Heirs of the Demon King: Uprising

by Sarah Cawkwell

  ‘What does she plan to do?’ It was, perhaps, the first time Mathias had asked the question that had sat at the forefront of his mind since the day Wyn had told him of the demon and its machinations. ‘And how can we stop her?’

  ‘A demon cannot walk freely in this world. They are creatures of magic, and are sustained by magic. Melusine needs a body through which to wield her power, but no mortal mind can willingly bear such evil. But through the pact forged by King Richard, her taint has been slowly growing in the royal line, and all the while she has whispered in the ears of English kings. For generations she has worked to ensure that the power of the arcane cannot pose a threat to her. And young Prince Richard is the fruit of her labours. He is her perfect vessel,’ said Warin. ‘Through him she will wield the might of a nation and her power will not be fettered by the veil between worlds.’

  ‘Enough,’ said Akhgar. ‘I must rest again. But I would speak with this one.’ He reached out a hand to Tagan’s cheek. ‘Her kindness pleases me and I would learn something of her skill with fire.’ She started and he laughed throatily. ‘I can smell it on you,’ he said. ‘Don’t be alarmed. Now go on, all of you. Leave us in peace.’

  ‘Tagan?’ Mathias’s concern could not be hidden from his voice, but she got to her feet, crossing to him and kissing his cheek fondly.

  ‘I will be fine,’ she reassured him. ‘I will see you soon, my love.’

  Reluctantly, Mathias let the others lead him from the tent. His last sight of Tagan was as the flap of the tent fell back into place, obscuring her from view as she knelt down beside the oldest man he was ever likely to meet.

  I CAN SMELL it on you, he had said. Strange words, perhaps, but she knew precisely what he meant. There was a distinctive scent to the old man that made Tagan feel comfortable in his presence. It was the smell of the forge, she recognised. The smell of burning wood and coals that she had grown to love over the years. It rolled from Akhgar in waves. It carried every kind of wood smoke, from the pines she had seen in Germany to the leafy woodlands that surrounded the village back home. She felt right sitting here with him.

  His eyes had closed again and she respectfully sat in silence, not wishing to disturb him. Pouring another cup of water, she took a drink of her own and patiently waited for him to address her. In time, he woke from his brief doze and fixed his watery gaze on her.

  ‘Tagan,’ he said. ‘That is your name?’

  ‘Yes, sir,’ she said and she felt a little shy.

  ‘Tell me what you have learned of my brethren,’ he said. ‘Of

  Warin, Eyja and Giraldo. Don’t worry about sparing their feelings, either.’ He added the last with a gentle chuckle, presumably to suggest he was joking. Tagan knew that he wasn’t.

  ‘The elements,’ she replied without hesitation. ‘Their magic is strong, but it is tied to the elements. Warin told us when we met him that he was a child of the earth, just as Matty... I mean, Mathias is. Giraldo’s magic is stronger whenever he is near water and Eyja seems able to speak with the winds. You smell like the forge. You are like me... or I am like you.’ She flushed slightly and looked down at the backs of her hands. She was startled to realise how dirty she was and fought back the urge to hide her hands behind her back. The years of working in the forge had accustomed her to a griminess that she worked hard to keep away, but now she was reminded how long it had been since she had properly washed.

  ‘You are most observant, little one.’ Akhgar shifted his position slightly on the cushions and gave her a tired, crinkled smile. ‘Fetch me some of those dried fruits, if you would? There is something we must discuss. I have been waiting for your arrival.’

  ‘We got here as soon as we could,’ she said, following his pointing finger and gathering up a silver platter laden with dried fruit. She recognised the dates, which she’d encountered in Anfa, but the other fruits were unknown to her. Akhgar urged her to try something and she selected what she learned was a sugared fig.

  ‘I don’t speak of waiting for all of you now, though I knew you would come,’ said Akhgar, clearly delighted at her response to the delicious sweet treat. ‘I mean that I was waiting for you, Tagan. You and your gift. You are my... salvation.’

