Angels and Djinn, Book 3: Zariel's Doom (7 page)

“What about Jevad’s power?” Veneka asked. “Iyasu said that Jevad had a piece of an angel’s soul. Do you have any idea how that could happen?”

“No. Maybe the djinn of the east have mastered the science of souls, and they found a hapless angel to experiment on.” Samira peered out over her dark city as she spoke. “If they have, then they have become something hideous and cruel.”

“And dangerous,” Zerai said loudly. “Jevad nearly plunged the whole west into war, and this new one nearly destroyed Shivala. These djinn want to watch the whole human race burn.”

“Yes, I believe they do,” Samira said quietly, her attention still fixed on Veneka. “Is Iyasu with you?”

“No. He’s gone east with Azrael to look for Ramashad on his own.”

“Hm. That’s inconvenient.” Samira paused. “There are other Arrahim seers in Shivala, aren’t there?”

“Yes,” Kiya said. “Hundreds.”

“All right then.” Samira paused again. She seemed to be worlds away, pondering far greater mysteries than the corrupt djinn of the east and their warmongering. “Yes. Then we’ll just have to go to Shivala and try to unravel this there.”

“Meaning you’ll come with us?” Veneka asked, but even as she said the words, the other woman was hurrying away, dashing off in a blur of dust and shadow. The healer turned to Zerai. “I hope she wasn’t offended.”

Zerai scowled. “She’s a djinn. What did you expect? They think we’re all filthy animals.”

“I think nothing of the kind.” Samira reappeared at the edge of the balcony with a second figure climbing the steps just behind her. The newcomer stepped up into the soft twilight glow of the crystal tiles, revealing a woman with a striking face framed by long black hair. She wore djinn silks, but not the robes of the soldiers or the clerics. Hers was a simple dress that flowed freely around her, and sitting in the crook of her arm was a small girl with wide curious eyes.

“Talia!” Veneka started forward.

The young mother nodded. Her face remained perfectly still, perfectly smooth, as though she had never smiled or shown any expression in her entire life and had no intention of doing so now. “Yes, it’s me,” she said softly.

Veneka embraced Talia, and the woman stood very still until the healer stepped back again.

“And how is little Nadira?” Veneka stroked the girl’s black curls.

“She’s perfect.” Talia looked down at her daughter and something in her eyes shifted, and Zerai thought he might have seen a ghost of genuine happiness there for a moment.

The falconer offered a friendly smile and wave, but did not come closer.

Bashir. Look at you. Forty years pining for your dead wife, and then to have your soul trapped in her body, to carry your own child, and to give birth to her? From widower to mother, just like that.

I… I can’t even imagine…

Veneka pulled away from the little girl to continue talking to Samira, and Zerai sighed, shaking his head.

Veneka, Veneka, Veneka.

Iyasu said to wait until this djinn business was all over, but now that I’ve thought it through, now that I’ve said it out loud, I can’t just… not…

A normal life. Is that so much to ask?

And she doesn’t even know. Or does she? But if she does, then why hasn’t she said anything? Why hasn’t she left? Maybe she’s just waiting me out, waiting for me to say it first, so it’s my fault. What does she care? She has her home, her calling, her legion of followers.

I wish it was done already. Over. Clean. Finished.

Iyasu said I should wait.

I hate waiting.

He turned and paced away again toward the balcony, barely noticing when the two guards paced along with him.

“Careful,” one of them muttered.

“I know!” Zerai leaned on the railing, and he cast a quick glance up for the shadow slinking along the wall, but he couldn’t see it now, so he stared down into the great city of Odashena, wondering what other strange secrets it held far from the light of the sun.

Flying carpets?

The walking dead?

Giants?

Lost angels?

“Get down!” The soldier barked.

Zerai jerked back from the rail as the two guards dashed forward in a blur of crimson and gold, their scimitars flashing through the darkness to intercept the rippling mass of shadow sailing through the cool air.

The falconer drew his khopesh and whipped it straight up, hacking the cheretti into two soft portions that divided and flew into the faces of the guards. Both djinn soldiers dropped their swords as they stumbled to the railing, frantically clawing at the thick black bile covering their eyes, nostrils, and mouths. When they cleared their airways, they both leaned over the rail and vomited.

