by Sara King
As far as he knew, his slate was clean. He had no enemies. So why would the winds save him from certain death, only to enslave him again? Touch her, they had whispered. Claim your wish. Until hearing those words, he hadn’t even considered touching the Fury, for he knew men lost hands for doing so. But, as an act of desperation, trembling under the shadow of her sword, it had seemed like a reasonable enough thing to do at the time. Now, looking back, he wondered if it had meant something more. There had been that odd pang upon first meeting her eyes, as she rounded the fig palm. That strange sense of connectedness that had quickly been forgotten the moment she began taunting him into a duel. Touch her. Claim your wish.
Suddenly, every muscle in ‘Aqrab’s body went stiff as iron.
Many years ago, he had made a wish.
“If you are going to continue to stare at me like a fool,” the magus growled, “I will take your silence as a rejection of my offer and begin my journey to the serpents’ mountains without you.”
A self-wish, ‘Aqrab had thought, that had never been fulfilled. Many years ago, he’d been wandering the night-darkened desert of the First Lands, after yet another broken heart with yet another all-too-passionate djinni woman, one who had grown tired of the fire they had kindled together and went looking for flames of a different color. He’d been alone amongst the dunes, in agony, wracked to the core. It had been the first time he’d twisted to the First Realm, spurred by his broken heart, fleeing the hopelessness of that lonely little tent he had once shared.
He had thought she was the one. His soulkin. His lifemate. That one perfect bond that the gods gave every living creature. The other half of his soul. And yet she had simply abandoned him one night, leaving him nothing but a note on a pillow to remember her by. A note, and the scent of another man in their bedding.
“Very well,” his magus snapped, “I’ll see you again once I’ve conferred with the dragons, djinni.” She turned and strode out of the cabin.
That night, after twisting into the First Lands out of sheer agony, ‘Aqrab had fallen to his knees and made a wish. May I never bed another woman who is not the mirror to my soul, and, once I find her, may she be a slave to my heart, may she seek nothing of me I cannot give, and may she revile the touch of other men. Soulkin. Twin flames upon the desert of time. That is what he had wished for. A stupid wish, a wish made in the furnace of passion, and quickly forgotten, for most self-wishes dissolved like licks of flame across the sands of time, never to take hold, never to be bound by Law. He’d simply…forgotten.
After all, only a week later, he had found himself imprisoned by a First Lander magus who had received word of a djinni wandering the desert, cursing the stars. He’d spent the next few centuries being passed around like a favorite piece of furniture before he’d managed to free himself and return to the firelands, and by then, his wish had been completely forgotten in his relief to be home, sleeping in his own bed, sharing kisses with pretty djinni women that caught his eye at his father’s table.
But he hadn’t bedded them, ‘Aqrab realized. He had flirted, he had bantered, he had diced, he had danced, but he had never bedded them. He’d never been able to. He had always considered this to be his own scarred heart, protecting itself, keeping him at a distance, but what if it was more? What if that was why his icy mistress was the only one who seemed to be able to rouse his passion of late?
“Sweet Goddess,” ‘Aqrab whispered, sliding to his knees staring at the open doorway where the magus had disappeared. He put his palms to the wool rug beneath him and bent his head, praying to his deity, the mistress of creation and light. “This cannot be.” He had meant a djinni woman. Someone he could have a home with.
And yet, he had the soul-hammering knowledge that it could. In a rash, stupid blaze of passion, he had wished for loyalty, for the lack of passion that drove women to seek other men. He had wished for a perfect complement to himself. Someone who would never betray his heart, someone who reviled the touch of men, and someone who wanted nothing of him aside from his simple death. A Fury.
Never had he been so horrified, so utterly dismayed by the results of a wish.
The tether binding him to his magus strained as he reached the edge of his five hundred cubits and, in his shock, ‘Aqrab let it drag him out the door on his knees.
A cold, distant ice-queen. Trained from birth to despise the touch of a man. She came from destruction and war, he from life and creation. He was passionate and vibrant, she stiff and cold. He was rowdy and lewd, she prudish and quiet. He took pleasure in creation, she in the kill. She was exactly what he’d asked for. The opposite side of the coin. The weave on the other side of the rug.
