Angels and Djinn, Book 3: Zariel's Doom

by Lewis, Joseph Robert

  “No. Only the dead ones, I’d imagine.”

  “I’m no sister to any djinn, cleric or otherwise,” Azrael said. “And I don’t care for your new hair, either. It’s a bit garish, don’t you think?”

  The djinn laughed. “It is different, but I’m surprised that you don’t like it. After all, dear sister, it is hair that you’ve seen before, albeit very long ago. Very long indeed. Don’t you remember these fiery locks on your dear brother, Zariel?”

  Iyasu tensed.

  Is he trying to look like Zariel? The hair, the voice? Or, what if he’s not trying? What if he’s actually changing? Could he be even more powerful now?

  But Azrael didn’t react to the name at all. “Zariel is an angel. You are a djinn.”

  “True, and false,” Jevad said. “Zariel is an angel. I was a djinn. But now I am something else, something greater. The soul of Zariel has elevated every fiber of my being, including my flesh. Come now, dear sister, don’t you recognize him in me at all?”

  “Perhaps. A little.”

  “Oh, more than a little. I am becoming him.”

  “Hardly.”

  Jevad smiled. “Entirely. And soon, you will too.”

  Chapter 28

  For a brief moment, no one moved. The djinn stood grinning in the sand and Azrael stood frowning before the pyramid. Iyasu gripped the stones of the wall in front him, clenching his teeth.

  The djinn attacked faster than Iyasu could follow, faster in fact than he had ever seen a djinn move before, and the sudden ferocity of the attack made his heart race and his face flush with fear, but before he could cry out, a hand was clamped over his mouth and an arm dragged him back from the wall, forcing him down to the ground in silence. Wild-eyed and shaking, he looked up into the stern eyes of Hadara and by small degrees he felt his panic subside. The princess leaned down and whispered in his ear so softly that he could barely hear her, “Not a sound.”

  He nodded, embarrassed that he had nearly lost control, nearly put them all in danger, and when Hadara let him go, he moved back to the wall to see what had happened. The djinn now stood on the steps of the pyramid, his head tilted back to look up at the sky where Azrael now hovered lighter than star light, her enormous black wings spread wide like a raptor circling her prey.

  “Why don’t you come down?” the djinn asked.

  “Because you wish it,” the angel replied.

  “Fair enough.” The djinn raised his bare arms and Iyasu saw a strange heat ripple in the air around the man’s back, and then all at once a pair of flaming red wings erupted from behind his shoulders and blossomed upward, spilling into the air with crimson feathers and golden tongues of fire. And with a single stroke of these burning wings, the djinn streaked up into the air toward Azrael.

  He has wings too!

  What followed was a chase unlike anything Iyasu had seen before, more thrilling and terrifying and strange than any duel between men or djinn. The dark wings of the angel flashed across the sky leaving trails of golden fire and wove a mad pattern through the pillars of Messenad, and the crimson wings of the djinn blazed in her wake, racing and racing around and around the dunes and ruins, up and down the sides of the ancient pyramid, and through the sandy lanes of the dead city. Dust rose and hung in the air like a miasma, clawing at Iyasu’s face and scratching at his eyes, but he didn’t dare look away because it was all he could do to follow the fiery trails of the winged combatants.

  Azrael circled the ruins many times over, but never once did she pass behind the broken wall where Iyasu, Hadara, and Rahm crouched in hiding, and so the young seer felt like a spectator removed from the action, without fear for himself at all. As the seconds ticked by, it slowly became clear to him that Jevad, while blindingly quick through the air, was no match for the angel and bit by bit he was falling behind her.

  Moments later, the djinn himself seemed to come to the same conclusion because he crashed to a halt in the center of the pillars, hurling a massive spray of sand into the air where his feet impacted the earth, and his burning red wings faded from sight. Azrael crashed to a halt as well, but she landed on the peak of the pyramid, quite distant and rather far above her enemy. Her dark wings faded away as she said, “Jevad Tafir! You are guilty of murder a thousand times over, and if I could end your life I would, if not for the dead then for the living who mourn them. But I cannot sever a soul by my own will.”

