Picturing their cave, Ragnes closed his eyes and rematerialized inside it. Candles burned on stalagmites, but their feeble light did little to dispel the shadows—his new friends. They called to him from the corners.
Snuff out the light, begged the shadows creeping toward Ragnes. We hate it. It hurts us. Snuff out the light, shadow-friend.
Maybe I will. Ragnes ran his hand over the flame and watched it gutter. Then he blinked at the curtains strung up to partition the large cave into rooms. Their circular designs, once bright and exploding with color, were muted and grimy from time. But the stones under his feet, they remembered the little boy he’d been.
Laughter echoed. Was it real or a memory of happier days ghosting back to haunt him? Ragnes pulled his hand out of the fire. This isn’t me. I’m not a villain.
A cherubic child peered at him from behind one of those curtains.
“Can you see me?”
The boy nodded. He couldn’t be more than eight or nine. “What do you want?”
“Dane, who are you talking to?” asked a woman right before she whisked another curtain aside.
For a moment, Ragnes just stared at her. That face—she had Beku’s eyes, lips, and full figure. Quite a rack pushed her corset’s top out, and her breasts jiggled when she moved.
Gah, she might be Beku’s daughter. Stop staring at her. Ragnes tried to look away, but she looked like Dirk.
This wasn’t the time to investigate her paternity. Beku is dead, and Sarn will pay for that.
“I’m looking for Sarn. I’m a friend of—” Ragnes paused. He’d almost said, ‘your mother’ but instead he finished with, “of Beku’s.”
“He doesn’t live here anymore,” the child, Dane, said. He folded his arms over his narrow chest and looked quite upset about that.
“Right, but do you know where he is? It’s very important I find him.” More than that, anger was bubbling up. Soon it would explode, and he’d break something.
“If you knew Beku, then how come I’ve never seen you before?” asked the teenage girl. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Who did you say you are? Come into the light so I can see you.” She gestured to the black candle on the stalagmite behind her.
“Tell me where he is.”
“Or you’ll do what?”
This. Ragnes punched the stalagmite and it crumbled, dropping the candle to the ground. A discarded garment smoked as tongues of fire licked it.
“I’ve had a bad day. Just tell me what I want to know, and I’ll leave.”
“We don’t know where he is,” shouted another boy, this one was at least a teenager. He snuffed out the fire by stomping on it. “Sarn never tells us anything.”
Was that the truth?
Touch him and find out, suggested the shadows moving in to take back the ground from the extinguished light.
Ragnes cocked his head to one side, considering. What did he have to lose? He’d already wasted so much time on his tantrum. Why not?
Ragnes reached out and touched the teen. His name was Bevik and in a heartbeat, he’d sifted through the last hour of memories. The boy was right. Sarn hadn’t said, but he also hadn’t left all that long ago. How far could he go on foot in that time?
Ragnes withdrew his hand and Bevik’s eyes rolled up in his head as he crumpled.
“Bevik!” The girl dropped to her knees by his side and tried to bring him around by slapping his cheeks. “What did you do to him?”
Ragnes didn’t answer. He was already ghosting out of the cave. Where are you, Sarn? You can’t have gone far, not with the populace down here so stirred up. He listened hard then picked a direction. I’ll find you freak, and when I do, you’ll wish you’d never been born.
Something wicked this way comes, said his magic, startling Sarn.
“Papa, what’s wrong?” Ran squirmed in his arms to get a better view of what had spooked him.
What wicked thing is coming? Sarn asked his magic. Please tell me it’s not another mob.
Instead of answering, a symbol appeared on the backs of his eyelids—a black diamond with three red rays shooting out of it. His map shattered as something dark and malevolent brushed against his senses.
More people packed into this tunnel, jostling Sarn. Move, but he couldn’t. That dark presence reminded him of Vail—Shade’s demonic passenger. Were there more demons? He wanted to open his eyes and look, but the crowd might turn on him if he did.
“Papa, what is it?” Ran poked Sarn in the chest. “What did you see?”
