I could heal him, I suppose. To some extent. But how long would it help him? Within an hour, he would be struggling to breathe again.
“Still, he’s clearly a man of wealth, and perhaps if I were to liven his home, we might attract a suitable band of young men and women to fill these halls.” The singer leaned against the opposite side of the wide doorway. He smiled for a moment, but it faded quickly and he too stared out across the yard toward the empty houses and the city walls beyond. “This is a dangerous place.”
“I know.” Veneka looked at him. “So why are you here? Not for Petra, surely.”
Edris snorted. “No, though I do like Petra. I’ve never been with a djinn before. It’s quite special, very unique, very exciting.”
“So what then? Are you following Azrael too?”
“The angel? Hardly. What would I do with the Angel of Death? She’s already got half of me. I can’t say I’m in any hurry to let her have the other half.”
“Is that it then? The other half?”
“Well, yes, yes it is,” he said softly. “I need to be sure. It’s not every day that a holy magi offers to give me back my body, my face. I know that I said no, but… I need to be sure. And until I’m sure, it seems only reasonable that I keep you in sight. After all, I don’t know how long it might be before I meet another Razelan.”
“Razielim.”
“Yes, that, exactly what I said.” He grinned.
“Well, the offer still stands.” Veneka peered down the lane at a small dust cloud, wondering if it might be a person coming toward them. “I could do it now. It would only take a moment, and it would only hurt for that moment.”
“Thank you, but I still haven’t decided.”
“Why not? What doubts do you have?”
“Petra.”
Veneka rolled her eyes.
“No, hear me out,” Edris said. “Petra can see me as well as anyone else, but still she chooses to give me her attention. Her body. And if I’m enough for a djinn, well, why meddle with a good thing?”
“Edris… listen. She does not love you. She may not even be attracted to you. There is something that she wants—”
“A half-human child, yes, I know. Iyasu told me.” The singer shrugged. “Again, that’s my point. This baby business is terribly important to her. And she could have had anyone, but she chose me.”
“She chose Iyasu first,” Veneka muttered.
“Did she? Good for him.”
She sighed again.
“You disapprove?”
“She took advantage of him.”
“I don’t hear him complaining.”
“He has a lot on his mind right now. War. Death. Dismemberment.”
Edris frowned. “His hand?”
“The memory of losing it… troubles him.”
The singer said nothing.
Veneka looked back outside and saw Zerai and Bashir stepping through the bent iron fence. “There they are. For a moment I thought they might not be coming back.”
“Was there any doubt?”
Veneka didn’t answer.
There’s always doubt.
The falconer and the alchemist crossed the yard warily, both glancing up at the tower at the south end of the house more than once, but then Zerai saw Veneka and he smiled as he hurried toward the door. They embraced and kissed briefly, though his tongue managed to slip between her lips to caress hers in that small moment.
“Is everything all right?” She looked from him to the djinn, who loomed grimly above them all.
“Yes.” Zerai closed the doors and they began walking back down the hall. “I take it you managed to deal with that archer.”
“Jengo. Samira convinced him that we were not here to hurt the prince.”
“How did she manage that?”
“She has her ways, apparently.”
“And the prince?” Zerai stared up at the huge masks on the wall. “Is he going to help us?”
Veneka frowned. “Iyasu is talking to him now.”
“Well, I can’t say I blame him for being scared,” Zerai said. “Every house outside the city is empty, and there are soldiers all over the walls. I wouldn’t want to ride in there and demand a crown for myself.”
“It is his crown.”
“Not anymore, it isn’t,” Edris said.
At the end of the marble corridor with its many beautiful artworks, the four of them emerged into the sprawling space that the prince called his private chamber. The ceiling soared fifty feet above them to a dome painted in black, red, and gold. The north and south walls displayed massive statues of Tagal’s past kings and queens, all standing in silent red stone in pale golden alcoves. And the eastern wall was open, allowing a dozen people to walk comfortably side by side out onto the portico, down the wide steps to the water’s edge where the only thing keeping the men and beasts of the Leyen River from invading the estate was the tall iron fence rising from the sandy shore.
“It would be prettier without the fence,” Edris said.
“But deadlier.” The muscled figure of Jengo detached from the wall on their right and glided out into the room like a leopard. “It’s only a matter of time before Darius decides it is too dangerous to leave Faris alive.”
Veneka watched the warrior cross the room with a mixture of fear and curiosity. The man was not merely powerful, he was also so unusually tall that he scarcely seemed human as he towered even over Bashir. His hair hung to his shoulders in countless tight braids, and the red and white tunic covering his broad chest was bound tightly to his skin with the many strings of white and black beads lying heavily from his neck.
This man also gave up a throne? What sort of land could produce a king like this, and then so completely repel him?
They continued across the wide room past a scattering of ornate tables and chairs and beds, where fine linen sheets and silver platters of food lay in stained piles on the floor. Prince Faris stood at the eastern edge of the room, gazing out at the river. Iyasu stood beside him, a tiny wisp of youth next to the mountainous prince, and when Jengo joined them, his incredible height made the three of them almost unrecognizable as members of the same race.