  Rahm roughly but quietly backhanded Iyasu in the arm and gestured with a glare at the angel, which Iyasu interpreted to mean that the warrior was angry and confused as to why Azrael would not, or could not, kill the djinn. He leaned close to the warrior’s ear and whispered, “She is Death, but she can’t kill anyone with her own hands. Not ever. It’s forbidden. I’m pretty sure I told you that before.”

  Rahm didn’t seem at all satisfied at that answer, and a moment later he pulled Iyasu close and hissed in his ear, “That beast is the fire demon. Just look at his hair, his wings. He killed King Kavad and the soldiers of Burzhia!”

  “Maybe. Just wait,” Iyasu urged him and pulled away to watch.

  “Jevad Tafir is a memory,” the djinn proclaimed loudly. “A servant. A vessel. A means to an end. You may call me Zariel, sweet sister.”

  “I didn’t call Zariel my brother when I knew him. If you were him, you would know that.”

  “Yes, I know,” he said thoughtfully. “You always were rather withdrawn. Not very affectionate. Always by yourself, always gazing off at the ocean or the stars, standing at the edge of that white cliff of yours.”

  Iyasu saw Azrael’s expression shift slightly.

  Is he right? Is he saying things only Zariel would know?

  “Maybe you are Zariel,” she said. “Or a part of him. An echo, or a shadow. I don’t know what you are, but you’re not an angel.”

  “Maybe not, but more divine than a djinn,” he said. “So tell me, dear sister, why did you call for Jevad Tafir? Were you hoping to punish him for his crimes in the Navean kingdoms?”

  “No.” The angel began walking down the pyramid steps toward him. “I’m looking for Ramashad.”

  “Are you now?” Jevad tilted his head, birdlike. “Why? What does an angel want with a place like Ramashad?”

  Azrael reached the bottom of the steps and continued to walk toward him. “I’m not going to play games with you. I know the eastern djinn attacked Shivala, and I know you’ve stolen a piece of an angel’s soul. Zariel’s, apparently. So I’m going to Ramashad to find the truth behind all of this, and then I’m going to end it.”

  “Are you now?” he said again. “That will be difficult if you cannot find the city.”

  “Obviously.” She stopped just in front him. The wind whisked a little sand up around their knees, and tossed the dark folds of her skirts until they brushed the legs of his white robes. “Hence the summons. Now take me to Ramashad.”

  The djinn stood very still, staring at the angel’s face, and then he smiled and held out his empty hand to her. “It would be my very great pleasure to do just that.”

  “Good.” Azrael reached out and took his hand.

  “No!” Iyasu surged up from behind the wall even as Hadara and Rahm lunged to grab him and haul him back down out of sight.

  But he did see. He saw their hands touch. He saw the flicker of red fire when their hands came together. And every muscle in his body tensed as he watched…

  …nothing. Nothing happened. Azrael stood there, holding the djinn’s hand, waiting.

  And the djinn stood there, holding her hand, with a confused scowl darkening his face. “Well…”

  “Well, nothing,” Azrael said curtly. “You’re taking me to Ramashad, and I’m bringing my people with me.”

  “Your people?” The djinn whipped around, peering at the ruins.

  Rahm stepped out first, with Hadara and Iyasu just behind him. They walked slowly toward the djinn, who began to chuckle, saying, “Humans? What are they, your pets?”

  “They’re people,” A
zrael said. “People whose lives I value more than yours.”

  “Ah, but you can’t take my life can you?”

  “No,” she said offhandedly. “I can only inflict terrible pain on you until you die of natural causes. How many centuries do you have left, I wonder?”

  His grin faded.

  “King Kavad!” Rahm barked, his considerable brow lowered and aimed at the djinn. His huge scimitar swung at his side, gripped in a red-veined fist. “What happened to him and his army? Did you kill them?”

  “King Kavad?” Jevad blinked. “Oh yes. Fat fellow? Long mustache? Pointed hat?”

  “Yes,” Rahm growled.

  The djinn shrugged. “I can’t say I know the man.”

  “Damn you!” Rahm swung his blade at the djinn’s head, but it never reached its target.

  Azrael held the shining steel back with the palm of her hand. “This is not the time.”

