Alaskan Fury (37 page)

“And
you
tell
her
that I will speak whatever I please, and that I will defecate upon her mother’s
grave, once I’m done ripping you limb from limb and shoving your balls down
your spineless bloody neck.”

Aqrab winced.  At the
Inquisitor’s raised brow, he said, “She says she will speak the tongue that
pleases her.”

The Inquisitor hesitated for a
moment, seemingly considering that.  To the air in front of her, she said, “One
of my Sisters wears this symbol that I took from you.  What does it mean?”

“It means we have finally
infiltrated your corrupt mockery of a religion and she will be destroying you
from the inside even as I wreak havoc from above.”

“What did she say?” the
Inquisitor asked, when ‘Aqrab failed to translate.

“Um,” ‘Aqrab said, struggling,
“she says that she is bringing the truth of God to your religion.”

“Stop dancing around the truth,
‘Aqrab,” his magus sneered.  “Tell her I will paint the walls with her brains.”

“Actually, mon Dhi’b,” ‘Aqrab
said, “Considering that I am the one standing before a vest-full of explosives,
I think it will be
my
brains that will be used as pigment, if you
continue to try and rile her.”  He cocked his head with that new, unpleasant
thought.  “Or is that your goal?”

His magus hesitated.  Then, in
almost a petulant mutter, she said, “My Lord told me to kill you.”

‘Aqrab groaned.  “I told you, mon
Dhi’b.  You misinterpreted his words.”

“I can’t
misinterpret
his
words, you fool.  It was a message sent directly to
me
.  Planted into my
mind
.  There was no
translation
necessary.  Tell the qybah that I
want my pendant back.”

The Inquisitor listened to the
exchange in silence.  “What was said?” she asked.

‘Aqrab sighed.  “She is being
obstinate.  She wants to know where her pendant is.”

“I don’t have it,” the
hollow-faced brunette said.  “But I will get it for her, if she answers my
questions to my satisfaction.”

‘Aqrab could
feel
his
magus’s attention sharpen.

“First,” the Inquisitor said, “I
would ask what the pendant does.”

“It’s a symbol of one of my
Lord’s Favored,” Kaashifah said. “It means that the two of us will gut you,
then your family, then your family’s family for the crimes that you have
committed upon the Realms.  We will bathe ourselves in your blood, and then
cast your bodies into the sewers to rot.”

‘Aqrab cleared his throat.  “It
is given to a favored warrior of her Lord.”

The Inquisitor’s blue eyes
flickered up at him and he saw a wry smile.  “More was said than that.”

‘Aqrab shrugged.

Carefully, the Inquisitor said,
“This symbol…  It means they can speak directly to God?”

‘Aqrab felt his magus’s rage when
she said, “I haven’t spoken directly to God since I had my pendant taken from
me.  If anything happened to it, I’m going to enjoy divining his words with
your entrails.”

“She says she can,” ‘Aqrab said.

The Inquisitor seemed to consider
that.  “Has she ever seen God?  Does she serve him?  Or was she cast from
Heaven?  Does she serve Lucifer?  Who gave her the pendant?”

“Tell her,” Kaashifah growled,
“That Heaven, God, and his pretty orchestra of angels do not exist.  Heaven is
probably another word for the other Realms, because the small-minded fools in
that day did not have the mental capacity to imagine a place more inaccessible
than the clouds.  There are many facets of the divine, and the fact that one
male-dominated religion came up with a single egocentric male presence who is Lord
over her petty little universe is not surprising.  I laughed when I heard about
it.  Angels were obviously based off of my Order because their little male
enclave of self-avowed scholars did not have the creative fortitude to come up
with something original.  Lucifer is probably a myth based off of one of my
fallen sisters.  My pendant—”

But the Inquisitor’s gaze had
sharpened.  “And you?” she interrupted.  “Are
you
fallen?”

‘Aqrab froze. 
I never
translated that for her
, he thought.  His eyes dropped to the bit of her
chest that the woman had bared in showing him the burn, and he noticed the soft
green, iridescent shell-like talisman that shared space with the Catholic
symbol of martyrdom.  He cursed inwardly, knowing that it had probably once
belonged to a fey spider.  A master of tongues.

But his magus did not seem to
notice.  There was defensive anger in her voice when she snapped, “Tell the
bitch that I got tricked by a word-twisting djinni, and I will return to my Lord’s
favor the moment I bring him your repulsive heart.”

“You have reset your seven
days—mon Dhi’b, I think you should—”

“
Also
tell her that, as a
Justice of the Realm, I will enjoy slaughtering every member of her cult and
wiping her disgusting religion into oblivion, once I get my wings back.”

