A Demon's Contract

by Delmire Hart

  “It is believed all such races share a common ancestor, a theory further supported because they all possess souls and are tied into a chain of reincarnation. Even the non-magical humans. There are some that suggest that humans bear the most resemblance to the original ancestor, as they are the only ones who exist in a non-magical world. Without magic to influence humans’ bodies, they take a millennium to evolve and change on their own.”

  “What about demons?” Barkley questioned, confused. “You said they don’t have souls, but many look somewhat human. You do too, even in that other form.”

  “There are theories around that as well. Magical experiments, damned souls, altered corpses to form the living dead.” Zaxor flapped his free hand in dismissal. “No one knows the truth. But, what we do know is that every soul, even a human’s soul, contains magic. When I bind a soul to me, I gain access to that magic. It’s rarely as simple as pure power. Frederick’s soul makes complex casting easier, Bel’s deepens my pool of magic. János’s allows me to teleport more easily. Even after a thousand years I still haven’t figured out what Aquenia’s does.”

  “Do you know what mine will give you?”

  “No.” Zaxor shrugged, his shoulders pressing against Barkley’s thigh at the action. “I will not know until I bind it to me and see what is different. Unless, like Aquenia’s, it is related to some type of magic I do not use.”

  “What about the binding?” Barkley pressed, hoping to maximise on Zaxor’s candidness. The demon always answered the questions Barkley asked, but he knew he would talk around anything he didn’t want to share. “Can you reverse it?”

  “Each demon has their own ritual of binding unique to them. What it does, how it affects their souls, and if it can be reversed entirely depends on them.”

  Barkley knew a dismissal when he heard one. Zaxor’s tone closed the conversation, even as he evaded answering the question. The only thing he had told Barkley was that it was possible and that he didn’t want to talk about it. Or perhaps, he amended, looking around, he didn’t want to talk about it here.

  János’ expression showed his internal conflict over the new information,, and Barkley realised that perhaps having this conversation in front of him hadn’t been the best idea. Not when the man was struggling with coming to terms with his choices and his new life. The idea that Zaxor could reverse his binding, that he could release János from their contract if he chose, only made the acceptance of it all harder.

  Holding in a frustrated sigh, Barkley picked up his discarded book and flipped through the pages until he was back to where he had left off. His mood hadn’t been lifted by their conversation and the distraction hadn’t served him nearly as well as he’d hoped. Right now, all he could do was wait, and he may as well pass the time at least somewhat pleasantly.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The day he’d been waiting for couldn’t come soon enough. Barkley was tense with anticipation, his mind whirling with worry over all the things that could go wrong. That might have already gone wrong. The thoughts of being too late, of his efforts being in vain were impossible to shake today. Nothing he said to convince himself that there was still hope worked, and Zaxor’s flippant attitude did little to change that.

  The demon wore his usual bored expression as they stood with the first squadron of soldiers some distance away from the enemy encampment. Night had fallen around them, but they were waiting on a change of the enemy patrol before they made their move. No doubt the squads of soldiers at the other enemy base were just as restless as they waited for Barkley and Zaxor before moving out.

  Two encampments, one night.

  That was the plan. Hit the Quathians hard and fast to give Rilia an opportunity to strike back while the enemy are off balance and weakened. While the theory made sense, the reality was nerve-wracking. What if it all went wrong? Was it even possible for them to know they were coming? Zaxor’s magic wasn’t about to run out either. Not seeing a way things could go wrong didn’t change the anxiety gripping his stomach.

  The squad leader moved, jerking Barkley from his thoughts as those around him began to silently disperse. He followed the man, missing a step when suddenly he was floating just above the ground. Right. Barkley had forgotten about that.

  Moving quietly through the sparse undergrowth, Barkley was transported back to a week ago, the night of the last raid. It felt the same. Different soldiers but the same tense anticipation, the same walk through dark shadows, and hopefully, the same outcome.

