"Well, well, well, you've finally come back to us," a woman said.
Sonojj considered his situation. They would undoubtedly be looking for information. Maybe he could barter for his freedom. After all, his purpose required his immediate attention.
"Not interested in chatting? Not even with an old friend?" she asked.
"I don't know you," he said in Kisejjad.
The woman gasped. "Don't tell me you've forgotten your pal, Brahawee, because I certainly remember you, Sonojj."
The demon turned his ear toward her.
"You still go by Sonojj, right?"
"Who are you?"
"Just a priest who was on patrol one night outside Moultia Palace. Attacked by three iymed: two assassins and a shape-shifter. Sound familiar?"
Though fifteen years had passed, the demon immediately recalled the night in question. Draeko, the greater iymed known to the humans as the Shade, was believed to be captured by the Death Gods and held prisoner in the dungeons of Alovajj. Sonojj, Flinch, and Reaper had been sent to investigate. "You. You're the archdon."
Brahawee clapped her hands. "You do remember me."
Sonojj nodded in the direction of her companion. "And your friend?"
"He was there that night too. In fact, he was much closer to you than I was."
The demon growled. "I'll say. I can still feel the blade's edge on my neck."
"Yes, well, Vry's very protective of me. But you shouldn't feel bad about your capture. They say he's the most talented assassin who ever lived. I'm sure Anoctis misses him dearly."
"What do you plan to do with me?"
"Oh, the usual. Ask some questions. Figure out your purpose. Find out what that sac of energy in your gut is for. And if all goes as planned, we can get you back to the Depths before supper."
"You can't send me back," Sonojj said.
"Look, I know last time you were here, we just let you go. I mean, you did rip half your face off and that seemed worse than anything we could do to you. But, our policies have changed a bit since then."
"It's imperative you let me go so I can fulfill my purpose."
"Which is?"
"I can't tell you that."
Brahawee snickered. "That's the dumbest thing I've ever heard. You want us to let you go so you can do something, but you won't tell us what it is or why it's so important?"
"It would be to your benefit."
"I'm sure you're right. I believe you. But, the truth is that I'm not here to interrogate you."
Sonojj couldn't detect any deception in her tone. "But you just said—"
"I know. Ask questions, figure out your purpose. Don't worry, we'll get to that. We just have to wait for your interrogator to arrive. Should be any minute now."
"So, four priests weren't enough? How many guards do I need?"
"Oh, I'm not here to guard you. I'm here to guard your interrogator."
The demon shivered as the distant door squeaked again. Two more individuals entered.
"Eriph!" Brahawee exclaimed. "Good to see you. Welcome to our dungeons. I see Mortis is finally showing you around."
"Yeah. Wow, a cage inside of a prison cell? Isn't that a bit much?" Eriph's voice was a tad nasal, and he exuded a metallic odor.
"We've determined this is the best solution when it comes to shape-shifters." The voice of Eriph's companion, Mortis, was gravelly. He smelled like an old man, but Sonojj also detected the slightest hint of lavender.
"So, Eriph," Brahawee said, "did you ask him about the T-R-A-I-N-I-N-G?"
"I can spell, you know," Mortis interjected. "And he doesn't need my permission."
"Of course not, but I know he wanted to check with you just to be sure."
The old man grunted. "Anything you can tell me about our captive?"
Footsteps shuffled toward the cage.
"Wait a minute, I know this demon," Eriph said. "This is the iymed that Don Millan crippled in Royal Oak. Lopped his paws off and nearly killed himself doing it too."
"You're sure?" Mortis asked.
"Positive. His look is pretty unique."
Brahawee giggled. "Right? I'm surprised you don't recognize him, Mortis."
"Should I?"
"Back in the day when we only held the palace? He tore out both of his Devil's Eyes."
"And we didn't cleanse him? Hmm, I suppose better late than never."
"You can't cleanse me," Sonojj said calmly. "If I'm not out there to complete my purpose, the Surface will descend into chaos."