‘Aqrab winced.  “Um.  Mon Dhi’b,
she can understand…”

“Oh,” Kaashifah screamed from the
half-realm, pacing, “and tell her I never
fell
.  My
sisters
just
made me
leave
.  My Lord never said I’d fallen.  I was my Lord’s
greatest
. 
His shining star.  I did
everything
for him.  I was his Blade of
Morning.  My sisters could have helped me kill you, but they were afraid of
me.  Jealous.  They could have cut off your damned head without even blinking. 
But I made one mistake and they
abandoned
me with a djinni.  I never
fell
.” 
He could
hear
her pacing, now, full in her Fury, “I was the
best
. 
I carried the light of my Lord in my every
waking moment
.  I was
perfect
. 
That’s why they tossed me out.  They couldn’t
stand
the fact that I was
the only one to wear a pendant for ages.  They wanted it for themselves, but
when they tried to
take
it from me as they cast me adrift, it burned
their fucking fingers to the
bone
.  Tried to cut off my wings and feed
me to dragons in a fucking chasm to prove they were right, but I survived and
made the serpents my own.  So tell the qybah that if another of my sisters
carries my Lord’s favor, between the two of us, her and her kind are all
utterly dead, to a soul.”

“Uh,” ‘Aqrab said, watching the
Inquisitor carefully.  “I believe you just did, mon Dhi’b.”

The Inquisitor lifted her icy
blue gaze to him and said, “Thank you.  I think that answers my question
perfectly.”  Her look gave ‘Aqrab chills.  “Now back off, djinni.  I am going
to return to my helicopter and I am going to fly away.  If you disappear
between now and then, I will set off the explosive.”  She held up the switch
and loosened her finger just enough to show him the trigger.  Tapping her chest
with her other hand, she said, “And I have plenty of things that can kill a
Fourth Lander packed in here, djinni, half-realm or not.  Gold, venom,
faespar…”

“I can see it,” ‘Aqrab said. 
Even then, the writhing blackness of basilisk venom was making him
uncomfortable.

“Don’t follow me.”

“I already told you,” ‘Aqrab
said, “I’m a poet.  I abhor bloodshed.  It’s my mistress you should be wary
of.”

The woman gave him a long, level
look.  Then, instead of backing away, as ‘Aqrab expected, she simply turned on
heel and strode back through the snow across the rise, towards the helicopter
in the distance.

As she climbed into the
helicopter and ‘Aqrab watched the rotors spin up, he asked, “So, did you get
it?”

“Of course I did,” his magus
growled.  “Do you think me a fool?”

‘Aqrab declined to answer that. 
As Kaashifah folded open the veil and popped into existence beside him, he
said, “My question is whether or not she gave it to you intentionally, or if
she really knows that little about a magus.”

Kaashifah watched the helicopter
vanish into the distance.  “I’m not sure.  I think we led her on well enough.”

‘Aqrab raised an eyebrow at her. 
“So you saw the talisman from the beginning?”

“Kind of hard to miss,” Kaashifah
snorted.  “It stank of the fey.”  She raised a brow up at him.  “Why?  Did
you
miss it?”

‘Aqrab cleared his throat
embarrassedly.  “I think we should get going.  If we’re going to use the Mark
you put on her before someone figures out it’s there, we need to find the
dragons and get your curse removed.” 

His magus blinked at him.  “You
missed it, didn’t you?”  Like she had expected better of him.

Feeling his face flush, ‘Aqrab
reached down and scooped up the clay talisman his magus had made for him and started
walking north without her.

Imelda released the trigger of
the joystick she’d ripped off of a kid’s video-game console and tossed it into
the back seat, then reached up into the compartment above the copilot’s seat
and retrieved the wolf’s pendant.  She eyed it a moment, then looked out at the
lone black figure standing amidst the snowdrifts. 

“So they bought it?” Herr
Drescher said, as he started the engine.  It had been his idea to stop by
Wal-Mart on the way through Wasilla, to buy the game system for her to use in
their ruse.

“They’re simple creatures,”
Imelda said.  “They had no idea what they were looking at.”  Tucking the
pendant back into her front pocket, she shrugged the vest over her shoulders
and tossed it into the back alongside the fake trigger.  She’d rubbed C-4 onto
every surface of the vest, in the hopes that the wolf, with her primitive Third
Lander senses, would smell it.  Instead, it seemed, it had been the djinni to
pick it up.

Herr Drescher chuckled.  “And
what did you decide about them, Inquisitorin?”