Veneka spared a glance at Samira and Petra, who stood in a shadowed corner of the room, watching the proceedings in silence.
“…but innocents are dying,” Iyasu said with a forced calm as he strained not to raise his voice. “Men, women, children. Your people, and the other Navean peoples. They’re dying right now. They’ve been dying for months.”
“Darius has his reasons,” the prince said in a soft, wheezy voice.
“His reasons are… vile.” The seer rubbed his eyes. “He just wants power, more power, more wealth. And he’s killing people for it, for what? For a pile of gold coins and some lines on a map. Really, that’s all it is. A line on a map. Kill enough people and your line grows longer. That’s why your people are dying, for a little extra ink!”
“Conquest is nothing new, Iyasu. Kings and queens have been making war since people started making kings and queens.” Faris smiled at his own wit. “It will pass.”
“Maybe it will, and maybe it won’t, but that is beside the point. It should never have happened in the first place. Darius should never have been king.”
“Yes, but he is king now.” The prince raised his voice and in that moment he almost sounded kingly. “I chose him on the counsel of a holy magi, if I recall.”
“I was wrong!”
“More’s the pity for you, but it’s no concern of mine now.”
“And if he comes for you? What then? Can Jengo protect you from all of Darius’s armies by himself?”
Jengo cleared his throat. “Of course the prince knows that I cannot.”
“What would you have me do?” Faris turned and walked slowly back toward his bed, where the sheets lay twisted and piled on the floor. “Demand the crown at sword point? Challenge him to a duel? Or do you imagine I might just shake a proclamation at my cousin, that he
should be cowed by a mere roll of parchment in my mighty fist?” Faris chuckled.
“Go to your generals and demand their support,” Iyasu said. “You know which are still loyal to you. Digna, Taharqa, Alara. With them at your side, Darius would have to stand down.”
“And if you’re wrong?” Faris eased down onto his bed. “I’d be dead in a matter of seconds. Thank you, no. I think I’ll stay here.”
Iyasu came inside and nudged one of the silver platters with his toe. “Your house is empty, Your Highness. In fact, your entire neighborhood is empty. How long until you run out of food? A month, a week? Then what will you do?”
Faris sighed. “I don’t know.”
“Well, I think you should—”
“I think you should be silent!” Again the prince’s voice roared with power. “I never wanted to be a prince, and it has been impressed upon me time and again that no one else particularly wants me to be a prince either. You seem to be the only person who thinks otherwise, O holy magi. But the matter is closed, and has been for months. Darius Harun rules in Tagal now, and any objection you have to his reign should be taken to him, not me!”
“But people are dying!”
“I don’t care.”
“Innocent children.”
“There’s nothing I can do.”
Iyasu clawed at his hair and then looked up with reddened eyes. “The Angel of Death is stalking the streets of Tagal as we speak. I met her. I spoke to her. She hates all of humanity, and she’s come here, to your country, to punish us for our sins. Here, of all places. She could go anywhere in the world, and she chose Tagal. What does that tell you?”
“I don’t know, I don’t know.” Faris wiped the sweat from his cheek. “I don’t know what it means.”
“It means that Tagal is the most corrupt and hateful place in all the world,” Iyasu said. “Your country, under the rule of your cousin, whom you crowned with your own hands, has attracted the wrath of the Angel of Death herself.”
The prince’s fingers trembled slightly on his belly. “So?”
“So heaven has noticed how miserable, how terrible, how evil this place has become,” the seer said. “So even if Darius doesn’t kill you, even if you don’t starve to death alone in your little palace by the water, what will happen to your soul when you do die?”
“God is merciful and forgiving,” Faris whispered.
“Is that what you intend to tell him when he asks you why you put a butcher on your throne and then stood by and did nothing when your palace floors ran red with the blood of innocents?”
The prince’s eyes darted to the seer. “You. You were there too. You played your part.”
“And I hate myself for it!” Iyasu screamed so loudly that even Jengo started and half-raised his hand as though to shield the prince from that vicious sound. “I stayed in that cursed city for weeks, trying to make him stop, being forced to watch as he killed again and again, watching good people suffer and die right in front of me!”
Veneka strode forward and grabbed the young man by the shoulders, turned him away from the prince, and took his face in her hands. “Iyasu? Iyasu, listen to me. You tried to help these people. You tried to do the right thing. And when you made a mistake, you tried to fix it. You are still trying. We all know that.”
She kept talking as she tried to pass whatever healing grace she could summon into her hands, but there was nothing wrong with the seer’s body. No sickness to banish, no wound to close. All of the injury was in his mind, his heart, and his soul, where she could do nothing for him.
Iyasu went on shaking and crying, his face growing redder as he tore away from her and turned back to the huge man on the bed. “How can you live with yourself, day after day, knowing what evil you unleashed on the world? The men he killed, they were your friends. They’d served you for years, for your entire life, some of them. And he killed them. And you let him.”
