Demon Singer (3 page)

“Sounds tasty.”  Acheron cut in.  Lomong ignored her.

“I can’t help but think the Singer who made that copy was just as outside the lines as you are.  Normally, your tie with your Verger would allow you to translate it together. As it is, I'm certain your new companion can read it for you."

Acheron took the book from Lyric and skimmed through it.  Soon she looked up and glared at Lomong.

"Why the
hell
would I read this to him?"

Lomong fixed her with his level gaze, unintimidated.

"Because, demoness, I can't finish his training. Because,
his
welfare is
your
welfare. And because without finishing his training he's not likely to find a way to sever the tie safely, and you know what that means for
you
." Lomong stared evenly at the demoness. Acheron tossed the book carelessly at Lyric and stalked away without another word.

Lyric raised his eyebrows in surprise, looking askance at his teacher. Lomong gave a rare chuckle.

"The eighth measure is for masters only.  Giving it to you before you pass your initial tests is a breach of protocol, but you're going to need it."  He looked closely at his student as if measuring some invisible quality apparent only to him before continuing.  "It teaches you how to control the power of your Verger, how to bend its will to yours.  It completely changes the dynamic of the Singer/Verger relationship.  In essence, the Verger becomes an extension of the Master.  While they maintain an individual identity, when entering battle together the Verger becomes completely open and… possessed, for lack of a better term, by the Singer.  All of the Verger’s power, knowledge and experience are at the command of the Singer as the Verger surrenders total control.  The addition of the Singer’s own power makes for a close to unbeatable warrior.  It can’t be done unless the Verger is willing, which might be a challenge considering your situation.  But it is the best chance there is of getting you safely through the year ahead."

"She'll never translate it for me." Lyric shoved the book in his backpack.

"She will," Lomong assured him, "she has good reason to finish your training. In fact, all things considered, she'll probably train you better than I could. She has a much deeper knowledge of what lies behind the second
and
third veils than any of us do.  She's been around longer and seen more than any Verger in creation.  That is also part of what will cause her to resist, she knows secrets not meant for mankind.  Once you finish the eighth measure together you will know
everything
about her."  A trace of sadness stole across Lomong’s face.  “I don’t envy you that, son.”

Lyric sighed.

"I have no idea what to do.  The most important day of my life has become important for all the wrong reasons.  It's turned into a nightmare.  Where do I start?"

"The same place every Singer starts," Lomong
clapped his protégé on the shoulder. "At the top."

4 FROM THE TOP

Dacapo.

Before cell phones, cars and cities, before horse drawn carriages, tea parties and revolutions, before nomads who loved the earth and cared for it, Dacapo is the hill lost among the Catskills to which Singer’s have come to discern the beginning of their journeys for as long as the Soul Singers Guild has existed. It has not always been named so, but long enough that its other names have been all but forgotten.  

Starting in their fifth measure, Singers come to Dacapo to prepare to cast into the Verge.  They spend time in quiet meditation, practicing their soul song.  The young Singer listens carefully to the Score and begins to seek their part in it.  Singers already tied to a Verger frequent the mountain as well, seeking to tune their songs to the Voice and discern the path He calls them to follow.

Lyric knew from his training that Dacapo was one of the few places protected by the mysterious founder of the Soul Singers Guild himself.  Long ago, he had sung a song that compelled the unsighted to avoid it.  It was only open to soul singers, active or in training.  Upon the successful completion of their fourth measure, Singers are presented a pendant created by the High Master himself.  This pendant is the only form of jewelry allowed to soul singers and marks them as a full Singer.  Nothing else grants Singers access to the secret places.  Places like Dacapo that the founder of the Guild warded for his students safety.  Lyric toyed with his pendant absentmindedly as he recalled the day Master Lomong presented it to him.  The pride in Emma's eyes, the quiet approval of Niq's.  

Lyric cleared his head and began the long climb up the slope of Dacapo, quietly singing a Song of Ascent.  The well-used trail made the going easy, the day was beautiful and he was sure to reach the top by nightfall.

"Can you please stop that incessant droning?" Acheron groaned clapping her hands to the sides of her head dramatically. "It's murdering my ears!"

For a moment, Lyric had almost been able to forget the demoness as he reflected on joyful memories.   The drive from Boston to the Catskills had been extremely uncomfortable for Lyric, which naturally made it delightful for the demoness.  She had cycled through various states of dress and undress in the passenger seat, watching his reactions.  Lyric had tried to ignore her, focusing on driving.   Her laughter at his wrong turns and occasional drifting made his shame at his wandering eyes even more humiliating. She would not leave him alone.  Lyric stopped walking and considered her quietly.  She stopped as well, mirroring his movements like an obnoxious brat, meeting his gaze with wide-eyed innocence.