The gods, merciless dick-farmers that they were, had given him a Fury to ice his bed, from now to eternity.
“I wanted a djinni,” he whispered to the sky. “Sweet Mistress, please. Not a Fury. A djinni.”
Yet he had never, he realized with growing dread, specified a djinni woman in his wish. Like a fool, he had asked for coldness, a lack of needs, and a disgust of men.
But a Fury? Surely the gods were joking. His words had been said in passion, but his meaning had been there. His perfect mate was just as passionate, as life-loving, and as sexual as he was. Not…that.
Then teach her, a whisper came, flitting upon the grasses by his forehead, caressing his back. Give her the passion of a djinni.
“Mistress, please,” ‘Aqrab said, trembling, now, as the magus pulled him blithely toward the dragons’ domain by his Law-made tether. “There are some things that can’t be done. Not with a thousand lifetimes.” Not even a wish could accomplish such a task. He had planned on tricking her into spreading her legs for him, a game to see if she would let him plant his seed so he could in turn show her how it felt to be enslaved to a creature of another realm. The idea of being forced to settle with her, forever, due to a brash wish he made millennia ago in the throes of passion was…intolerable.
And now she was intent on trading him to the serpents…
“Please,” he whispered. “This was not my wish.”
The warm winds disappeared, leaving him alone as the magus dragged him through the woods behind her.
With the heart-searing knowledge that his casual game of chance was suddenly no longer a game, ‘Aqrab twisted to the Fourth Realm in despair.
Chapter 4: The Shifting of the Sands
Kaashifah marched north along the fast, gray waters of the Yentna River in a rage. She wasn’t surprised by the djinni’s stubbornness, but still it grated at her. Good people were going to die, bled for their magics by selfish, morally defunct, power-hungry oathbreakers, and here the djinni was forcing her to trounce through the woods to make deals with serpents, when honor said they should resolve their problems between themselves for the good of all.
‘Aqrab would pay for this with his life.
Right after she gave him to the dragons for safe-keeping.
When the djinni appeared before her again, the weak fall sun had dropped below the horizon and its feeble rays had melted most of the frost on the round river stones beneath Kaashifah’s feet. ‘Aqrab arrived without warning, as he always did, blocking her path like an obsidian statue.
“You and I,” the djinni growled, without preamble, “need to come to an understanding, Fury.”
Kaashifah fought the immediate surge of panic at ‘Aqrab’s sudden appearance and re-composed herself quickly. While it frayed her nerves to stand her ground, she did not allow herself to retreat out of arm’s-reach of the massive beast. To do so would have admitted she was afraid of him, and she would rather die than have the djinni witness her fear once again.
Lifting her head in feigned arrogance, Kaashifah sneered, “An understanding of what, beast? The terms of your death?”
His face tightened at the word ‘beast,’ as it always had, but at least he didn’t seem to recognize the fear thrumming through her veins, the same ancient terror that had been with her since the day she’d left her sword bu
ried in the sands of an oasis, her hands burned to the bone from where its hilt had seared her skin. “The terms of our arrangement, mon Dhi’b,” he rumbled, his arms folded over his big chest. “I would offer a bargain, of sorts.”
Kaashifah laughed. “A ‘bargain,’ ‘Aqrab? You think I have spent three thousand years bound to a djinni and have not learned to avoid a Fourth Lander ‘bargain’ at all costs?”
He narrowed his violet eyes at her. “I would remove my curse. You would be free to kill again, little wolf.”
Kaashifah’s heart stopped. Never before had the djinni offered the removal of his deathbed curse outside the context of a wish. A wish, of course, that both of them knew he would mangle just as thoroughly the first two times she’d wished it.
Warily, she glanced back up at the djinni. Somehow, she sensed that this time, ‘Aqrab was being truthful, and that thought left her heart suddenly slamming against her ribcage. The ability to kill again… It made her blood sing with hope. She had long ago given up any real optimism that he would ever willingly remove his deathbed curse, and that he was offering now, when she needed it most, left her both ecstatic and suspicious.
