The Waters of Eternity by Howard Andrew Jones Page B

strike the ceiling.
    I stumbled on landing, gained my feet in time to hear the frying stone as the efreet reached for me.
    It drew back one clawed hand, howling, for I had swung. Two of its fingers twitched upon the ground.
    This was a far better result than I had expected, but I took the brief respite to run. Dabir was far ahead at this point, his lantern a bobbing spot of light in the gloom. At least, I thought, he might escape.
    But the light stopped.
    Behind me I heard the efreet, gradually gaining on us. Now I recognized words among its low grumbles. “I will rip your heart from your living body!”
    I reached Dabir’s side. We were near the other stairs, but my friend had stopped to press both hands against one of the ceiling joists. I understood his aim immediately, though I was sure he had misjudged the danger. “Go!”
    “Hold the final push ’til my return!” He clapped my shoulder, leaving the lantern, and dashed away. I thought it a poor plan; clearly there was little time for him to go anywhere, for a glance back down the tunnel showed me another lantern, drawing ever closer, doubtless in the hand of Amaharaziad. Before him came a moving mass of darkness in which two red spots glowed.
    I strained with all my might, grateful that Dabir at least would live. Above me the timber groaned and shifted, but did not give.
    The efreet was almost upon me. There was no time to push against the timber, but I might yet buy Dabir a few precious moments if I took up my sword.
    The thing swiped at me with its good hand, and I ducked back. Then came a thought worthy of my friend. I advanced with a flurry of strikes, and even that monstrous thing of Iblis retreated before my onslaught.
    It howled its rage and slashed at me once, twice. I backed toward the wall, ducked, and when it swiped again it clove clean through the timber.
    The ceiling joist swung down and smashed into my shoulder, knocking me backward. A cascade of stone fell between us, and the cold, dark Tigris roared in.
    “Asim!”
    Dabir cried out from just behind me, and a human arm clasped my waist, but then all was darkness, and I was under the chill water. Even still I could hear a distant boiling as the water poured onto the efreet.
    I was angry with Dabir, for I knew then that it was he who held me. My sacrifice would be in vain, for we both would perish.
    But Dabir’s hands guided mine to his waist, about which I found a rope, and suddenly we were moving through the cold, wet darkness. I realized that he was somehow pulling us forward and wished I’d had more time to gather breath.
    The water gushed in, pushing us with it, but still we did not reach our destination soon enough. When Dabir pulled me from the water I sat on my knees on a stair in the darkness, vomiting water back into the Tigris.
    A beam of moonlight shone down through the fountain’s open door to sketch the ladder and the wheel about which Dabir had affixed his rope.
    “You should not have come back,” I said, and coughed again. I was weak and my shoulder ached horribly.
    The surprise in his voice touched me. “I would not abandon you, Asim,” he said simply. I was blessed indeed to have such a friend.
    I could not help coughing again, but moved away from the water with the sudden thought that the efreet might step forth. “You might have been killed.”
    “It was not written,” he said, and though I could not see his face, I knew that he smiled.
    When we emerged to consult with Mukhtar, he banished his nephew from the house that very night, amidst many curses. He had effusive words of praise for us. “How,” he finished, “can I ever repay you?”
    “When the time comes,” Dabir answered, “give your daughter the amulet—it shall profit her as it has always profited your family. Her sex matters not.”
    “Indeed?!” The merchant’s voice rang with pleasure.
    “Also, there is an honest, capable man I know who would be a fine manager for you. Hassan ibn Musa is