Alaskan Fury

by Sara King

  “He took a Fury’s sword through the chest,” ‘Aqrab snapped. “Help me flip him over or I swear, you’re about to discover a strange new pox on your balls.”

  The dragon gave him an irritated look, but then heaved a huge sigh and unconcernedly grabbed one of the beast’s wings in his jaw and easily pulled the massive corpse over.

  ‘Aqrab’s breath caught at what he saw. Even the dragon had the decency to wince.

  “He’s toast.”

  “I can’t heal that by myself,” ‘Aqrab whispered.

  “Well, I guess that answers the question,” Savaxian said. “The puffed-up peacock is full of shit.”

  “That’s not funny.” ‘Aqrab knelt beside Thunderbird’s neck again. “He’s still alive,” he said, biting his lip. “But not for long.”

  “Why’s it not healing?” the dragon asked.

  “It was a Fury’s sword,” ‘Aqrab said. “The energy negates their healing abilities. They’re made to kill other immortals.” He glanced at the sky, saw his magus engaging a helicopter, cutting its nose and rotors free of the rest of it. If he had her down here to help, he might be able to fuse some of Thunderbird’s wounds, but he would be completely spent for the rest of the day.

  “Give me a wish,” the dragon muttered. “I’ll heal him.”

  ‘Aqrab swiveled to him, frowning. “You don’t even like him.”

  The dragon shrugged. “It’ll be sweet to know I saved his stupid life.” Then, glancing at the pile of innards on the ground beside the Thunderbird’s corpse, he said, “Besides, it’s not like we’ve got a lot of options here, if you want him to survive the night.”

  And that was the core of it. ‘Aqrab hesitated, biting his lip as Thunderbird’s heartbeats continued to weaken, then said, “Fine, a wish. It is agreed.”

  Immediately, the dragon’s muzzle peeled back in an evil grin. “Now let’s see. I could wish him back as a frog…”

  “Dragon!” ‘Aqrab snarled, swiveling on him. “He is about to die. I can’t bring someone back from the dead.”

  “…or I could wish him an ass for a face,” the dragon continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “After all, it would be more becoming than the beardless, girly disgrace he’s got now, when he goes to meet the gods.”

  “I am not joking,” ‘Aqrab shouted. “A pox on your balls. You ever had a pox on your balls, dragon?!”

  “…or I could wish him featherless,” the dragon said, his frost blue eyes thoughtful. “That would be interesting.”

  “That’s it,” ‘Aqrab snarled. “May your balls shrivel and—”

  “I wish the Thunderbird fully recovered from the Fury’s attack,” the dragon said, sighing.

  “Thank you!” ‘Aqrab shouted, even as the breathtaking power of the Fourth Lands surged through him again and demanded, How would you fulf—

  “…except that, in recovering, he also unfortunately develops an extreme fear of heights from his nasty fall.”

  —fill this wish?

  Bearing his teeth at the dragon in a promise of future retribution, ‘Aqrab told the Law, Heal him fully, and give him a mild fear of heights.

  The Law hesitated. We are unsure whether a mild fear of heights falls within the realm of ‘unfortunate’ and ‘extreme’. You must explain or revise.

  ‘Aqrab realized that he did not have time to argue the Law. Frustrated, he thought, I revise. Heal him fully, and give him an extreme fear of heights.

  Granted.

  The power rushed through him, then, and he fell beside the Thunderbird and put his hands to his friend’s chest. Immediately, violet energy began rushing through him in a powerful tide, coloring the world around him in hues of purple. Underneath his hands, Thunderbird groaned.

  “You are in deep shit,” ‘Aqrab growled over his shoulder at the dragon.

  Savaxian shrugged. “It was only fair. The very thought of returning to my cave makes me physically ill.”

  And, ‘Aqrab supposed, the dragon was right. “I will not be the centerpiece in a wish-war,” he growled. “The two of you are going to work things out, together, or I’m going to disappear and leave you both with the mess you’ve made. One more nasty wish and I’m gone.” He scowled down at Thunderbird. “That goes for you, too.”

  Thunderbird was blinking up at him, then at the dragon. “He wished me healed?” He sounded utterly shocked.

