Legacy of the Demon by Diana Rowland
While I maintained a barrage of taunts as a distraction, I worked my true purpose under their cover. The prickling flared, and I pressed my palm against my chest. Mzatal, I called.
Though he didn’t answer, I sensed him, like feeling the presence of someone in the room with you, even though they remain silent and out of sight. Yet my elation faded within the span of a heartbeat. It was Mzatal, but not as I’d ever felt him before. Subdued. Watery rather than molten earth fiery.
It was an abomination. Ilana. Ilana had reduced him to this, dimmed the light of his essence. My rage could have scorched the seas, but that wasn’t what I needed. Instead I poured my love and my heart into the thread of connection.
Mzatal. You are Mzatal. I am here. We will not let those bastards win.
I repeated it over and over as a mantra of will and truth, all the while taunting Xhan in order to keep the channel open and alive.
Hundreds or thousands of iterations in, the ghost-touch of Mzatal fluttered through my consciousness. His touch faded within a heartbeat, but one word remained.
Zharkat.
One word, one concept, one truth that none could strip from us. One word that told me he’d received and embraced my message.
A mantle of peace settled over me like a soft fall of leaves, and I drifted into sleep.
Chapter 33
My alarm dutifully went off at two a.m., and I forced myself out of bed before I could even consider the merits of more sleep. In a perfect world I’d have grabbed a quick shower to finish waking up, but I settled for dunking my face in a sink full of cold water. Same effect in a fraction of the time.
Pellini was already awake when I went to rouse him, and agreed to meet me at the nexus in ten minutes. After a brief search, I found Michael dozing on the back porch swing with Turek laid out at his feet like a giant six-legged alligator. I felt a brief stab of guilt that Michael wasn’t in a proper bedroom, then I saw the blanket tucked around him and realized there was absolutely no way my security people would have allowed him to sleep outside unless he’d expressly wished to do so. Besides, it was a lovely cool night, and he had Turek watching over him.
I crouched by the demon. “Any news?” I asked quietly.
He lifted his head, eyes luminescent violet in the shadows. “Michael glimpsed Szerain, but dwelt not long in the vision. We await your direction.”
“Will you be able to contact Szerain once we pinpoint his location?”
“Our essence bond is strong,” he hissed. “I will reach him.”
“Dak lahn, honored one.” A knot of tension unwound. “If you could wake Michael and bring him to the nexus in the next few minutes, we’ll begin.”
“It shall be done, summoner.” Turek’s manner and tone left no doubt that it would, indeed, be done.
With my compatriots awake and making ready, I limped across Rhyzkahl’s orbit. He sat with his back against the grove tree, eyes closed, and softly dappled with moonlight filtered through the leaves. The effect softened his features, making him look less imposing and more approachable. Though he didn’t so much as twitch when I stepped onto the nexus, I didn’t assume for an instant that he was asleep.
The super-shikvihr undulated with softly shifting colors around the center of the nexus, reassuring in its steady strength. I moved to the opposite side of the tree from Rhyzkahl and placed both hands on its trunk. The other times I’d come to the tree, I simply basked in the grove aura to absorb the subtle energy and often intangible benefits. My approach this time was far more direct.
Rho, honored grove, I need your support to reach Szerain. Whatever aid you offer, I receive with gratitude.
Warmth flooded my hands, flowed up my arms and through my body, driving off the slight chill. The pain in my knee eased from barely tolerable to nonexistent, and an unequivocal sense of support suffused me. With a wordless expression of gratitude, I stepped back, surprised to see that Rhyzkahl had retreated to the patch of irises near his house, and Pellini, Michael, and Turek were standing in the grassy ring beside the nexus, obviously waiting for me to be ready.
I grimaced. “How long was I standing here?”
“It’s been three days,” Pellini said. “We were getting hungry.”
I laughed and gestured toward the sky. “I call bullshit. The moon phase hasn’t shifted one tiny bit.”
He shrugged. “Well, I am getting hungry.”
“We’ll have a pancake party for breakfast,” I said with a grin then passed through the shikvihr ring to the center of the nexus. Within the vortex of power, the pull of the moon became tangible, like a gentle updraft. I motioned the others to me and circled up with them in the midst of the power. The demon stood tall with both pairs of hands locked together before him while Pellini looked as relaxed and easy-going as if this was a daily occurrence. Michael fidgeted, eager and excited.
“Okay, let’s get this ball rolling,” I said, clapping my hands together. “Pellini, you do whatever it is we pay you to do.” I paused briefly at his amused snort then continued, “Michael, you look for Szerain. Turek, I’ll arcanely follow Michael’s gaze and create and hold open a conduit for you to communicate.” Easy, right? “I’ll get the—”
“I see him!” Michael shouted.
Crapsticks. I wasn’t even close to being ready.
“He’s all lonely walking back and forth with dark all around,” Michael went on. “He looks like he needs a nap.”