“And what would you want in return, djinni?” she asked, carefully keeping her excitement from her voice. Unfortunately, she couldn’t kill the djinni with just teeth and claws. Surely he knew that, which was probably the only reason he was offering.
“Relinquish your shadow,” ‘Aqrab said, watching her closely. “Give up your ability to hurt me, mon Dhi’b. Do me that favor, and I will lift my curse.”
This time, Kaashifah did take a step backwards, automatically reaching for the djinni’s soul-cord in her mind. “You would leave me helpless against you.”
“Helpless, mon Dhi’b?” he snorted. “You carry the Third Lander wolf with you, and if you follow through with your scheme to pass me on to the dragons, you doubtless shall have your full glory returned to you after that.”
“And the time between now and then?” Kaashifah demanded.
He shrugged. “We’ll come to an understanding.” He lifted a hand, reaching out for her. “You’ll have to trust me.”
“You cross dangerous sands, ‘Aqrab,” she warned, preparing a fistful of shadow, should she need to keep him at bay.
He cocked his head at her, irritation flashing in his unnatural purple eyes as he dropped his hand. “Why?” he demanded. “Because I ask that you stop treating me as an animal?” This time he took a step towards her, anger lighting his face. Leaning down until their noses almost touched, he said too softly, “I saved your life, little wolf. I spirited you from those who would have spent years draining your lifeblood from your veins. How did you repay me? You drowned me in shadow so deep I had trouble breathing for hours.” Fierceness glared back at her, spurring that inner terror to a crescendo. “Show some decency, Fury, and give me back my dignity.”
“Keep your distance, slave,” Kaashifah babbled, fighting a growing surge of panic at his new persistence. She stepped back again.
“I am not a slave,” ‘Aqrab snarled, stepping forward until their bodies again almost touched. “Learn that, unless you would like for me to begin addressing you as ‘whore’ or ‘slut.’ I am of noble birth, and I find it similarly offensive.”
Kaashifah scrambled to once more put distance between them. “I will keep it under advisement,” she managed, scrambling to keep the obsidian mountain before her from seeing under her facade.
He narrowed his eyes at her. “Good. Now relinquish your hold on the shadows. I tire of your ‘punishments,’ mon Dhi’b. I’ve reached the point in my life where I can do without touching you, if it truly bothers you for me to do so.”
“I would be a complete fool to give you that boon, and we both know it,” Kaashifah blurted.
The djinni stepped closer again, oblivious to the way she grabbed his cord in a mental death-grip. “Like I said, magus,” he growled, his face much too close to hers, “You and I are going to come to an understanding.”
“Back up,” Kaashifah cried, panting, once more reluctantly ceding ground to the beast. “I don’t want to use shadows on you, djinni, but I—”
“Then don’t,” ‘Aqrab interrupted, forcefully stepping forward again. Never had he been this brazenly adamant about anything, and it was scouring her chest in a wash of panic. “Relinquish that power over me and you shall be freed of my curse. On my honor as a Sand-Singer.” His gaze was intense, demanding. Passionate.
Kaashifah met his eyes and, for a breathless moment, almost believed him. Then she remembered the first two wishes he had ‘granted’ her—morbid, twisted things that bore no resemblance to their original form—and she shook herself. “You spin your words like a weaver’s thread, cutting and twisting them to suit your own needs. I’m too old to be making bargains with Djinn.”
“Old you may be,” the djinni growled, “but not wise. I’m offering a truce, magus. The dragons may be able to remove the Third-Lander, but I’m the only one who can lift my deathbed curse. What good will it do you to gain your wings if you still can’t wield your sword?”
Kaashifah peered up at him haughtily, trying to hide the way her knees tried to collapse beneath his stare. “And why,” she said, searching his eyes in challenge, “would a djinni wish I give up my ability to ‘punish’ him, unless he planned to misbehave?”
