Angels and Djinn, Book 3: Zariel's Doom (2 page)

“You don’t know that.”

His lip shook as the memories of the last few years flooded past his mind’s eye. “I’m pretty sure.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“This.” He spread his hands. “Just this. You and me, on the road. These two years have been the best of my life, and I…”

“Why are you talking like this?” She came over to him. “If our friends need our help, then we’ll help them. We always have. And if I have my way, we’ll help them quickly, and then we’ll move on, just like before.”

Iyasu shook his head and tried to smile, but he couldn’t quite muster the enthusiasm for it. Too many battlefields, too many blood-soaked corridors, too many wrecked ships, and too many frightened faces swam through his memories. “You know I want to help, but I just, I don’t want to see any of that again. It’s too much. The blood. The bodies. The words. It’s too much.”

She took his face in her hands and made him look her in the eyes again. “What do you see?”

He blinked. “I see an angel.”

She smiled. “No. Tell me what you
see
.”

“A pretty girl.”

“Yasu.”

“Sorry, sorry.” He took a breath and held up the note. “This isn’t Zerai’s handwriting. Or Veneka’s. This is Kiya’s writing.”

“Who is that?”

“A cleric from back home. I knew her a long time ago. She’s a Juranim archer. Fearless. Powerful. She was rising fast in the ranks when I left Shivala. She’ll probably be elevated to command, or even the nobility soon.”

“And?”

He looked at the note again. “Her writing is crooked. She’s scared.”

Azrael put her arm around him. “Then we will help her.”

He looked up at her.

She sees everyone die, feels them die, every minute of every day. She’s doing it right now. And if she can do that for all eternity, how can I… how can I do so little? Hide myself away, turn my back on Kiya, and Zerai, and everyone, out of fear, fear of the same thing that Rael is doing right now. Seeing death. Seeing suffering.

Iyasu closed his eyes and his mind flew back through years of memories, images of his other life, a life in cities and temples, speaking with priests and kings, guiding the lives of thousands of people. But all too quickly the memories shattered into pools of blood and the faces of the men and women who had died for his mistakes.

“What if I can’t help? What if I make it worse?”

“You won’t,” she said calmly. “But if you do, then I’ll tear open the gates of paradise and unleash the legions of heaven to put it right again.”

He smiled a little. “You would do that?”

She kissed him. “For you.”

“Well, in that case, I suppose we shouldn’t keep our friends waiting, should we?” He could hear the quiver in his own voice and hated that he couldn’t even pretend to sound confident for her.

Azrael squeezed his hand and then walked past him to face the northern horizon. She pushed her shoulders back and her beautiful black wings rippled out from her smooth brown skin. Iyasu took a breath and nodded to himself, and then walked up behind her and put his arms around her neck, and whispered, “I’m ready.”

The angel rose into the air just a small space above the ground and raced away. The wind tore through their hair and stung his eyes, and he clung to her with all his strength, and he could feel her hands clasped tightly over his, keeping him safe. They whisked over the ground, never rising very high, and while they moved far faster than he could ever run, they didn’t come close to the incredible speeds that she could attain when she was alone.

Alone, she could fly like a blade of purest sunlight, but with a mortal made of clay lying on her back, she was merely a beautiful creature streaking through the air.

They traveled for hours, and Iyasu alternated between gazing out at the shifting landscape hurtling past him and sleeping with his head resting in the thick pillow of Azrael’s hair. They didn’t speak at all, not when they passed the ruins of the Garamis castles, nor when they passed the paper ships gliding over the grass-sea bearing the slender fisher-folk of Chengeru.

Eventually the trees below grew thicker and closer, and they crossed into the jungles of Rumaya. Iyasu tried not to think, not to remember, not to see the visions of his past, and not to imagine what it could mean if Shivala, the city of the magi, was at war.

Who could cross the Sapphire Sea or the White Desert to even gaze upon the walls of Shivala, let alone bring enough power to actually threaten the armies of Juranim and Sophirim?

Foreign clerics? Renegade angels?