Imelda wasn’t sure.  While the
creature was apparently mindlessly rash and violent, utterly confident in its
own superiority, she was pretty sure she had felt the creature brush the center
of her forehead.  “I think she tried to place a Mark on me.”  Already, she was
reaching back into the overhead compartment, dragging out an emergency kit. 
She dug through the clotting-aids, the horn tonics, the feather tendrils, the
various performance-enhancers, and came back with a tiny square of shimmering
pearlescent cloth, wrapped in a Ziplock.

“A
Mark
?” Herr Drescher
demanded.  “Why would she do that?”

“My guess is that she wants to
know where we live.”  Imelda pulled the faecloth out of its bag and began
wiping down her entire face.  A magus would naturally try to Mark the forehead
or brow, since it was most likely to link them to the gold-mine of their
victim’s vision, once they had enough time and energy to stretch their
consciousness to the Mark.  That said, however, Imelda wasn’t about to take the
chance the wily little magus had touched her ears, as well.  With that in mind,
she began wiping down every surface where her skin had been exposed.

“Why would she want to know where
we live?” Drescher asked, as she scrubbed herself.

“I think,” Imelda said, “She
intends to hunt us down.  To all appearances, Drescher, this whole
trek-across-Alaska is a rescue attempt.”

“A rescue attempt.”  Drescher
frowned.  “And what will happen once she reaches the dragons, Inquisitorin? 
Does she truly expect to hunt the
Order
?”

Imelda glanced at Drescher,
wondering if there was genius in the man’s words.  “Furies were the Justicars
of their day.  They were the demons that killed other demons who were upsetting
the balance.”  Then she had an unsettling thought.  A hundred and eighty-five
thousand Assyrians had fallen in a single night.  Sweet God, what if that was
leveled
against
them?

Drescher glanced at her with a
wary look.  “A
balance
among demons, Inquisitorin?”

Imelda took a deep breath, still
thinking of the Assyrians, and the angel’s threats.  How much could the German
be told?  For the last two months, her world had been crumbling in a rot of
lies and subterfuge, and she wasn’t sure who she could trust, anymore.

“So, basically,” Herr Drescher
ventured, “left to their own devices, these demons established a hierarchy,
with these things at the top.”

“Sounds about right,” Imelda
said.  She finished wiping down her ears and neck, then moved to her hands.

“Does Zenaida know this?”

Imelda’s hand hesitated at
mention of the woman’s name.  Remembering the pendant Zenaida wore beside the cross,
Imelda said, “Yes.”

“And these Furies…they are the
same angels from the Bible?”

Of that, Imelda was not yet
sure.  “All I know for sure,” she said, wiping down the pads of her fingers,
“Is that they are very, very dangerous.”  When she was finished scrubbing
herself, she tossed the cloth back into the Ziplock and replaced the kit.  She
would dispose of her clothes in the nearest Wal-Mart garbage bin. 

Clean, Imelda now had time to
think.  There were certain words that the angel had used that
still
left
her with tingles of unease.  The angel had called herself her lord’s ‘greatest’
and his ‘shining star’ and his ‘Blade of Morning.’  Looking out at the djinni,
who still stood alone like an ebony statue amidst the white drifts, watching
them, Imelda said, “Herr Drescher, isn’t Lucifer also called the Morning Star?

Drescher’s face twisted.  “He
is.”

Imelda considered.  The angel had
insisted that she had been ‘perfect’ and she had ‘carried her lord’s light’ and
had been ‘tossed out’ into the company of serpents.  And, if the wear on her
pendant was any judge, it had been some time ago.  “What is the literal
translation for Lucifer?” she asked softly.

“Light-bearer,” Herr Drescher
said immediately.  Turning to her, he said, “Is this another test,
Inquisitorin?”  He winked at her.  “Because I passed my entry exams years ago.” 
Then he winced.  “Well.  My roommate passed, anyway…”

Light-bearer.  Morning Star. 
Lucifer.

…a sad, wolf-bitten magus with an
anger problem?  Imelda dropped her head into her hands, forcing back another
migraine as she felt the thousands of possibilities begin to mill in her head
like a white static fog.  “Herr Drescher, I need to see my Padre.”  She also
needed another dose of her medication, but she’d flushed it down the toilet.

“Of course,” he said.  Herr Drescher
began raising the collective lever with a gloved fist.  The helicopter’s rotors
began slapping at the air with magic-muted
whomphs
that made it barely
louder than a lawn-mower.

Magic
.  The Order used it
in everything, all in the name of killing those who had it.  Feeling sick,
Imelda watched the ground lift away, felt the helicopter tilt forward as they
headed up over the mountains.