Fury of a Demon

by Brian Naslund

  “It is alchemist procedure to put deceased members’ belongings in the deep cellars, but since Caellan is technically missing, not dead, her quarters have been left intact. Some consider this to be a waste of space, but the procedure exists for a reason. Master Epplatus once disappeared for seventeen years on a research mission.” Kyal chuckled. “I still remember the day he returned, and complained that someone had been using his forks. The tines were bent or something. Anyway, this is what she left behind.”

  Kyal motioned to three items. Vera squatted down to examine them: A needle made from some kind of animal’s bone. A piece of rolled parchment. And a curved knife that seemed like it was made for cleaving plants.

  “Nothing else?” Vera asked.

  “Nothing.”

  She unrolled the paper to find that it was a map of the realm of Terra, but drawn with thousands of circular swirls that gave the illusion of elevation.

  “What’s this?”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t give that as much attention as it might seem to warrant. Every alchemist must draw one in their fifth year of study, before they’re allowed to embark upon surveys in the wilderness. The lines are topographic delineations, and help display accurate elevation levels, which impact the warrens and wildlife of the world greatly.”

  Vera scanned the map, eyes lingering over the myriad lines that comprised the Razorback Mountains. It made her think of her journey across that nightmare.

  “Do all alchemists keep the maps they make?” Vera asked.

  “Not all of them,” Kyal admitted. “But it’s a common practice. Many of us consider our maps to be a mark of pride. Mine is still in my quarters.”

  Vera glanced at Salle. “You?”

  “I got mine somewhere folded up, yeah. Bastard took so long to draw, it seemed like a sin to get rid of it.”

  “After Caellan left, several of the masters dedicated significant time to studying her map, thinking she may have marked her location for some reason. They did not find anything.”

  “Hm.”

  Vera picked up the bone needle. There were a few markings along the side that seemed more about measurements than any kind of code or clue as to where Caellan had gone. The knife had some dried bits of long-dead grass crammed into one of the notches. The handle was worn smooth from use.

  “What was Caellan like, generally?”

  “Well, your information is correct in that Caellan knew more about spinal cords than anyone else in the order. It is a very complicated aspect of our bodies—bones and nerves and tissue all woven into an intricate and delicate braid. She was incredibly adept at tracing damage back to its original—”

  “No, not her work,” Vera interrupted. “Tell me about her. As a person.”

  Kyal hesitated. “To be frank, she was not so unlike Osyrus Ward. Her experiments and studies often stretched beyond the bounds of what our order was comfortable with, and so did her behavior. She was brusque. She hoarded materials. Drank liquor often, and in great volume.” He hesitated. “Generally, she was not well liked.”

  “Why wasn’t she expelled?” Salle asked. Apparently, all of this was new information to her as well. “I haven’t had more than half a glass of wine in five years because of your intolerance of a little fun.”

  Kyal rubbed his hands together with clear discomfort. “At the time, the king of Pargos had two sons. One was healthy and strong, his heir.” He cleared his throat. “The second was born with a degenerative condition that impacted his spinal column. Caellan was … quite helpful with his treatments.”

  Salle scoffed. “I see. Generating favor from a king does tend to earn some leniencies.”

  “Yes.” Kyal opened his hands. “Her work was truly brilliant. She was just … eccentric.”

  “She seems like someone in whom Osyrus Ward might have an interest.”

  Kyal shrugged. “To my knowledge, the two of them never met.”

  Vera believed that Kyal was telling the truth, but she also believed that his knowledge was both incomplete and deliberately limited. She walked around the room. Ran a finger along the windowsill, then flicked away the small layer of ash that accrued on her glove.

  “Tell me more about when she disappeared.”

  “When, or why?”

  “Both.”

  “The when is simple. Seven years and three months ago. The why … nobody knows. She came back from a contract in northern Balaria and spent three days getting drunk in this very room. Then, on the fourth morning, we found several obscure documents missing from the archives, and she was gone. The masters were furious. Stealing documents is strictly forbidden, and while it seems a bit moot now, it was agreed that she would face strict punishment upon her return.”

  “But not expulsion,” Salle added, her voice bitter. “Because of the prince.”

  Kyal gave a helpless groan. “As I said, the point is moot.”

  “What was the contract that she took in Balaria?” Vera asked.

  “The contract? Oh, something to do with a governor’s old war injury.”

  “She didn’t say anything about it?”

  “Just that it was a success. Although I remember that she did not seem particularly happy about that.”

  Vera paused. “This is all useful information, but…”

  “It does not bring you any closer to Caellan,” Kyal finished.

  Vera nodded.

  “I don’t want to dissuade you from your search, but as I said before, many people have searched for Caellan. Members of our order, and others. None found her.”

  Vera left the chamber. Looked down the hallway, where there were nine more identical doors.

  “Where are the others?” Vera asked.

  Vera searched Kyal’s face, then Salle’s. Both of them were filled with a deep sadness.

  “They didn’t survive, did they?”

  “They had their job,” Salle said. “And we have ours.”

  “What job?”

  “Should the library be discovered, they were to preserve and protect the records if possible, but destroy them should they be at risk of falling into the wrong hands.”

