Alaskan Fury (32 page)
Authors: Sara King
In reply, Drescher pulled up a
chair and gestured at the catalogues she had opened up with her password.
“Let’s roast the Schlampe.”
After a moment’s hesitation,
Imelda reluctantly began her first search through the records.
The information on
angels—sightings, visions, dictations, foretellings, all purportedly given by
angelic beings—was so vast that Imelda quickly found herself lost. It was by
happenstance that, in her search of the histories of angels, she found an image
of an angel in the
Cubicolo dell'Annunziazione
, in the Catacomb of
Priscilla that was, while sketchy and somewhat difficult to make out, wingless.
Further, when she continued her
search, she found ancient tombs, relics, and stone representations of angels,
all wingless.
She leaned back, considering the
screen. “Drescher,” she said, “why would angels, originally, have been
wingless, only to have ‘evolved’ wings in the fourth century?”
Drescher, who had been leaned
forward, absorbing the information in silence, frowned. “Someone saw one and
changed the doctrine?”
“Or perhaps they have more than
one form,” Imelda said softly. “But why not show that second form before the fourth
century?” Her brow knotting, she began looking up Roman histories. “It wasn’t
until the fourth century that Christianity was legalized by Constantine.”
“There are Jewish angels, too,
Inquisitorin,” Herr Drescher said. “My brother married a Jewish girl. They
made many squalling Jewish babies, to my mother’s horror.”
Imelda frowned. Judaism was
older than Christianity by almost a thousand years. What if she had to look
back
further…
? Her breath caught. She remembered seeing figures of
winged women on Egyptian temples. She began a search for ‘winged humanoid,’
and immediately began getting images of ‘angels’ or avian beings inscribed or
etched into stone that predated Christianity by thousands of years.
Mesopotamia’s Siris; Ancient Egypt’s Horus; the dragon-slaying Garuda of India and
Southeast Asia, the fravashi of Zoroastrianism, the Tengu of Japan; the
Alkonost
,
Gamayun
and
Sirin
of Russia; Nike, Boreas, Eros, and the
Gorgon sisters and the Erinyes of Ancient Greece, the Dirae of Ancient Rome…
She hesitated. Erinyes. Dirae.
Furies. She seemed to remember something odd about the Furies…
A few quick keystrokes brought
her the information she sought.
In the space of a single night,
around B.C. 16, an entire temple of Furies was found dead in Ostra, their
hearts removed, the statues of Mars toppled. Two years later, another temple,
in Acerra. Every Fury dead, every statue of Mars defiled. Then in Pompeii,
then in Rome… Then the temples to Ares in Byzantion likewise fell. Then it
moved outward. As Imelda delved deeper into her research, she found more and
more temples to the pagans’ gods of War that had been sacked in various ways in
the first four centuries A.D, the temples’ inhabitants slain to a soul. The
temples of Indra, in India. The temples of Horus, of Bishamonten in Japan,
Tojil of the Maya, of Wôdan of the ancient Germanic peoples, of Rudianos of the
Celts… Every one of them carried mention of priestesses who had been
slaughtered, with no survivors.
“They were
hiding
,” she
whispered, frowning.
“Something was killing them,”
Herr Drescher noted, having been reading over her shoulder. “It started with
the Furies.”
Imelda considered. The Fury
deaths were the first documented mention of the mysteriously destroyed
temples. But what if the Furies had other names? What if all the mythologies
of fearsome avian avengers were based off of the same breed of demon? What if
they were all the same creature, serving the various gods of War? What if they
weren’t
angels
at all, but a First-Lander
demon
that had worked
its way into the common culture?
She rubbed her forehead,
thinking. The Furies were thought to have died out a little over three hundred
years after the Resurrection of Christ. A few years after that, angels grew
wings in Christian art.
