Demonkeepers (9 page)

Then he passed the first rack and discomfort gave way to some serious gawking. If he’d been moving under his own steam, he would’ve stopped at a row of carved heads with the smashed-in, crooked noses of pugilists or ballplayers. Or he would’ve poked through a rack of accordion-folded codices, almost certain to find stories, histories, maybe even poems and songs. Only a tiny fraction of the vibrant culture of the ancient Maya had survived through to modern day on Earth, and at that, most of the info came from versions of oral traditions that had been written down by Spanish missionaries in the fifteen hundreds.

Lucius’s soul sang the “Ode to Joy” at the sight of so many codices in one place. His body, though, kept walking until it stopped at the eighth rack in. Unbidden, his hand reached out to touch a stack of fig-bark pages that weren’t folded accordion-style, but rather were bound along one side with bark strips that had been soaked and bent, then threaded through holes bored down the left side of each page.

For all that it was made of fig bark, the thing looked like a spiral-bound notebook, jarringly modern in the ancient surroundings. The cover was unadorned, giving no hint to the volume’s contents.

A tremor ran through Lucius, though he wasn’t sure if it was foreboding or another onslaught of the fatigue he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore for much longer. He was back in control of his body, though; having gotten him where it wanted him to go, the magic had snapped out of existence. Which, given how the human Ouija routine had worked, suggested that the volume he was touching would tell him about the Prophet’s power.

“Cool. User’s manual.” If he was lucky.

Getting a geeky high off the buzz of discovery, he carefully turned back the cover page, wincing as bark grated against bark and the spiral binding stuck. Beneath the cover, the first page held a few lines of text done in black ink. That deep in the stacks, the torchlight was pretty diffuse, making it difficult at first for him to make out the glyphs. Then he realized it wasn’t the torchlight that was messing him up; it was his frame of reference. The writing wasn’t in Mayan hieroglyphics. It was in English, and it read,
I’m fading, my soul dying here as my body dies back on Earth. So pay attention, because if you’re reading this, then you’re already in deep shit. What I’ve written down here could save your life . . . if it’s not already too late.

Each Nightkeeper perceived the magic in a slightly different way, depending on how his or her brain worked. Strike saw his teleportation as a thin yellow thread connecting him to his destination. Sasha perceived the life forces of all living beings, their
ch’ul
, as different kinds of music. Jade, being more practical than poetic, thought of the barrier as a big-ass chat room. The gray-green mist was the lobby, and it wasn’t all that hard to get in if you knew what time the room would be open—the cardinal solstices and equinoxes, and a few other days of astronomical barrier activity—and what address to type in—the proper spell and blood sacrifice. The chat lobby was moderated by the bloodline
nahwal
, a group of dried-up stick people with apple-doll faces, who harbored the collected wisdom of each bloodline without the attendant personalities. Like god-mods in an exclusive chat room, the
nahwal
were sometimes visible to all of the barrier’s visitors at once, like during the Nightkeepers’ bloodline ceremonies. Alternatively, they could pull a specific mage into an offshoot room for a private chat, or they could kick users out of the chat entirely, either sending them back to their corporeal bodies or stranding them in limbo.

Jade didn’t mind being in the barrier; it was one of the few places she ever truly felt like a mage, and an asset. One of her greatest contributions to the Nightkeepers’ cause had been when her ancestral
nahwal
had given her a private message during one of the cardinal-day ceremonies, warning her that the Nightkeepers needed to collect the artifacts bearing the seven demon prophecies. The heads-up had allowed them to defend the barrier against Iago’s first major attack and had made Jade, albeit briefly, part of the team.

So yeah, she liked the barrier. And she liked visiting the squishy gray-green place . . . during the cardinal days. But this was only the new moon, and she didn’t command the sort of magic it would’ve taken to punch through the barrier on such a low- power day. None of the surviving Nightkeepers did. Even if she assumed her magic could’ve piggybacked onto Lucius’s library transport somehow, she hadn’t invoked the
pasaj och
spell required for a mage to enter the barrier. Which suggested that someone—or some
thing
—had summoned her.

“Hello?” she called into the mist, squinting in search of a wrinkled, desiccated humanoid figure. “Are you there?”

There was no answer. Just mist and more mist.

“Hello?” Frustration kicked through her. “What, you’re going to drag me in here, then ignore me? How is that fair?”

“Life’s not fair, child.” The words came from behind her, in a
nahwal
’s fluting, multitonal voice.

