A Demon's Contract

by Delmire Hart

  “The second task,” Archibald intoned, refusing to acknowledge the magelights beyond moving forward with the test, “is to set each of the papers behind you alight with carefully controlled magefire. Each paper must be set alight one by one and burnt without leaving traces of ash behind.”

  Turning, Barkley found a large trail of thick parchment laid out along the floor. Fighting off a frown, he glanced over at Zaxor. The demon was looking over the floor with a blank expression. While he had expected a task of this nature, the scale was unusual. If one of the other apprentices took this same test, they would be hard pressed to complete this task. The control required to burn one page without burning the page next to it all while fanning the flames to a temperature that would leave nothing behind was immense. It was his first clue that his test wasn’t like all the others.

  Zaxor raised his hand and clicked his fingers. Blue flame engulfed the first sheet of parchment before leaping to the next, leaving nothing in its wake as each page was successively burnt. The murmurs from the spectators were growing in volume, and Barkley glanced back to find Max among the crowd. The mage gave a small shake of his head; this was not normal for a mage exam.

  Perhaps the Headmaster wanted Barkley to fail, humiliate him in front of the entire academy, but having an audience went both ways. There was no way he could refuse Barkley the title if he completed each task while there were witnesses present.

  It took less than a minute for Zaxor to complete the task, no ash or scorch marks to indicate what had taken place.

  “The third and fourth tasks,” the Headmaster waved at someone sitting at the edge of the stone benches, “are to activate the hidden properties within each plant. To pass, each plant must have the delicate flowers needed in many alchemy recipes fully in bloom.”

  A man hurried forward to place two brown, twisted branches on the floor between the Headmaster and Barkley. Neither of them looked healthy enough to be used in alchemy, and there was no sign of flowers, or even leaves, on either.

  Barkley glanced at Zaxor to see him standing perfectly still. While nothing showed on his face, it was clear to the young man that the demon was putting the pieces of the puzzle together. The frowns in the audience had moved to the Headmaster rather than Barkley, and it was becoming clear to everyone present that there was more going on here than a simple mage test.

  Zaxor set his feet, his posture upright and strong, his arms spread wide. Black, red, and green runes danced around his feet as he uttered a series of booming words that echoed around the chamber. Alarm filled Barkly at the sight. How much magic was the demon using to complete this task? Zaxor didn’t need verbal commands for small magics, nor any gestures. The only time he had seen the demon use such magic was when he bound them together upon accepting the contract.

  The small branches expanded; one turning a dark green as it stretched out across the stone floor, slithering this way and that as it reached out towards Zaxor. Large dark green leaves sprouted along its length until it reached the demon’s feet to produce a single blood-red flower, its small petals ruffled prettily. The other branch stretched for the sky, small branches fanning out underneath it as though it was trying to put down roots only to be denied by the unyielding stone below it. The dead brown colour lightened and mottled as bark stretched across the rapidly growing trunk, a single branch breaking away from the top to bow over Barkley’s head. Its brown fingers spread out as though reaching for him but only a single flower formed, the five small petals a soft pink around the yellow inside.

  Silence filled the chamber once Zaxor had finished, and Barkley wasn’t sure what to do. The Headmaster looked torn between pleased and irritated, the expressions struggling to be tampered down. Zaxor’s tail curled around the vine at his feet, lifting it to chest height for his inspection.

  “An interesting choice of plants for this test.” Zaxor spoke casually, but loud enough that everyone could hear. “The Valley’s Tears.” He glanced purposefully over at the flower dangling above Barkley before turning his attention back to the plant in front of him. “And Bleeding Ivy.”

  Headmaster Archibald spluttered indignantly, clearly affronted at the implication in Zaxor’s tone. The demon was not deterred by the bluster however, and kept talking with affected nonchalance.

