by Sara King
“It was an angel, Father.”
Her Padre looked up at her with a sad smile. “And again you judge a soul by its skin.”
The rest of her visit with her Padre left Imelda discomfited, and by the time she returned to the SUV where Jacquot waited in the driver’s seat, blaring French rock over the speaker system, she was troubled. Either her Padre was going senile—which, at seventy-eight, wasn’t a difficult thing to envision—or he held many beliefs he’d never confided to her until now. Many…blasphemous…things. He was of the proper age to be losing his wits, but something told Imelda that the old man, her lifetime confidant, was opening up to her in a way he had never allowed himself in her younger days, and that tonight had been a way of testing the waters, to see how much he could tell her without her bringing the Order down upon his head.
Which, in itself, was disturbing.
“Home, Jacquot,” she muttered, slamming the door of the SUV behind her.
Her driver turned in his seat to give her a concerned frown. “The talk with your Père did not go well, ma mie?”
Imelda shook off her ill-at-ease feeling and said, “Padre Vega is getting old, Jacquot.”
Her scout gave her a look of sympathy. “When he passes, he will find the arms of our Lord, ma mie.”
Would he? Imelda suddenly had a pang of doubt. The old Padre had always been quirky and outspoken in his liberal ideas, but because he had always advocated tolerance, Imelda had written it off as one of the unavoidable faults of human nature. But after tonight, after questioning the presence of an angel as a messenger of their Lord, Imelda was not so sure.
“Just take me home, Jacquot,” she said, rubbing her temples, trying to ease the ever-present pain in her head. “I find I need my sleep.”
Chapter 7: A Challenge of Seven Days
Eyes closed, his magus knelt at the water’s edge, grazing her fingertips across the thin film of half-melted ice skimming its surface. Immediately, the dark, slow-moving creek beneath her hand began to crackle and pop as it solidified, the ice thickening from a quarter of an inch to over a foot.
Slowly, flicking aside the bits of frost that had accumulated upon her fingers, Kaashifah stood. Looking back at him, she gestured imperiously at the creek. “It is passable.”
‘Aqrab eyed the frozen water-bridge with a surge of distaste. “I will cross it in the Fourth Lands, thank you.”
His magus sighed. “It’s at least a foot thick. And you weigh what…” She looked him up and down. “A hundred pounds?”
Feeling his face twist, ‘Aqrab said, “If it is all the same to you, mon Dhi’b, I would rather not walk across something that would kill me, should I slip or linger too long.”
The wolf rolled her eyes and started carefully across the ice, ignoring the whipping wind that was even then trying to snag their clothing from their bodies. Before she could get out of range of his tether, ‘Aqrab quickly twisted to the Fourth Realms and jogged across the dunes, then twisted back to watch her unsteady approach from the opposite side of the creek.
“We should remove the bullets, mon Dhi’b,” ‘Aqrab said, as she daintily found purchase on his side of the creek.
“You’ve already said this,” she said, walking past him with the cool dignity of a princess correcting a particularly dense slave. Without another word, she entered the forest beyond.
Narrowing his eyes, ‘Aqrab started after her. “They are leaching poison into your system.”
“It is poisonous to the Third Lander,” she said distractedly. “Not to me.”
“You may need the Third Lander,” ‘Aqrab argued. “All it would take is a simple cut…”
His magus stopped and glared up at him with her deep brown eyes. “You are not touching me again, ‘Aqrab.”
“Is that what this is about?!” ‘Aqrab cried. “You are still being unreasonable because I saved your life…again.”
She rolled her eyes and continued.
‘Aqrab raised his face to the sky and prayed to his Lady for patience. “Listen here, little wolf,” he growled, once he’d calmed himself, “I will not stand by and allow you to disable yourself when we need it most.”
“‘We,’ ‘Aqrab?” she snorted, without looking or slowing.
“My fate is tied to yours,” ‘Aqrab growled. “And I am not a warrior, mon Dhi’b. That is your forte, not mine.”
