Wings of Wrath

by C. S. Friedman

  (In the future. What a powerful, wonderful phrase that was! There had been a time not long ago when she had not had any future.)

  “It will be as you describe,” Amalik said stiffly. “My Queen.”

  So, she thought, the hidden fire is contained once more.

  For now.

  She traveled with eight guards to protect her, as well as a handful of servants to see to her personal needs. Of course her servants believed that she had the power to handle any trouble that might arise, and even cook her own food, if necessary, with a wave of the hand if required. But because she was a witch rather than a Magister, it was their job to see that she did not have to. And so the whole party of them must come along, carrying such tents and rugs and silken cushions as a queen must have in the wilderness.

  Amalik was displeased by all that, and he made no secret of it. He clearly hungered to travel faster, and less encumbered, and he took every opportunity to let her know it. And while she would not have brought along servants simply to irritate him, it could not be denied that the more agitated he became, the less careful he was about hiding his true self from her. By the second day of travel she had ascertained that he was not used to dealing with nobility, or with women, or perhaps even with people in general. Indeed, he seemed happiest when he was riding out ahead of them all, perhaps pretending that he was riding alone, with Siderea following obediently and silently behind him. A good thing for both of them, she mused, that he had never had the opportunity to test that fantasy. It would not have lasted long.

  At night he would disappear, presumably to make his own camp somewhere in the wilderness. Always he positioned himself ahead of them: fearful, perhaps, that one of her guards might scout the way ahead and see something he should not. Promptly at dawn he would return, looking as if he had neither slept well nor managed even a cursory cleaning, pacing his horse back and forth in a bad temper while her retinue packed up their things.

  But then came the morning of the fourth day when he brought back two other men with him. They shared his lean and hungry look, but there the similarity ended. One was ebony-skinned, with knotted tangles of black hair that cascaded down to his shoulders and a coarse cuirass of some blue-black leather that looked as if he had not taken it off for several years. The other was a short man, yellow-skinned and black-eyed, with bony, skeletal features that seemed better suited to a day-old corpse than a living man. He, too, was dressed in grimy leather armor of a sort, of the same color and texture as his companion’s. Siderea shuddered as they approached the camp, and her guards hurried into position ahead of her, challenging them. Her other servants stopped what they were doing and stared, not knowing how to respond to such an unexpected presence.

  Are these my new allies? Siderea wondered. Her hackles rose at the thought. What have I gotten myself into?

  Amalik faced her; his expression was impassive, but she knew him well enough by now to guess just how much he was enjoying the moment. “You may leave your guards behind now,” he said. “These men will see to your needs the rest of the way,” he said.

  She drew in a deep breath, while her servants turned to her in disbelief. You have no choice, she told herself. For better or worse, this game must be played out to its end.

  She turned to her guards. “I will be going on alone. These men will protect me.”

  “But, Majesty—” their leader protested.

  She waved him to silence. “Do you doubt my capacity to handle trouble? Or perhaps it is my judgment you question.”

  His face paled. “No, Majesty. Of course not.”

  “Well, then. You have your orders.” She looked out over the small company. “You will all wait for me here until I return. You will not, under any circumstances, follow me. Is that clear?”

  They all bowed their heads in assent. Which was good; if she did not meet their eyes, they would not see the uncertainty in her own.

  She looked at Amalik and mouthed: How long?

  He hesitated, then held up fingers: four at first, then five.

  “A week,” she ordered. “Wait for me a week, without leaving this place.”

  Her horse was saddled and waiting. A servant ran up to offer her a lift with his hands, but she mounted without it. The desert-style pants that she wore under her skirts slid over the polished leather with a whisper as she settled herself astride in the manner of a man. One of the few southern customs she still maintained.

  She, too, was restless.

  “Do not follow me,” she commanded one last time, as she kneed the horse into motion.

  The faces of Amalik’s allies were expressionless, but she could sense the same black fire burning behind their eyes. Lovely companions I have now, she thought grimly. There was a musky-sweet odor that hung about the newcomers, less than pleasant at close quarters. Apparently the source of their power did not value either bathing or perfume.

  Amalik did not lie, she reminded herself. The power I need is out there, hidden in the Sentinels. If these are the only men that can bring me to it, so be it.

  “Lead on,” she told Amalik, and when he and his companions began to ride north, she followed.

  Mountains loomed on all sides, loosely covered in rocky soil and thin, dry grass. The horses stumbled on the steep slopes several times, and if she had ridden sidesaddle she probably would have fallen off sometime in the first hour. As it was, her thighs ached from pressing tightly against the sides of her mount, trying to keep her seat properly. When Amalik finally signaled for them to stop, she could barely dismount on her own.

  But she’d be cursed if she’d let one of these filthy men touch her.

  Amalik waited until her legs were steady beneath her, then said, “We walk from here.”

  Picking her way with care, she followed him up a rocky slope. The black man stayed behind to lead the horses off somewhere; the other fell in behind her. Suddenly she heard a shrieking in the distance; not a human sound, nor that of any beast she knew. Her legs, already sore, grew weak beneath her. “What is that?”

