Legacy of the Demon (26 page)

There was no sign of Kadir and Paul, which only added weight to my suspicion that they were still on Earth. However, the oasis was by no means deserted. A half dozen still and silent shapes crouched on the roof, watching us with gleaming eyes. One hulking shadow spread his wings and issued an ugly hissing growl.

Pellini cursed. “Wouldn't mind having Sehkeril here as a little friendly backup.”

I had a very different feeling about that particular reyza, considering he'd ripped my bowels from my belly during the Symbol Man's ritual. But the nasty fucker had been one of Pellini's mentors, and so I kept my opinion of him to myself. “I think it's best that we don't stop to sightsee,” I said in a low voice, quickening my pace.

“Right,” Pellini muttered as he and Giovanni hurried along with me. “I keep telling myself that if we go straight to the grove we'll be fine. I don't want to find out what'll happen if I'm wrong.”

Fortunately, it took only a few more minutes to reach the entrance to the grove. White trunks lined each side of a broad, grassy passage beneath the sheltering canopy of the trees. I sighed in relief as we stepped into the tree tunnel, feeling as if a blanket of menace had dropped away. Beside me, Giovanni breathed something in Italian that was probably on the order of “fucking glad that's over.”

Sweet birdsong accompanied us down the avenue of trees
and to a clearing ringed by white trunks. I stopped in the center of the heart of the grove and gazed up at the shimmering violet and green leaves.

Leaves that never fell.

Warmth spread over my sternum, and I pressed my hand over the leaf that rested there. The familiar grove-sentience embraced me even as the branches stirred and the leaves whispered. But there was no wind. There were no words.

We didn't need words.

The warmth spread from my chest up through my head, along my arms, and down my legs. I closed my eyes, sank into the
feel
of the grove as I had so many times before, a delicious drifting meditation. Except this time awareness and understanding inundated me, a tidal wave of images and emotions and perceptions that saturated my entire being and rolled on. As it receded, I drifted.

Warmth prickled through me, and I slowly opened my eyes.

Pellini and Giovanni sat cross-legged with their backs against a tree, water bottles in hand.

“How long was I out?” I asked.

Pellini shoved his bottle into his rucksack and stood. “Only about ten minutes. I'd have shaken you out of it after thirty seconds if this one hadn't reined me in.” He nodded toward Giovanni.

“Elinor would spend time thus,” Giovanni said as he scrambled to his feet. “And I would rather wake a sleeping dragon than disturb her in the grove.”

“Smart man,” I said with a smile. Though I couldn't recall the specifics of my communion with the grove, it didn't matter. Not yet. I turned a slow circle, taking in the trees and the peace and birdsong. I understood so much more now. I'd assumed—and even been told—that the grove was a semi-sentient organic network, cultivated by the lords for instantaneous travel. But this wasn't just a bunch of magic trees who were all connected like a colony of aspens. The trees here and in the groves all over the planet were extensions of one
fully
sentient being. Even the tree in my back yard—an extension of the grove entity that I now understood had been sent to me with purpose.

Rho
. The entity's name was Rho. Peace. Harmony. Wisdom. With the worlds as screwed up as they were, I could do worse for an ally.

“Let's go, y'all,” I said. “Meditation break's over.”

Rho picked up my intended destination, and the grove shifted around us. A softer light, a different arrangement of white trunks, a whisper of breeze. I stood quietly for a moment, thanking Rho, then smiled to the others. “C'mon, let's go burgle the palace!”

I practically skipped up the tree tunnel, but once outside, I stumbled to a shocked halt. To the distant east, the chasm that had opened centuries ago during Elinor's cataclysm belched greasy smoke to form a gloomy pall over the entire landscape. Szerain's palace rose before us, not even a hundred yards away from the low valley that cradled the grove. But one entire side of the palace was now a crumbled heap, and the surrounding woods that only months before had been thick and verdant, now stood bare and burned like blackened spikes. I turned a slow circle, shuddering with grief as I took in the devastation wreaked by fire rain. Though the grove remained untouched, every other living thing in sight had been reduced to char, from the palace all the way over the rolling hills and up into the once-forested mountains.