Zerai watched them coldly. “Sorry about that.”

“How did you do that?” One of the men choked and spat. “I thought you didn’t know about cheretti.”

“Not a thing. Doesn’t mean I can’t kill one.” He sheathed his sword and paced back toward the others, who were all staring at him in a slightly stunned silence. “So?”

“So…” Veneka shook her head as though to clear her thoughts and return to the matter at hand. “Samira and Talia are coming with us to Shivala.”

“Fine. Are we done here?”

Chapter 6

Iyasu sat in the back of the rough little boat next to the strange boy named Kamil, and stared out over the sea. All across the western sky he saw dark clouds churning like boiling mountains above the white towers of ice drifting slowly south. He could still feel the cold wind blowing from the storm, but here the sun was shining, the sky was clear, and the wine-dark waves gently nuzzled the small boat in the vast expanse of the empty ocean.

The crude planks of the hull were secured with hand-carved pegs and hand-made tar, but not a single drop of water seeped in. And while they lacked a keel or daggerboard to hold them on a steady course, Iyasu couldn’t help being impressed by how much uncanny ingenuity the boy had used to create the simple craft with nothing more than a few rotten planks to inspire him.

Is he really just a castaway? A small child, the lone survivor of a shipwreck, washed ashore alone on an island where he miraculously learned to survive all by himself?

Or is he something else? Something more?

Something dangerous?

The seer glanced at Kamil at every discreet opportunity, but no gesture or sound or flick of the boy’s eyes betrayed anything unusual.

“I think I see something ahead,” Azrael said. “Can you see it?”

The angel sat in the middle of the boat facing the rear, with her massive black wings spread wide to catch the wind and carry the boat north and east, cruising swiftly as she angled and adjusted her feathered sails.

Iyasu leaned to one side to peer under her wings, but all he saw were waves upon waves. “No. It may have been a shadow or a trick of the light.” He sat back down.

“Are you sure?” Azrael arched an eyebrow and her eyes darted to the side. Toward Kamil. “You don’t
see
anything at all?”

Iyasu raised an eyebrow in answer and cleared his throat. “No, I took a good look, and I really don’t see anything. At least not yet.”

“All right then.” The angel let her gaze wander out to the horizon as she turned her attention back to the business of riding the wind and pulling the boat with her.

“What does it mean, the embodiment of death?” Kamil asked abruptly. “That’s what you said, isn’t it? You’re the embodiment of death?”

Azrael nodded. “In the beginning, there was nothingness. But one by one, God fashioned the pieces of the universe. Warmth, substance, and life in all its unnumbered forms. And to bring forth each of these things, an angel was created. The angel is the thing, and the thing is the angel. There are angels for trees and for ants, and for the wind and the lightning, and for nightmares and laughter. And there is one for death. Me.”

Kamil narrowed his eyes, and Iyasu tried to fathom what exactly could be going through the boy’s shrewd mind as he tried to make sense of these cosmic truths, all at once. By small degrees, the boy relaxed his face and sat up a bit straighter. “All right.”

“You understand all that?” Iyasu asked.

“I think so.”

He found that hard to believe, but there was little to be gained by testing the boy. So they rode on in silence, letting the motion of the boat lull them into a drowsy state as the warm sun and cool breeze conspired to keep them comfortable in the shade of the two black wings. They ate sparingly of the sack full of pomegranates that Kamil had gathered for the journey, saving the dried fish for later. Their water bottle was small, because the boy had never needed a large one, and Iyasu chose to pretend the bottle did not exist, so it would not tempt him.

He closed his eyes, and tried to doze. But a moment later he sat up and turned to Kamil, saying, “You didn’t ask who God is.”

“No. Why? Do you know who God is?”

“Well, of course I know.”

“How?” Kamil squinted at him. “How do you know these things?”

“School. I had teachers, and mentors, and tutors, for years and years. And I read books, hundreds of books.”

The boy nodded thoughtfully and looked away.

Iyasu stared at him. “You’re really not going to ask about God?”

The boy shrugged. “All right. Who is God?”

“No, I mean, you said you understood everything she said a moment ago, but then you didn’t ask about God. I’m just surprised that you weren’t interested in that name, when in that lovely summary of the creation of the universe it was the only name mentioned.”

