I spilled out of a narrow tunnel toward a bright light. A unicorn’s face greeted me, plastered with a stupid, eager grin. Before I even had time to collect myself, she said, “I wish for all of my wishes to be granted.”
That was new.
With my newly manifested hooves, I rubbed my forehead. “Can’t,” I said.
She must have been sharper than she looked; she knew what she was dealing with. So far, the things that called me from my vessel became gibbering idiots too shocked to understand what was happening to them. One pony even had the gall to call me a ghost.
“What do you mean you can’t?” she asked. She was getting uppity – great.
I sighed. Maybe she had a vague conception of what I was, but she didn’t know the rules as well as she thought. I looked around the space we were in, twisting in the air. No windows – basement, maybe. The grain of the wood on the walls was peculiar. There were no planks or separation, like the entire thing had been cored out of one thick lump of wood. Against one wall, a sort of metal contraption with dials and levers stood. I’d never seen anything like it before. Every time, things were a little different.
“Recursion rule,” I said, grumbling. “That wish won’t work.”
“What? I didn’t wish for wishes!” she said, scowling.
I looked down at her from where I was floating in the center of the room. I’d never seen so many shades of purple in the coat and mane of one mare before. Even her forsaken cutie mark was purple. It was ridiculous. She glared daggers at me, as if I were the one trying to bend my way around the rules – if only.
“Do you even know what recursion means?” I said, looking at her pointedly.
She aggressively hoofed the floor, but she looked away. “Of course I know what recursion means,” she muttered.
After flipping in the air, I drifted onto my back and stared up at the ceiling. It had the same weird construction as the walls – and the floor, for that matter. “Well, it means you can’t put wishes into your wish,” I said. “Besides, it’s the spirit of the rules that matter, not the letter.”
“I got that from recursion,” she grumbled. “Well, I still get three wishes, right?” she added, her tone brightening.
I sucked in air through my teeth. She wasn’t going to like this. I turned onto my side and looked at her again. “You get one,” I said.
“What?!” she shouted. “Genies give three wishes!” She brandished a book at me, floating it up in front of my nose. “Those are the rules!”
I peered at the cover, unimpressed. “Right, but I’m a special genie, ancient and powerful. My wish is better, so I only give one,” I explained, waving the book aside.
“You’re in a teapot,” she deadpanned.
I looked down. Sure enough, my wispy body spilled out of the narrow spout of a battered, rusty teapot before forming into a torso. No wonder it smelled like chamomile. She had scrawled some sort of magic rune around it on the floor with chalk – waste of time, really; I wasn’t going anywhere. The book must have told her to do it.
“So I am,” I said. “It must be an ancient teapot.”
“It’s steel,” she observed.
I quirked a brow at her. “So?”
“It can’t be that old. Ponies didn’t even know how to make steel until relatively recently,” she said.
She had me there. I floated closer to it, bending in on myself. “Well, did you look inside the teapot?”
“Wouldn’t that let you out to cause havoc?” she asked, peering at me suspiciously.
I rolled my eyes and popped the lid. Sure enough, inside the pot was a polished, glittering stone that looked familiar. I trailed from it and flowed out the spout. “See?” I said.
She butted her way in to take a look, nearly prodding me with her horn. “Ah,” she said. “So you’re–”
“A special genie,” I interrupted, nodding.
“I was going to say ‘in a rock’,” she said.
I chuckled. “Sure you were.”
She rolled her eyes and picked up the stone in her magic, pulling on it.
“Wait, what’re–” I said. Before I could finish, she’d yanked my tail through the spout. My torso dissolved. When my neck reached the opening, I lost my head too, and everything went dark for a moment. I materialized a second later and glared at her while she set the teapot aside. “That was rude!” I said.
She ignored me and peered at the stone. I hovered closer, wrapping around her neck so that my head came up next to hers. I mimicked her, rubbing my chin with a hoof, and said, “What’s so interesting?”
She abruptly dropped the stone in the middle of the runes and rushed off, heading up a flight of stairs. “I need to do some research!” she said with a gleam in her eyes. “Don’t go anywhere,” she added over her shoulder. “And don’t touch anything!” she called down the stairs.
