War of the Magi: Azrael's Wrath (Book 2) (13 page)

She waved Zerai on to go sit without her, and he glanced once at the singer before nodding at her and walking away with Iyasu. Veneka sat down by the singer on the opposite side from Petra, which earned her a silent glare from the djinn woman, which the healer ignored.

“Good evening.” Veneka gazed into the fire and focused on the waves of heat rolling across her face and hands. “Your singing tonight was very beautiful, although I did not understand the words.”

“The words don’t matter much.” The singer grinned at the fire. “I was just telling your lovely friend here that it’s a song about a girl I used to know.”

“Is it? What happened to her?”

“I don’t know, really. Apparently, she prefers men with more eyes and hands than I could offer her.”

Veneka frowned. “I am sorry.”

“I’m not.” He shrugged. “The truth stings for a moment, but a lie can burn for years.”

“I suppose.” She paused. She had broached this subject dozens of times with people who had all manners of injuries and illnesses, but always after a lengthy explanation of who she was, where she came from, and what she could do.

I wonder if I could avoid all that, and just tell him.

“If God offered you your arm and eye back, would you take it?” she asked softly, still gazing into the fire.

The singer laughed. “I don’t know. I suppose I should say yes.”

“You suppose?”

“Well, if it doesn’t work out, I can always find another leopard to tear them off again.”

Veneka winced, but it was only to keep herself from smiling.

I wish more of the people who needed me were as happy as him.

“But, sadly, God hasn’t made me any offers lately.” He paused, and then turned slightly toward her, again to the annoyance of Petra. “You’re not God, are you?”

Veneka smiled. “No.”

“Good.” He returned his gaze to the fire. “I’d hate to think that I was being so glib to someone who made a whole universe. That deserves a bit more respect, a bit more decorum, don’t you think?”

“Perhaps.”

“But it’s all right, since you’re not God.”

“No, I am not God.” She paused. “But I am one of his clerics.”

“Really? Which one?” He laughed quietly to himself. “A fire-starter? A stone-bender?”

“A Razielim. A healer.”

The singer’s smiled faded. “Really?”

“Really.”

“So… what can you heal?”

“Anything. As long as a person is alive, I can heal anything. Any sickness. Any injury.”

“Like a missing eye?”

“Or a missing arm.” She pointed out Iyasu to him. “Just today my friend lost his hand. I gave it back to him a few moments later.”

“Did you really?” The singer hunched down a bit more, tugging his pale blue cloak a little tighter around his left shoulder.

“I can do the same for you, if you wish it.”

“And what will this generous offer cost me?”

“Nothing, nothing at all.” She looked up sharply, wide-eyed and embarrassed. “I am sorry, I should have explained. Usually I do explain. There is a speech I give, and I… Never mind that. All you would need to do is let me touch you for a few moments. It would be painful, but only until the wounds are gone. And then it would be over, and I would leave. There is nothing more to it, I promise you.”

He looked at her for a long moment, his face stern and lined and tense, but then he smiled again and looked back over at Petra. “Thank you for the kind offer, but I think I will decline. After all if I had two hands my friends would expect me to do more work around here, and if I had no scars then the ladies wouldn’t be so moved to take pity on me.”

Petra smiled at him, and then leaned over to flash a triumphant look at the healer.

“Are you certain? Are you truly certain?” Veneka asked. “It really would only take a few moments, and then you would be whole again, for the rest of your life.”

“Are you saying I’m not whole now?” He turned back to her. “My corpse may not turn out as pretty as yours, but my life is rather wonderful by most standards, I think. I certainly haven’t met anyone lately that I would rather trade places with, and I’ve met quite a few people.”

“I am sorry, I did not…”

He laughed. “No, I should be sorry. I like making people feel uncomfortable. Or should I say,
more
uncomfortable.”

“Oh.” She looked away to hide her frown.

“But… you really could give me a new arm and a new eye, just like that?”

“Yes, I could.”

“Hm.”

She looked back at him, but he seemed lost in thought as he gazed into the fire.

“If you want it, you should get it,” Petra said. “But if you don’t, you should stop talking to her about it, and just let it go.”

