All These Shiny Worlds

by Jefferson Smith

  “What’s the matter?” Faulyr asked. Jaraim’s roommate favored him with a look of concern.

  “You startled me. That’s all. I’ve hardly slept, and I was lost in the pages. I didn’t hear you sneak in.”

  “I hardly sneaked,” Faulyr replied. “You worry too much; you’ll rank as top student, I just know it. Get some sleep.” He gave Jaraim a friendly punch in the shoulder.

  “Got to be the best,” Jaraim muttered as he climbed into the top bunk. It’s the only way I’ll survive this mess I’ve made.

  ***

  The next evening, Jaraim cleared his desk and uncovered his summoning circle. A quick inspection revealed that all the glyphs were still intact; no surprise, but it was a sensible precaution when dealing with demons. Feeling at his belt, Jaraim drew out an iron dagger. It was new, but poorly formed—an apprentice piece, not even cleaned of charcoal from the forge. For two coppers, it was a bargain, considering what Jaraim had in mind for it.

  Jaraim took a deep, steadying breath, but his gathering thoughts were scattered by a flapping of wings and a squawk as Kalab landed at the edge of the glyphs. Its black eyes stared up at Jaraim, and it spread its wings to block his view of the circle.

  “Shoo! Get off there,” said Jaraim. “The circle held Alkax, and he’s much stronger than Okaada. You worry like those dusty old masters.”

  The crow spread its wings and tried to block the summoning circle, but Jaraim brushed his familiar aside. “If you want to help, keep quiet and don’t distract me.”

  Keeping the dagger in plain sight seemed indiscreet. The later Okaada realized her peril, the better. Jaraim placed the weapon in the top drawer and removed a plain wooden bowl, aligning it in the center of the summoning circle. Biting his lip in concentration, he measured out three thimbles of vinegar and six of water. He added a pinch of natron and waited as the mixture frothed.

  The summoning chant was different than the one that summoned Alkax. Jaraim wanted Okaada specifically, not just any narvish. Though still foul, the words of Okaada’s summons were less harsh. They twisted the tongue into unfamiliar shapes, using sounds Jaraim’s language had no use for. There was no counting the repetitions as the glyph’s glow grew brighter and more insistent. Okaada was resisting him; there could be no other reason for the summoning to take so long. Jaraim fought through the pain as the ancient syllables cramped his tongue.

  The mixture in the wooden bowl frothed anew, and with more fervor. It boiled up and over the sides of the bowl, then steamed away as Okaada plopped down in the bowl, ripped unwillingly from her demonic abode. Her body was nearly spherical, with stubby limbs jutting from a bulbous mass that served as both torso and head. Jaraim could see the hints of organs through her translucent blue skin, and fought to keep his dinner inside him; he had never grown accustomed to her appearance.

  “What a pleasant surprise,” Okaada cooed, her voice sweet and innocent as a young girl’s. That voice was the only reason Jaraim had come to think of the demon as female. “What service may I render, mighty one? Or have you finally decided to pay me?”

  You wouldn’t have resisted coming if you believed that. Even through the protection of the summoning circle, Jaraim could feel the subtle insistence behind the demon’s words. Okaada could charm a eunuch, but not Jaraim…not with the glyphs protecting him.

  He reached into his pocket and produced a pair of garnets the size of his thumbnail and rolled them across the desk. The gems came to rest just shy of the summoning circle, and Okaada lurched for them reflexively. The demon squashed against the cylindrical barrier the circle provided, causing it to flare a pale blue. “Mine!” Okaada shrieked.

  “You can’t have them,” said Jaraim. Despite his disgust, he could not keep his eyes from the demon. “Zenisha should have been mine by now, but she sees Faulyr most nights, and barely looks at me.”

  Okaada pulled away from the barrier and threw herself at it again, causing a brighter flare but no better result. Growling, she turned her milky eyes toward Jaraim. “Manless wretch! She’d be swollen with your children by now if you’d listened to me.”

  “No charms. That was the deal. You’re supposed to be a master of manipulating emotions. You could have given better advice if you wanted to.”

  “You have a soggy mind and a tongue like an axe handle,” said Okaada. “Let me possess you, and I’ll have her begging to serve you, charms or no charms. You lack the gall to carry out my plans yourself.”