“Never fear, djinni,” she said. “Your fate will be tied to the dragons, just as soon as we make it through Thunderbird’s territory.”
‘Aqrab groaned and said, “Must you do that, mon Dhi’b? I’m sure there’s a wish you could make that would benefit us both—”
“The only wish I make,” she growled, without looking up at him, “will be the one in exchange for the dragons’ help.”
Frustration rumbling from his chest unheeded, ‘Aqrab growled, “Why must you be so difficult, mon Dhi’b?!”
“Because I’m a qybah, obviously.”
‘Aqrab fisted his hands and cocked his head sideways, trying to fight the urge to scream. “When I said I was in the mood for compromises, mon Dhi’b, I wasn’t speaking of one compromise and then returning to our old ways.”
“No, you meant to get me naked and frolic with me in your bed.”
Oh, more than you know, ‘Aqrab thought, but he bit his tongue before he could say it. “All right,” he growled, “perhaps you could tell me why you are suddenly so set on getting rid of me, when a simple wish would remove the Third Lander just as easily as a dragon’s magic.”
His magus stopped, staring at the forest ahead of her. Then, slowly, she turned on him, a look of challenge in her face. “Very well, ‘Aqrab. Answer me this simple question and I will consider it.”
Not expecting anything other than more scorn, ‘Aqrab stumbled to an abrupt halt. “What question, mon Dhi’b?”
Her words were biting when she said, “Of all the wishes you’ve granted to those who have claimed your service, how many of them have you granted without monkey-pawing?”
‘Aqrab narrowed his eyes. “That is not a fair question.”
His magus laughed and turned on heel, marching deeper into the forest.
“It’s not fair,” he called after her, “because you never claimed my service. I gave it to you, by surrender.”
“Oh?” she called, without slowing. “And how many times have you surrendered, djinni?”
He glared at her back. “Once, you miserable wretch.”
She kept laughing.
“It’s not fair,” he growled, jogging to catch up, “because I had to twist your first two wishes, because you were like a rabid dog in your obsession to kill me, and in doing so, you would reap my soul because of your damned duel-of-souls that we began at Tafilat.”
“I had to challenge you to a duel,” she said distractedly. “You would have fled otherwise.”
“Of course I would have!” ‘Aqrab cried. “Neek hallak, woman, you’re an entrail-flinging Fury!”
Still she laughed. “And you believe that I will just take it on good faith that this third wish will be different.”
“Damn you, woman, yes!”
Still chuckling, his magus just shook her head. “Three thousand years of being bound to a djinni has made me less of a fool than you would think.”
‘Aqrab gave up, then. He slumped to his knees and slammed his forehead into a birch tree, then remained there, staring at its papery white bark, until the tether of Law started dragging him after her. He let it carry him a few yards through the moss, highbush cranberry bushes, and—more painfully—the devil’s club, before grunting and shoving himself back to his feet.
Marching up to the wolf, he grabbed her by the shoulders and swung her around.
“You,” he growled, jabbing a finger between her breasts, “are not being reasonable.”
She yanked herself free and, amidst shrugging off his ‘taint,’ glared up at him. “Why? Because I won’t let you grope my thigh or set you free?”
“Be
cause you are acting insane!” ‘Aqrab cried, waving his arm at the forest. A branch dislodged from the winds above fell to the ground beside him, punctuating his bellow.
Her eyes dropped to the stick, then flickered up at the trees above. “The winds are dying down,” she noted. She turned to go.
Narrowing his eyes at her back, he said, “I propose a bargain, little wolf.”
“No.”
“Give up this insanity with the dragons and wish me free and I will help you retake the phoenix. Do you know what a djinni could do to aid your cause? With Fourthlander Law at our disposal?”
His magus snorted, but did not even dignify his words with a response.
After a moment of staring after her, fuming, the tether began to drag him again. ‘Aqrab irritatedly stumbled after her once more. “You want your pendant back?” he called.
“I will get my pendant back, beast, when I cut it from my enemies’ dead fingers,” she said, still not even deigning to look back at him.