  “The Valley’s Tears has a great many uses in alchemy, most often put toward use in healing compounds. But, when distilled with the notoriously poisonous Bleeding Ivy, it can create the most deadly and untraceable of poisons. If brewed correctly, it is both tasteless and odourless, and a single drop can kill an adult man when ingested.” Zaxor paused to place the vine at his feet before moving his piercing gaze onto the sweating Headmaster. “The mages of this age lack the sheer magical power required to activate these plants from such a state. I wonder how well the right person would pay to get their hands on such a rare poison? And such an easy task for you; get rid of the apprentice causing you nothing but headaches while profiting handsomely.”

  “Preposterous!” Headmaster Archibald spit out venomously, his face reddening with his indignant anger. “I merely picked an appropriate task for someone with such a reportedly powerful demon! How ungrateful—!”

  Zaxor cut across the man’s protests sharply, his calm tone a striking counterpoint to the Headmaster's yell.

  “Distilling such a concoction would be well outside your ability to create, but I see an alchemical set sitting beside your helper. How quaint, get the higher demon to activate the plants and distil you a fortune, all for the price of a throwaway title.”

  The Headmaster spluttered a denial as Zaxor slowly walked forward, but it was blindingly obvious that had been his intention all along, the magelight and magefire tasks purely formalities to hide his true intentions. As he strode forward, Zaxor’s form grew in size. Huge black leathery wings sprouted from his back while dark swirling mist distorted his form. As his legs elongated and changed shape, the odd backwards bend in them familiar from the tattoo lining Barkley’s back, he realised that this was Zaxor’s true form.

  The tips of his wings brushed the ceiling and he towered over the assembled congregation. The Headmaster cowered back in fear, tripping over his ornate robes in his haste to get away. He was pinned in place on the floor as Zaxor leaned over him. Barkley couldn’t see the expression on the demon’s face, but the movement of his now elongated and armoured tail suggested the demon was far from happy.

  “What a pathetic excuse for a ‘Mage Academy’,” Zaxor sneered, his booming voice bouncing off the walls. “How far humans have fallen in a scant few hundred years. Accepting only those with the mixed blood of human and demon, refusing full blooded humans entry to the demon realm, limiting how far your ‘mages’ can venture into the demon realm, burning research while lauding the theories of frauds and self-important fakes.”

  Gasps at Zaxor’s accusations provided a counterpoint to his scorn. It seemed more than one mage was surprised at learning the origin of their magic abilities. What surprised Barkley was just how many people that seemed to be. Was that fact really so hidden? Did people brush the origin of their mixed blooded children quietly away, never to be found while they boasted of their line’s power? Come to think of it, he had never asked Max if he knew where his magic had come from.

  “If we are so pathetic then get out,” the Headmaster spat, his fear slowly being overcome by humiliated anger. His voice quavered over the first few words before gaining strength as he went on. “We have no need for one such as you among our prestigious ranks!”

  “Prestigious?!” Zaxor replied incredulously before throwing his head back to laugh. Barkley could only watch, feet rooted in place with his growing horror, as all the precious weeks of waiting and practise became for naught. “You are little more than a shadow of your predecessor’s glory. You’ve grown complacent with your collective ignorance and fear the things beyond your tiny sphere of comfort. Your ‘prestigious’ academy is thousands of years behind the knowledge of a few hundred years ago.�
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  “Get out.” The Headmaster tried to pull himself to his feet but couldn’t get his shaking limbs to hold him. His face was blotched with red and contorted in rage as he screamed up at the demon looming above him. “GET OUT!”

  Zaxor chuckled in Archibald’s face, his unconcern plain as he turned to pick the pink flower above Barkley’s head. He paused for a long moment to inspect the flower before a sudden lurching sensation heralded their arrival in Barkley’s room. The demon was back to his usual humanesque appearance, the flower attached to a thin piece of branch being rolled between Zaxor’s fingers.

  Barkley stared at the demon for a long moment, his mind unable to wrap itself around the events that just transpired. Finally, he was able to choke out a question.

  “What have you done?”