The singer smiled a little. “You’re right.” He glanced shyly at Veneka and said, “Thank you again for the kind offer, but I won’t be needing your services this evening. She, on the other hand, does appear to be in need of mine.”

And with a wolfish grin, he turned away to caress Petra’s cheek, and kiss her deeply and aggressively with his tongue as his hand traveled down her neck to her breast, where it too began its own aggressive explorations.

Veneka paused, then stood and walked out of the pavilion and quickly found Zerai and the others making their own small camp beside the Vaari. She lay down beside Zerai and he rolled over to wrap his arm around her belly and kiss the back of her neck. A moment later she felt his erection prodding her thigh, but he made no attempt to remove her clothing or press against her, and eventually the intruder went away, leaving them to sleep in the warmth of each others’ arms. She tried not to think about the singer or his scars, or his words.

The morning came too soon and she struggled to wake up and begin the day.

“Everything all right?” Zerai asked as he sat up beside her. “You were talking in your sleep.”

“Oh? What did I say?”

“I don’t know, I didn’t understand any of it. I think you were speaking Dzenbayan again.”

“Oh.”

He shrugged. “You look tired.”

“I am.”

They ate a light breakfast of kissra bread, blackened fish, and cinnamon tea with Samira Nerash hovering over them like a vulture.

“You should eat,” Veneka said.

“I’m not hungry.”

“We are about to cross into a war zone. We might not have the luxury of a simple meal for a few days,” the healer pointed out.

“I’m not hungry.”

Veneka let it go.

I suppose if I am going to learn about the djinn, or about djinn clerics, it will not be on this trip or from these djinn. Such a waste.

“So, should we head out and try to pick up Bashir’s trail?” Zerai asked. “I have no idea what sort of trail he might leave for us. I guess I probably should have worked something out with him last night before we sent him off.”

“There’s no need,” Samira said. “I know where he and the Tanzir woman are.”

“What? How?” Veneka asked.

“Bashir came back twice last night to tell me what she was doing,” Samira said. “The second time was just an hour ago. The woman is resting in a small house along the northern road, near a well beneath a dead baobab tree.”

Iyasu nodded and smiled a little. “Well, that makes things easier.”

“Why are you smiling?” Samira turned to him. “I said the woman is resting. If she were truly an angel, as you said, she would not need to rest at all.”

“Maybe.” Iyasu stood up and shouldered his bag. “Let’s go find out.” 

Samira led the way and the humans hurried after her. They skirted the northern edge of the city, seeing only a few dozen people on the road heading out to the day’s work. Veneka found herself staring at a young woman carrying a small child in a sling wrapped over her shoulders and back. The child slept with her fat cheek on her mother’s skin, her drool glistening on her fat lips, her thin tufts of black hair shivering in the cool morning breeze.

He wants it so much. Just like everyone else. Everyone wants one, or more than one. But then, most people had parents, they had childhoods, they know what it is supposed to be like.

What do Zerai and I know? How to kill monsters? How to stay silent when your best friend is being set on fire right in front of you?

A lump rose in her throat and she squeezed her eyes shut for a long moment.

They turned away from the city and headed across the northern fields with the glittering waves of the Leyen following them on their right side.

“This house we are going to.” Veneka squinted into the pale yellow glare of the rising sun. “Did Bashir say anything else about it? Are there other people there? Is it near anything?”

“He didn’t say.” Samira glanced back at her. “Are you worried about other people being hurt?”

“Yes.”

When am I not worried about other people getting hurt?

“Iyasu.” Veneka walked a little closer to the young seer. “I hope you can unravel this quickly, with your sharp eyes and honeyed words.”

“I’ll try,” he said seriously. “I don’t want you to have to put Zerai back together again either.”

She smiled, but then saw him wiggling the fingers of his right hand. “Are you all right? Your hand?”

“It’s fine.”

It clearly wasn’t fine at all, but she didn’t know what to say, and even if she did, she didn’t want to have that conversation in front of everyone.

After an hour of hurried walking, with the sun steadily rising on their right and the boat traffic steadily rising on the river and the smell of elephant dung steadily rising on the road, they saw a lone baobab standing in the distance.

“Sort of strange to see one all alone like that,” Zerai said.

