Alaskan Fury

by Sara King

  As soon as his magus was out of sight, ‘Aqrab lifted the little clay pendant of an old-fashioned oil-lamp that Kaashifah had made for him from around his neck and gently set it down in the snow at his feet. Stepping to one side, he cleared his throat.

  Immediately, the woman’s glacial blue eyes lifted to meet his. In that moment of startlement upon meeting his eyes, his head obviously much more lofty than she had anticipated, ‘Aqrab saw a flash of wary intelligence…as well as a complete lack of fear. Not, he noted, something that most mortals—even Inquisitors—were known for, in the face of a djinni.

  “And the wolf?” the Inquisitor demanded, as if her vest had put him solidly on her rack.

  “I sent her somewhere safe so we could talk,” ‘Aqrab said. “I figured you’d rather deal with a poet than a warrior, but I can follow her in an instant, if you try anything underhanded.” He crossed his arms over his chest, considering her arrangement of explosives. Many of the metal shards he saw through the plastic looked…uncomfortable, and there was the unmistakable writhing blackness of basilisk venom in several of the pouches. “What do you want from me?”

  There was no missing the look of disappointment on the woman’s face. “I’m not here for you. I came to speak to the angel.”

  ‘Aqrab froze. Since when does an Inquisitor refer to a wolf as an angel? Very carefully, he said, “My mistress is no angel.” About ninety percent of the time, she was a qybah. For the rest, she was a rabid hyena.

  The woman’s gaze sharpened. “Yet you knew exactly who I was talking about.” She gave him a wan smile. “I’ve spent enough sleepless nights studying your kind, djinni. I know you can’t lie. What is she, then? A terror? A pain in your ass? A puta?” Her mirthless smile fading, she said, “No, I wasn’t speaking of her qualities. I spoke of her nature. And she has wings. Doesn’t she?”

  Refusing to wince, ‘Aqrab said, “What are you expecting to accomplish with this?” He gestured at the vest she wore. “You have thirty seconds to explain yourself before I slip realms.”

  Her ice blue eyes scanned his a moment, wasting a dozen precious seconds, before she said, “Your mistress carried a pendant. A member of my Order wears a similar pendant. What does it mean?”

  ‘Aqrab felt the fire in his chest sputter in shock. “Someone else wears it?”

  She watched his reaction much too closely. “Your mistress’ pendant burns those who try to wear it illegitimately,” she said. “I know. I already tried.” She peeled the collar of her shirt back, exposing an angry red wound at her throat. Dropping the shirt, she said, “What does it mean? It is a symbol of the angels, yes?”

  This is the one who has been hunting us. ‘Aqrab realized he had been staring. He considered lighting her afire and slipping realms, as he had done with Thunderbird. As a mortal, he doubted she would survive it. Yet the woman’s complete lack of fear left him indecisive. He could feel the strings of Fate twirling around them, dangling, unused, across their bodies like the gods’ discarded puppet-strings, yet alive with nervous, dangerous energy. As if, at any moment, they could leap to life and snag his arms and legs and make him dance for the self-important fools that ruled the Realms.

  Clearing his throat, uncomfortable at the odd feeling, ‘Aqrab said, “Last I checked, you were trying to kill us, young lady.”

  The Inquisitor cocked her head at him, and he got that slightly disorienting feeling of strings sliding down his back, curling around his arms and legs. “Should I?” She held up the deadman’s switch and showed it to him, allowing him to see the trigger she kept depressed clearly.

  ‘Aqrab peered at the woman as the weave dangled and twisted around him, getting the unnerving feeling that his next words would change the course of history. A history that, if he chose unwisely, would be sans a certain sand-singing djinni. He cleared his throat, wondering if he was dealing with a self-avowed martyr. Very carefully, he said, “What is in-for-red?”

  The woman cocked her head at him. “Infrared?”

  “In-for-red. Yes. What is it? Tell us that and we will tell you about the pendant.”

  The Inquisitor scanned him with her icy blue eyes before she said, “It is a heat-sensing system that displays an image based on a target’s heat signatures versus its surroundings.”

  Heat. They find me by my heat. ‘Aqrab must have been staring at her, because the woman smiled and said, “Now tell me about the pendant.”