The Furies, according to the
ancient Roman temple documents, had three forms. Fully human—so fully human as
to be undetectable, unlike the slight off-forms and visual cues of dragons,
Third-Lander demons, and other shapeshifters, most of whom had to maintain some
conscious control over their shift to retain it. The next of the three forms
was full Fury—a creature with the body and face of a massive human, but with
talons, wings, feathers, an eagle’s beak, and scaly arms. And last was a
mixture of the two—the modern Christian angel, a being of great radiance, a
warrior of God who wielded a sword of white fire, and from whose wings shone
the light of heaven.
Frowning, Imelda began comparing
dates once more. The first appearances of winged angels were near Istanbul,
around A.D. 385, documented on a Christian sarcophagus with a scribe’s simple
inscription of ‘A Prince’s Holy Vision’ scribbled underneath. The last
documented mention of a mysteriously destroyed pagan temple to a god of War was
around A.D. 383, in Mesoamerica.
“Herr Drescher,” Imelda asked
softly, “can you recall the date on that Bible you saw?”
“The oldest read, In the Year of
Our Lord Three Hundred and Eighty Nine,” Herr Drescher replied. “She made me
get a good look.” He was frowning. “I honestly thought she was joking. How
could she have a Bible that old? They deteriorate.”
“Vellum can last thousands of
years on its own, and she’s a magus.” Imelda considered, her migraine
beginning to fuzz the edges of her vision again for the first time since she’d
woken. In the olden days, before the advent of printing presses and modern
typography, every part of the creation of a book was a painstakingly
time-consuming and labor-intensive process. From the skinning, scraping,
stretching, and drying of animal vellum to the tedious application of inks,
powdered metals, and glues, it often took
years
to craft a single Bible,
even with an entire monastery working on it. To have a Bible completed in A.D.
389, she would have had to commission it several years in advance.
Yet, it wasn’t until A.D. 382
that the Church itself had even
begun
canonizing the Bible with the
Council of Rome. Further, nowhere in the Bible did it mention an angel having
wings. Yet, right around that time, famous public visions of angels began
appearing here and there throughout Christendom. Always radiantly winged and
glorious, always before great crowds or important leaders, always resulting in
massive conversions.
Imelda closed the archiving
program suddenly. No wonder the Pope suffered a magus in their midst. “Herr
Drescher,” she whispered. “I believe we just stumbled onto something that
could get us both killed.”
He was looking pale himself.
“You think Zenaida…”
Taking a deep breath, she said,
“You’re not to leave my side unless to eat, shit, or sleep. You understand?” Then
she hesitated, trying to think. Now that she
knew
of this, she felt
like she had to
do
something about it. But what? Zenaida was clearly
in league with the Holy See, if only by the fact that her existence was being
overlooked. Could the Holy See know that it was dealing with a First-Lander
demon?
Then, a more frightening question
occurred to her.
Would it care?
Sightings of angels by its
faithful, after all, was one of the strongest supporting tenants of the Church.
…Just as harvesting the magics
from those they killed was one of the Order’s greatest weapons.
The thought left a bitter taste
in Imelda’s mouth, one that was beginning to chafe. How many of the Church’s
principles had been built upon the wings of angels? Did it matter? How
important were a few lies, in the grand scheme of things, if it brought more
people to God? But then, on the other hand, what if the Furies
were
God’s messengers? What if the scholars had simply neglected to mention the
other forms because it was common knowledge of the time? The equivalent of a
modern-day scholar documenting the Pope riding in a car and stopping to explain
the internal combustion engine under the hood.
She shook her head, feeling the
glassy fuzz of her migraine building.
Herr Drescher saved her. “So
this wolf, heading north…to the dragons? It is an angel? One that
was…bitten?”
Imelda frowned. If there was one
thing they all seemed to agree on, it was the sheer destructive power of a
Fury. The Buddhists considered the Furies’ counterparts, the Garudas, to be
the greatest slayers of dragons. Mythically exaggerated out of proportion, the
Hindu and Buddhist texts both clearly stated that there was no creature more
capable of killing a dragon than a Garuda. A Fury. An
angel
.
According to Greek myth, deities of vengean—
“
Our sister of vengeance
,”
the angel had said to her, in the awesome, many-faced image that could be
easily likened to the Universal Form of ancient Hindu literature.
