Demonkin (14 page)

“Sometimes.” Had she smiled? “I won't deny that I've considered the less romantic benefits of our relationship as well. Should you join us, we'll be part of the same order, which means I don't have to keep things from you.”

“Right.” That made sense. That made a whole lot of sense.

“I know the secret of your journey to Terras, which means you don’t need to hide things from me, either. There’s more than a few calculated benefits. But my attraction came first, not the other way around.”

“I know.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.” Aryn decided to start digging himself out of his hole. “And, just so we're clear, I'm interested in you because everything you've done since we met shows me you're talented, level-headed, and intelligent. Not because you're the first woman to speak to me since I returned.”

“I’m so relieved.” Tania sat back. “For now, accept that I'm your teacher and friend. Trust me, and if more comes from that, we'll both benefit.”

“You make a great deal of sense.” Aryn breathed deep. “I’m sorry. For questioning this, and for doubting your motives.”

“You can apologize again later.” Her tone grew lighter. “First, I have a question for you. I've told you quite a bit about myself and you've seen enough to draw conclusions. So tell me. What is it we do?”

Aryn pushed away the heat of her kiss, his guilt about doubting her, and the tingle caused by her hand in his. She was trying to muddle his mind and he could not have that. He focused on the facts he knew.

Tania was sworn to Valar, who, from the deference his name raised among the Mynt army, must serve King Haven directly. Tania had trained at a magic academy and fought both Mavoureen and Demonkin — Aryn was certain of that now. She and every other person with her could also see the Demonkin taint on another's soul, in the dream world.

“You hunt Demonkin,” Aryn said.

“Why don't we talk about it?”

“Because you don't trust the magic academies.” Aryn frowned as he spoke. “King Arden made the decree that any mage who uses demon glyphs, or aids one who does, must be put to death.”

Aryn remembered Sera and what he would do, even now, to stop someone like Tania from finding her. He remembered how Kara had lied to Prince Beren about Terras. Everyone who loved Sera had lied for her, and why would friends of other Demonkin be any different?

“You enforce the dead king's laws because his son, King Haven, doesn't trust Solyr's elders or its students to do so. They’re too close to the problem. Therefore, no one in the academies can know you exist.”

“If I sent you to kill Sera,” Tania asked, “could you do it?”

“No. Do I fail?”

“You're simply being honest, which you must always be with me. The fastest way to be thrown out of our order is to lie to me or Valar.”

Aryn nodded.

“Besides,” Tania said, “you'd never be in that situation. I’d send someone else. That's why Valar send Ilan to kill my brother.”

Another piece fell into place. “That's why you swore never to come back.” Aryn understood her sadness better now.

“I said awful things to Valar after he had Kal murdered. I swore I'd never serve him again, even though I knew why Kal had to die. Kal scribed demon glyphs. He killed the bastard that took our parents.”

“Kal was your brother?”

“My youngest and only.”

“And when you walked out, Valar let you live?”

“I earned Valar's trust above all others, even those like Ilan. We're a small group. Valar knows I would never betray him, even to save my own life.” Tania settled her working hand on her knee. “You'll swear the same to him, someday, if you survive what's ahead of you.”

Aryn mulled that over. “Why me?”

“You've seen the Underside. You've faced Demonkin. You have no one the demons can hold over you and you're one of the bravest men I've ever met. You can see into the dream world, and you can use a staff almost as well as me.”

Aryn smiled. “Almost.”

“One last question and then we're done with this cellar.” Tania stood. “If I told you a man stood outside that door, a man who had scribed demon glyphs but not yet turned, could you go murder him right now?”

Aryn stood as well. “Why did he scribe the glyphs?”

“You can't know that.

“I have to.”

“All you can know is he broke the law and he's a threat to our province. There is no cure for the Demonkin curse. If you don't kill him, his body will turn into something horrible, and the Mavoureen will torture his soul for an eternity we can’t put in words.”

“I don't know if I could murder someone based on that alone.”

