Demonkin (15 page)

“Guard the perimeter,” Jyllith told her demon. “If Calun runs, kill him.” Her davenger snorted and rushed off, leaving her alone with Calun. That wouldn't save him if he crossed her.

“I get it, you know,” Calun said quietly.

Jyllith founded him fiddling with his pack straps. “Get what?”

“If I run away or hurt you, it kills me.”

“I'm glad we understand each other.” Jyllith led him into her camp and found her hobbled horse trimming the grass. “Do you know how to rub down a horse?” If only she could be that oblivious.

Calun nodded.

“Do it.” Jyllith had planned to tend her horse after dealing with her davengers, but Calun could do that while she cooked. “I'll get supper started.”

He reluctantly handed her his pack. The dead rabbit was surprisingly intact, considering a davenger had snapped its neck. Jyllith skinned it with calm efficiency she knew bothered Calun. He cast furtive glances at her as he massaged her horse's tired muscles and brushed out its brown coat.

Jyllith got a fire going and set up the cooking spit she had purchased at Highridge Keep. Its Sentinels had no idea she had watched the last garrison slaughter each other, driving their swords into their own as Shifters cloaked them in illusion. She had shouted at Cantrall.

“Those soldiers are not our enemies!” Jyllith pointed at the Sentinels grunting, fighting, and dying in the ruins of the ancient Highridge Fortress, far below the rise on which she stood with Cantrall. “They did nothing to us, and some of those people are from Rain!”

“Jyllith,” Cantrall said, “I have told you—”

“You've told me they're a threat,” she said, digging her nails into her palms, “but you have not told me
why!
”

The horrors of the past night would not leave her. She could not stop seeing Aryn Locke as Balazel strapped his spiky bindings around him, piercing his paralyzed body over and over. Finally, as Balazel dragged Aryn to the Underside, Aryn had looked at her just once.

As the grip of the Underside took them Aryn has shouted, pleaded, begged her to save him. She had done that to a man who had committed no crime other than loving his woman. How did that avenge her family's murder?

“Some must be sacrificed.” Cantrall placed a cold, calloused hand on her shoulder. “It is for the greater good. If Kara Honuron does not help us fix the High Protector's mistake, the deaths of these few will be nothing compared to the death of an entire world.”

Jyllith almost shrugged his hand off, but he was right. Her guilt, terror, and regrets did not matter when weighed against the threat posed by the Alcedi. Torn had foolishly locked the Mavoureen away, and without them, the Alcedi would devour everything and consume everyone.

Jyllith knew this as she watched the last wounded Sentinel stop fighting. The Shifters lifted the illusion just in time for a woman to see the horror she had wrought upon her fellows. That lone Sentinel fell to her knees, a tiny figure holding the man she had just stabbed.

Jyllith forced her gaze away. It was for the greater good. Everything she did was for the greater good.

“I'm, uh...” Calun paused.

Jyllith glared at him. Calun thumped back against her horse.

“I'm done! I mean, if you say I'm done. I can do it again. Just tell me what to do.”

She sighed and beckoned him over. “Come eat something.” She hated making him squirm. “Now,” she added when he didn’t move.

Calun had tried to drag her off to be sacrificed to his Demonkin cult, yet hadn't she done much worse? He had made someone a davenger, throwing their soul into the Underside, but she had done that too. She also suspected Calun had never stabbed a kind old woman through the heart.

The boy walked over and sat on a flat rock, hugging himself against the night's growing cold. How could anyone be so helpless?

“Don't you have a cloak?” Jyllith asked.

“I had one.” His teeth chattered. “I left it in the woods when I sent Torch to get you.”

“You didn't bother to pick it up?”

“Didn't think you'd let me.”

Jyllith pulled off her own cloak. “Fine.” It was windproof and warm. “Wear this until you warm up.”

He still didn't move, so she wrapped her cloak around him and sat back down. His shoulders hunched as he watched the fire. She returned her attention to the spit, cooking the rabbit slow. Goosebumps rose on her arms.

“Won't you be cold?” Calun asked.

“I don't care if I'm cold.” Jyllith ignored his gaze and stared at the roasting rabbit. The rabbit didn't ask awkward questions.

“What happened to you?” Calun whispered.

Jyllith offered a mirthless chuckle. “Whatever do you mean?”

“You're hard. Like Divad. You've seen fighting, haven't you?”

“Is that what Divad does? Does he fight?” If Calun was feeling talkative, she could probably learn more about the people at Knoll Point.