  “It’s past time!” the warrior roared. “I’ve waited too long!”

  “And you’ll wait some more,” the angel said softly, ignoring the smug grin on the djinn’s face.

  “Why should I? Why should a king wait for justice? Why should his brave soldiers, who served and died for their country, for their families?”

  “Because they have to,” Hadara said. She lowered his sword arm to his side. “My love.”

  Rahm shuddered and bared his teeth, but the warrior did turn away and step back.

  The angel looked to her prisoner. “Now take us to Ramashad,” Azrael ordered.

  “I can’t.” The djinn gave her a pointed look.

  “You will, or I’ll break every fragile bone in your delicate little body, and then sit quietly as you slowly heal yourself, and then I’ll break them all again,” she said calmly.

  “No, really, I can’t. I can’t take them.” The djinn nodded at the three humans. “Ramashad is hardly close by, and I can’t carry anyone so heavy as your little clay toys here. Can you?”

  Azrael frowned. “No. Then I suppose you’ll just have to lead the way. We know it’s not far. We’ve heard it from another djinn, one we trust more than you.”

  “The old road is close enough, yes, but not the city, not anymore.” Jevad shook his head. “Come look, I’ll show you.” He gestured toward the pyramid and led them on, still walking hand in hand with the Angel of Death. “You can let go now, if you like. We both know I can’t outrun you.”

  “All the same.” She did not let go.

  They walked up to the base of the pyramid and circled around the structure to the southern face where the sand lay in high drifts, obscuring the stone walls. The djinn pointed at the mound of white sand. “There. A door, just beneath the surface.”

  Azrael brandished her black wings in a sudden flourish of raven feathers, and then with a mighty sweep of them both she blasted the sand clear of the walls. Iyasu threw up his arms to shield his face as the sand pelted his exposed skin, tearing at his one eye, but only for a moment. When he looked again the sand was gone. The foundation stood bare. And a narrow door sat clearly recessed within the wall.

  Jevad pushed the door inward, and it opened upon a lightless passage. He said, “This leads to the cellar, where the floor collapsed and down into the chasm is the road to Ramashad. Once upon a time, there was a tunnel that connected Messenad and Ramashad, a road beneath the sandstorms, a refuge from the fury of the desert. But there was no refuge from my judgment, Zariel’s judgment, and now, well, you can see the result.” He smiled out across the ruins, faded and worn and buried.

  “You sowed the wind,” Iyasu said softly. “With your crimes. Your sins. Your cruelty, your selfishness. You did this to yourselves. The fact that you can’t admit it only proves what miserable pathetic creatures you were, and still are.”

  “O ho, proud little cleric.” Jevad flashed his teeth in a humorless grin. “I remember you. Still alive. Good for you. And still casting superficial judgments with those magi eyes of yours. Or eye, as it is. How quaint.”

  “No one’s listening to your nonsense,” Iyasu said loudly. “You’re not important, Jevad. No one cares about you anymore. No one here is going to be swayed by your prodding, your noise. We have more important things to do. So just show us the road to Ramashad.”

  “All in good time,” the djinn hissed.

  Azrael wrenched the djinn’s hand, snapping and twisting it against his wrist, and he gasped, his whole body bent and frozen in that moment of pain. She relented and he collapsed back, gripping his shattered wrist with his other hand. Through clenched teeth he rasped, “I suppose this is a good time.”

  With a shiver and a moan, Jevad led Azrael into the black tunnel, and the three humans followed them. As he passed into the shadow of the pyramid, Iyasu felt the vague fear that he always felt when his vision began to fail him. But no sooner had the daylight fallen behind them than a soft golden light began to fill the tunnel, illuminating the walls and the path ahead. The light seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere, making everything look warmer and closer.

  “Where is that light coming from?” Rahm muttered.

  “From Rael,” Iyasu said. “It’s her light. She’s made of the stuff, you know.”

  “Well, I’m made of clay, if the stories are true,” the warrior said. “But you don’t see the stuff coming out of me.”

  “Please.” Hadara snorted. “I’ve seen you squat in the brush more than once.”

