Page 120 of The Simurgh

A topaz eye.

A blink.

The simurgh lived.

Lucifer ground his teeth, appalled at the sweep of relief that came over him. He glanced up at the sky, visible in patches through the steel frame of the conservatory. Wrath brought no clouds with its rain, no hint of where lightning might ready itself.

He dropped his gaze, naming himself all kinds of stupid for his thoughts. The simurgh was at the very heart of this. There was no chance it would escape the Lord’s Wrath.

But the wisp had no care for the trials and tribulations of the godly.

The bright spark flitted this way and that over the drooping bird of legend, settling unsettled feathers back in place, crooning at the simurgh’s ear, running now-yellow hands along the elongated neck before turning to Lucifer and launching a tirade of pips and squeaks, pointing at the downed creature, then jabbing a sparkling pink fingertip over Lucifer’s shoulder with one hand. A charade of some sort, but Lucifer was in no mood for games. The rain had not grown heavier but nor had it lightened, it was steady. Unending. There was already a thin film of water covering the ground.

‘Leave it be. Come away with you now.’

Gods, his head hurt. No wonder he was scolding the wisp like it were his child. He was not in his right mind. Why had he even bothered with the wisp to begin with? He had a vague recollection of the ankou speaking of the prince having one with him, but there was little chance such a helpless thing could survive angels and maleficium. This was hardly the same wisp. And what the bloody blazes did it matter if it was?

A wild stream of chirrups left the tiny creature. The exasperation clear. The wisp made scooping motions with its tiny, now sky-blue, hands. He saw very well what it wished for him to do. He was to pick up the simurgh.

Lucifer almost laughed at that. Almost. He’d not laughed in a long time. Now was not the place. ‘Don’t be ridiculous, I’m not taking it anywhere. It will be taken care of, as all else will in this place. You included, if you don’t stop carrying on. Fly away with you.’

The wisp dashed at him and punched a miniscule fist into his cheek. He swatted at it, but the blasted thing was ready for him and avoided the blow, recovering quickly and starting again with the squeaks and gestures as it settled by the simurgh’s side.

‘Sod you then.’

He glanced at Gabriel’s prone body, what was left of it. Why was he lingering here? His duty was done.

Lucifer turned his back to the cage and walked away.

The wisp’s high-pitched chatter fell silent.

All at once the glare of summer mornings and violet fields, filled the air. Lucifer spun about.

The great bird was rising, shaking its wings as it shrugged off the remnants of its cage. A section of its right wing and a patch on its neck were notable for the grey that replaced the orange, purple, and pinkish hues. The wisp went absolutely bonkers. Mad with what Lucifer determined was delight.

The creature turned cartwheels in the air around the simurgh as the Cultivation found its feet.

Or rather, foot.

The talons on its left foot were curled up, gnarled and black as soot, as opposed to the striking pink of the right.

The Cultivation was damaged.

But still surviving. Lucifer glanced skyward where the rain came down like an invasion. The droplets fell from an olive-green sky, still no clouds to be seen. Nor any glow of lightning being readied.

Was the Lord’s Wrath not to be directed at the Cultivation? Perhaps it could not extinguish the Primordial Flame? But surely this was not to be like the damned halo in Blood Lake, a buried secret to haunt Arcadia for time immemorial?

The simurgh swayed unsteadily, as though it had feasted on too many fermented fruits, its head bobbing so low that its gold beak touched the ground. The wisp worked busily to aid it, chittering away at the Cultivation, getting in under its neck to raise its head.

Lucifer ran his fingers over his moustache, rough with grit and ash. He felt every pulse point in his damned body. Thumping hard. He knew himself on the verge of an absurd decision. But his desire was under his skin. Thesimurghwas under his skin.

‘Get out of the way.’ He flailed his hand at the wisp. ‘Move now. Go on with you.’

He knelt and gathered up the ailing simurgh as the rain poured and the waters pooled deeper. Lucifer slipped his hands beneath feathers smooth as silk and warm as toasted bread. He cradled it against his chest. The wisp buzzed about him like a frantic bee, humming and chattering and, of all things, clapping its tiny hands.

‘Enough of that, or I’ll burn you to a cinder.’

The wisp snorted like the tiniest of piglets, and in a move that should really have cost it its life, flew in to pat at the tip of Lucifer’s nose.