Demons of Divinity

by Luke R. Mitchell

  Franco nodded his agreement. My head was too busy spinning with thoughts of this shadowy figure and his purported Emmútari records.

  Was it even remotely possible?

  I thought back to everything Carlisle had told me about the lost order. I couldn’t remember him having ever said anything to remotely suggest he thought they might still be around. And if he hadn’t known…

  Who the scud was this guy?

  “Hal?”

  I looked around and realized everyone was watching me expectantly.

  “Hmm?”

  “We were asking how your work went last night,” Franco said, plucking one of my many practice runes off the carpet. “Any progress?”

  “Progress?” I had to think about it. Alpha, I needed to sleep. “Yeah, sort of. I… figured a few things out.”

  Or got one nonsense rune to pull a little heat from the air for a few seconds, at least. I thought. So, progress. Sure. But I was a little too stuck on Franco’s odd note to think about it.

  “Why not contact me too?” I asked. “Why’d he only go through you?”

  Franco gave a helpless shake of his head. “I don’t know. There’s too much I don’t know. If he’s reasoned out your current objective here at Haven, I’m sure he’s aware your whereabouts are being monitored far more closely than mine. Perhaps it was simply for his own safety.”

  “Or,” Johny said, “perhaps he’s a softsteel-sipping madman who happened upon a fancy old word in one of those creepy paper books and thought he’d take a crack at getting the Demon of Divinity alone for Alpha knows what reason.”

  “The thought had occurred to me,” Franco said slowly. “But, all the same, I’m not sure we can ignore this.”

  He looked to me, waiting to see what I’d say. I didn’t have an answer. It was a risk, and I wasn’t even quite sure what the payoff might be. But something in my gut told me this was important.

  What would Carlisle do?

  “You’re right,” I said without thinking about it. “We can’t ignore it.”

  If this guy knew something about creating runes—scud, if he knew anything at all about the Emmútari—I couldn’t afford to let that knowledge slip through my fingers. Not when it could save lives. Not when my own efforts with the runes were looking about as promising as playing catch without arms.

  Johnny polished his caffa off with a noisy slurp before speaking. “Yeah, I don’t wanna be that guy, but we also can’t ignore that you’re sorta on Glenbark’s leash right now. You’re not leaving Haven without everyone losing their scud.”

  Much as the thought of asking for permission to leave these walls irked me, he had a point.

  “Fine.” I said, sitting up. “Then I guess we’d better go ask if I’ve been a good boy.”

  “Man,” Johnny said, setting his empty cup down with a lamenting sigh. “And I thought today was gonna be a good day.”

  15

  Contact

  “One more time,” Ordo Dillard’s voice crackled through the skimmer amps.

  I traded a knowing look with Franco in the driver’s seat beside me.

  “We stick to the route,” I said.

  “We keep our palmlights on at all times,” Franco added.

  “At the first sign of danger, we walk.”

  “Should the contact attempt to change the meet location, we do not proceed unless we are able to convey said change to you.”

  “And, above all else,” I said, “we rigorously abstain from any and all urges to be heroes. How’d we do?”

  “I feel better already,” came Dillard’s flat reply. “Just remember, should anything go sideways, you’ll have sniper cover, and we’ll be nearby.”

  How could I forget? The thought of steely-eyed Mara watching me through her scope was nearly as unsettling as the worries about what our mysterious contact might have up his sleeves.

  “We’ll be careful,” I said.

  “We’ll be careful for you,” Dillard said. “You just be smart enough to let us.”

  The connection ended, and so began our comms silence.

  Ahead, the mountainside city of Humility was resolving into clear view. It was a fairly small city, compared to Divinity. More of a sprawling town, really. None of the shining skyscrapers of Divinity, and far less air traffic. What it lacked in bustle, though, it made up for in beauty. Contrary to what one might’ve expected from a name like Humility, the city gave every appearance of thriving wealth. Lush fields all around. Ancient, elegant architecture—regal stone towers and scenic walkways, all in seemingly good repair.