  “No. We’re done.”

  “Cheat! Liar! You cannot break our deal,” said Okaada. She snarled, but the effect would have been more intimidating if the demon had teeth. The wet, mushy gums she bared provoked nausea, not fear.

  “I’ll make you a deal,” said Jaraim. “Tell me the binding chant for a kiiluut, and I’ll give you your payment and call it even.”

  A sly smile oozed onto Okaada’s face, her demeanor shifting in an instant. “So, looking to settle another deal without paying, is that it?”

  “What do you care? You’ll have yours.”

  “Why that girl doesn’t love you, I can’t imagine,” Okaada cooed, her voice sending an unwelcome shiver of pleasure through Jaraim. “You’re perfectly devious. Very well, the binding for the gems.”

  There was no risk to Okaada. The binding for a kiiluut would have no effect on her, and she would be cheated of the gems if she refused. She recited the chant and Jaraim echoed her until he had it memorized. Though he tried his best to keep it from showing, the words sent small tremors through his bones and teeth as he spoke them.

  “Excellent!” said Okaada. “Spoken like a true demon. Now…my payment, and I should like to be returned to my own realm.”

  Jaraim held the garnets in his palm and offered them to Okaada, careful not to let his hand cross the barrier. Okaada’s fingers drew sparks from the protective circle as she clawed for them. “My father would kill me if he knew I’d borrowed them, let alone bartered them away.” He snatched the gems away from the demon.

  Jaraim recited the chant that Alkax had given him. The telik might drive a spiteful bargain, but he had never led Jaraim astray. Okaada froze, a vile curse choked off mid-word with a squeak. The binding held her tighter than a giant’s fist, as still as if she had been encased in stone. The narvish twitched and spasmed, fighting the binding. Jaraim felt every movement as if it was his own hand holding her fast.

  Keeping the chant at a steady pace, he retrieved the dagger and aimed it for what looked as much like a heart as anything inside the demon. Jaraim put his other hand on the hilt and closed his eyes. Okaada’s struggles grew frantic. With a single thrust, Jaraim plunged the dagger into the immobile demon. The summoning circle did nothing to prevent his hand from crossing. The iron hissed as it slid through the demon’s flesh, and Jaraim opened his eyes to see smoke pouring from the wound.

  In seconds, the demon sloughed away and dissipated, her remains vanishing into the nether regions from which Jaraim had summoned her. Only an odor lingered to prove she had ever been in the room.

  “See, Kalab?” said Jaraim, favoring his familiar with a wan smile. “Nothing to it.” He slumped back in his chair and let out a shuddering breath.

  The bird remained silent, but flapped down to perch on the edge of a bucket by the door. Jaraim sighed. Kalab was right: the room would need a cleaning to be rid of the smell.

  ***

  One night later, Jaraim found himself back at his desk, which was all clean and smelling faintly of lye. There was no trace of Okaada’s odor, nor any evidence that she had been in the room at all. There was only slightly more evidence that Faulyr had been there. Jaraim had fallen into an exhausted sleep before Faulyr had come home and had not awakened all night, his dreams plagued by the chant Okaada had taught him. He had awakened covered in sweat long after sunrise, and Faulyr’s blanket had been rumpled sometime in between.

  The two roommates had crossed paths in the dining hall just an hour ago, Faulyr looking as if he had been made heir to t
he king, Jaraim feeling fortunate to keep his feet shuffling beneath him. What had made Faulyr so chipper was also the reason behind his nightly absences: his visits to the girls’ wing to be with Zenisha. I’ll have my pick of postings once I’m named First Initiate, and I’ll find a better woman than Zenisha, Jaraim thought.

  The bucket sat beside Jaraim’s desk, half filled with water. He had refilled it three times in washing up after Okaada’s demise, and refreshed it once more afterward. From beneath his mattress, he removed a stoppered vial. Pulling the cork, he took a sniff, inhaling the scent of incense and holy oils. Jaraim poured the contents into the bucket.

  “Not even going to try this time?” Jaraim asked. Kalab stood on the window ledge, looking out over the city below. The familiar swiveled its head around and stared at him for a moment, then flew off. “Iogi doesn’t much like you, either.”