  “Ah, yes,” ‘Aqrab began, “But he also—”

  But Thunderbird interrupted him. Already shifting down into human form, he was getting to his feet and walking forward to face the dragon. They stared each other, eye-to-eye, with the dragon lifting his head stiffly, as if expecting a fight. For a long moment, there was utter silence. Then Thunderbird inclined his head and said, “I was wrong about you. I thought you were naught but a vain, selfish, and small-minded child.” He bowed, deeply. “You have my gratitude, dragon. Your lands, and your progeny’s lands, will receive good rains from now until the day I no longer soar the skies of the Americas.”

  That, ‘Aqrab thought, cringing, might be a lot sooner than you think.

  Apparently, the dragon seemed to have the same thought, because he winced and cleared his throat, sounded embarrassed. “Ah, yes, well, um…”

  Thunderbird bowed again, then glanced at the bloody furrow he had carved into the dirt, then looked up at the sky. Immediately, he looked away, swallowing. “A fall like that certainly…brings things into perspective, doesn’t it?”

  ‘Aqrab opened his mouth to inform Thunderbird that the fool dragon had wished his newfound phobia upon him, but behind the demigod, the dragon was making cutting gestures with his paws, shaking his head emphatically. ‘Aqrab sighed, supposing that the two could be left to work out their own problems without his continued interference.

  “Do you think you’ll ever be able to take to wing again?” ‘Aqrab asked, flashing the dragon an irritated look.

  “Of course I will.” Then Thunderbird made an unhappy face and glanced again at the swirling black clouds above. The two Furies were gone, the helicopters assumedly in pursuit. “But… Perhaps you’re right. I mean, it is so soon after the fall… Maybe I should just wait.”

  Quickly, the dragon nodded, saying, “You just take all the time you need. After all, it was a brutal fall, and not many people would have survived it. You could just stay here and guard this important patch of forest while the djinni and I continue to the Inquisition’s compound alone.”

  Thunderbird glanced at the furrow he’d made, then back at the sky. “I suppose I could do that.”

  “After all, you wouldn’t want to make it worse by falling again when you’re still so uncoordinated from your last fall,” the dragon went on.

  “That is true,” Thunderbird said, sounding nervous as he stared up at the broken treetops where he’d plummeted through them, only minutes before.

  Narrowing his eyes at Savaxian, ‘Aqrab said, “There might be a unicorn in the basement.”

  Thunderbird, who had been in the middle of fluffing out his robes and lowering himself to a fallen log, stood up suddenly. “I’m headed south. Those who want my protection, follow.” Then he was shifting again, his ebony feathers sliding from his skin. A moment later, a crack of his wings and he was in the air.

  Low in the air, but in the air.

  The dragon untangled himself from where he’d been knocked over by the Thunderbird’s wingbeats. “Why’d you do that?! He was going to stay here while we scoured out the compound. We wouldn’t have had to put up with his narcissistic bullshit!”

  A crack of lightning up ahead heralded the whining hum of a helicopter, followed by the roar of twisting metal as something slammed into the ground.

  “Because I’d rather have that watching our backs when we do it,” ‘Aqrab said.

  The dragon made a face. “Fine. But I get whatever’s in the basement.”

  “I highly doubt there’s a unicorn,” ‘Aqrab said. “I was just saying that for his benefit. They’re just too rare.”
>
  “If there is a unicorn, the pigeon will have to fight me for it. Now get on. Before he gets there first.”

  ‘Aqrab rolled his eyes, but climbed onto the dragon’s glass-smooth back. “Whatever’s in the basement, we’re going to be freeing them, not enslaving them for our own means.”

  “You aren’t.”

  Then they were aloft, with the dragon struggling to keep up with the slow, lazy flaps of Thunderbird.

  For almost an hour, Kaashifah kept the mirror-like blade between them, heart pounding, trying to hold her sister in place long enough for her body to neutralize the hydra poison in her arm and wing. Her sister continued to stare into her own visage, her body utterly frozen in place. Around her, Kaashifah heard sirens and helicopters, as well as the sound of a bullhorn, telling people to stay in their homes. Yet with only one arm with any strength, all she could do was keep the mirror trained on Zenaida’s face. Her other arm and wing continued to hang limply at her side, though she was regaining some of the feeling in her fingers.

