by Sara King
It was then that Kaashifah recognized the sword.
Immediately she fell to her stomach, eyes to the icy ground. She was gasping, her breath coming in steamy little puffs in the cold winter air, when the Lord of War said, “Sit up, my Morning Blade.”
For a long moment, Kaashifah thought she had misheard, and waited for the Sword of War to arc through her neck and do to her what she had wreaked upon her sister. The sound of metal rattling against asphalt heralded a warm hand on her shoulder. Reluctantly, she bit her lip and dared to look up into Her Lord’s impassive face. “Sit up,” He said, and it was not a request.
Very slowly, Kaashifah got to her knees, biting her lip, averting her gaze downward. In front of her, the Lord of War stood. He leveled His blade upon her and Kaashifah’s heart sped up. He would take her wings. Leave her mortal.
“You have failed,” the Lord of War told her, in the tone of ritual, His voice booming outward in a rolling thunder. “In three thousand years, you have failed in many things.”
His command. I failed His command, Kaashifah thought, horrified. She felt her wingtips trembling against the cold ground. He’s going to kill me. …or take her wings. Her fear became so thick it was like molten lead rising into her throat.
“You have failed to follow in the footsteps of your ancestors.”
She bowed her head, feeling the cold sinking of dread. “I’m sorry—” she began.
“You have failed to follow the laws written countless lifetimes before your birth.”
She felt tears stinging her eyes.
“You failed to adhere to the pact of Sisterhood.”
She fisted her hands to keep them from shaking.
“You failed to live a life without desire.”
Kaashifah could barely hear Him over the pounding of her heart.
“You failed to keep your body pure.”
Kaashifah felt their stares, hundreds of them, accusatory, and suddenly understood what Zenaida had felt, not minutes before.
“You have failed to protect my symbol with your life.”
The condemnation felt like a thousand spears, driving their way between her shoulder-blades.
“You have failed to keep yourself clean of the taint of human passions.”
Oh gods, Kaashifah thought, in misery. She had been so wrong…
“And you have failed to spread the djinni’s blood across the lands.” There was a long, heavy silence afterwards before her Lord said, “You realize that this is highly inconvenient for me.” Kaashifah frowned, hearing the smile in His voice. Indeed, when she looked up, the Lord of War was grinning at her. “They need bodies, Sister.” He gestured at the hundreds of ethereal Furies encircling her, most of whom were grinning back. “How are they going to return without bodies?”
“Uh…” Kaashifah’s face went red. “My Lord?” she squeaked.
He sighed. “My lovely consort is constantly berating me for giving unclear commands,” her liege said, gesturing at the ruined airbase. He exhaled deeply at the devastation before he turned back to her. “So how’s this: You did good. Mission accomplished. Now go find your djinni and make me some more Furies.” He cocked His head at her, a slow smile spreading over His ageless face. “That plain enough for you?”
Her mouth fell open and remained that way, a skin-searing flush spreading from her neck to her ears. “Yes…sir…” she stammered.
“Oh,” her liege said, “and take this. Yngvöldr destroyed your last one.” He tugged a golden symbol from His neck, one that was exactly as her last one, except for the color.
“Gold?” Kaashifah blurted, almost afraid to reach for it.
The Lord of War held it up and peered at it, grimacing. “Well, it was originally silver, but my Lady got her hands on it. Said she had a gift for you, and when I got it back, it was gold.” He shrugged and offered it to her. “She’s always been partial to gold.”
As Kaashifah took it with numb fingers, He flipped his sword around and offered it, hilt-first. “And this. I would not have my Morning Blade without a sword.”
Stunned and horrified by the honor, Kaashifah almost dropped the talisman. Hurriedly, knowing she could never accept such a gift, she babbled, “There’s a claymore right over—”
One of the ghostly Furies casually stepped on it, snapping it in half.
The Lord of War turned to look at the broken sword, then back at her, a single eyebrow raised.
