Fire Water (Black Magic Outlaw Book 5)

by Domino Finn

The big skag rasped and kicked his strong legs, trying to shake me off like a bad hangover. I heaved and hopped in the air, doing my best to upset his balance and pull him down. He swerved right and left in the sky, wildly careening toward the ground. I tightened my searing grip and steered him like a parachute toward Tyson. Lower and lower, until I unclasped my hands and dropped like a rock.

  I used one of the skags attacking Tyson as a cushion. His bones cracked as I landed on his back. Another lay in a burning, steaming heap of magma. The third birdman swiveled his head from me to Tyson before launching into the sky and retreating. I spun around to find the big skag that had taken me for a ride doing the same.

  "Nice friends you got," I told him. "We should really do this more often."

  He snorted and fixed his eyes on the crowd. I followed his gaze and saw a man walking through the chaos. He wasn't fighting. He wasn't dodging. He didn't even seem to weave around the brawlers in the road. Instead this man walked in a straight line toward the broken tea house entrance and the chaos seemed to move out of his way.

  He wore a red hood over his head that ran along his back in a half cape. White fur hugged his shoulders and rested over intricate leather armor, dark with metal rivets. He strolled forward with ease, completely oblivious to his surroundings. Or completely unconcerned. It was like everybody was ignoring him except me and Tyson.

  "Don't tell me," I said as the mysterious figure disappeared into the tea house. "That's who the third cup of tea is for."

  Chapter 16

  The alley was still embroiled in combat, and I could only imagine what the flea market looked like, but the initial tide had turned. The townspeople had rallied and survived the first wave. The skags backed off as they were wounded, and I knew from personal experience that jinns and elementals were hard to kill. When Tyson considered the battle no longer worth attending to and returned to the tea house, I followed him.

  Surprisingly, we weren't the only ones. The dirt elemental wasn't back yet, but most of the others were. It seemed like a good portion of the populace thought of the skags as no more than a daily inconvenience. The rush-hour traffic of the Aether. I had so many questions, but the biggest one on my mind wasn't about birdmen or jinn politics.

  Tyson returned to the curtained booth in the back. I approached with caution. The man in the red hood rested against the wall with his feet crossed, where I'd been sitting.

  A volcanic elemental, a necromancer, and a mysterious stranger walk into a bar... There's a punch line there somewhere—I just don't know what it is yet. Tyson settled down and grabbed his cup of tea. They all had fresh pours. I frowned and waited.

  The stranger pulled the red hood behind his head. Curls of black hair. A flash of sky-blue eyes. Bronze skin and a strong jaw, so clean shaven it had that baby quality.

  "Be not afraid, friend," he said to me.

  Suddenly I felt a little silly standing. A cursory glance around the curtained interior proved no one was concerned with us or the dwindling battle outside. I nodded slightly and took a seat on the edge of the booth.

  Tyson spoke low and direct. "I wasn't sure you'd come, Malik."

  The man smiled. "I told you I would welcome you home with open arms. It is good you've finally decided to return to your place."

  The elemental grunted. "Can't say the same about you, can we?"

  Malik's smile was a permanent fixture, as was his confidence. "I'm where I'm always needed." He drank from his cup. Tyson and I did the same.

  "And what is it we need?" I asked.

  "Entry into Maqad," said Tyson.

  "With your mark?" asked the man. "And a human? The officiates would love that."

  "That's why we're going in unannounced."

  Malik scoffed lightly. "I am no smuggler."

  "Aren't you?" asked Tyson pointedly.

  Malik smiled.

  "Speaking of which," I cut in, "who exactly are you?"

  A sip of tea and a pause to savor the flavor. "I'm a visitor to this world," he answered. "Like yourself."

  That confirmed he was no jinn, but I'd already guessed as much. And I'd eat my boots if he was human. "What kind of visitor?" I pressed.

  "Is it so easy to forget us?" he asked wistfully.

  Tyson grunted and spoke plain. "He's a lost Celestial."

  The humor fled Malik's face, disappointment evident. "So direct, my friend. So banal."