  Vera finally understood. “Osyrus Ward didn’t burn this building down.” She turned to them. “Alchemists did.”

  Kyal nodded. “He arrived with his gray-skinned creatures and stormed the building. I do not know what transpired exactly, only that no alchemist nor records survived.”

  “How did you two survive?”

  “Protocol,” Salle whispered. There were tears in her eyes, which she blinked away.

  Vera looked to Kyal for an explanation.

  “Many years ago, Empress Okinu’s operatives infiltrated our archive and stole … information of great value.” Vera noted Kyal’s word choice sidestepped the fact that Okinu’s operatives had almost certainly been widows. “After that loss, new protocols were created to prevent the incident from being repeated. It was decided that it was better to destroy the physical records than allow them to be misused. In that event, one master and their apprentice would break off from the order and hide among the populace. I held the responsibility as an apprentice for many years, and now as the master.”

  “What responsibility?”

  “He remembers,” said Salle. Then smiled bitterly. “And I write.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Perhaps it is easier to show you, than to explain,” said Kyal. “And I, for one, relish the chance to leave this place for a time. Come to our home, please. I believe we could all use some refreshment.”

  * * *

  Kyal and Salle lived in a small cottage on the outskirts of town. It had four rooms. Two of them were small bedchambers. One was a small kitchen. The other was a common room that was crammed from floor to ceiling with sheaves of paper. Kyal entered the common room while Salle moved to the kitchen to brew a pot of tea.

  “We’re nearly finished with Lionel Cha’s survey of Lysterian dragon warrens,” he said, picking up a sheaf of paper and giving it a quic
k scan. “Always liked that one.”

  “I’ve found the dictation quite dull,” Salle called from the kitchen. “He didn’t even find anything useful. All the Gods Moss in that warren had been picked clean by an invasive beetle. Can we please do one that’s more interesting next?”

  “They’re all interesting,” said Kyal, then tapped the side of his temple. “But I will see what the darkened room has for you.”

  Vera finally understood. “You memorized the entire archive?”

  “Yes.”

  “How long did that take?” Vera asked.

  “The burden is a heavy one,” Kyal said. “But the knowledge must be passed on.”

  “It wouldn’t be so easy to lose if the alchemists did not keep so much of it a secret,” said Vera.

  “Perhaps that is true,” Kyal admitted. “We are an order so steeped in rules, they have become wrapped around us like chains. I am too old to change, but Salle … she may carry on as she sees fit.”

  Vera looked around at the freshly written books. “Is there anything here that can help Kira?”

  “I am afraid that while Caellan was a most brilliant individual, she did not contribute her work to the archives before disappearing.”

  Vera sat down on an olive crate. Sank her shoulders. Despite everything she’d learned about Caellan, this was a dead end.

  The teakettle started to whistle. Salle came in with a mug and put it in Vera’s hands. “Something to remind you of home.”

  Vera took a sip, savoring the old but familiar flavor. She hadn’t had a good cup of Oricha in years.

  “Thank you,” she murmured, then took another sip.

  “Will you stay for dinner?” Salle asked.

  “No. I need to be moving on.”

  “Where will you go?” Salle asked.

  “I’m not sure. Maybe to the city in Balaria where Caellan took her last job. Do you remember what it was called?”

  Salle snorted. “Vera, by now you should know that you don’t need to ask Kyal if he remembers something.”

  “Right. Well, let’s have it, then?”

  The old man smiled. “Craz-al-dig.”

  Vera nodded. It was a shitty lead, but it was something.

  She blew on the tea, mostly so she could cool it down enough to drink it faster. It was good, but it reminded her of a place where she no longer belonged, and she could never return.

  That reality was enough to turn any drink bitter.

  * * *

  When Vera was halfway back to the Sparrow, she heard the footsteps of someone following her.

  Normally, she’d have taken cover in a shadowy corner, but she already knew who it was. She’d gotten a good sense of Salle’s footfalls during their time together.

  Vera turned and waited in the street. When Salle came around, she was carrying a familiar roll of parchment.

  Caellan’s map.

  “When did you take that?” Vera asked.

  Salle shrugged. “Kyal would have grumbled. Procedure and all. But I figured you should have it.”

  “Why?”

  “Seems you’re willing to scrape this realm down to the bone to find Caellan. You’ll need a map.”

  “There are maps on the skyship.”

  “I know.” Salle smiled. “And like Kyal said, there’s nothing special about this one.”

  Vera narrowed her eyes. “So you came running all this way to give me a map that isn’t special?”

  “I did.” She paused. “And to tell you something about the ways these get made.”

  “All right.”

  “The process for drawing the topography is very particular—each swirl is drawn in a clockwise motion, so as to keep the look uniform and consistent across different maps drawn by different alchemists. But alchemists don’t learn that until their fourth year of study.”

  Vera chewed on that. “Osyrus was expelled after his third year.”

  “He was,” Salle agreed. Then held out the map. “Always thought that was kind of interesting.”

  Vera took it. “Kyal doesn’t know?”