  Chapter Eighteen

  Zaxor shrugged, unconcerned, before reaching out to slip the thin branch behind Barkley’s ear. He slapped the demon’s hand away, although he could just make out the flower perched beside his ear from the corner of his eye. Anger rolled through him as the stunned surprise wore off.

  “What the fuck was that?!” Barkley all but yelled, his rage barely held in check. “You said you would help me!”

  “I merely called a fool out on their supposed cunning,” Zaxor replied, serene as before. “You are screaming as though all is lost. You are still thinking like a farm boy, not someone aspiring to change the world.”

  “That was my ticket into the army! Now I’ve wasted precious weeks, for what?”

  Despair threatened to overtake the anger, and it was all Barkley could do to hold the feeling at bay. Desperate thoughts of his family suffering, their ordeal extended days beyond what was necessary, all because of this arrogant demon standing before him. The thoughts choked him, crowding his mind.

  “Max already provided you with an alternative, you have a ticket into the army.”

  “And he said it was better to get the mage license first,” Barkley snapped. The effect was lost as he choked on a sob, the anguish over the wasted time finally clawing to the surface.

  “So far all you’ve done is accepted the path in front of you, barely pushing away from the path others have shown you. I told you before, forge your own path.” Zaxor’s voice was sharp, the first sign of any emotion from the demon. “You never spoke with anyone from the military directly, you’ve based your course of actions on assumptions and well-intended suggestions. It’s time you stepped back, looked at what your goal is, and chase it with the same determination that brought you to me in the first place. Complacency leads you to the same ending as the mages here.”

  The swirling mix of emotions raging through him took on the tint of anger as Barkley’s glare at Zaxor intensified. The arrogant bastard was making it out as though him losing the opportunity for the mage license was not only his fault, it was a stupid idea to begin with.

  “It’s not like you’ve helped me so far,” Barkley spat. “You said you would, and now you’ve undone everything I’ve worked for.”

  “You’re fixating on something that’s pointless.” Zaxor turned his attention to Barkley’s tiny desk, picking up the small anchor stone he had left there. “I agreed to help you win the war to save your family, not hold your hand as you dither in a place so far from the war that I can only idle away my time. I’ve told you before that you need to stop playing other people’s games and make your own choices.”

  Any retort he had was interrupted by a wheezing Max bursting into the room. The mage clung to the door frame as he tried to catch his breath. A small huff of annoyance was all the warning Zaxor gave before he vanished back to the demon realm, his anchor in hand. Barkley tried to stomp down his roiling feelings but it was impossible.

  “Tha— haah.” Max gasped out a laugh as he struggled to get his breathing back under control. “I’m getting too old to run anywhere. But that! That was incredible! To see that arrogant bastard put in his place! Fuck,” he swore fervently, his tone equal measures impressed and delighted. “I’ve been waiting years for that!”

  Max paused to look over Barkley properly, his expression turning sheepish. He pushed himself off the doorframe and eased into the room, the door quietly shutting behind him. Barkley turned away, fists clenched at his side as he began to pace the small room.

  What was he going to do now?

  “Are you okay?” Max ventured, his voice echoing his concern.

  “No.”

  And he wasn’t. So many weeks wasted. That was all he could think about. What if more of his family had died in that time? What if he had lost a friend? Or a neighbour? What if he returned to find the entire village gone? It was barely standing when he had left, what chance did he have of saving them now?

  “I’ll help you pack your things, but we need to go now; old Archibald will be on the warpath if he finds you still here once he’s recovered.”

  Barkley stopped his pacing to stare quizzically at Max. At the older mage’s insistence, he collected his things, his body moving stiffly almost of its own accord.

  “I’ll take you to Loria’s Guard Captain. You might not have the official ‘mage’ title, but he has little love for Archibald; few people do. A demon so powerful that he cowed the Headmaster who then, in his shame, kicked you out? It might just be the ticket you’re after.”

  Max smiled at him, a gentle thing, one reserved for friends. It cut through the worst of Barkley’s anguish and he nodded.