“He leads us.” Calun's tone grew reverent. “He and Andar, they rescued us. They keep everyone safe.”

“Who's Andar?” Jyllith pulled a plate from her pack, set it down, and plucked the spit from its bracket. She ignored the burn through her gloves.

“He's...” Calun trailed off.

Jyllith gripped the rabbit in one hand and the spit in the other, dragging the cooked rabbit off the metal. The heat of the rod burned through her gloves and she let it, enduring the searing pain. Like her victims.

She felt Calun's wide eyes on her as she held the searing spit, as her palm burned even through her gloves. Finally, she set the spit aside and pulled out her knife. She sliced open the well-cooked rabbit as her hand throbbed. Like Calun's face when she tortured him.

“Andar's Free Rain,” Calun said, words spilling out. “He and his fighters live in Knoll Point. It was a slaving camp before, but Andar's crew freed it and killed the Mynt. Now it's theirs. Divad, he's Andar's advisor.”

Keeping Calun alive had been the right decision. He had a wealth of information about Knoll Point. Jyllith told herself that was why she had spared him and not because she felt sorry for a boy who had lost his family.

“Tell me more about Andar,” she said.

“He's a veteran.” Calun’s reverence returned. “He was at Firstwood and fought until the surrender. Even after that, he kept fighting.”

Jyllith believed him. The day Firstwood fell to the Mynt, many warriors had fled into Rain’s great forests rather than surrendering. Free Rain was a guerilla group that had been a thorn in the side of Mynt for decades, ever since they first brought Rain to heel beneath their booted feet.

Jyllith had fought alongside fighters from Free Rain many times as she grew up with Cantrall, working both with and without him as they launched assaults on Mynt caravans, killed soldiers. She wondered how many soldiers in Knoll Point were poor, deluded souls like Calun.

The attacks that led Rain to assault Mynt's borders had been staged, certainly, but the reprisals that followed were real enough. Revenants had not shattered Rain's forest garrisons or sacked Nolan and Kildoon. Revenants had not marched on Firstwood and sieged it in a month of bloody fighting that left its people starved.

Mynt legionnaires had done that, soldiers led by Prince Beren and his cursed magic sword, and the terms of surrender had been unconditional and absolute. Chief Karon had killed himself out of shame. Chieftess Shara only accepted Mynt's offer of unconditional surrender after her eldest son died in a desperate attempt to break the siege.

What else could they have done? Firstwood was out of grain and bread. Its citizens were eating rats. Its surviving warriors had fought for months on little sleep and those who still fought were tired and weak. Mynt may not have started the war, as many thought, but they had certainly finished it.

Jyllith wondered how many people needed to die to make a false crime into a true one.

“Can I have some rabbit?” Calun asked.

Jyllith snorted. He was like a little bird, pecking at her and chirping. She was done slicing the rabbit and had not noticed. She clutched the skinning knife so hard her palm cramped.

It was getting cold. She needed sleep, soon, and she had to be sure Calun wouldn't try to capture or kill her while she slept. Time to eat.

She grabbed a chunk of rabbit and passed the rest, and the plate, to Calun. The flesh was gamey but good. She spit out a bone fragment she had missed. That felt satisfying.

“Where are your parents?” Jyllith asked. She already knew, but Calun could not know that.

“Dead,” Calun mumbled between bites.

“Who killed them?”

“Mynt scouts found them on the road.” Calun gnawed on a rabbit leg. “Cut my father up first, then my mother. Made them both scream good.”

“Legionnaires burned my village.” The best way to gain his trust would be to embrace the lies. “I'm from Talos. Do you know it?”

Calun's eyes went wide. “That was back before the war. The first Mynt attacks.”

“Yes.” Jyllith tore off another piece of rabbit. “The first attacks.” If only she had known then who really burned Talos. “I lost three sisters that night, and my mother too. Legionnaires crushed her skull.”

Calun looked down. “I'm sorry I attacked you.”

Jyllith chewed. “Really.”

“Really.” He hugged her travel cloak close. “You would have gotten a chance to plead your case with Divad, you know. He's a good man. He doesn't hurt anyone who doesn't deserve it.”

“What about the mages you captured?”

“They were evil,” Calun said, and the certainty in his tone chilled her. “They came here to hurt the people of Free Rain.”

“How do you know that?” Had she been this blind when she followed Cantrall?

“Divad told me.”