  Fear stirred her to wariness and she did not look up to meet his gaze. Instead, she squirmed uncomfortably beneath his piercing stare. He seemed to be studying her intently, scrutinising her in a way that made her skin crawl.

  ‘Stop,’ she said, after a few moments. ‘What are you doing?’ ‘I have no desire to frighten you, little one,’ he said and the weakness in his voice was gone, replaced by something deep and powerful. ‘I have something to share with you, and I am struggling to find the best way to word it... to give you the gift without you being afraid.’ He gave another of those crinkly smiles as she looked up, puzzled. ‘The four of us are not simply magi. You must have worked that out by now?’

  Tagan hesitated, but sighed, nodding. She chewed on her lip for a moment or two. ‘I have,’ she admitted. ‘I think I’ve suspected it ever since we met Warin. I don’t think Mathias has, though.’

  ‘No,’ he replied. ‘Mathias has a different path to walk from you. It was providence that brought you together; fate that saw you both born to the world at the same time. You are the first child so gifted with fire that I have met since I found Akhgar.’

  She looked at him then. Properly looked at him. ‘You’re not just... one person, are you?’ She felt a little thrill of fear run down her spine, but it was fear of something momentous and unknown, rather than genuine dread. ‘You are... like a demon. That is what Eyja meant when she talked about names.’

  ‘Yes, child,’ said the old man. ‘You can call me Ignus, but even that is not my true name. There is much I need to say, and if you would hear it, I will tell you. I will give you a choice at the end of it. Both ways will be equally grave.’

  Tagan’s fear slowly melted away as she listened to Akhgar speak. It was hard to be afraid of the old man lying on the cushions before her. His manner, his voice, everything about him made her comfortable. He reached out to take her hand in his own and looked up at her.

  ‘Will you hear me out?’

  ‘Yes,’ she said without hesitation, and he nodded in approval. ‘Yes, I will listen.’

  Akhgar took a deep breath and began to speak. As his tale unwound, the voice telling it grew gradually stronger and surer. ‘This body is dying. Akhgar has carried my presence for many centuries. He has far outlived the years which should have been his, and that was the gift he received for agreeing to be my vessel. Longevity— but not immortality. Akhgar is a proud man. It has brought him joy to see his children, his grandchildren... his descendants grow and prosper. I was fortunate to have found such a soul. The others have not been so lucky. Eyja has known three bodies in her time, Giraldo more. Warin... well, he is different. The form he has taken this time is certainly unusual.’

  Tagan listened just as she had promised she would, but when Akhgar paused, she spoke up. Her question was carefully worded; she was dealing with things she simply did not understand.

  ‘How does it work? You said no mortal mind could hold a demon and survive.’

  ‘No mortal mind can bear the evil of a demon, but that is a word made by men to label something that they do not understand. Do we seem evil to you? Akhgar willingly accepted me, and I have been bound to him ever since. There have been times in his life that he has asked me to withdraw. When he was with his wives, for example.’ The old man chuckled again and then laughed even harder when he saw just how pink Tagan went. ‘I have the ability to give him back to himself at any time. As he aged, of course, it became easier for me to continue speaking on his behalf. But he is always there.’ Akhgar tapped the side of his head. ‘He is always here with me.’

  ‘What happens if he dies?’

  Akhgar’s smile faded a little at the question. ‘If the flesh dies, then I cannot endure in this world. I would be banished back to the Aetherworld,’ he replied. ‘Ther
e I would be hunted by evils that I hope you never have to know. They would seek to destroy me. You must understand by now, Tagan, what it is that I am going to ask of you.’

  ‘Completely,’ she said. ‘But you told me I have a choice. If one path is to... is to accept you into my head, or my heart, or whatever part of me it is that you would inhabit, what is the other?’

  ‘I will teach you all that you could know of magic,’ he replied simply. ‘In the blink of an eye, before Akhgar’s time is over. Once I am a freed spirit, I cannot remain. I would be gone just as surely as the man before you. I would teach you what I know and hope that it is enough to bolster the work of my siblings in thwarting Melusine’s plans.’