  “I hope you’re right.”

  He had precious few items to take with him. Barkley shucked off the grey mage robe in exchange for worn brown breeches and a grey shirt that had once been white. He kept the robes, along with the sleepwear, and used them to cushion the books in his bag. He would not waste the opportunity to have warmer, less worn clothing. No doubt they would come in handy later, but for now it was better to wear clothing more suited to travelling.

  Once packed, they hurried from the gleaming marble castle. The guards at the gates seemed surprised at their sudden departure, but they gave no trouble. In the weeks that Barkley had been sheltered in the academy, Loria had grown worse for wear. The number of refugees huddled along the now dirty streets had doubled, and the central marketplace was full of makeshift shelters constructed from any scraps of wood, metal, or cloth that could be found.

  Many of the faces were gaunt with malnutrition, and it was clear the food shortage caused by the destruction of crops and farming communities was starting. The last of the autumn harvests would usually make this time of year one of plenty; the lack of food now boded ill for the winter to come. Beggars held out hands or worn bowls as they passed, their eyes pleading as much as their broken voices. It was a gut-wrenching sight that only fanned the guttering flames of Barkley’s determination.

  He had been behind the academy walls for too long. The war had become an abstract thing he needed to stop, but complacency had dulled his ambition. All he had thought of was his family, his village, and the conditions he had left behind. Barkley had known things would get worse before they would get better, he had fretted over it, but to see the effects with his own eyes?

  The war needed to end, and soon.

  It was quite the trek on foot to make their way to the other side of the city. The guard headquarters was a large tower built into the towering stone walls that surrounded the city, right next to the gate that Max said pointed towards Rilia’s capital. It was a different gate than the one Barkley had entered the city through and seemed to border the merchant quarter. Max spoke with the guards sitting around outside the tower, most of them appearing off duty, and they were quickly waved inside. No one showed any surprise upon seeing the mage or any interest in his young companion, which surprised Barkley. Max couldn’t be a regular visitor, but that didn’t seem to matter.

  “You seem surprised,” Max commented as he led the way through the guard tower, nodding and calling out greetings as he went.

  “I didn’t expect them to be so friendly.” Barkley paused, choo
sing his words. It wasn’t so much friendliness as trust. “Well, trusting. They are just letting us walk in.”

  Max stopped by one guard to inquire politely about an order of healing salves. Looking closer, Barkley could see that his uniform was different to the others milling about, and he seemed to be in demand if the two men lingering in front of him were anything to go by. The man’s reply to the mage was surprisingly respectful, then they were being ushered on up the narrow stone stairs curling around the outside of the tower.

  “The academy doesn’t hire its own guards; instead, a rotation of the city guards stands by the gate. I don’t claim to have met or spoken to everyone, but they know me because I’m out there every day. I also handle all the petitions from the guards, usually orders for healing salves, but occasionally there’s been the more unusual request. It’s how I met the Captain, actually. His wife came down with chronic fevers, and nothing the local healers did helped. He petitioned the academy personally for help, offering to pay anything for a cure. I made the mistake of mentioning that to the Headmaster during my weekly report, and he was ready to extort the man for all he had, without even knowing if we could help.”

  Max shook his head, his expression turning grim. Barkley was appalled, and Max’s reaction to the humiliation of the Headmaster earlier made a lot more sense. Perhaps that also explained why the Headmaster refused to let Barkley through their portal to the demon realm until he had agreed to become a mage. The man wouldn’t let an opportunity to profit from others go by.

  Which he attempted to do by trying to get Zaxor to create for him that expensive poison.

  “In the end, Lucille was able to help me create a cure that worked,” Max continued as they neared the top of the stairs. “We only charged him for the ingredients, plus a little for our time. It’s a commonly requested cure-all now, although pricey for those with little to spare. One of the ingredients is quite rare. Archibald was pissed he didn’t get his fortune, but the Captain has gone out of his way to help me more than once since.”