  Iyasu laughed, which earned him a glare from their djinn guide. The path became a stair and they descended, still hemmed in by the close stone walls, and even when the stair turned sharply to the left, and then left again, the passage grew no wider. But when they reached the bottom, the walls angled away and they stepped out into a large chamber dotted with pillars not unlike those in the ruins above, and in the center of this huge dusty chamber the seer saw the black scar in the floor, the jagged gap where the tiles had collapsed and vanished into the earth.

  “What did that?” Rahm asked.

  “The floor?” Jevad arched an eyebrow. “When Ramashad was plunged into the earth, the desert shook for leagues in every direction. It’s a wonder this entire pyramid didn’t collapse. Why? You’re not scared of a little hole, are you?”

  “I’m scared I might lose my patience and kill you,” the warrior said mildly. “And then Hadara will be angry, not to mention this one.” He thumbed at Iyasu. He bared his teeth in a false smile. “But the hole doesn’t bother me.”

  The djinn said nothing as he led them across the chamber and began his descent into the fissure in the floor.

  “You said there was an underground passage,” Iyasu said. “You called it a road. Where is it?”

  “Buried,” the djinn replied. “But we can still reach it through here. I’ve walked it many times. It’s quite safe. More or less. No trouble for a light-footed djinn or angel, but for a lead-footed man? Well, I can’t say.”

  They descended the rocky slope of the collapsed floor, climbing and slipping and jumping as needed, and always guided by the warm amber light that seemed to infuse the air around the Angel of Death. Eventually, after climbing down, and over, and up but then back down again, they squeezed through a crack and skirted a bottomless chasm, and found themselves standing on a smooth, flat road with rough but clearly sculpted walls.

  “The road,” the djinn said with a theatrical bow. “As promised.”

  “Apparently,” Azrael said. “But if Ramashad fell into the earth, then this road can’t possibly take us to where the city is now.”

  “It doesn’t. It will take us to where the city was, dear sister,” Jevad said. “And from there, it is quite easy to find where the city is now.”

  As they followed the stone road, Iyasu peered at the walls, looking for clues about the people who created the passage centuries ago. The dry air, the lack of water, and the absence of wind should have preserved any marks from tools, or even traces of blood from an injured laborer. But he saw nothing. Even the dents and chips in the walls where he
was certain a hammer and chisel had once removed some excess stone were vague and strange. Frowning, he began to drag his bare hand over the wall as he walked, hoping his fingers would find some new insight that his eye was failing to see.

  “Wait,” he said abruptly. He turned to the wall and ran his hands over it in several directions, up and down, side to side. “Right here. The wall is rounded. It’s smooth.”

  “So what?” Rahm sighed and frowned, clearly wishing to be on their way.

  “So, these walls are all rough. Except here.” Iyasu crouched lower. “And here. Wait no, all along here, the bottom third of the passage, the walls are all smooth.”

  “What could do that?” Hadara asked. “Water?”

  “Absolutely water.” Iyasu nodded. “Just one problem with that. We’re in a desert. A very old, very dead desert. Jevad! Explain this. There must be a well, a spring, some sort of oasis. There was water here, wasn’t there? This tunnel wasn’t just a road, it was a reservoir.”

  “It was, of a sort,” the djinn admitted. “It kept both cities alive.”

  “So what happened?” Iyasu asked. “Where did the water go?”

  Jevad paced back along the narrow path, bringing Azrael with him, and he knelt by Iyasu and touched the smooth wall. “I’ll give you a hint. You see, little magi, it wasn’t water we kept down here.”

  “Then what was it?”

  “Oil.” The djinn scraped his fingers across the wall and four bright trails of red fire burst into life. The flames quickly spread, pouring like a liquid inferno up and down the length of the passage way. Everyone fell back against the opposite wall, including Iyasu, whose sleeve had caught fire. The young seer shouted in sudden terror as he shook his arm and scrambled across the floor, even as his mind screamed at him to calm down and take off his shirt, his body refused to obey as it continued to flail and shriek, eyes fixed on the flames, skin prickling with the intense heat.

  “Yasu!” Azrael tore the sleeve off and tossed it away, and then bent over him to carefully inspect his bare arm.

  “No!” Rahm roared. “The djinn!”