Touch of the Demon

“It is the mandate of Rhyzkahl.”



Even having guessed it had to be him, it was still a punch in the gut to hear it. “He doesn’t trust me?” Why would he think I’d want to run away from him?



Kehlirik shifted his weight from foot to foot. “I can only say that he has forbidden the grove.”



I turned toward the trees again, ache of separation like a knot in my chest. The unfairness of it clawed at me. “I only wanted to sit and think,” I said as disappointment curdled in my gut.



Kehlirik huffed and resettled his wings. “There is a place that will serve well for this, if you will allow me to show you.”



“Sure,” I said, throat tight. Apparently I didn’t have a choice. Bereft, I turned away from the grove.



“Come,” he said. “We will take the path through the gardens.”



Annoyed and upset, I followed glumly. Did Rhyzkahl really think I would flee here? And what if I did want to leave? Clearly, this option wasn’t available to me. Am I a prisoner again? What the hell is going on?



An arcane tingle prickled the back of my neck, stopped me in my tracks. It’s the grove, I realized with astonishment. I could feel when someone was using the grove. How awesome was that? “Someone’s coming through the grove,” I said. But then worry spasmed through me. What if it was Mzatal trying again to get me back?



But Kehlirik seemed unruffled. “Kri. Qaztahl…lords arriving today and tomorrow. Six more.”



I stared at him. “Six? Why?”



He snorted. “Because that is the number of those not yet here,” he said in a duh! tone. “Kadir and Jesral are within the palace already.”



“But why are they all coming here?” I asked, anxiety flickering. “Is Mzatal coming?”



“It is the time of the conclave,” Kehlirik replied calmly. “Should Mzatal choose to participate, he could do so with impunity. It is unlikely he will choose thus. There. Elofir arrives.”



Anxiety gave way to curiosity, and I peered toward the tree tunnel. The tingle faded, but not before I noted that it seemed to have a different feel, or resonance, than when it heralded Mzatal. Maybe each lord had his own “signature” when it came to the grove?



A reyza bounded out of the tree tunnel and took flight with a bellow, closely followed into the air by an inky-black shape I knew to be a zhurn. A few seconds later, a man with short, sandy-blond hair and the slim, athletic build of a dancer emerged. Elofir, Kehlirik had said. He wore brown boots and pants paired with a white ruffled shirt that looked like it came out of the Regency era, and he was engaged in an animated discussion with a savik a bit smaller than seven-foot-tall Turek, the one I’d encountered at Szerain’s shrine. A syraza trailed a few steps behind. The grove still resonated with Elofir’s aura—about as different from Mzatal and Rhyzkahl as night and day. There was nothing of menace or contained danger about him, though he still carried himself with Presence. The power he exuded was gentle and calm, and through my too-fucking-cool connection with the grove, I had the unwavering impression that, if given the choice between losing face or engaging in conflict, he would choose the former, and not because of any sort of cowardice. He simply felt peaceful.



I watched until they disappeared through the archway into the palace, then exhaled and looked over at Kehlirik. “What do they do at this conclave?” I asked. “S’mores? Ghost stories?”



Kehlirik started walking again, and I paced alongside him. “I do not know what this ‘s’mores’ is,” he said. “What they do varies, with several elements always being present. Review of agreements, confirmation of the rotations for the next cycle, assessment of anomaly patterning, and a unified rebalance.”



“You’d like s’mores,” I told him. “Chocolate and melted marshmallow between two graham crackers.” I glanced his way. “What are the rotations for?”



“Of the overwatch,” he said. “It is critical that each day is covered by at least one lord, though two will be on the rotation. Even a single day unwatched can disastrously unbalance the arcane fields.”



I took a few seconds to consider that, remembering Ilana’s statement about the lords having much responsibility, and the image of the potency thingy Turek showed me in Szerain’s shrine.



“In other words, they maintain this world’s arcane power plant and make sure it doesn’t overload or have blackouts?” I asked.



“Kri,” he said with a twitch of his wings. “It is a simplistic though adequate analogy.”



As we rounded a curve in the path, a ruined stone structure came into sight. All thoughts of arcane power plants fled my mind as I took it in. “Oh, wow,” I breathed.



The ruins crowned the rise ahead, surrounded by boulders shrugged from the mountainside above. Stairs of white stone climbed toward what had once been a graceful roofed structure of the same pale stone. Only columns and one wall remained standing on its raised foundation, the rest in broken chunks among the tumbled boulders.



