Demonkin (20 page)

The Jyllith that commanded gnarls and slaughtered Sentinels would have broken Rala's arm when the other woman questioned her loyalty, not twisted her fingers. That Jyllith would have kicked her in the face and broken her nose. She was not that woman anymore, but she needed to be if she wanted to maintain her ruse among these cultists.

Yet despite their bravado, these Demonkin were children. Children who had seen their families murdered, had their memories twisted by Cantrall. Even Rala. What right did Jyllith have to hurt Rala or hate her?

Who had Rala seen murdered before Cantrall stole her away? Her parents? Her sisters? Did she mourn for them as Jyllith mourned at night?

Why had Cantrall chosen Jyllith as his apprentice instead of Rala, or Xel, or Divad? Was it because of her talent with Aerial glyphs? Or was it because he had always known she was evil, deep down, and all he had to do was draw that evil out? A monster waiting to be called?

The sound of an arrow
thunking
into a target echoed from ahead, followed by two more. Archers at work. Rain's freedom fighters favored archery over spearplay and daggers to swords. Honorable combat against the Mynt resulted in death, and Free Rain did not fight to die. They fought to kill and most were very good at it.

Jyllith skirted a cabin and came upon a dirt courtyard marked off by a two-post fence. It held worn archery targets — round wooden plates wrapped in punctured animal skin — and a single two-armed practice dummy impaled on a wooden pole. Three more hard cedar poles stood in the yard, with smaller sticks emerging from their round bulk in all directions, like some sort of wooden cactus.

Jyllith remembered where she had last seen those poles. In a small camp of Free Rain, when she was fourteen, killing the Mynt alongside Cantrall. Rain soldiers often fought as well without weapons as they did with them, and so Mynt had outlawed those poles. These were stained from the oil and sweat of countless hands.

Two archers took turns on the targets, a man and a woman in brown forest garb, and Klyde hammered away at a practice dummy with his battered cudgel. Each impact shook the dummy hard. Andar stood in the center of the wooden poles, bare-chested and covered in sweat.

Jyllith would start with him. Andar was Knoll Point's leader and there had been no true malice in him when she arrived — simply caution. What would he think if he learned about Divad's true nature?

Would he turn if she told him Divad wanted to enslave their world? Could he become her ally? She was not here to betray Free Rain, after all — she was here to betray the Demonkin. That was a distinction.

As she approached Jyllith couldn't help but notice that Andar's chest rippled with muscle, slick with sweat and covered in scars. The tattoos that mottled his face glistened in the light. His eyes remained closed, his breathing even and calm.

Jyllith knew she shouldn't stare, but Andar made it difficult not to. He was actually a fairly handsome man, if one appreciated that sort of thing. Which she did not. He was also way too old for her.

Andar opened his eyes and struck with his right hand, a blow that set the nearest pole to quivering. He spun in place and lashed out with one bare foot, and that strike rattled the neighboring pole. Jyllith stopped, transfixed, as Andar battered all three poles in a dervish of flying limbs, each strike hard enough to shatter bones, smash knees, and knock men flat.

Andar finished with a spinning kick that slammed into a pole so hard it tilted. He landed with feet even, arms straight and shoulders taut. He closed his eyes, pushed his muscular arms straight out, and breathed deep. He flexed, relaxed, and bowed to the poles.

When he opened his eyes, Andar was staring right at her. Grinning. Jyllith cursed herself and strode forward. She was not here to moon over boys. She was
not
Rala.

Klyde turned from the battered dummy and sighed. “I just straightened those damn things. Really? Keep at them and they’re liable to snap.”

“Plant 'em deeper, then.” Andar turned his smirk on Klyde and grabbed a linen shirt off a narrow bench. “Something I can help you with, Red?” He eyed her up and down as he pulled on his shirt. “I see you got inducted.”

Jyllith did not know how she felt about the way he looked at her. At the robes, of course, not her. “I wanted some time with Free Rain's leader.”

“No leaders in Free Rain, dear heart. Just cutpurses and killers. I happen to be one of the better ones.” Andar chuckled as he walked back into town. “I don't know why these idiots keep asking me for orders.”

Klyde had a good laugh at that, slapping one of his beefy knees, and Jyllith made herself smile as she fell into step behind Andar. He had an honest, fatalistic calm she found appealing. All Ghost Cats knew they would die, eventually. Everyone else knew many would die with them.

“I was at Firstwood the day before it fell.” Jyllith jogged to catch up. “Where were you?”

“In the woods.” Andar slowed his pace. “Killed a few dozen that day. Where were you?”

