Ineffable

Syria Again

In the clear desert night, a whirlwind twisted across the sand. The stars sparkled above, a million tiny, hot pinpricks of light. Crowley and Aziraphale lay nestled among the dunes, sharing a flask of the excellent local moonshine. They watched the whirlwind approach until it stood before them, a funnel of dust and sand the height and width of a large man. Slowly the spinning of the sand subsided and a blue skinned ifrit stood before them.

He was tall, and thickly built. His well formed muscles rippled under his blue skin, which gleamed in the starlight. He had a gold ring in his ear. Two silver scimitars were strapped to his sides.

"Heard you were in town," the ifrit said, addressing Crowley.

Crowley stood and embraced the djinn. "Well met, old friend," he said.

"Who's your handsome companion?" asked the ifrit, looking Aziraphale over. He did look rather glorious, lying there stretched out in the sand, with the starlight playing over his golden curls and gently illuminating his face.

"Don't you know Aziraphale?" Crowley asked as the angel picked himself up and stood, a bit unsteadily, beside him.

"I don't believe we've met," Aziraphale said formally, with a certain inflection in his voice that he used when he was trying not to slur his words. They had been making a serious dent in the flask before the ifrit had arrived.

"Aziraphale, meet Fareez Ahmad. Fareez, meet Aziraphale," said Crowley.

"I know who you are," said Aziraphale, and now Crowley could definitely hear the drunken slur in his words.

"And I you," said the ifrit, with just a hint of menace.

"You refused to bow down to Adam," said Aziraphale, with ice in his tone. "In the beginning."

"I was merely obeying God's commandment to bow to no man," replied Fareez, and Crowley heard the fire, from which he was made, in his voice. A small flame burned in the center of each of his pupils.

"And you were banished for it!" replied Aziraphale, the blue light of heaven sparking in his eyes.

"It was merely a test," replied Fareez calmly. "God wished to test my adherence to his commandment, just as God tested Abraham when he commanded him to kill his beloved son Isaac. And things have not worked out too badly for me. I have had many wives, many children, all the pleasure the earth has to offer; food, wine and women, and the satisfaction of dandling my grandbabies on my knee. I know I am banished, but truly, eternity has been kind to me, and I believe that somewhere, God smiles upon me. But I forget myself," he said, sweeping a broad blue hand through the air. A luxurious woven carpet appeared on the sand, set with a steaming silver samovar and plates of nuts, dates and sweets. "I have neglected the hospitality of the desert. Won't you join me for a cup of tea?" The sweet aroma of mint drifted from the spout of the samovar, and filled the desert night.

They settled themselves on embroidered cushions, and Fareez poured. "Praise be to Allah," he said, raising an intricately decorated cup before he drank. Crowley and Aziraphale took their cups and drank, but did not repeat the djinn's blessing. Crowley did not because praising God was against his very nature (he hoped that Fareez would understand that) - and Aziraphale - well, Crowley wasn't quite sure why the angel had refused to raise his cup to the name of God. Crowley would have to ask him later.

They chatted about this and that. Crowley hadn't seen Fareez for several centuries, so they had some catching up to do. They had been quite good friends during the crusades and had worked together on a number of projects. But, of course, Aziraphale hadn't been a part of any of that. And although Crowley and the angel had already had their arrangement well in place by the mid 1300s, including the sexy bits, Crowley realized, as he chatted with Fareez, that his alliance with the djinn and his cohorts had been under the angel's radar.