The Border

by A. H. Lee

  The still, cool air inside the well smelled of moss and deep earth. Sairis was relieved when he spotted a bucket and rope tied under the stone lip. The rope nearly ran out before the bucket made a distant splash. The drought is everywhere, thought Sairis.

  Roland sighed. “I remember when you could reach in and scoop out a handful of water.”

  No one said much while they all passed around the bucket. Sairis hadn’t realized how stale the water in his canteen had become until he tasted the well water—so sweet and cold. Candice choked on the first mouthful and then drank without stopping for half a bucket.

  The demon did not drink. Sairis wondered whether it even needed ordinary nourishment. He wished he knew more about demons. Before the Sundering, the only place one was likely to look an astral demon in the eye had been across a tightly warded circle. They were usually bound inside objects and kept under close restrictions. Sairis had read that aspects of Lust could bear offspring with mortals, and perhaps other types of demons could, too. However, he’d never encountered evidence, and he was skeptical.

  Astral entities were said to be fabulous sources of magic when properly bound, but their utility came at a high price. They were crafty, forever seeking to trick or trap their masters. Most scholars did not regard them as truly sentient beings. They were, perhaps, a clever magical animal. Or they might be something more like a golem—automata, running a script. Like faeries, they did not experience true human emotions like empathy or compassion, although they were skilled at imitating these things.

  That’s what the textbooks said, anyway. Of course, textbooks also said that necromancers weren’t truly alive.

  The demon had adopted a more androgynous shape this evening, with thick, straight brown hair free around its shoulders and peasant clothes of undyed wool—simple illusions, no doubt. It could have almost been Candice’s sibling, were it not for those gem-like eyes. “The sword,” said the demon—its youthful voice as androgynous as its form.

  “Griddle cakes,” returned Marsden. “Your mistress is faint with hunger.”

  “She’s not my mistress,” said the demon, but it subsided while Marsden handed Candice a slightly grubby plate.

  “I apologize for the state of our dishware,” said Marsden. “We didn’t have enough water for washing earlier, but you’re welcome to take the opportunity now.”

  Candice didn’t look like she cared whether the plate had a bit of grease on it. She was watching the cooking food as though mesmerized.

  The demon gave a great sigh, for all the world like an actual teenager, and flopped back on the ground. “I have been on the mortal plane for nearly three months! And with freedom so close, I must watch humans eat griddle cakes!”

  “You are freer than any demon I have ever encountered,” said Marsden icily, “which is far too free for my liking.”

  The demon rolled its eyes. “Spoken like a man who hasn’t gotten laid in...” He turned to squint at Marsden. “A week? That recently, really? I’m amazed you found a willing partner.”

  Marsden’s eyes narrowed. Sairis couldn’t tell whether his reaction was upper class prudery or genuine embarrassment, but the dean glared for several seconds without managing to find a response. It was almost funny. Sairis didn’t get long to enjoy the moment, however, because the demon turned to him and purred, “Not that I need other nourishment when I’ve got you two.” Its eyes flicked between Roland and Sairis. “I recognize that flavor of desire. You were behind the tapestry...”

  Roland went very still. Sairis felt a moment of unreasonable panic at whatever the demon was going to say next. It smirked at him, its green eyes framed by long lashes. The creature’s absurd beauty only made it seem more dangerous. You let your master’s sworn enemy kiss you because he had strong arms and he made you feel safe and attractive. You thought you had principles, but he put his thigh between your legs and you came faster than a lovesick village girl with a lord’s hand up her dress.

  Sairis blinked. He realized that the words had not been spoken aloud. The demon was still smirking at him. Roland was looking at him, too, now. “Sair...”

  Sairis was glowing. And not just with embarrassment. Faint green lines of light crawled across his skin, tracing runes he’d put there long ago. “My personal wards,” he managed. They were putting up a fight, but a corporeal astral demon was stronger than any wards Sairis was capable of.

