by Sara King
Thunderbird’s dark eyebrows raised. “Oh will she.” He almost seemed amused when he turned to look at Kaashifah. “What makes you say that?”
But Kaashifah frowned at Thunderbird as if it were a gremlin asking the question. “What is it to you, twit?”
…twit?
‘Aqrab cleared his throat. In the Old Tongue, he said, “Mon Dhi’b, mind-magics.”
“I can see that,” Kaashifah snarled. “I’m wondering what the little camel-fart wants.”
Thunderbird cocked his head at Kaashifah, and for a second, his confidence seemed to waver. Then, sniffing, he said, “So why did they call you the Blade of Morning, anyway?”
“Because I was the only one left standing on the battlefield, at dawn,” Kaashifah said. “I can see through your magics, fool. Show yourself.”
But Thunderbird laughed. “Oh, I doubt that.” He took another bite of the plum. “So you fancy yourself good with a sword, then?”
“The best,” Kaashifah said, dismissively. “Who are you and what do you want?”
Thunderbird’s electric eyes sharpened over the plum. “The best.” It came out as a sneer. “When you haven’t touched one in three thousand years? Are you really that conceited? You don’t think perhaps you’re just a bit rusty?”
‘Aqrab frowned. What kind of fey could know such as that? His magus’s status hadn’t even been known to the feylords. Something was very wrong, here. He started sidling closer to the dragon, who stood much too close to the intruder for his comfort.
“There is no one on Earth who could best me with a sword,” Kaashifah snapped, her pride once more overriding her good sense.
“No one on Earth, huh?” Thunderbird laughed. “Oh, I doubt that.”
Kaashifah narrowed her eyes. “If you don’t show yourself, worm, I shall prove it to you.”
“Who are you calling a worm?” the dragon snarled, rounding on her. “My uncle is an ancient…”
But beside him, Thunderbird sighed and chuckled, getting to his feet. “If you insist. But first, I think I’ll get rid of our distractions.” And then Thunderbird was pulling a sword and turning toward the dragon. Realizing the dragon—too blinded by the magics to realize he was dealing with an intruder—was about to be run through, ‘Aqrab threw his arms around the serpent’s neck and twisted them to the half-realm, just as Thunderbird’s blade came down where Savaxian’s head had been. The intruder stumbled through them with a startled sound.
“I’m sorry,” ‘Aqrab babbled, even as the dragon threw him aside and started to snarl. “He was going to kill you.”
Then, beside him, the dragon gave pause, seemingly seeing the sword for the first time. “What is wrong with you, Trellyn?!” he cried, sounding hurt.
Thunderbird swung expertly at the air a few times, then, when it was obvious the sword wasn’t going to touch either of them, snarled and turned back on Kaashifah.
And Kaashifah, strangely, began circling the demigod like a wary cat. “Keep the serpent there, ‘Aqrab,” she growled. “I know who this is.” She was reaching down, picking up a plate and a bowl, and pushing her energy into them until they shone with radiant, eye-burning white fire.
“A plate, sister?” Thunderbird laughed at her. “You, the fabled Blade of Morning, would stop me with a plate?” Thunderbird started cackling. “Oh, I’m so gonna enjoy adding your heart to my collection.” And then, lazily, Thunderbird touched the tip of his sword to the wall of the dragon’s cave as he circled Kaashifah—and the sword sank through stone like warm butter, leaving a gaping hole in its wake.
‘Aqrab backed away, recognizing exactly what kind of creature could cause that eating of matter.
The dragon seemed to recognize it, too, because he screamed, “You said your sister was going to help you, Fury!”
But how was a Fury using fey magics? It was the Second Landers who were the mind-benders, the ones who wrapped themselves in spells that twisted your thoughts and told the flesh-and-blood matter of your brain, “You don’t see me, you see someone else.” Their tricks, unlike those of the magi, dealt directly with the failings of the flesh, and were thus imperceptible as magic. It was an entire school of magic based upon the simple fact that the brains of most sentient creatures processed an amazing amount of information automatically, without conscious thought.