“How do you mean?” Everyone turned to see the one-eyed Vaari singer standing behind them. He winked at Veneka as he sauntered up the road through their midst. “Baobab trees always stand alone.”

“Not in Tigara.” Zerai raised an eyebrow. “There’s a whole forest of them.”

“A baobab forest?” The singer grinned. “I’d like to see that someday.”

“Were you following us?” Veneka asked.

“I was following her.” The singer nodded at Petra as he walked up to her and kissed her. “I woke up all alone and I just couldn’t quite forget about her. So I thought I might stay a little longer, just until I do forget about her, of course.”

Petra smirked. “Of course.”

“No.” Samira stared coldly at him. “We are not some band of wandering beggars or potters or singers. We have a grave task before us and we have no time for stragglers.”

“Stragglers?” The singer grinned at her as he continued up the road with Petra at his side. He took several long strides before glancing back again. “You’re the one lagging behind me, lady. Must be all that extra weight you people are carrying around. Left arms. Pfft.”

Veneka smiled and followed them. “Do you have a name?”

“I do.”

“And it is?”

“Edris Lumah.”

They continued on toward the lone baobab for a moment in silence.

“So where are we going?” Edris asked, smiling brightly. “I can’t help but notice we’re on the northern road to Tagal, which is not an entirely safe place to be these days. There’s been talk of war around here.”

“That’s why we’re here,” Iyasu said. “To stop the war.”

“Really? How noble,” the singer said. “And how does one stop a war, exactly?”

“By capturing the woman who’s been attacking the Maqari troops.”

Edris frowned. “Now, I don’t claim to know much about these things, but I do know that woman is dangerous. If half the stories about her are true, she must be a demon in disguise.”

“All of the stories are true,” Iyasu said. “But we’re not hunting a demon, friend. We’re hunting an angel.”

“A
what
now?”

Veneka strode past the baffled singer in order to keep pace with Samira, who was moving much faster now that the small house in the shadow of the tree could be seen. “Do you have a plan?”

The djinn woman looked at her sharply. “No. We can’t restrain her, we can’t poison her. I’m trying to admit to myself that our best chance at bringing this woman back to Naj Kuvari may be the young seer’s words after all, but I don’t like it.”

“Neither do I. He is so fragile right now.” Veneka glanced back at the youth talking to the Vaari singer. “And he is still struggling with the loss of his hand.”

“What loss? He has two hands.”

“It would have been better if he had not seen the injury before I healed him. I wonder if he dreamt of it last night. I wonder if it gave him nightmares.”

“If it did, then he should sleep less,” Samira said. “You all should. It’s a waste of precious time.”

As they approached the small house, a dim figure emerged from its shadow and came toward them. Bashir glided toward Samira and said, “The woman is still inside. She pretends to sleep.”

“Pretends?” Veneka asked.

“Yes. She opens her eyes whenever she hears the wind in the tree branches, or a bird.”

The group stopped and stood at the side of the road, looking at the ancient house of dusty stone and rotting wood. The baobab tree loomed over it like a petrified monster, its small bare branches raised high above its enormous trunk.

“There is another possibility,” Veneka said quietly to Iyasu. “She could be the cleric of another angel, one unknown to us. A western magi, perhaps?”

Iyasu shook his head. “I don’t think so.”

“So now what?” Zerai asked.

“Let me try.” Veneka started forward alone. “After all, I am harder to hurt than any of you.”

“I don’t like that plan,” the falconer called out.

“I know,” she called back.

As she approached the house, she slowed her breathing to focus on the healing warmth of Raziel, hoping to strengthen herself just a little to prepare for any pain that might be forthcoming. She reached the door and paused to listen, but heard nothing. She knocked. “My name is Veneka Mahova. I am a cleric of Naj Kuvari, a disciple of Holy Raziel. I’m a healer. I have no weapons. I only wish to talk. Can I come in?”

For a moment, silence, and then, “Come in, little sister.”

Veneka stepped inside and found the hooded woman lying on the floor on her side, her dark dresses and bright Daraji jewelry hanging and pooling around her body in awkward lumps and tangles. The healer sat down on the bare dirt floor across from her.