  “All is as it should be,” Amalik assured her, without turning around.

  He led her over one ridge, then toward another that was yet higher. It was a path no horse could have managed. The strange cry rang out again while they were climbing. This time the sound was louder, and clearer, and seemed to her to taste of rage. A blind, bestial fury that echoed from the very heavens. Amalik did not break his stride for a moment, or otherwise acknowledge the sound. Siderea tried to do the same, but her heart was racing.

  It’s what we’re heading toward, she thought. It’s why this “secret” of theirs needs to kept be so far from human habitation . So no one else will hear its cries. For the first time since Amalik had visited her, she was truly afraid. But it was important that these men not see the fear in her. To allow them to do so would give them too much of an advantage over her.

  And then they came over the top of the last ridge, and stood along its crest, silent and solemn . . . and she saw.

  Directly ahead of her was a narrow ravine that stretched beyond the limits of her vision to both the right and left of her. Whatever river had carved it ages ago had long since disappeared. The walls were steep, nearly vertical, and barely a few yards across from one another at the widest point. From the depths of the ravine rose a terrible smell of rotting waste and decayed flesh and other unwholesome things, as well as a low keening sound that played upon her nerves like fingernails on slate. What in the name of all the hells was down there?

  She wanted more than anything to turn and run, but that would be an unacceptable show of weakness. Gods alone knew what Amalik had brought her here for, but if the situation turned bad she would need all her wits about her. She took a few steps away from the men, so that they would have to close the distance before being able to touch her. A minimal precaution. Then a rustling from deep in the canyon drew her attention, and she edged a few steps farther, leaning as far forward as she could safely manage to see what was down there.
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  Whatever it was, it was large and dark-skinned and covered with dirt. It let out a terrible cry, and the sound pierced through her to the bone: hatred and fury and pain and hunger and misery, all bound up in one nerve-jangling shriek. Against her better judgment, Siderea edged closer to the lip of the chasm, trying to get near enough to see the creature clearly without risking a fall. The men remained behind at the ridge; perhaps they realized that if they moved so much as an inch in her direction she would withdraw. The creature was moving in and out of shadows as it paced up and down the length of the ravine, making strange noises as it did so. She could see where steep rockfalls had blocked its way at both ends. Here and there along its path were piles of broken bones, and in one place the rotting remains of what looked like a horse. That certainly explained the smell. Strangely, no flies were visible. Behind the reek of foulness there was a strange, musky-sweet odor that took her a moment to identify. It was the same scent she had picked up on the guards she realized. Stranger and stranger.

  She shifted her position, trying to see even more. The creature seemed to be large, but it was keeping close to the wall directly beneath her, and she could not get a clear view of it. She did catch sight of a long black tail trailing behind it that twitched with every step; perhaps it was some sort of monstrous lizard? She had heard of such in other lands, but not so close to home. What relationship did any of this have to the question of sorcerous power? Reptiles couldn’t be witches.

  And then the creature’s feverish pacing brought it into a shaft of sunlight, and she could see it clearly at last.

  “Oh, my gods.” She whispered the words instinctively as she stumbled backward, so suddenly that she almost fell. Part of her mind recognized what the creature must be, from myths she’d heard and ancient murals she’d seen; the other part insisted that such a thing was simply not possible and she must have gone mad if she thought it was.

  She looked back at Amalik. His expression might have been carved in stone for all the emotion it betrayed. He nodded.

  A Souleater.

  It was long and sinuous with blue-black scales crusted with mud and debris that ran down its length. Vast wings that might have fanned out from its back in a more open space were pressed tightly against its sides, trapped by the unyielding canyon walls. As she watched, the creature struggled in vain to beat its wings, keening in obvious frustration as it did so. Clearly it was trying to take flight; clearly, in this narrow canyon, it would not be able to do so.

  She looked back at Amalik again; there were so many questions crowding her mind she could hardly pick one to ask. Finally she managed, “This . . . this is the power you spoke of? This creature?”

  “They harvest the energy of life,” he said. “More than they need.” He looked down into the ravine. “She can replace what you have lost.”

  Siderea stammered, “S-she?”

  “She is a female of her kind. Only a female of our kind can draw upon her strength.” The black eyes turned to her again. “You now understand why you were chosen.”

  The creature in the chasm moved suddenly. With a speed that seemed impossible, it headed straight for the rockfall at one end of the ravine. Siderea saw sharp talons flash against the rocky slope as raptorlike claws dug in deeply for traction. Pebbles and dust were scattered in all directions as the creature began to climb, and Siderea stepped back instinctively, wanting to be far away from the place where it would emerge—

  And then something vast and dark swooped down from overhead. With a gasp Siderea stepped back as its shadow fell over her and almost lost her footing on the rocky earth.

  Another Souleater.