Its weakness, however, was simple concentration. As the two circled, ‘Aqrab focused, forcing himself to distance his awareness from the scene, to look at it with his eyes, instead of his expectations. Immediately, like an optical illusion, the Fury popped into focus, her glorious wings folded against her back, suddenly the source of the eye-searing brightness shimmering across the cave walls that his mind had dismissed before, as it had no apparent source. She was dressed in black Northlander pants and a simple short-sleeved green top with a naggingly familiar turquoise belt cinched around her waist. ‘Aqrab remembered seeing it before, in his last moments inside the Sleeping Lady Lodge.
“You were a legend, you know,” the Fury laughed at his magus, as she stalked around Kaashifah. “Stories of your exploits were taught in the temples. They were scripture.”
“I think there’s a misunderstanding,” Kaashifah said tentatively. His magus still had yet to take her wings. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”
“We haven’t,” the woman sneered, casually sliding her sword down the wall and through the stone floor between them, carving the rock into nothingness. “You’d been banished by the time I was allowed my first mission.” Her face twisted in a vicious smile. “I see you still haven’t succeeded in our Lord’s task. Why is that? Did you fall in love, Sister?”
Oh no, ‘Aqrab thought. Kaashifah straightened, her face reddening with shame, and ‘Aqrab felt his heart begin to thunder, knowing that his life was at stake. It was all he could do not to slip to the Fourth Realm and await his fate.
But to his surprise, Kaashifah said, “What I’ve done with my life is none of your business.”
“Oh?!” the woman laughed, her words filled with raw, undisguised hatred. “Just as it was none of my sisters’ business, when I was given a similar task?”
Seemingly confused by the sheer viciousness the woman directed at her, Kaashifah frowned. “I don’t understand.”
Still circling, the Fury said, “I was given a command by my Lord.” There was fiery loathing in her eyes when she said, “Seek out the feyborn blacksmith, in a creek-bound gully along the road of Tirol. As two flames unite into one, draw his blood into your body, spread your light within his walls, and extend your warmth upon the souls of his children.”
‘Aqrab cocked his head. That sounded like…
“He meant for you to take him to mate,” Kaashifah said softly.
Did she just say… ‘Aqrab’s stunned brain spasmed, losing all grasp on any other threads.
The Fury paused, giving his magus a startled gaze. It quickly faded, however, replaced by a deeper hatred than before. “Oh, I know what it meant, little sister. But that didn’t stop my sisters from making me eat his heart.”
Suddenly, horribly, everything clicked into place for ‘Aqrab. Oh Goddess, no, he thought, realizing just what shared the cave with them. Not just a sister. The sister. The only sister. The reason there were no more Furies.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” his magus went on, oblivious. “They shouldn’t have done that.”
The blonde woman, who towered over Kaashifah by more than a foot and a half in her winged form, seemed to jerk at Kaashifah’s words. “You’re sorry?!” she whispered, and ‘Aqrab saw her fingers grow into talons, her body growing in size, her face shifting into a beak, feathers spreading across her skin… “How…dare you? You were one of the worst! The one the others looked up to!” Her voice was rising in a roar, her wings flaring out, growing larger, filling the cavern. “They were trying to emulate you!”
“Listen, fledgling,” Kaashifah growled, her tawny fingers tightening on the disc of light. She still remained in her human form, dwarfed by the radiant
eleven-foot beast that now shared the cave with her. “You don’t want to do this.”
“Oh, but I do,” the winged one screamed through her raptor’s jaws. “I want to show you what it was like! What you made them do. I want to take your precious djinni and rip out his heart and feed you the pieces until you throw up on yourself.”
“That’s nice,” Kaashifah said. “But the djinni’s mine. If you try to take him from me, I will end you.”
“With a plate,” the full Fury, towering at over eleven feet, now laughed. “Oh please.” And the woman lunged.
‘Aqrab watched, heart in his throat, as his magus danced around her sister, just out of reach of the Fury’s sword. She ran to the door, spun, twisted, and hurled her plate at the winged Fury in the room. Her opponent batted the disc aside with her sword and laughed, and it sank into the wall and dissolved a nook into the stone with its weight.
“Oh, sister,” she giggled, her voice echoing like a thousand howling voices upon the face of the stone, “I can tell it’s been too long for you.”
