Angels and Djinn, Book 3: Zariel's Doom (4 page)

“Thank you, dearest.”

“Ships cost money, don’t they?” she asked.

“Usually, yes.”

“We have none.”

“That is true. But there are other ways to pay for things in this world.” He peered through the flying curtains of frozen rain and picked out a few dark shapes in the distance. Roofs, masts. A small fishing village.

Not exactly a bustling port, but it will have to do.

By the time they reached the village, the sun was low in the west, hidden behind iron clouds. Large ice boulders floated in the surf, rolling as the waves came in, pushing them up the beach where the small fishing boats were tied to old tree stumps and stone posts.

There was no one about, and only the flickers of firelight from inside the houses indicated that anyone was living there. Azrael looked over the two dozen homes and asked, “Which one?”

Iyasu pointed at a small house in the middle of the village that looked just like every other house, except for one thing that immediately stood out to his keen eyes.

“Why that one?” she asked.

“Because the people who live there have two boats. The others only have one.”

“How can you tell?”

Iyasu only grinned, and went to knock on the door. An old woman wearing two shawls around her bony shoulders answered, cast a silent look over them and at the storm rising behind them, and gestured them inside. Iyasu and Azrael followed her in and felt as though they had stepped into another world, a world of light and warmth and stillness, safe from the freezing wind and rain.

Two young men sat by the fire, looking quite a bit alike, each one minding his pipe and staring thoughtfully into the flames. They each merely raised an eyebrow and eased over to make room for their guests.

“Travelers?” the old woman said. “I didn’t think we’d ever see travelers in this storm.”

“Storm? This? No, this is hardly more than a stiff breeze.” Iyasu sat down by the fire and smiled at the two men, who didn’t seem to notice. “Not that a storm would bother a pair of stout sailing men like you two, would it? No, I’ll wager the two of you have braved more than just a bit of wind and rain in your day, haven’t you?”

The brothers nodded grimly. One of them lowered his pipe long enough to mutter, “Once spent three days out there, swamped by rain and shredded by wind. But nothing like this.”

“No, I imagine the, uh, giant balls of ice are the real problem these days,” Iyasu said.

“Mm,” the second brother confirmed.

“New, is it? The ice?”

“Started two weeks ago.”

“Ah. And how long since you’ve been out to your fishing grounds?”

“Nine days,” the first brother muttered.

“Nine?” Iyasu cast another glance around the small house, quickly assessing what little food he could see. “A long time.”

“Too long,” the mother said. “The storm comes and goes, but it’s never gone for long. Already, two families have left to stay with their cousins. We’ve had to pick these hills clean of everything edible, but the storm rages on, and we may have to leave soon ourselves.”

Iyasu nodded. “I see. Do you grow anything here?”

“Herbs. Roots.” The woman gestured at the back wall, as if to say the garden was outside in that direction.

“Would you be interested in growing more?” the seer asked.

“Farming? Here? It’s all sand and clay.” The first brother shook his head, but the second one looked up with a thoughtful squint.

“A little sand is no problem, not when we have these.” Iyasu opened a small pouch from inside his robe and displayed the seeds within. “Several sorts of fruit trees and melons, I think. These were all grown in Naj Kuvari, and they’ll take root anywhere and grow faster than you might believe.”

The second brother lowered his pipe and leaned forward. “Really?”

“Absolutely.”  Iyasu nodded. “Now, tell me. A pair of big strong sailors like you, you don’t work the same boat together, do you?”

“No, we’ve each our own,” the first brother said.

“Ah, I see,” Iyasu said. “So then if one of you were to start raising crops here, the other one could go on fishing, and you’d have a boat to spare.”

“Are you mad?” The first brother glared at him. “Are you looking to trade a handful of seeds for a boat? A boat is life. Those seeds are nothing but a whisper of hope, food that might not ever grow. And who the hell are you, talking about Naj Kuvari?”

“Iyasu Sadik, seer of the Arrahim, at your service,” he said.

“Oh really?” The first brother did not appear impressed. He looked up at Azrael. “And who is she?”

