Demonkin (25 page)

“Once a Demonkin scribes their first demon glyph,” Anylus said, “they have perhaps a month before they turn. Yet Cantrall plotted and planned for years, and he retained his soul. His cult has existed for years as well, and they’ve certainly used demon glyphs. So how are they not cursed?”

“They sacrificed innocents.” Byn scowled. “That's the cure, Anylus. You give the Mavoureen an innocent soul in place of your own.”

“But is that the
only
cure?”

“You think the Demonkin know something we don't?” Kara asked. “Some way to delay the curse, even lift it?”

“It is merely a supposition. Yet who would be more knowledgeable about this taint than the Demonkin themselves? What if they have a cure, one that does not involve an innocent soul?”

“If they know about that,” Byn said, “then we'll have a long talk.”

“It's a possibility,” Sera said, “if a slim one. Regardless, our primary goal is to stop the Mavoureen and end their threat. We have to put that first.” She glanced at Kara. “And we’ll rescue Trell. Agreed?”

Kara nodded because she had to. Her hopes about saving Sera had been crushed too often to raise them now. An unknown cure was a small chance at best, but it was a chance. Kara would take it even if Sera would not.

No matter what happened at Knoll Point, Kara would not leave until she knew for certain. She would reach the town, close the portal, save Sera's soul and save Trell's life. Everything she wanted.

“Anyone want to sleep?” Kara rose and stretched. She had slept a good four hours and was filled with energy.

Byn and Sera rose together. “We can sleep when we're across the Layn,” Byn said. He glanced at Anylus. “Any ideas about that?”

“Just one.” Anylus tucked his hands once more into the sleeves of his robes. “That's what I was doing while Kara slept, binding wood with ice and earth.” He motioned to the river. “I've constructed us a raft.”

AFTER ALMOST A WEEK OF RIDING, Xander and his “escort” emerged from the snaking, tree-choked length of Highridge Pass. The ruins of Highridge Fortress stretched before them across a scrub-dotted plain. The wreckage of ancient black towers jutted like broken fingers, remains of a great fortress torn apart in the All Province War.

Xander called a halt and slipped from his horse, a big brown gelding named Storm. One of Haven's best. It was time to take another directional reading and give the rest of the riders time to eat.

Just behind him Ona slipped off Chesa, a brave mare now far from Solyr. His wife wore a brown travel cloak over a thick wool sweater and lined riding pants. Mynt's brutal winters got cold, even on this side of the Ranarok, and Ona had dressed appropriately. She carried a fine ash bow and a quiver of arrows covered in Xander's glyphs.

“You need to eat too, you know.” Ona placed a warm hand on his shoulder. “You ate nothing this morning.” Behind her, Chesa snorted softly.

Xander had ignored his grumbling stomach for most of the afternoon, pushing Storm hard and forcing the others to keep pace, but his wife was right. Ona was right a great deal of the time. He had lived almost twenty years without her and refused to add one more to that tally.

“I'll eat.” Xander covered Ona's hand with his own and squeezed. “I want another reading before it gets dark. Would you mind brewing some lerild soup?” His words misted on the chill air.

Mages mixed that special brew with chunks of meat and rare herbs, many of which Xander had taken from Anylus's private stash. Unlike carrow root, these herbs enhanced a mage's ability to scribe blood glyphs, at a cost. The soup was addictive.

“Coming up.” Ona kissed his hand and joined the others to start a campfire: Tania, Aryn, Erius, and three of King Haven's handpicked legionnaires.

Led by First Sword Dynara Keris, Haven's legionnaires claimed they were here to help, but Xander knew their real purpose. Haven was not so confident they would return as Ona seemed to be. Xander didn’t blame him.

Dynara was here to ensure they came
back
, but that assurance came with a cost. She and her soldiers had traded their heavy armor for boiled leather, allowing them to ride at the pace Xander demanded. A legionnaire without heavy armor was an unhappy legionnaire.

For several days now, Xander had feared Kara meant to enter the Unsettled Lands. If she did that, only he could follow without having his skin torn off. Fortunately, this morning's reading had Kara moving south, toward the Layn. Taking those readings was getting progressively harder.

Some power interfered with each of his searches for Kara, likely Adept Anylus. The adept's power pushed at Xander like a deep current. Thus far, Xander had won each time they struggled, but he needed that soup.

All Anylus had to do was beat Xander, once, and take a sharp right turn. Each day Xander did not catch him was another day closer to Kara's death or, if the Mavoureen were involved, her soul torn apart. He had to catch up with Kara before Anylus took her ... wherever he was taking her.

Xander sat, open-legged, as Aryn and Tania chattered about something or other. He tuned them out and opened his mind to the rhythm of the world. Varyn, his father, had taught him to do this when he was very little. He had also cuffed Xander's head every time he failed.

