Touch of the Demon

Mzatal narrowed his eyes, leaned in, and examined the series for at least a full minute, deeply absorbed. With a sudden intake of breath, he straightened, nodding. “Yes. Excellent.” He made some adjustments to the line. “And now?”



I’d followed the feel of what he did and was already trying to figure out how to say in words what I sensed. I gestured to the sigil on the end. “That one,” I said, shaking my head, “is the wrong, um, hue?” Damn it. That wasn’t right.



The lord peered at the sigil, then shook his head definitively. “I do not see it,” he said. “It would clarify for me if I read it directly through you.”



I tensed involuntarily, though I knew it was the best way for him to see what I couldn’t explain. And at least he asked. “Uh, yeah. Sure.”



He laid his hand on my shoulder, nothing more. “Now show me.”



I examined the sigil carefully, feeling into the slight discordance of the hue. My nails bit into the palms of my clenched hands, though I couldn’t even feel a whisper of his presence. Apparently looking through me wasn’t the same as reading me.



Mzatal remained still for a bit, then muttered something in demon. A moment later he lifted his hand from my shoulder. “I have it,” he said. He made a quick adjustment, then spun the line into a ring around us. “You completed the series,” he said, turning fully to me with a smile.



I exhaled in relief that he was out of my head, and echoed his smile with a slight one of my own. But the mild discomfort twitched up another notch. I’d given him something he couldn’t get without me. He’d said he would use me. Was I falling into his trap? “Guess I’m not totally hopeless,” I said lightly.



“Kara Gillian, you are far from hopeless,” he said with a shake of his head. “Now you have but to ignite it.”



Right. Ignite it. I rubbed sweaty palms on my pants. This wasn’t Rhyzkahl. Mzatal and I had an agreement. Get over it, I told myself. So far there was nothing to indicate that Mzatal intended to screw me over. I took a deep breath, lifted my hand, and sent a focused burst of potency to the ring. Its resonance struck me in a dissonant wave as it ignited, off just enough to be uncomfortable.



Mzatal turned in a circle, examining the ring. “Perfect. This is our foundation,” he said, nodding approval. “Now, bring it into alignment and see if you can attain full resonance.”



I made adjustments and brought the alignment as far as I could. The resonance improved, but remained unsettling and definitely not right.



Mzatal had his shoulders drawn up; obviously, he enjoyed the discordance as much as I did. “More, Kara. Slide the anchoring until the harmonics align, then you will have it.”



I gritted my teeth and tried to make the adjustments, took it a little farther, but no. Grimacing, I withdrew from the series. “It’s not…” I shook my head. “No. It’s not right. It’s not working.”



Mzatal exhaled, and though I wasn’t looking at him, I felt his eyes on me. “Take it down,” he said.



Annoyance and frustration seared through me, and a zillion thoughts consumed my mind, even though I knew most were irrational. Why the hell couldn’t I do this one stupid little thing? And who the hell gave these lords the right to fuck with my life? My life. Everything had been fine until the asshole lords got involved.



I grounded the ring, then dispelled it with several arm sweeps that felt more like attacks than artistry. At least I could do that much right. Without looking at Mzatal, I turned and stalked to the edge of the platform, then stepped down onto the sand.



Idris hurried over. “It’s okay,” he said. “You almost had it.” He gave me a you’ll-get-it-next-time smile that made me want to slug him, but I knew none of it was his fault. Except that I was here at all. Yeah, that.



I gave him a tight smile and moved off a bit. All I wanted was to be by myself. Hugging my arms around me, I stared out at the ocean, unsettled, annoyed, and angry.



“Idris,” Mzatal said from somewhere behind me. “Proceed with the stabilization of the nexus in preparation for the full foundation. I do not know when we will be ready, though, ideally, by the next full moon on Earth.”



Didn’t know when we would be ready because I couldn’t do my part. Fuck.



“Kara, we will return home and continue our work tomorrow,” he said with irritating calm. “Take the stairs. Stop at each switchback and count to one hundred twenty-one, then continue.”



Blinking in disbelief, I turned fully on him. He stood with his hands locked behind his back and face set in impassive judgment. “Not my home,” I retorted, damn near snarling it. “And count? Like, count out loud to one twenty-one?” I looked over at the stairs that zigzagged up the five-hundred foot cliff. Punishment for messing up the ritual thing. I hate this shit.



“It is not necessary to speak,” he said. “It is necessary to acknowledge each number.”



“Sure,” I said tightly. “No problem.” Yeah, this was turning into a lovely shittastic day.