  The elemental shrugged.

  I narrowed my eyes at their implication. "I don't believe in angels and demons," I said firmly.

  "Then," noted Malik, "you are half right and half wrong."

  I snorted as our guest waved for the servant. The smoke elemental appeared with his hands full, already knowing what Malik required. The wispy servant placed a silver tray of black sand on the table beside a tray with wrapped tobacco. Between them he placed a lit stick of incense on a stand.

  After the servant retired, Tyson said, "Malik likes to speak in riddles but, believe me, he is what he says he is."

  "Oh yeah?" I asked. "How is the big man?" I pointed up.

  The Celestial's smile didn't waver. "Does he always do this?" he asked Tyson. "Make light when he needs someone's help?"

  "Seems to be a defense mechanism," agreed Tyson.

  I shook my head and sighed. "Well, excuse me if I don't believe you're hiding wings under that cloak."

  "We both have wings, Cisco Suarez," said Malik evenly. "You will find yours before you are through, or you will fall at your enemy's feet."

  Everyone's face darkened on that grim note. I sipped tea and watched the so-called angel. Malik picked up a cigarette, lit it with the stick of incense, and smoked. Divine.

  "Man is a funny creature," mused Malik between puffs. "So eager to believe in nothing but himself."

  As he spoke, he traced the stick of incense over the black sand. The lines exposed the silver below in the form of a classic stick figure: a round head, a stick body, arms straight like a cross, and diagonal legs. Malik drew the figure so it faced me, and then drew two more so there were three in a row.

  I plucked a smoke from the other tray and extended my hand for the incense. "You mind?"

  "Not at all."

  Malik handed me the stick and I lit whatever passed for tobacco in the Aether. Unlike the tea, the smoke was harsh and sent me into a fit of coughing.

  The Celestial continued as if I hadn't interrupted him. "You have heard of the three beings of creation, haven't you, Cisco?"

  I tried to speak but could only manage a nod.

  Malik pointed to the tray of stick figures. "Three sapient beings. Humans, Celestials, and jinns. My kind are creatures of guidance." He leaned in to me. "Even when my advice is unsolicited." Malik pointed at the patrons of the tea house. "Jinns are creatures of duty. Service is at the core of their livelihood."

  I echoed Tyson's description of Aether hierarchy. "Masters for masters." I took another drag but had already decided I wasn't a smoker. I didn't like it on Earth and I didn't like it in the Aether. "And humans?" I asked. "What are we creatures of?"

  "Freedom, of course." Malik flicked ash into the black sand. "Defining traits are central to both empowerment and ruin."

  I snickered. My eyes strayed to Tyson. "Riddles," I said with distaste. And then I paused. Had he been talking about me or Connor?

  Malik accepted the stick of incense again and took it to the black sand, noting the three figures. "These days, man looks around and only sees himself."

  He added two vertical lines to the first stick figure, each leading from the tip of the arm to the tip of the leg. It suddenly looked like a hieroglyphic of a winged man. A Celestial. He skipped the middle figure and added a single horizontal line to the third from one foot to the other, essentially merging both legs into a triangle.

  "But if the man in the middle takes a closer look," finished Malik, "he'll find he's not alone."

  I brought my cigarette down on the third figure, extinguishing it on what was purportedly the jinn.
I dragged the butt through the drawing, obliterating it. "Story time's nice but if you truly wanna help you'll tell me how to crush Connor Hatch."

  Malik returned the incense to its stand and leaned back against the wall with a smile. "I thought I just did." He took a final puff and extinguished his own cigarette over the drawing of the angel. It left the human, me, all alone again.

  Tyson must've seen my face redden because he broke in. "That's enough talk. We can deal with Connor. What we need is access to the capital. Either you'll help us or you won't. Or you can't."

  Malik laughed. "You know better than to challenge me thus, friend. Believe me, it can be done."

  "It's allowed?"

  "It is allowed to help you help yourselves. In a roundabout sort of way."

  I waved the last of the dying smoke away from my face. This place had a certain charm but I was ready to move on. This was Tyson's show, though, and I decided to let him finish it.