Varyn had not been a particularly good father or a particularly nice man, but he had been a good teacher. Xander owed as much of his prowess with glyphs to Varyn as to Melyssa, even if he still hated them both. They had stolen almost twenty years from him and Ona.

Time lost meaning as Xander sat. Soulmages trained to project their souls beyond their body using glyphs, but their clumsy and limited method only allowed them to move a league in any direction, tethered to their bodies. What Xander was doing was different, older, a relic of the Ancient language and something he had never shared with anyone save Ona.

Xander sang.

The words of the song made no real sense, defined only by the meaning in Xander's head. Understanding the Ancient language and singing it aloud required clarity of thought difficult to achieve in the best circumstances. Before the time of blood glyphs and academies, in the first days of existence, there had been many singers and they had shaped the world.

Torn had been the best singer the Five Provinces had ever seen, using the Ancient language far more often than clumsy blood glyphs. Xander could never approach Torn's abilities, but he did have the man's blood inside him. So did Varyn and so, Xander knew, did Kara.

Xander focused on Kara's blood, on the unique element their bodies shared, and that focus allowed him to reach out to her across leagues. He focused on his overwhelming love for his only daughter. When his soul left his body, it was like being pulled aloft by a current of air.

Xander streaked across leagues of scrubland as a bird might drift on the wind, an experience as exhilarating as it was disorienting. If he was not careful, he would forget who and what he was. Drift forever.

He zipped across the thick Layn river and found Kara camped far beyond it. How had they forded the river, and how could his large party follow? That was a problem for later. No wards thwarted Xander, and that alarmed him more than the absence of Adept Anylus. Where was he?

Xander gasped as he recognized a greenish demon aura wrapped around a woman's body, one warming herself beside Kara. A Mavoureen possessed that woman, a demon wearing a person as clothes. That body was Sera Valence, or had been — but now she was a demon in flesh.

An impact slammed into Xander’s mind, an impact like a rock into his nose. Xander pushed back as the inside of his head throbbed and his blood heated. As his skin tingled and sweat burst along his pores, Xander knew why Anylus had declined to ward Kara.

He planned to melt Xander's mind instead.

Xander focused as Varyn had taught with all those cuffs to the head. He focused his will and hatred on the invisible wall pressing down upon him, an effort like pushing a heavy cart uphill. He pushed that wall away.

Soon, it was Anylus who struggled as Xander pressed that wall of force down upon him, crushing him alive. A horrific fate, even for a traitor, but if Xander crushed Kara's captor, Kara might stop running. If only he could speak to her without ending his song!

As Anylus screamed and thrashed, Xander watched Kara leap up through his spectral eyes. She ran to Anylus. Xander did not like that she had to see this man crushed, but what choice did he have? And even if he killed Anylus, what about the demon inside Sera’s body?

Kara looked up, looked at Xander. Stared right at him. How could she see him? How was this possible?

Kara sang
back
.

DARK INTENT AND BITTER TONALITY hit Xander hard enough to destroy his sense of self. For countless moments he flailed, drowning in a void. Who was he? What was he?

“Xander,” a woman whispered. “Come back to me. I love you. I’m never losing you again.”

Ona. His Ona. Xander remembered just enough of the land outside Highridge Pass to reach for it like a drowning man reached for debris in a shipwreck. The fingers of Xander's soul brushed land slippery as oil. He grunted and
pulled.

Xander's eyes snapped open, his joints and muscles stiff. He choked as his body remembered how to breathe. It was like being born again, terrifying and difficult. Would his traumatized body remember how to live?

Boots stomped as a crush of people arrived, but Xander could not make out faces or recall names. His mind had been mangled by his encounter with Anylus and his daughter. He had to mend it.

Xander's body would handle breathing and pumping blood. It was his mind that he now needed to repair, an effort like patching hundreds of holes in a shredded quilt. By the time he finished, the dark sky held many stars.

Xander grunted and found Ona kneeling beside him, gripping his hand and praying. As if the Five would care. At least it made her feel better.

“Ona?” Xander's throat was dry as sand, but he could speak. He could remember his wife's name and his own.

Ona clutched his arm and leaned close. “What happened? Do you know where you are?”

Xander clenched her hand. “I'm with the woman I love.”

“You’re also lucky to be alive.” Tania settled at his other side, blond hair glistening in the moonlight. “I know a bit of bloodmending, enough to diagnose injuries I cannot cure. You were bleeding inside your skull.”

“Well, I'm not anymore.” Xander tried to sit up, but his abdominal muscles betrayed him. “Help me up.”

Ona slid an arm beneath him and Tania did too. Together, they helped Xander sit. Despite the pain in his gut and all over his body, Xander knew his injuries could have been much worse. He
was
lucky to be alive.

“What happened to you?” Tania asked. “More importantly, is it going to happen to any of us?”