Yet at the edge of the mountains, the pale columns of an Ekiri pavilion shimmered amidst the destruction, visible now that the shrouding forest was gone. And between the grove and the palace, a small but lofty building of honey-colored stone stood undamaged, bounded by a swath of bright green grass dotted with the blue and gold of wildflowers. A tiny measure of relief stole through me. That stone building was Szerain's plexus, and the powerful arcane protections encompassing it meant the ancient savik, Turek, was still alive and guarding it.

A low moan of horror came from behind me. I spun to see Giovanni sink to his knees, distress carved into his face. Though, I'd warned him about the unpleasant changes to the palace, nothing could have prepared him for the scene that lay before us.

“I'm so sorry. The fire rain . . . .” My throat tightened, and I couldn't continue.

Giovanni's mouth worked, eyes swimming with devastation and shock as he lifted a trembling hand. “The . . . west wing?” he finally managed.

My stomach dropped as my gaze settled on the rubble. Sonofabitch. “W-we can search the rest of the palace. C'mon, we need to get moving.”

Pellini took hold of Giovanni's arm and hauled him to his feet, then we all quick-marched up the char-covered path to the palace, every step stirring fine soot that scraped at the backs of our throats. Yet when we reached the broad doors, powerful warding barred our entry.

Dismay rose as I skimmed the complex sigils. “Maybe we can get in through the broken walls.”

Pellini thumped me on the arm. “Kara, look.”

I followed his gaze, appalled to see a luminescent puke-green cloud forming above the chasm and expanding our way. “Fire rain,” I breathed, pulse slamming. I instinctively swung my attention to the palace doors in case the wards had somehow magically disappeared, then scanned the vicinity for the closest shelter. No way could we make it back to the grove in time, especially with the horrific cloud doubling in size every few seconds and racing our way as if drawn.

“The plexus!” I choked out then spurred the others into a run toward the structure. As we ran, I risked a look over my shoulder. Yellow-green fire rain hissed down, sizzling as it struck. Ahead of me, Pellini kept a good pace, surprisingly less winded than Giovanni.

“Turek!” I shouted as we neared. The plexus was heavily warded, and it would suck rotten demon guts to end up trapped outside. “Turek! It's Kara.”

From within the plexus, a lithe, seven-foot-tall reptilian demon leaped through the doorway to land on the path in front of the steps. Turek—six-limbed and upright, resembling a black-skinned, emerald-scaled crocodile with a splash of wolf thrown in. Between us shimmered a veil of wards that might as well have been a titanium wall.

“Turek! Let us in!” I grabbed Giovanni's arm and dragged him faster, yet Turek didn't move. A scant dozen feet behind us, the ground smoked and popped as the caustic rain struck. We
stumbled to a stop before the veil, breathing hard. A furnace of heat swept over my back. “Turek, we're out of time here!”

The ancient savik's purple eyes rested on each of us for a heartbeat then fixed on Giovanni. Before I could blink, the veil parted, and Turek seized him by the throat and drag-carried him toward the structure.

“No!” I leaped after them with Pellini on my heels, even as a droplets of molten death burned through the air inches behind us. The veil snapped into place with a whoosh, shielding us from the fire rain.

With two of his four hands, Turek pinned Giovanni to the plexus wall and leaned in close, saliva dripping from his toothy, elongated jaw. Carved sigils flickered to life in the honey-gold stone. Giovanni cried out in shock as Turek dug the claws of a third hand into his belly, hard enough to draw blood.

My overstressed brain finally clicked into gear. Turek had no reason to think this could be the real Giovanni. “He's not an imposter!” I put a hand on Turek's arm, though I knew better than to waste energy trying to pull him away. “This
is
Giovanni, I swear it.”

“Dahn,” Turek growled. “Giovanni Racchelli died in the cataclysm.” He spoke with a prominent guttural click-pause of his hard ‘c' and ‘k' sounds, giving his speech a cadence that made his English sound alien.