  "Tell me," said the elemental.

  Malik reached under one of his sleeves and produced a coin of once-shiny bronze. The pressing was uneven and the design rudimentary. All I knew was it was old. He gave the coin to Tyson, who turned it over in his hand. I caught a glimpse of dragon wings on one face.

  "You want me to walk in there with this?" asked Tyson sternly.

  "The coin doesn't spend anywhere else," said Malik.

  "But... you know how they play with his kind."

  Malik's blue eyes twinkled as they fell on me. "Experience is a better teacher than I."

  I ignored the jab and poured a round of tea. There was only enough for a half cup each. I killed mine quickly. Tyson frowned at his in uneasy silence. Malik sipped and considered his cup. "But then, our tea is done. It's time to say farewell."

  I arched an eyebrow. "You know, we could just get another pot."

  The would-be Celestial smiled. "Moderation in all things, my friend."

  He held up his hand as if to say "You first." I backed out of the booth so he could slide out. Tyson joined us on our feet, and we all considered one another quietly. Muddied conversation and laughter filled the warm room. Malik and Tyson locked wrists. I accepted Malik's arm as well. It wasn't that I didn't like the guy. I just didn't go for this cloak-and-dagger stuff.

  "Be careful, unlikely companions," he warned. "Neither of you will be well-received in this duty-ridden world."

  "Some duty is noble," said Tyson. "You of all people can understand that."

  Malik didn't smile with his rejoinder this time. Instead his lips tightened. "It is often the noblest men who endure the roughest winds. Be sure of your path, my friend."

  Malik pulled his hood over his head. The cape wasn't as bright as the lively red curtains and pillows adorning the tea house, nor as deep and luxurious as the maroon carpet. It was a muted shade, faded yet enduring, like dried blood.

  His face was darkened by the cowl. Black and nondescript. He was a stranger again. Somehow I could tell he was studying me.

  "Perhaps we will meet again, young one." His voice, like his countenance, seemed strangely distant. Deep and familiar, but without the amiable flavor it held a second ago. "Or perhaps not."

  He spun his boots stiffly, made his way to the broken storefront, and turned the corner out of sight. Tyson and I took the same path, almost as if drawn to the enigmatic figure, to bask in his grace even if only for a moment longer. Once the sun hit our faces, though, he was gone.

  A pathetic screech from above drew our attention. Tyson's reflexes were quicker and he tackled me. A bloody skag crashed into the dirt where we'd been standing. Her wings and legs were sliced up and her neck was bent at an unsavory angle. A few jinns erupted in a cheer as the last of the raiders fell.

  Bodies were strewn across the road, but not many. Most of the skags had retreated. It was a low-risk, low-gain attack. One, apparently, built into the culture of the Aether outskirts. It unsettled me how casual everybody was about it. Clearly, this was a wild realm.

  "Let's get out of here," I muttered.

  Chapter 17

  I was happy to be on the north road out of town. The well-traveled trade route took us directly away from the port, moving toward the center of whatever hulking land mass we were on.

  "What's wrong with this place?" I asked.

  Tyson trudged forward in thought for a moment. "What do you mean?"

  "Are you serious? Those attacks back there. How little everyone seems to care about them. What's with the bird people?"

  The volcanic elemental hiked his wide shoulders. "The great city of Maqad is the capital of the realm. It's ruled by five great jinn satrapies. Five houses that own the sky islands."

  "I thought you said the city was ruled by a shah."

  "The king of kings," he said with a nod. "When a shah dies, the satraps appoint one of their own as a successor. They all live within the great city, but they govern the land without all the same."

  I watched the trading post shrink behind us. Along the horizon, the floating rings of the capital faded into the hazy sky. "Where do the birdmen fit in?"

  "They don't," said Tyson abruptly. "The jinn rulership is concerned with order. Controlling the aspects. Shaping the magic. Aside from that, the fringe races are free to govern themselves, as long as there's order."

  "Sounds like a better deal than the elementals get."