Xander grunted. As much as he had disliked Tania when they first met, she had an infectious charm. Five days on the road had softened his opinion. As for Aryn, Xander glowered at him as often as he could. Aryn needed his mind on catching Kara, not groping his comely new girlfriend.

“I'll reheat your soup,” Ona said, before locking eyes with Tania. “Don't you let him move. I mean it.”

Tania inclined her head. “Yes ma'am.”

Xander tried to watch Ona move off, but his neck stabbed his head with pain. Better to rest and recover. When and how had Kara learned to
sing
?

“You fought Anylus again,” Tania said, once they were alone. “This time you lost. What happened?”

“I didn't lose,” Xander growled.

“Then someone else intervened. Kara?”

Xander scowled at her. When Tania pulled facts out of thin air was when he got most annoyed with her. People were not supposed to do that.

“She didn't know it was you, of course.” Tania considered. “Anylus must have her entirely wound around his finger. How will you convince her Anylus is false? What if she refuses to come home with us?”

“I'll figure it out,” Xander growled. Even after a week, he found Tania's eyes and gaze disconcerting.

Tania blinked like any other person, but her pupils were clouded. The surface of her eyes resembled a hard-boiled egg. Xander knew it was some kind of film that had grown over her eyes, forever ruining her sight, which made it all the more odd when she focused on him.

“Kara's singing stays between us, understand?” Xander glared at Tania. “I won't have you worrying my wife.”

“Sorry, Mister Honuron, but that’s your wife’s decision to make.” Tania smiled brightly. “We both know who's in charge.”

Ona returned. She handed Xander a clay bowl filled with steaming soup. Xander's arms shook as he shoveled spoonfuls into his mouth until his fatigue faded.

Lerild soup showed its effects rapidly, and this batch smelled strongly of garlic and spices. Ona had tried to mask its bitter taste.

“What happened tonight?” his wife asked.

Xander considered lying to her. He told her the truth instead, and when he finished Ona stared into the dark. Wringing her hands.

“Did you teach Kara to bloodsing during your journey back from Terras?”

“No.” Xander wiped soup chunks from his thick beard, using the sleeve of his warm brown cloak. Hygiene was the last of his worries now.

“Where did she learn to sing?”

“Not from Anylus.” Xander hoped he was right. “It's possible Kara retains some memories from when Torn possessed her. Torn's bloodsinging was instinctive, or so my father told me. When we talked.”

“If I may ask, Mister Honuron,” Tania said, “how could Torn teach your father anything while in the Underside?”

Xander glowered at her, but she only smiled in return. What harm was there in explaining things now? Only those who had the proper blood could bloodsing, and Tania did not.

“Before he stepped through the gates at Terras,” Xander said, “Torn transferred his memories of bloodsinging to my grandmother. Melyssa Honuron. Melyssa could never sing herself, lacking our unique blood, but she passed Torn's techniques onto Varyn. He passed those onto me.”

“And now, apparently, to our daughter.” Ona shuddered. “What is Anylus
doing
to Kara? Could he alter her memories, like Cantrall changed Jyllith's memories about those revenants? Turn her against us?”

“Probably not.” Xander
would
lie about that. “Also, there's a bit of good news. Kara's not alone with Anylus any longer. Sera and Byn are with her now.”

He did not mention the demon. If he revealed that, Ona might never sleep again. He needed her focused and calm.

“Where is Kara?” Ona asked. “How close are we?”

“She's on the far side of the Layn.” Xander finished the last of his chunks, tipping the bowl and sucking down what remained. “We're gaining on Kara every day. We're riding and she's not, now.”

“So we'll catch her?” Ona bit her lip.

“If we don't stop riding when the sun sets tomorrow, and we find a ferry across the Layn, we'll catch her around midnight tomorrow. I'm certain of it.” Xander wasn't.

“Thank the Five.” Ona scooted close and rested her head on his shoulder. In a moment, Xander forgot everything but his lovely wife.

“I think I hear Aryn calling my name!” Tania hopped up and smiled brightly. “Please excuse me.” She hurried off.

Xander nuzzled Ona's hair and drank in the smell of lavender. He knew Ona lacked most of her real memories. She did not remember much of their cabin, or the year they spent sailing with the crew of the
Wailing Siren
, or the nights he spent teaching her the Ancient language. Yet Ona remembered
him
. She loved him and that was enough.

No matter how long it took to find Kara, Xander would not allow his daughter to return to Tarna. Kara had no future as the royal apprentice — not with King Haven determined to “protect” her — so they would simply leave it all behind. They would become a family again.

Perhaps they would go back to Boon. Perhaps they would settle in Tellvan. All were welcome in the Sun-Blessed Desert, provided they kept to themselves and caused no trouble. They might even go to Rain. Xander had always wanted to visit those treetop villages.