My knee-jerk reaction was to hurry and lay the conduit before Michael lost the vision, but my inner Responsible Summoner pointed out that forging ahead without the proper groundwork was not only a way to guarantee failure but dangerous to everyone involved. “Don’t focus too hard,” I said, keeping my voice calm and reassuring as I worked the needed preparations. “I need you to keep seeing him for about a minute more, okay?”
“I’m trying, but it’s all wiggly with stars and hard to look at long.”
“Hold steady for as long as you can.” My original plan to form a conduit relied on Michael maintaining a stable and reliable vision for several minutes. Gut instinct told me that wasn’t going to happen, which meant it was time for a change of plan. “Pellini, follow my lead and reinforce.” Working as quickly as I dared, I placed knots of potency along Michael’s line of sight, like tying string around trees to mark a path through the woods.
“I can’t do it anymore, Kara!” Michael’s voice quavered with distress.
“It’s okay, you can let it go now.” I gave him a warm smile. “You did great!”
Michael sagged as the pathway shut down, and Pellini lowered him to sit. My focus stayed locked onto the potency knots. As I’d hoped, they remained as a faint but perceptible trail, and I proceeded to run threads of potency from knot to knot, until I had an arcane strand that ran from the center of the nexus to where Michael had seen Szerain.
“All right, that part’s done,” I said. “Turek, can you feel him through the strand?”
The demon lowered his head. “I have reached him, but his response is dampened to impressions only.”
Right. Because a nice, easy, two-way communication was obviously too much to ask for. I mentally flipped the universe a middle finger. “That’s okay,” I said as if I believed it. “We can make this work. Tell Szerain I’m set to do the Dekkak summoning at the height of the full, at 11:23 p.m. tonight. But I don’t have the gimkrah. Does that change anything?” Like, has he come up with a plan that doesn’t involve me dancing with an ancient killer demon?
Turek’s nostrils flared. “The impression I sense is to ask all and tell all with haste, then wait.”
In other words, we didn’t have time for a leisurely back-and-forth. “Did he get stuck away from the others? Is the plan still on for me to set the bunker diagrams and bring everyone home once I have Elinor? How soon? The Jontari have the master gimkrah. Lannist is dead. I have Elinor’s journal
The demon went still while I fed potency into the strand to maintain contact. A good thirty seconds later, he lifted his head. “I have transmitted the information, but know not if it was received in full.”
“It’s a darn good start.” I tried to sound cheerful and upbeat even though my nerves jangled. I hadn’t realized until now just how badly I wanted Szerain’s reassurance that we were on the right track and good to go with what little plan we had.
The strand of potency abruptly flared then burned away like a fuse on dynamite. Aghast, I swung my full attention to the demon. “Did you get an answer?” My voice shook. “Anything at all?”
“Secrets,” Turek hissed. “Nothing more.”
I shook my head in confusion. “Secrets? That doesn’t make any sense.” Frustration and despair rose in a choking wave. All of this effort for one cryptic word? No answers. No advice. Just secrets.
Pellini softly cleared his throat. “Did y’all have a secret hideout or handshake or something? Maybe it’s a clue.”
A caustic retort boiled up, but I choked it back as his words triggered a memory.
A spiral notebook appearing out of thin air.
“You need to teach me that trick some day.”
“How can I amaze and mystify if I give away my secrets?”
My pulse pounded with relief and excitement. “Secret hideout is right. Pellini, you just earned your pancake party.”
“Glad to hear it,” he said with a chuckle. “So, where is the hideout?”
“Right here,” I replied, spreading my hands. “He’s using a dimensional storage pocket as a drop site. For a reply to my questions, I hope.”
“Do you know how to get into one of those things?”
“Umm, I’m working on that part.” I chewed my lower lip as I considered. The situation felt like the kind of trick questions where the answer was obvious to everyone but me. Except Szerain knew me. No way would he use a drop site I couldn’t access, which meant he felt certain that I’d figure out how to reach into the dimensional pocket.
Relaxing, I called to mind the familiarity of Szerain. Of Ryan. A smile tugged at my mouth. He’d probably store his secret messages in something silly and nerdy, like a Star Wars lunchbox.
Exactly. Okay, not exactly. But the image carried the perfect Szerain-Ryan-secret-hiding-place resonance I needed as a focal point.
I fixed the concept of a Star Wars lunchbox in my head, Darth Vader on the front and Princess Leia on the side, blaster at the ready. My hand reached into that lunchbox.
And closed on something solid. “Holy shit,” I breathed, staring at the notebook in my grasp. “I did it.”
“Holy shit,” Pellini echoed with a laugh. “So you did.”
The notebook was plain, blue, and spiral-bound—and sealed with a ward woven from rakkuhr. Bracing myself against the odd feel of the potency, I unwound and dissipated the seal then opened the notebook.
The first thirty or so pages were taken up with sketches, but I forced myself to flip past them. A few pages from the back, I found Szerain’s answers to my questions written in an exquisite cursive.
I couldn’t return to the others without risking them.
Trust yourself. You have all that you need for the summoning. You have the use of a lord’s power. Be lordy.
