[ WP ] `` You may have one wish granted . '' `` I want all my debts cleared . '' `` How much do you owe ? '' `` You misunderstand . My debts are not monetary . ''

Sunta raised a hand in greeting toward Ibrahim as he approached his market stall. The shopkeeper, an older man with a curling moustache and equal frown, did not return the gesture. Instead he continued to sweep his floors with a rickety broom, barking a question without so much as a polite word before it. 
 `` Where have you been?'' he barked. A pungent odour of tobacco smoke accompanied the brusque query. It hung to the man like a protective shield and seemed thicker as Sunta drew closer, and even the tarp that surrounded the stall seemed to do little to keep the odour within it's walls. He glanced up toward the shopkeep, a man much his senior and a man much taller than he. 
 
 `` My free time is my time,'' Sunta said. The shopkeeper grunted. 
 
 `` No, your time - is my time,'' he said, coughing slightly. `` I've been good to you boy, do n't you forget it,'' Ibrahim said. `` You owe me,'' he said. With these words the shopkeeper finally turned to look at him, to stare coldly down at him. 
 
 `` *Good? *'' Sunta asked incredulously, his fists were already curled and clenched, his teeth rattling as they shook and clapped together. `` You have made me your *slave*,'' he snapped. Sunta thrust a shaking hand into his satchel beside him. The shopkeep drew in a breath and let held his broom aloft, brandishing it as a weapon. Sunta threw an arm up in vain but was unable to match the shopkeeper's impossible speed. The broom struck him and the blow knocked him to the ground, leaving him sprawled out in the sandy dirty alleyway. A copper taste at the edge of his lips and a wet feeling matting at his short side-bun only served to infuriate him further. 
 
 `` You'll speak to me no more like that,'' Ibrahim warned, pointing the tapered pointed end of the broom toward the young man as if it were a spear. 
 
 Sunta laughed. He burst out with a sudden raucous laughter so boisterous and loud that the shopkeeper recoiled at it. 
 
 `` Oh you old fool,'' Sunta said, when finally the laughter in his chest had died. `` No,'' he said, wobbling knees bringing him back to a stand. `` No, you owe *me*,'' he said. `` You have abused my abilities for the last time,'' Sunta said with a steel-glare. `` You have lived too many lifetimes under the weight of my abilities,'' he said, the shopkeep looking at him with anger and bewilderment. `` I have finally found another,'' he added. The confusion that crossed the shopkeep's face gave way quickly to surprise and horror as he realised what the young man meant. 
 
 `` No!'' he cried, cursing and swearing at the airs around him with vigour beyond his years. 
 
 `` Yes,'' Sunta said. `` Another Djinni, happy to answer my plea,'' he said. Ibrahim's shoulders fell and he sighed forlornly, as if he had lost something valuable to him and could only accept that it was gone forever. 
 
 `` You're free then?'' the shopkeep said, nodding sadly. 
 
 `` In a manner of speaking,'' Sunta said. Finally he drew from his satchel a small scroll that he had been clasping tightly for the last few moments, a small scroll etched with many words of many forgotten languages. He produced it carefully but deliberately, so that Ibrahim could witness it fully. 
 `` What i-'' the shopkeep began, but the question was quieted before he could finish it. Sunta whispered words read from the scroll, words that had no meaning to anyone's ears but his own, words that stunned the shopkeep and held him steady. They held him as the magic began it's work. 
 
 Ibrahim cried out in pain as the wasting took his arms and they crumbled to dust - his eyes full of fear and wonder. He looked upon Sunta, who only smiled calmly as the same wasting consumed his body, as his own limbs began to crumble as if broken stone. 
 
 `` I saved your life-'' Ibrahim whispered, as if the plea would halt the arcane rending in effect. He kept speaking and pleading even as his lips broke from his face and fell to the ground. 
 
 `` Now that debt was never owed,'' Sunta said to himself, as he watched the shopkeeper crumble away to nothing. Peace was the last thing he felt as all turned to dark.