Kehlirik followed me up the stairs. Halfway up I felt the place. Even broken, it resonated a subtle, permeating potency that made me feel a little floaty in a good way. My steps slowed to a reverent pace as I took it all in. The translucent milky stone of both the remaining structure and the fallen chunks shimmered with a soft bluish glow, and, as I topped the rise, the columns framed the blue-grey sky beyond. Déjà vu kicked in full force. Kehlirik crouched at the edge of the foundation, lifted a claw, and sketched a sigil in the air. I watched in fascination as he sent it spinning to the middle of the ruined pavilion where it flared brightly before fading away.



His eyes went to me. “You may send a…” He seemed to be seeking the right word. “Wish,” he finally said, though I had the feeling it still wasn’t quite what he was trying to convey. “Trace any primary sigil and imbue it with your wish.”



I stood silently for a moment, considering, then scowled in annoyance. “I can’t,” I said, voice loaded with bitterness. “Even without this goddamn collar, I don’t know how to do one of those floater sigils.”



Kehlirik’s eyes went to the collar. He let out a low croon that might have been of sympathy, but it was hard to be sure. “I will trace one for you. It matters not who creates the sigil.”



He sketched another sigil, then looked to me, waiting.



Kinda surreal making a wish with a demon, but no point in wasting it. I pursed my lips and considered while a million different things flitted through my mind. Getting home was my top priority, however Rhyzkahl said he was working on that. Then there was protecting myself from Mzatal. But I wasn’t going to waste a wish on that fucker. More up close and personal was this elusive crap with Elinor. What the hell. It was only a wish anyway.



I gave Kehlirik a nod. I want to know what really happened to Elinor. Just in case, I threw in the post script, and that means her part in the cataclysm, too. I snorted. So silly.



Kehlirik sent it to the center where it glowed briefly then dissipated.



“Thanks,” I said. “What is this place?”



Crouching, the reyza settled his wings along his back. “It is a very ancient site, a gateway from the time before the Ekiri departed.”



“Ekiri? Who were they?” I asked. “And why did they leave?”



A pair of faas hopped to the edge of the pavilion steps and sent in sigils before continuing on in, stopping in the very center where the sigils had disappeared. Kehlirik moved to follow them, and I did likewise.



“They were a race that once lived among us and taught much of the mastery of the arcane,” Kehlirik said. “They departed for a new realm many millennia ago.”



“That’s pretty amazing,” I said, slowly looking around. I could spend a lifetime simply learning the history of this world. “Was this damaged during the cataclysm?” I asked.



“Yes,” he said, wings drooping slightly. “It had stood unblemished for millennia.”



I cautiously put my hand on a stone. It was cool but not as cold as normal stone would have been in this weather. Memories flickered. Her memories.



Cool stone, peace, a smile, ancient blue eyes…



I frowned. I wanted more than shadows. Breathing deeply, I sought the deeper memories.



I sketch the sigil and make my wish. Would that I could learn faster. He expects so much of me, and I fear I am a disappointment. In this place I feel whole. Perhaps the ancients can hear me and will touch me from afar. I imagine that the song of the stone is their song, their voices. I have not told Giovanni this for he would surely think me foolish.



Holy crap. Through the memory I could almost almost feel how to shape the floater. I tried to call it up again for an instant replay, but nothing. Damn. That could have been useful. Instead, I focused on what I did understand from the memory. “She used to come here a lot,” I murmured. It had been whole and untouched in her lifetime, existing in perfection in the shadow of a cliff. Now I could see where the cliff had collapsed, crushing part of the pavilion and creating the tumble of boulders.



Kehlirik dipped his head in a nod. “Elinor. Yes. Alone and with the lord.”



I let the memories flicker through my head.



Ancient blue eyes upon me as he approaches. How glorious he is! His smile is like sunshine, and when he touches my cheek I want to melt. He holds me close to his side and strokes my hair. I have no fears here.



“She worshipped him,” I said with a soft sigh.



Kehlirik tilted his head, seemed to consider. “Yes, worship. A good choice of word.”



“Poor thing,” I murmured. So young. Barely old enough to know herself. How could she not adore Rhyzkahl when he extended affection to her? Was this how Rhyzkahl felt about me?



Kehlirik shifted his wings. “She was content.”



Could she even conceive of having anything else? I wondered about Giovanni. Maybe in the end she found something else, though since she died so young, it never had a chance to truly blossom.



Sighing, I pulled my hand from the stone. “What about Gio—”