"Something wrong, Mr. Singer, sir?"  Lyric ignored her baiting.

"We are stuck together for the time being, Acheron. It is no secret you embody everything I detest.  Considering my Guild is committed to your destruction, I'm sure the feeling is mutual. I understand that you cannot help what you are, just as I will not change who I am.  We are tied, but how far away from me can you safely travel?  You're a demon..."

"Demoness."  Acheron corrected.  Lyric continued, ignoring her interjection.

"... not a Verger, so while fundamentally the same, I have to think our tie has some differences from a typical Soul Tie."

"Say no more, I
live
to make you happy.  ..." Acheron bowed mockingly and disappeared in a flash of dark.

That was easy
, Lyric thought.  He waited for a moment, expecting her to reappear and continue harassing him.  Nothing happened.  Shrugging, he continued his trek and his song.  An hour later, he began to notice he was fatigued more than he should be.  Another twenty minutes and he felt an odd ache deep inside he could not identify, but he pressed on, wishing there was a road he could drive up to reach the crest of this stupid hill. Another ten minutes and Lyric realized something was very wrong. Looking up at the top of Dacapo he despaired of reaching it alive, which didn't make sense. He had made this climb a hundred times with no trouble.
 It must something to do with that damn demon
, he thought.   He sang the summoning song expecting Acheron to arrive as bidden. He felt a twinge near the mysterious ache in his gut. Frowning, he pitched up and sang stronger. The twinge became a pull but still she did not arrive.  Exasperated, he sang again, this time using Acheron's name. She arrived instantly.

"Not so hard to use your girl's name is it?" The scent of lilacs wafted over him at her appearance.   "I'm not a Verger; I’m not going to fall all over myself for the privilege of drooling on your shoes.  A little respect please."

"What happened?"  He gasped, feeling relief immediately.

"The same thing that happens to any Singer who separates from their Verger.  Cut off your arm and see how long you can walk without tending the wound."  Strength flooded through him as she approached. "If our separation is harmonious, it doesn't matter how far I go, you'll be fine, as long as I get back to you within a reasonable amount of time."

"What's a reasonable amount of time?"

"It's like the weather. It could be weeks, days or hours of sunshine, but eventually the wind will change and you will feel the storm coming.  Then you waste no time getting inside.  We have more leeway than Vergers and Singers because of my unique nature."

"Is that how you were able to resist my song? Because you're a demon?"

"Demoness.  Not necessarily.  I wouldn't be able to resist so easily if your song was pure like it should be. But you're being such an unreasonable prick it causes dissonance, which weakens your song.  Vergers
can
resist a Singer's call, they just don't want to."

"Has it occurred to you that I'm simply being who I am and holding tight to what I believe?  Maybe it's just my nature to be a 'prick' as you so eloquently put it."

Acheron stopped walking, her taunting lips softened into a sad smile. When she spoke the tone of her voice was different, and it twisted that spot inside him that had felt empty at her absence.

"Hell is hot, Lover. It's dark, it's maddening, but worst of all it is complete separation from the Composer.  The Fallen aren’t stuck
in
hell though, we’re free to walk the earth.  The problem is we carry hell with us.  I've been in that reeking inferno, wallowing in filth, grief and anguish for thousands of years."  For a moment, the agony showed on her face, then dissolved into a glorious smile that caused an ache in Lyric's heart.  "Then, one day, in the thickest part of the screaming of the tormented there came a melody, accompanied by the very first cool breeze to enter the furnace...ever. Hell fell silent.  It hurt terribly..." she paused, and Lyric dared not break the silence, realizing no one, not even Singers, had much knowledge about what lay behind the third veil. "It hurt because it carried a sound I hadn't heard for so long that I'd almost begun to think it a dream." Her gaze drifted back from its distant vision and looked him seriously in the eye. "It's the dichotomy of the damned my Lovely Singer. Over the millennia, the grief, the agony, they turn to hate and anger, but beneath it all lies sorrow, the unhealing wound. We had paradise and we allowed ourselves to be led astray by Trytohn in his dazzling cloak of light. Here's your first lesson on the truth of damnation: The sorrow of Hell is complete separation from the Composer.  It's never again hearing the Voice, never again hearing the song of creation. I don't know what makes you different Lyric,” Lyric’s eyebrows jumped at her use of his name.  “But you cast a Song so strong it silenced the damned. Do you have any idea what that means? You sang... and Hell was quiet. You have an echo of the Voice in you and because of my very nature; I'm torn between wanting to love you and wanting to rip you to shreds. No soul with a Song like that is naturally an asshole as you've been to me.  You have to work at it; that makes it intentional, which makes it worse."

