Alaskan Fury (64 page)

Probably where they got their
myths of angels,
he thought.  He gave the entryway a considering glance. 
So,
a Fury dens behind this door.
  The spells on the lock would easily take
several hours to unravel safely without a disarming mechanism of some sort, and
he sincerely doubted that anyone who had taken such care in her spells would
have done something that imbecilic.  Still, he bent and flipped over the
doormat anyway.

No key.

Standing again, he glanced up at the
crack of the jamb overhead.  All around the entry, black ropes of seiðr twined
around the frame, like deadly serpents waiting for the unwary.  Easily another
hour or two to unravel, to do it safely.  He eyed the spells, grimacing, then
took three steps to the side and went through the sheetrock wall. 

The Fury’s room was perfectly
organized, with every book—including some ancient tomes that looked hundreds of
years old—in its proper place on a shelf, and every personal object tucked
neatly into a corner or crevice.  Savaxian went to the books first and, upon
finding them clean of the weavings of magical snares, he pulled a couple of the
older ones down, flipped their ancient pages open, and then quickly tucked them
under his arm once he saw the content. 

Blood magics. 
Tomes
on
it.  Only the ancients had tomes on blood-magic.  Most First Lands knowledge of
seiðr had been destroyed during the second-to-last human winter, yet here he
was, staring at a seiðmaðr’s treasure-trove worth ten times its weight in
jewels.  More than that.  It was
priceless
.

Grabbing a blanket off of the
Fury’s bed, he began piling the best-looking books into the center—then said
fuck it and grabbed the rest—and then knotted it and carefully hefted the
entire collection over his shoulder.  He found the little Second Inquisitor kit
in a drawer filled with dozens of items of magic and enchantment that left his
saliva glands in overdrive.  Having no more space in his blanket, he took the
drawer and dumped it into a pillowcase.

Then he went about ransacking the
rest of the room, taking every object of value right down to the
heat-ensorcelled quilt.  By the time he staggered back out of the room—having
to radically enlarge the opening in the wall to fit back through—the Fate and
its femboy were gone.  Stumbling under the weight of his finds, Savaxian
rounded the corner in the hall and went to the open door leading to the
basement. 

“Here’s your blood!” he called,
lobbing the lockbox down the stairs.  Then he went looking for more treasure. 
This place was a
gold mine
.  Every room seemed to have something new,
some magical object, some ensorcelled blade or healing balm.  Nothing as
fantastic as the Fury’s, but every little bit counted.  Savaxian was yanking a
magical headset of some sort out of a duffel bag in an abandoned room when,
behind him, outside, he heard the unmistakable
whomph whomph whomph
of a
helicopter.

“
Thunderbird!
”  He yelled
down the hall, scrabbling to carry all of his stuff with him.  “Take care of
that!”

But the Thunderbird was shrieking
something about a bad play, totally oblivious to the helicopter settling on the
landing-pad right outside the front door.

Hurriedly, realizing his prizes
were in danger, Savaxian ducked into an unlocked door and, hastily shutting the
door behind him, stuffed his finds under the half-made bed.  He had the nagging
worry that the Fate had gotten away from him, but he doubted that it had gone
far, in the condition that it had been.  He’d just have to Mark it the next
time he saw it, for easy location later.

Outside, the helicopter sounded
like its rotors were spinning only inches from the wall.  Getting on his
tiptoes, Savaxian glanced out the window at the helicopter pad.

A short, unpleasant-looking Third
Lander in a half-form was marching across the tarmac toward the front door,
wearing what looked like ensorcelled armor and bristling with a dozen swords
and other weaponry. 

Is that
void-titan
bone?
Savaxian thought, his heart making a startled double-thump.  The ancients all
had void-titan bone, but he’d never gotten the chance.  Maybe this Third Lander
would prove unfriendly and he would have to kill him.  Or, on second thought,
maybe he could be persuaded to get unfriendly.  Third Landers weren’t the
brightest candles in the crevice, and those swords looked
expensive
.  Of
course a barbaric Third Lander had no use for such works of art.  They were
wasted
on him.  Better to put them somewhere safe than to flaunt them and wave them
around and risk breaking them.