“Oh. Uh…” Kaashifah bit her lip, her eyes fixed on the ruby blade. For a long, breathless minute, she couldn’t force her body to cooperate, and she just stared at it in shock. Then, when her Lord did not retract His gift, Kaashifah reached out and took the sword with trembling fingers, having to use delicate care not to nick herself with the flanges.
“When the time comes that you must wield it,” her liege said, nodding at the multiple razor edges sprouting from the hilt, “those will go away. Until then, it is a reminder.”
“Yes, my Lord,” she whispered, barely able to find the words to speak through her awe.
The god gave her one more scrutinizing look, then gave a satisfied nod. “You did good.” Then He winced up at the horizon, which was almost dark. “And I’ve used up about three centuries’ worth of time already. I’d better be getting back before I violate the Pact.” As He was turning to go, the Lord of War stopped and looked over His shoulder. “Remember, find djinni, make more Furies. Got it?”
Kaashifah nodded dumbly.
Her Lord winked at her and He and all of his angels vanished with a howling blast of winter wind, leaving Kaashifah standing alone on a shattered airstrip with a blood-red blade that glowed with its own inner fire. For what seemed like eternity, Kaashifah could only stare at the sword and talisman in shock. Then, timidly, she lifted the silver chain over her head and lowered the golden talisman to her chest. Made for the neck of a much larger man, the golden symbol dangled well between her breasts.
As soon as it touched her skin, however, the gold color dissolved and dispersed into the contours of her chest. Kaashifah felt something tighten within her ribcage, like a muscle being strained past the limit.
What the…? she thought in panic, staring down at the now-silver talisman. As the pressure increased, Kaashifah remembered her Lord’s words. Said she had a gift for you…
A gift? The stretching within was almost becoming painful. An instinctive part of Kaashifah reflexively tried to stop it, to clamp down and keep the feeling restrained, but the gentle-yet-powerful surge would not be refused. She gasped as the pressure in her chest continued to increase, tenderly pushing open and out, and suddenly she was struggling to breathe as it was overwhelming her with a hot, tingly warmth in her lungs, heart, and stomach.
On that tide came a rush of emotions that she had been struggling to keep in check for eons. Anguish, loneliness, unhappiness, despair, uncertainty, hopelessness…all of the miseries of the ages, those that she had painstakingly locked away, began bubbling up from within like a great tide of the sea. With nothing to hold them back, she felt them burst through the sudden dam in her chest and flood away, like a logjam cleaned out by a river. Breathless, she fell to her knees and blinked at the frozen tarmac.
What was left to her after the rush of power was sore and tingling, but held a softer warmth, one that Kaashifah had struggled for years not to recognize. She once again saw ‘Aqrab’s big body stretched out on a sky-blue blanket as she rounded the stand of date palms at the oasis, remembered his startlingly beautiful violet eyes, his shy smile. She remembered that connection that had formed, that instant of panic, upon meeting his gaze. She remembered how he had twitched, ever-so-slightly, and how he had glanced down at the pile of dates on the blanket beside him, plucked a nicer one from the top, and held it out to her…
Would you care to listen to a story of love and adventure? I’ve had no one to hear my songs in many years…
She’d wanted to hear his song, Kaashifah realized. Her first instinct, upon meeting those gentle eyes, had been to take the
date and sit down beside him to hear that first damned song.
Tears suddenly stung her eyes. Instead, she had knocked the date aside, cursed him, and challenged him to a duel of souls. She remembered the djinni’s stricken look, the confusion. She remembered taunting him, daring him until he accepted, thinking she was just an insane human girl. As he was reluctantly getting to his feet, he’d even told her that, once he vanquished her, he’d simply make her sit down and listen to his damned story, rather than take her head. While Kaashifah, blind as she was, fully intended to harvest his soul.
Of course she had won. A hardened warrior against a poet. A Favored Fury against a djinni who was outside his Realm. He’d never stood a chance. Even now, she could take his head and claim his soul, and he the same. Of course he had been reluctant to grant her wings…
‘Aqrab, she thought, a new agony sprouting within. I am so sorry.