  "It is what it is. The Aether's a place of great irony. Creatures large and small are born of magic, built of fire and air, yet nevertheless dependent on water. And these last few decades have been the driest on record."

  I snorted. "Climate change in the Aether."

  "Your world doesn't have a monopoly on greed. Water's a natural resource. The flyers, especially, have always had easy access, but tightening restrictions and drying wells are putting a squeeze on everybody. The conflicts have escalated over the years. Now the ruling shah has banned all skags from the capital, cutting them off even more. They're no match for us, as you've seen. They must continually raid to survive. To steal resources. To protest the satrapies."

  "You sound unusually sympathetic to their plight."

  "I've long stopped giving a shit about royal interests."

  "Apparently." I chewed my lip, trying to take in the politics of the land. Wondering if it mattered. I considered the satrapies and the shah. I thought of Tyson's earlier words. Servants for servants. Masters for masters. "So that's why people live outside the city," I gleaned. "They eschew the safety and convenience so they can be free."

  "Jinns and aspects are never completely free. That's a human trait. Aether politics is built on service. Agreements are arranged, service for status. It's the way of things. But it's true that those without such status may choose to serve outside its confines. And of course, there are many fringe races who are all too happy to do so."

  All too happy to live outside jinn order. Something told me that's why we were marching in the opposite direction of the capital city even though it was our destination. As we hiked, we split off the well-worn road and made towards rockier ground. Foothills with great mountains in the distance. It would take hours to reach them.

  "So by my reasoning," I said, "Connor Hatch is in hock to one of the five satrapies, and we're going to the capital to smear his good name. So who's past the mountains?"

  Tyson stopped at the bottom of a foothill. A stone pillar balanced on the ground, perfectly shaped into an even square, like a fencepost. Carved into the unadorned rock were two symbols. An X, and then a character which was newly familiar. A stick figure with an extra horizontal line running along the bottom. Not a man, or an angel, but...

  "The enemy of my enemy," grumbled Tyson. Then he pressed forward.

  I snorted as I thought about Malik. So his lesson on the three fabled races had actually had a point. This figure represented the jinn. There was no doubt in my mind this sign was a warning, with the preceding X having a crystal clear meaning: No jinn allowed.

  I doggedly stuck to Tyson's heels, wondering who
would have the audacity to post such a decree, wondering if we really were safer without the civilized structure of jinn law.

  The path was long. The going grew more arduous. Rocks skipped under my boots. The slope steepened. At times it seemed like there was no path at all. But I was strangely invigorated, despite not having had a real meal in hours. I suspected the tea was nourishing for travelers in this arid land. It gave us the endurance to endlessly march ahead without thought. I didn't notice the air get drier or crisper at first. It wasn't until I glanced behind us that I realized how high we'd climbed. How desolate the way back was. How committed we were to this ascent.

  The sun was harsher at this elevation. The protective haze didn't reach this high and my eyes burned if I looked up. Twin mountain peaks jutted before us on either side like towers. Thankfully, we proceeded on a lower gradient. We crested the midpoint between peaks and a great valley crater spanned the inner mountain, surrounded on all sides by protective cliffs. Our path was one of two that safely entered the dip.

  In spite of the rocky terrain, the bottom half of the crater was covered in lush vegetation. At the very center, a great fountain of water rushed into the sky like an inverted waterfall. The mist from the crashing water gave the impression of a mushroom cloud, and although the water didn't rise into infinity, it didn't seem to splash down anywhere either.

  "A wellspring," remarked Tyson.

  I hadn't realized how thirsty I'd been. I peeled my tongue off the roof of my mouth and tried to moisten it. It felt coated in sand finer than any I'd ever touched. With unspoken urgency, we headed straight for the lush water. The valley was larger than it seemed from above, but we made quick time on the downhill journey.

  I jumped into the edge of the pool. Despite the raging swell, the edges of the spring were calm. I submerged my head and drank. The water was heavy with minerals. Delicious. Life-giving. If I could figure out a way to bottle it in plastic and ship it to the States, I'd be a billionaire. After an embarrassing few minutes of debauchery, I noticed Tyson standing outside the well.