Xander could train Kara to take advantage of Torn's rare blood far better than Anylus or any other mage in the Five Provinces. He should have insisted she come with him after Terras, but it had simply felt too soon. Kara had just returned from the Underside, desperate to save Ona, with her heart set on becoming the royal apprentice and building a life in Tarna.

How could Xander take that from her, squash her hopes and dreams? Kara deserved better, or so he had thought. Now she walked to her doom with a traitor and a demon, because of his decision. Xander had to find her, save her, and ensure no one ever hurt her again.

Soft footfalls sounded and Xander looked up, annoyed. Erius approached like a dog approached a much bigger dog. Head down and steps hesitant.

The Lifewarden’s obsequious respect bothered Xander. He was no great hero and he didn't appreciate being treated like one. Torn Honuron had been no saint, and his son wasn’t much better. Ran in the family.

“Beg pardon, Elder Honuron,” Erius said, “but the others wish to know if we'll be resuming our journey tonight.”

“We'll catch Kara soon enough.” Xander held Ona close. “Tell them to bed down. We have a hard day's ride ahead.”

Five knew Xander needed rest. A few hours in a bedroll with Ona would do wonders for his mood. Facing a Demonkin Soulmage would be difficult enough when fully rested.

No matter the perils ahead, Xander would rescue Kara. Nothing could stop that now, not Anylus, not the Mavoureen, not even the thrice-damned Underside. He was going to put his family back together.

Once he did, nothing would ever separate them again.

JYLLITH WAS MORE than a bit frustrated.

It had been days since Divad revealed his terrible plan, and Andar still had not returned. He had gone on a “hunting trip” with Klyde and several other soldiers — a euphemism for dealing with a Mynt patrol that had wandered too close to their town — and if he died out there, she would have no allies in her fight to stop this cult.

Taking meals and exchanging pleasantries with Divad and his people was the hardest part of her infiltration. It would be so much easier to just kill them all ... at least, everyone except Calun. If it came to that, Jyllith would dispatch Calun as mercifully as she could.

Twilight encroached on the stoop of Andar's office, where Jyllith had waited for almost an hour. After some debate and pride swallowing, she had decided to pretend she was sweet on Andar. A soldier had told her Andar would return by nightfall.

Andar did not return. Darkness fell and Jyllith stood. It was time for dinner at the cultist cabin, and Divad would miss her if she did not show. She slipped a note beneath Andar's door and strode away.

Jyllith's note laid out Divad's plot to sacrifice the village, but if Andar did not return before tomorrow night, he would never read it. Divad planned to open the Mavoureen gate two days from now, at dawn, and Jyllith
would
stop him. She would creep past Spike and murder Divad in his sleep.

She had almost reached the cabin when she heard sobbing. So what if someone was crying? It was none of her business and she couldn't help.

Yet that sobbing called to her. It sounded familiar because Jyllith had cried like that herself, missing her murdered family. She followed the sound behind the cabin. She found a boy pressing his head to his knees.

“Calun!” Jyllith gripped his shoulders and shook him, once. “What's happened? Are you all right?” Had Divad punished him for something?

Calun looked up at her. “Jyllith?” He threw his arms around her, sobbing even louder.

Jyllith went stiff as he clutched her tight. She let him hug her, even hugged him back, and felt the cold inside her thaw. Jyllith had never had a little brother — only sisters — and now, Calun had her wondering what a little brother might have felt like.

“He's lying.” Calun sniffled. “It's just a cruel trick. It has to be a trick!”

“Who's lying?” Jyllith asked.

“Xel.”

Jyllith felt a rush of anger. She eased Calun back so she could stare into his wet eyes. “What did Xel lie about?”

“He said demon jail doesn't exist.”

“Demon jail?” What was he talking about?

“Where people go,” Calun said. “When we make them into davengers. Their souls go to demon jail.”

Jyllith almost strangled him then. How could Calun be so blind, so
stupid
? As she stared into his earnest, wet eyes, she forced such thoughts away. Calun was, after all, only a boy.

“What exactly did Xel tell you?”

“He told me Divad lied. He told me the people we send to the Underside are tortured endlessly. He told me demons rip their faces off.” Calun stared at her with wide wet eyes. “The demons don't do that, do they? Torture people? They just put them in jail.”

Jyllith did not know whether to hug him or slap him, yet the deception made sense. Why
would
Divad tell his cultists the truth about demon glyphs? She saw now that Calun would never have made anyone into a davenger if he knew the truth. He could never live with the guilt.

Jyllith knew that guilt because it had almost driven her mad. She had known the people she sent to the Underside would be tortured, but she had thought them sociopaths and murderers. She had thought they deserved it and they most certainly had not.

Jyllith hugged Calun and stroked his hair until he calmed. She eased him away and sat beside him. “Tell me about demon jail.”