  Candice spoke. “Ignore him.” She continued without taking her eyes off the griddle cake, “He’s not truly telepathic, but he can use desire to make...suggestions. He wants to get you thinking about sex because it gives him something to work with. And something to feed upon. Just ignore him, and he’ll stop.”

  Oh. Sairis felt foolish for not realizing this immediately. He glanced sidelong at Roland, who was looking everywhere except his eyes. What was that creature putting in your head? Marsden looked like he was trying to regain his composure as well.

  The demon shot Candice a disgusted look. “You do realize I am trying to help you?”

  “You’re trying to help you.”

  “And I keep telling you we’re on the same side.”

  She gave him a sweet, sad smile. “I’d love to think so, Mal.”

  Marsden roused himself to flip over a griddle cake. “What is the sword? Regardless of what Sairis says, I’m the one who has it, and none of you are getting it until you tell me exactly what it is and why I should want it in your possession.”

  “It’s a focus,” said Candice. “Sort of.”

  “Then why would Hastafel risk losing it?” demanded Sairis.

  “Because he’s not in control,” murmured Mal. “Wrath is.”

  Chapter 24. Sorcerers and Their Demons

  “The man you call Lord Hastafel pulled that sword out of an obsidian stone two years after the Sundering,” continued Mal. “He was fourteen, and he had a score to settle. An aspect of Wrath had been trapped in the sword for a long time. It offered him its name and more power than he’d ever seen if he would free it from its prison.

  “The sword is a very old artifact, and it would not give up its prisoner without a price. In order to release the demon, Hastafel had to leave something in its place. A more experienced sorcerer could have thought of many things, but Hastafel was young and untrained, and so he gave it the only thing he knew how—a piece of himself.”

  Sairis sat back. “So it is a focus. But not on purpose. He created a focus by accident.”

  Candice nodded. “But it wasn’t made to be a focus. It was made to be a weapon...and a prison. It traps the ghosts of its slain and draws power from their efforts to cross the Styx. I think the demon was meant to guard them or...”

  “Eat them, probably,” said Sairis. “Ghosts try very hard to cross the River for a while, but eventually they forget how to die. They wander the Shadow Lands and may begin seeking a way back into life. They become less human and more dangerous. Any tool that draws energy from ghosts by trapping them must also have a mechanism for dealing with them once they stop trying to cross.”

  “The golems must be animated with ghosts from the sword,” murmured Marsden. “Does it require a sacrifice every time?”

  Neither Mal, nor Candice answered—whether because they did not know or would not say, Sairis couldn’t tell.

  After a moment, Mal said, “I don’t know much about the golems. Hastafel has summoned me several times in the last decade, never for more than a few days. Well, until now. I made him very angry the last time he tried to use me in his camp.”

  “What did you do to make him angry?” asked Sairis.

  Mal yawned. “Instigated romantic feelings among his troops, of course. I’m a lust demon; what did he expect?”

  Sairis laughed in spite of himself.

  Mal waved a hand airily. “If you ask me, an orgy would have done them a world of good. They’re all very tense.”

  Candice snorted around a mouthful of griddle cake.

  Mal looked at her with fascinated distaste
. “Humans are grotesque.”

  “Says the person talking about orgies. You should try eating. It’s wonderful.”

  “I prefer feeding.”

  Candice rolled her eyes.

  Mal leaned back on his hands. There was something cat-like about his movements, even in human form. Sairis half expected to see a tail. “Besides, if I begin to eat, I may begin to feel hunger. It sounds terrible.”

  Candice shook her head at Mal, but she declined the next griddle cake. Marsden passed it to Sairis instead. He smothered the fragrant dough in molasses and savored it between gulps of the cold well water.

  Marsden spoke again. “So an aspect of Wrath is feeding on Hastafel and his troops?”

  Mal nodded. “Bright aspected, if that means anything to you.”

  The dean shook his head before passing a plate to Roland.

  “Bright aspected?” said Sairis.