Too many connections. Too many
questions. Too many interpretations. Groaning, Imelda dropped her head into
her hands, trying to quell the migraine before it could form.
Beside her, Herr Drescher stood
up abruptly and said, “It’s been five hours and we didn’t have dinner. You
will
eat
. I promised your Father I would keep you fed.” He sounded
almost panicked that he had forgotten.
Wincing as she peered at him
through the hazy outlines of a migraine, she just nodded and got up. Not for
the first time, her Padre was a steady source of reason in the turbulent ocean
of her life. She’d been
dead
for several
minutes
and already she
was right back to digging through the same mysteries that had put her on her
deathbed the first time.
Someday,
she thought
miserably,
You’re going to be the death of yourself, dearie.
The first blizzard of the season
hit, ironically, once they had passed through the cold and windy slopes of the
Alaska Range. Out on the sparsely-wooded, lake-pocked lowlands north of the
mountains, there was very little shelter to be found aboveground, to which the
djinni had vigorously complained for the last four hours. For her part,
Kaashifah wanted to gain as much ground as possible during the daylight hours,
when they would at least be able to see their enemies coming. His complaining,
however, reached a crescendo at about the same time the wind began to pick up,
pummeling them both with snow despite the shields that Kaashifah had woven into
their wards.
“I can’t see why we can’t
stop
,”
the djinni shouted at her over the howl of the wind. Though he followed her at
arm’s-length, Kaashifah could still barely make out his big ebony form through
the whipping snow around them. “It’s
cold
out here, mon Dhi’b.” The
big Fourth Lander was bowed, hugging his naked chest, still stalwartly refusing
to wear a coat.
“Fine, you insufferable wr—” she
choked off the insult and gritted her teeth at him through the windswept blasts
of snow. “Fine,
djinni
. We can stop here for the day.” She searched
for a ley-line, but found fewer of them in the scrubby wilderness, where the
spruce trees didn’t grow more than twenty feet. By the time she found one that
was suitable enough to hold the bubble of earth up, once she had lifted it into
place, the djinni had already begun complaining again.
“Oh for the gods’ sakes!” Kaashifah
cried, making them a much smaller—and thus much less
noticeable
—fey-mound.
She set the bubble to the power of the ley-line, then dug a hole in the side.
“Get
in
there,” she growled, motioning.
The djinni slipped realms.
Immediately afterwards, ‘Aqrab whined from inside, “The ground is
frozen
in here, mon Dhi’b.”
Permafrost. Of course.
Kaashifah fought the twitching in her neck to politely say, “Then wish it dry,
djinni, or stop complaining.”
“I can’t make a wish for myself,”
the djinni moaned.
“You can sleep in there, ‘Aqrab,
or you can sleep in the snow. Or you can do us
both
a favor and go sun
yourself in the Fourth Realm, for all I care.” When she got down on her hands
and knees and crawled into the mound, however, the djinni was still sulking in
a corner, arms wrapped around himself, looking miserable.
After Kaashifah had affixed the
light, she went back out into the blinding white storm and stumbled around
until she found some scraggly, man-sized black spruce trees and snapped off a
few limbs, which she shook free of snow and dragged back inside to lay across
the floor as a barrier to the icy dirt.
The djinni gave her attempts a
sullen look. “Those are wet.”
Kaashifah almost threw the boughs
at him. For almost two weeks straight, ever since leaving the mountains, he
had done nothing but complain. Granted, the temperature had dropped by almost twenty
degrees in those two weeks, and they were probably well into the negatives, Fahrenheit.
Or had been, until the blizzard hit. Now, with wind-chill, it was cold enough
to freeze one’s spit before it hit the ground.
“All right, djinni,” Kaashifah
muttered. “I request
pillows
and
blankets
in addition to my meal
tonight. After all, it’s not really a meal fit for a king if I have to endure
the hard ground while I eat.”
The djinni cocked his head at her,
his eyes widening in consideration. “That is true.”
“So,” she said, once she’d
plugged the entrance to the dome, thereby stoppering the gusts of wind that had
been sending drifts of snow into their sanctuary, “what will it be tonight?”