  He warily glanced at the helicopter behind her. Was this a trick to keep him talking so her snipers could get into position?

  “Djinni,” the woman said, “if I’d wanted to detain the two of you idiots, I could have done it. You leave a trail wide enough for a blind man to follow, and you have not altered your course since you began your trek.” Watching him, she said, “I want to speak to the angel. I want to know what she knows. She speaks with me, now, and I won’t come back here with my men tonight and personally execute you both.”

  ‘Aqrab felt a spark of irritation at the mortal’s impudence. “You have done a poor job of that thus far, First Lander. This is the first time we’ve seen your ilk in weeks.”

  “I gave the order to stop following you,” the woman said. “I will not risk more of my men until I’m certain I know what I’m dealing with.”

  ‘Aqrab peered at her over his crossed arms. “So, in telling you what we are, we will be signing our death warrants?”

  With a no-nonsense growl, the woman replied, “That depends on what you tell me.”

  She’s serious, ‘Aqrab thought, stunned. The Inquisitor is considering letting us go. He wondered if she had any idea they were about to bring the dragons down upon their heads. Probably not. Otherwise, she would be triggering that switch in her hand…

  After a moment’s deliberation, he raised his voice slightly. “Mon Dhi’b? Are you listening to all this?”

  The air directly in front of the Inquisitor said, “I am.”

  “Are you going to be reasonable?”

  “Once I kill her, djinni, you will be next.”

  ‘Aqrab gave a long-suffering look to the Inquisitor. “You see what I have had to deal with?”

  “What did she say?” the Inquisitor asked, eying the air in front of her with a complete lack of surprise.

  ‘Aqrab sighed. “She said she’s here and listening.”

  “What language is that?” the Inquisitor demanded.

  ‘Aqrab hesitated. Instinctively, he knew that the less information he gave the Inquisition, the better. “An old one.”

  The Inquisitor seemed to take that in stride. “Tell her to speak English.”

  “And you tell her that I will speak whatever I please, and that I will defecate upon her mother’s grave, once I’m done ripping you limb from limb and shoving your balls down your spineless bloody neck.”

  Aqrab winced. At the Inquisitor’s raised brow, he said, “She says she will speak the tongue that pleases her.”

  The Inquisitor hesitated for a moment, seemingly considering that. To the air in front of her, she said, “One of my Sisters wears this symbol that I took from you. What does it mean?”

  “It means we have finally infiltrated your corrupt mockery of a religion and she will be destroying you from the inside even as I wreak havoc from above.”

  “What did she say?” the Inquisitor asked, when ‘Aqrab failed to translate.

  “Um,” ‘Aqrab said, struggling, “she says that she is bringing the truth of God to your religion.”

  “Stop dancing around the truth, ‘Aqrab,” his magus sneered. “Tell her I will paint the walls with her brains.”

  “Actually, mon Dhi’b,” ‘Aqrab said, “Considering that I am the one standing before a vest-full of explosives, I think it will be my brains that will be used as pigment, if you continue to try and rile her.” He cocked his head with that new, unpleasant thought. “Or is that your goal?”

  His magus hesitated. Then, in almost a petulant mutter, she said, “My Lord told me to kill you.”


  ‘Aqrab groaned. “I told you, mon Dhi’b. You misinterpreted his words.”

  “I can’t misinterpret his words, you fool. It was a message sent directly to me. Planted into my mind. There was no translation necessary. Tell the qybah that I want my pendant back.”

  The Inquisitor listened to the exchange in silence. “What was said?” she asked.

  ‘Aqrab sighed. “She is being obstinate. She wants to know where her pendant is.”

  “I don’t have it,” the hollow-faced brunette said. “But I will get it for her, if she answers my questions to my satisfaction.”

  ‘Aqrab could feel his magus’s attention sharpen.

  “First,” the Inquisitor said, “I would ask what the pendant does.”

  “It’s a symbol of one of my Lord’s Favored,” Kaashifah said. “It means that the two of us will gut you, then your family, then your family’s family for the crimes that you have committed upon the Realms. We will bathe ourselves in your blood, and then cast your bodies into the sewers to rot.”