Tania led him to the door. “Good.”

“Good?” He followed. “That's not the right answer.”

“There is no right answer. There's just your duty and the law, and you must learn to balance those in your heart. Once you do, you'll become like me.
Andux orn
.”

“Demon Slayer.” Aryn translated from the ancient language. “That's ... rather dramatic.”

“I know. I like it too.” Tania opened the door. “Now come. We're going to speak with King Haven.”

“To find Kara.” Aryn felt a surge of relief.

“That too. Also, I'd really like to get my arm fixed.”

THE SUN WAS LOW ON THE CALM SURFACE of Pale Lake when Jyllith Malconen and her brave new horse descended into the foothills surrounding the lake. She had bought the horse at Highridge Keep using her stolen coins, and though the animal had a name, she had not asked it. She would not be keeping it much longer anyway. Davengers loved fresh horses, and this one deserved better than being torn apart.

Ahead of her and beyond the flat surface of Pale Lake stretched a mountain range known as the Green Ridge. Trees clung to the west side of the mountains, facing the verdant grasslands of Rain, and were sparse to the east, facing the great Tellvan deserts. Constant storms from the western sea blew in over the thick jungles far to the west, home to the tree dwelling Children of the Forest. Few storms crossed the Green Ridge.

The small town of Knoll Point would be near the foot of the larger mountains, easily another half day's ride. Jyllith was more than a week gone from Terras and had perhaps seven days to complete her mission. She would discover how these Demonkin had opened a portal to the Underside, discover how to close it, and end them.

Then she would kill herself.

As the setting sun lit the lake she sensed her twin davengers stalking the forests, ranging ahead and behind. They had killed no one since she stole them from Malkavet, and she was grateful they did not need to feed or rest. Demon corpses required no sustenance and killed because they enjoyed it. It took constant vigilance to keep them off her oblivious horse.

Once she reached the start of the rise leading into the mountains she dismounted, leg muscles tight. She could not ride the horse up this terrain and each step sent knives through her knotted legs. Riding for twelve hours a day was tough, even for trained soldiers.

It was time to make camp. Jyllith hated stopping, but she would only injure herself or her horse in the dark or worse, push one of them beyond their limits. She also had to eat something, even if she had no appetite. The demon clawing at the inside of her head left her nauseated.

Dusk fell by the time she prepared her camp. She left her horse hobbled and stalked away before calling her davengers — no need to terrify the poor animal. Her demons bounded up, snorting and pawing the grass like excited dogs. Jyllith tried not to think about what the Mavoureen were doing to the souls of these corrupted people.

“You.” Jyllith pointed at the first davenger, slightly smaller than the second. “Range one hundred paces to the west. If you find animals, ignore them. If you find humans, come back to me. Go.”

The davenger bobbed its horned head and loped off up the forested hill. From the distance, one might mistake it for a massive wolf. She hoped no one got closer than that.

“You.” Jyllith pointed at the second demon. “Range—”

A blast of demon hate assaulted her mind as something burst from the copse behind her. She spun in time to see the wide, slavering jaws of another davenger. She had no time to glyph, no time to take cover or run away.

So much for stopping this Demonkin cult.

Jyllith’s davenger slammed into the attacker. The two of them snarled, hissed, and rolled across the muddy hill. They could almost be dogs fighting over a bone if not for the black blood spewing from each new wound and the hellish, sawblade shrieks that filled the forest. They tore each other apart.

Jyllith's davenger was done for, no matter the outcome. Her murder of Malkavet had confirmed that Mavoureen regenerated at a freakish pace, but not when wounded by their own. Neither davenger would recover.

She took the dream world and scribed Fingers of Breath as she searched for the demon's master. A single orange dream form knelt in the copse that had hidden the davenger. A Demonkin who wanted her dead.

Jyllith launched her Fingers of Breath and then flexed her arms out and in. That curved her vortexes so they tore up clumps of pine needles and shredded the bark off the trees of the copse. Her attacker screamed as bark needles shredded their chest and face. They collapsed.