“You think I don’t know that?” Faris covered his eyes, but then dragged his hand away to reveal a face that looked suddenly haggard and exhausted. “I know. And I’m sorry. But it’s done. And there’s nothing I can do about it now.”
“Yes, there is. Come with me into the city.” Iyasu grabbed his arm. Jengo started to reach for the seer, but Veneka gently touched the huge warrior’s hand and stayed it. “Come with me. We’ll find General Taharqa and the others. We’ll raise your army and go to the palace and take back your crown from Darius. We can do it now, right now. By the end of the week, this whole nightmare will be over. Tagal will be at peace, the killings will stop, the wars will stop.”
“And the Angel of Death?”
“She… she may be appeased.”
“And heaven, too?”
Iyasu smiled weakly. “And heaven too.”
Faris sighed. “Fine. Damn you. Damn us both.”
“You’ll do it?”
He nodded. “I’ll go. I’ll try.”
Iyasu exhaled and Veneka saw him shiver so hard she thought he was about to collapse, but the young seer turned and shuffled away, rubbing his head.
Jengo cleared his throat. “I’ll gather a few things. We can leave this evening after sunset.” And he left.
“I’ll fix the fence,” Samira offered, and strode out of the room.
“Tonight.” Faris closed his eyes and leaned back on a heap of bare pillows at the end of the bed. “Not tomorrow?”
“We cannot wait,” Veneka said. “Azrael, the Angel of Death, she is already here. When she begins attacking the soldiers here, Darius will think he is under attack from some other nation, and then it will be open war from Ovati to Elladi. Thousands will die every day.”
Faris nodded and sighed loudly.
The room fell silent and still. Petra and Edris stood in the corner together, watching the prince. Iyasu stood on the stairs leading down to the water, and he sank down into a crouch to watch the river flow by. Bashir leaned against the wall, staring at his feet.
Veneka hesitated a moment longer, and then caught Zerai’s eye and led him out of the room. “I think Iyasu should stay here.”
“Are you serious? He’ll never do that.”
“He is exhausted.”
“I know. Still, you’d have to tie him down to make him stay behind.”
“I know.” She turned a corner, following the faint scent of pepper.
“Are you all right?”
“Yes. Why?”
“No reason.” He paused. “Listen there’s something I want to ask you.”
Veneka sighed.
Now? Again?
“Zerai, we can talk about it when we get home, I promise,” she said. “But we are not going to discuss that now.”
“What?” He smiled, but she could tell it wasn’t genuine. It was the fake smile he used to hide what he was really thinking or feeling. “No, not that. Nothing about that.”
“Oh. Then what?”
“Bashir.”
She frowned. “What about him?”
“We talked. Mostly about his wife.”
“The dead wife he is carrying around with him in a bag?”
“Yeah, he’s… well, he’s not what you think he is.”
“He is a poisoner, a killer.”
“Yes, yes he is. And he saved thousands of innocent lives in Lashad with his poisoning and killing.”
“What?” Veneka looked at him. “He said that? And you believed him?”
“He said his masters were planning to poison all of Lashad, and he killed them to stop them.”
“Because he loves humans so much?”
“Because he loved Talia so much.” Zerai shrugged. “That I can believe.”
“I wish you would not trust him so much. We know nothing about him.”
“We know he’s carrying around a skeleton on his back, and we know he begged the Angel of Death to bring back a soul for him, so, yeah, I think we know him a little bit. He misses his dead wife, and he wants to bring her back.”
Veneka turned th
e corner and wandered into the kitchens. Before her were countless empty shelves and bins, but she slowly circled the room anyway, peering into and under and over everything in search of food.
“So he loved his wife, and he killed some djinn to save her. Fine.” She moved a little faster, banging wooden platters and silver trays and glass decanters about in their alcoves as she searched.
“Hey, what’s going on?” Zerai asked. “What’s wrong? I don’t understand why you have such a problem with him.”
She stopped and closed her eyes for a minute.
Because of the way he kills, using poisons to rot and torture living creatures from the inside out.
Because of the mad desperation in his eyes that apparently only I can see.
Because he wants to raise the dead.
Because Raziel told him no.
“I am sorry he lost his wife,” she said softly, still facing the jumbled contents of an alcove. “But he is obsessed with her, with death itself. You saw the way he picked over the dead bodies as we came down the river from Naj Kuvari. The way he ran off this afternoon on his own. He is a danger to everyone around him. We cannot trust him. No matter his intentions, he is too lost in this obsession.”
Zerai nodded. “I guess. But who wouldn’t be? If you died, and I thought there was even a chance I could bring you back…”
“Stop. Please.”
Do you think I have never asked myself that question? What would I do if you died? If I found your body cold, if I arrived just a little too late? Would I try to do more than heal you? Would I reach deeper, would I twist the nature of all living things, would I ask God to…?
Zerai cleared his throat. “Look, you’re right, maybe we can’t really trust him, maybe he is too obsessed with this idea. So we won’t be best friends, fine. But we can still help him. You can help him. Bring Talia back.”
“You do not know what you are asking.”
War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) Page 14