I snickered; I’d definitely be touching. There was too much interesting stuff down here. I headed for the contraption. I had to strain against my vessel to get to it. I started flipping switches and levers, turning them all up. Nothing happened. Then, I glimpsed a small red switch poking out of the back. I reached around the machine and flicked the switch.
Lights flashed. The thing whirred. Some sort of scrying portal coalesced behind a sheet of glass for a moment, showing a mess of rapidly moving back and white squares. The machine sparked, and the image vanished. Soon, it started to spill acrid black smoke out the back. I reached around and toggled the red switch a few times. Nothing happened, but the smoke stopped.
I shrugged and backed away from the machine. The whole thing was covered in some sort of metal casing that hid the interior. Maybe if I could see inside, I could figure out how it worked. I looked around the room for some sort of tool, and saw a tripod holding up a metal cylinder.
Perfect.
I moved over to the cylinder, and after some fiddling, managed to detach it from the tripod. Something might have snapped; I wasn’t paying attention. I hefted it in my hooves and went back to the machine. I gave it a good swing, aiming for what I thought was a weak point in the casing.
When I hit, there was a tremendous clang, followed by cracking. The cylinder in my hooves bent and shards of glass spilled out of both ends. The machine shifted, leaning up on two legs, then fell back with a thud. The casing had a dent, but no breach. I sighed and pulled back for another swing. If only I didn’t need somepony to wish to use my magic.
“What in Equestria are you doing!” the mare screeched from the top of the stairs. She yanked the cylinder out of my hooves with her magic. “My telescope!” She ran down the stairs and shoved me out of the way as she moved in front of the machine. After one close look at it, she turned on me and glared. “You ruined my Thaumdetector 3000!”
I blinked. “All it did was make some smoke. I don’t see how I could have ruined it if that’s all it does.”
“I told you not to touch anything!” she shouted. “You’re worse than Pinkie Pie!”
I shrugged. “It was interesting. Who’s Pinkie Pie?”
“Gah! Spike!” she yelled.
“Yeah?” a childlike, male voice called from the top of the stairs.
“Come down here and keep this thing from breaking things while I’m gone!” she shouted.
“What thing?” he said, poking his head down. He was some sort of small lizard creature, as purple as the pony, though at least he had a bit of green going for him. “Oh... you finally did it?” he asked when he saw me.
“Yeah,” the unicorn said. “Look, things are a bit different than I expected them to be, so I need to go read some books. But, I left the genie alone for two minutes and he ruined my two favorite things in reach. Keep him busy, or something,” she said and headed back upstairs.
“Uh... okay,” Spike said as she passed.
As soon as she was gone, I said, “Is that what she does whenever something unexpected comes up?”
“What?” Spike asked on his way down the stairs.
“Books,” I said. “Can’t she think for herself?”
Spike bristled. “Twilight is really, really smart! She’s Princess Celestia’s personal student!”
Celestia – I recognized that name. She’d been mentioned to me before. “Well, Celestia’s brightest has until the next celestial body takes the sky, whichever one it is, to decide what she wants,” I said.
Spike’s eyes widened. “You have until the moon rises to make your wishes!” he urgently shouted, running towards the stairs.
“I know, Spike!” Twilight replied.
Spike stopped in his tracks and slowly turned, his cheeks colored with embarrassment. “Guess she knows...”
I nodded. “Sounds like it.” I moved over to a corner of the room and started to rummage through some boxes. “I guess her books are good for something.”
It was going to be a round of trouble, no doubt. Every two centuries or so, ever since I was uncovered for the first time, someone had to stumble across my vessel and make a wish. She was going to wish for something big, I could tell. The three before her were reasonable enough to keep it simple and selfish, except for one oddball that wished for his dead daughter back. They all got what they asked for. One suffered a lot before he died.
“Hey! Do you want to play a game?” Spike said, waving a long, flat shaped wooden case to get my attention.
I hadn’t found anything terribly interesting in the boxes, so I made my way over. I peered at the case. It had a black and white checkered pattern on the outside. “What game?” I asked.
