Legacy of the Demon (28 page)

She trilled in relief. “That is very good. Remember to teach Fuzzykins how to assume the correct arched back posture, and she then will teach Fillion and Bumper and Cake and Squig and Granger and Dire.”

“I'll get right on that as soon as I'm home,” I said with what I hoped sounded like conviction. My breath caught. I'd almost forgotten. “Steeev. Eilahn, did Steeev make it back?” Steeev was the syraza who'd agreed to be Jill's guardian. Not long before the valve explosion, he'd died on Earth after being shot by a sniper.

Her smile dimmed. “He returned alive,” she said. “But the ways closed while he was still in passage through the void. He remains yet in stasis.”

“Will he recover?”

“There is great hope yet,” she said to my relief. “He is under the care of the syraza matriarchs.” She embraced me again, enfolding me in her wings. “You are to stay safe throughout these troubles.”

Tears pricked my eyes as I hugged her back. “I will. And you'd better do the same.”

“Tah agahl lahn,” she said. It meant
I love you
, with the kind of deep and eternal love that went beyond family or lovers.

“Tah agahl lahn,” I echoed.

She thrummed deep in her chest then reluctantly released me. “Michael awaits you by the arch.”

We said our goodbyes to Seretis with the promise to give Bryce a full update, then my little troop headed out to make the trek to the grove.

As we passed into the sadly neglected garden, a cool breeze
spun a vortex around me then died to stillness. A subtle freshness replaced the fish rot stench, and the sound of waves and demons and life faded to silence.

The hair on the back of my neck lifted. Unsettled, I turned to find Pellini, Giovanni, and Turek frozen mid-stride, much as the soldiers had been at the Spires when Kadir arrived. Except not even their eyes moved. A bubble of golden light formed around us while the outside world darkened, as if a dimmer switch was being turned down. A dimensional pocket, like the one Szerain had pulled me into.

I startled as a man appeared beside Pellini, fine featured with rich brown skin touched with bronze. Bare-legged and bare-footed, he wore a simple mid-thigh tunic of saffron-yellow silk. Seretis's ptarl, Lannist, in human form. And, if my theories were correct, his father as well.

The blackness of the void closed in beyond the bubble, trapping us together. In one stroke, Lannist had eliminated the possibility of interruptions—or my departure. My stomach clenched, but I forced myself to cling to annoyance at the universe for throwing one more shittastic thing my way. And right now it was a lot better to be ticked than terrified.

I affected a bored expression and folded my arms over my chest. “Nice mannequin trick with my boys,” I said, nudging my chin toward Pellini and the others. “But this conference room of yours could use some furniture.” I glared at him. “What do you want?”

“It is you who sought me, Kara Gillian.” His voice flowed over me like soft rain.

I graced Lannist with a tight, cold smile. “There's a big difference in watching for a snake in the grass and going out searching for one.”

His brow furrowed gently above liquid brown eyes. “Is that what I am to you? A serpent?”

“You've kept your distance from me, so I only know you by your masonry-shoving reputation.” A chunk the size of a Volkswagen, according to Bryce. “In my book, that's edging toward the slithering reptile category, though I might be unfairly maligning snakes.”

“Much has changed since that moment, Kara Gillian.” He stepped to within arm's length of me.

I resisted the impulse to back away. “Gee, I hadn't noticed, what with Earth being invaded and all.”

Lovely regret fluttered over his face. “The incursions were never intended.”

“Funny, that sounds like what Rhyzkahl said about the flood of rakkuhr. ‘Not this soon. Not this much.'” I stabbed a finger at him. “
Someone's
grand scheme went tits up, but no one gives enough of a shit to fix it. Meanwhile, we're the ones getting screwed by rakkuhr and Jontari incursions. What the hell did y'all do in your last Demahnk Council meeting? Scratch Earth off the list then move on to who had to bring the donuts next time?”

He shook his head, the simple move fraught with grace. “You do not understand. We—”

“Like hell I don't!” I bit back my tirade and pygahed. Venting my spleen on him might make me feel better, but it wouldn't help shake loose information. “You're right,” I said with a touch more calm, “I don't understand. Enlighten me.”