The djinni’s lips quirked in an impish smile. “I suppose you’ll have to find out, won’t you, little wolf?”
“I know what you want,” Kaashifah growled. “And you will never have it. Not from me.”
He returned her stare with fierceness. “Then the Fury is afraid?”
Yes, she thought, miserable. “Of course I’m not afraid.”
“Then what can you lose with granting me this boon?”
Everything! her mind screamed. Her entry to the temple, her sisterhood, her sword. Unable to answer under the djinni’s passion, she bit her lip and looked away.
After a long moment, the djinni sighed and gestured at the forest around them. “Feel the forest, mon Dhi’b? It’s fading. The Inquisitors have taken every moon-kissed, fey, and otherkin for miles. I might find it necessary to take you to the firelands again, in order to rescue your ungrateful hide, and I will not suffer your shadows a second time for helping you.”
Kaashifah snorted. “Or perhaps you intend to kill me and end your imprisonment here.”
The djinni cocked his head down at her. “If that were my goal, I would have done so last night, when I had you helpless at my feet, begging me for death.”
Kaashifah’s face heated with shame and she looked away, hating to be reminded of the fact. She, a Maiden of the Sword, had begged a man to kill her. It was unspeakable.
“So,” ‘Aqrab said, watching her carefully, “with that in mind, let’s cease being unreasonable. You were willing to die last night. Now I’m offering you a truce, instead. The dragons can remove the Third Lander, but as the one who cursed you at the oasis, only I can return to you your ability to kill. I’ll give it back, if you will relinquish your damned shadows. I’ve spent too long swallowing your poisons, mon Dhi’b. It is icing over my soul.” He gave her a mirthless smile. “Just as, I would imagine, my deathbed wish has been drying out yours.”
Kaashifah swallowed, hard. She glanced down the river, watching the chunks of ice floating downstream, knocked loose by the weak sunlight from where they had frozen in ponds or along streambeds overnight. It was true. His curse had been wearing on her for millennia. She couldn’t even kill a rabbit, not even to save herself from starving. She had wandered the herds of the savannah for months, praying to find the maggot-ridden carcass of a lion’s kill upon which to feed, living until her arms and legs became spindly bones, her ribs like fingers jutting from her chest, yet unable to die. So many times, it had happened. Africa, Asia, India, the Americas… A Fury, if she was to die, had to die a violent death. Her blood had to be spilled completely. Starvation, while utterly wretched and mind-destroying, could ne
ver kill her.
What was worse, each time her body had dwindled to bones, the djinni, while he himself never needed to eat as anything more than curiosity or luxury, suddenly claimed he craved red meat and spent a few days harnessing the power of the Fourth Lands to craft himself vast meals—much more than he could ever eat—and then, once satisfying this newfound ‘craving,’ idly disappeared to allow her to eat his ‘leavings.’ A couple times, when ‘Aqrab had exhausted his supply of Fourthlander magics and still the Third Lander hungered, he had even killed for her.
Something, she had learned over the years, a djinni despised almost as much as water. Even back then, gazing upon that first mountain of food, Kaashifah knew ‘Aqrab had been taking pity on her. The humiliation still wormed holes through her soul. She, a Fury, had been forced to eat the leftovers of a man in order to survive. Even knowing it, however, she hadn’t been able to bring herself to refuse his offerings. It had been one of many occasions where her stomach had overpowered her pride, spurned by the voracious, undeniable appetite of the Third Lander infecting her blood.
Dragging her eyes from the chunks of ice floating upon the river, Kaashifah looked back up at ‘Aqrab, who watched her all-too-carefully over the massive arms he’d crossed over his smooth ebony chest.
The djinni wanted her. She had seen it, blazing in his eyes as he challenged her time and again. Half of her worried that this was a ploy to further her corruption, to rip away the last of her defenses so he could finish his defilement of her. The other half of her recognized that this was the first time the djinni had so much as mentioned returning her sword to her, and she knew that, if she didn’t accept his offer now, she was probably going to have to wait another three thousand years before he deigned to make it again.