Lyric resisted the shame he felt at her words. Conviction forced him to speak.

"I apologize for the disrespect. Thank you for the lesson."  Suddenly Acheron pressed her perfect body up against his.

"Anytime, Lover, I have lots to teach. Let's try a lesson a little more carnal."

Lyric shoved the demoness away.

"I will treat you with respect, Acheron, and obviously you have a lot to teach me. But enlightening as this was, it changes nothing." He turned and walked up the slope silently cursing the unwanted effect she had on his body. Cursing the temptation it was to yield. He walked on in stony silence, keeping his eyes carefully in the ground as she passed him laughing and dancing ahead of him on the trail, attempting to offer a more intriguing view.

* * *

A pair of eyes watched from the trees, not ten feet away from where the singer and demoness walked.  

The man they belonged to flexed his hands, wanting to attack but holding back as commanded.  His mistress was insistent that he not take the two of them together.  His pride rankled at the restriction.  He was certain he and his friend were more than a match for the two of them.  Lisian was very clear though.  Divide and conquer.  

Annoyed but obedient, the man crept through the trees, silent as a shadow, stalking the Singer. He beckoned to the trees behind him and an enormous pack of hellhounds crept behind him on silent paws.

* * *

Lyric and Acheron reached the top and made their way to one of the outdoor rooms set up in seclusion for the Singers’ purposes. Graceful columns surrounded a white tiled floor supporting cross beams draped with ivy and flowering vines. Torches cast a soft flickering glow and there were candles that could be lit as well as a fire pit in the center to ward of a chill night. Various simple musical instruments adorned a rack available to use as desired. Facing the fire pit were two couches and two chairs, for Singer and Verger to sit or lay on as the meditation began. Lyric glanced nervously at Acheron.

“Intending no disrespect, you are a creature of darkness. I do not know how comfortable you will find this ceremony. If you desire to wait someplace else I respect that.”

Acheron’s tinkling laughter lent music to the evening.  
How can she be so evil and seem so perfect?  
Lyric's frustration was an icy needle in his chest.

“No worries, Lover, I’ll find a way to occupy myself while you do your thing.” She plopped into one of the chairs tossing a leg carelessly over the arm.

Lyric nodded and attempted to dismiss her from his mind. Sitting in the opposite chair, he sang softly and Acheron suddenly leaned forward and lit the fire with a flourish of her hand. The two of them stopped and stared at each other in surprise.  Lyric had felt a gentle surge in that place in his gut he had come to associate with his tie to Acheron.

“I apologize, I was simply following the ritual I was taught, I’ve never been tied and didn’t realize it created a compulsion.”

Acheron stood up and walked away.

As Lyric closed his eyes again the demoness made her way into the comforting darkness, seething with rage. It would be no matter if he
forced
her to light the fire with her power. She was accustomed to brutal means of accomplishing one’s ends. The fact that without thinking she suddenly
desired
to light the fire for him was ludicrous. His song was not forceful at all, a simple request that did not force compulsion as he suspected, but desire. Desire to serve him for his good. This simply would not do. Silent as the shadows she slipped through, she came across a beautiful buck, large, graceful, and powerful. It reminded her of her damned Singer. In a rage, she descended on it and tore out its throat before it could be surprised. She did not hurry in the slaughter; she exacted retribution on the creature for the humility forced on her by that bastard Lyric.

As the poor animal succumbed to death, Acheron flared with dark fire, burning away the blood and gore that covered her body. Sucking in a deep breath, she smiled sweetly and headed back to her Singer.

* * *

Lyric’s song was moving in his soul, but there was a note of trouble, a sense of wrongness that he could not fathom. The place inside that he associated with Acheron’s tie flared with pain briefly and he winced but continued singing. The haze in his head began to clear, he was closing in on the answer he sought when suddenly his lap was filled with a soft warm posterior, and hot breath caressed his face. His immediate physical reaction was quickly followed by rage, shame and violence. Opening his eyes, he lifted Acheron bodily off his lap and hurled her across the brick floor to skid up against a pillar.

It was a night for surprises. Lyric eyed Acheron warily as he stood up, flexing his hands. How did he do that? He threw her like a rag doll.

Acheron stood up gracefully, her eyes dancing with laughter.

“Demon strength, Lover. I’ve been around since the dawn of creation; I have a lot more juice than any Verger. One of the benefits to you is you get a portion of my strength.”

“Understand something, Acheron,” Lyric spat her name like a curse word.  “I may be stuck with you but I am the one in control. Do not touch me again without my permission. Am I clear or do I need to make myself clearer?”

Acheron saluted smartly

“Clear as crystal, Sir! Won’t try to make out with you again, Sir! Can see that you’re gay, Sir!”