“She speaks truth,” Giovanni croaked through the grip on his throat. “Remember . . . remember the spring when you helped me find the midnight sparkler flowers for Elinor?”

“I forget nothing.” Turek flicked out his tongue, pitch black and sinuous, and licked Giovanni's cheek in what I hoped was a demon version of a DNA test. “What came to pass when you gifted Elinor the blooms?”

A weak smile struggled across Giovanni's face. “She began to sneeze and could not stop until I removed all trace of the flower and Lord Szerain attended her.”

“The ways were sealed after the cataclysm,” Turek said in a thoughtful rumble. The glow in the wall-sigils faded, and he eased his grip to release the pale and shaken Giovanni. “Hundreds of your kind died and discorporeated. Yet as there was no conduit for them to pass through to Earth, all were thus consumed by the void.”

“Except Giovanni, who had good reason to hold on for centuries,” I said quietly. “Elinor.”

Turek dipped his head in a nod then murmured to himself in demon,
And now I understand so much more.
He remained still for several heartbeats then abruptly swept Giovanni off his feet and into a four-armed hug. “It pleases me that you are whole and well,” he said, “though I see you are still bony and weak.”

Giovanni wheezed a laugh, feet dangling as he returned the embrace. “I am whole, apart from the pinpricks left upon my person by your feeble attempt to disembowel me.”

Turek hissed with amusement and set Giovanni carefully down. “And why have you come to this beleaguered realm?” His keen eyes fixed on me.

“Because Elinor is alive, too.” I proceeded to give him the quick and dirty rundown of that whole situation, including the business with the Elinor dreams and her current location in lockdown at Fed Central in Xharbek's tender loving care. I finished by telling him of my decision to summon a Jontari warlord, fully expecting Turek to echo the other “are you nuts?” reactions. But when I explained the incredible strength of the graphene net, and my idea to use one in addition to arcane bindings, he let out a hissing snort.

“No Jontari will expect physical restraint.”

I smiled, relieved. “My thoughts exactly. It should give me the advantage I need.” My gaze flicked toward the palace, and I winced. “Only problem is, we need gold to trade for the net. Since the west tower is gone, can you tell us where we can borrow some statues or other art?”

“There are none in the palace that would serve your need, Kara Gillian,” he said, shaking his wide head. “Statuary, yes. But none of gold.”

My heart sank. “What about silver? Or platinum?”

“Dahn. Sesekur dih lahn. There is but stone and wood.”

Shit. I plunked to sit on the steps. Fire rain splattered and hissed against Turek's dome of protective warding with no sign of abating. “I guess we'll have to implement Plan B and loot gold décor from Rhyzkahl's palace.”

Turek growled. “The Jontari Sky Reaper clans overran the demesne of the shamed one a mere eight thousand two hundred and thirty-three heartbeats after Mzatal departed for Earth. It is inaccessible.”

I gave my head a sharp shake as if I could dispel this unpleasant situation. “Eight thousand two hundred . . .”

“A little under two and a half hours,” Pellini said quietly.

I blinked at him, briefly distracted from my disappointment by how fast he'd whipped out the conversion. “Um, thanks.” Mzatal had been on my nexus yesterday morning. “Shit. That means they've had plenty of time to get settled. No way could we get in and survive, and they've probably looted the gold for themselves already. Guess we're stuck with Plan F. Great. Looks like we're going to scrape gold off Mzatal's walls.”

“Fifty pounds worth.” Pellini shuddered. “Man, that gold leaf shit is like tissue paper. That'll be a long, miserable job.”

“Doesn't look as if we have a choice,” I said, throat tight with frustration. “Fuck. It was Plan
F
because it was the absolute last resort. Even with arcane help from demons, we'll be hard pressed to get it done and make it back in time for Bryce to finalize the deal tonight.”

Giovanni touched my arm tentatively. “Szerain . . . has other gold,” he said in a strangled voice, expression agonized. Turek let out a strange whine, as if he knew what Giovanni referred to.

“Where?” I asked.

His throat worked. “Long, long ago, he created eleven discs of gold. Nearly pure. Each disc is embossed with exquisite imagery, the fruit of a century of labor . . . and his genius.” His shoulders sagged. “They are deeply precious to him.”