  Jaraim rummaged in his chest of clothes until he found his laboratory gloves. While most of his wardrobe was finely made and new, the gloves were scarred, ugly things made purely for function. The leather was worn smooth along the palms and fingertips, and there was a layer of grime that resisted any attempts at cleaning. Jaraim tucked them into his belt before settling in to perform his summoning. He poured a small sack of coal ash into the summoning circle and stuck two bone needles into the pile so that they stood upright, ends dipped in pitch. A flick of Jaraim’s magic lit them.

  The spell to summon Iogi had always struck Jaraim as whimsical. There was a lilting singsong to it, even if the words themselves were pestilent. The kiiluut wasted no time in appearing. Upon completion of the second repetition, Iogi appeared. Or rather, Iogi’s essence arrived, and inhabited the ingredients left on the table. The coal ash writhed and formed itself into bones. The flames detached themselves from the needles and rose into newly-formed eye sockets of ash. Out of that amalgam emerged a skeletal gargoyle, bereft of flesh and sinew, with fire for eyes. Shadowy vapors wafted from its bones like steam from a stew.

  “Good to see you, master,” said Iogi with a bow. The demon had no mouth, nor even a lower jaw. Sound merely emanated from his vicinity. “How do you fare this evening?”

  “I have a problem, Iogi,” said Jaraim. “Alkax. Time has come to be rid of him.” Iogi needed no sugared words, no preamble.

  “Of course. Alkax was clever, a good tool for your studies. But he is no threat,” said Iogi. “I have given you adequate tools to defend yourself from him, have I not?”

  “Perhaps,” said Jaraim. “But I prefer overwhelming force. I want him unable to resist as I destroy him.”

  “Wise. You want the chant to bind him, I assume.”

  Jaraim smiled. Iogi was devious; he had taught Jaraim all he knew about handling demons. “Yes, Iogi, that’s exactly what I want.”

  Iogi gave him words that rang with power. There was something grand about the chant, as if it was meant for a wizard of great power. Or so Jaraim imagined. At least there was no unpleasant effect merely from speaking them.

  “Your enunciation is excellent as always, master,” said Iogi. The demon paced in the confines of the circle, his fiery eyes scanning the room. Jaraim pulled out his gloves and put them on slowly. “Ah, I see.”

  “Sorry Iogi, I’m retiring from demonology. There’s no future in it, at least none that I want a part of. I’m getting out while I still have my soul.”

  “But you don’t,” said Iogi. “That soul inside you belongs to me. That was our deal.”

  “I’m breaking it. I’m sure one of your kind can understand.”

  “All too well…” Iogi’s voice sounded wistful.

  Jaraim began the binding chant and Iogi stiffened. Unlike Okaada, he offered no resistance. When Jaraim picked him up, Iogi’s wings crumbled against his body like gossamer. The demon weighed next to nothing, even less than the sack of ash that had spawned him.

  “I have so much more I can teach you,” Iogi said, his disembodied voice unencumbered by the binding. “And it’s not as if you will be free of our bargain if you destroy me. The debt will merely pass on to another.”

  Jaraim wanted to question him, to object, to deny the claim, but there was no way without ceasing the binding chant. He was committed. There was no turning back. Jaraim dunked Iogi in the bucket of holy water. Just before he hit the water’s surface, Iogi gave up his passive mien. The kiiluut thrashed and flailed in spite of the binding spell. Without the binding, Jaraim would have had no hope of containing him. The water bubbled and steamed. The bucket shook. Then all went quiet.

  The water in the bucket was grey with ash. It was all there was of Iogi in this world, when Jaraim thought about it. Even then, he would dump the bucket in the forest, far from the school’s well. It never hurt to be cautious.

  A squawk at the window startled Jaraim, causing him to drop the bucket just as he picked it up. The water sloshed up the sides, but did not spill over. “Back, huh? After making me face Iogi alone?”

  Kalab extended his wings halfway, and ducked his head. The familiar hobbled along the window ledge, stiff-legged. Jaraim laughed. It was a fair approximation of Iogi’s pacing. “You’re right, I guess he does look a little like a dead bird. Did, I suppose…there’s no Iogi to worry about anymore. It’s just Alkax left now.”