“How did you know I saw something?”
“You got very tense and quiet. What did it show you?” Ran poked him again. Thank Fate, his son hadn’t said the ‘m-word.’ There were too many people around to risk bandying about that term.
Sarn shook his head and held his son so anything else Ran said was muffled by his shoulder just in case the ‘m-word’ slipped out. “It showed me a symbol, but it’s not one I recognize.”
Someone bumped Sarn reminding him to move. He was blocking the flow of traffic.
Freeing a hand, Sarn felt for Saveen and pushed the youth in front of him. “You’d better precede me. I need you to be my eyes.”
“Okay, but tell me why you must hide. They’re just looking for light, and you can provide that.”
Sarn blew out a frustrated breath. He was grateful Saveen had kept his voice down, but this was one conversation he shouldn’t be having while surrounded by so many potential threats. Still, it was a valid question.
“Because centuries ago, this guy, the Usurper, killed everyone and took the throne. To prevent his chief rival from dethroning him, he passed a law condemning anyone with magic in their blood to death. Then he sent a bunch of bounty hunters to kill his rival and his entourage and their families. He didn’t want to face any avenging relatives down the line, so he got rid of them all on the Bloody Ides—the Ides of March.”
The same day, centuries later, Ran was born. Thankfully Ran didn’t connect the Ides of March with his birthday.
“That law is still in place?”
“Yes, and it’s still enforced.”
“So that’s why you’re Indentured.”
“No, I indentured myself to pay for my brother’s education.” Thank Fate, Miren was still in school where it was safe.
“Don’t do that for me. I don’t want to go to school. I want to go on ad-ven-tures with you.” Ran folded his arms and likely wore a matching scowl.
“We’ll see when you’re older. You might change your mind.”
“I won't.”
Sarn let the subject drop. If an opportunity arose, he’d send his son to school. Ran would love it too.
“But why is it still enforced?” Saveen asked as he wove through the crowd with Sarn at his heels.
“Because people hate and fear what they don’t understand. They’d rather destroy someone who’s different rather than try to understand him.”
“Not me. I loved you. I wanted to be beautiful, so you’d love me,” Shade said, and his deceased friend appeared in memory, veiled as always, holding out a gloved hand.
After a breathless moment, Shade vanished back into the recesses of his mind, where his friend lived on as an unanswered question. I’m losing my mind. Shade’s dead because of Dirk, and I lost track of that jerk after he released a monster earlier.
Or did I? A vague memory ghosted by. In it, he flew with a gray-eyed woman. Her lips shaped two words over and over: 'remember me’ while he dangled from her cold, cold hand. Below them, Dirk’s symbol moved through the enchanted forest with two black upside-down pentacles—one superimposed over the other.
Sovvan.
As her name echoed in the caverns of his mind, he felt her at his side. Her wing brushed his arm. With a jolt, he remembered his out-of-body jaunt and their conversation.
Forget. Stay away, whispered the Queen of All Trees in his mind.
No. My sister died so I could live. I won't let her down.
Determination blazed
inside Sarn giving him a destination—the enchanted forest and the Queen of All Trees. At least he knew why he’d blacked out. He'd seen something she didn't want him to see. Well, that's too bad. I need to know what's happening, and she knows.
Sovvan squeezed his shoulder, and Ran shifted in his arms. I'll always be with you, my brother, my twin. Sarn thought he heard her say, then she receded, freeing him to concentrate on slipping through the growing crowd. Not just his life rode on that secrecy. He tightened his grip on his son and knew she protected him too.
“Papa? Who's the winged lady? She looks like you.”
“She's my twin sister, your aunt Sovvan.”
If his son was surprised to receive an answer other than ‘I don’t know,’ he didn’t show it. Ran just nodded.
“I’m glad you can see her.”
“Me too. She faded out, but she’s still here. Her hand is rubbing my back.”
“That’s my hand.”