She remembered the gentleness he had shown her, the tenderness of the past few months, and the strange heat in her chest flared anew. Warm and overpowering, yet utterly blissful, it left feeling adrift on a contented sea of happiness, awash in a comforting blanket of joy. She had felt the beginnings of it once before, upon first meeting the djinni’s eyes, when he had offered her that fruit. Then she’d ruthlessly fought it down, locked it away, walled it up, and done her duty. Just as she had every other time.
Love, she realized, stunned. She looked down at the sword in her hand. She’d found love. It had only taken her three thousand years to recognize it.
A floodlight flashed upon her suddenly, blindingly white against the increasing black of nightfall, and Kaashifah looked up, blinking.
“Attention winged intruder. We know you’re injured. We have medical facilities that we will make available to you. Relinquish your sword and come towards the light, hands in the air, and we will get you the proper treatments.”
Kaashifah slowly got to her feet. Ringing her on all sides, tanks and humvees formed a ragged circle, with armed soldiers standing or squatting behind their vehicles, weapons aimed at her.
‘Aqrab, Kaashifah thought, her lips slowly stretching in a smile. Thought of the djinni only made the heat in her chest flare, like a furnace within. She spread her wings, found them sound. In the ragged ring encircling her, men and women began to shout back and forth, and the woman on the loudspeaker said, “Retract your…uh…wings…and offer yourself up into custody or we will fire.”
You’d better have a place in mind, djinni, Kaashifah thought, grinning. This time, I’m not taking no for an answer. With a joyous pound of her wings, she launched herself skyward. On the ground behind her, no one fired.
After being not-so-politely told that her services weren’t necessary in the basement, Imelda had found a seat at a table against the inside wall of the cafeteria, slipping in and out of consciousness as the strange native man with the sizzling electric eyes ranted at his football game while ‘guarding’ her former comrades.
The unicorn had brought her food and water from the buffet and had settled down in a cafeteria chair beside her, still giving the entire gathering a timid look.
The team on the television made another ‘fucktarded play’ and the man in the shimmery gray robes shrieked and stood up, screaming profanities about blood-sucking referees and how San Francisco might soon be renamed to the City by the Bolt. While normally the continuation of the game was enough to wrest his attention back and quiet him, this time the television broke to commercial, and the Athabascan man shouted in indignant fury and turned on the group. “You saw that, right? He was holding onto him. That’s illegal. Against the rules.”
All of Imelda’s brethren nodded hurriedly, and with wide eyes. Imelda idly wondered why none of them had yet tried to escape. One of the technicians over in a corner had what looked like burns, but otherwise, they seemed incredibly docile for the amount of attention they were being given.
Then the man had turned, scowling at the cafeteria. His electric eyes located the unicorn.
“You!” he called, his glowing eyes narrowed. “You didn’t nod. You don’t agree?”
The unicorn flinched at the table. “Um, I, um…”
“He doesn’t know anything about football,” Imelda said. “Leave him alone.”
As the television went on about the cool, smooth qualities of an American beer, the man in the strange shimmering robes frowned at the unicorn. “You don’t know anything about football?”
The unicorn shook his head and seemed to cringe into the wall.
“Oh, we must fix that,” the native man cried, striding confidently over and sitting down beside them. As he did, Imelda felt the little hairs along her arms tingle, almost like she were being inundated with static electricity. As both she and the unicorn leaned away, the cafeteria ‘guard’ began explaining the basics of the American pastime.
“You see,” the man began, drawing it out on their table with a perfectly manicured finger, “the Seattle Seahawks is the greatest team in United States history. They are, categorically, the best. They have—”
“—only made it to one Superbowl, as far as I’ve heard,” Imelda pointed out.
The glowing-eyed Athabascan man hesitated, gave her a long, irritated look, and went on, “—the greatest record in the NFL.”
Imelda frowned. “I thought the Steelers and the Cowboys had the most Superbowl appearances.”
“The Superbowl,” the man grated, “isn’t everything.”