She leaned back and eyed him. “Another painting? A sculpture? A sketch?”
She watched ‘Aqrab’s face
brighten with mischievousness. “You’re asking for a greater boon, so I will
require a greater boon in exchange,” the djinni said.
Kaashifah sighed. Never mind the
fact that she was asking for
his
benefit. She simply had to wrap
herself more tightly in shields and she wouldn’t be able to feel the cold at
all. “Keep in mind,” she said, “that I only have so much time in a night, and
I must sleep for at least part of it.”
“I would explore you, mon Dhi’b.”
Kaashifah froze. She reluctantly
met his eyes, and indeed, there was sharp intelligence there. “You mean,” she
said softly, her heart beginning to hammer in her throat, “like I explored
you.”
The djinni shrugged. Then, with
dangerous vagueness, said, “However I like.”
Kaashifah bit her lip at the
mingled thrill of exhilaration and spasm of fear that fought within her under
the djinni’s intense gaze. “Um.”
The beast shrugged much too
casually, betraying his intense interest. “I could always eat smoked duck and
barbecued ribs…”
Kaashifah let him continue
listing foodstuffs, unable to fully concentrate due to her overwhelming mix of
emotions. Fear, because it was
wrong
. Exhilaration because she was
finding, more and more, that those big hands aroused something within her that
she’d never known existed, a part of her that seemed to have been asleep for
millennia. She’d actually been having
fun
each night. She couldn’t
remember having fun before. It had always been frowned upon by her elder
sisters, and growing up in the temples, she had quickly learned that to
displease her elder sisters, even for an instant, often resulted in a beating
the likes of which no mortal could ever know.
The djinni had apparently
finished naming his wretched list, because he gave her a questioning look and
tentatively said, “Mon Dhi’b?”
When she looked, there was
compassion in his violet eyes, as well as a heartfelt plea. Still, she looked
away, unable to meet his gaze. To have a
man
free to
touch
her,
to explore at his whim… It was so terrifying that she couldn’t find the words
to speak.
“Trust me, mon Dhi’b,” he
whispered softly.
“I can’t,” she whispered, in
anguish. She looked up at him reluctantly. “
Please
pick something
else.”
The intelligence in his eyes was
enough to make Kaashifah cringe as he surveyed her, and in that moment, she
realized she was outmatched.
Blessed Lord,
she thought, meeting his analyzing
violet stare,
if this were a duel of minds, this man could best me.
It
was not a pleasant thought.
The djinni seemed to consider for
several minutes, then sighed and fiddled with the needles of a soggy spruce
bough. For a moment, Kaashifah thought he would actually choose another boon
to ask of her, and, unbidden, she felt a flutter of disappointment.
‘Aqrab must have seen it, too, because
instantly, the djinni’s gaze sharpened. “This is what I want.” The words,
firm and challenging, left her with another stirring of excitement. And,
meeting his eyes, she saw something that terrified her even more—he had
seen
.
In that brief meeting of souls, he had seen that part of her wanted his touch
as much as he wanted to give it.
Ares help her, she was so
screwed.
“Um.” Feeling his gaze like the
inferno of Hephaestus’s forge, Kaashifah quickly looked away. She could go
without eating for a night, she supposed. But she also knew, beyond a doubt,
that his bargain would be the same the next night, and the next, until she
capitulated. Because he knew that, eventually, she would. Like a fool, she
had shown him that much.
“Gods damn you, djinni,” she
managed.
“You’re free to say no.” He
crossed his arms across his naked chest and leaned back against the wall,
watching her all-too-acutely. She felt her skin itch under his scrutiny.
“After all, it
is
an abomination to your people, allegedly. A Fury
can’t
want
to be touched by a man. That’s simply impossible, by her
very nature. Though…” He hesitated, cocking his head at her. “If you’re the
only Fury, I guess you get to decide what’s an abomination, do you not?”
“Don’t try to word-weave your way
into this one, djinni,” Kaashifah growled. “Yes, it’s an abomination. Has
been, and always will be. I can’t change that.”
