War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) (5 page)

“We will.” Zerai glared back. “Quietly. I don’t know what we’re dealing with, and there could be more of them.”

“It doesn’t matter if there’s an entire army of them,” the djinn cleric said. “I have an army of my own.” She gestured to the forest and a dozen trees began to lean away toward the north, their trunks groaning as their leaves rustled and slid against each other.

“Just stay behind me, and be quiet.” Zerai glanced at Veneka and then darted back into the forest as soft and swift as a young impala. Samira followed as silent as a wraith.

Veneka glanced down at Petra and Bashir, who remained seated by the path, and then she took off into the forest after the others.

One day. That poor boy has been back for one day, and already his life is in danger, still within sight of Mount Shokath. If anyone harms that boy…

She ran through the woods, lacking some of the craft of her lover and lacking all of the art of the djinn, but she was stronger than both, leaping deftly over jagged rocks hidden under the moss and vaulting easily over fallen trees. Ahead she could just barely see and hear traces of Zerai and Samira slipping through the leaves and vines, but it was enough for her to follow. She kept back just far enough so that the sounds of her progress wouldn’t draw too much attention, and prayed that they would find the young seer in time, and intact.

Hurry, Zerai, find him, find him!

She jumped from a slick stone up to the rough bark of a fallen zigba tree that the others had been forced to run around, and so she suddenly caught up to them on the far side, leaping down heavily beside them as they suddenly halted and huddled behind a wide tree trunk. Veneka crouched behind them.

“What is it?”

Zerai pointed to the clearing ahead and held up one finger. Veneka leaned out and saw a pair of legs in white and yellow robes lying on the shaded grass.

Iyasu!

She nearly stood up, but Samira caught her and held her back. Veneka yanked her arm free, but then she saw the strange figure bending over Iyasu’s head.

At first she thought it was a woman, an old woman with a hunched back and thin arms protruding from the stained gray cloth wrapped around her bony shoulders. Her ears had grown unnaturally wide and low, so low that they dangled to her shoulders. And when she turned her head to be seen in profile, Veneka saw that the stranger had an elongated jowl and a set of sharp teeth that were thrust forward from under her nose like the muzzle of a misshapen hound. The woman-thing squatted by Iyasu’s side holding a sharp wooden stake in her long fingers as she prodded the unconscious seer’s neck. She grasped the youth’s robe and dragged him a little farther away.

“I’ll do it quickly,” Samira said, reaching for the trunk of the tree.

“No!” Zerai pushed her hand down. “They’re too close together. And if you startle her, she could puncture his throat.”

“She’s going to do that anyway!” the djinn hissed.

“What is he…?” Veneka pointed to their left and everyone looked to see the djinn alchemist Bashir standing silently at the edge of the clearing. A glint of light from his hand caught Veneka’s eye and she saw the two silver needles between his fingers, both of them with a single drop of golden liquid on their tips.

Before she could speak, the man flicked his wrist and let the needles fly. The monstrous crone screamed and fell back, dropping her wooden stake on the grass. Veneka stood up, watching the deformed woman clawing at her face, and then she spied the two silver needles embedded in the creature’s left eye. Instantly the crone’s breathing devolved into wet, ragged gasps and the creature flopped over and began crawling away into the brush.

Veneka dashed into the open half a step ahead of Zerai and Samira, and she fell to her knees at the seer’s side. As she placed her hands on Iyasu’s hand and chest, there was little fear in her. She could see him breathing, and as long as he was breathing then she knew there was no illness or injury she could not save him from. She stilled the torrent of questions in her mind and the roar of adrenaline in her limbs, and she let her faith and the faith of the angel restore her friend.

Iyasu blinked his eyes open and squinted up at her. “What…?”

She smiled.

“Get back here!” Zerai dragged the long-eared creature back into the clearing by its leg and dropped her beside a tree. She curled up into a ball with one hand clutching her wounded eye, but with her other hand she brandished four sharp claws and between her wheezing gasps she bared her hideous little teeth and hissed at them.

Samira and Bashir came to stand behind Zerai and together they studied the thing.