  ***

  One night later, Jaraim felt the excitement welling within him. “This is it, Kalab. Last demon I ever summon.” The crow cocked its head and stared at Jaraim. “No, I mean it. They’ve been nothing but trouble. I hardly sleep anymore. I lost any chance I might have had with Zenisha. Faulyr probably hates me for besting him in class; even cheating I’ve barely come out ahead. What good will that do me out on my own? First Initiate with an education full of holes.”

  Kalab nodded, bobbing his whole body in the motion, and hopped from the desk, gliding down to alight on the edge of the dry, empty bucket. There was no trace of Iogi left within.

  Jaraim went through the arrangements for summoning Alkax once more. He was faced with the prospect of the demon finding his own way into the world if Jaraim did not summon him first. It was difficult for demons to find passage to the mortal realm, but for the collection of a debt such as Jaraim’s, Alkax would find a way.

  The summoning circle was pristine, the glyphs each intact. Removing evidence of them from the desk surface would be a task for another day. For now, deep, clean cuts were preferable. Jaraim lit the candle and began his chant, a giddy excitement rising inside him. It’s almost over.

  Alkax appeared as the candle flame popped. “My, my, I hadn’t expected you to have the heart to call me to the mortal realm. Eager to begin your service?” A blackened tongue ran across the demon’s lips.

  Jaraim reached inside his tunic and pulled out his medallion. The silver was freshly polished, the diamond at it center sparkling, marking his rank. “They named me First Initiate just this morning,” said Jaraim. “You kept your end of the bargain.”

  “I must admit, I had picked you for a whiner and a wheedler. A sniveler, perhaps. I might even see fit to take it easy on you during your indentureship.” Alkax giggled hysterically.

  “Have your fun at my expense once I’m yours,” Jaraim scolded him. “First, a toast.” He reached to the floor beside his chair, outside the demon’s sight, and lifted a goblet. “To bargaining with forces you don’t understand.”

  The giggling stopped instantly. “What’s in that?” Alkax hunkered down and backed away from Jaraim until the barrier of the summoning circle stopped him.

  “Unfermented wine. Your favorite.” Jaraim swirled the goblet under his nose and breathed deeply. There was no acidic tang, just the heavy scent of grape.

  “Stupid human. You can’t trick me into drinking that,” said Alkax with a sneer.

  Jaraim smirked. “Who said anything about tricking you? I’m going to force it down your throat. You weakling demons should know better than to bargain with humans.”

  “I’d like to see you—” Alkax said, but got no further. Jaraim began his ch
ant and the demon’s mouth froze mid-sentence.

  After pulling on his laboratory gloves, still chanting, Jaraim reached the goblet toward the immobile demon. The bulbous, pudgy magma demon flared red hot, the only act it could manage while held in thrall. Jaraim had only to worry about singeing his gloves. Just as he was about to grab the demon by the neck to tilt its head back, Alkax stepped back.

  With one claw of his foot, the demon scratched one of Jaraim’s glyphs, and the azure glow of the summoning circle winked out. “I don’t think I’ll be drinking any of that virgin wine, Jaraim Tenhold, son of Machius Tenhold of Norvern Keep. Your magic can’t bind me.”

  He learned my name!

  “H—How?” was all Jaraim could manage to utter.

  “Your friend Faulyr sold it to me in return for a binding charm for some sorceress whelp he fancied,” said Alkax. With a brief flash, a pair of iron manacles appeared in the demon’s hands, barbed and covered in green, burning glyphs. “Time to see your new home.”

  “No…” Jaraim backed away, unable to take his eyes from the demon. Alkax lunged for him. Jaraim threw up his hands in a feeble attempt to fend the tiny demon off. Despite their difference in size, Jaraim held no illusion that he could fight the creature with his bare hands. He closed his eyes.

  Jaraim heard a squawk and a furious rustle of feathers, followed by a string of curses in a demonic tongue he was thankful not to comprehend. Opening his eyes, he saw that Kalab had interposed himself between Jaraim and Alkax, and was struggling to fend off the demon.

  “Kalab, no!” Jaraim worked a quick spell, and the crow grew to the size of a hunting dog. Still, it would never be able to harm the inhuman creature. He fended Alkax away with beak and talons, but it was only a matter of time.