I took a moment to process the stark difference in the young artist's demeanor from the anger that had driven him up until this point. Though Giovanni was furious with Szerain, he wouldn't callously destroy Szerain's most precious work.

“We'll think of something else,” I said, but I couldn't hide my uncertainty. “Maybe one of the other lords can help. Seretis, maybe. Or Elofir.”

Turek huffed. “Only Rhyzkahl and Szerain amass gold. Szerain for art, and Rhyzkahl to feed his lust for opulence.”

Giovanni's expression turned bleak. “It seems the discs are the only hope for Elinor.” He scrubbed his hands over his face. “Please . . .”

“Then I guess we'll have to use the discs,” I said with a tight, forced smile. “Isn't that peachy. I get to be the chick who melts down the Ark of the Covenant.”

“Dahn!” Turek roared. He stretched to his full height, clawed hands crooked as if poised to rip flesh apart. “This iniquity shall
not
come to pass.” With each word, the protective dome flickered.

I scrambled to my feet and fought the instinctive urge to get
the hell away from him. Instead, I jerked my chin up and planted my hands on my hips. “Fuck your iniquity!” I yelled back, channeling my frustration and desperation. Turek hissed menacingly, but I barreled on before he could do more than roar at me. “You're essence bound to Szerain, right? Well, your bro is in deep shit. He's hiding from Xharbek in a dimensional pocket, and it's only a matter of time before Xharbek locates him, breaks through, and has him in his grasp.” My blood pounded in my ears. “I can help Szerain. I truly believe that. Except that I
can't
because I keep getting blindsided by dream-visions of Elinor's life, thanks to Szerain sticking her essence onto mine. In order to have any hope of rescuing Szerain, I need to shut Elinor up, which means I need to rescue her first, which means I need to summon a Jontari imperator, which means I need a graphene net, which means I need fifty pounds of motherfucking pure gold
now
!”

Turek very slowly lowered his hands but remained silent, eyes on me in a manner that seemed both disapproving and aggressively reproachful.

“Oh, and, um.” I cleared my throat, feeling abruptly self-conscious after my impassioned tirade. “I was also hoping you'd come back with us and help make contact with Szerain.”

The demon didn't speak for another dozen heartbeats then finally rumbled a low, “Kri.”

“Er. ‘Kri'? Yes?” My brow furrowed. “To which part?”

“I will grant you the discs, Kara Gillian,” he said. “And I will go to Earth to seek Szerain.”

My knees wobbled in relief. “Really? Oh man, thanks. You have no idea—” I stopped at Turek's
hsst
—a sound that meant
stop talking
in every language ever.

The savik eyed me for a moment more, then he lifted all four hands before him, as if in supplication. The air above his palms shimmered and coalesced into three gold discs in each hand. Twelve discs, not eleven.
Called from a dimensional pocket
, I realized. Stored in the same manner as the essence blades. They remained ever so slightly transparent, as if Turek hadn't
quite
called them fully in. Each was about the size of a CD, but nearly a half inch thick. Delicate runes I didn't recognize adorned the edges, and the sculpted face of a different lord gazed from each of eleven discs, so exquisite I wouldn't have been at all surprised to hear one speak. The face on the twelfth was unfinished, with ghostly hints of features waiting to be born.

Giovanni lifted his hand toward them. “They . . . have changed. He has breathed life into them.”

“They're incredible,” I murmured. How the hell could I even think of melting these down?

“Szerain must be freed, Kara Gillian,” Turek said, voice low and adamant, as if he could divine the direction of my thoughts.

I sighed out a breath and nodded. “Right. Priority one.”

Giovanni gazed at the discs, his face drawn down in an expression of misery. Pellini leaned in for a closer look. “Maybe we should weigh them to make sure there's enough.”

Turek slammed both pairs of hands together, and the discs vanished. “The quantity is sufficient, disciple of Kadir,” he hissed. “I will not call forth the twelve again until the time comes to relinquish them for the net.”