"And your purpose?" the old man asked.
"Secrecy is key. There are too many ears in here already."
"Ah. Then in that case, let's adjourn to somewhere more private."
Sonojj waited patiently for something to change. No one left the prison cell. No one budged to move his cage elsewhere. Perhaps Mortis was making a joke at his expense, but no one spoke again.
The demon's head grew heavy. "What are you—what's happening to me?"
The smells disappeared. Sonojj couldn't make out any breathing except his own. He was all alone. He looked down at his hands, claws attached to furry arms, attached to a humanoid form. He could see his whole body, but that was all. There was only emptiness surrounding him. His heart raced as a figure materialized in the dark. The man appeared to be midthirties and wore a purple robe the demon didn't recognize.
"Who are you?" Sonojj asked. His hand moved so quickly to his mouth, he accidentally slapped himself. His voice wasn't twisted. He was speaking like a human.
"My name is Mortis. We just met." The figure drew closer.
"Strange. From your voice and smell, I could've sworn you were an old man."
"I am an old man, in a way. But in here, nothing has to appear as it does out there."
"And where is here exactly?" Sonojj asked.
"We're inside your mind. You can see because you're not using your eyes, wherever they are. And you can speak plainly because you're not using your tongue."
"What spell is this? How are you doing this without the Devil's Eye?"
Mortis clasped his hands behind his back. "You're a pan-mage, a shape-shifter. Your focus has always been on the physical. I wouldn't expect you to understand the capabilities of a zaidon and the range of spells at our disposal. Demons are always so caught up in the Devil's Eye because it's a straight path to your soul. But we're not messing with your soul. We're in your mind. Similar, but different."
"I've heard about this. Enslavement. Relaks do this. It's disgusting."
"Are you done wasting my time?"
"What?"
"It's a simple question really, but I know how captured demons have a tendency to refuse answering at all. So, I'll make it easy. You can either shut up and listen, or we can go back out there and we'll send you back to the Depths. And trust me when I say it'll be quicker than you think."
Sonojj tightened his lips. Cleansing was not an option.
"Good." Mortis waved his hand and the void lifted to reveal a large cave in the middle of a forest full of decaying trees.
"The Den. I haven't seen it in years." The demon caught a sideways glance from the zaidon and stopped talking.
"The reality is this. I'm here for information. I could spend the next few hours searching through your thoughts and memories to uncover all the little mysteries we're dying to know. What's your purpose? What's the reservoir of energy for? Why did you come back blind? It all starts here when you emerged from the Den this morning. I just have to work backward. And, maybe I don't find it all today. Maybe it takes a few days. But that's not what I want, and I suspect that's not what you want either."
"It's imperative that you let me go as soon as possible."
"Good." Mortis smirked. "Here we are, all alone, away from prying eyes and ears. It's time for you to start talking."
Chapter 6
"Explain to me again why two gigantic wolves that can be spotted a mile away are scouting and not you?" Erynion peered through the trees, but he'd lost sight of t
he Denhauli.
"Verago's orders." Flinch shrugged. "I suppose he's not too happy Candelux knows exactly where you're heading. This trip to Nolka has 'trap' written all over it."
The demon lord's chains rattled as he took a seat in the dirt. "You don't think it'd be better if a stealthy assassin was checking out our path ahead?"
"The Denhauli are much stronger. Less chance they'll be captured or killed while scouting. I say we just sit back and relax until they return."
Erynion ran his hand through the dirt, warmed by the morning sun. With the guidance of Ojjuk and Eyzora, he had successfully regrown his missing fingers during the night. They had insisted he remove the enchanted chains, but the demon lord wasn't ready to take the risk just yet. He gazed at the amorphous shape he'd created on the ground before he caught Flinch eyeing his hand.
"Looking good," the jester said with a wink.
"It's your turn next. I learned a lot yesterday, and it'll only help grow your arm back faster."
"Glad to hear it. My right side was getting cold last night, and I think I'm starting to lean to the left."