  “Demons come in bright and dark aspects,” said Candice. “Mal is bright aspected Lust. He can only feed on sexual energy when it’s consensual.”

  Sairis had never heard of this before.

  “Bright aspected Wrath,” continued Candice, “is something like righteous indignation. Hastafel’s army probably believes it’s saving the world.” She hesitated. “So does he, for that matter.”

  Marsden interrupted. “A demon is a demon. They feed on human life force. Some of them treat humans as renewable resources and some of them drain their victims and discard them. Either way, they are parasites. They kill without compunction when ordered by their masters, and all of them seek to trick and kill those masters.” He fixed Candice with a hard stare. “All of them, Your Highness.”

  Candice stared back without a flicker. “Life’s tough when you’re a sorcerer, I guess.”

  “Is this demon leading you to seek the sword?” demanded Marsden. “I tell you plainly, Princess, I do not trust it.”

  Candice’s lip curled in what might have been a smile or a sneer. “His master is Lord Hastafel, whom, as you have pointed out, he is motivated to destroy. We both want that.”

  Roland spoke for the first time, “You let Hastafel into my palace. You endangered my sister’s life.”

  Candice fixed him with a defiant glare. “In case you haven’t noticed, Roland Malconwy, Mistala has not exactly been a friend to Falcosta over the last century. You were only supposed to be bait, though. We were supposed to—” She glanced furiously at Mal, who actually looked a little sheepish.

  “I was hungry,” he whined.

  “If my partner had not gotten distracted by some lordly ass—” began Candice.

  “I’m no use in a fight without magic, and I can’t make magic without sex!”

  “My uncle was a snack to you?” exploded Roland.

  “Your sister wanted me as a political bargaining chip!” shot Candice.

  Sairis felt they were getting off-topic. If Candice and Roland began arguing about the relative moral positions of Mistala and Falcosta, they’d be here all night. “You want to have a look inside the sword, don’t you?” asked Sairis. “It’s not void, is it? There’s some kind of pocket world or...or perhaps it’s even a portal into Death? That would be the easiest way to trap ghosts. Have you ever walked in Death, Candice?”

  “Sairis,” began Marsden in a warning voice, but Candice was shaking her head, watching Sairis closely.

  “You shouldn’t go alone. Not your first time.”

  “I have not agreed to this,” growled Marsden.

  Sairis turned to him impatiently. “You’ve already tried to destroy the sword, haven’t you? I bet you’ve been trying since you took it from me. But you haven’t managed to do it.”

  A hint of alarm slipped across Candice’s face. “Don’t destroy it!”

  “Why?” demanded Marsden.

  “Because...” Candice licked her lips. “The part of Hastafel inside the focus is the only part Wrath cannot reach. This is because Wrath fears its former prison and will not go looking there. If you destroy the sword, the wolf will be able to consume Hastafel utterly.”

  Sairis frowned. “Won’t Wrath just go back to the astral plane if its summoner is dead?”

  Mal made a face. “I would. I’m not sure it will.”

  “When demons are banished,” said Candice, “they rejoin their primary entity. Most demons yearn for this reunion...unless they’re kept too long. Then they...change. After a while, they resist banishment. The wolf has been on the mortal plane for a long time.”

  “You should be glad that I have not begun to partake of your food and drink, your hunger, your thirst, and your wretched squabbles,” said Mal primly. “I still want to go home!”

  Marsden looked at Candice. “You want to go inside this vessel and see if you can learn something that will allow you to defeat Lord Hastafel?”

  “Yes,” said Candice. “Nothing you can throw at him is going to stop him. Human armies won’t. And if Wrath takes total possession, I promise things won’t get any easier.”

  “This is definitely not an errand for your first solo trip to the Styx,” said Sairis. “I am coming with you.”

  Marsden glared between them. Then he stood up slowly. He turned away from them, fumbled at his belt for a moment, and then drew out the sword as though from thin air. Gods damned illusionist, thought Sairis. He wondered whether the sword had been lying beside them, invisible, the entire time, or whether Marsden had some kind of tiny pocket world for hiding such things.

