Fury of the Demon (Kara Gillian)

by Rowland, Diana

  The last of the Mraztur to make an appearance, Kadir swayed heavily as he stepped through the node, his expression an odd mix of anger and panic before he smoothed it. Though not completely smoothed away, I noted, even as I fought down my own panic at the idea of four lords against one. Anger still tightened his mouth and the skin around his beautiful eyes. I’d never seen Lord Creepshow display any sort of strong emotion. He must be seriously pissed, I thought. But at who? Or what? Not that it made a fucking bit of difference at this point. We were totally screwed.

  Rhyzkahl’s expression grew even more triumphant with Kadir’s arrival, though I hadn’t thought it possible. Baring teeth, he flung another hard strike at Mzatal and followed it with two lesser bursts in quick succession. Mzatal deflected all, but I felt him reach deep into his reserves, and knew he didn’t have much more in him. Right now he had Amkir pinned and Jesral struggling with the net, but it took effort to hold them, and he had nothing left for any sort of offense against Rhyzkahl. Hell, he barely had enough to maintain his defenses.

  Kadir swept his cold gaze around, then crouched beside the node, began working over it. He’s trying to stabilize it, I realized in shock. It was difficult to tell from this distance, but his work looked like an amalgam of what Mzatal did at the Nature Center valve and what Zack did at my pond.

  A louder roll of thunder swept over us, and I suddenly understood the subtle undercurrent I’d felt. Mzatal knew he had no way to contain all of the Mraztur. His only hope—our only hope—was to incapacitate them. He’d been calling the storm to us. But would even lightning be enough?

  Movement near the lake drew my eye, and I saw Asher doing a low-crawl toward a cluster of bushes. But then my gaze went to a figure standing a few feet beyond the remains of the gazebo: Zack.

  His expression might have been carved in stone, and I felt the tension in him even at this distance. He wanted to end his bond with Rhyzkahl. I knew that. Logic—at least, my human logic—weighed heavily in favor of his doing so. Yet logic didn’t factor in the terrible price he’d pay.

  What would I do in his place? I tried to imagine a life of complete isolation from my kind—never enjoying another silly meal with friends at Lake o’ Butter, never being able to even talk to another human. I’d felt the ache of it during the months with Mzatal, with only demons and lords for company. Yet even that had been tempered for a while by Idris’s presence, and after that the notes and letters exchanged with my aunt, Jill, Zack, and Ryan had been a solid reminder that, even though I wasn’t with them, I was always welcome back.

  I watched Zack, waiting to see what he would do. In front of him, Kadir stepped off the gazebo platform and strode toward Asher.

  Mzatal’s touch stroked the edge of my awareness, and I shifted more focus to him though I kept my eyes on Zack. I have no more, his meaning came through. I will call lightning.

  “Call, but don’t strike yet,” I murmured as Zack took a step forward, and then another. Rhyzkahl shot a quick glance over his shoulder, and victory shone in his eyes as he faced us again. I felt Mzatal’s cautious acknowledgment of my request as he continued to call the storm to him. My focus remained locked on Zack as he moved toward us. I walked forward, then paused at our implied line of scrimmage, and looked over at Mzatal. I’d be beyond his protections if I continued, and I felt the worry in him, sensed his distraction through the shudder in our defenses.

  “Boss,” I murmured. “Trust me.”

  He gave me a single nod. “Eturnahl,” he replied softly in demon and sent a confirmation of it through our bond. Eternally. I smiled, returned the touch with a loving one of my own, then turned to watch Zack again.

  Zack continued forward and up to Rhyzkahl’s right, laid a hand on his shoulder. Rhyzkahl smiled and lowered his hands, confident. With his demahnk ptarl at his side, he knew he held victory and apparently wished to savor the moment.

  “Parasite,” I muttered under my breath, but otherwise remained utterly still, watching Zack. I trust you, I thought to him. I had no idea if he could read my thoughts from a distance, but I sent the assurance out to him anyway. I know you won’t betray us. I’m here for you, no matter what your decision or the outcome. Then I murmured, “Tah agahl lahn, eturnahl, Zakaar.” Agahl—the love of friends.

  He inclined his head very slightly to me in acknowledgment, whether to my words or my thoughts, I didn’t know, nor did it matter right now. Either way, he knew where I stood.