  ‘Aqrab cleared his throat. “It is given to a favored warrior of her Lord.”

  The Inquisitor’s blue eyes flickered up at him and he saw a wry smile. “More was said than that.”

  ‘Aqrab shrugged.

  Carefully, the Inquisitor said, “This symbol… It means they can speak directly to God?”

  ‘Aqrab felt his magus’s rage when she said, “I haven’t spoken directly to God since I had my pendant taken from me. If anything happened to it, I’m going to enjoy divining his words with your entrails.”

  “She says she can,” ‘Aqrab said.

  The Inquisitor seemed to consider that. “Has she ever seen God? Does she serve him? Or was she cast from Heaven? Does she serve Lucifer? Who gave her the pendant?”

  “Tell her,” Kaashifah growled, “That Heaven, God, and his pretty orchestra of angels do not exist. Heaven is probably another word for the other Realms, because the small-minded fools in that day did not have the mental capacity to imagine a place more inaccessible than the clouds. There are many facets of the divine, and the fact that one male-dominated religion came up with a single egocentric male presence who is Lord over her petty little universe is not surprising. I laughed when I heard about it. Angels were obviously based off of my Order because their little male enclave of self-avowed scholars did not have the creative fortitude to come up with something original. Lucifer is probably a myth based off of one of my fallen sisters. My pendant—”

  But the Inquisitor’s gaze had sharpened. “And you?” she interrupted. “Are you fallen?”

  ‘Aqrab froze. I never translated that for her, he thought. His eyes dropped to the bit of her chest that the woman had bared in showing him the burn, and he noticed the soft green, iridescent shell-like talisman that shared space with the Catholic symbol of martyrdom. He cursed inwardly, knowing that it had probably once belonged to a fey spider. A master of tongues.

  But his magus did not seem to notice. There was defensive anger in her voice when she snapped, “Tell the bitch that I got tricked by a word-twisting djinni, and I will return to my Lord’s favor the moment I bring him your repulsive heart.”

  “You have reset your seven days—mon Dhi’b, I think you should—”

  “Also tell her that, as a Justice of the Realm, I will enjoy slaughtering every member of her cult and wiping her disgusting religion into oblivion, once I get my wings back.”

  ‘Aqrab winced. “Um. Mon Dhi’b, she can understand…”

  “Oh,” Kaashifah screamed from the half-realm, pacing, “and tell her I never fell. My sisters just made me leave. My Lord never said I’d fallen. I was my Lord’s greatest. His shining star. I did everything for him. I was his Blade of Morning. My sisters could have helped me kill you, but they were afraid of me. Jealous. They could have cut off your damned head without even blinking. But I made one mistake and they abandoned me with a djinni. I never fell.” He could hear her pacing, now, full in her Fury, “I was the best. I carried the light of my Lord in my every waking moment. I was perfect. That’s why they tossed me out. They couldn’t stand the fact that I was the only one to wear a pendant for ages. They wanted it for themselves, but when they tried to take it from me as they cast me adrift, it burned their fucking fingers to the bone. Tried to cut off my wings and feed me to dragons in a fucking chasm to prove they were right, but I survived and made the serpents my own. So tell the qybah that if another of my sisters carries my Lord’s favor, between the two of us, her and her kind are all utterly dead, to a soul.”

  “Uh,” ‘Aqrab said, watching the Inquisitor carefully. “I believe you just did, mon Dhi’b.”

  The Inquisitor lifted her icy blue gaze to him and said, “Thank you. I think that answers my question perfectly.” Her look gave ‘Aqrab chills. “Now back off, djinni. I am going to return to my helicopter and I am going to fly away. If you disappear between now and then, I will set off the explosive.” She held up the switch and loosened her finger just enough to show him the trigger. Tapping her chest with her other hand, she said, “And I have plenty of things that can kill a Fourth Lander packed in here, djinni, half-realm or not. Gold, venom, faespar…”

  “I can see it,” ‘Aqrab said. Even then, the writhing blackness of basilisk venom was making him uncomfortable.

  “Don’t follow me.”

  “I already told you,” ‘Aqrab said, “I’m a poet. I abhor bloodshed. It’s my mistress you should be wary of.”