“Do you believe everything Divad says?”

“Why wouldn't I? He's kept us all alive this long.” Calun finished a leg, tossed the bone, and started on the other. “Mynt killed his wife and daughter. He hates them more than I do.” He licked his lips. “Water?”

He really was an odd little boy. How could he act so innocent, so hopeful, with his family dead? Jyllith drank her fill and then passed Calun her half-empty canteen. She could not let herself get distracted.

Divad should be her focus, the leader of this Demonkin cult. Divad had been old enough to have a wife and child when Cantrall slaughtered them. He was a man grown and twisted to serve. One more useful fact from Calun.

This boy was harmless without his davenger, and he seemed to genuinely empathize with her. Even if he didn't, her davenger would ensure he behaved. She needed to sleep.

“Do you have a bedroll?” Jyllith asked.

“With my cloak.” Calun winced. “Which I left.”

Jyllith passed him her bedroll. “Use this, then.”

“But where will you sleep?”

“On the ground.” Jyllith put her back to the fire. The thick grass on this hill was almost comfortable.

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Calun asked.

If he didn't stop asking stupid questions, she wasn't going to be nice much longer. “Go to sleep.” Jyllith closed her eyes. “We've got a busy morning.”

“Busy? Doing what?”

“Taking you back to Knoll Point.”

“Oh.” Calun got real quiet after that.

The Demonkin were not hiding in Knoll Point. They were working openly with Free Rain, who were led by a veteran soldier named Andar. Divad had the trust of every other Demonkin that lived there, and also had Andar's ear. She hoped neither would suspect she was a Mynt spy.

This all seemed so absurd. No one had hated the Mynt more than her. No one. Now she had sworn to betray some of Rain's most loyal allies and the soldiers who fought for the province she loved.

It was just like Cantrall had told her as he forced her to curse Tarel Halen, as she watched Balazel take Aryn, as they both watched Sentinels slaughter each other.

It was all for the greater good.

SERA SHUDDERED AS SHE STARED across a descending bowl of blasted earth. The devastated Magic Academy of Terras huddled below, blackened walls and ruined buildings. She had reached it, with Byn, at last, and that should have made her hope — but her demon would not let her.

After the Terras elders foolishly opened the gate to the Underside and triggered the first Mavoureen invasion, the demon army had blackened or cracked its mighty mage stone walls. Many protective stones were missing or broken, and Terras's remaining buildings were shattered things. Walls crumbled and broken windows stared like sightless eyes.

Sera caught Byn watching her as they rode steadily downward, idly toying with his saddlehorn. A nervous tic. She smiled for his benefit and he stopped fiddling. He smiled back.

It felt good to comfort Byn, even if she could no longer comfort herself. This curse drowned her every day. The demon in her head spoke once more, its seductive voice as clear as if it rode beside her.

“You are so afraid. Why? Accept me, child. Accept my love. I offer you a paradise beyond words.”

Sera tapped her horse's flanks. Her legs ached with the day's long ride and the seven days before that, but a bloodmending session in Terras would help. She would ease her aches and Byn’s. She kept her face forward.

She did not want Byn to see the frustration or anger tugging at her features. She did not want him to ask “What's wrong?” because the demon inside her head made her silent when he did. It was just so
strong
now.

Her father must have received her letter. Sera had spent many nights awake as they camped, wondering what he thought about her words. Wondering if he raged or cried. Wondering if he would come after her.

She willed him to give up. Dared Valence was a brave man, but he was no fighter. He was a scholar and an artist, and Sera did not want him on the road with demons about. She wanted him safe and alive.

They rode in silence for another hour, picking their way through the treacherous, rubble-strewn ground surrounding Terras. It would not do if a horse rolled an ankle, or worse. Sera was quite fond of their animals already. Blue, and Notch.

These were not Solyr horses — they did not have enhanced intelligence or the ability to sense their rider's intent — but they were loyal and Sera longed to keep them safe. A thick streak of purple lightning crackled overhead, but she was used to that. They were so alone out here.

At least she had Byn. Byn would never abandon her, never hate her for binding herself to the Mavoureen in Highridge Pass. Every law Sera knew called for her execution and if she did not find a cure at Terras, her execution glyph would obey those laws for her. Cold comfort.

“You need no cure,”
her demon whispered.
“You only need me.”

Only Sera’s certainty that her execution glyph held strong kept her from pulling her trail knife and slitting her wrists. She knew no paradise awaited her damned soul. Only torture and agony.