  Tagan sat in silence for a moment and nibbled absently at another fig. ‘It was going to be simple,’ she said, in time. ‘I was going to marry Mathias, have his children. Live happily. That’s how it was supposed to be. It’s not going to happen, is it? Whatever I choose, that dream will be forever that. Just a dream. If I accept you into my life, I become a host to something I can never hope to understand. If you teach me what you know, my skills with magic will be needed... elsewhere.’ She knew, even as she said so, that that would be the case. The words that Akhgar—or Ignus—spoke were as nothing to the words he did not speak.

  ‘You are wise for your age, little one.’ Akhgar let out a rasping, painful breath. ‘I will not force this choice upon you.’

  ‘No,’ she replied. ‘No, you will not force the choice upon me, I accept that. But...’ Her eyes filled with shimmering tears that pooled for a moment before falling down her face, streaking the grime on her cheeks. The old man’s skinny fingers traced the line of the tears and he nodded.

  ‘I know, Tagan,’ he said, softly. ‘And for what it’s worth, you will never be alone.’

  She cried for a while, tears of sorrow for the death of an impossibly old man she had known for barely an hour masking the grief she felt at the impending death of her own sense of self. Everything she had believed in, all that she had worked to achieve... everything lay in tatters. Her wedding dress would never be finished.

  After the grief was spent, she sat up straighter.

  ‘I have made my choice,’ she said.

  THE CHILL OF the desert night was forgotten around the homely warmth of the communal fire. People had been gathering there since the sun had sunk below the horizon and the flames licked into the star-studded night. The heady scent of the flowering blossoms on the trees around the oasis filled the air. Someone passed around a bottle containing something that made Mathias’s head swim after only two sips. Giraldo, however, was happily swigging from the bottle and holding court with a group of young women who were hanging on the Pirate King’s every word.

  Warin and Eyja sat quietly together to one side of the fire, talking in low voices. Mathias watched them for a little while. They did not touch, not even the gentle brushing of hands that Eyja seemed so fond of to show support and empathy with others. He could feel the sadness in both of them. They were coping with their friend’s failing health in one way whilst Giraldo, now leading a rousing bout of singing with his new-found friends, was handling it another way.

  For his own part, he felt as though his innards had turned to ice. It had been in the look Akhgar had given Tagan. Something was happening; something was changing and he was completely powerless to prevent it.

  That was the one thing all this had made him realise. Just how little control he had over his own life. Back home in the village, everything was so clear. Back there, he had been one of the educated, one of the lucky. Someone who would rise to a position of authority and leadership. He had welcomed it.

  Once, he and Wyn had talked about his dead father. The man put to death by the King for practising magic. The memory of his tears that night had never faded, and neither had his sense of outrage, his desire for revenge. Wyn had taken that anger and tempered it.

  ‘One day,’ he said to the young Mathias, a child caught between grief for a mother he had adored and rage for a father he had never known. ‘One day, you will recall how you feel right now. When that day comes, lad, you will turn all that anger into a force for good.’

  He was at a crossroads in his life. He didn’t need Wyn by his side to tell him that. Everything was crowding in on him. It was arrogance to believe that he was the centre of the universe, that everything pivoted on him... but Warin had called him the waagehenkel: the Fulcrum. The balance. What, he wondered exactly, was it that he was balancing?

  Staring into the flames, Mathias allowed himself to relax. He could hear Wyn’s voice in his mind, just as clear as if the old fool had been sat beside him.

  Accept what comes, Mathias. You cannot change it, after all. The fire stretched up into the desert skies, and he followed the track of the smoke as it spiralled away into nothingness. Around him, he could sense the contentment of the people. Such harsh lives they led, but everything was made that much easier by the use of magic. How the rulers of his home had come to such a bleak place beggared belief.

  He only became aware that Tagan had left Akhgar’s tent when she moved into his line of sight, going first to Eyja and Warin. She knelt behind them and spoke in a low voice. The pair nodded and rose, going to fetch Giraldo, who left his drunken party singing sea shanties happily.

  Then she came to him.

  ‘He wanted to say goodbye to them,’ she said to Mathis by way of explanation. ‘His life is now measured in hours.’ Her eyes were heavy with weariness, and she slid onto the ground beside him and ducked into the protective circle of his arm.