Ran shrugged and laid his head back down on Sarn’s shoulder and that simple gesture spurred him on. I’m tired of wandering around in the dark without a clue. You’d better have some answers for me, my Queen.
“Watch out!” Saveen grabbed his arm and pulled Sarn to the right.
But it was too late. Someone slammed into Sarn. Power so black it reeked of death struck him. His left palm burned as if the splinter lodged in it had caught fire. Sarn choked down a lungful of brimstone and sulfur and coughed as he stumbled into several people. Ran clung on until he stabilized.
Turning, Sarn sought the culprit and the malevolence leaking off him in disorienting black waves. But just in the nick of time, he remembered the crowd and squeezed his eyes closed. His hand still burned, but he couldn't do anything about that right now.
Did I chase the wrong bad guy? The question paralyzed Sarn. But it would explain how Dirk and his mundane friends had released a monster. They’d powerful help.
The crowd jostled Sarn while he tried and failed to locate the dark thing he’d bumped into. Could it have veiled itself from his sight?
Too many icons crowded his map and many red arrows pointed at something—
Light-bringer! Give us your light, shouted many voices, disrupting his map. It vanished, leaving him blind and lost.
“We need to go, please Sarn.”
Because they were drawing too much attention. Saveen didn’t need to say it. The rising note of fear in his voice said it all. At least the burning sensation in his hand was subsiding. I hope it's not infected.
Saveen tugged his arm and Sarn nodded. He let the youth pull him back into the flow. If I’m chasing the wrong problem, the Queen of All Trees will know. She's the one who made me forget.
Passing Darkness
Where the hell is everyone going? I didn’t hear anything about another protest. Straymos cut through the crowd, sword cane in hand. Its lumir pommel ground into his palm. Teasing flashes of its brilliance escaped from under his gloved hand. It was a risk wearing his finery in the Lower Quarters, but a necessary one since his lair was down here.
With his free hand, Straymos held a many-times patched cloak closed to blend in—something he’d never needed to do in this out of the way tunnel. Precognition triggered a warning and sharpened his preternatural senses. But even his eyes needed some light to see by, and there wasn’t much. Something had shut off the lumir in the walls while he was out. Here and there, a gleam filtered through from somewhere in the crowd, and it was just enough to see something barreling toward him.
Bodies flew like discarded dolls and slammed into the walls and each other. Straymos dodged left and flattened himself against a wall as a three-dimensional shadow blew through the screaming crowd. Pain streaked up his leg as the panicked crowd jostled him. He gritted his teeth as the shadow—a devil-made wraith—passed on.
Straymos’ waited but the wraith didn’t make a second pass. His hand tightened on his glorified walking stick as his left knee seized up. After a moment of rubbing it, the joint warmed and loosened, but it was just one of the constant headaches that came with maintaining a body that had passed its prime decades ago. But he was working on that.
A bunch of black-robed necromancer wannabes had ripped him from his home and shunted him into a nonagenarian. Since then, he’d done a lot of rehabilitation work on that old body. Using his flesh sculpting powers, he’d turned back the clock seventy years, so it more closely matched his actual age of twenty. But there were still parts, like his goddamned knee, which needed another upgrade and soon.
Of course, those summoners had been horrified at their gaffe. They’d thought they were getting a full-fledged demon. Instead, their first assay into the whole demon-summoning thing had nabbed a demonic child.
A comely youth with a cleft in his chin and a cocky twinkle in his eye made him smile. The young man rose and dusted off a tight body clad in a ruby tunic and leggings. What a fine figure he cut through the startled crowd still picking itself up. The little incident with the wraith didn’t even faze him. Well, this was Shayari where earthquakes and enchanted trees were the norm. Likely he’d attributed the wraith’s tantrum to a rogue gust of wind.
Straymos limped after the young man. He was strutting his stuff down another tunnel, one with less of a crowd. He had good legs, long like Stray liked them. I’ll bet those legs would look good on me. And trading in his current pair would fix the whole arthritis issue.
