Angels and Djinn, Book 3: Zariel's Doom

by Lewis, Joseph Robert

  She touched his shoulder. “I’m sorry you’ve been alone for so long, but that’s over now. We can take you with us, anywhere you want to go. There are countless lands out there, filled with people, cities full to bursting with them.”

  “Cities? Are they like huts?” He gestured to his stilt-house.

  Azrael smiled gently. “Something like that.”

  “Kamil, please excuse us for just a moment.” Iyasu gently guided Azrael away from the boy and quite a few steps down the beach before he stopped and said, “I can’t help being just a bit confused and concerned about him.”

  “I know. He’s very bright. Did you see his traps?”

  “Not what I was getting at.” Iyasu turned to watch the boy putter around his boat. “What are the chances that we would be marooned on an island, and in need of a boat, and then find a lone castaway close at hand with exactly the thing we need?”

  “Remote.”

  “And what do we call that? Coincidence? Fate? Divine providence?” He gently massaged his aching hand, trying to sort out whether it was truly broken or just slightly mangled.

  She paused and then said, “Let’s just call it helpful, and keep our eyes open.”

  “Oh, I intend to.” Iyasu squinted up at the sky. “Hm. I wonder if the others have gotten to Odashena yet.”

  “Why? Are you worried about them?”

  “Only a little.” The seer sighed. “I just hope Zerai doesn’t do anything to antagonize the djinn.”

  Chapter 5

  Zerai snatched the djinn by his loose silken shirt and smashed him in the face. The slender guard tried to slip free, to dash away with the blinding speed of one born of smokeless fire, but the falconer kept a firm grip on his dark red uniform and smashed him in the face a second time.

  “Say it again!”

  He hit the guard in the mouth, and his fist came away covered in blood.

  “Say it again!”

  The guard’s head lolled back, his eyes scanning the sky blankly.

  “Zerai, stop!”

  Slowly, he lowered his fist and then let go of the guard. The djinn struck the ground lightly, like a thin bundle of cloth fluttering on the breeze. Zerai looked back at Veneka, and Kiya and Adina, and the ten other healers standing behind them. Then he looked down at the man he had bludgeoned, and he straightened up and stepped back. “You heard what he said.”

  Veneka strode forward, pushed him aside, and knelt beside the guard. She laid her hands on his chest, whispered the name of her patron Raziel, and in a moment the djinn was breathing easily and sitting up as he wiped the blood from his mouth. “We’re sorry,” she said to him.

  Zerai turned his back.

  I’m not sorry.

  They were two days out from Naj Kuvari, two days of walking across the hills of Rumaya and the vast grassy plains of Hamara, two days of carefully avoiding the young lions and the wary elephants, and the skittish herds of zebra and water buffalo, and past the crumbling ruins of the villages destroyed and abandoned during the dark years.

  The demon years.

  And when they finally reached the red rock hills of the Emon highlands, they were greeted not by old friends, but by a pair of djinn soldiers guarding the southern pass. The two soldiers had stood grim and tall, shrouded in dark silks that fluttered and flapped around their gaunt frames like pennants in the wind, licking their silken tongues around the two men’s scimitars.

  The one on the left had asked them to halt and identify themselves.

  The one on the right had muttered that human women were as ugly as dead hippos.

  Zerai had attacked the one on the right.

  It was a reckless thing to do. Even though Zerai had caught his prey before he could dash away in a blur of silk and shadow, the second soldier should have hacked him to pieces before he could land the second blow. And if it had not been for Kiya leveling a blazing white arrow at the second soldier, that’s exactly what would have happened.

  Zerai nodded at Kiya in thanks, but she only stared back with cold, unreadable eyes. Adina was wincing, and the ten healers were all trying to avoid looking at him. He shook his head and took a few more steps away from them.

  Maybe they’re right to be disgusted with me. After all, they’re all so enlightened. Clerics. Trained by angels, trusted by angels, loved by angels. And I’m just a…

  Nyasha swept down from the sky and perched on a tall rock, and screamed at the djinn. The martial eagle stared at the dark-cloaked soldiers and scraped her talons on the dry stone.

  Zerai grinned up at her.

  Nyasha. I suppose if poor old Nezana can’t be with me, then you’re the best friend I could ask for right now, aren’t you?

  “As I was saying,” Kiya said coolly. “We are clerics of the holy mount, of Shivala and Naj Kuvari. We have come to speak with Samira Nerash.”

  The soldiers exchanged a silent look, and the one that Zerai had beaten vanished in a swirl of dust and sand.

  “Is there a problem?” Kiya asked.

  “Not yet,” the remaining guard said softly. “Please wait.”

  So they waited. Several minutes passed, and far away across the savannah, a lion roared.

  And then the soldier returned, racing back to his post in a blast of cold air and dark silk, and just behind him followed another soldier, this one dressed in brighter shades of red and wearing a golden sash around his waist. “Come with me, please. Human clerics are permitted to enter the gatehouse of Odashena. Samira Nerash will meet you there.”

  The guard that Zerai had beaten quickly pointed to the falconer, saying, “That one is no cleric.”

  “Then he stays here,” the djinn from the gatehouse said.

  “He comes with us,” Kiya said loudly. “If for no other reason than to protect us from the infantile insults of your soldiers.”

  The man from the gatehouse narrowed his eyes at the guard. “Very well.”

  They left the two guards in the narrow pass and continued up the path into the rocky heights of Emon as the sun sank lower on their left shoulders. Nyasha perched on Zerai’s gloved fist, and the weight of the eagle made him feel better protected than any sword ever could. The journey to the gatehouse took them nearly an hour, even though it had taken the djinn soldiers only moments to cross it when they moved at the speed of fire and shadow.