She whirled as the mist coalesced, thickening to reveal a tall, thin figure. As it stepped toward her, she saw the
ch’am
glyph of the harvester bloodline, that of an open, outstretched hand. But while that was as she had expected, the
nahwal
itself looked different than it had before. Instead of shiny, brownish skin stretched over ligament and bone, there seemed to be a thin layer of flesh between, making the
nahwal
look subtly rounded, bordering on feminine. More, its eyes, which before had been flat, featureless black, now bore gradations: There was a suggestion of charcoal-colored whites, with irises and pupils in darker gradations.

Unease tightened Jade’s throat. “What’s going on here?”

“You—” The
nahwal
started to answer, but broke off as it was gripped by a weird shudder. When it stilled, its face wore the neutral, expressionless mask she’d been expecting. More, its skin seemed to crinkle more tightly over its bones and the brief spark of personality she’d seen disappeared. In a multitonal voice it said, “Hear this, harvester child: You have a duty to your bloodline and your king. Do not seek to be more than you were meant to be. Going against the gods can only end badly.”

A hot flush climbed Jade’s throat as the
nahwal
’s words echoed the things Shandi had been saying for months now—years.
Your role was defined long ago
, the
winikin
kept insisting.
Don’t break with tradition when it’s all we have to go on
. And the last, at least, was true; the magi were being forced to rely on legend, routine, and the few scattered artifacts to tell them what they were supposed to do—and how to do it—in the triad years, the last three before the end-time.

But, damn it, she didn’t
want
to be a shield bearer.

Choosing her words carefully, all too aware that Rabbit had been attacked and nearly killed by a
nahwal
, she said, “With all due respect to my honored ancestors . . .” Saying it aloud, she realized that, deep down inside, she hadn’t really thought before about what, or rather
who
, the
nahwal
embodied. For a second, she was tempted to ask about her mother and father, to check if they were inside the
nahwal
somewhere, if they could talk to her. She didn’t, though, because she knew that the only
nahwal
to retain any personal characteristics was that of the jaguars, the royal bloodline. In that regard, the harvesters didn’t even come close to ranking. Taking a deep breath, she continued: “With all due respect, there are too few of us left to stand on bloodline tradition; each of us must do what we can for the fight.”

The
nahwal
started to say something, then stalled as a second whole-body shiver overtook it. The shellacked skin writhed like there were bugs under it, or worse. Caught between horrified fascination and revulsion, Jade took a step back even as the shivers stopped. When they were gone, the
nahwal
once again had pupils and emotion in its eyes, and a hint of feminine curves. “Yes, you must do all that you can and more,” it urged. “Be the most and best you can be, and don’t yield your own power to another, particularly a man. Don’t let emotion turn you aside from your true ambition, your true purpose. Find your magic, your way to make a difference.”

Shock and confusion rattled through Jade at this abrupt one-eighty from the “duty and destiny” rhetoric the
nahwal
had started with. “But I thought the harvesters—”

“Don’t just be a harvester,” the
nahwal
interrupted. “Be yourself.” Abruptly it surged forward and grabbed her wrist, its bony fingers digging into her flesh. “Find your magic,” it insisted. The place the
nahwal
was touching began to burn, and the gray-green mists around them roiled.

Through the billowing mist, Jade saw the
nahwal
twitch and shudder, felt it start to yank away, only to grip harder. “What’s happening?”

“Go,” the creature hissed at her, its eyes neither alive nor dead now, but somewhere in between. It let go of her and staggered back, moving jerkily.
“Go!”

The gray-green fog began spiraling around Jade, making her think of the funnel clouds several of the others had experienced within the barrier—terrible tornadoes that could suck up a mage and spit him or her into limbo. The others had escaped from their plights, but they were warriors with strong magic. She wasn’t. Yet even as panic began to build inside her, something else joined it: a spiky, electric heat that lit her up and blunted the fear. It felt like magic, but it wasn’t any sort of power she’d ever touched before. Had the
nahwal
given her a new talent? A glance at her wrist showed the same two marks as before—one hand outstretched as though begging, another clutching a quill. Those were the same bloodline and talent marks she’d worn since her first barrier ceremony. But the hot energy inside her was magic; she was sure of it.

Biting her tongue sharply, she drew a blood sacrifice. Pain flared, the salty tang filled her mouth, and a humming noise kindled at the base of her brain. For a split second, she thought she saw another layer of organization to the mist-laden barrier and the rapidly forming tornado—a layer of angles and structure, the metaphorical computer code beneath the cosmic chat room. Then the perception was gone and there was only the terrible funnel cloud that spun around her, threatening to suck her up. The mists whipped past her, headed for the gaping maw; wind dragged at her, yanking at her clothes and hair as she braced against the pull. Around her, within her, that strange, mad energy continued to whirl and grow. She wasn’t sure whether it was a memory or real, but she heard the
nahwal
cry, in what sounded like a lone woman’s voice, “
Go!
”

It was the same voice she’d heard before, telling her to beware.