  The name, Franco informed me, was more in reference to the city’s position in the shadow of the mighty Byahnan Mountains, and to the fact that Humility was, for the most part, a Sanctum city—light in Legion presence and home to many simple but thriving shops, bustling marketplaces, and, above all, worship halls. A dozen in total, according to Franco. I didn’t have to look hard to spot the largest one, right at the base of the mountains, though all of them would be equally packed right now for Alphasday ceremonies.

  “Nervous?” Franco asked as the city drew near.

  A vague meeting with an unknown entity who already knew more than he should and claimed to know a whole scudload more about an ancient order that’d been so far buried that even the High General of the Legion hadn’t heard about it? Mostly, I was just surprised we were here at all.

  Glenbark hadn’t been happy.

  “Maybe,” I said, shifting in my newly requisitioned armor skin. “But more about what we left behind than anything else.”

  Because Glenbark hadn’t been the only unhappy one.

  Franco gave me a sympathetic smile, clearly understanding. If it hadn’t been for him, I wasn’t sure we would’ve escaped the meeting back at Haven without bloodshed. Not that Glenbark had given one shiny damn about his dashing charm and silver tongue. It was more just that Franco had a knack for speaking the truth in a way that made it hard to ignore. And the truth was that, if there was even half a shot this contact of ours could help us with the conundrum of the cloaks, this little outing was well worth the risk. The past two days of my ineffectual rune blundering had proved that clearly enough.

  That said, even Phineas had come close to cracking his unshakably stoic veneer when Glenbark had demanded he, James, and Elise remain on base for the operation to minimize potential complications. Watching those two stare one another down, I’d been reminded of the old saying about an irresistible force meeting an indestructible object. I hadn’t really been sure which was which, but it turned out to be a crappy metaphor anyway, seeing as Phineas had bowed in the end. Elise, on the other hand…

  “I don’t know how much more of this she’s going to put up with,” I said quietly.

  Franco studied me for a long moment. My relationship with his daughter was about the last thing I wanted to discuss with Franco, but, at the same time, I also longed for his reassurance that it was going to be okay.

  “I’d say it depends,” he finally said.

  “On whether I stop running off without her?”

  He tilted his head back and forth as if to say Maybe, maybe not. “More on whether you can bring yourself to be honest with her about why you do, I think.”

  I opened my mouth. Closed it. I wanted to argue. Wanted to point out that Glenbark had left us no choice in today’s arrangement. That is wasn’t my fault. More than anything, I wanted to pretend like I wasn’t secretly relieved Elise had been made to stay at Haven.

  I said nothing instead, and we sat in silence as the skimmer banked gently down toward the mountain side of the city. We passed over the regal stone perimeter wall of Humility, the autopilot navigating us toward the nearest landing pads.

  “Take it from a man who’s made a pretty bit of coin selling secrets,” Franco said, reaching for the controls. “Honesty is everything in anything that really matters.”

  If I hadn’t seen him take the controls then, I might’ve sworn it was the weight of his words alone
that guided the skimmer down to a gentle landing in one of the structure’s hundreds of parking alcoves.

  “For now,” he added, reaching for the door and pausing, “let’s just see to it the two of us don’t earn her eternal wrath by falling prey to any hapless tricks out there, yes?”

  I nodded, pulling on my hood and shaders and trying to focus on the task at hand. “Fair enough.”

  We climbed out of the skimmer and headed for the mag lift that would take us to ground level. Under my street clothes, the new armor skin felt as nice as I knew it was. Meant for stealth and undercover work, it was snug, but not restrictive, and rated for light to medium gunfire. I wasn’t sure how it would hold up to raknoth fists and hybrid claws, but it sure beat the scud out of the civie armor.

  Outside, the streets were plenty busy, probably mostly with traffic headed either from the morning worship sessions or to the more popular noon sessions, which would be starting shortly. Plenty more, though, were stopping here and there, haggling at merchant carts or simply enjoying a nice, sunny Alphasday with their families. After the wild, permacrete jungle of Divinity, it was actually kind of nice walking the stone streets among the quaint old taverns and homes of Humility. At least until I felt the tingle creeping up my neck.