“I held Firstwood’s walls with Cantrall. My teacher. We slaughtered a good number of climbers before they stopped trying.” They walked on. “We left after Garret the Hammer died attempting to break the siege.”

Jyllith vividly remembered the last day before Firstwood fell. Mynt legionnaires stood beyond the walls in countless rows, glittering ants devouring her world. They ate well, resupplied from Mynt convoys floated across the Layn, while those inside Firstwood ate rats or starved.

Jyllith had eaten rat herself and would not recommend it. There was no flavor to it. Rat was gamey, tough, and more like leather than meat.

“How'd you get out?” Andar nodded to a cabin and its soldiers nodded back. He owned the town's loyalty. No surprise there.

“Same as you, I expect.” Where was he leading her? “We walked out.”

Cantrall had summoned Jyllith the night of the new moon, when only Mynt watch fires lit the dark. Together, they had walked right through the siege lines, concealed by astral glyphs. Leaving the city to fall without them.

Jyllith hated running, but they had watched Garret and his army die bloody only hours earlier. With the death of the chief's last son, Cantrall knew it was only a matter of time before Chieftess Shara surrendered. They had fought well and bravely, but Firstwood was lost.

Cantrall had assured her they would one day avenge Firstwood, with the help of the Mavoureen. He never revealed
he
was the reason for the Mynt assault. He never told her it was his revenants, burning Mynt and Rain villages, that incited the entire bloody war.

“So tell me, Red.” Andar led her past an enclosed field of wheat tended by several women in long dresses, and Jyllith was painfully reminded of Talos before it burned. “Why'd we lose?”

“We fought them like they fought us.” Jyllith knew the answer as all Free Rain knew. “On the field, face-to-face. They had a lot more faces.”

“Garret would thump you for saying that. Idiot always wanted to be a knight in bloody armor.” Andar chuckled and spit. “Died like one, didn't he?”

“I've heard stories.” Jyllith had not seen Garret fall. The swarm of bodies had been too distant and chaotic to make out any single form. Only when the great horns sounded did she learn the Hammer's fate.

Garret the Hammer had been named for his massive size, his massive horse, and the oversized maul he used to smash soldiers apart. The legend of his final battle said it took ten legionnaires to end him and he crushed them all to bloody paste.

It was a wonderful, heroic lie. A tale to galvanize children and comfort slaves around campfires. Cantrall revealed the savage truth.

Garret lost his maul when a cowardly legionnaire cut his horse out from under him. He fell hard and landed on his back, trapped in heavy armor. The Mynt stabbed him to death with glyphed spears as he flailed in mud.

There had been no glory or honor in the Hammer's death. The Mynt slaughtered him like a common pig. His legendary battle with ten legionnaires remained a far more popular story.

“So tell me true now.” Andar stopped at a cabin like the rest and slipped a key from his pocket. “Why'd you walk in here hauling that old woman's head? All Divad said is he was expecting you. He didn't say why.”

“I told you at the gates. The Mynt captured me and I escaped.” Jyllith barely believed herself. “I'm not done killing them yet.”

“See, that's what irks me.” Andar popped the door. “The lying. There's a fire in you, sure, but it's not for Mynt blood.”

The warmth of their casual conversation melted. She had not fooled Andar, and lying further would increase his suspicions. What now?

Jyllith decided she would tell him the truth, as much truth as she could. If there was anyone she wanted to befriend, it was Andar. If Calun told her true, he did
not
approve of demon glyphs or Demonkin.

“You're right. Killing the Mynt isn't the only reason I'm here, and I should have respected you enough to admit that.”

“You here to kill me?”

“No.” She could say that honestly, and it felt good.

“Here to betray Free Rain?”

“Of course not.” Divad's Demonkin cult was
not
Free Rain.

“Then your business with Divad is your business, not mine. I trust him, he trusts you, and that's all I'm liable to get out of either of you.”

Jyllith grew unexpectantly warm. “Thank you.”

“Don't thank me, Red. We need all the loyal soldiers we have, and I suspect you're more loyal than most. You took out Melyssa Honuron and Five knows how many others, and that took a piece out of you.”

Jyllith stared at him. How could he know?

“I've seen your eyes on dozens of soldiers, but here's the thing. You can't live driven by guilt. The only people you can save are those alive right now. Try fighting for them instead.”

Jyllith felt an unexpected tingle, all over. Andar really did respect her, and that made her face flush and her palms sweat. Could he actually be attracted to her?

He slammed the door and left her in the street.

Jyllith wanted to kick herself. What had she just beaten into poor, deluded Rala? She had come here to get information from Andar, gain his trust, and he had played her like a harp with nothing but a smile.

She really made a terrible spy.