Yes, that boy would make victim number—Stray shunted that thought aside. No, that scarlet boy was reserved first for play and later, for spare parts.
Stray reached out of his human shell. His shadow swelled lengthening his arm until it could trace a diamond with three rays on the popinjay’s back. No one else would see it, but if there were any more demons running around, they’d know this one was earmarked for him.
If, who are you kidding? There’s another demon running around and a powerful one at that. No one else could trap a mortal soul and corrupt it into a wraith. There were less energy-intensive ways of making minions—like using stray cats. They made wonderful companions, and as you scaled those independent-minded creatures up, it was so easy to enhance their natural intelligence and it required so little energy.
As his dark aura receded, it brushed something turning into this tunnel, and it flared up blindingly bright in the dim hallway. Straymos froze and so did time. That young man with the green eyes and the magic spilling out of every pore—he was here in this corridor. He was here! Stray could taste his magic. It was cold and flinty, an earth mage for certain.
Straymos scanned the faces of the people passing him—no mean feat in the near-total darkness and a thickening crowd. Where is he? I know you’re here. Show yourself.
“Come, sinner, to your dark Father fly. At my side, thy time is nigh,” whispered a voice that made Straymos’ borrowed blood run cold.
“But you’re locked out.” Fear choked Straymos. The Adversary can’t be here, but that’s his voice I just heard.
“Run!” shouted the nonagenarian whose body he inhabited. The old summoner tried to seize control of their shared body, but he wasn’t strong enough, so he shouted at Straymos inside their mind. “Run, don’t let him catch you.”
Mosel’s words penetrated his fear and finally snapped its hold. Straymos turned and ran right into a hooded man carrying a child. Death magic grappled with life magic shoving them apart. A pale green aura flared up around the man and his son as he stumbled and vanished into the crowd.
Straymos reeled, every sense afire as he fetched up against a column. Hatred burned in his breast as he sought the man and his son. I could have been you.
“Are you alright sir?” asked a woman holding a violet kerchief.
“Yes, I’m fine, thank you for asking.”
More polite mumbo jumbo fell out of Straymos’ mouth as he scanned the crowd, cursing his short stature. Why hadn’t those idiot summoners chosen a taller sacrifice?
“They did, but I chose you. I ran into the circle and embra
ced you,” Mosel said and his wrinkly, kind face appeared in the crowd with its big honking nose dripping like the cell they’d tried to stuff Stray into.
Stray closed his eyes. He refused to remember that time of incarceration and fear. It was done. Six years ago, those fools had summoned Vail, and that psychotic demon shattered their circle.
“Six years ago, we escaped them. We built our own life,” Mosel said. His shriveled hand squeezed Straymos’ then he receded back into their shared mind and slid into the passenger seat.
Straymos clawed at the tear rolling down his cheek. It ran like fire scorching his insides as his gaze narrowed on the hooded head of the man turning the next corner. It was the man with the emerald fire in his eyes and a white blaze in his soul. I could have been you if I hadn’t been raised by psychopaths! How I hate you.
For there was nothing but brimstone and darkness inside Straymos. But he could have been so much more. Straymos pushed into the crowd knocking his velvet cap askew as he fled that mage—that reminder of what he could have been had life turned out differently.
I could have been a paragon too. You and I could have sat together at the hearth-fire of good. If I had never tasted human blood. But he had thanks to those warlock wannabes who’d thought blood-drinking might enhance his dark powers. Of course, it had, he was demon-bred.
The beast was near the surface, straining to break free but not yet. It was too soon to feed, too soon. Mosel’s gnarled hand seized its ruff and dragged the beast back. One day the old fool wouldn’t be able to contain it, and that rough beast would slough off their human skin. But today the old fool could still hold it in check.
Straymos was running now, bounding up the stairs at an inhuman pace, and his shadow loped along beside him as they burst onto the main level. His legs burned from the run, but he pushed himself to just keep running. They dodged statues, people, and overhanging plants until he burst onto a balcony overlooking the northern trails—the ones his quarry preferred.
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