  The woodlands surrounding this enemy base were thinner and they had to stand further off to remain hidden by what few trees they could find. The view to the camp was clearer though, and it struck Barkley once again how similar it was to their own. Even this late at night, small spheres of light dotted the landscape, the campfires burning low yet many still attended as the guard shift changed. More of this camp was made of wooden buildings, and even from his vantage point, Barkley could see how they were expanded upon, extending the buildings further as their purpose evolved from that of a simple village to a large base of military operations. It spoke of a permanency that shook him to the core.

  From what he had learnt during their mission briefing, this was the camp that had conducted the raids on his village. This was the earliest forward base Quathia had set up and, until a scant few months ago, was responsible for every night raid, every village taken, every skirmish of the war so far.

  The next encampment they were to hit that night, once Zaxor confirmed that the fires were beyond controlling, was well behind enemy lines. It was far larger, more equipped, and was where the bulk of the army attacking Rilia was stationed, ready to deploy at a moment’s notice. Destroying that base was a greater victory than taking out the one in front of them, but to Barkley, there was no comparison.

  It was personal for him. This was the base that called for the raids on his home. Here rested the commanders, the soldiers, who had hurt his friends and family, who had stripped their fields bare, taking their livelihood, then taken the lives of those that dared to defend themselves. As though that wasn’t enough, they had then taken the lives of the young, the old, the weak, through starvation, through torture, through grief.

  It was because of them.

  Rage took Barkley suddenly. The realisation of what stood before him stoked the bare embers of anguish, fear, and anger within him until all that was left was an inferno of rage that demanded action. Vengeance. Justice. The many days, weeks, months, since he had left his home had changed his feelings, removed the keen edge and smothered it down to restlessness and the edges of fear.

  Now everything came back full force.

  An arm snuck around his waist and Zaxor pulled Barkley against his chest, holding him tightly in place. It was only then that Barkley realised he was shaking. His nails dug painfully into his palms, his entire body taut with his emotion. The warmth at his back and the firm arm holding him in place did little to quell the burning desire to lash out, but it didn’t matter as the first blue flame leapt into life right in the middle of the camp.

  He watched raptly as the fire arched, leaping from building to building before starting on the tents. The bright blue of the flames was beautiful and tipped with flickering orange. Even as Barkley watched, this time unhindered by the demon, he was aware of the absolute silence in his ears. Perhaps Zaxor had seen, or felt, the emotions taking over Barkley and this time let him observe mostly uninterrupted. He should ask Zaxor what his night vision was like, it had never occurred to Barkley before, but perhaps the demon could see in the dark.

  As the flames spread, taking over his field of view, something eased inside Barkley. The idea that they were murdering an entire base full of people didn’t phase him like he might have thought; they were soldiers and this was war, after all. They had done the same to his own people, and Quathia would not hesitate if they had such a chance. But he did not feel happiness or satisfaction at the act either. It was more like some of the fear, some of the pain he�
��d been carrying around with him had uncoiled, loosening its hold on him.

  Minutes stretched out as they watched the flame lick higher and higher until, seemingly satisfied, Zaxor wrapped his other arm around Barkley. A slight lurch accompanied their teleport to the second anchor. Barkley blinked, trying to clear the after image of the flames from his vision.

  A scream from somewhere to his left chilled Barkley to his core. It was silenced after only a second, ending in a gurgle that turned his stomach. Zaxor muttered something in demonic in his ear, a curse word from the tone, and flung his hand up with another mutter. Magelights sprang up around them to reveal a grisly scene. Bodies littered the ground, blood turning the dirt muddy. From the scattered bits of clothing and armour it was clearly their second squadron of soldiers.

  An arrow whistled past, only missing Barkley because Zaxor jerked him backwards. A shimmering field of white and blue surrounded them at a gesture.

  “Don’t move,” Zaxor commanded, his voice steely.