  The demon had gone still, like a dog on point, and Candice leaned forward. The silvered runes seemed to crawl across the black blade in the flickering firelight. Marsden sat deliberately back down and poured himself some tea from the pot he’d been brewing. “You’re going to have to wait until I finish my dinner,” he muttered. “If you both come back possessed, I’ll need quite a lot of magic to put you down.”

  Chapter 25. Into the Sword

  “Can I come with you?” asked Roland as Sairis drew a circle on a cleared patch of forest floor.

  “No,” said Marsden and Sairis at the same time.

  “Mundane ghosts are tightly tethered to their bodies,” said Sairis. “Once you pull them apart, it’s difficult to keep the body alive.”

  “You would die,” said Marsden simply.

  Roland stood on the edge of the circle, clenching his fists and casting suspicious glances at Candice and the demon, who were conversing in low voices beside the fire.

  Marsden stepped carefully across Sairis’s circle, walked to the center, and drove the sword halfway into the earth. Then he came back to stand beside Roland, watching as Sairis traced runes.

  “Dirt is the worst for this,” muttered Sairis.

  “You’re right. You should wait until you can do it on stone.”

  “No more waiting.”

  “What’s wrong with dirt?” asked Roland.

  Marsden answered him, “Earth has its own magical signature. It’s why magicians like towers. You can ward them better.”

  Sairis glanced at Marsden. “Did you bring salt?”

  Marsden tossed him a satchel.

  Sairis proceeded to distribute a minute line of salt around the circle, which was about four paces across. “I could use my own blood,” he said without looking up, “but it won’t do you any good if I die or get trapped.”

  Marsden grunted. He pulled a knife from his belt, pricked his finger, and proceeded to mark each of Sairis’s runes with a few drops of blood.

  Sairis straightened and came around the circle to where Roland was standing. To Roland’s surprise, Sairis leaned up to whisper in his ear, “It is possible to take a mundane ghost into Death. Risky, but possible. You shouldn’t go because I need you here.”

  “The last time you did this—” began Roland.

  “Someone kidnapped me,” interrupted Sairis.

  Oh.

  “I am completely helpless when I am spirit-walking, Roland. It is difficult for me to do it properly when I don’t think I’m safe.” His words
were a hurried breath against Roland’s ear and Roland could sense what it had cost him to say them.

  Roland’s arms came up around Sairis. He felt a welcome sense of purpose. I have a job. “You are safe,” he murmured. “You are as safe as a knight of the realm can make you.”

  Sairis breathed a laugh. He stepped out of Roland’s embrace and went back to his work.

  Candice had come over from the fire and was examining each of Sairis’s runes.

  “Have you ever drawn a summoning circle before?” asked Sairis.

  Candice hesitated, then shook her head. After a moment, she said, “I would have just used the sword like a mirror.”

  Sairis shrugged. “I’m sure that would work, but this is safer. You’ll still need to let it taste your blood, though. It’s already tasted mine...rather exhaustively.”

  Roland glanced at the sword. Now that Candice mentioned it, the obsidian blade was a kind of mirror. He remembered with a shiver how faces had pressed into view, distorted and howling. Candice reached into a pocket of her dress, pulled out an embroidery needle, and pricked her finger. She pressed a single, bloody print to the flat of the blade.

  “Stingy,” said Sairis with a hint of sarcasm, “but it’ll do.”

  Mal came over from the fire, and Roland had another moment of anxiety. “He’s not going with you, is he?”

  “Gods, no!” said the demon. “I hate spirit vessels.”

  Candice glanced at him. “You’ll stay here and guard my body, though?”

  “I am your faithful familiar,” said Mal, in a tone that made Roland trust him as much as a rusty sword.

  “And I’m here for Sairis,” said Roland stiffly.

  “And I’m here to do the unpleasant work if one or both of you come back as monsters,” said Marsden. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”