“What did you use?” Samira asked.

“Boomslang venom,” the alchemist said softly. “It burns the blood and organs. Very painful, but slow enough to let me examine the creature before it dies.”

The djinn woman turned away and walked out of the clearing, saying, “As you wish.”

As the creature wailed loudly and coughed more violently, it gave up all pretense at threatening its captors and merely collapsed into a shivering pile of long, thin arms and legs.

“Why do you wish to examine it?” Veneka winced at the sight of the monstrous thing writhing on the ground just a few paces away. “Kill it quickly. Let it die.”

“Not yet. I need to know more,” Bashir said. “I need to know how it lives.”

“It’s a deghir.” Iyasu sat up and massaged his forehead for a moment. “It’s one of the creatures the ancient Razielim created in the old empire, before the fall of Naj Kuvari.”

“You’ve heard of it?” Zerai asked. “You were surprised by the catoblepas yesterday.”

“I’ve heard of this one, yes. The ears were the telltale.” The young seer stood up. “They were monkeys once, but now they look like humans, and they eat humans, too.”

“Whatever it is, it is suffering,” Veneka interjected. “Zerai, please.”

The falconer nodded and approached the deghir with his sword ready. The creature stared up at him with its one remaining eye, its jaw shuddering in pain, and Zerai hesitated. The deghir lunged up, striking at his throat with four yellow claws, and the falconer fell backward as he swung his sword in an awkward, back-handed blow to knock the dying ape aside. The creature hit the ground at a crooked, sideways angle and for a moment it seemed unable to do anything more than feebly swat its claws at the grass while its mouth opened and closed in silent gulps.

Zerai grimaced as he straightened up, and then strode forward and brought his sword down in a quick chop at the deghir’s throat, but the deghir had enough life and fear in it to push aside at that moment so that the blade fell on its arm, severing the limb at the elbow.

The ugly thing screamed anew with more strength than seemed possible, and Veneka felt the animal’s pain lancing through her own bones in that sound. “Please!”

“Sorry!” Zerai raised his sword again, but the deghir flopped forward again and grabbed his ankle, sinking her teeth into his flesh. The falconer yelled out as he kicked the dying creature away.

With a sharp crack, the deghir’s head rebounded off the trunk of a tree and lay on the grass, blood pumping from its severed arm, chest rising and falling loudly, wide eyes staring at the sky. Veneka covered her mouth, praying that it would stop.

A wooden spike shot up through the deghir’s chest and the creature stopped moving, and then stopped breathing, and finally stopped bleeding. The clearing fell still and silent. Zerai staggered back, staring at the slender wooden spear standing in the deghir’s heart.

Veneka looked over and saw Samira standing a few paces away in the trees staring back at them. “Thank you.”

The djinn cleric said nothing as she turned and strode away toward the path.

As Zerai moved away from the body and cleaned off his blade, Bashir knelt down and placed his bag on the grass.

Veneka took Iyasu’s arm to get the young man walking away from the dead creature. “We should go. We still have a long way to go today. But from now on, no one goes anywhere alone.”

Iyasu nodded and followed Zerai into the trees. Veneka hesitated at the edge of the clearing and looked back at the alchemist. “Are you coming?”

“I’ll join you shortly.” Bashir opened his bag and began removing small jars and metal tools and arranging them in careful rows beside him on the ground. “I need to see how it works.”

Veneka winced and walked away.

“Tell me something, please,” the djinn called gently. “Would you have been able to save this creature from the poison with your healing art?”

“Yes.” She had never heard of boomslang venom before, but the name sounded like a southern word for snake to her, and if it was merely a serpent’s poison then she knew she could have saved the deghir from it.

Not that I would have saved it. Such a wretched thing should never have been made. So many crimes against nature, against heaven. What were the ancient Razielim thinking?

They were not thinking. No one was, back then. They were fools playing with power they did not understand.

They wanted to create life.

Instead, they created monsters.

I fear that always seems to be the way of it.

The alchemist nodded and returned to his work, and she returned to the others.