Jyllith turned to her davenger and found it losing. She scribed a Hand of Breath, slamming it down on the enemy davenger. That stunned the demon long enough for her own davenger to claw out the enemy demon's eyes and brain. The sight turned her stomach.

Her own davenger collapsed atop the corpse, black blood pooling as it coughed and struggled. The enemy davenger had ripped it open from neck to pelvis and one of its leg had come off. It twitched now, dying slow.

Jyllith wondered if the demon felt pain. This davenger had saved her, selflessly intercepting her attacker at the cost of its own life. She shook off guilt — the demon was a broken tool, nothing more — and marched to the copse hiding her attacker. Time to learn who wanted her dead.

Other than this Demonkin, she saw no orange dream forms save a few squirrels and a rabbit huddled in its burrow. Jyllith knelt by her attacker and dropped the dream world. It was dark now, but the full moon revealed who had tried to murder her.

He was just a boy, with brown hair cut close to his skull and tan skin. Southern stock, likely Tellvan. He wore a wool shirt, hide pants, and battered leather boots. Blood-stained hands clutched his face.

He was actually
crying
.

“Stop that,” Jyllith ordered. “Stop crying.” What kind of a sad fool wouldn't even fight for their life?

“Who are you?” The boy wiped at his face, at his blood, and sniffled. “Why did you hurt Torch?”

“Why did you try to kill me?” Jyllith took the dream world again. “Don't lie. I'll know if you lie.”

She focused until she could make out the smaller components within his dream form: heart, lungs, arteries, and veins. Bloodmenders learned to pick those from the countless tangles inside a human body, and it was quite possible she would need to break those tangles tonight.

“Where did you get a davenger?” the boy asked instead.

Jyllith traced an inverted soothing glyph on the boy’s chest. He screamed, back arching, as her glyph made his wounds burn ten times worse. She hated herself for every moment she made him hurt, but she knew no faster way to break him. More Demonkin could be coming.

“Answer me.” Jyllith mussed her glyph so he could speak and think again. “Or you'll spend the rest of the night screaming just like that.”

Hurting people like this was what Cantrall made her do to those who opposed him. Her memories of those awful deeds were why she cried herself to sleep at night. No one deserved this.

“I guard the hill, that's it!” The boy sobbed and shivered. “I swear!”

Jyllith watched his body in the dream world. He spoke truth, and it disturbed her how fast she had broken him. Had she grown so monstrous?

“What's your name?”

He hugged himself. “Calun.”

“Who sent you to guard this hill, Calun?”

“I can't tell you that. I swore not too. If I do that he'll—”

Jyllith scribed her inverse soothing glyph again, and this time she drew it on his forehead. Calun shrieked loud enough to send a rabbit running. His face must feel like it was being shredded.

Jyllith mussed the glyph and straddled him. “Last warning. Answer my questions or die.”

“Divad sent me!” The boy trembled beneath her. “I use Torch to capture anyone who gets too close, and then—”

“Capture?” Jyllith gripped his neck, applying pressure. “You tried to kill me.”

“Capture you!” Calun insisted, batting at her wrist. “Then bring you back! That's what we do to hostile mages!”

“How many mages have you captured?”

“Five?” Calun coughed as her hands crushed his neck. “No, six. The one last week makes six.”

“Why does Divad have you capture these mages?”

“For the army. We use them for the army.”

“You make them into davengers.” Jyllith throttled Calun, seeing nothing but the terrified faces of those she had sent to the Underside. Calun choked, coughed, and batted at her hands. He couldn't breathe.

How many innocent souls had these Demonkin banished to the Underside, to eternal torture by the Mavoureen? Was the davenger that hers had ripped apart the remains of one of the mages Calun captured? How many had this boy damned?

Less than her. Far less than her. Jyllith was no different and if anything, she was worse. She was the psychotic woman strangling a captive with her bare hands.

Jyllith made herself release Calun and stood. Stepped back. It was all she could do to keep herself from trembling. She didn't want to be a monster anymore, but she had promised Melyssa.