  I glanced around, wondering if it was simple nerves or if maybe my senses had caught some flicker of Mara’s scope settling on me from a distant tower. If everything was going according to plan, which it seemed to be, she’d already been waiting for hours, with Davis for her spotter and a second pair similarly posted elsewhere, watching her blind spots. I wondered if her trigger finger had been aching all this time, itching for something to do—some demon to end.

  But that was just the nerves talking. Probably.

  Whether she liked me or not, Mara was a professional, just like Davis, sniper team B, and the other sixteen legionnaires of First Squad who’d trickled in over the past few hours, dressed in civilian clothing, to post up in the vicinity of the Penitent Path.

  As we’d all taken turns noting, Franco’s mysterious contact hadn’t elected to actually designate a meeting time, which we’d taken as a sign that it’d be safest to assume the area was being watched at all times. Hence the slow trickle, and the impetus for keeping Ordo Carter’s Second Squad with their transport on the other side of the city, out of the way but ready to deploy in full armor if needed.

  Franco and I were both fairly certain the precautions were either ridiculously overdone or woefully inadequate. I tried to convince myself it was the former, but as we worked our way down the bumpy cobblestone street to the smoother, more contemporary trafficways, I started to feel some of that nervousness Franco had asked about in the skimmer.

  We walked on, not really talking but to keep on course and kindly refuse the many offers of goods from the merchants we passed. A paunchy fellow with sun-baked skin and kind eyes waved a box of delectably ripe goja fruit as I passed, and I felt a flicker of annoyance and guilt as the smell conjured the memory of Melanie leaning in to tend my face in the medica, her lip balm fragrant with the sweet red fruit.

  Walking out here in the sights of multiple high powered rifles, hooded and shaded to avoid being recognized by the public, risking our lives for what could well turn out to be a trap or nothing at all, and that’s where my mind went. Amazing.

  At least my face wasn’t covered in bandages anymore.

  After a few more streets and several more vendors, musicians, and public gatherings, we reached the open square at the city end of the Penitent Path. A fountain burbled merrily at the square’s center, boasting one of the mighty sculptures of the Prophet Sarentus that were so common across Enochia.

  On the far side of the bustling square, the Path rose up and bridged its stony way across the Byahnan River that ran down from the mountain and through Humility. Any who wished to cross the river and reach the great worship hall from this side of Humility did so via the Penitent Path, many of them stopping along the way to beg Alpha’s forgiveness for their transgressions. Two such faithful worshipers stood at the side of the bridge now—a lone woman, who leaned sobbing on the stone lip, tossing coins one by one into the river below, and a middle-aged man who stood stark nude for all to see, his head hung low, a devastated-looking woman standing not far behind, watching him.

  A gambler and an adulterer, I guessed.

  I didn’t want to cross the Path. I wasn’t really sure these days how Alpha might feel about me, but something in me balked at the thought of being laid bare for his judgement. Not that I needed to cross a bridge for that. And besides, it didn’t matter what I wanted anymore. I was here for a reason.

  We were crossing the square to the stairs of the Path when something whispered in my mind, oddly atonal, as if spoken by a machine.

  “Demon.”

  I froze.

  Pulling my defenses tighter, I glanced around the square then closed my eyes to sweep for a telepathic mind.

  There was none. None that I could feel, at least.

  “What is it?” Franco asked quietly beside me, tense but composed.

  “I’m not sure. Someone just—”

  “The riverway underneath the Path,” that perfectly flat voice sent. “Come.”

  Franco was still watching me expectantly.

  “He wants us to meet him below the Path, I think.”

  “He’s a telepath?” Franco asked.

  That was a damn good question. If he was, why couldn’t I feel him?

  “Maybe. I don’t know, exactly.”

  “I don’t like this,” Franco said.