  Zack continued past Rhyzkahl into the space between the combatants and turned a slow circle. Amkir lay pinned on the ground, utter hate in his glare. Jesral stood immobile on the other flank, eyes narrowed impatiently as if wishing Zakaar would get on with whatever he was doing so that the Mraztur could go ahead and claim victory. Kadir siezed Asher by the hair then stood and watched the tableau.

  Mzatal spread his hands to his sides to show his lack of aggression in the moment, though he made no move to release either of the restrained lords. Rhyzkahl observed all with an air of utter confidence. I watched the dynamics with wary amazement. Clearly a demahnk held a shitload of clout to be able to bring everything to a halt like this, and as the lords couldn’t read a demahnk, none knew his purpose. Though, for that matter, neither did I, not for certain.

  Zack . . . Zakaar came to a stop barely on our side of the halfway point between Mzatal and Rhyzkahl, then turned and faced the latter. As Zakaar’s eyes passed over me, his gaze lingered for the barest fraction of a heartbeat—long enough for me to feel his need and desire for support.

  In the lull of the cease fire, I moved forward. Zakaar’s gaze went from Rhyzkahl to the node and then back to him. “What have you done?” he asked Rhyzkahl, voice as mild as if inquiring whether the milk had expired. He spoke in demon, but the whisper of grove touch through the node was enough to let me comprehend meaning, and I had a feeling Zakaar was boosting my ability to understand as well.

  Guilt flickered for a bare instant in Rhyzkahl’s eyes. Although Zakaar and the other demahnk had created the valves and nodes, Rhyzkahl obviously hadn’t expected a need to defend his actions. “We have joined the worlds,” he answered, also in demon, recovering his aplomb. “Now we take what is ours.” His gaze lingered on me before returning to Zakaar. “Come, ptarl. Let us finish this.”

  I moved up to stand beside Zakaar. He set a gentle hand on my shoulder, then pulled the neckline of my dress aside and set the sigils on my body aglow with the red wash of the rakkuhr. I drew a shuddering breath and lifted my chin.

  “What have you done?” Zakaar repeated, and this time there was no mistaking the vehemence and disappointment and anguish in the words.

  Rhyzkahl narrowed his eyes. “I have forged a tool for the good of us all,” he stated. “What does it matter what means I use?”

  “I made no secret of my view on the use of rakkuhr for any reason,” Zakaar said, voice carrying far. “For this reason,” he nudged his head toward me, “using this means, I am vehemently opposed.” He released the neckline of my dress and quenched the glow of the sigils, then laid his arm across my shoulders. “I have counseled you before not to take this path. Now I simply say,” he lifted his head and fixed his gaze upon Rhyzkahl, “turn from this path.”

  A muscle flexed in Rhyzkahl’s jaw. “Your counsel is unreasonable and needlessly conservative,” he retorted. “This means,” he flicked a hand toward me in an impatient gesture, “is viable and brings Earth into our grasp with minimal conflict.”

  “It is . . . unacceptable,” Zakaar replied, voice low but with an intensity that carried it far. He hesitated, and I felt a tremble go through him. This was the moment of decision: continue as Rhyzkahl’s ptarl or stand ground and face possibly unbearable consequences.

  I slipped my arm around his waist. I’m here for you.

  Rhyzkahl sneered at my gesture, then he gave a slight nod. “Your opinion is duly noted, Zakaar. Perhaps it is time for you to leave your
duties here and return to my realm.” He looked pointedly at my arm around Zakaar’s waist. “I fear you have formed unwise attachments that have warped your perspective.”

  Zakaar tightened his arm around my shoulders, needing a support that went far beyond the physical. “I will gladly return to your realm if you turn from this path,” he announced, then extended his hand. “Take my hand, and we will go together.”

  A low wind swirled around us, lifting Rhyzkahl’s white blond hair and setting the cattails on the lake swaying. The lord remained silent for nearly a full minute while he looked at Zakaar as if not quite certain who he was. The delay told me that Zakaar’s offer at least had him considering. More than I expected. “Zakaar, you have lost your direction,” he finally said. “It is you who must turn away, abandon these,” he waved a hand to encompass all that was Earth and humanity, “mayflies.”

  Zakaar lowered his extended hand. Another bone-deep tremble went through him. “I am . . . so very sorry, Rhyzkahl,” he said, voice thick with pain.