“Who else guards Knoll Point?” Jyllith asked.

Calun sucked down breath as he clutched his purpled neck. Jyllith didn't hurt him again. What would be the point?

“Rala's to the north,” Calun rasped, once he had enough breath to speak. “She has one davenger. Xel's out south with his defiler.”

Jyllith felt a deep chill. Defilers were far harder to create than davengers, impossible to cut and capable of blocking a mage's power with a simple touch. The only thing that could destroy them was fire, and only if a mage caught them before they slipped into the shadows.

Defilers had been rare even in the days of the All Province War. They could only be summoned through a very specific trade: a child's soul. Even the most fervent of Tassaun mages had hesitated to send children to the Underside, a particular sacrifice favored by their matron, Hecata.

Cantrall used defilers to chain Melyssa Honuron during the search for Kara, but he had never told Jyllith how they were made. She only learned the truth afterward, in the library of Terras. The revelation still sickened her, and it was just one more reason she hated Cantrall.

Hecata did not torture the souls of sacrificed children. She did far worse. She taught those children to murder, grinding away kindness, empathy, and innocence until only a feral demon remained. All Hecata's court guards were children, innocent and wide-eyed. Until they gleefully tore people apart.

That truth was one of many horrifying revelations Elders Hirsute and Gale had recorded in their now banned tome of demonic research,
Contacts with the Underside
. If only the other elders at Terras had listened.

“There's no one else,” Calun whispered. “Please. No one else is out here but me and Torch.”

Jyllith glanced at the piled demon corpses. “You
named
it?”

“I told you everything.” His voice trembled. “Please, don't hurt me anymore.”

Jyllith hugged herself and saw terrified faces. The desperation in Calun's voice matched her victims from her time with Cantrall. She would never find redemption for her horrific crimes, but she was not doing this for redemption. She was doing it because no one else could.

“I'm done hurting you.” Jyllith forced herself to look at him. “When do you return to town?”

“Not until morning. I can't be relieved until sun up. Divad says so.”

That gave her time. She ached everywhere, even more after expended blood to defeat Calun. She should return to her camp. The only remaining question was if Calun went with her ... or she killed him here.

Jyllith whistled. Her remaining davenger burst from the woods and loped to her side. It snorted at the boy cowering in the copse of broken trees.

Calun curled into a ball. “Please!”

It would be so much more efficient to kill him, to save Calun's soul from his Demonkin curse. But could she? “If I spare you, will you run?”

“No.” He sobbed once more. “I swear.”

“If you run, my davenger will tear you apart.”

“I won't run.”

“Good.” Jyllith knelt over him. “Hold still.”

He uncurled, hunched up as if expecting another inverted blood glyph. Jyllith took the dream world and scribed mending glyphs on his face and chest. She ignited her glyphs and felt her blood thin dangerously.

It was stupid to mend his injuries and would leave her even more vulnerable to attack, but Calun was like her. A child twisted by Cantrall. He did not deserve to hurt.

When Jyllith finished and stood, exhausted, Calun's face bled no more. He would not lose his sight and he would have nothing but red marks tomorrow morning. She couldn't do more for him without risking anemia.

“Why did you do that?” Calun whispered.

“I don't need you sobbing all night.” Jyllith lied well. “Now get up.”

“Why?”

“I'm tired, hungry, and done fighting.” She brushed her bloody hands against each other and glanced at him. “Do you have anything to eat?”

Calun looked to her slavering davenger and then at the small pack he carried. “I have some jerky and some cheese. Torch caught me a rabbit.” He sounded like he actually missed his davenger. How twisted was that?

“Rabbit sounds lovely.” It had never occurred to her that davengers could hunt game, but why not? “Follow me.” She glanced at her davenger. “If he attacks me or tries to run, tear his head off.”

The demon corpse snorted agreement.

Calun followed her until Jyllith stopped outside her camp, away from her horse. No point spooking it.