“She’s my friend.” Iyasu smiled brightly, letting his wide eyes convey all the good will he wanted to foster between them. “But you’re exactly right. I do want to trade these seeds for a boat.”

The first brother started to speak but the second one raised his hand and peered at Iyasu. “Prove you are who you say you are, and I may trade with you.”

“What!” cried the first.

“Hush!” snapped the second. “This is my business now, not yours. Well, seer?”

“That was father’s boat, I won’t allow it!” The first pulled a knife from his boot and held it to his brother’s throat as he yanked an iron poker from the fire and jabbed it across the pit at Iyasu’s neck.

Azrael lunged forward but Iyasu raised a hand and smiled down the sooty handle at the man threatening his life. Then he pointed to the copper pot on the fire. “You received that pot as a gift eight years ago when your father died. It was smudged by the ash on the hands of the mourners and then scorched when you first used it, and the marks haven’t faded completely.”

He pointed to the bedding on his left. “One of you sleeps on your back while the other sleeps on his chest, because otherwise he snores and keeps everyone awake. Judging by the shapes of your noses, I’m guessing that one is you.” He nodded at the first brother, who scowled and looked away.

Iyasu pointed to the fire before them. “You’ve been burning grass and acacia wood for the past nine days, but before that you only burned driftwood you found on the beach because it was so plentiful, before the storm came. And that wood was entirely dracaena, dragon tree wood.”

The brothers both stared at him, and then at the fire where all they could see were glowing coals and charred sticks and gray ash. The first brother lowered his weapons and the second brother nodded slowly. “We have a deal, seer. I’ll ready my boat for you in the morning.”

Iyasu handed over the bag of seeds. “If you don’t mind, I think we’ll take it now.”

“No, it’s too late now,” the fisherman said. “Nearly night. Much too dark to risk sailing in this weather.”

Iyasu smiled, this time with genuine amusement. “I can see well enough in the dark.”

The second brother shrugged. “If you say so.”

He led them outside and down the beach as the wind tore at their clothes and hair as the stars struggled to shine down through the storm clouds. Near the water’s edge the fisherman touched one of the boats, not bothering to try to speak over the howling of the blizzard. Together, the three of them freed the boat from its mooring lines and pushed it down into the churning surf. Iyasu leapt inside and deftly set about raising the one small sail and getting himself situated by the steering-oar with the lines clutched in his hand, which was already aching from the cold.

Azrael took a paddle and forced the little boat to turn and face the dark ocean with a few powerful strokes, and then the battering wind struck the sail and they were off, racing at a dangerous angle out across the angry waves. Iyasu pulled hard on his oar to swing them around the first jagged mass of ice in their path, grateful for all of the hours he had spent watching others command various ships over the years.

“How did you know?” Azrael asked. Even her whisper roared louder than the storm, when she wanted it to. “How did you know the people in that house had a second boat?”

“The rope,” he yelled over the wind. “They had twice as much rope coiled up beside their house than any of the others.”

She nodded. “Lucky for us.”

“I think so,” he said. “No one hurt, help all around, and everyone as happy as an uneaten clam. A good end to a good day.”

“Is it? We’re sailing through a blizzard, at night, with only the stars to guide us.” She paused to look up. “And there are no stars.”

Iyasu grinned. “Well, that’s what makes it an adventure, doesn’t it?”

“I don’t want you taking reckless risks.”

His grin faded. “People are dying. We need to take risks.”

“We need to be careful. What you did back with those fishermen… that was reckless. You could have died there, all for a boat we could have simply taken without ever speaking to them.”

Iyasu frowned. “I’m no thief. I’m not going to change who or what I am. Face demons? Consort with angels? Do battle with djinn? Absolutely. But my way. Always my way.”

“I didn’t mean we
should
steal it. Only that there are always other options. Safer options.” Azrael gazed at him, and he couldn’t tell what she was thinking or feeling at that moment, and then she turned away and he turned his attention back to the sea.

