Page 35 of The Demon's Fire
A line of rag-tag men and women gathered in the sun, weapons and shields at the ready. When Jarek approached, they drew straighter. Some donned animal pelts and fur boots. Some wrapped desert scarves around their faces, and others were bare headed with long hair worn loose, pulled back, or braided. They seemed war-tested, their bodies littered with scars or tattoos, making them look like murderers, thugs, savages. Their feral eyes sent a chill to Skyler’s heart.
“My Firebrands are not as slick as Kole’s or Nace’s,” explained Jarek, “but they are no less honorable. Just less stylish.” Despite being grim, a few in the line stifled laughter. He pointed at a male. “This is my right hand, Darius, a warrior to have at your six. Step forward.”
A man with coarse features dipped his chin at Skyler. He was made fiercer by a snake tat which disguised a scar winding from his left brow to his jawbone and down his neck.
Jarek slapped his shoulder. “A berserker nearly cut off his head a century ago. He was way too pretty then. Now, the rest of us stand a chance with the females.”
Darius’s lips curled into a grin, in no way diminishing his feral visage. “Still, my bed is never empty.”
Skyler strolled with Jarek along the line of men and women, greeting each while Kole followed. Once she had chatted with the Firebrands, asking polite questions, Jarek escorted his visitors to a centrally located tent. Surprisingly, not a cloth structure, she discovered. It was solid metal made to resemble fabric.
Inside, the huge yurt-like abode was welcoming, its polished wood floor raised and decorated with colorful scattered Persian rugs.
While Kole and Skyler shared a large brown sofa, sinking into its thick leather cushions, Jarek extracted a bottle from a liquor cabinet. He poured a whitish fluid into three tumblers, adding water to each before he offered the drinks to his guests. “It is arak, a Levantine spirit I treasure. A little like anise.” He raised his glass. “Salamati.” He tossed down the contents.
Skyler and Kole followed suit.
When she coughed, tears welling in her eyes, Kole patted her back. “Good. Huh?”
“It’s quite strong. Thank you, Commander Jarek, but I’m a lightweight when it comes to alcohol.”
“I am pleased to say I handle it well. Do you have questions for me, Chief Maxwell?” He sprawled in a fabric-covered chair, a long leg thrown over the arm.
“Skyler, please. And yes. The djinn fascinate me. I love ancient history. If I had not followed in my father’s footsteps to become a lawyer, I would be a stuffy college professor, wearing a plaid wool suit, glasses, and comfortable shoes.”
Kole snorted.
She scooted to the edge of the sofa. “Is it true the Ten Thousand Immortals of Persia’s past were djinn warriors?”
“Yes. Herodotus called us by the catchy name, but we have fought under many monikers.”
Skyler waved off the offer of a second drink while Kole accepted. “Were you with Darius I?”
He chuckled, his braids slapping against his jaw. “You are familiar with your djinn history.”
When Kole snorted again, Skyler squinted at him. “Their breed is interesting.”
“Unlike demons,” he mumbled.
Jarek continued as if he hadn’t caught the exchange. “No. I’m somewhat younger. My first adventure was with Abbas I of Persia in 1605. I was seventeen. Though before my Awakening, I was big, fast, and good with a sword despite my youth.” Something like sadness clouded his eyes. He pointed to the skin above his heart. “I earned this glyph. Djinn get tats for wars they fight.”
From what she could see, Jarek must be a prolific warrior.
“Yes. And there is no shortage of armed conflict in any realm. But now, I’m a Firebrand, a drinker, a lover, a commander.”
“I hope this question isn’t inappropriate. I’ve been told I am ignorant of Aeternal culture. What skills do djinn possess?”
He smiled, pouring another glass of arak for Kole and himself. With the bottle still gripped in his fist, Jarek waved his free hand, disappearing in a smoky cloud which swirled around him. When it dissipated, he materialized. “A trick of my breed. Handy when fighting. Or spying.”
“Fascinating.” A stunned Skyler held a palm over her glass. “No more. Thanks. May I use your phone, Commander? I promised to contact my office.” Cell service between realms was iffy at best.
“Of course. This way.” Jarek led Skyler to another room.
Her gaze traveled around his sumptuous library, warmed by brightly colored rugs, gigantic maps on the walls, and a well-used, polished desk. “You must be a history buff yourself, Commander.”
“I confess. I’m enthralled with ancient events.” He left, pointing toward the phone.
Skyler approached a floor-to-ceiling case filled with antique leather-bound books, drawing a finger across the spines, lingering on familiar titles. She pulled out a faded copy ofThe Historiesby Herodotus, returned it, and continued to tap the back strips of various volumes until she came toMeditationsby Marcus Aurelius. Beautifully wrapped in an aging red binding, the book was as elegant as the philosopher-emperor’s words. She drew her nose closer, inhaling, enjoying the smell of aged knowledge. Skyler turned from Jarek’s exquisite library with a sigh.
