The Genie Who Lost Her Lamp

Chapter 21: Basma

The guardroom had been warm, but the air outside it was cool. The sweat on Ali's forehead soon turned cold, making him shiver. He slipped inside the dark hallway, thankful a flickering light illuminated his path.

The stairs in front of him were grand, thoroughly cleaned and had an intricate carpet draped over them. He thanked the gods, glad it would soften the thud of his tired feet. He started going up, leaning against the wall to be quiet.

Ali reached the top of the stairs, eyeing his surroundings. The landing was a large corridor. On one side, there were large windows looking down on the inner courtyard, and on the other, doors were littered every few meters. Torches flickered flimsily in between each dark and heavily decorated door. The moonlight filtered trickled lazily through the glass. "Huh, this is almost fancier than where I used to live," Ali noted with a hint of surprise.

Voices started to drift towards Ali from a second hallway. He looked up, his hand crisping against the wall. The voices were coming closer, and Ali was in plain sight. The guards would recognize his uniform as not one of their own. He grasped the handle of the nearest door and yanked it open, flinging himself inside.

The room was pitch black, and Ali pressed himself against the door, his breaths shattering the still silence. He heard the guards pass behind the door, mentioning a promotion. He exhaled, leaning his head against the door.

His eyes snapped open. A blade was pressed against his neck. He froze, becoming rigid. The blade was cold, shimmering in the dark. "Who are you?" A voice croaked in the dark. It was a mere whisper, but Ali felt goosebumps rise on his arms. Words melted to nothing in his mouth, sliding down to the pit of his stomach. "I said, who are you?" The voice asked again, this time pressing the blade further against Ali's neck. A rivulet of blood started to flow down his neck, his collar stained red.

"A mere guard," Ali replied, his mouth dry. He had to get out of this room if he wanted to live. His hand slid down to the doorknob, trying to find it in the dark.

The person must have heard, a dark chuckle pressed against his ear.  "Trying to leave, my dear boy? I don't think so." Ali was kicked to the ground, hitting his head against a piece of furniture. He gasped, shutting his eyes in pain. Stars started dancing in his vision. "A 'mere guard' as you so bluntly lie, knows not to come in my room."

Ali could barely hear over the roaring of his ears and the pain in his stomach. He closed his eyes, trying to stand up, but was soon pushed back down. A light flickered behind his closed lids. He opened them, shielding his eyes with his hands.

The person, or better, the woman had lit a candleholder, and was holding it close to Ali's face, almost burning his skin. He looked up at her, trying to look at her.

The woman was not young but not old either, a few wrinkles decorating her face. Her eyes were dark, her nose pointy. Her lips were thin. Small earrings shimmered at her ears, while a small, glass necklace adorned her neck.

Ali vaguely remembered something about a glass necklace. The words danced around his head before they solidified into a sentence: 'She doesn't have the diamond necklace anymore. She has a smaller, glass one now'.

His eyes grew wide in recognition. "You're Basma," he said. His voice was hoarse.

A smile curled her lips. "Ah, it seems you know me." She crouched down, her jewels tingling in the silence. She leaned over, pressing the knife against Ali's neck. "But I," She whispered, starting to dig the knife inside his throat. "Still don't know you."

Ali tried moving away, standing up, but Basma was gripping his leg with all her strength, his nails digging in his thigh. His head was throbbing. He could barely see, his view unfocused and the only source of light in the room was the flickering candles.

This woman was going to kill him, he knew that. He closed his eyes.

The next few seconds happened in a chaotic blur.

Ali felt his covered hand start burning. The fire seemed to spread, reaching his neck in no time. He couldn't even feel the knife against his throat anymore: everything else hurt too much. Ali writhed in pain. He could feel the fire creep on him, leaving everything dark and charred like his hand. Tears filled his eyes. He could barely keep them open, his view becoming unfocused. He almost fainted because of the agony.

He tried patting his hand to squash the fire, but his arm was cool on the outside. The fire was inside. He screamed even louder, terror mixing with his pain. He grit his teeth, shouting as the fire reached his chest, enveloping his heart.

Thud.

The fire stopped. Ali collapsed on the floor, tears and sweat mixing as they ran down his neck. His breaths were heavy, and his throat was dry from the screaming. He laid against the cold floor, calming his beating heart.

When Ali had finished shivering, he sat up. Just that movement caused immense effort. He patted his chest, not feeling any pain. Hesitantly, he peeked underneath the fabric and almost screamed in relief: his skin was normal. He wasn't charred.

Ali gripped the table he had fallen against to earlier, using it as leverage to stand up. He gripped the wall, exhaling quietly through his nose.

Ali glanced at the candleholder, distracted. He then noticed that Basma was lying down next to it. His instincts told him to run as far away as he could, and be thankful for this sudden miracle, but something didn't seem right. Slowly, carefully, he started approaching her body, quickly grabbing the knife discarded on the floor. He chose to ignore his own blood on it.

Ali looked down at Basma. She was still, completely still, not even breathing. Her legs were the only part illuminated by the candles. Ali poked her with his foot. She didn't move. Slowly, he bent down, taking the candleholder, and held it up to her face.

Ali paled, and the candleholder almost tumbled out of his grasp.

Basma's face was completely black, covered in darkness. It continued to stain her neck, disappearing underneath her clothes. Her hands were dark as well, indicating her whole torso had been affected as well.

Ali gulped, his fingers numb. He glanced down at his covered hand. The darkness was the same; Ali had killed this woman with his hand.