  I didn’t either. Not even a little. But I wasn’t turning away now.

  “Come on.”

  I started across the square, Franco reluctantly falling in beside me.

  “At the first sign of danger…” he said softly, repeating our promise to Dillard.

  I kept my senses open, sweeping around us, telling myself that, really, there hadn’t been anything to suggest danger yet. Just extreme creepiness.

  “Why can’t I feel you out there?” I sent out wide.

  No response.

  Maybe he was simply cloaked, but I didn’t really believe that. I hadn’t felt a presence at all, even when he’d sent his thoughts.

  Yep. Extremely creepy.

  At the far side of the square, we stopped on the right side of the Path at the top of a stone stairway leading down to the footpath alongside the Byahnan River. There were a few pedestrians below, out for a leisurely walk, and a few barges tied off along the river. Other than that, all was relatively quiet.

  I looked up and around at the buildings and distant towers of Humility, trusting that at least one of our friendly snipers would see me. Pointedly I looked down the steps. Back to the surroundings. Back down the steps. Going down.

  If our mysterious contact was watching, he didn’t deign to break telepathic silence and tell me to stop. No buzzing palmlight telling me to abort, either. Franco looked far from happy, but he wasn’t about to turn away either.

  We reached the riverway path at the bottom of the steps without molestation. No dastardly assassins hiding in the brush. The path was fairly quiet thanks to the permacrete embankment separating it from the crowd in the public square, and its length was empty aside from the few pedestrians to the right… and the hawk-nosed man who was sitting on a bench beneath the first arch of the Penitent Path.

  Staring straight at us.

  He looked away as soon as I noticed him, his eased posture forced, like he was trying too hard to look uninterested. His face was gaunt behind that hawkish nose, his dark hair greasy and his clothes threadbare. I started toward him, intuiting it would be unwise to give this man time to think his next move through.

  “Easy,” Franco murmured from slightly behind me, apparently uncomfortable with the pace I’d set.

  “That’s far enough,” Hawk Nose called before I could say anything. We paused ten feet away from him, trading an uncertain look, as he continued staring pointed
ly straight ahead.

  “What comes next?” Franco asked him. “You were careful getting us here. I assume there’s a next step before we talk?”

  Hawk Nose let out a deep breath. “I suppose there is.”

  Something about his tone…

  I was already throwing my senses out when he leapt to his feet and pointed something—a wand?—in Franco’s direction. I fixed my mind on the strange device, preparing to rip it from his hand.

  Something streamed into my head before I could, a liquid dose of pure dizziness, topped with a side of nausea. My knees hit hard permacrete, the world blurring around me. Somewhere, Franco cried my name.

  I tried to answer. Couldn’t move. Couldn’t even focus to reach out and smack the gaunt man into the river.

  We gropped up, was all I had time to think.

  Then the world went dark.

  16

  Tomes

  I fell out of darkness with no memory of where I’d been and landed in the rigid embrace of a wooden chair with no idea where the scud I was. Then I lurched against the constricting tug of bindings on my chest and wrists, and pieces started falling back into place.

  Hawk Nose. The bastard had hit me some kind of… I don’t know what.

  “Hal,” someone whispered beside me. Franco.

  He was seated beside me at rough wooden round table, watching me with clear concern. And he wasn’t tied up, I realized. But he wasn’t moving to help me, either. Why?

  Franco’s eyes flicked elsewhere. I followed his gaze across the room and froze.

  Someone was watching us. But not Hawk Nose. This man was bald and slightly plump beneath his voluminous brown robes—robes similar to those many Sanctum acolytes wore. His face was deathly pale, like he hadn’t seen the sun in decades. And he was holding a wand like the one Hawk Nose had pulled right before I hit the floor. He held it loosely now, pointed at the floor, and he didn’t look particularly threatening. More just curious.

  “He won’t talk,” Franco croaked. At first, I thought he was speaking to our apparent captor, telling the man I wouldn’t crack, but then he added, “He’s just been watching us with that wand.”