Speaking of that, he wondered if
he was going to see his Damascus steel blade back from the Fury.  All
afternoon, he’d been trying not to think about all the dents and scratches he
would have to polish out of its formerly-perfect surface, and it had left him
in a foul mood. 
I was doing a good deed.  A good deed that bards
will
sing about for a hundred ages.
  He had to keep reminding himself of that
fact, because it continued to grate at him.

Savaxian glanced again to make
sure that his finds were secured in the darkness, then hurried back out of the
room and shut the door, stepping into the hallway just as the Third Lander was
rounding the bend.

Immediately, the beast hesitated,
sniffing the air.  Then, slowly, it drew a long black blade from over its
hunched shoulder and started stalking towards him.

Excellent,
Savaxian
thought, allowing him to approach.  He was trying to decide whether to
decapitate or to simply knock the beast out when the creature came to a wary
halt just out of reach.

The Third Lander sniffed at the
air again like an animal, then wrinkled its nose and scowled at him.  “Get out
of the way, dragon.”

Savaxian bristled.  “No.”

“Listen, kid,” the Third Lander
snapped at him, “I don’t have time to swaddle your ass.  Get out of my way. 
I’m going to go free some folks.”

“
Kid
?” Savaxian choked. 
“You’re a
Third Lander
.  I could wipe my ass with your face and pick my
teeth with your bones.”

“Still a dumbass kid who’s in my
fucking way.  Smells like your balls just dropped what, a few years ago?”

Savaxian’s mouth fell open.  “It was
centuries
ago.”  Well, more like one and a half, but still.

The Third Lander gave him a long
look, then glanced at the hall behind Savaxian.  “We can do this the easy way
or the hard way, but either fucking way, I need to get at the basement.”

“Well, that’s really too bad,
demonkin
,”
Savaxian snarled at the impudent weasel, crossing his arms, giving himself a
few horns and some scales to heighten the effect.

“Oh yeah?” the wereverine sniffed
at the air again, like a dog on a scent.  His eyes found the room where Savaxian
had stashed his finds.  “What’s behind that door?”

“Nothing,” Savaxian said,
dropping his hands quickly.

The wereverine laughed.  “Okay
then, let’s go have a look-see.”  He went to open the door.

In a moment of blind fury and
panic, Savaxian up-formed and lunged at the wereverine.  “
Mine!
”

The Third Lander jumped out of
the way, allowing Savaxian, without anything to stop his forward momentum, to
plow into a wall.  “Sorry, kid,” he heard the wereverine’s muffled voice say on
the other side of the sheetrock.  “The world’s a really tough place when you’re
stupid.”  Then he started dancing past Savaxian towards the roomful of goodies.

He’s going to take my things
,
Savaxian thought, horrified.
 
Sheer fury powering him, now, Savaxian
slapped the wereverine full in the stomach with his tail, slamming him back
down the hallway in a skid of ruined linoleum.  Yanking his head free of the
wall, blocking the hallway once more with his body, Savaxian followed the
wereverine with a furious bellow.

“Oh shi—!” the wereverine cried,
windmilling to get out of the way.  “I wasn’t going for your—”

Savaxian aided him in his
endeavor, embedding him in the opposite wall.  “They are
mine
,” he
snarled, a full tide of rage powering him, digging his talons through the
linoleum and tightening the fire-glands in his chest.  “
I
found them,”
he snarled, flaring his wings and knocking more walls out.  “You will leave
them the fuck
alone
or I will
roast
you, you pathetic little
fleabitten—”

Up ahead, Thunderbird peeked his
head out of the cafeteria to see what was causing the commotion.  Upon seeing
the wereverine hunched over, sword in hand, snarling, and Savaxian facing him
off, the demigod sighed said, “You two fuck up the cable and you’ll be powering
your own cities for the next thirty years.”

