War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) (26 page)

Hands and swords pounded on the door, and the ceiling of the cellar began to groan as more and more men entered the house. Dust, ash, and splinters began to fall, in some places just trickles and in other places large chunks of the house gave way, collapsing in heaps in the darkness. Upstairs, the sounds of breaking boards echoed up through the roofless well of the house.

“There’s no way out.” Faris stared at the blocked door. “Nowhere to run, no way to fight.”

“We will be fine,” Veneka assured him.

No, we will not.

“Maybe I should try talking to them, to Darius,” Faris whispered.

“I do not think they will listen.”

“But I’m the Crown Prince of Tagal!”

Veneka shook her head. “You are also the man who put him in prison last night, and he is a tyrant who has killed most of the people you care about and trust.”

Faris clawed his hand through his short hair, and in the darkness she heard him crying softly.

From upstairs they heard a large post creak, break, and cave in, bringing down a landslide of walls, floors, and furniture in the far corner of the cellar. A blast of cold air and stinging dust struck Veneka in the face, and she coughed violently as she wiped her eyes clean.

When she looked again, she saw that they were now in a tiny cave, trapped between a jagged mound of shattered boards and a cracked stone wall, and the ceiling to her left sounded as though it too would collapse at any moment. Swords and axes were hacking away beyond the blocked door, and spears and prybars were tearing out nails and pegs.

Edris wrapped his arms around the unconscious Petra, closed his eyes, and started humming.

Veneka tried to catch Zerai’s eye across the small space between them, but in the darkness she couldn’t be sure he was even looking in her direction. And then she heard a strange clinking and clacking.

She turned and in the shadows she saw Bashir carefully removing the jars and bundles from his bag. “What are you doing?”

“Accepting the inevitable.” He continued arranging his things. “We’re going to die in here.”

“We do not know that.”

“Yes, we do.”

Faris sobbed louder, and Edris hummed louder to drown him out. The ceiling beams crackled.

“In a few moments, the ceiling will collapse. Some of us will die, and the rest will be injured and trapped,” the alchemist said. “Then the soldiers will come in and strike off the heads of the survivors. There is no escape, not even for me, not from this tomb.”

“I am sorry. I thought we would be safer here.”

“I don’t blame you.” He paused. “But I will ask a favor.”

She frowned. “What favor?”

He reached down and gently lifted the cloth from the bundle before him to reveal a well-preserved skeleton. With a few deft movements, he had the bones arranged properly in the shape of a woman in her final rest. He looked up at her, gazing into her eyes, his mouth hovering open for a long moment. “Let me see her one last time.”

“What?”

“Bring her back to me.” Bashir touched the pale skull. “I know it won’t be her. It will only be a soulless shell, and it will only live for a few minutes. But it’s been so long. I want to see her face one last time, the way she was before. Let me see her and hold her again before I die. Please.”

Veneka shook her head and looked away. A tear ran down her cheek.

Why am I crying? It’s disgusting, it’s disrespectful, it’s against all natural law. But…

She wiped her face dry and looked up at Zerai, and he looked back down at her. She couldn’t see his face clearly in the darkness, but she saw him nod his head at her.

It’s only for a moment. Only to say farewell.

“All right. I will try.”

She moved over to the alchemist and looked down at the skeleton, and the jars of water, and the powders, and everything else he had gathered in forty years of searching for a cure for death. She exhaled, and laid her shaking hands on the cold bones, and closed her eyes.

At first she wasn’t sure what to pray for, what to ask for, what to think about. But then she put Bashir aside, and she put death aside, and instead focused on a word, a name. Talia. A young woman in love, dying of a disease, alone, separated from her lover.

Veneka turned all her thoughts to that young woman called Talia, and then it became simple and clear. “Holy Raziel, help me to heal this woman.”

The warmth came, filling her hands with a soft buzzing of life, and the feeling of the cold, hard bones faded from under her fingertips, but she did not open her eyes. Instead she clung to the idea of Talia, the idea of a young woman in need of her help, in need of healing. Every few moments she moved her fingers slightly, and she registered the changes taking place. Soft things, warm things, were growing around the bones.