“You're doing it again.” Byn stepped his gelding closer to hers.

“Am I?” Sera kept her eyes on Terras.

“You've got that haunted look again, like someone died. Is it Jair? Is it because he died here?”

“Yes.” Sera was eager to explain herself in any way that did not involve the forbidden truth. “If I had not been so exhausted, perhaps I could have saved him.” An easy lie to a man she loved.

“No one survives a sword through the heart,” Byn said, “and Jair sacrificed himself to pull Kara’s soul from the Underside. He made his choice. He wasn’t coming back and he knew that.”

“I know. It still hurts.” Sera could not say what she wanted to say, and she
did
miss Jair. He had been a brave man and a good friend, always placing others before himself. That was why he was rotting in the ground.

They approached the archway leading through the blasted mage stone walls of Terras. Its desiccated gates, rotting wooden slabs, hung off what remained of ancient hinges. When Sera saw the weatherproof tube sticking from the ground inside the archway, she felt what might be hope.

“It's a message.” Sera dropped off her horse and hurried to the tube. “It might be from Melyssa.”

Sera knelt and tugged on the tube. Byn joined her a moment later, and together they pulled it from the dirt. It was so light.

Sera popped the top. Could there actually be a cure? Could she and Byn live the life she longed for?

A scroll slipped out. Sera spread it between two hands and found legible script. It was a short note, handwritten.

“Sera, I hope this note finds you well.”

It had to be Melyssa's handwriting. The script and strokes were precise and elegant. Sera hung on every word.

“I have spent most of this week searching for a way to end the Demonkin curse. While I have found it,”
and there, Sera's heart skipped a beat,
“I fear it will be of little use to you. The only way to end your curse is to transfer the curse to another, one without the taint.”

Sera’s eyes grew blurry, her throat clamping up.

“You must trade their soul for yours.”

Chilling laughter flooded Sera's head. Her demon had known this cure existed all along, and now it laughed like a madwoman. It felt her horror, her despair, and drank her emotions like fine wine.

“Sweet child, you are so precious when you hope. Feed me an innocent soul and you can live forever with Byn.”

Sera couldn’t breathe. She trembled from everything but the cold wind. Byn leaned close, trying to read over her shoulder.

“What does it say?” Byn demanded. “How do we save you?”

Sera handed him the scroll and tucked her knees against her chest. She hugged herself and rocked, staring over the dead expanse of the Unsettled Lands. She had no time to find her father and say goodbye.

She had been foolish to hope, stupid to let her old optimism trump what she already knew. There was no cure for the Demonkin curse, at least none she could stomach. It was time for her to die.

Byn grunted and sat. Sera rocked silently as he read the scroll. When he started ripping it to pieces, she didn’t look up. When he tossed those pieces to the rising wind, she did.

“It's just one cure.” Byn’s big shoulders trembled. He glared at the spectral storms as if challenging them to a fight.

Sera was grateful he did not offer his soul for hers. That was a pointless argument and they had no time for those. No time at all.

“There has to be another way to cure you.” Byn bared his teeth and stared at her. “Melyssa didn't look hard enough.”

“You really believe that?” Sera shuddered. “This is Melyssa Honuron. If she could not find it, no one will.”

“We still have a week.” Byn rested a hand on her shoulder and made his features calm. “We'll find another cure. I swear we will.”

Sera wanted to scream at him. She wanted to grab his arms and shake him, shake every last foolish dream out of his head. She wanted to hurt him, and that shocked her from her melancholy.

Sera had never once wanted to hurt Byn. Her demon was influencing her, making her despair. That, more than anything, made Sera refuse to give up. Giving up was as good as dying.

If the demon wanted her to stop looking for a cure, then maybe one
did
exist in this library, somewhere. At least searching for a cure would occupy her while she waited to die. It was better than staring at spectral storms.

“Drown me, Byn.” Sera hopped up and threw her arms around him. “You keep me going.” She pressed her head against his wide chest and sniffled. “Don't ever let me give up.”

“Dear, sweet child—”

“Shut up.”
Sera thought of Byn, thought of how she loved him, and made the voice silent. There was nothing in her world but Byn's warm bulk and his strong arms, wrapped around her. She could die like this.

“Well...” Byn kneaded the muscles of her sore back. “Good.”