“We strove—strive—to preserve both worlds.” He spread his hands, as if in supplication. “We have failed.”

My eyebrows winged up. “Ya think? Y'all blew it on a whole bunch of levels. Like how you keep the lords—your
sons,
for fuck's sake—ignorant of their heritage by controlling them with pain so they can't even think about it.”

Lannist remained silent and aloof for a moment then lowered his head. “Yes. We failed them as well.”

The admission of failing the lords took me aback, but I seized the opening. “Why? Why is it so important for the lords to have no clue of their parentage and origin? And what else have y'all done to fuck them over?” I scowled as he remained silent. “You want me to
understand
, but I'm stuck in the middle of someone else's game without a playbook. I'm forced to operate on what info I've pieced together through observation and the bits I've pried from others.”

His lips parted as if he was about to speak, then he shuddered. For an instant it looked as if he went a little see-through around the edges, but the illusion was gone before I could be certain. Surely my mention of the lords' parentage wasn't taboo enough to affect him so?

“Lannist? You okay?” Uneasy, I strained my physical and arcane senses for sign of any other possible influence, but there was only nothingness beyond our bubble of light.

His gaze dropped to where the grove leaf lay cool against my sternum. I covered it with my hand. “Why did you want to talk to me?” I asked, eyes narrowed.

He jerked rigid as if touched by a live wire, and his eyes went wide. “Out of . . . time.”

“What's happening?” I demanded. “Time for what?”

“Heed Rho.” Lannist spoke the words as if each one cost a piece of his soul. “Eighteenth convergence factor less nine ascen—” His body went semi-transparent, and his chest filled with amorphous prismatic light—the true form of the demahnk. I'd seen Zack shift shape before, but it had been beautiful. This was
wrong
. Was this punishment control like the headaches that plagued the lords? But if so, from who?

“Lannist!” I watched in mounting distress as the light roiled within him. “How can I help you? What can I do?”

He fixed wide eyes on mine, gripped my shoulders with hands that had little substance, as if nothing remained but an outer membrane of energy. “Consent . . . to accept my final . . . service.” His voice skittered away like shattered glass. In the span of a heartbeat, fine strands of potency like molten diamond appeared around the light in his chest, a viciously beautiful web that encased the shifting colors of his essence and constricted.

Lannist threw his head back and screamed, an inhuman sound of agony. I caught him as he sagged, his body light as tissue paper in my arms.

“No no no.” Heart pounding, I knelt and took his head between my hands, pressed my forehead to his and willed him strength to counter whatever was trying to silence him. “I consent. I accept!”

“Trask.” The name of Rayst's ptarl arrowed through my consciousness. “Ilana.” Mzatal's ptarl. More followed that I couldn't comprehend, cut off by a searing blast of suffocating pain, gone in an instant. The last vestiges of Lannist's physical form faded, leaving only his light—compacted by the web into a white-hot sun. It hung motionless for a silent heartbeat then burst into a billion flickering particles that swirled around our bubble like glitter in a snow globe. They passed over and through me, bombarding me with images and sounds then dimming as they imparted their gifts.

A boy with raven-black hair stands naked atop a mountain, arms stretched wide and head tipped back to catch the sun.
Mzatal.

A youthful priest sits upon the steps of a graceful temple, three shining pyramids beyond him in the distance.
Vahl.

A white-blond man in a grain field drops his scythe to scoop up tow-headed twins who run laughing to him.
Rhyzkahl.

A great wolf with fur the color of pale beach sand bounds through a highland meadow.

I jerked in shock. That was Rhyzkahl as well. I
knew
.

The wolf stops, gazes up expectantly.

A dragon with scales like flakes of obsidian and eyes of molten gold circles down to land in the grass.

Chills swept over me. Mzatal—terrible and beautiful.

A willowy being with captivating dual-pupiled eyes stands atop a shining pavilion of pale stone columns.

Image after image. Hundreds. Too many to process, but each indelibly burned into my essence. Amkir. Seretis. Rayst. Elofir. Szerain. Vrizzar. Jesral. Kadir. Dozens of wondrous creatures of legend. The lords not only had human mothers, but all save Kadir had lived on Earth for a time, in full control of their paternal shape-shifting abilities. Happy. Free.