Again Kamil shrugged. “Well, it wasn’t a very interesting story.”

Iyasu blinked. “Not interesting? The creation of the universe isn’t interesting?”

“I guess not.” The boy yawned. “Look, this God person made the universe, right?”

“Yes…”

“Does she ever change the universe?”

Iyasu glanced at Azrael, who shrugged and shook her head. “No, not generally, not as far as we know. Usually when something happens, even something strange, we can sort out a non-God explanation for it, on a day-to-day basis, I mean.”

…except for Talia Bashir, of course.

“All right, then, fine. God created the universe.” Kamil shrugged. “But since I don’t live at the creation of the universe, it doesn’t seem to concern me much.”

“It… I…” Iyasu frowned. “Well, no, it doesn’t really concern you. I mean, it’s more or less done, the creation of the universe, I mean. So… no, I suppose it’s not something you need to really worry about…” He looked up at Azrael and saw a quiet laughter in her eyes. “Oh, none of that! I just lost my train of thought, is all.”

The Angel of Death smiled and shook her head as the strange boy sighed and stared out at the gently undulating surface of the ocean. The hours passed slowly, day fading into night, and night turning into day, with nothing to mark the passage of time except the progress of the sun and stars.

“Is school like an island?” Kamil asked.

“No. Quite the opposite,” Iyasu said, staring up at the stars. “So many people, mostly young people, all together, learning together. And a school is just one place among the hundreds of places in a city.”

“And a city is like a hut?”

“Like a thousand, thousand huts, all together.” Iyasu nodded. “My city is called Shivala.”

“You like it there?”

The seer nodded thoughtfully.

“Why did you leave? Why are you here?”

“Originally? I was sent away to help some people, a long time ago.” Iyasu winced. “But right now? It’s complicated.”

The boy stared at him, waiting.

“All right, well… Shivala was attacked, and many people died. Good people, innocent people. Walls fell. Homes fell. Everything fell, it sounds like.” Iyasu spoke softly and slowly, trying to explain in simple terms while not letting the images become too vivid in his own mind. “The person who attacked the city was very strong. She was a djinn, but far stronger than any normal djinn. Never mind what a djinn is, it’s not important. But now we’re afraid she might attack again, and more people will die. So while the people in the city are trying to rebuild and prepare, Rael and I are out here trying to find the djinn before she hurts anyone again.”

“Why did the djinn attack the city?”

“No one knows.”

“Oh.” Kamil looked out across the dark waves. “Does that happen often?”

“No. Never.”

“Hm.” The boy paused again. “And it’s a good city?”

Iyasu smiled sadly. “It’s a beautiful city, like none other in the world. It was built by the holy clerics, the magi. Soaring towers, endless gardens, libraries, theaters, temples, sculptures… and the music, and the food, the smells alone were…” He shook his head. “I think you would like it there.”

Kamil nodded. “Where is it?”

“On the western edge of the White Desert, by the sea. A few days’ journey north and west of here.”

“Oh.” The boy looked at him. “I’m sorry the djinn killed your people.”

“So am I.”

They sailed on, alternately dozing and gazing at the water, until they finally sighted a low black line on the northern horizon. The dark shape grew slowly larger, resolving into grassy dunes and gray stones, and then Iyasu saw something else.

“Smoke.” He pointed to the east. “A city. Could we sail on a bit farther?”

Azrael nodded. “I’m not tired.”

She never tired, and it gave Iyasu some comfort to know that his requests or his needs never caused her pain, but still it bothered him, always asking her for a little more, to do a little more, lift a little more, work a little more.

An hour after they saw the city it had grown into a strange collection of bright towers shining in the warm morning sunlight. They beached the little boat, preferring to walk slowly into the strange city rather than sail into its harbor and be confronted by its newness all at once.

“This is a city?” Kamil asked.

“Yes, it is,” Azrael said.

“Is it like Shivala, or different?”

“Different. Very different,” Iyasu said slowly. “Most cities are not so tall, and the walls are usually made of stone, not bronze. And those windmills… I’ve only seen those out on the plains in lonely places where the wind blows the grasses flat, never in a city, and never so many, and never so high.”