sure that I do,” said Colby.
“If you didn’t need to hear it, you wouldn’t be here. You’d be off getting into a fight with a bunch of fairies over a kid who should have died years ago—”
“Whoa,” interrupted Colby. “Should have died?”
“Everyone dies, Colby. For some, it is merely what happens at the end of a life well lived. For others, it is their only purpose. Ewan was born to die. It was his destiny. You robbed him of that when you made your wish. And you’ve spent every day of your life working, in some small way, to push that destiny back a little further. To give him one more miserable day before his fate catches up with him.” Yashar patted the cement next to him once more. “Now, sit down and let me tell you a story.”
“No,” said Colby. “I think I’ll stand.”
“Let me ask you something. When you made your first wish, what did I do?”
“You granted it.”
“Did I?”
“Yeah, you did.”
“Did I try to talk you out of it first?”
“Well, you . . .” Colby paused for a moment, thinking back. “I, I think we talked about it.”
“No, that’s very dangerous, I said. I forbid it, I said. Those were my words, were they not?”
“I honestly don’t remember,” said Colby, now struggling to recall the moment exactly.
“Well, I do. I remember telling you no. I remember offering you other things. And I remember you calling me on a promise and making me grant you the very wish you’ve spent years bellyaching about.”
Colby looked down at Yashar, memories tugging at him. Yashar was telling the truth.
“Now, sit down and let me tell you a story.” Colby shrugged, nodding, and silently sat down beside Yashar. “Once upon a time there was a young djinn—reckless and greedy, his heart full of wanting. He amassed a great fortune, surrounded himself with beautiful women, and lived the life of a king without bearing the responsibility of one. But he was tricked and one day found himself without his wealth, without his women, and without the life of a king, so he decided to do one good thing for the one person who showed him kindness when he hadn’t a penny to offer.
“That’s how the world gets you, you know. It rewards you for your wickedness and punishes you for your selflessness. That djinn gave that man everything he wanted, which, in the grand scheme of things, wasn’t really a whole hell of a lot. But men can be barbarous when you take something they believe is theirs, and that young man met with a bad end.”
“I know this story,” said Colby. “And I know it’s yours.”
“But you don’t know the story after, about how that young man’s last wish cursed me to always bring ruin upon all those whose wishes I granted. I wish that all your wishes would end granting all the happiness you’ve brought unto me, he said. What the story leaves out is the hours he spent begging for his young wife’s life as the soldiers ravaged her. How he swore revenge he would never get. How they dragged them behind their horses before finally having mercy enough to kill them.”
“Well, I do now.”
“Do you?” asked Yashar. “Do you know about the years I spent wandering in the desert, living out my last days as the last of the living souls who knew me passed on, to leave me starving? How I tried with all my might to make it through the last fortnight without granting a single wish to save my own life? Do you have any idea what it feels like to starve yourself half to death on principle alone? What happens to your mind and your sense of morality when all you can think about is survival and what you would give, what you would do, to keep going?
“I tried. I really intended to go through with it, but it’s like holding your breath underwater and trying to drown. At some point your instincts override your own sense of self and you fight and claw your way to the surface without even thinking about it. Even if deep in your heart you don’t want to, there you are, swimming and pounding and thrashing as hard and fast as you can for a single breath of air. And then it’s done. You’ve failed. And you have to start over.
“I’ve gotten to that point a dozen times since then, always sure that this was going to be the