It’s nothing I haven’t done before. It’s no different from restoring Iyasu’s hand or Edris’s arm.

The soldiers went on shouting orders and swinging axes, and the old house continued to groan and shudder as it bled ash through its many splintered wounds.

The alchemist began to breathe faster and louder, and Veneka opened her eyes to see him wrapping his long thin fingers around a smaller, softer hand. She looked down and saw that all the jars were empty and her hands were now resting on the arm of a living, breathing woman. Talia was a short woman with wide hips and small breasts, and her reddish brown hair made a thick pillow around her head. Her lips were full and parted slightly, and her eyelids were opened just enough to reveal large, dark brown irises.

Bashir babbled something in a language that Veneka had never heard before, and he slipped his arms around his wife and lifted her shoulders so he could hold her close, gently pet her hair, and chastely kiss her cheeks and lips. The woman hung limp in his arms, eyes unblinking, chest only barely rising and falling.

Veneka moved back a little.

God, forgive me if this is wrong, but… I do not think it is wrong. It is a kindness.

The thumping of boots over their heads grew louder and faster. Men shouted, steel clanged, and the ceiling began to crack and splinter, raining the first few boards on their heads. Veneka shielded herself with her arm as she looked upward.

This is it. The end.

Zerai dashed to her side and they stood together, arms wound tightly around each other, staring into each others’ eyes.

He looks scared.

He looks beautiful.

“I love you,” she said. She kissed him hard before he could answer, sending her tongue surging into his mouth, digging her fingers into his unruly hair to hold his head tightly against hers so she could feel the heat of him, and smell him, and taste him for the last time.

The old house groaned, and the world caved in upon them.

Chapter 18
Iyasu

Smoke rose slowly in three places to the north of the palace. Iyasu squinted in the darkness, counting rooflines to estimate how far away the fires were.

“If you go, you may die,” Azrael said.

“My friends are down there somewhere. They don’t know the city like I do. And Faris will slow them down, if he’s still alive.”

“He is.”

Iyasu looked at the angel. “You mean…?”

“I haven’t loosed the soul of Faris Harun. Not yet.”

He looked back at the smoke.

Well, that’s something.

“I need to find them.” Iyasu started down the steps of the old library. They had been standing and talking on the high walkways between the massive pillars, a place that gave them an impressive view of the city, and it was a long descent back down to the street. He paused and looked up to see the hooded woman still standing in the shadows. “Are you coming?”

“Why?”

He blinked. “To help.”

“I cannot.”

“You can level an army with a wave of your wings. That would help.”

“I cannot interfere. I have my commands.”

“From God?”

She nodded.

“And what are those commands, exactly?”

“To free the souls of all living things upon the moment of bodily death, without exception or hesitation. And to never cause the death of any living thing through my own actions.”

“I don’t see a problem.”

“I can’t kill your enemies.”

“I don’t want you to kill anyone.” He smiled uneasily. “In fact, I don’t want
anyone
to kill anyone. But if someone were to attack me, I think it would be all right if you brushed them aside, or tossed them several city blocks away. Saving one person doesn’t have to mean killing another. Think of it less as battle and more as extremely timely punishment for crimes of violence.”

“It won’t change anything,” she said. “Everyone still dies.”

“But maybe we can change those deaths. Instead of moments of terror and agony, they can be moments of contentment, fulfillment, even clarity.”

Azrael tilted her head back to look at the stars. “Those deaths are… gentler.”

“Imagine a world of only gentle deaths.”

“Impossible.”

“Nothing’s impossible.”

“Many things are.”

“Well, this isn’t one of them. Just imagine it. Imagine them flowing through your mind. Thousands of happy, contented old men and women slipping peacefully away from one good life in search of their next purpose in the universe. No more fear, no more pain. Just the gentle transition from one paradise to another. Can you imagine that?”

“That… would be a better world.”

He held out his hand to her. “Then come with me. At least try.”