  If Rhyzkahl noticed Zakaar’s anguish, it didn’t affect him. “As am I,” he replied, mouth tight. “It is time to finish my business here. Step aside, ptarl.” He paused, smiled. “And bring Rowan to my side where she belongs.”

  A burst of static had me wincing. “Kara!” Paul all but shouted in my ear. “Your name is Kara.”

  I masked a smile and kept my arm firm around Zakaar’s waist. My posse was awesome. And Rhyzkahl was a parasite.

  Off to my right I saw Kadir throw Asher to the ground hard. He planted a booted foot in Asher’s back then stared at Zakaar and Rhyzkahl with a look of combined horror and fascination on his face. Kadir was acting almost human, which was really starting to weird me out.

  “No, Rhyzkahl,” Zakaar said. “I cannot, will not continue to be party to your machinations. I . . .” He paused, shaking, though it was only apparent to me because of my physical contact. When he spoke again his voice was strong and clear. “I renounce the ptarl bond.”

  I wrapped both arms around Zakaar and held him firmly, letting him know I was here, would always be here for him. This was Rhyzkahl’s last opportunity to capitulate, and Zakaar’s last to back out.

  But Rhyzkahl could only stare blankly, as uncomprehending as if Zakaar had suddenly announced he was a goldfish. “I do not understand.”

  “I am breaking the bond,” Zakaar said, his trembles slowly easing. “Breaking the oath.”

  Horror spread over Rhyzkahl’s face. “You cannot!” He shook his head in denial at the very idea. “The bond is inviolate,” he practically sputtered. “Zakaar, your time on Earth has driven you mad.”

  Off to my right, Kadir reached down without ever shifting his eyes from us, gripped Asher by the hair at the back of his head then expertly slammed his forehead into the ground to leave the summoner stunned and limp. That done, he straightened, stepped over Asher and moved several feet closer to—as far as I could tell—get a better view. It reminded me oddly of tying up a pet dog to make sure it doesn’t run off while the owner steps away to look at something interesting.

  Paul’s voice crackled in my ear. “Oh, man, the feeds are nuts! They totally shifted when you went up by Zack.” I flicked a quick glance over to Kadir as I realized it was the feeds—the potency flows—that had him so fascinated.

  Zakaar slowly shook his head, eyes never leaving Rhyzkahl. “No, my time on Earth has brought me a breath of sanity.” He closed his eyes, and his focus grew palpable. Undoing the strands that held a several-thousand year old bond wouldn’t be an easy task, much like picking the lock of long-rusted prison chains, but I knew Zakaar was determined to find a way. I pygahed for both of us, supporting him physically and emotionally.

  “Whoa, coooool,” Paul breathed. “Now things are coiling and going all over the place.”

  Kadir took another step forward. Rhyzkahl jerked as if stung. “Zakaar!” For the first time fear flickered in his eyes. “Cease!”

  “There is no stopping now,” Zakaar said in a voice full of sorrow. Uncertainty flooded to me from Mzatal, as if echoing Rhyzkahl’s experience. I touched him, sought to soothe him.

  A weird non-physical vibration went through me, and Rhyzkahl jerked again, harder. Kadir’s eyes narrowed, head swiveling this way and that as he tried to assess the shifting flows. I caught a hint of movement behind me and to my right, and I glanced back to see Paul on his feet, lips slightly parted as he focused on his tablet, a bizarro mirror of Lord Creepshow’s fascination.

  Abruptly, Kadir spun and moved back to Asher, seized him by the hair and dragged him to the node, then literally threw him in. The summoner disappeared with a weird pop, but Kadir remained and turned back to watch, having put the pet dog in the kennel.

  Rhyzkahl dropped to his knees, face a mask of anguish and loss. “No. No! Come back to me,” he pleaded, voice breaking. “Zakaar!”

  A sliver of pity wormed its way in, and I allowed it to remain for now. None of the lords had ever been without a ptarl. Ever. I couldn’t even think of a human parallel. Divorce? Not even close. Losing a limb? Horrible, but not unthinkable. Losing a loved one? A tragic part of existence, but an accepted one.

  Zakaar’s arm tightened around me as I felt him reach for the last strand. One final cut to sever an unbreakable bond. “Tah si firkh. I’m here for you,” I said softly, held him to me.