Beast. Muttering curses to the gods, he followed at a distance. After three thousand years, she still thought of him as an animal. Chained to a Fury. Damn the gods for their wicked, petty cruelties. “You want it back?” he called. “Go seven days without insulting me, magus, and I will give you your pendant. That is my bargain.”
Ahead of him, Kaashifah stumbled to a sudden halt. He slowed, waiting.
Indecision wracking her features, she turned. “Only seven days?” she asked tentatively, her brown eyes almost timid as she met his gaze.
“That’s all I ask,” ‘Aqrab said. “Go seven days without insulting me or my heritage, and I shall give you your pendant, bound by Law.”
“That…” she began hesitantly, “…sounds reasonable.”
‘Aqrab’s heart began to pound with adrenaline at the prospect of sealing a bargain. “We will have to wrap it in Law, otherwise I would not have the power to retrieve the pendant.”
His magus looked almost like a cornered doe as she licked her lips. “No monkey-paws?” Her voice was timorous, full of anxiety, yet he could see the delicate hope in her eyes, the desire to trust him.
“No monkey-paws,” he assured her. “A bargain between friends.”
She automatically scoffed at the word ‘friend,’ then hesitated, once again reluctantly meeting his eyes. “You swear you will bring me my pendant, the one I lost to the Inquisitors, the one I’ve carried all my life, not some replica?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “I will give you your pendant. For the rest, you will have to trust me.”
Her face darkened, then, and for a moment, he saw her almost tell him to toss his bargain into a latrine.
“Seven days of kindness will not hurt you, mon Dhi’b,” he offered, as she turned from him.
She hesitated, half-turned, scrunching her nose as if she smelled something foul. Slowly, however, she twisted back and gave him a long look, her brown eyes considering. Eventually, she muttered, “Seven days without insulting you will not hurt me. No one said anything about kindness.”
Sighing deeply, ‘Aqrab rolled his eyes. “They are one in the same, mon Dhi’b, but if you want to live by the technicalities, yes, all I’m asking is for you to cease insulting me.”
She licked her lips, still looking as if she were caught between the urge to accept and the urge to tell him to shove his dick up his ass. After a very long—and very visible—internal debate, the magus finally grated, “Fine. State your bargain. Wrap it in Law. I will decide whether to accept once I’ve heard it in its entirety.”
The Fury is wiser than I thought. Taking a deep breath, feeling the exhilaration of a good bargain zinging through his veins, ‘Aqrab opened himself to the full power of the Fourth Lands. Immediately, the world began to take on varying shades of violet. The words that came forth billowed in triple-toned, echoing booms that rattled the very mosses at their feet.
“I, Yad al-‘Aqrab, sand-singer of the Scorpion clan, firstborn son of Bakr al-Shihab, eleventh djinni Lord of the Fourth Lands, hereby offer a bargain to you, Kaashifah the Fury, Handmaiden to Ares, Warrior-Priestess of Horus, Angel of Vengeance, and Justice of the Battlefields: Cease insulting me for a term of seven days, consecutive and uninterrupted, and, once the seven days are completed, I will use the powers granted to me by the Lords of the Fourth Realm to return to you your Lord’s sacred pendant, of which you recently lost. This is my bargain. Do you accept?” The last of his words echoed out amongst the trees in a booming sound that carried all the unearthly force of the Fourth Realm, and ‘Aqrab waited, watching her through a purple haze.
Kaashifah eyed him like a wary cat in the silence that followed. With all the dignity of a queen, she lifted her chin and said, “What happens if I slip?”
“Then you shall reset your seven days and your time shall begin anew,” ‘Aqrab boomed, wrapping this new term in Law. “Do you accept?”
For a long moment, she scanned his face, obviously weighing the chances that he had somehow slipped a twist into his weave, and actually intended something horrible. Once she found whatever she was looking for in his face, she glanced at the ground and kicked at a clump of moss with her boot. ‘Aqrab let her consider, for to speak to her now would be to break the Law and shatter the bargain.
Taking a deep breath, she finally looked up at him with determination in her face. “I accept.”