And it had, too. ‘Aqrab watched his mistress’s eyes widen as she stumbled out of the way of the Fury’s sword, barely an inch passing between her chest and the sword’s tip. She staggered again as the fallen Fury renewed her assault, and as ‘Aqrab watched in horror, her movements devolved into a desperate dance, exhausting herself simply trying to evade the radiant weapon.
In her full Fury, Kaashifah’s sister was simply too strong, her reach too hard to avoid.
All too quickly, his mistress, starved to bones in the weeks before, three thousand years distant from the memory of battle, tripped and fell. The winged Fury used the opportunity to lunge in and kick his magus in the face hard enough that he heard bones pop. Then, a scaly, taloned foot on Kaashifah’s throat, she raised her sword…
“We should flee,” the dragon commented, from the safety of the half-realm. And true enough, the winged Fury no longer looked interested in cutting out hearts, but, panting, eyes wide, only in plunging her sword through his mistress’s skull.
‘Aqrab slipped realms and threw his arm around the winged Fury’s neck, yanking her away from the killing blow.
“‘Aqrab, no!” Kaashifah cried, from the floor.
No sooner had he done so than the winged Fury started laughing, completely unaffected by his grip on her throat. “That’s what I was waiting for.” And ‘Aqrab, with a sick feeling clotting in his gut, realized his mistake.
He had touched a magus in battle. The greatest, stupidest thing that even the most idiotic children of djinn knew never was to be done. Before he could disentangle himself, she had passed her magics to him, from her skin to his, and without any of his usual barriers to stop it, he felt the prickly tingle of a First-Lander’s dimensional bands forming around his wrists.
He instinctively tried to slip realms, but the Fury’s magics held him anchored. He stumbled backwards, looking at his forearms in horror.
“So,” the winged Fury said, twisting around lazily, smiling at him. She languidly down-shifted, until she was in the half-form, standing at about eye-level with him. “How should we do this, djinni? Shall I cut off your balls first, or your dick?”
‘Aqrab whimpered and backed against the wall, unnerved by his inability to slip to safety, terror twisting like a cold knife through his intestines.
“Please don’t hurt him,” Kaashifah slurred, from the ground. She was trying to raise herself into a seated position, but looked dazed, disoriented.
The winged Fury caught ‘Aqrab by the throat and rammed him back against the wall, choking off his air. As ‘Aqrab gagged and reached up to grasp at the Fury’s iron-fast arm, her stone-gray eyes stared back at her indifferently. “The dick, I think. Djinni will fuck anything that moves, but they aren’t known for their balls.” Then the winged Fury was lowering her weapon, her sword-tip sliding between his abdomen and his shaft, and ‘Aqrab whimpered as he felt his flesh begin to disintegrate as easily as the stone floor.
“Goddamn it,” the dragon growled, “I said I didn’t want to be involved.” But he popped into existence beside the Fury and his great jaws bit down on her arm, hard, yanking it away from ‘Aqrab’s throat.
Her fingers loosened, ‘Aqrab sucked in a gasping breath as the Fury retreated and turned on her attacker. “You just chose your grave, pup,” she snarled. Almost off-handedly, the Fury threw the dragon aside so hard it cracked the cavern wall. The dragon, in a popping crush of breaking bones and the glassy clatter of scales, let out a whine and crumpled to the floor.
Then ‘Aqrab was alone again, facing the insane wrath of a Fury. “Please,” he managed, babbling as he tried to slide sideways down the wall. “I didn’t have anything to do with this.”
A malicious smile formed on the woman’s Nordic face, and he saw insanity gleaming in her stone-gray eyes. “You have everything to do with this. You have to give me your heart so I can force her to eat it.” Seemingly abandoning her idea of carving off his delicates, she shoved him back to the wall and put her fingers to the left side of his ribcage, and ‘Aqrab forgot to breathe. He knew the kind of power behind a Fury’s strike. He watched her fingers start to glow, watched them disappear into five rays of radiance.
“Please,” ‘Aqrab whispered, unable to take his eyes from the hand that was about to carve its way through his chest. “I never hurt anyone. I’m a storyteller. I’ve never killed anyone in my life.”