"Well, I can't have crippled soldiers fighting for me now, can I? I mean, what good is a one-armed assassin anyway?"
"Heh, yeah."
There was a long pause. Something was eating at the demon lord. Flinch knew he was Prince Altheus, but Erynion knew next to nothing about his companion. Only that Flinch was the jester for King Dardan, which meant he'd been dead for almost four hundred years.
"The day we met, you told me you were an Anoctis thief," Erynion said. "Did you ever take an assassin contract?"
"What? No, I wasn't a killer. Assassins were pretty rare back in my days, but even so, I was terrified of bloodshed, particularly my own. Heh, I just wanted to be really rich. That's why I became a court jester."
"Your target was the royal treasury?"
"That was the plan at least."
"But you got caught? Is that how you died?"
Flinch chuckled. "I never got caught. No one had a clue. Despite what you may think about me now, I played the fool brilliantly back then."
"So what happened?"
The jester scowled. "Love."
The display of sadness caught Erynion by surprise. It was a first in his time he'd spent with Flinch. "Go on."
"She was perfect. She wasn't supposed to be. Daughter of the royal treasurer. Everything I had heard pointed to a boring courtship, and that's what I wanted. She was my mark, my way in. Through her, I could get access to her father and the vault. Ten bars of gold was the contract, and the payout was more than I could've dreamed."
"Wait, a contract? You mean you weren't stealing the bars for yourself?"
"Clearly, you're not a thief. What the depths would I do with a bunch of gold freshly stolen from the royal treasury? Those bars are marked. No one in their right mind would openly trade with me. And, do you have any idea how much those suckers weigh? No, it was a gradual process, but I would get to walk away with coins, useable the same day. Enough to buy my own place. It was the most coveted contract at the time, and it was all mine. Only I never completed it."
"Because you died," Erynion guessed.
"Correct. I spent over a year with my darling Petunia. She wasn't boring at all. She was hilarious. We made each other laugh all the time. Her father disapproved, though. She was nobility, and I was a common jester. I think he suspected me of ulterior motives, but he could never catch me. And none of that mattered anyway because my love for Petunia was genuine. She was going to come with me when I completed the contract. Halfway through the job, we were married. Her father was furious."
"So, he killed you?"
"Ha! That old geezer couldn't get within a hundred yards without me knowing."
Erynion noticed the jester's fist shaking. "It was her?"
"We had been married for only four months. I didn't even see it coming."
"But why?"
Flinch forced a smile. "I suppose she didn't find my jokes so funny anymore. I was just the king's fool after all. But, do you know the funniest part?"
Erynion shook his head.
The jester struggled to stifle his laughter. "No matter how many jokes I told, no matter how many tricks I performed, I couldn't have done it without her. She made me the greatest fool of all."
"That's awful. I'm sorry I brought it up."
"Why? It's hilarious! I'm laughing. Why aren't you?"
The demon lord stood and searched the forest for the wolves.
"Come on. It was centuries ago. You have to see the humor in it," Flinch insisted.
Pity enveloped Erynion's heart. If the woman he loved had killed him, it would take more than a few centuries to laugh about it. The demon lord imagined his beloved Nila as they danced in the royal gardens on their wedding day. How lovely she looked after giving birth to their daughter a couple of years later. But dreaming got him nowhere. If he wanted to return to them as Altheus, he needed to fulfill his purpose.
✽✽✽
Millan basked in the warmth of the late morning sun as he weaved his way through the crowded streets of Light's Haven. Though Don Jaisse was unable to accompany him on his journey to the golden line, he had loaned Millan some clothing as promised. Millan's skinny frame had a hard time filling in the borrowed shirt, and his height made the pants a tad short for him. However, the Nesinu priest didn't mind one bit. Dressed as a commoner, he was anonymous in the crowd and took care to avoid citizens briskly walking in the opposite direction. Without his robe, they wouldn't show him the respect he was accustomed to. His eyes sporadically darted from his path, sometimes to take in the glory of the city and sometimes to check the street names. Not having Don Jaisse as a guide definitely slowed him down, but Millan didn't care. He wasn't in any hurry.