“Jyllith?” Divad asked.

She jumped, startled. Divad had made no sound as he approached. She found the cult leader standing behind her in his red robes, arms crossed and hands tucked into sleeves. His cowl hid all but his whiskered chin and the set of his mouth revealed nothing.

“I'm free now,” Divad said. “I'd like to hear more about your journey.” He did not need to add
“I also want to know why the Mavoureen sent you.”

Jyllith nodded. “Your study?” She had to learn if he kept the glyphs used to open the portal there.

“I had a different idea.” Divad led her down a muddy road between cabins. “Let me give you a tour of our wonderful town.”

At the end of the road Divad turned north, leading her up a half-paved main street to the shattered mountain. Knoll Point had no northern gate, just an opening into a deep quarry. As they descended Jyllith spotted broken pickaxes, rotting wooden pallets, and rusting shackles. Mynt's horrific legacy of greed, despair, and broken backs.

Slaves like her father worked here under the hard gaze of Mynt slavers, and some even died. She hoped her father really was among the dead. She hoped he didn't toil still, back breaking, in a work camp.

Divad led her through the ruined rock and abandoned tools to a wooden arch carved into the mountain's base. The mining tunnel's single wooden door remained shut, and Jyllith shuddered as they approached. A palpable aura of evil radiated from inside, an aura she knew. Mavoureen.

Divad carved an infernal key on the air, a Demonkin glyph. It unlocked any door, and Jyllith suspected there was no other key. She doubted even an axe would splinter this mining tunnel's door, reinforced by demonic glyphs.

A fire pit burned beyond the door, smoky flames rising with unnatural heat. Divad grabbed a torch, lit it in the pit, and strode into the tunnel. Jyllith followed, the walls close enough to brush her shoulders. Once again, she shuddered at the thought of being buried alive.

Jyllith did not question Divad because she rarely questioned Cantrall. She simply followed him, and she sensed that was respect Divad craved. He fancied himself an elder and if Jyllith treated him that way, he might grow to trust her.

A red-eyed davenger stepped from the dark.

JYLLITH’S HEART THUMPED MADLY before she realized Divad had not summoned the demon to kill her. This davenger was not Spike — it was a hound, not an ape. Her davenger, before Divad stole it. Their link was gone.

Divad had tracked down her davenger and rescribed Davazet's glyph upon it, taking it from her as she had taken it from Malkavet. Jyllith had hoped to call the demon if she got in trouble. So much for that idea.

Divad squeezed past the davenger and Jyllith did the same, not daring to comment on what had happened. Divad had taken her demon from her to make a point. Protesting would only make her look disloyal.

“I did not want your davenger wandering outside alone,” Divad said. “Does it have a name?”

“No.” Why did everyone keep asking that?

“Who was it?” Divad held the torch high and sent light fleeing through the tunnel ahead.

Jyllith still did not know how well Divad detected lies. Being caught lying about anything was dangerous. Again, she shaded a truth.

“My first davenger was a man named Tarel Halen. I caught him outside Taven's Hamlet, gathering reports for his masters.” She lowered her voice. “I never bothered giving it a name.”

“How long until you turn?” Divad asked.

“Less than a week.” Was he going to ask her to send an innocent soul to the Underside in her place? Could she do that again?

Nausea overwhelmed her, yet she fought it hard. What was one more soul against those she'd damned? One soul weighed against the world?

Yet she couldn't do it. Not again. So if Divad asked her to sacrifice an innocent, she would kill him in this tunnel or die trying.

“The Mavoureen won't have you,” Divad said. “We're going to see to your curse, but not today. Today, I'm going to do as you asked in our cabin. I'm going to show you why your demon called you here.”

Jyllith scarcely believed her luck. This tunnel would be as good a place as any to hide a Mavoureen portal, so could Divad be taking her to it now? That was the first time she considered what that truly meant.

Malkavet had come through this portal, before traveling to the Unsettled Lands to abduct her. Had it spoken to Divad before it left, told him all about her betrayal? Was Divad leading her into a trap?

They soon emerged into a chamber of polished gray rock. An unnatural wind chilled Jyllith’s bones, blowing from a wall of oil that floated ahead of her like a sideways lake. Divad's torch reflected off its mirrored surface.

Jyllith missed her fur-insulated leathers. She hoped Rala had not burned them. It was just the type of thing that spiteful woman might do after today's confrontation.

Divad strode into the sideways lake, ripples spreading outward as he disappeared. The room went dark. Jyllith snatched the dream world.

This chamber was a series of intersected dark lines, free of color and free of life, but the black, sideways lake was a mass of swirling green. The color of death. Shapes moved inside it, hints of shadows that clawed at her mind and threatened her sanity. Things that should not be.