“The library.” Sera pushed up on tiptoes and kissed him. “Let's go there now. Maybe Jyllith and Melyssa are still looking. Even if they aren't, we'll take over. We'll start with histories of the All Province War.”

“Good plan.” Byn leaned close and kissed her again, and when he was done she felt just a bit lighter on her feet.

Sera nuzzled him, squeezed him, kissed his chest and pressed her head against it. They had so little time left. She would not waste any more of it.

“I love you,” Byn whispered, as purple lightning crackled overhead.

“Don't ever stop.” She pushed herself away. “Now walk.”

They followed the path Jyllith had shown them when they rescued Kara. Just the thought of that hateful woman made Sera's hands clench. Then Byn slipped an arm around her waist and her world was bearable again.

Sera tried it again — telling Byn about the demon — and her lips refused to move. The demon inside her did not have her mind, not yet, and it could not know the thoughts she locked away — but it had her body locked down hard. She closed her eyes and let Byn lead her at his pace.

“We're here,” he said after a short time.

Sera opened her eyes to find a stone building looming over them. The library of Terras. The visible part stood three stories, but stairs descended from its heavy oak doors, standing open. The only sounds were the whistle of constant wind and the occasional crack of thunder.

What Sera wanted more than anything was Byn — living — and even if she could not save herself, she could save him. He deserved a life with happiness, health, and children. Even if that life couldn't be with her.

Byn found a torch by the door, probably left by Jyllith or Melyssa. Sera lit it with a Finger of Heat. They walked down the stone steps of the library and into an interior so large it might as well be a cave.

Shelves stretched away, each filled with rows of musty books. The amount of knowledge in this library boggled the mind, and that was their problem. Even if a cure for the Demonkin curse existed somewhere in this library, they could search for years and never find it.

Sera found a few loose tomes on an ancient desk. A single glyph-candle sat atop it, as did an empty plate. Blood stained a pile of pillows and sheets by the desk. Whose blood was it? Had Melyssa taken ill?

“Where are they?” Byn asked. “Out hunting for food?”

Sera picked up one of the loose tomes,
A Treatise on the Ranks of the Mavoureen
. Another was titled
Glyphs of the All Province War
. Melyssa had no doubt read them cover to cover, so Sera would find no help there.

“Be wary, child,”
the demon inside her head whispered.
“There are dead things coming.”

“What?”
Sera spun to the library steps as something shambled after them, each movement stiff and bizarre. It did not walk like something alive.

A rail-thin corpse stumbled into the library with arms outstretched, clad in a blood and dirt-stained dress. A white dress. Sera knew that dress and the woman who wore it. This was the body of Melyssa Honuron.

Someone or something had raised her headless corpse.

“Byn,
run!
” Sera took the dream world and scribed a Finger of Heat. Cold hands clutched her shoulders and yanked her backward.

“Get off her!” Byn swung his quarterstaff, hitting flesh with a meaty
thunk
. Whatever had clutched at her fell away.

Sera spun to face the threat and gasped. There was another corpse in here with them, and she knew this one far better than Melyssa.

“Jair?” Byn whispered. “Jair!”

Sera scribed a Hand of Breath and ignited it, smashing Melyssa's headless corpse into the library wall. Bones shattered and Sera ached at this desecration. It did not matter that Melyssa’s soul was gone.

How was this happening? Who or
what
could raise corpses? As horrific memories of Highridge Pass flooded Sera's mind, she knew. A harvenger. Someone had sent a harvenger after them.

Byn struggled with Jair, both of them pulling on Byn's quarterstaff. Byn remained so weak! A month ago, he would have knocked this corpse flat.

Yet it
was
just a corpse, not Jair. Sera made herself believe it. Jair’s once black eyes were gone and maggots wriggled in those holes. Dark hair brushed bared skull and his jaw hung open at a crazy angle.

Unnatural rage burned away Sera’s fear. Jair had died nobly, a hero saving Kara, and now the Mavoureen had done
this
to him. Where was the harvenger? Sera was going to tear it apart!

Byn freed his quarterstaff. He swung. Jair's screeching corpse slammed into a bookshelf and books tumbled over it, burying the corpse in an avalanche of tomes. It clawed at the books, struggling to rise.

“That’s no way to greet your best friend!” A deep voice boomed through the library. “And Melyssa? Really! Is that how you treat an old woman?”

Sera turned to the doors as Byn stepped to her side, quarterstaff in a low guard. A nightmare strode into the Terras library, and it was no harvenger. It was the thing all harvengers feared.