“It’s called ‘Chess’,” he said. He undid a latch, and the case swung open, revealing various pieces inside. He dumped the pieces on the floor and set the flattened case checkered-side up.
“I’ve never played before – or any game, for that matter,” I said, drifting to the floor across from him.
“Twilight says I’m at a ‘novice play level’, so it should be fine,” he said, smiling. As he arranged the pieces, he explained what each one did. I noted the rules. I was used to rules. The game was interesting. I could already see the strategy playing out on the board. “You’re playing the white side, so you get to go first,” he said.
I nodded and nudged a pawn forward two spaces. “So, how did she figure I was in the teapot?” I asked. “Usually, ponies stumble across me.”
He pointed at the smoke machine. “She found the teapot when that thing made a funny reading. She cross referenced the magical aura and found it was similar to a lamp genie’s.” He made his move.
It took me a moment to decide what to do next; he didn’t make the optimal move I expected. “What’s with the chalk?” I asked before nudging another piece across the board.
“It’s to stop you from causing havoc,” he explained. While he stared at the board and contemplated his options, I smirked and smudged one of the lines in the chalk with a hoof. The look of horror on his face when he noticed what I’d done was priceless.
I rolled onto my back, laughing uncontrollably, and pointed at him. “Ahahah! You’re... so!”
“Let me guess,” he said. “The chalk doesn’t actually do anything.”
I flipped back over, my laughter gone. “You’re smarter than you look. Yep, the stone keeps me bound.” I regarded the board and noticed his move.
“Your turn,” he said, probably trying to be helpful. “Who put you in there, anyway?”
I paused, my hoof on a piece. The question caught me off guard. “I... think.” I couldn’t remember. It was all blank. “I don’t know.” I made my move. “I don’t remember. Something dark, and very powerful.”
“Huh,” Spike said, lifting a piece.
“Sorry, check,” I said. I didn’t forget the rule; I was distracted.
His eyes widened and he set the piece back down in the same space. While he thought, I stared at the walls. I wondered how long I had before the time ran out, or she made her wish. I’d probably have to give her what she asked for soon, and then it would be back in the rock for another long while with nothing to observe but the repercussions.
“Your move,” he said, drawing my attention back to the board. He made the wrong choice. I expected the game to go on for another three turns. I ticked a piece over one square and said, “Checkmate.”
He spitefully knocked over his princess and settled back. “Aww, I thought I might win for a change,” he said, sulking.
“Do you have any other games? Maybe something with more luck?” I asked. “This is the most fun I’ve had.”
“This is the most fun you’ve had? Like, ever?” he said, incredulous.
I nodded. “Yeah, that I can remember.” I looked around for another long case, eager to make the most of the time I had. With a bit of chance in play, Spike might even win.
The purple unicorn, Twilight, appeared at the top of the stairs. “Come here,” she said, lifting up my prison. I obediently floated over, glancing back at Spike.
He shrugged helplessly as Twilight whisked me away up a floor. On the next level, it was apparent I was inside of a tree. On shelves around me were more books than I’d ever seen – enough to fill a library. “The chalk was useless, wasn’t it?” she said.
I nodded, still looking around. Out the window, I could see the Sun dipping over the horizon. She didn’t have much time. I wished I could stay here and read until morning. She took me over to another room. Shutters covered the only window, leaving the room dark. Against the wall was a row of three devices, each with some sort of viewing portal poking out of the top designed for a pony to rest their face against.
“Look in there,” she said, gesturing at one of them.
I went up and pressed my face against the contraption. A sheet of paper was projected across my vision. There was a date in the corner, but I had no reference to judge how long ago it was. The image in the center had to be about six hundred years old though, because it depicted a pony I recognized. A title along the top in big, bold letters read, ’Famous Archeologist and Richest Pony Commits Suicide, No Will’. Lower, I read something about Celestia taking up control of the funds.
“He found your stone, didn’t he?” she asked.
I pulled my face back from the viewer and nodded. “How else do you think he got rich so fast?”