…or could she? The djinni did
have a point… With no sisters to flog her for the sacrilege, what was stopping
her from making her own laws? Laws that allowed the creation of art and
music? That didn’t place such horrible punishments on viewing the male form?
Kaashifah quickly raked that thought from her mind before it could take hold.
“An abomination,” she repeated, with more emphasis.
The djinni lifted a dubious
brow. “Oh? I wonder if it was an abomination, back when the Furies were not
all female.”
Kaashifah jerked her head up in
startlement. “They were never thus.”
He blinked at her, looking
genuinely surprised. “Then you’re younger than I thought.” And he waited,
watching her with smug knowing over those huge crossed arms. The
arrogant
bastard
.
Biting her lip, Kaashifah thought
about it. Then a new wash of guilt hit her soul, realizing that she was
considering
his proposal. For
food
. “My sisters,” Kaashifah whispered, “would
kill me if they knew what I’ve become.”
“Your sisters,” ‘Aqrab growled,
leaning forward, “can suck my dick, Fury. If they are not dead, they should
be. Show me in your Lord’s written hand where he has commanded you to be
celibate.”
“It is
known
,” Kaashifah
snapped.
“Known by who?” ‘Aqrab demanded.
“The survivors?”
She did not like the way he said
‘survivors.’ “It was always done thus.” As long as she could remember. The
rise and fall of three civilizations before this one.
“Not always.”
Kaashifah frowned at him. “Just
how old
are
you, djinni?”
He waved a dismissive hand. “Consider
this: In any culture, in any region of the world, did the Lord of War tell his
followers they couldn’t enjoy the arms of their lovers, in between bloodbaths?”
“Sparta,” she blurted, recklessly
naming the most militarily-devout society she could remember.
He gave her a flat stare. “There
are so many flaws to that, Fury, I don’t even know where to begin.” He started
ticking off fingers, “They
had
to marry at thirty, namely because they
were required of their
country
to spread the blood of their loins. They
abducted their women, either in fact or in fun. In the field, they often
screwed
boys
…”
“Enough!” Kaashifah cried.
“Sparta was a bad example.”
“Indeed,” the djinni said,
dropping his hand. He waited.
“The Amazons,” she growled.
‘Aqrab peered at her. “You mean
the fearsome women who would raid their neighbors’ lands for male slaves to
drag home and work their fields? Oh, and to please them in bed?”
She scowled at him. “Ornicatha.”
Both his eyebrows went up. “That
was four human winters ago, mon Dhi’b. You must have been young.”
In actuality, she had been born a
hundred years
after
the fall of Ornicatha, but she wasn’t going to tell
him that. She merely raised her head and glared at him.
‘Aqrab sighed. “You never saw
it, did you?”
Flushing, she said, “I didn’t
need to. I heard—”
“
I
saw Ornicatha,” the
maddening beast interrupted. “And while, yes, it was incredibly regimented and
highly militaristic and worshipped your Lord to a fault, it was much like
Sparta and Amazonia in that its citizens were free to take slaves as they saw
fit, and did so, with great pleasure. Unfortunately for them, venereal disease
became so rampant that it was a major part of their downfall, as private
property was virtually nonexistent, and after a month had passed, captives were
expected to be delivered to communal pens beneath the great temples to the god
of Fertility in order to propagate—”
“Enough!” Kaashifah cried.
But he continued, “History has
shown that sex is necessary to continue the species, mon Dhi’b.” He cocked a
curious head at her. “I’m sure that even the Furies were aware of this, as you
didn’t die off over the ages.”
She thought again of watching her
sisters be bound for their chosen donor, and grimaced. “You’re not going to
word-weave your way into my—” then she frowned. “Since when did we start
talking about sex, and not merely you
touching
me?”
He shrugged.
Kaashifah narrowed her eyes.
“Tell me that by ‘exploring’ me, you did not mean sex, djinni.”
He gave her a flat look. “Do you
really think I would try to pierce you by surprise?” He snorted. “I want to
explore your body, mon Dhi’b. As you did mine.”