“Call off the lizard!” the
wereverine cried over his shoulder.  “Tell him I wasn’t gonna swipe his stuff!”

“He wasn’t going to swipe your
stuff!” Thunderbird called halfheartedly from deep inside the cafeteria.  Then,
“Did you
see
that?!  That fat fuck just ran the entire
field
and
they didn’t
stop
him!  Those incompetent
fools
!  They’re gonna
lose
! 
Again
!  This is unfuckingbelievable!”  A chair went flying through the
wall of the cafeteria behind the wereverine.  Savaxian barely saw it, so
infuriated he was seeing red.

“Okay,” the wereverine said
slowly, “listen, kid.  I’m here to rescue a pretty redhead.  That’s it.  I
don’t give a damn about your stash or the huge,
massive
hoard of armor
and weapons behind that locked door by your tail.  All I want is the girl. 
Capiche?”

Savaxian’s nostrils flared and he
turned slowly to look at the locked door.

The wereverine rushed him,
grabbed him by a horn, and, yanking his head down in one heavy hand, slammed
the tip of a sword into the soft hollow under his jaw so that the blade was
digging painfully into his throat.  “All right,” the wereverine said,
eye-to-eye with him, “you listen real good, puke.  You’re gonna down-form. 
Now.  Then you’re gonna get the
fuck
outta my way or I’m gonna put this
thing through your
brain
.  Got it?  I just spent the last eight hours
mind-wrestling a sadistic Third Lander fuck so I could get my ass back here to
rescue my damsel in distress before she
bleeds to death
, and I find my
way blocked by a dumbass wyrmling who’s trying to snatch up everything that
glitters before someone catches him with his hand in the cookie-jar.  Now, I
generally don’t give a shit what you take from these asswipes, but you are
really
starting to piss me off.”

Savaxian took a deep breath,
tightening the glands in his chest.

The sword stiffened against his
throat.  “I never did like dragons.”  It sounded…final.

Letting out his breath in a
defeated puff of smoke, Savaxian reluctantly down-formed and let the hairy
little ape step past him.  He was about to breathe a wad of fire down his back
when a tremulous female voice cried, “Jack?”

Savaxian glanced up to see a
giantess of a woman stepping around the corner, pale and stumbling, yet
completely wreathed in flames in his second-sight.  Her eyes—fire-orange and
glowing—fixed on the wereverine, and Savaxian watched the ethereal blaze
brighten around her. 
Oh my gods,
Savaxian thought,
that’s the
fucking phoenix.
  And if this was Jack…  He watched as the wereverine
rushed forward and threw himself into the Fourth Lander’s arms like an ugly
little leprechaun. 

Why did
he
get the good
girls?  Savaxian was utterly disgusted at the exchange of fluids that
followed.  Then he remembered what the wereverine had said about locked doors
and armories and, already well beyond the point where he cared about aesthetics
or waking the neighbors, up-formed and slammed his fist into the nearest
keypad-protected door.

The wereverine’s kiss broke off
in a muffled sound as the door went flying off its hinges, sailing into the
darkened room beyond.  “A
dragon
!” the phoenix squealed.

Savaxian ducked his head into the
room and allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness.  Indeed, he realized, his
heart suddenly beginning to hammer like white lightning in his chest, this was
a storeroom of enchanted goods. 
Piles
of enchanted goods.  Armor and
weapons was just the
beginning
…

He felt something tap him on a
flank-scale and he jerked his head back into the hallway to glare.

“Ohmygod!” the phoenix giggled,
her jaw dropping open as she stared up at him, orange eyes wide in glee. 
“You’re a
dragon
!”

“Isn’t that nice,” the wereverine
muttered, still standing where she’d abandoned him in the hall.

“I always wanted to meet a
dragon,” the woman babbled.  “I read all those fantasy books as a kid, but I
never thought, I mean, oh wow, you’re just so
pretty
,” she breathed.  “Your
scales are all
silver
and—”

Savaxian down-formed and stepped
past her, looking for the nearest pillowcase. 