Azrael swept up the southern face of Mount Shokath and glided gently over the walls of Naj Kuvari. The green city lay under a thick blanket of vines and leaves and flowers that hid all the sharp lines and corners of the stone city, transforming it into a sculpture of living houses, plazas, and towers. Birds perched upon the roofs by the thousands, whole flocks of green pigeons and cinnamon doves, red and yellow parrots, crested turacos and sharp-winged swifts, bee-eaters and woodpeckers, larks and warblers, all singing and shrieking and nesting and flying above the city streets.

The angel landed softly in a mossy lane and Iyasu slipped down to stand on his own feet as her wings vanished like a mirage in the desert heat. He kissed her, a long and lingering kiss, brushing his lips across hers and plunging his tongue into her mouth, feeling her press against him, holding him.

He wanted to melt into her, to vanish into that moment forever.

But the moment ended and they parted.

“Are you all right?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” He tried to smile. “Let’s go save the world again.”

Chapter 2

Hand in hand, Iyasu and Azrael walked through the familiar streets of Naj Kuvari, making their way toward the gates of the eastern palace, and soon they were approaching the massive orange tree standing in the reflecting pool in the center of the great square.

Already, Iyasu could see the six crystal wings of the angel Raziel as he stood upon the water, speaking softly to a gathering of several dozen people. And beyond them a great mass of children were playing in the late day’s light, tugging fruits off the vines that dangled from the roofs, and trying to catch the many colorful lizards darting in and out of the cracks in the road.

Several members of the crowd glanced at the two newcomers and returned their attention to the Angel of Life, but then one face turned toward them and lit up with a brilliant smile. “Iyasu!”

The young seer couldn’t help but smile as the woman rushed forward to embrace him and he held her tightly. “Adina.”

She wore the same blue robes of the Tevadim as when he had last seen her, but now her once-long brown hair fell only to her shoulders, and was only partially hidden under a length of golden silk covered in delicate swirling patterns. “When Raziel said he would summon you back, I had no idea it would be so fast. We only sent Nyasha to find you two days ago.”

“Nyasha? Is that the eagle?”

“Yes, one of Zerai’s newer friends, I think,” she said, turning her attention to the other woman. “And who is this?”

Iyasu smiled gently. “Adina, this is Rael. Sorry, I mean, Azrael.”

The women embraced briefly, but the cleric’s face slowly paled as she stepped back. “Azrael…
the
Azrael?”

“Yes.” Iyasu took his lover’s hand. “The one and only.”

“Oh my…” Adina’s eyes widened and she stepped back. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t realize. Please forgive me, Holy One.”

“It’s all right,” Azrael said gently. “I’m not like Raziel, or the angels of the holy mount. At least, not most of the time.”

“Oh. I see.” She clearly didn’t see at all, but Iyasu had no intention of making her any more uncomfortable than she already was, so he let it go. The seer glanced across the crowd, knowing that at any moment more people would recognize them and he would find himself standing before Raziel, discussing the disaster in Shivala, talking about some new horror.

And it’s not going to be a dozen thirsty people fighting over a well. It’s going to be armies slaughtering each other for power and gold and… whatever it is armies fight over.

It’s going to be hell.

And they’re going to ask me to go there, to help. To see it.

“Adina, and please don’t misunderstand, it is wonderful to see you, but I’m a bit surprised to find you here,” he said abruptly. “With Shivala under siege, you were chosen as the messenger to Naj Kuvari?”

Adina pressed her lips together for a thoughtful moment. “Iyasu, there is no siege. The attack only lasted a few hours. It’s all over.”

“But…” His mind raced, trying to find an explanation before she gave it to him.

“A djinn warrior attacked the city ten days ago, and it took the strength of all of our armies to keep her from razing Shivala to the ground,” she said. “Kiya and I weren’t sent here as messengers. We were escorts.”

“Escorts? For whom?”

“For the refugees.” Adina turned and pointed down the main thoroughfare at the hundreds of people standing and sitting in the mossy avenue. They stretched on and on into the distance, and the sounds of their voices roared softly into the mountain air. Some leaned on crutches, and some wore bloody bandages on their arms and heads.

Iyasu swallowed.

They’re all children and the elderly. But if these people were all sent away from the city of the magi, then…

He turned and looked up into Azrael’s eyes, and the angel took his hand, saying, “You were right. I’m sorry.”