The angel stared at him, small lines rising and falling around her eyes and forehead and mouth as countless unknown thoughts and memories and feelings and desires flooded through her ancient soul. And then her lip twitched. It was not smile, but perhaps, given practice, it could become one. And she said, “I suppose I am free to try, at least.”

She descended the steps and together they reached the dark streets and headed north toward the palace and the columns of smoke rising to blot out the stars. But they hadn’t gone very far before a dark shape raced up beside them and resolved into the familiar features of Samira Nerash.

“Finally.” She looked sternly at the seer. “I had to search half the city to find you.”

“Is everything all right?” he asked.

“No.” She eyed the angel coldly. “Darius’s legions returned from Ovati and freed him from prison, and now they’re marching on the palace by the thousands. Faris is hopelessly outnumbered. Fortunately, he seems to have left the palace already. I was just there. It’s deserted.”

Iyasu rubbed his eyes.

Darius Harun. Darius Harun. What is it about that man that I can’t figure out? Why did he turn on the people? Why do the legions love him? Why can’t we have peace?

“I came to get you to safety,” Samira said. “You need to get off the streets. Darius will be looking for you.”

“I know.” Iyasu sighed. “Where is Veneka? And the others?”

The djinn cleric arched an eyebrow. “It’s hardly the time to be worrying about others. We need to worry about ourselves at the moment.”

He frowned. “What about your people, Bashir and your sister? Don’t you care about them?”

“Bashir is a monster, and my sister wants to become a monster in the eyes of heaven. They are not my concern right now. You are.”

“Really? Why?”

“Because I serve Holy Raziel, and he cares for your safety.”

“He cares about Veneka and Zerai, too. He cares about everyone!”

“I can’t protect everyone, but I can protect you. Come with me.” She took his arm and began marching him back toward the library.

He shook her off. “No. We’re going to find the others and make sure they’re all right.”

“We?” Samira looked from him to Azrael. “Are you a part of this now? Have you given up your obsession with punishing the wicked and starting wars?”

The angel nodded. “For tonight.”

Samira narrowed her eyes. “I hardly like that answer. But we both know there’s nothing I can do to stop you. So let’s hurry.” She turned and led them in the opposite direction.

“Where are we going?” Iyasu followed her.

“To get our people.”

“You know where they are?”

“Of course I do.”

They hurried through the dark streets, sometimes seeing no one at all and sometimes seeing small herds of frightened people of all ages and states of dress running south away from the palace. They moved in silence until they finally turned a corner onto a broad boulevard and saw the roadway choked with soldiers all converging on a single house that bore the telltale signs of having been partially destroyed by a fire not too long ago.

“Are they in there?” Iyasu pointed to the house.

“They are.” Samira folded her arms across her chest. “But there are too many soldiers for me. Perhaps our new friend would care to lend a hand?”

Iyasu turned to Azrael as the immortal woman pushed her hood back from her hair to let the starlight fall on her face. The cold emptiness he had seen in her eyes seemed to have changed, given way to something more thoughtful, more alive. She studied the chaos in the distance, the men yelling and passing axes and hurling burnt timbers out into the street.

“Remember,” the angel said with her eyes still fixed on the soldiers. “No one will die.”

Iyasu reached out and briefly squeezed her hand. “I’m counting on it.”

Azrael nodded and strode away. When she had crossed half the distance to the men, they saw her and some started toward her, shouting and leering. When she had crossed another quarter of the distance, two magnificent black wings unfurled from her back, stretching wide enough to scrape the dusty faces of the houses on either side of the broad boulevard, and the men fell silent as they raised their swords and spears. And then she struck.

Iyasu felt the shockwave only an instant after he saw the angel move her wings, and the blast of wind and dust hurled him back several steps until Samira caught his arm and held him steady. When the wind stopped stinging his eyes, he looked up and saw that most of the soldiers were lying scattered across the road like a child’s toys carelessly abandoned in the wake of some strange play. Coughs, groans, and unintelligible words broke the silence as the angel’s dark wings faded from sight.