  With a cry of warning the new arrival plummeted down directly toward the female. It was twice her size at least, and its clean, sleek body glinted in the sunlight. The female drew herself up and seemed ready to fight, but she was smaller than the other, and somehow Siderea sensed she was not in condition for combat. At the last minute she drew back, hissing in rage as her attacker forced her to release her grip on the rock pile. Siderea watched in horrified fascination as she fell back to the floor of the canyon, bellowing in pain as one of the fragile-seeming wings was crushed beneath her. The length of the canyon echoed with her cries as her attacker withdrew, apparently satisfied.

  It did not want her free to fly, Siderea realized. It had forced her back into the canyon, where the walls were so close that she could not spread out her wings. The rockfalls that had entrapped her had probably not been accidental, but part of a deliberately crafted prison.

  What in the name of all the gods was going on here?

  She turned up her eyes to follow the larger Souleater back to its perch, high overhead, and to her shock saw a handful of others as well, equally large, perched on various high points about the canyon. Legendary creatures; the stuff of nightmares. They were watching the female in the ravine intently, ready to move the minute she made another break for freedom. Men were standing beside them, craning their necks like hungry vultures as they watched the show. Siderea saw her yellow-skinned guide standing right beside one of the creatures and now that they were next to each other, she could see how his garments resembled the hide of the creature, albeit dulled by a patina of hard use. Creatures out of ancient nightmare, allied to men who wore their skins. . . .

  It was all too much to absorb. She put her hand to her forehead and felt a wave of dizziness come over her. For once it was not the product of her weakened condition, but sheer emotional overload. Her hands were shaking, and she did not know how to still them. All she could think of was the image of the Souleater from King’s Pass that Colivar had conjured in her palace . . . a dark, demonic creature rising up over a field of gutted bodies, drawing its strength from human suffering. Is that what these men had allied themselves with? How was such a thing even possible? The last time Souleaters had ruled the earth, human beings were their chosen prey. To see the two species standing side by side like this implied things that her mind was not ready to accept.

  Then the female began to stir once more, struggling to free her left wing from where it had been pinned beneath her. Only she didn’t have enough room to manage the maneuver. She cried out again, a long keening note that was filled with pain and fear. A wounded animal might cry out so, begging for help. Then two black jeweled eyes turned to Siderea and fixed on her; their power washed over her in a wave and for a moment it seemed she could feel the creature’s pain as though it were her own.

  “They need sunlight on their wings,” Amalik said. He had come closer to her than she had intended to allow, but she couldn’t take her eyes off the creature. “She grows weaker every day without it.”

  “Then why do you keep her down there?” Siderea demanded. Her throat felt as raw as if she had been screaming herself. Was it possible she felt sympathy for the creature? They eat human souls, she reminded herself. They nearly destroyed the entire world, once.

  “She does not understand that if she flies too high, or heads in the wrong direction, men may see her. And we have no way to tell her that. So she cannot be allowed fly.”

  She finally turned to him, blinking slowly as she struggled to focus on what he was saying. “You think . . . you think that I can get her to understand that?”

  “If she accepts you.”

  “And what if she doesn’t?” she demanded. “What then?”

  She could see him hesitate; perhaps wondering if he should lie to her? “Then you will be consumed,” he said at last. Calmly, quietly, as though this whole enterprise was utterly sane. “As were those who tried before you.”

  A cold shiver ran down her spine. “You said I was the first.”

  “I said you were the first queen,” he corrected her. “There have been other women.” He looked down at the wounded Souleater again. “Not for this one, of course. She has only just matured. They cannot relate to humans as anything other than food until their third instar. That was why we had to wait before we could bring you here.”

  “
And she can do that now? Relate to humans?”

  “Let us hope so, my Queen.” He turned back to her. “Otherwise this will be a short-lived relationship.”

  “Where are the others?” she demanded. “The other Souleaters. What happened to them?”

  For a moment he was silent. Siderea could hear the wounded female panting below them, trying to regain her strength before struggling to her feet again.

  “If she were allowed to fly free,” he said at last, “our presence would be discovered. And we are not ready for that yet.”

  Sickness roiled in the pit of her stomach. From which of many horrors? That of the suffering beasts, the women fed to them like slabs of meat, or her own likely fate? It was impossible to untangle her emotions, to focus on any one sane thread. “You’ve driven this one mad,” she whispered hoarsely. “So what do you expect? If I were her, in this condition, I would tear the first human being that came near me to bloody bits. That’s what happened the other times, isn’t it? You turned these . . . these things into crazed beasts, and they vented their rage on the first human being that got within reach.” She could hear the anger rising in her voice; it was a stronger emotion than fear, so she embraced it gratefully. “And then you killed the creatures for falling short of your expectations. And you started all over again. How many more will you kill?” she demanded. “Of them? Of your own kind?”

  “It is more than that to us—” he began angrily. Then he took a deep breath, clearly trying to control himself; his voice grew steadier, but there was still a fire smoldering in his eyes. “We gave them the partners we thought they wanted. The only kind we had ever seen them accept. Young girls, impressionable, that could grow to adulthood alongside them. It should have worked.”