  That chill within his body became, if possible, even colder. ‘Then he isn’t coming with us?’

  ‘He can’t, Mathias. He is so old. He is dying.’ There it was, laid bare. The thing that all of them had avoided discussing—or even mentioning—since they had seen the frail old creature lost amongst the silken cushions. She leaned into his chest and drew a long, slow breath, and he let his fingers run down her hair. Despite their situation, and despite barely understanding anything, he knew that this whole affair had brought them closer together than even marriage might have done.

  Such irony, he absently thought, considering how they had begun this journey standing in the heart of a stone circle long used for marriage.

  ‘Don’t worry, Mathias,’ she said. ‘His magic is great. He has taught me all that he knows. I can help the other three when the time comes.’

  ‘But you were barely in there for more than an hour. How can...’

  ‘Didn’t you sense his power, Mathias? So strong. He passed on his knowledge to me in a way I can’t start to explain. He took my hand in his and I just... knew.’ She smiled and removed herself from his embrace. ‘The knowledge of so many years is mine now. All that there is to know about fire is mine. What I had has become so much more. Watch.’

  She reached out a hand towards the fire in the camp’s centre and a long plume of flame stretched free and streaked across to her hand. She shaped the flame into a ball of fire that did not quite touch her flesh and tipped her head to one side as though considering what she should do. Then a genuinely sweet smile touched her lips.

  ‘Butterflies?’ She whispered the word with the faintest hint of amusement. ‘Very well.’ She clapped her hands together and a thousand or more fiery butterflies broke forth from between her fingers, fluttering around everyone seated by the fire. They all called out in delight, some of the younger children racing around attempting to catch them. Whenever they succeeded, whenever other hands touched the shapes, they simply faded away into ethereal smoke. Mathias watched, entranced, remembering that day—long ago, now—when she had concentrated so hard to produce a single butterfly to impress him.

  ‘You are wonderful,’ he said with disarming honesty. ‘Will you marry me?’ Of course, he had asked her that years ago. But now, when the words came out of his mouth, he had never wanted anything more.

  In response, she gave him a bright smile. Mathias was so captivated
that he failed to notice how the smile didn’t reach her eyes.

  Sixteen

  The Sahara Desert

  Morocco

  THE SANDSTORM BLEW itself out after a few hours, but it was the loss of the horses that caused the greater delay. The men shook themselves loose of the sand piled atop them and blinked owlishly in the evening sun. They had lost another of their number. Blinded and wounded by the flying grit, he had become mired beneath the shifting dune and subsequently buried alive. All trace of the fleeing magi had vanished, but it did not matter, Weaver knew where they were going. Wrapped in their cloaks to ward off the growing chill, the Lord Inquisitor and his dwindling band of warriors pressed on into the night.

  Nothing was going to stop them now.

  DAWN AT THE oasis brought a return of the stifling heat, sucking the moisture out of the air. Mathias had woken before the sun, nestled amidst cushions on the floor of the tent where they had waited before. A thin blanket had been drawn up around his ears—by Tagan, he presumed—and he lowered it sleepily. He and Tagan were the only ones still sleeping. Eyja, Warin and Giraldo were conspicuous by their absence. They had only come back once during the night, and he had been deeply touched by the grief he had seen in their faces.

  His thoughts turned immediately to Akhgar. Had the old man died in the night? That would explain their continued absence. He sat up and rubbed at his eyes sleepily before he reached over to gently shake Tagan, discovering that she was already awake. ‘I woke ages ago,’ she said. ‘I just couldn’t sleep.’

  ‘Shall we find the others?’ He stood up, and despite having slept on the floor, his body was free of the customary gripes and pains he’d suffered on their journey so far. The discovery was pleasing. He felt stronger for it.

  She climbed to her feet and nodded, reaching up to tie her hair back. It had grown longer and far more unruly over the weeks of their journey and it suited her. It made her features softer, more feminine. Instinctively, he reached across and stroked a stray strand back from her face, and she turned away from him a little.