As he entered one of the many squares of the capital, Millan finally spotted his goal on the far side. It was just as Jaisse described—a large arch with four marble pillars: two white and two black. There appeared to be much detail carved across the arch, but he couldn't make it out from this distance. However, at the highest point, the Candelux four-pointed star stood out clearly above it all. Millan politely pushed his way through the crowd, eager to reach the opposite end of the plaza. He was finally going to see the last memorial to the Assault on Light's Haven.
The crowd thinned as he neared the arch. He slowed his pace and studied the detail he was unable to see before. The carving illustrated the battle that had taken place. On the right side, supported by the black pillars, a massive demon roared at her enemies while wielding a morning star. And on the other side, the white pillars held up the humans, charging bravely into battle. Millan shivered as he imagined being one of the fearless fighters on the front line against the Brute. His eyes fell to the golden line that ran across the ground before extending up the wall, under the archway, and back down.
Civilians crossed the golden line without giving it a second look. The monument appeared to mean so little to them, and Millan couldn't understand why. Under the arch, he imagined the battle. How it must have felt when the demons started to retreat. The Nesinu priest placed his hand on the wall and rubbed the line. Jaisse was right. It wasn't really gold, but it didn't matter. This was where the humans showed their mettle, and Millan's heart swelled with pride. And for a brief moment, he was connected with that great victory of the past.
The buildings beyond the arch caught his attention. They were shoddy and dilapidated, as if abandoned for years, but people were moving in and out of them. The road had large depressions and many stones were either cracked or missing. This arch separated two very different places. The slums called to him, drew him in. Millan had been warned that it wasn't a friendly area for priests, but he wasn't wearing his robe. Curiosity ultimately won out, and he ventured past the arch. A quick look around and then he'd go.
Millan shoved his hands into his pockets and tried to avoid eye contact as he moseyed down the street. His pulse raced. It felt as though everyone was wat
ching him. What was he doing? This was a mistake. He had no business being there. He reached the first intersection and paused.
"Turn around, nice and slow, and head back," the priest muttered to himself. "No one knows who you are. Nothing's going to happen. Just turn around and go back to the arch."
Millan cautiously rotated his body, but then stopped when he caught a glimpse of a sign down one of the side streets. It appeared to be a person wearing an all too familiar outfit, covered in a yellow-and-purple checkered pattern with a fool's cap. It had been two days since he'd seen the jester demon, but the likeness was unmistakable. Millan shuffled his feet in the direction of the sign hanging over a door. As he neared the establishment, the priest glared at the artwork, a jovial demon who was the spitting image of Flinch. He slowly read the words beneath the jester's feet. "The Laughing Demon."
Millan was suddenly knocked forward, but a strong hand caught him, preventing his fall. His savior was a man with shaggy dark-red hair, poorly tamed by a red cloth wrapped around his forehead. His face was tanned with stubble to spare.
"Sorry, friend, didn't think you'd just stop like that."
"Oh, that's, um, that's all right," Millan stammered.
The man squinted. "Say, you're not from around here, are you?"
"Heh, no. Is it that obvious?"
"Well, I did happen to see you over by the golden line. Were you rubbing it for luck or something?"
"No, I…wait, were you following me?"
The man's eyebrows shot up. "Following? No, more like heading in the same direction. Were you going into the Laughing Demon?"
"No, I wasn't planning on it. I was just exploring a little. I’ve only been to Light’s Haven once before, but it was only for a couple of days. I didn’t really get to see much of the city."
"Oh yeah? What brought you here last time?"
The priest froze. Memories of his Acceptance rushed to the forefront of his mind, but he had to stay anonymous. The stranger quietly waited for the answer. The longer Millan took, the faster his fingers tapped against his thigh. Finally, he blurted out, "Family."
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