As he started scurrying around,
pulling stuff off of the shelves and dumping it blankets he pulled off of the
beds in the neighboring rooms, he heard the wereverine say, “See?  I
told
you they were selfish pricks…”

Chapter
24: The Blade of Morning

The man—a lieutenant, by the two
gold bars on his neck—shouted into the receiver, “No, her wing is busted!”

“That is a negative.  We’re
not under attack.”

“It’s
on its way.
  She
says she can stop it.”

“Negative, Lieutenant.  We
will neutralize the target advancing on us.  Detain the creature for processing
and return to base.”

“Goddamn HQ fuckwads!” the
lieutenant snapped, dropping the receiver.  He was flushed with anger, and
looked like he wanted to throw the radio against the wall.  “Sorry,” he
muttered, looking up at her abashedly.  “They’re…uh…not sending the jets.”

Kaashifah narrowed her eyes. 
“Let me talk to them.” 

“Sure, but it’s not gonna do any
good.”  The man offered her the radio, and, with great reluctance, Kaashifah
took the Object of Science and spent a minute grimacing down at the receiver in
her hand, trying to determine how the thing was operated.

“Press that button there and
talk,” the lieutenant said nervously, cringing as he pointed to a little black
protrusion in the device.  “Pretty self-explanatory.  Gotta be.  They make it
for dumbasses like us…”  He gave her a weak grin, then his eyes flickered again
to her luminous wings.

Kaashifah pressed the button. 
“Listen to me, you gods-damned mortal fools.  A
fallen angel
is headed
for your base, about to rip it completely apart.  She has the powers of a magus
at her disposal, so none of your bullets, grenades, or bombs will do any good. 
I am the
only
thing that can stop her, but I’m wounded.  I
need
one of your jets to pick me up.”

“You are unauthorized to use this
band.  Relinquish the radio to the proper authorities and turn yourself in to
the custody of a representative of the United States government for
questioning.”

Kaashifah frowned at the radio,
then at the blond soldier.  “Did he hear me?”

“Um, yeah,” the man said,
wincing, “I’m afraid he did.”

Kaashifah depressed the button
again, losing patience.  “Listen, you goat-pustule. 
Thousands
are going
to
die
.  You need me to stop her.”

“If you were going to stop her,
you would have done so already.  You are breaking international peace treaties
and are committing war-crimes.  Turn yourself over or our troops will—”

The lieutenant grabbed the radio
back from her.  “Will what, you fucking desk-jockey retard?  We’ve already
given
them everything we’ve got.  Gas, grenades, guns…none of it
works
.”

“Lieutenant, if you continue to
hand over government equipment to the enemy, you will be court-martialed.”

“Oh that fucker!” the Lieutenant
made a disgusted sound and threw a chunk of snow out into the parking-lot.  The
remnants of his squad were squatting nearby, staring at Kaashifah with mingled
wonder and curiosity.

“So,” one of them said slowly in
the silence that followed, “what’s Heaven like?”

Kaashifah glanced at him, saw the
plain desperation on his face, and said carefully, “I’m not sure.  My kind are
not allowed to enjoy it as mortals are.”

The man’s eyes widened.  “So…have
you seen God?”

“Not directly,” Kaashifah said,
with a pang of bitterness.  “He rarely deigns to show himself to anyone.”  But
that only seemed to spark hope in the men’s eyes.

Frustrated, Kaashifah returned
her attention to the radio before they could inundate her with more questions. 
“Give me the receiver back.  I’m going to try one more time.”  When the
lieutenant obligingly handed her the radio, she got onto the band and said,
“Okay, human, maybe you weren’t paying attention, but my sister took out three
of your jets in the space of a couple minutes.  She then proceeded to devastate
a good portion of Wasilla without even
trying
.  If you don’t get off
your
ass
and
help
me, she’s going to have nothing stopping her
when she—”

Her words were cut off by the
sound of bombs going off in the distance.