  As the minutes stretched into hours, Kaashifah’s sister remained absolutely motionless before her, staring in wide-eyed horror at her own reflection in the sword. Kaashifah tightened the fingers of her wounded arm into a fist around the Damascus blade, but she didn’t have the strength to lift it. Just a little bit longer…

  Much too soon, Kaashifah heard the sound of footsteps in between buildings, and a bullhorn called out, “This is the United States Army. We have you targeted by laser sight. Drop your weapons or you will be fired upon.”

  I need help, she thought, biting her lip, knowing she had to get to Zenaida before the mortal soldiers decided to try and keep the peace. She looked around for a nearby observer, but all of them had fled or fallen to the medusa’s gaze. Damn.

  Overhead, she suddenly heard the scream of engines as several USAF fighter-jets shot past overhead. Oh no, Kaashifah thought, turning to watch them as they began their long, veering curve. She had to do something, and fast.

  Careful to keep the mirror trained on her sister’s face, Kaashifah sidled closer, until she was within arm’s-reach, then lifted the blade until it was nearly at eye-level with her, tilted for her opponent’s greater height, then twisted her head sideways and took the grip in her teeth. Biting down hard to keep the heavy sword in place, Kaashifah reached out and began fumbling with her sister’s belt with her good hand, searching for some clasp.

  “Holy fuck!” she heard from somewhere nearby. “I don’t know what it is, but it ain’t fucking human. It looks like fucking Medusa. Fire! Fire!” Immediately, the echoing retorts of machinegun fire echoed off of the nearest walls, and wads of little gray bullets slapped against her shielding.

  Kaashifah ignored the distraction, straining to keep her head steady as she felt along Zenaida’s belt for the release. She quickly discovered that there was no clasp. Zenaida had fused the damn thing to her body. Kaashifah knew she couldn’t yank at it without throwing her sister off balance and ending the mirror’s spell.

  The jets made another pass, this time heralded by the ear-shattering blast of cannons, shredding the concrete at their feet, powdering those statues misfortunate enough to have been standing nearby into dust before arcing back for another pass.

  Knowing she didn’t have much time, Kaashifah summoned her power and pushed her body outward, shifting to full Fury. A moment later, her head was rising, pulling the sword out of Zenaida’s line-of-sight. Even as Zenaida’s face was twisting with disdain, Kaashifah reached down, grabbed her sister’s belt in her good hand, and yanked it with all the strength she could summon.

  The golden chain snapped.

  Grabbing it, Kaashifah stumbled backwards, holding the artifact to her chest. She could feel the power in it. It seemed to bend the very shape of Time around her, shifting the world like the djinni’s wishes. It was tantalizing, alluring… Kaashifah actually stopped breathing, feeling it tugging at her soul. She’d never felt anything like this. It was exhilarating.

  Zenaida’s patronizing smile fell, replaced with a wary darkness. She crossed her arms, watching disdainfully. “And what do you think you’re going to do with it, sister? You don’t know which vials are poisons, which charms kill. You have a fifty-fifty chance of surviving the first sip.”

  Kaashifah looked down at the belt in her hand, feeling the realm-warping power around it, then bit her lip. She had the claymore in her teeth, and as numb as her left hand was, it was all she could do just to keep a grip on the smaller sword, much less lift it to keep Zenaida at bay. One-handed, she couldn’t defend herself against Zenaida’s attacks. If she didn’t drop the belt and pick up a sword, Zenaida could rip her apart.

  “All that power,” Zenaida chuckled. “Certainly you can feel it, sister. You know what that feel is? That’s a thousand years of souls, at your command. That is the power of a god.”

  Overhead, the jets were once again turning, and this time, once they leveled out, she saw little trails of white underneath their wings.

  Missiles. Kaashifah glanced down at the belt, looked at the many vials and charms, debating.

  Zenaida chuckled mirthlessly at her, but her eyes were dark. “Not half an hour ago, you were lecturing me on the repugnance of blood-magics. Yet here you are, about to use it for yourself?” She scoffed and started towards her. “The Blade of Morning. I knew you were a hypocrite.”

  Saying a prayer to the trapped souls inside, Kaashifah ripped open the gateway to the Void and tossed the belt through it, then slammed the barrier shut again.

  Zenaida stopped, mid-step. “You…”

  The ground exploded around them as the white trails of smoke collided with their shields, throwing great blasts of heat and flame outward, knocking over light-poles and tumbling cars. Kaashifah was backing up, holding her hand to her face to see through the flame and smoke, when Zenaida appeared before her, sword cocked back, an insane rage in her face.