  Barkley choked on a laugh that came out more like a sob. Any of the burning anger from just minutes earlier had vanished, snuffed out in the face of their comrade’s deaths. The sight of the bloody and broken bodies brought his own memories to the fore. Burnt houses, limbs peeking out at strange angles from beneath the rubble of their neighbour’s home, Brown stains splattered across the dirt pathways, a grim reminder of the cost of war.

  Fighting to stay in the here and now, there was no way he could move. Barkley’s legs threatened to buckle underneath him just from the effort of standing still; any movement would send him careening to the ground.

  Instead, he watched as Zaxor grew and changed, his body becoming shadow, a deeper black than the darkness outside of the mage lights, and he towered above the treeline. Arrows passed through his misty form and the demon ignored them to spread his arms wide, words tumbling from his lips.

  An arrow hit the shield protecting Barkley and he jumped, tearing his vision from Zaxor to stare at the offending item. The arrow bounced off harmlessly, followed by a second and a third. Pulling up his gaze, he could just make out the archer through the trees, but they didn’t get to make a fourth attempt. Zaxor’s massive clawed hand plucked the soldier from their feet and tossed them like a child would a ragdoll. The terrified scream ended abruptly, punctuated by a sickening thump.

  Fire leapt above the tree lines to impact Zaxor’s form and Barkley’s blood ran cold. Mages. They had mages with contracted demon’s here. Of course they did, he had already known Quathia had mages in their army, that was the entire reason he had sought his own contract. But seeing it was another matter entirely.

  Memories of their burning fields, the flames undeterred by the misty rain, overlaid his vision. More buried memories were dragged back to the surface, more feelings he had thought dulled. Any ease he had felt over their earlier triumph dissipated and Barkley fell to his knees, retching as it overwhelmed him.

  The battle raged in front of him; the flare of fire volleyed back and forth, the screams of the dying, the smell of burnt flesh. Zaxor’s deep voice booming out incantations as he destroyed each and every thing in front of him was the only thing Barkley could focus on. The words were meaningless to him and the voice familiar; an anchor from the memories, from the surrounding chaos.

  When the chanting stopped, the surrounding stillness was eerie. There was silence for a few heartbeats before a great whoosh broke it, and Barkley looked up to see the sky stained with light from a fire many times the size of the one earlier. The flames licked higher and higher, the smoke thick and black. Then Zaxor was standing in front of him, a frown across his handsome features. Time seemed strange, stilted almost; one moment Zaxor was looking at him, the next he had stepped back, throwing his arms wide.

  The lurching of the teleport was not welcome this time, and Barkley fought to keep from retching. In front of him, Zaxor staggered, then vanished with the familiar small ‘pop’, leaving Barkley on his knees surrounded by their dead and dying. A shout alerted him to his new location, and as a swarm of soldiers dashed forward to help whoever was left alive, Barkley realised they were back at the Rilia front line headquarters.

  Barkley sat unmoving until Lieutenant Harding approached, hand out to help him up. Numb, he let himself be pulled to his feet and ushered to the officer’s campfire. A warm metal mug was pushed into his hands and he clutched at it like a lifeline.

  “They were dead when we got there,” Barkley whispered, his voice breaking at the end. “The first camp was fine, it went just like the first time. Then—”

  He broke off with a choked sob, his hand reaching up to cover his mouth. He floundered against the mix of emotions; some brought by the broken bodies of his comrades, some by the memories that still would not leave him.

  “You brought them home.” Harding’s voice was surprisingly gentle. “Even if we can’t save any, at least their bodies can be laid to rest at home.”

  “The camp.” Barkley stopped, took a deep breath before trying to force his words out. “The camp has been destroyed. Both of them.”

  Harding rapped out a series of orders, no doubt dispatching people to inform the higher ups that at the very least their mission had been successful. Barkley didn’t hear the words; instead, he sat close to the fire with the mug of broth he had been given. Slowly, the trembling in his limbs stilled and his panic receded. The whirlwind of activity that had overtaken the camp calmed until the faint light of dawn stained the horizon grey. As the camp awakened, Harding sought Barkley out again.