  His breath came in short gasps as he remained poised above that last strand. Then he tensed, every muscle rigid as iron, and made the final cut to free himself.

  Rhyzkahl let out a strangled cry and fell to his hands and knees. His blade, Xhan, tumbled out of his grasp as he stared at nothing, face stricken with unimaginable loss. “Zakaar,” he pleaded.

  The tension abruptly fled Zakaar, and his knees buckled. Taken off guard, I managed to lower him to the ground with a bit of control, then knelt beside him and cradled him to me while I murmured I am here, I love you over and over.

  Zakaar, his face twisted in tormented sadness, jerked heavily, much as Rhyzkahl had done, as a low anguished noise issued from his throat. A wave of desolate despair swept over me from him. Eyes still on Rhyzkahl, he gave me a brief mental touch, like the brush of a phantom’s fingers, then vanished.

  Chapter 40

  Unbalanced by Zack’s abrupt departure, I barely caught myself before going sprawling and struggled quickly back to my feet. Worry for Zack swept through me, followed by a wave of frustration. He’d sacrificed himself and now he needed support more than ever. An agonized cry broke through my thoughts, snapped me back to the here and now.

  Rhyzkahl crumpled to his side then rolled to his back, eyes wide as he began to puke. With a stunned look on his face, Kadir stepped smoothly forward and rolled Rhyzkahl to his side, then set a foot on his shoulder to hold him there so he wouldn’t drown in vomit. His eyes came to me, and I felt his slicing regard. Did he fear that his own ptarl, Helori, would follow Zakaar’s example? Or did he hope for it, estranged as they were?

  “Kara,” I heard Mzatal say from behind me, plea in his voice. “Come back.”

  I returned to Mzatal’s side, and guilt stabbed me at the shock in his face, his unsteady breath, his uncertainty. I should have warned him somehow. “I’m here, Boss.”

  “Kara. Zharkat.” I watched him visibly fight for focus. Now that the unthinkable had happened to Rhyzkahl, the other lords knew it was possible and could conceivably happen to them. “They are not done,” he said. “Jesral and Amkir.”

  “Hold it together, Boss,” I told him, centering for us both. “Focus on the now. It’s all good.” A peal of thunder startled me, and a moment later rain pattered down in hard and fierce drops for several seconds then stopped again.

  Jesral abruptly threw off the potency net that had held him. He looked just as shaken and freaked as Mzatal, but his focus returned as he concentrated on the situation at hand. Three quick strides brought him to where
the blade, Xhan, lay on the ground between him and Rhyzkahl. He stooped to pick it up, then dropped it with a curse and shook his hand as if it had burned him. Jaw set, he pulled a cloth from an inside pocket of his jacket, doubled it, then carefully retrieved the blade and tucked it away. With that accomplished his attention shifted to Amkir, who still lay pinned on the ground. The two lords’ eyes met. Jesral gave a slight nod. Amkir returned it.

  Those two are up to something, I thought—and had no time to do anything more.

  Jesral’s head swiveled toward me, and he lifted a hand, even as Amkir gestured to where Idris lay bound behind Mzatal. In the next heartbeat I let out a hoarse scream as the sigils on my body flared in hideous reminder of the agony that had formed them. Distantly, I heard Idris cry out, and I realized Amkir must have activated a recall implant in Idris. Like an arcane homing device, the recall was intended to return its subject to the one who placed it. But because Idris was still behind Mzatal’s protections, it could only pull; like tying a rope around someone’s middle and then attempting to yank them through a chain link fence. Pull the rope hard enough and something has to give.

  Jesral twisted his hand, and instantly my agony ratcheted up and flashed in quick sequence through each of the eleven sigil scars of the lords, before settling into a steady white-hot burn. My vision went grey, and I staggered, saved from falling as Mzatal threw an arm out and pulled me back against him. The agony abated very slightly with the contact, but behind me Idris gave another pain-filled cry.

  A primal scream of fury and frustration burst from Mzatal. His resources were exhausted, and I sensed his awareness that he could perhaps save either Idris or me, but not both. And then even that awareness burned away in the fury that seethed within him.

  Jesral closed his fingers, and a pinpoint of searing heat like a tiny sun burned over my sternum. Red tinged my vision, and I shuddered then looked down at the arm around my waist. Why was Mzatal holding me? I began to struggle against the hold. No. I needed to return to Jesral, to Rhyzkahl.