The darkness was nearly blinding, but only nearly. By the faint hint of the stars beyond the clouds, Iyasu managed to see the dim outlines of the waves and icebergs, and his numb, clawing hands kept the little fishing boat darting from one safe lane to the next. Sometimes the wind would scream a little louder, or they would glide into the lee of a huge wall of floating ice, and he would struggle to keep the boat under control, but each time he found a safe path and they sailed on, ever eastward.

Hours passed. His back ached and his hands and feet were alternately stinging and senseless, but he did not waver or complain. There was no point in wasting the energy to do so. Azrael could not heal him, nor could she see the world as well as him, well enough to steer the boat. Whenever the starlight failed him, he turned to the sound of the wind and the push-pull force of the waves on the hull, and each little sensation told him in detail how the storm was moving, where the icebergs were, and what the sea was doing, and he sailed on, with or without his gifted vision.

“Are you still with me?” she asked softly.

“I think so.” It was more true than funny. Exhaustion was slowly clawing into his mind and body, eroding his sense of time and weighing heavily on his tired eyes. He shook his head as he tried to stay awake and alert, but time after time he blinked and realized he had nodded off. Each time was a tiny shock, a small spike of adrenaline through his bleary thoughts, but the shock was never enough to keep him awake for long.

He blinked… and he wandered into a place that was dry and warm, and still and quiet, and there was a fire and the sound of laughter, and he ran through the tall grass…

“Yasu!”

He jerked upright at the feeling of Azrael’s warm hand on his face and he saw the stern look in her eyes that passed for worry. And then he looked past her and saw the shining spire of ice towering over them in the sea.

The seer pulled in the sail to catch the wind and turned the oar to swing the boat, but it was too late, and they crashed sideways into a jagged mound of ice as it rose out of the dark waves. Iyasu felt the old planks buckling under his feet, and then a cold puddle of seawater slithered up and over his damp shoes.

“Sorry! Sorry!”

He fought with the lines and the oar, but they were in the lee of the iceberg now and the hull was caught on the ice as they were lifted up and out of the water. But then the boat slipped free and fell back into the ocean, and the broken planks cracked apart, letting the sea flow in.

“Yasu!” She reached for him.

“I know!” Taking a deep breath, he stood up in the rocking boat and threw his arms around her neck from behind, clinging tightly to her back as her raven wings erupted from behind her shoulders, fluttering against his arms as they extended, and then she leapt into the air.

Iyasu squinted down and saw their battered boat lurch and lean as the waves beat it from the north and east, until at last its broken hull sank into the darkness, pulling the mast and sail with it a moment later.

The brief moment of terror and excitement had given him enough of a jolt to feel somewhat alert and focused, but he didn’t trust himself and so he closed his eyes and focused only on holding tightly to the angel and trusting that as long he did not let go, she would deliver him safely to land.

Somewhere.

Eventually.

He blinked his eyes open once to confirm that they were indeed gliding only a short span above the dark, churning waves, flying so low that Azrael had to sweep and swerve through the ice-riddled winds to avoid the great white bergs sailing through the darkness.

Strong arms, weak wings.

Maybe I should lose some weight. Cut my hair. Get rid of this old robe…

He squeezed his eyes shut, whispering, “I’m sorry.”

A warm hand closed on his arms near her throat. “It’s all right.”

Time passed, but now he could not sleep. With his body precariously balanced on top of hers, and with the freezing gusts threatening to cast him into the void, his every nerve and muscle had drawn taught, aching and shivering with cold as much as with fear.

The wind rose, blasting them harder and harder, and he felt his frozen hair lashing him in the face. Azrael’s body shook beneath him, nearly rolling off to one side.

He tightened his grip.

She tightened hers.

“Can you see anything?” she asked.

He cracked his sore eyes and peered into the dark nothingness. There were shadows in the dark, forms that moved slowly across the sky above and the world below, and he tried to relax his mind enough to see those shadows for what they really were.

Clouds.

Waves.

Ice.

Rocks.

“Rocks!” he cried. “Go left! Go up!”

He felt her twist and thrust beneath him, but her wings had no strength to lift her burden of clay, and the wind hurled them together into a wall of cold stone weeping with sea water, and Iyasu fell into oblivion.