  “Two of them made it through the night. You saved them by bringing them back.”

  Relief sagged Barkley's shoulders, and he felt a faint flickering of hope stir in the numbness that had taken over in place of the storm of emotions earlier. Two huge enemy bases had been destroyed, and they had even saved two of the soldiers Barkley had given up for dead.

  More than ever, he wanted this war done, his contract ended, and peace to return to Rilia. He understood why Bel had not said his goodbyes, instead insisting on returning to the demon realm once the battle was won. Tonight had only been a raid, how would Barkley feel after a full-scale battle?

  “The sun bleeds red, a mourning sky.

  Shadows stretch, and hide the light.

  As night draws close, the dead shall sleep.

  Farewell my friend, you’ve earned your peace.”

  Barkley sat frozen as the baritone of a veteran soldier sang out into the pale dawn. His voice was joined by more, soldiers stopping what they were doing to take up the song. Closing his eyes, Barkley listened as they sang verse after verse, the mournful song obviously a tribute to their fallen comrades. He hadn’t known such a tradition existed, but it soothed an ache in him, even just listening.

  It was a farewell, but it also imparted a sense of finality, of closure.

  When the song was done and the crowd dispersed, Barkley whispered out for Zaxor to take him away. Even surrounded by a sea of people, he felt alone, and he couldn’t stand it any longer.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  In calling for Zaxor, Barkley had assumed he’d end up in the demon’s bedroom, but he was brought to a room he’d never seen before. It wasn’t particularly large, but other than a thin walkway around the edge, the entire floor was taken up by a pool of water. Stone steps descended into the water at his feet, and wisps of steam wafted up from the pool. The humid air was warm and Barkley was absurdly grateful for the gesture.

  Zaxor stepped in front of him, naked, defined muscles rippling with each graceful movement, before pausing to wave his hand lazily. Barkley’s clothing vanished, leaving him free to follow his demon lover into the warm water. Wading to the middle of the pool, Barkley could see a low lip of stone under the water forming a long bench. A small woven basket sat on the edge of the pool next to where Zaxor sat reclining as though he was a king on his throne.

  Not that this was an unusual appearance for the demon, to be fair.

  Unsure what to do, B
arkley hovered in the center of the pool, the water lapping around his waist, before Zaxor beckoned him with a crooked finger. He let himself be pulled onto Zaxor’s lap, his back resting up against the demon's broad chest and a heavy arm around his waist. Taking a deep breath, Barkley forced himself to relax. The skin on skin contact was comforting, as was the quiet. Zaxor seemed content with their silence, only disturbing Barkley to rummage in the basket behind them.

  He tipped a pale pink liquid into the water, his tail flicking at the water to form bubbles. Barkley closed his eyes, breathing in the familiar scent as he tried to place it.

  “Is Valley’s Tears in everything you make?” he asked once he realised what it was.

  “It has many healing properties,” Zaxor responded with a huff. “And the flowers are imbued with surprisingly strong magic for their small size.”

  Just what those healing properties were, Zaxor didn’t deign to explain, but all things considered, Barkley wasn’t surprised. There was a suggestion of care about the gesture, and explaining would only emphasise that. It wouldn’t do for the big bad demon to show compassion, after all. Barkley smothered a snort, instead pressing back more firmly against his lover’s chest and closing his eyes.

  They sat like that for a long time, only Zaxor’s tail idly playing with the small field of bubbles around them breaking the silence.

  “Somehow, I’d forgotten what it’s like.” Zaxor shifted behind him when Barkley finally spoke and he wondered if the demon had fallen asleep. “Sorry, did I wake you?”

  “It’s fine. I was meditating rather than sleeping; either will regenerate my magic.”

  “Sleeping is faster though, isn’t it?”

  “It is. But while I used more magic than I would prefer, I didn’t use as much as you think.”