  The woman gave him a long, level look. Then, instead of backing away, as ‘Aqrab expected, she simply turned on heel and strode back through the snow across the rise, towards the helicopter in the distance.

  As she climbed into the helicopter and ‘Aqrab watched the rotors spin up, he asked, “So, did you get it?”

  “Of course I did,” his magus growled. “Do you think me a fool?”

  ‘Aqrab declined to answer that. As Kaashifah folded open the veil and popped into existence beside him, he said, “My question is whether or not she gave it to you intentionally, or if she really knows that little about a magus.”

  Kaashifah watched the helicopter vanish into the distance. “I’m not sure. I think we led her on well enough.”

  ‘Aqrab raised an eyebrow at her. “So you saw the talisman from the beginning?”

  “Kind of hard to miss,” Kaashifah snorted. “It stank of the fey.” She raised a brow up at him. “Why? Did you miss it?”

  ‘Aqrab cleared his throat embarrassedly. “I think we should get going. If we’re going to use the Mark you put on her before someone figures out it’s there, we need to find the dragons and get your curse removed.”

  His magus blinked at him. “You missed it, didn’t you?” Like she had expected better of him.

  Feeling his face flush, ‘Aqrab reached down and scooped up the clay talisman his magus had made for him and started walking north without her.

  Imelda released the trigger of the joystick she’d ripped off of a kid’s video-game console and tossed it into the back seat, then reached up into the compartment above the copilot’s seat and retrieved the wolf’s pendant. She eyed it a moment, then looked out at the lone black figure standing amidst the snowdrifts.

  “So they bought it?” Herr Drescher said, as he started the engine. It had been his idea to stop by Wal-Mart on the way through Wasilla, to buy the game system for her to use in their ruse.

  “They’re simple creatures,” Imelda said. “They had no idea what they were looking at.” Tucking the pendant back into her front pocket, she shrugged the vest over her shoulders and tossed it into the back alongside the fake trigger. She’d rubbed C-4 onto every surface of the vest, in the hopes that the wolf, with her primitive Third Lander senses, would smell it. Instead, it seemed, it had been the djinni to pick it up.

  Herr Drescher chuckled. “And what did you decide about them, Inquisitorin?”

  Imelda wasn’t sure. While the creature was apparently mindlessly rash and violent, utterly confiden
t in its own superiority, she was pretty sure she had felt the creature brush the center of her forehead. “I think she tried to place a Mark on me.” Already, she was reaching back into the overhead compartment, dragging out an emergency kit. She dug through the clotting-aids, the horn tonics, the feather tendrils, the various performance-enhancers, and came back with a tiny square of shimmering pearlescent cloth, wrapped in a Ziplock.

  “A Mark?” Herr Drescher demanded. “Why would she do that?”

  “My guess is that she wants to know where we live.” Imelda pulled the faecloth out of its bag and began wiping down her entire face. A magus would naturally try to Mark the forehead or brow, since it was most likely to link them to the gold-mine of their victim’s vision, once they had enough time and energy to stretch their consciousness to the Mark. That said, however, Imelda wasn’t about to take the chance the wily little magus had touched her ears, as well. With that in mind, she began wiping down every surface where her skin had been exposed.

  “Why would she want to know where we live?” Drescher asked, as she scrubbed herself.

  “I think,” Imelda said, “She intends to hunt us down. To all appearances, Drescher, this whole trek-across-Alaska is a rescue attempt.”

  “A rescue attempt.” Drescher frowned. “And what will happen once she reaches the dragons, Inquisitorin? Does she truly expect to hunt the Order?”

  Imelda glanced at Drescher, wondering if there was genius in the man’s words. “Furies were the Justicars of their day. They were the demons that killed other demons who were upsetting the balance.” Then she had an unsettling thought. A hundred and eighty-five thousand Assyrians had fallen in a single night. Sweet God, what if that was leveled against them?

  Drescher glanced at her with a wary look. “A balance among demons, Inquisitorin?”

  Imelda took a deep breath, still thinking of the Assyrians, and the angel’s threats. How much could the German be told? For the last two months, her world had been crumbling in a rot of lies and subterfuge, and she wasn’t sure who she could trust, anymore.