Jyllith forced herself forward. Divad waited beyond. She stepped into flowing green and icy fingers brushed her, demons tugging at her hair.

She walked until the darkness pressed down on her like a physical force. She couldn't see, couldn't smell, couldn't hear, and she no longer knew if she was even alive. Had she stepped into the Underside?

“Keep walking,” Divad's voice boomed. “Don't be afraid.”

Jyllith was afraid — anyone would be — but she walked until she stumbled from the dark, gasping for breath like a woman rising from the sea. She was in a small earthen cave, filled with torchlight, where someone had cut a glowing wound into empty air. A portal to the Underside.

Screaming purple clouds swirled inside that portal and yellow eyes glinted, staring at her from the other side. The Mavoureen watched her. They hungered for those who did not kill themselves first.

Divad's clenched fist slammed into her spine. That sent agony through Jyllith’s body and she fell to her knees. Why couldn't she move?

“I've brought you here for judgment.” Divad walked into view. “We cannot be too careful, not so close to the end. I am sorry.”

Jyllith tried to fight, tried to scream, but whatever Divad had done to her had locked her statue-stiff. Even breathing took effort. Divad sat cross-legged and lowered his head. His words echoed in the cave.

“Patriarch, I seek your council. Look upon this woman and tell me if she's false.”

Divad had summoned Paymon, king of the Mavoureen, the demon who had sent Malkavet to take her. Paymon wanted her here, at the portal to the Underside, so he could draw her through and torture her until she no longer remembered who she was.

Jyllith knew she deserved that — she had even craved it — but that made the prospect no less terrifying.

The screaming purple clouds swirled as the watching yellow eyes departed. A figure drifted from the clouds, white dress trailing away in the unnatural wind, but this demon was not Paymon. It was the only woman he had ever feared.

Hecata, queen of the Mavoureen, had long dark hair and skin as white as milk. Her eyes were dead, inky pools, yet she remained breathtakingly beautiful. Hecata's dress clung to her perfect body, a fabric made of pale and writhing fingers. Fingers as flat as crushed leaves.

Jyllith had never been attracted to women, but Hecata quickened her heart and stirred her blood. She
wanted
this demoness. She could not imagine what Hecata’s presence would do to a man.

“Dearest Divad.” Hecata turned her dead black gaze on Jyllith's captor. “You bother us with trifles?”

“I must.” Divad prostrated himself, a wise idea when faced with a woman who could drive men mad. “Paymon ordered us to trust none he had not vetted.”

Hecata offered a breathy laugh. “You humans do enjoy instructions. This girl is your newest inductee?”

Jyllith knew what waited for her beyond this portal. Torture unending. This was a demoness who turned innocent children into monsters, so what would Hecata do to her? She was not remotely innocent.

“She claims to serve Cantrall,” Divad said.

“She did serve Cantrall,” Hecata said, “until he died. That man failed us and now he's ours.” She snapped her fingers. “Have a look.”

Cantrall appeared before Hecata, floating in the mass of swirling purple clouds. As Jyllith stared at Cantrall's burned out eyes, missing nose, and sewn lips, her gorge rose. As much as she hated him for what he had done to her, Cantrall did not deserve this. No one deserved this.

“I will not fail you, mistress, not as he did.” Divad’s hair and nose brushed the rocky floor. “You have my word.”

“That's so reassuring.” Hecata fixed her dead eyes on Jyllith. “Well, fair’s fair. Let's have a look inside the girl's soul.”

Hecata reached with one long arm. It grew like a gruesome vine and stretched
through
the portal, pale hand still attached. The top of Hecata's finger brushed Jyllith's cheek, skin burning like ice.

“Sweet child, you tremble so. Do I frighten you?”

“Yes,”
Jyllith thought.
“A thousand times yes.”
Thinking was the only way she could beg for mercy.

“You should be frightened. You are playing a very dangerous game.”

She knew. Hecata knew Jyllith's plan. Hecata would do to Jyllith what she had done to Cantrall, make her into an eyeless, screaming, shredded piece of human meat. Jyllith and her master would suffer, together, for all the horrors they had committed. Justice ... of a sort.

“Heed my words, sweet child, and do not forget them.” Hecata gripped Jyllith's chin. “What you seek is not what you will find. You already know the truth of things. You read it in a book. Remember this, and you will please me.”

As Hecata's impossibly long arm slid back through the portal, a pit opened in Jyllith's stomach. She would never be with anyone more beautiful than Hecata, and that made her despair. Her world would be forever empty.