  “Funny, isn’t it? Man has a perfect memory, but never did put the pieces together. Or if he did, he wasn’t willing to tell you.”

  “Why are you willing to tell me?”

  Salle took a breath.

  “I love Kyal like a father. But he’s an old man. And old men have been running this realm for a long, long time. They’ve been running the alchemist order, at least. And look where that’s gotten us. All we do is hoard knowledge and abide protocols. Maybe it’s time for us young ones to break things up a bit. That’s what I think.”

  “I agree.”

  “There’s something else you should know about Caellan. She was an expert on spinal columns, but that wasn’t the only aspect of study she mastered.”

  “What was the other?”

  “Poison.”

  Vera frowned. “The two don’t seem related.”

  “There is a logical alignment, actually. There are a large number of animal venoms that cause paralysis, so in theory if you understand how those work, you can reverse them. But given that Caellan has gone through so much trouble to keep herself hidden, I thought … well … I thought that the person who goes looking for her should know the full extent of her abilities.”

  “Thank you, Salle.”

  Salle gave her a sad smile. “Good luck, Vera.”

  * * *

  Vera spent the entire night poring over the map in her cabin on the Blue Sparrow. But she soon found that even with the clue from Salle, there were thousands and thousands of swirls, and as far as she could tell, they’d all been drawn with a counterclockwise hand.

  “Black skies,” she muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose between thumb and forefinger.

  “Trouble picking a destination?” Decimar asked from behind her.

  She turned around. “Something like that.”

  “You know that’s not actually the right kind of map for aeronautic courses. You need a nautical sky map to track the wind currents, which we have in the navigation cabin.”

  “I’m not concerned with the wind,” said Vera, returning her gaze to the map. “Caellan left a hint to her location on this map. I just can’t see it.”

  Decimar crossed his arms. “You need a way to narrow the field.”

  “Huh?”

  “It’s an archery term. You find yourself with a field full of targets, you have to narrow the options down to the one you’ve got the best chance of hitting. Now, range and speed of motion’s the biggest thing with an arrow shot. Wind, too, because once you arc an arrow it’s the wind that it belongs to and—”

  “Decimar, stop talking about wind.”

  He was babbling like an idiot, but he had a point. She needed another piece of information about where Caellan might have gone. She tried to think. A bone needle and a knife didn’t mean anything. And there was nothing special around the area of Craz-al-dig—the last place Caellan had taken a contract—either.

  But there was that story. That rumor of a witch in Lysteria who healed the paralyzed kid.

  “What was the name of that Lysterian village we went to after the governor thing?”

  “Huh? Oh. Kunda-kin, or something.”

  “No.” She paused. “Kunda-lan.”

  “Well if you knew, why’d you ask me?”

  Vera ignored him. Found Kunda-lan with a finger, then started searching the area around it. When one circle revealed nothing, she went wider. Then wider still, until she was searching a series of mountains and hinterlands almost fifty leagues from the village.

  And that’s where she found it.

  A single valley within the range, where the swirls were made with quill strokes moving in the opposite direction of all the others.

  Vera smiled. Got up.

  “Where are you going?” Decimar asked.

  “To give Entras a new course.”

  42

  BERSHAD

  Dainwood Jungle

>   While Ashlyn and Jolan were tinkering with their captured acolyte and the army was mapping the skyship pickup locations, Bershad found that he had an unexpected amount of free time on his hands.

  He spent it in the wilds outside Dampmire, hunting with the Nomad.

  There were still plenty of rations from the cargo skyship, but nothing lasted forever. Plus, more and more, Bershad preferred the taste of raw, fresh meat over rice or cheese or bread. He knew that change was because of his bond with the dragon growing stronger. He knew that his inevitable transformation was getting closer.

  And he didn’t care. It had been weeks since Jolan had needed to give him an injection, and his connection to the Nomad had never been stronger. It felt natural. It felt right.

  He’d left Dampmire an hour before dawn and headed west, working his way along the spine of a ridge that was covered with moss and blooming, purple flowers. For the first few hours of the day, the Nomad had sluggishly hopped from Daintree to Daintree, following him slowly and lazily while her blood warmed up. But the sun was almost halfway to its highest point in the sky now. She shook her wings and sprang into the sky, flying west with a purpose.

  “Glad you’ve summoned the energy to find us a late breakfast,” he said.

  That was another reason he liked hunting with the Nomad on his own. Nobody was around to look at him funny while he talked to a dragon that was a league up in the sky.

  He let the Nomad’s senses wash over him. The heartbeats of a hundred animals shimmered across his skin like sweat. A few minutes later, the Nomad picked up the thick, gamey scent of a boar.

  “We had boar two days ago,” Bershad muttered. “And it makes you constipated.”

  The Nomad tugged harder.

  “I said no. Variety’s important.”

  She tugged one last time—apparently she was in a stubborn mood—then banked south and started flying in a tight loop. She ignored a troop of monkeys and a wandering deer, both of which Bershad would have enjoyed, but since he’d put a stop to the boar, he wasn’t in a position to be picky.

  Next, she fixated on a jaguar napping in the low rafters of the canopy.