He smiled sadly at her. “I’m sorry too.”

Adina led Iyasu and Azrael through the crowd to be reunited with their other friends, and after the embraces and warm words, a stillness fell over them. Iyasu could see at a glance that Adina and the archer Kiya were now far more than mere friends, and he was quietly happy for them. The way they stood together, almost touching, and then actually touching, and looking, glancing, so attentive, so possessive.

But he could also see that all was not well with Veneka and Zerai. There was a tension in each of them, and they stood slightly apart in a manner that told the seer volumes about what had gone wrong between the two lovers in the short time he had been away. Veneka looked harder, colder, sterner, with her mind far away on matters of life and death, while Zerai looked… withdrawn. Distracted. Lonely.

“Right, well, we’re here,” Iyasu said, trying to smile. “Let’s see what we can do.”

The group approached the fountain where the Angel of Life stood serenely upon the surface of the water, his six crystalline wings raised to cast rainbow glimmers across the square, and his heavy tome of secrets cradled in his arm. Raziel gazed down at them with the weight of ages and the suffering of multitudes in his icy eyes. “Welcome back, sister.”

Azrael nodded up at him. “It’s good to see you again, brother.”

“And it’s very good to see you again, Iyasu.” The angel gazed at him, his face an azure mask of serenity betrayed only by his anguished eyes.

“Please, tell us what happened,” the seer urged him.

“I’ll tell you,” Kiya said. The Shivalan warrior-cleric wore the red tunic of the Juranim, and her bow and quiver rested on her back. She had cut her black hair shorter in the fashion of the older ladies of the east, and though she herself was still quite young, the dark shadows under her eyes and the fine lines around her mouth aged her. “Ten days ago, a djinn woman appeared on the White Desert. She attacked the southeastern walls of Shivala, suddenly, brutally, and brought a quarter of the city crashing to the ground.”

Iyasu shivered. “How?”

“Earthquakes.” Kiya shook her head. “She created them, and controlled them. She shattered the walls, and then shattered the buildings beyond. Every Juranim in the city was there, loosing arrows by the thousands, arrows blazing with the heat of the sun, arrows shining with winter frost, but we couldn’t touch her. She was too fast for us.”

“The Sophirim were divided,” Adina said. “Some stayed in the city to protect the buildings, and they saved thousands of lives. But some went out into the desert to face the djinn, and most of them died.”

Iyasu winced.

Died? Who could kill hundreds of the most powerful men and women in the world? The Sophirim can move mountains with their bare hands…

“After three hours, when most of the clerics who had gone to face the djinn were dead, she left.” Kiya shook her head. “We didn’t defeat her. She left freely.”

“Where did she go? Who was she?”

“No one knows. The only reason we even know she was a djinn was the way she moved, running faster than a wraith,” the archer said.

“Negus Salloran declared a state of war, even though we don’t know who we’re at war with,” Adina said softly. “And Nigiste Makeda ordered all of the young and old to leave the city, for their own safety. So we brought them here. Crossing the sea was dangerous, what with the storms, but crossing the desert would have been… fatal.”

Iyasu nodded, then frowned. “Storms? On the Sapphire Sea?”

“We’ve had strange weather, the last few weeks,” Kiya said. “Cold winds. Frost on the ground in the morning. And storms at sea.”

“You say the djinn was a woman.” Zerai frowned. “Or looked like a woman. It could have been Jevad Tafir again. He could look like anyone. And we haven’t seen any trace of him since he fled Maqari.”

“I don’t think it was him this time.” Veneka shook her head, not even glancing at the falconer. “Tafir never showed any power over earthquakes. If he had that power, he never would have bothered with that masquerade in Maqari in the first place.”

Zerai exhaled and stared off over the roofs of the city.

“We haven’t heard anything of Tafir either,” Azrael said. “No one in the south seems to know much about the djinn. Mostly just rumors and legends.”

“Then we should ask the one person we know who might actually have some answers for us,” Veneka said. “Samira. She told us about the eastern djinn in the first place. And she still lives in Odashena. I saw her only a few months ago when I went to visit Talia.”