She needed Hecata, desperately, needed her touch and her gaze. Jyllith needed that even if it meant having her eyes gouged out, her lips sewn shut, her skin flayed off her body.

She could never know peace save at Hecata's side. She would never betray this demoness. Each scream would be willing tribute.

“Keep her close, Divad,” Hecata said. “You will find none more loyal.”

Hecata vanished and took Cantrall's shredded form with her. Purple clouds screamed and whirled, but no more yellow eyes emerged. Divad rose and pulled back his cowl.

“Forgive me,” he said. “I had to be sure.”

He walked behind her and touched her spine. The paralysis vanished, throwing Jyllith to the ground. She vomited, convulsing.

“It will pass.” Divad slid his arms beneath hers and helped her up. “Just breathe. I'm here.”

Divad held Jyllith until she could stand. Hecata had bewitched her, convinced Jyllith she wanted nothing but to be tortured gladly at her side. She could never forget that horrific desire.

“Lean on me,” Divad said. “Walk. I need to be done with this place.”

Jyllith sobbed against his shoulder. Cantrall didn't deserve what Hecata had done to him, and every person Jyllith had damned had suffered Cantrall's fate or worse. Jyllith had known, on a factual level, but s
eeing
what she had done to those poor people tore at her.

As Divad led her, Jyllith struggled to think. Hecata knew exactly why Jyllith was here — to betray Divad, destroy his cult, and close the portal to the Underside — yet she had revealed nothing. Hecata had lied for her.

Had the demon but asked, Jyllith would have betrayed herself to Divad, betrayed Melyssa, yet Hecata had
not
asked. The demon queen had spared her. Why?

They emerged from the utter dark of the mining tunnel to a setting sun, yet they had entered in mid-morning. Jyllith had heard that the Mavoureen twisted time and space, but knowing she had lost almost a day in less than an hour boggled her mind. Her days were so precious now.

Divad eased her down against the rock. Jyllith breathed and stared. No one could ever forgive her for what she had done. Not even her own mother.

“Legionnaires tortured my wife in front of me.” Divad crouched before her. “Nailed her to a post. Made me beg as they cut pieces off her.”

Jyllith shuddered. These were the false memories Cantrall had made inside Divad, the reason he had founded this cult and given himself to the Mavoureen. Revenants murdered his wife, but Divad remembered them as Mynt soldiers. He was telling her why he became Demonkin.

“Every time Paula passed out from the agony,” Divad said, “a battlemage brought her around again.”

Jyllith suspected that battlemage had been Cantrall, as no revenant could use glyphs. Those armored corpses were soulless, implacable brutes. Had Cantrall murdered Divad's wife on one of the many trips he took during their time together, or before he burned Talos?

“I begged them to put me on that post. I offered to cut myself, kill myself, do whatever would amuse them if they would just let my wife die.” One finger traced the scar above his eyebrow. “I cut my own face to prove it.”

Divad's memories were no doubt as real to him as her own had been, before Melyssa showed her the truth, yet those memories still haunted her. So must it be for Divad. For the first time, Jyllith found she could pity him.

“My Paula died at dawn.” Divad looked into a horror she couldn't see. “Then they brought out Nyna, my daughter. They led her to that post.”

Jyllith hugged herself.

“That was when Cantrall arrived. He came at them alone, burning as he went.” Divad bared his teeth. “The torturer — the one who had cut my wife apart — managed to slash Nyna's throat, but she left this world quickly. Not like Paula. My daughter’s death was a blessing.”

Divad stood and helped Jyllith stand. “I've served Cantrall since, and with him dead I now serve Paymon the Patriarch. I've done things in his name my wife would never forgive, but I don't deserve forgiveness. Do I?”

Jyllith found her voice. “I know how you feel.” That was the truth, as bare and raw as it could be.

“I'm glad we found each other.” Divad squeezed her hand, his eyes glistening. “There is no salvation waiting for us, but we can still save others. We can stop torture like we've both witnessed. We can stop all war.”

“That's your plan with this portal? To stop all war? How?”

“The Mavoureen.” Divad released her hand. “They are terrifying, I know. They terrify me. But once we bring them here, no force can stand against them. They will bring peace to the Five Provinces, even if by the sword.”

“They'll enslave us, Divad. Torture us.”

“Only those who deserve it. Paymon promised me that when I agreed to open this portal for him. Peace in exchange for loyalty and devotion.”

Jyllith rubbed her arms. “It's a nice thought.” Paymon's promise was a lie, of course, but the Jyllith who had served Cantrall would believe it.

“We damn ourselves,” Divad said, “so those we love won't have too. So our people can live free of fear.”