  As darkness began to spread across the sky, they arrived at the top of a great well in the earth, a vast hole carved by mortal hands, and in the center of that chasm stood a stone tower with four sides and a flat roof. Its walls were covered in countless glyphs and repeating designs of stark geometric figures that danced around and around themselves to create beautiful patterns that faded from sight as the daylight died.

  The gold-sashed soldier led them down a steep path around the wall of the great well, descending rapidly as they spiraled around and around the tower, until they finally arrived at the bottom in near total darkness.

  Zerai frowned uneasily at the sight of the stone door of the tower.

  I never thought I’d ever be here again.

  To the right he saw the dim alcove where a djinn had once taunted him from the shadows, her body swimming in and out of view as it mingled with the darkness. And to the left he saw a rounded stone where he had sat beside Kiya, and held Kiya, and kissed Kiya…

  He looked over at the magi archer.

  I guess that was another time, and another Kiya.

  More lonely. More afraid.

  More like me.

  They entered the tower one by one and found the interior perfectly empty, the walls bare and the floor swept clean, revealing the black stairs in the center of the space that led down into the earth. The djinn soldier marched straight down the stair, and Kiya followed him. Adina and the ten healers vanished down into the dark, and then Veneka went as well.

  “Stay here.” Zerai nudged Nyasha into the air and the eagle flew out the door to perch on the shattered boulders outside. She croaked at him once, and he waved to her,
and went down the stair. Instantly the air grew colder and a steady breeze began to sigh over his skin and through his hair.

  Well, that’s unpleasant.

  He kept his hands on the walls as his vision failed completely in the utter blackness, but after only a few steps, a new light began to grow before him, gently illuminating the smooth steps and walls below. A moment later he reached the last step and emerged from the staircase into a long chamber. Iron lanterns hung from the roof far above him, casting a cool blue light across the room where every footfall and whispered word echoed over and over again. To his left and right Zerai saw high platforms where dozens of djinn soldiers sat in silence, their lidded eyes gazing down on the new arrivals.

  All of them carried bows.

  Clever. Your enemies come out of a narrow opening one by one right into a shooting gallery with nowhere to hide.

  “Do you always keep this many men watching the gate?” He counted at least fifty of them on each balcony.

  “No,” their guide said. “Only two soldiers keep this room at all times. The others are summoned as needed.”

  “So, this is all for us?” Zerai asked. “I’m flattered.”

  “Zerai.” Kiya looked at him sharply.

  He nodded back and said nothing.

  All of that duty and responsibility has changed her. I suppose it’s for the best that I didn’t go back to Shivala with her after all.

  They all proceeded down the center of the hall to the far end where a pair of massive black iron doors stood open. When they reached the black doors, they found Samira Nerash waiting for them in dark silks that hid all but her face.

  The djinn cleric embraced Veneka and exchanged polite greetings with the clerics. Zerai nodded civilly to her from behind the healers. He did trust her, to a point, but he had never grown to like her, and even after fighting alongside her many times, he still felt uneasy just being near her.

  Unlike their human counterparts, djinn clerics could use their exceptionally long lives to expand and hone their holy skills to startling degrees. So even though Samira was a Tevadim just like Adina, there was no similarity in their abilities. Adina was an artist, a sculptor, someone who could create simple tools and shelters with a wave of her hand. But Samira was a force of nature who could command the mountains and forests to fight her battles with blinding speed.

  And Zerai had never forgotten the day he met her, when she had left him pinned and bleeding on the stones of Naj Kuvari without so much as lifting a finger.

  “If I had known you were coming, I would have arranged a more hospitable greeting for you,” Samira said. “As it is, we must tolerate the intolerance of the guards.”

  “We should have sent a message ahead, I know, but in all the confusion, it slipped my mind,” Veneka said.

  “Confusion?” Samira asked. “What confusion?”

  Zerai paced away from the group as Veneka and the others explained the situation in Shivala. He crossed a broad balcony beyond the iron doors and as he approached the iron railing, he heard two of the guards quietly shuffling along behind him. The falconer offered them a brief and forced smile, but said nothing.

  At the railing, he looked down on the city of Odashena, a vast forest of stone pillars and mounds and spiraling shells nestled in the endless night of the ancient cavern. The shapes of the buildings gleamed faintly in shades of blue and green and violet from the luminous crystals and soft mossy growths hanging from the roof above them and lining the streets below.

  Looking out above the spires, he saw flocks of bats gliding on silent leather wings, their snouts and feet glowing faintly with traces of the bright moss. To his left he glanced up at the cold stone wall and spotted a shadow moving across the rock face. He pointed to it and asked, “What’s that?”

  One of the guards grunted. “A cheretti.”

  “Oh.”

  “Just stay away from the rail,” the guard said wearily. “And don’t wave at it.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I don’t want to clean your headless corpse off the tiles.”

  Zerai frowned and slowly stepped back, keeping his eyes on the dark formless shape swimming up the distant wall. When he was closer to the guards, he glanced down at the tiles and saw how the crushed crystalline dust had been used to fill in the swirling designs to look like pale flames dancing underfoot. “It would be a pity to make a mess of these.”

  He rejoined the others just in time to hear Samira say, “We still know nothing about Ramashad or the djinn of the east. After our encounter with Jevad Tafir, the Negus of Odashena sent many messengers across the sea to find our cousins, but they all returned empty-handed.”

  “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.”