I will attempt to distract Xharbek during the time of the summoning in order to draw his attention from you.
After the summoning, and once you have Elinor, cleanse the nexus and set the three bunker diagrams. Keep Elinor on the nexus and within the diagrams. Reach for us precisely two hours after the peak of the full moon. We will be ready.
Be wary of all the demahnk, save perhaps Helori. Zakaar is cut off and cannot track their current agendas.
Activate and memorize this:
A delicate arrow pointed to an odd little knot of rakkuhr attached to the paper right below “memorize.”
Use it if—when—you want Dekkak to pay close attention to what you’re saying.
All right, I could follow directions. I activated the knot of rakkuhr, watched as the potency resolved into a three-dimensional hologram-type thing. As far as I could tell it was a depiction of interlocking loops of pygah. As I carefully memorized it, I expected to understand something of its purpose, as was the norm with the mental tracing of any other arcane construct, but I gleaned absolutely nothing. Not the slightest hint of what this thing was or how it was meant to get Dekkak’s attention. Hell, it could be a clown with a water pistol for all I knew.
Still, I mentally filed it away, confident that Szerain wouldn’t have wasted time on it unless it could somehow prove useful.
“This is what I needed,” I said, looking up at the others with gratitude. “I can’t thank you enough for all of your help.”
Turek hissed acknowledgment before leaping off the nexus and into the shadows of the woods. Pellini helped Michael to his feet then clapped me on the back.
“I haven’t forgotten the pancake party,” he said, “but the circles under your eyes are darker than the slab. I’ll get Michael settled. You go back to bed.”
I shook my head. “I need to find Jill first.”
“She went with Bryce to make the exchange for the net.” Pellini glowered, as if daring me to come up with another stupid excuse.
As if I’d waste a Kara Gillian Clever Retort on him. And totally not because I was so wiped out I couldn’t think of a single thing to say that wasn’t “Oh, okay.” I finally settled on a very smart and witty nod, then I marched off the nexus and to my bed.
Though fatigue had a firm grip on my eyelids, I took a moment to look through Szerain’s sketches. As I paged through the notebook, tears filled my eyes. Dozens upon dozens of sketches of Ashava, documenting her life—and growth—over the past two months.
Szerain gave me these on purpose, I realized, throat tight with emotion. He could have easily torn out and passed just the one page that held his notes and the rakkuhr knot, but he’d captured these moments and delivered the entire notebook so that Jill could have a badly needed glimpse of her daughter.
Damn. I wanted to show these to her in person, but she wouldn’t be back for several hours yet. And it didn’t feel right to just leave them out for her to find when she got home. No, as soon as I woke up, I’d hunt her down.
I turned the page for the next sketch then stared. Instead of Ashava, it was Elinor, smiling and full of life. But what sent my heart thumping was the note below it in Szerain’s hand.
Kara, Elinor is my daughter.
“Are you shitting me?!” I fumbled the page over to see if there was more but found only blank space. The Elinor sketch was the last one.
I’m going to punch him, I mused in quiet shock. I’ll rescue everyone from their stronghold and then, kapow, I’ll deck Szerain right there on the nexus. The jerk had time enough in the dimensional pocket to mess with me about an Amkir ancestry, but he couldn’t tell me this?
Elinor smiled up at me. My outrage drained away. In his place, I’d have done the same—tossed a note and ran, rather than open a fifty-five gallon drum of worms. He’d killed her. Bladed her. Had he known of their relationship at the time? Either way, it was a subject fraught with too many emotions to name.
With the utmost care, I tore out that page and the one with the answers to my question, set the notebook on the nightstand and slipped the two pages into the drawer.
As I reached to turn off the lamp, I saw the voicemail light blinking on my phone. Idris had called at 2:13 a.m., right when I was getting started on the nexus.
“Hey, Kara. Guess y
Well, that sucked. Eight hours there and back, and demon sea battles were notorious for lasting the better part of a day. Plus, it was a minimum of twelve hours travel time from Korea to Louisiana—and that was if he could jump right onto a fast military transport heading straight here.
“On a related note, I called in a few favors, and I’m sending you pics of some old documents that were found near Puryong. I didn’t have much time to look over them, and they’re not in English, but I think they might pertain to your current project. The encryption keys are the tower with the cracks and the scumbag whose balls you crushed near there.”
I grinned. Trust Idris to remember that.
“Be careful, Kara. You’re special to me. I’ll be there as soon as I can.”
“You’re special to me, too,” I murmured.
After I dried my eyes, I pulled up his email. The south tower of Szerain’s palace held a room with eleven strange cracks. And it was Amkir whose nuts I’d crushed during the battle to get the essence blade, Vsuhl.
“Nice going, Idris,” I breathed as I scanned the pictures. The documents were old, faded, and in a language I couldn’t read, but several of the drawings were almost certainly binding sigils. Every bit of ammo helped.
I forwarded the pics to Jill for possible translation then killed the light, closed my eyes, and dropped right off to sleep.