“End the count with a pygah,” he added, then turned and strode toward Ilana. I stared at his back and bit back a choice reply. Idris walked the perimeter of the nexus over and over, oblivious to the bullshit taking place in my world.



I pivoted and stalked to the stairs, looked up and shook my head. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” I muttered. They rose steeply, cut from the basalt itself or built out where needed. Narrow. No rail. Great.



I started up, thighs complaining even before I reached the first switchback. Back home, stair climbing was pretty much limited to my basement and porch steps, with all others avoided unless absolutely necessary. Upon reaching the turn, I stopped and did the stupid count and pygah, then peered over the edge. It was already a looong way down. Idris, shirtless now, traced in the center of the nexus, surrounded by a growing ring of sigils. Damn, but he made it look so easy.



Up. And more up. On the fourth switchback, I stopped to catch my breath, hands on my hips, thighs burning like crazy. I looked up and immediately realized that ignorance was indeed bliss. Still a helluva long way to the top. Shit! I tried to nurse the anger, but it slid away to a simmer, my body demanding the lion’s share of my attention. A glimpse of blue caught my attention from a couple of switchbacks up. Possibly a faas heading down, I figured.



I leaned back against the cliff, both to rest a bit and to keep well away from the edge since, at this point, it was like being on a ledge of a twenty-story building. I had a healthy respect for though not a particular fear of heights, but this was definitely pushing the envelope.



I took a deep breath, did the count and the pygah. When I opened my eyes, Faruk hopped down the last few steps to my switchback and stood vibrating before me, a plastic sports bottle—very obviously from Earth—clutched between its hands.



“Tunjen for youuuuuuu, Kara Gillian,” the faas said, holding the bottle out to me.



“Thanks,” I said with an unsteady smile, realizing how much I really needed this right now. Faruk hopped up and down, teeth bared, then ran up the stairs on all six legs as though running on flat ground. For a second, I considered sitting, then decided against it. The way this day was going, it’d be against the rules, and I’d have to do the whole thing over or something stupid like that. Sighing, I lifted the bottle to drink and saw it had my name painted on it in delicate gold letters. I couldn’t help but smile a bit at that.



Reluctantly, I shoved off the wall and tackled the stairs again, thighs seriously shrieking. Walking tomorrow was going to be fun. I hate this shit.



On the last switchback, I sat heavily on a step, panting. My legs were shredded, so sitting and counting really slowly felt like the best plan. Screw the consequences. To my great annoyance, as I finished my count and pygah, Idris bounded up from below, grinning and sweating.



“Best view ever!” he said as he dropped into a squat beside me and began a quiet and methodical count.



“Yeah. Great view,” I muttered, giving him a doubtful look. With a groan I couldn’t suppress, I heaved myself to my feet and continued up the last section. I kept close to the wall, thankful that there was only a light breeze and no gusts. Holy shit, but this was seriously high.



“Kara! Hug the wall,” Idris called out from below. “I’ll be passing on the left.”



“Yeah. No problem there, dude.” I pressed my back against the wall to make absolutely sure I was out of the way, not at all liking the thought of getting knocked off these stairs.



Idris, the bastard, dashed up the steps, sometimes two at a time, obviously familiar with their varying heights. He passed me with a stopwatch in his hand and his face set with fierce determination and focus.



Frowning, I watched until he reached the top, my emotions churning between admiration and feeling even more inadequate. My throat went horribly tight. I sank to sit on a step and looked out over the ocean. I tried to hold it back, tried not to be a baby, but I couldn’t. There was too much. I gave in and let it flow in a full blown sob-fest. Lonely. Homesick. Missing everyone. Totally stressed out. Betrayed. Recovering from torture. Stuck here. Unsure of where I stood. All of it came up.



After several minutes I finally got my shit somewhat together and wiped my eyes. Letting out a long sigh, I dragged myself up and somehow managed to finish the climb, subdued and with everything hurting. To my dismay, as I reached the top, I saw Idris hurrying toward me. My eyes burned and felt swollen. Damn it. I sighed and plastered on a smile. Maybe it would pass for just being flushed from exercise.



But no. He moved in close, brow deeply creased with worry. “Um, Kara, you okay?”



“I’m good,” I said, plodding up the trail toward the palace without stopping. “Tired. That’s all. Lots of stairs, and I’m an out of shape clod.”



“Yeah. It’s a lot of stairs. You did great making it to the top!” He hovered beside me, a spring in his step as if he hadn’t recently bounded up, what, fifty plus stories?



I knew he didn’t mean it to be as patronizing as it sounded, but damn. “Yeah, yeah. Thanks,” I managed. “So, uh, Mzatal does this kind of thing a lot? Assigning exercise?”