“Waa faqri,” Kaashifah managed. 
“She’s there.”

One of the men beside her—a
linguist, by the patch on his shoulder—cocked his head.  “God’s angels are
Arabic
?”

She turned to scowl at him. 
“They are of every race of Man.”

“Yeah, ya dumbshit,” one of his
friends snapped, smacking him upside the head, to the embarrassed blush of the
previous speaker.

But Kaashifah ignored the
scuffle, trying to figure out how she was going to make it to Anchorage before
it was too late.  She could
levitate
, but it was much slower—hours,
without her wings—and such a long trip would wear down her resources.  She
clicked on the receiver again.  “Look, I can hear you fighting her.  It’s not
going to
work
.  You need to help me get over there!”

“Get off the radio!  We need
this band for command operations!
”  The man on the other end sounded
panicked.

Kaashifah wanted to scream.  “
Listen
to me!
  There will
be
no command in a few minutes!”

“Get off the damn—”
someone screamed, but it was cut off abruptly.  Then there was nothing but
silence on the other line.

“Damn!” Kaashifah cried, getting
to her feet.  She tested her wings again, but found the left one still sluggish
and weak.  Across the inlet, she heard multiple bombs going off, echoing across
the water and the flatlands.  The fight, it seemed, was already in full force. 
“What about a car?” she asked, glancing at the vehicles in the parking-lot in
desperation. 

Two of the soldiers looked at
each other, then one of them cleared his throat uncomfortably and said, “I, uh,
had a lil’ bit of a misspent youth.”  He coughed and scuffed a booted foot on
the hard-packed snow.  “I, uh, could probably hotwire somethin’ for ya.”

“I can’t drive.”

“I’ll drive,” the Lieutenant
said, standing up.  “Those asswipes can take their court-martial and shove it
up their—”

Behind him, the radio said,
“I’m
coming down low and slow.  Tell her to get in the air, about 700ft.  I’ll be
coming as cranked down as I can make this baby go.  Tell her to start out in a
south-southwest direction, as fast as she can boogie.  We’ll try to hook up
without tearing something off.”

The soldiers’ eyes widened. 
“Shit, I think that was a—”

But Kaashifah was lunging into
the air, surging upwards with as much push as she could give her wings.  She
reached the proper elevation and did her best to start picking up speed,
exhausting her resources to shove energy down the link to the ground with as
much force as possible, pushing her limits, locking her wings and using them as
much as she could to glide.

The jet slid underneath her with
practiced ease, and a man whose face was encased by alien-looking gear waved at
her through the bubble-like cockpit window.  He gestured to a wing.  Kaashifah
lowered herself to the craft and, one hand fisted on her sword, wrapped her
other around the leading-edge of his wing.  She prayed to her Lord that her
grip held as the jet immediately surged forward, throwing her stomach against
her spine.  She actually had to pull her wings back into her body to keep the
drag they created from ripping her off of the machine.

The flight across the inlet
consisted of Kaashifah staring at the gray sheet-metal underneath her face,
willing her fingers to hold on.  While she struggled to keep her grip as the
icy gray waters of the Cook Inlet passed below, Kaashifah couldn’t help but
feel another pang of worry for her djinni.

And it
was
her djinni, she
realized.  Given to her on a blanket under a palm, with an offering of dates. 
She had just been too blind to see it.  Too…
embittered
.  That he had
stayed in her realm, instead of twisting off to the Fourth Realm as he had been
craving for three millennia, still left her humbled.  Humbled…and something more.

It was a strange sensation to
her, like a nagging pull that warmed her chest, whenever she thought of the
djinni.  In that one moment on the mountain, when he’d bolted out the door,
Kaashifah had crumbled inside.  She’d thought she’d lost him, forever, and had
spent many long minutes staring at the floor of the cave, unable to find the
strength to get to her feet.  When she had, in shock, found him still solidly
within her realm a few thousand feet downslope, playing in the snow, it had
been as if the gods themselves had touched her heart, setting it afire from
within. 