‘Aqrab gasped at the rush of ecstasy that flowed through him with the full force of the Fourthlander Law. The magic sang through his soul, tingling every fiber of his being, as powerful as a thousand orgasms, as overwhelming and disorienting as spinning through the Void. The Law boomed through him, powering his voice in that unearthly echo as it said, “As agreed, so decreed, the bargain has been made.”
When it was over, he collapsed to his knees to recover.
“So, slave,” she growled, “is it working?”
Before he could look up at her and frown, ‘Aqrab felt the Fourthlander Law wrest control of his voice from him in a booming, “You have reset your seven days.” He sighed, once his voice returned to him, and returned his attention to recovering his bearings. It was part of what was so alluring about the full force of the Fourthlander Law… It was, quite literally, better than sex. Part of why some djinni couples would make bargains in the morning, rather than expend the effort to get messy. ‘Aqrab, on the other hand, was of the full belief that, while nothing could truly compare to a good bargain, the messier the better.
Unfortunately, the magus had avoided both bargains and mess for almost as long as he’d known her. That she’d made two bargains in as many days was leaving him a little light-headed.
Well, almost. He had wanted the first one to be a bargain, but she had twisted him into giving her a gift, instead, which had been even more exciting. He’d still had to open himself to the Law, but the thrill had been ten times greater, sharpened by the heart-thrumming fear that he was totally screwing himself in the goat ass. Djinn, after all, thrived on risk.
When he had caught his breath enough to look up, his magus was giving him an analyzing look. “So why do you want me to stop insulting you so badly?” she asked, once he met her gaze. She almost looked like a vulture, cocking its head at a nut, trying to figure out if it was edible.
Immediately, ‘Aqrab found himself dancing on very wet sands, words-wise. While technically she probably wanted to know the reasoning behind his sudden change in demeanor, she had asked about his motivations, of which there were many. “I am tired of being treated like an animal,” he said, levering himself up off of his feet. “As a son of a sheik, I assume I deserve a bit more respect.”
“You assume much,” she scoffed.
‘Aqrab felt the breathtaking rush of magic drive through him even as the Fourth Lands wrested his tongue from him and boomed, “You have reset your seven days.”
Seeing the startlement on the magus’s face following those words was easily the most precious moment of ‘Aqrab’s long life.
The be
ast had tricked her somehow. Simple observations were now resetting her seven days, and it didn’t seem as though there was anything she could do about it.
Finally, in disgust, she cried, “Telling you your song is coarse and vulgar is not an insult!”
“It is when you twist your face like you’re tasting the shit of a camel,” the djinni said, smugness written all over his ebony face.
Kaashifah sniffed and returned her attention to the unending forest ahead of her. Perhaps silence was her best medicine, in this case, as the djinni was obviously much too sensitive. She glanced at the treetops, which had fallen to utter stillness over the course of an hour. Beside her, the djinni re-launched himself into his disgusting ballad of drink and union.
“Please stop singing,” she growled. “Someone will hear your cacophony.”
“You have reset your seven days,” the djinni boomed in that unearthly, triple-toned retort that rattled the air in her lungs. Then he turned to glare at her. “Do you have to keep interrupting me? I’m just getting to the good part, woman.”
Kaashifah looked down at her hands in despair. Oh, what she wouldn’t give for her sword, so that she could cut out his damned heart right then. “Do not,” she grated, “call me ‘woman.’”
He made a dismissive gesture. “We’ve already discussed the alternatives. You didn’t seem to find those acceptable, either.”
“‘Man,’ ‘trollop,’ and ‘wench’ have as much business coming off your tongue as ‘slave’ has coming off of mine.” Kaashifah almost thought that her words would reset their bargain, so sensitive did the Fourthlander Law seem to be in regards to this particular issue, but she was pleasantly surprised to see the djinni only raise an eyebrow at her.
“Why is that?” he asked.
“…Why…?” she sputtered, taken aback. “Because it’s insulting, you b—” She choked off the rest in a strangled sound and glared.