When they were all safely back on the path, Veneka took a moment to make certain that Zerai’s bitten leg was healed and then they resumed their journey west. After a few minutes, she fell back to walk beside Zerai and said, “What do you think Bashir is doing with that dead body right now?”

He shrugged. “Looking for bile or bone powder or whatever it is alchemists look for. Maybe he thinks he can turn stone into gold with that ugly ape’s piss.”

“I am serious,” she said. “I do not trust him. Remember what Raziel said.”

“Yeah, well, if it hadn’t been for him, Samira would have filled that clearing with wooden spears and Iyasu might have had a few extra holes in him for you to patch up.” Zerai gave her a pointed look. “Bashir handled it the right way.”

“With poison? He practically tortured the poor thing to death.”

“He saved Iyasu. That’s all I care about,” he said. “I would have thought you’d feel the same.”

“I wish you had let Samira handle it. I trust her more than I trust him.”

“Why? Because she’s a cleric?”

“Yes,” she said sharply. “That is exactly why. Her power comes from the faith of the angel Tevad. If the angel trusts her, then so can we.”

Zerai said nothing.

“Right?”

“Maybe.”

She stopped and stared at him. “Maybe?”

He stopped a few paces farther on and looked back at her. “Yeah, maybe. Remember why we’re on this trip. There’s a cleric out there tearing up the border between Maqari and Elladi, but the angel Sophir doesn’t seem to have a problem with that. How do you explain that?”

Veneka took a long breath. “I cannot.”

“Neither can I.”

“So what then? You no longer trust clerics?”

He shrugged. “Well, maybe one or two.”

She punched him on the shoulder and strode on ahead, not letting him see the smile on her lips, or the worry in her eyes.

Chapter 4
Samira

As evening fell across the forest, transforming the brilliant leaves and flowers to dimmer hues, Samira saw the stream beside their path begin to widen. She also saw the humans begin to look for a place to make camp for the night.

To spend half a day lying unconscious on the ground, wasting even more precious time. Why would Raziel not only bind my hands with his concern for them but also bind my feet with their clay-footed company?

“This is a good place,” Zerai was saying as he took his bag off his shoulder and began dragging a broken tree branch out of the grassy patch in question.

“We should keep moving,” the djinn cleric said.

“Samira, please.” Veneka gazed across the clearing at her. “We need to stop for the night.”

“I know you need rest, but we can still continue.” The Tevadim went to a large tree beside the water’s edge. “I can fashion a boat to carry us downriver all the way to Sabah. We can travel night and day without stopping.”

Veneka looked at Zerai. He frowned and shook his head a little, but then sighed and said, “I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Yes.” The healer nodded. “Can we see the boat, please?”

Ah, so the Razielim commands her lover. I suppose that’s something. Maybe these people can be managed after all.

Samira put her hand on the rough bark of the tree and she pictured in her mind the countless strands and fibers in the trunk, and then commanded them to unravel, unbind, and melt. The tree collapsed as though it had been transformed into a sculpture of water, with all its leaves and branches splashing down against the ground.

The soft fibrous material rebounded off the earth and spread out into a new shape, a long flat shape that curled up at the edges to form a large punt, complete with a long pole by the rear deck. The walls and seats of the boat gleamed as though from many coats of rich stains and protective oils, lovingly applied by a master craftsman, and every edge and point had been carefully rounded away for the comfort and safety of its travelers.

Iyasu watched the transformation in stoic silence, and then carefully stepped aboard. “It’s fine, Zerai. Thank you, Samira.”

Petra and Bashir also stepped into the boat and sat down quietly at the rear. Samira looked at the others still standing on the grass. “Is there a problem?”

“No, not at all.” Veneka picked up her bag and joined Iyasu in the front of the punt. “Zerai?”

The falconer moved very slowly to the edge of the water. “I knew a human cleric once who could make a tree into a ship. Hers had sails. But I guess this will do.”

Samira narrowed her eyes at him.

How human. Greedy for a fight, burning up with pride.

“Do you see these trees and vines hanging over the water?” She gestured upward. “A mast and sail would be caught here. And besides, there is no wind this deep in the forest. Or hadn’t you noticed?”