The winged Fury cocked her head at him, and for a moment, he thought he had gained a reprieve. Then that sly smile spread across her lips, and she said, “Aimon was a storyteller. And I can still taste his blood on my lips.” He saw her tense her arm.
His magus’s words broke the silence, weak and slurry. “Djinni, I wish you were immune to Firstlander magics, and, by coming within fifty feet of you, a Fury loses her power.”
For a moment, ‘Aqrab thought he had misheard, but it ignited Law within him anyway. He felt the violet energy surge, saw the winged Fury stumble as her world began to spin with him. “How would you fulfill this wish?” the Law demanded of him.
As he watched the Fury’s eyes darken with rage, he quickly thought, I would grant myself immunity to all detrimental Firstlander magics, and create a permanent fifty-foot sphere of influence around myself that cancels out the power of this Fury in front of me.
Immediately, the magic swept through him on a surge of ecstasy, granting his mistress’s final wish, leaving ‘Aqrab utterly breathless, his heart hammering uncontrollably with the knowledge of the boon she had just given him.
Free. At last. Never to be bound by First Lander magi again. He could go home.
As his world began to lose its violet hue, the Fury in front of him screamed in rage and tried to shove her hand through his chest, but only succeeded in making him grunt. As he watched, she shrank suddenly to a human, small and female. She stared up at him, but it was not fear that filled her face. It was fury. Cold, unspeakable fury. Hands shaking, insanity in her eyes, she raised her sword, grabbed the hilt with both tiny hands, and plunged it into his chest.
Then, as ‘Aqrab gasped and doubled over, the Fury turned and bolted out the front of the cave. A moment later, he saw the snowy mountainside light up, saw a set of radiant wings as they soared away.
“Owwwwwwww,” ‘Aqrab groaned, his knees going limp and dropping him to the floor as he pulled the sword from his ribcage. The blade, having been made of an ancient, rippling Damascus steel, had already half-melted in his chest, the rest dripping onto the floor in a puddle as he threw it aside. “Neekni,” he panted. “Neekni sahrawi. The fleas of a thousand camels infest your armpits, you qybah!” he shouted at the open entrance to the cave. Already on his ass, he threw his head back to the wall, gasping, as his body mended and the pain within subsided.
“You still alive over there, mon Dhi’b?” he asked, after he’d caught his breath.
“Barely,” she managed. “She almost kicked my head off.”
‘Aqrab didn’t doubt
it. Had his mistress been any other creature, the Fury’s blow would have killed her. “And you, dragon?”
He got a pained moan in response.
Wincing, ‘Aqrab crawled over to the serpent and put his hands on the creature’s chest. The dragon was splayed on its back, mouth wide, gasping, and the odd shape to his chest made Aqrab suspect he had flattened his ribcage against the wall when he’d landed.
“Hold on,” ‘Aqrab said, rubbing his hand along the glass-smooth scales. He summoned the thread that tied him back to the Fourth Lands and drew upon his power as a lord’s son to push enough magic into the beast to begin knitting its wounds. His father would probably object, but ‘Aqrab would tell him the beast had protected his family line and that would be that.
“You’re going to have to do the rest,” ‘Aqrab said, once the power allotted him dried up.
“Thank you,” the dragon managed, slowly rolling back onto his stomach. “That helps immensely.”
“And you, Fury?”
His magus made a dismissive gesture and struggled to her feet. “Just help the dragon. I can take care of myself.”
For a long moment, ‘Aqrab watched the two of them, fully aware of his capability to return to the firelands…forever. He could, at last, leave this place of cold and wet and go home. He was free.
Then, with that thought, something else occurred to him.
His breath caught. ‘Aqrab glanced out the opening of the cave. The hillside beyond was white and smooth, crested with drift after drift of snow. He stood up slowly, biting his lip, the blood rushing through his eardrums drowning out all other sound. Kaashifah paused in sitting up to watch him, wary. Sounding desperate, she said, “‘Aqrab, before you—”
Then he bolted. Out the door, down the hill, through the snowdrifts, as fast as he could go.
At any other time in the last three thousand years, he would have slammed into the end of his tether like a dog at the end of a chain. But nothing happened. He was a good thousand yards down the mountainside, with no sign of a tether in sight, when he lunged into the snow and started rolling down the mountainside, giggling.