And then, when he had asked her
if she wanted him to leave, Kaashifah had thought the agony would kill her. 
Looking up into those sincere violet eyes, she had suddenly felt bared, exposed,
and utterly vulnerable.  It had taken every ounce of her courage to say, “I
want you to stay,” and it had been the truest words that had ever passed her
lips.  Then, in bearing her soul, she had waited for him to shred it, expecting
him to sneer and come off with some quip three thousand years in the making,
but he had just grinned at her.

Your wish,
he had said,
is
my command.

Even thinking of it, now, brought
tears to Kaashifah’s eyes. 
Djinni
, she thought,
please stay safe
until I can see you again.

It took only a couple minutes of
flight before the jet rolled, and suddenly Kaashifah was staring down at the
edge of an inlet, followed by forest and the flat white roofs of government
buildings.  Within moments, a smoking, crater-pocked runway came into view,
with fire devastating most of the nearby edifices.  Kaashifah could see the
light of a Fury’s wings amidst the rubble of one, her radiant sword flashing as
the building was torn apart at the seams.

Kaashifah released her hold on
the jet and spread her wings just enough to guide her momentum, aiming for her
sister.  Above her, the jet arced up and away.

She hit her sister head-on, with
enough force to drive them both through the wall of the building she’d been
wrecking, out across the runway, and bury them under a foot of tarmac.

“
You
!” Zenaida screamed,
lunging out from under the rubble, sword swinging.  She tore a chunk of the
runway up and hurled it at Kaashifah, who ducked.  “How
dare
you?!”  The
asphalt sailed past, into another cluster of buildings, shattering the roof,
making the people gathered outside shriek and scatter.  Then, like a small
child distracted by ants, Zenaida smiled and hurled another fistful, this time
at the people standing in the parking lot.

Seeing the people run and scream,
a few falling lifelessly to the ground, Kaashifah felt a horrible pang in her
chest as she realized for the second time that her sister could not be saved. 
Almost from a distance, she glanced at Zenaida, who was raging, yanking more
concrete, hurling it at the humans, oblivious to anything but her Fury.  She
wasn’t a Justicar.  She was rotten to the core.

It was time.  She had to do it. 
She no longer had the freedom to run and hide.  She no longer had the leisure
to beg and plead.  She had to take a stand
now
, before her sister took
to wing again and decided to wreak her chaos upon Anchorage.  Zenaida was
giving her no choice.  It was time to stop the ruse.

“I challenge you to a duel of
souls,” Kaashifah shouted, stepping between her sister and the scattering
figures as Zenaida bent for another piece of stone.  “By witness of our Lord,
by the laws of the Pact, I challenge you!”  She hadn’t wanted to do it, but,
surrounded by the devastation Zenaida had wreaked in only a few short minutes,
she knew she had to end it.

Her sister hesitated in flinging
the stone, a cunning look in her steel-gray eyes as they flickered from the
running figures back to Kaashifah.  “You would seal your
soul
to me, if
you fail?”  She turned to face Kaashifah fully, dropping the stone as an
afterthought, completely rapt with attention.  “A soul-challenge?”  Kaashifah
knew what Zenaida was thinking.  To own another soul, to have it at complete
command, especially one so powerful as a Fury, was the ultimate prize for a seiðmaðr. 
Kaashifah watched her sister’s greed with a saddened heart, but stood firm and
nodded.

 “I
accept
.”  It came out
as a cackle.  Kaashifah felt a moment of disorientation as she felt the link
form, the pact made. 
Yngvöldr
.  Her sister’s name came to her on a tide
of soul-magic, binding her soul to her for the duration of the duel—and
beyond.  Then Zenaida was up-forming, growing to a hulking, feathered beast of nearly
eleven feet, her entire body taking on a blazing luminescence.

Kaashifah pulled her wings into
her body, once more dropping to her diminutive human shape and height, leaving
only her sword radiating her Fury.