She wanted to stay and demand answers, but didn’t dare. She had to get
out
of there. Spitting a mouthful of blood into the whipping wind, she threw back her head and shouted, “
Way!
”

This time, the response was instantaneous. Red-gold magic slashed through her, out of her, twisting the barrier plane in on itself and folding her in with it. Gray-green mist flew past and she had the disorienting sensation of moving at an incredible rate of speed, while also being conscious that she wasn’t physically moving at all. The sense of motion stopped with a sickening jolt, and she was lying sprawled on her back, still and chill, bathed in the rusty light from the flat-screen TV that took up most of one wall.

She was back in Lucius’s cottage, back in her own body.

And thank the gods for that
, she thought, blinking muzzily. She didn’t know how long she’d been out-of-body, or what time it was, though it was still full dark outside. The sense of emptiness in the room told her that Lucius wasn’t nearby. No doubt he’d made it back from the library and had gone to get Strike and the others, so they could wake her. Except that she’d awakened herself. She’d made it home.

She lay blinking for a moment, then let out a long, exultant breath and sat partway up. “I did it.” She’d cast the “
way
” spell by herself, had rescued herself from the barrier.
“I did it!”

More, the magic was still inside her. It hadn’t stayed behind in the barrier. And it was
showing
her things. Where before the glyphs on the TV screen had only hinted at another layer of meaning, she now saw that the text string wasn’t illiterate gibberish at all, but a fragment of a spell . . . or rather a blessing, she realized, though she didn’t know what would have been blessed, or why.

I’m a spell caster
, she thought, using the alternate meaning of the scribe’s talent mark, the one that had never before felt accurate. Her throat tightened with the raw, ragged joy of it.
Or if I’m not now, at least I’m heading in that direction
. The
nahwal
had triggered her talent. It seemed that Lucius wasn’t the only one to get a jump start tonight.

Still staring at the screen, as happy laughter bubbled up in her chest and stalled in her throat, she put down her hands, intending to push herself to her feet. Instead of finding the floor, though, she touched cold flesh.

Letting out a shriek, she yanked her hand back and spun, her heart going leaden in her chest.
“Lucius!”

He lay where he’d been before. Even in the reddish brown light his skin was an unhealthy gray, his lips blue. For a long second, she didn’t think he was breathing at all. Then his chest lifted in a slow, sluggishly indrawn breath. After another agonizing wait, it dropped as he breathed out.

“Lucius?” She reached out trembling fingers to check the pulse at his throat, steeling herself against the chill of his flesh. She couldn’t detect his heartbeat, but stemmed the rising panic.
If his heart weren’t beating, he wouldn’t still be breathing
. Instead of settling her, though, the thought brought images of animated corpses with glowing green eyes.

No
, she told herself harshly.
The
makol
is gone. Lucius isn’t. I won’t let him be.

Heart pounding, she scrabbled around, found the earpiece, and keyed it to transmit. “Hey, guys. Need some help in here.” Her voice was two octaves too high.

“Are you okay?” Jox asked immediately, his voice full of a
winikin
’s concern.

She tried to keep it factual, tried not to let her voice tremble. “Lucius is out and fading. I think we’re going to need Sasha, and maybe Rabbit.” Sasha could heal him. Rabbit, with his mind-bender’s talent, could follow where Lucius’s mind had gone. Maybe. Hopefully.
Please, gods
.

There was a murmur of off- mike conversation, and then the
winikin
said, “Sit tight. Strike and the others are on their way.”

“I’m on mike,” Strike broke in, the background sounds suggesting he was running. “Where is he stuck?” But they both knew he was really asking,
Did he make it to the library?

“I don’t know.” She sketched out a quick report of her and Lucius’s out- of-body jaunt to Xibalba. She’d tell the others about her solo trip to the barrier after she’d had a chance to think about it herself. By the writs, it was her right to keep her
nahwal
’s messages private, and she didn’t think her visit with the
nahwal
was relevant to the library. Beyond that, it had confused her. Some of what the
nahwal
had said made complete sense, and it seemed that the creature had given her the missing piece of her magic. But at the same time, some of what it had said jarred against Jade’s own instincts . . . although admittedly those instincts had been ingrained by Shandi, whose loyalty first and foremost was to the harvester bloodline, Jade had long ago decided, not necessarily to the needs and desires of her own charge. Which left her . . . where?