One last particle struck me between the eyes. It carried no image or sound, only the feel of Lannist and the immersive plea of
save them
.

And then all trace of him was gone.

I remained on my knees, hugging myself. Grief for the lords clogged my throat, and sobs racked my chest. Even quick-tempered Amkir—who I utterly despised—had once been soft-hearted enough to jump into an icy river to save a stray dog. These rich and full lives of the lords had been stolen, but
why?
What possible reason could exist to commit such an atrocity? And now Lannist was dead because he'd exposed it.

Zack had spoken obliquely of the Demahnk Council and the “others,” the enforcers who held him and the rest of the demahnk accountable through ancient agreements, oaths, and decrees. One of Lannist's images was of an unfamiliar creature on an Ekiri pavilion. And I'd seen dual-pupiled eyes like that before—carved in bas relief in the anteroom of Szerain's summoning chamber. Had Lannist been trying to impart that the enforcers were, in fact, the Ekiri? Yet, according to the reyza Kehlirik, the Ekiri had left for a new world millennia ago.

Whoever these enforcers were, I had a sick feeling Lannist had purposefully defied them in order to give me information—and paid dearly. The entire incident was a glimpse into the high-stakes game played by the demahnk, and a terrifying demonstration of the power and reach of what I was up against.

Eighteenth convergence factor less nine . . . ascendants?
Ascending?
It didn't make any sense to me, but clearly it was important.
Heed Rho
. That one was easy. But what about
Ilana
and
Trask
? Was Lannist telling me to heed the ptarls of Mzatal and Rayst? Or was he warning me against them?

And what would happen to Seretis now? This ugly turn of events with Lannist was sure to affect him. Rhyzkahl had been shattered when Zack broke their ptarl bond. Would the death of a ptarl have the same effect?

Still raw from the visions and feeling three sizes too big for my skin, I staggered to my feet and took stock of the situation. It didn't take long: the situation sucked ass. The dimensional pocket remained intact, and Pellini, Giovanni, and Turek were still statuefied.

“This is lovely,” I muttered. I couldn't see or sense anything beyond the bubble of light, and reaching into the darkness was like pushing my hand into liquid mercury. We were stuck in here.

Cold tendrils of fear wound through me. Fighting for control, I sought to distract myself by clinically memorizing every sensation of the bubble and filing them away for future reference. After all, soon enough I'd be reaching for Szerain and company in their dimensional pocket stronghold. Knowledge was power, right?

Yeah, well, that power wasn't doing me any good right here and now. I needed to get us out of this thing. But
how
? A demahnk had created it. Even at my best I couldn't match their abilities, and I didn't have a strand of potency to follow out this time. Hell, I couldn't even shape basic sigils without the help of the nexus, and I felt absolutely nothing of it here, no matter how hard I tried. Meanwhile, Pellini and the others appeared to be in some sort of stasis, while I continued to breathe and have normal metabolic functions. Would they remain frozen in place long after I died of dehydration? Or would I suffocate instead?

Or maybe I'm not completely out of options
, I thought as I slapped my hand over the leaf and called to Rho. Though I couldn't sense even the faintest whisper of the grove, I envisioned the one in Seretis's realm as a distress beacon beaming an urgent, repeating S.O.S.

Nothing. I pygahed and focused, intensified my distress call. Minutes ticked by.

More than a quarter of an hour later, the normal world
supplanted the void. The stench of rotting fish flooded in, accompanied by a wash of sound: waves, the calls of demons, wind through trees. Pellini crashed into me where I stood gasping in relief.

“Jeez, Kara.” He grabbed my arms to steady me as I staggered. “Didn't see you stop. Sorry.”

“Uh, no prob,” I said, trying to get my heart rate under control. Apparently time didn't pass for statues. I considered telling the others what I'd learned and what befell Lannist, but immediately realized how dangerous that could be. I had shielding from the mindreading lords and demahnk, but the others didn't. Lannist had sacrificed himself to pass on the information, and I intended to keep it safe.