  Kaashifah downsized to her human form, wrenching her wings back into her body, and ducked the blade that was aimed for her chest. With her target’s size cut to almost a tenth, Zenaida stumbled, swinging too high and wide.

  Wrenching the claymore from her teeth, Kaashifah retook her wings and once more shoved her energy back down her weapon, spun around, and held the sword out between them. “I just want to talk, sister,” Kaashifah said. “Perhaps the belt was affecting your—”

  But Zenaida screamed and whirled again, her own wings lighting up the smoke and dust as she flared them wide. “Do you know…” she bit out, forcing each syllable through clenched teeth, “how long it took me to make that?!” Rage livened her face, and her tiny snake-heads were beginning to wither and die under the force of her Fury.

  “Obviously not long enough,” Kaashifah said, pacing around her. “Sister, I understand your pain.”

  “You can never understand my pain!” Letting out an insane scream of frustration, Zenaida rushed forward, sword high.

  “I agree!” Kaashifah cried, dancing out of the way again, using her smaller form to avoid her sister’s huge swing and dance behind her. “The Sisterhood was corrupt, its tenets damaged by the annals of time. I would like to start over. A new Order. We can make things right again.”

  “The only thing you’re going to do,” her sister said, turning slowly to face her once more, pulling her swordtip through the concrete, “is go to your grave!” Her sister lunged again, blinded by her Fury.

  Not wanting to meet her sister’s blade and begin a battle in earnest, Kaashifah danced backwards, intending to slip out of the way of her charge, but a ragged chunk of concrete caught her ankle and set her off-balance. A moment later, Zenaida was shoving her, sending her sprawling on her back, and Kaashifah found herself looking up into the face of an enraged Fury as her sister slammed a foot onto Kaashifah’s chest, pinning her to the ground.

  “The Blade of Morning,” Zenaida scoffed, her words dripping with disdain. She hefted her sword over her head.

  Kaashifah, from her pos
ition on the ground, saw the white trails of smoke barreling towards them and, instead of trying to shove her sister off of her, chose that moment to focus her mind. This close to Zenaida, lying inside her shields, she was able to grasp her sister’s barriers in a mental fist and rip them away. An instant later, the missiles exploded between them, throwing Zenaida aside in a shower of rock and twisted metal. Kaashifah jumped back to her feet and jogged backwards up the street, out of the point of impact, eying the column of dust and fire warily. Inside, the wings of a Fury flashed against the smoke, then Zenaida was stumbling out, coughing and rubbing dust from her eyes.

  Overhead, the jets were rounding for another pass. Zenaida looked up at them, then back at Kaashifah.

  “Let’s take this somewhere else,” Kaashifah called. “This place is too visible…”

  The darkness spread into Zenaida’s smile as her sister said, “What better place for a warrior of God to triumph over the forces of evil?” Then she leaped from the ground, surging upwards, spinning. “But here, sister,” she laughed down at Imelda, still climbing. “You want to fight dirty? I’ll just take away the temptation!”

  Kaashifah frowned, unable to follow. “What are you…”

  Her sister hit the first jet from underneath, slamming her fingers through the metal skin, clinging to it as she pulled her sword with one hand.

  “Zenaida, no!” Kaashifah screamed.

  Then, still clinging to the jet, Zenaida swung at the nose, carving her sword through the front of the aircraft, slicing it off just before the pilot’s window. Then, yanking her sword free, she released her grip and swiveled to plunge it through the aircraft’s wing as it went by, taking the tip. Then she was soaring to meet the next. The first jet, missing its nose and part of a wing, immediately began listing, dropping altitude. Kaashifah saw the pilot eject, saw the aircraft in a fast arc for downtown Wasilla.

  Zenaida hit the second craft from underneath, and this time didn’t miss the pilot’s chamber, but rather sliced her sword lengthways through the plane, splitting it in half. The two halves parted on either side of her, then tumbled to the ground, where they exploded in white-hot balls of fire. Kaashifah was just getting back to her feet from the concussion when the first jet finally lost enough altitude and hit the ground a few miles away, the resonating boom making the electric wires and already-battered signposts quiver.