God is my God.”
“No,” Ali Qadir said. “You are one of the djinn. You are a follower of Iblis, the fallen one.”
A low rumble coursed through the genie’s chest and spilled from his mouth in a grunt of laughter. “Ali Qadir bin Saud,” he said. “Have you not heard? It is you who fell. It is man who betrayed his God.”
The smoky-topaz colored eyes were knowing. The face was unbearded and set in sharp angles, as though carved from granite. A long crease cut below each eye and ran down to the lower jaw. On the left cheek, the scar formed the number seven; on the right, its image was mirrored and reversed.
Palms raised upward in mock supplication, the creature spoke. “I am a simple being, bound to the deceits of men.” His image quivered and became denser. “And now I am bound to you, Ali Qadir.” He swept one heavily muscled arm before him and lowered himself to one knee in a bow. Metallic rattling from a set of wide gold cuffs on each wrist echoed through the tent.
“Rais,” Ali Qadir called.
The captain swept through the flap and immediately froze, his eyes wide beneath a heavy brow.
“Rais,” Ali Qadir repeated. He gestured to a dark corner. “My sword.”
Rais walked in a broad circle around the kneeling figure but did not take his eyes from him. With the sword in hand, he moved next to Ali Qadir and handed him the weapon.
Ali Qadir paced slowly around the djinni. “Tell me your name, spirit,” Ali Qadir said. “I will not be bound to the unholy one.”
Shadows shifted with the movement of the djinni when he stood. He held his hands behind his back and looked down upon Ali Qadir. “I am Zubis, forgotten servant of King Solomon.” A dervish of sand blew through the open flap, as though the desert remembered its captive.
Ali Qadir bent and retrieved the copper lamp that had been regurgitated by the desert in the previous night’s sandstorm. Its caramel-colored surface showed the pitted history of millenia submerged in an ocean of sand. Its parched tomb had not allowed the copper to oxidize to green. There was no top opening for the deposit of oil. A thin spout jutted from the side a chimney for smoke from which the djinni had issued. Unfamiliar glyphs marked the entire lamp.
“Can I destroy you, Zubis?”
Zubis grunted. “Not you. But have no fear. Your devotion is not mine to corrupt, O future king. Your desires are many and I can fulfill but three of them.”
Ali Qadir inhaled deeply. “Allah, guide me.” He directed his voice to Zubis and said, “There are only two things I want.”
“So be it,” said Zubis. “But I am bound to you until the third wish is fulfilled.”