Syren by Angie Sage

light.
    By now Merrin was cowering in the corner, whimpering. At first he had thought that one of the Manuscriptorium scribes had somehow stuck an Expanding Booger Spell (an old Manuscriptorium favorite) on him when he wasn’t looking. But now—even with his eyes shut tight—Merrin knew it was worse than that. He knew that inside the chamber was another Being—a Being much bigger, older and scarier than he was. And something told him that the Being was not particularly happy just then.
    Merrin was right—the jinnee was not happy at all. It had been longing for wide-open spaces and here it was boxed into a tiny cupboard, full of ancient dust and with the Great One Who Had Released It cowering and sniveling in thecorner. Of course, all jinn were used to a bit of terror at their appearance—many went out of their way to cultivate it—but there was something about this jinnee’s Great One that it did not take to. The hunched-up, miserable-looking human had an unpleasant air about it and was most definitely not the kind of Great One that the Awakening song had led the jinnee to expect. It didn’t even look right. Annoyed at being tricked once again, the jinnee heaved an irritable sigh. The sigh howled around the chamber like a banshee. Merrin threw himself to the ground and covered his ears with his hands.
    The jinnee spread itself across the ceiling and regarded Merrin’s prone, sniveling figure with distaste. But if the jinnee wanted to stay out of the bottle, the next step had to be taken fast. It had to receive a command and obey it. In this way, it would once again become part of the world and could adopt human form—not that that was a great advantage, thought the jinnee, looking at the pathetic figure below.
    The next thing Merrin heard—despite sticking his fingers into his ears—was a voice that felt as though it was deep inside his head, saying, “Be you Septimus Heap?”
    Merrin opened one eye and looked up fearfully. The yellowish splodge on the ceiling hovered menacingly. Merrinmanaged a small squeak. “Yes. I be—well, once I been. I mean was .”
    The jinnee sighed and a great howl of wind whistled through the little box of a room. How could its Awakening have been so wrong? This sniveling brat had said he was Septimus Heap, and yet the figure cowering in the dust was nothing like the glowing description of the Magykal boy Aunt Zelda had given the jinnee. The portrayal of Septimus Heap had been such that even the jaded jinnee had been almost looking forward to seeing its new Master, but now it was clear—yet another double-crossing witch had deceived it. It had no choice but to continue with the Second Question.
    “What Do You Will, Oh Great One?” Just for fun the jinnee made its voice the scariest it possibly could. Merrin stuffed his fingers back in his ears and shook with terror.
    The voice repeated its question impatiently. “What Do You Will, Oh Great One?”
    “What?” said Merrin, covering his face with his hands and peering out through his fingers.
    The jinnee sighed again. This was a really stupid one. It repeated its question yet again, very slowly, and began to slide down the wall.
    “What…do? I…will?” Merrin echoed like a scared parrot.
    The jinnee decided it must have chosen the wrong language. For the better part of the next five minutes it ran through all available languages while it wandered aimlessly around the chamber, watched with horror by Merrin. It had no success. As it reached the very last language it knew—a dialect from an undiscovered river valley in the Snow Plains of the East—the jinnee was in a state of panic. If the stupid Great One didn’t answer the question soon, it would be right back in that awful little bottle and then what? It had to get an answer— now .
    Merrin by now had gathered enough courage to sit up. “Wha—what are you?” he stammered as the blob settled itself on the floor. The jinnee’s panic lessened a little—the Great One was