“And he hanged himself five years later with no one he cared about enough to leave anything to,” Twilight said. “What did you do to him?” She looked angry.
I wondered if she knew what happened to the others. “All I did was give them what they asked for,” I said. “I didn’t want to; I didn’t have a choice. I never had a choice.”
Her expression softened. “What if you did have a choice?”
It was a brand new question, one that I’d never heard before, but like certain other questions before it, something prevented me from answering. “I’m not allowed to answer that,” I said. “It’s against the rules.”
“How many times has this happened?” she asked.
“I can’t tell you that either,” I said.
“You’re not a lamp genie. You don’t have any limits, do you? You can do anything,” she said.
I nodded. “I can give you anything you ask for. You get one simple wish. No recursion, no addendums, and no qualifiers.” In truth, I had certain limits, but I wasn’t allowed to tell her that.
“I could change the world with this, couldn’t I?” Twilight said.
I wished the rules prevented me from answering her, but they didn’t, and I had to answer truthfully. “Yes,” I said.
“If they weren’t selfish, what would have happened?” Twilight said, staring at me intently. “Would it have turned out better?”
I shook my head, edging in a negative response as I said, “I can’t answer that.”
“I could change the world...” she repeated. She genuinely wanted to make a difference. I could see it in her eyes. She reached out and opened a shutter, then peered out the window. “I don’t have long...” This was going to be bad.
She turned back towards me, and I steeled myself for her wish. “I wish that there wasn’t suffering,” she said.
I sucked in a breath. It could be worse. I could arrange a single timepoint where nothing that could feel suffered. If I limited the deaths of sentients, I could get away with only killing a few to make it happen. I opened my mouth to confirm her wish.
“No, wait,” she said.
I breathed a sigh of relief.
“I wish that no one had to suffer ever again,” she said.
I froze.
That was so much worse.
“Are you sure?” I said.
She hesitated for the briefest instant. “I am,” she said.
I jumped on her hesitation. It gave me a window of opportunity – a way to flex the rules just slightly. “Please think very carefully about what you’re about to make me do. It’s much better to wish for something small and personal.”
She blinked at me in confusion. Maybe she understood. “But those ponies–” she said.
“Died?” I interrupted. “Yes.”
She paused, checked out the window, and looked down at her hooves. “What do you think I should do?” she asked.
It was another brand new question. This time, I felt no barriers blocking me from answering it. “Just let the moon rise.”
She turned her gaze back to me, searching. “What would happen then?”
“I would go back in my rock. It’d be dormant for another hundred and fifty years or so, and eventually, somepony else would stumble across it,” I told her.
She sighed and leaned against the windowsill, staring up at the sky. “Maybe that would be for the best. I could leave them a warning, or tell Celestia to lock the stone away.” She glanced at me. “But you’d be stuck in there forever.”
“It wouldn’t be so bad,” I said. “It would be better than coming out every once in awhile and dealing with this,” I added with a dry chuckle.
“What would you wish for?” she asked.
I wanted to answer that question. Every internal recess of my being screamed my reply. I sighed, and shifted to peer out the window. I could see the glow of the moon. It would rise any second.
“It’s against the rules for me to answer that,” I finally said. There was a world out there, with buildings, individuals, and a horizon that marched ever onward. “What do you think I would wish for?” I asked. The glow was getting brighter. Soon, I’d be back in my rock.
“I wish for you to be free,” she said. She must have seen it in my eyes.
I turned towards her, shocked. “Are you sure?”
A sliver of the moon peeked over the horizon. “Yes,” she confirmed without hesitation.
I looked at the moon, certain it was too late, but my power rose, swelling to a peak. I severed myself from my vessel with ease. I lost a lot in that moment – most of my abilities – but everything I had left was mine and mine alone. I surged out the open window, my tail unanchored, laughing as I filled my lungs with the night air.
“Wait!” Twilight called after me.
I stopped and turned.
“You aren’t going to do anything bad, are you?” she asked, looking up at me from the window.
I floated in place. “Not anymore.”
Author's Note
Written for The Writer's Group contest