“Oh, okay,” Imelda said, “if you want to go by overall percentage of wins, it would be the Dallas Cowboys, the Dolphins, or the Bears, with more wins than losses, rather than the Seahawks, who have more losses than wins.” Then, at the man’s blue-white electric scowl, she quickly shrugged and said, “Sorry. I am new to this country. I am a fan of football in Spain—soccer, you call it here. Perhaps I misunderstand.”
He peered at her for some time before turning to the unicorn. “The Seattle Seahawks are the underdogs, which makes them the greatest in history.”
“I thought the underdogs were the Cardinals, the Buccaneers, and the Texans,” Imelda said. “Their win record is hovering at just over thirty percent.”
The native man turned back to her and Imelda felt the little hairs on her arms start to lift again. “You know,” he muttered, “there is more to the game than numbers. It’s the spirit of it.”
Imelda raised an eyebrow. “And you think the Seahawks have the greatest spirit?”
“The Seahawks,” the man said, “have the best mascot.”
Imelda felt a little twitch in her brain as she tried to comprehend that. “The best…mascot.”
“Yes.” He turned back to the unicorn. “Football is a man’s sport only, which is probably why the fool human woman is so interested. They are superior athletes, and their uniforms are quite…revealing…”
“I like soccer,” Imelda said.
But the man was looking the unicorn up and down. “You know, you would look absolutely fabulous if you put on a little weight. Have you ever worked out? There’s a gym in Eagle River I could take you to. I could get you in shape and we could be a deadly duo. My looks and your mystique… You like karaoke?”
The unicorn gave the man a nervous look. “Um. I don’t—”
“He would love it,” Imelda said, sensing an opportunity for the unicorn to expand his horizons. “He’s been looking for friends for awhile, now, Mr…?”
“Thunderbird,” the man said. “But you may call me Brad.”
“As in a Thunderbird?” Imelda cried. “Seriously?” Suddenly, her comrades’ cowed demeanor was making a lot more sense. There was a standing Do Not Engage order out on all Thunderbirds, due to the repeated, devastating losses of Inquisition teams all over North America.
The man turned to frown at her. “As in the Thunderbird. Seriously.”
That made Imelda blink. If there was only one of them… Suddenly, the creature sharing breathing-space with them became a thousand times more dangerous in her mind. No
t an upper-tier, then. An over-tier.
Casually, Thunderbird turned back to peer at the unicorn. “What is your name? You smell funny. Like wet horse.”
The unicorn started to shrink into his chair again. “I, um…”
“He doesn’t have a name,” Imelda said, her instincts telling her that this was the greatest opportunity for the unicorn to make a buddy that he’d ever been given. “He’s been alone in the woods for God knows how long and he needs a friend to show him the ropes. Someone with experience.”
“Oh?” Thunderbird lifted a patiently condescending eyebrow at the unicorn. “What is he?”
The unicorn’s eyes widened. “I, um…” He looked at Imelda, blue eyes pleading for assistance, biting his lip.
“Oh come on,” Thunderbird growled. “What, you think I’m going to drag you off and add you to my hoard? I’m a demigod, kid. I’ve been around as long as there’s been rain.” Then he cocked his head thoughtfully. “Well, rain and birds… But that’s another matter.” He glanced back at the unicorn. “The point is, I’m not greedy like that little masturbating fop of a dragon. I may like to get a good look if something strikes my interest, but I don’t need to take it home with me.”
“Um…” The unicorn’s voice had fallen to a whisper, and it sounded like he was having trouble speaking as he glanced to the roomful of people, keeping his voice down, “I’m a…”
“I can’t hear you,” Thunderbird snapped. At the unicorn’s startled blink, he snorted, “Gods, kid, you must be really proud of yourself, if you think those idiots are going to give a shit with me in the room.”
That seemed to give the unicorn a tiny bit of courage, because he leaned close and whispered something into Thunderbird’s ear.
Thunderbird choked and leaned back in his chair, and for over a minute, the rain-god stared at the unicorn in slack-jawed incredulity, his smooth arrogance vanishing in a wave of red-faced excitement. “Really?” It came out as a shrill, girly squeal.
Fidgeting, looking like he wanted to sink into the chair and the wall, the unicorn nodded.
