I study the Jutland uncertainly. Night is upon us and I can hear the howls of the demons that Connla ran off. And Lord Loss is still out there. I feel exposed, open to attack. “Are you sure we’re safe?” I ask.
“Aye,” Drust says. “This is a place of Old magic. No lesser demon can set foot here. A demon master can, but like us, they can commit no violence on this soil.”
“Thank the gods for small mercies,” Connla sniffs. “Are there more places like this along the coast, where we can shelter in the coming nights?”
“No,” Drust says. “But we would have no need of them even if there were. This is the place I have been heading for. It’s the end of the road.”
Then he gives his attention over fully to the chess game, leaving us to stare at the grass, the drop on either side, the sea which stretches off into the distance—and wonder what exactly he brought us to this desolate place for.
Night darkens. Black clouds blow in off the sea, unloading their rain on top of us. I’m glad of the rain at first—it washes the worst of the blood from my face and neck—but its appeal quickly fades as a chill sets in. To combat the rain and sharp, bitter wind, I create a fire using magic and we huddle around it, capes and cloaks pulled over our heads, shivering from the damp and cold.
I’ve treated Fiachna’s wounded shoulder, but it’s a nasty purple colour. I’m not sure I cleaned out all the demon’s poison. It doesn’t look too dangerous at the moment but I’ll be keeping a close eye on it.
Lorcan is silent and distant, thinking of his dead brother. There’s not much you can say to a warrior when a loved one dies. Death is something all warriors learn to embrace. It’s part of their trade. At least Ronan died in battle. Lorcan will miss him but life must go on. There’s no benefit to be had from weeping or wailing like a woman or a child.
Drust continues with his game, head bent over the board to shelter it from the rain, moving figures around slowly, after much deliberation. Maybe this was his aim—to escape to a place where he’d be protected, safe to play his games of chess all night and day in peace.
After an hour the rain eases and moonlight breaks through the clouds. We should be grateful, but now that we can see more clearly, we spot Lord Loss hovering near where the Jutland starts, watching us intently.
With shouts and cries, we scramble to our feet and the men draw their weapons. Goll starts forward, roaring, then halts, remembering what happened to Lorcan’s axe. He lowers his sword and studies Lord Loss nervously.
The demon master ignores the old warrior and tilts his head sideways for a better view of Drust. He seems fascinated by the game the druid’s playing. He drifts closer. Something moves near where his legs end in long strips of flesh. I recall the dog-like creature I saw earlier. Peering down, I see that it has a large dog’s body, but its head is long and curiously flat, a dark green or brown colour, with evil yellow eyes. And it has human hands instead of paws. A woman’s hands.
Lord Loss passes Goll. The dog demon starts to follow, then stops, growls and retreats a few steps. Drust was right about this place being out of bounds for lesser demons.
Lord Loss drifts to a halt close to where Drust is sitting. We surround him, suspicious yet captivated. We’ve never been this close to a living demon for such a long period of time, free to study him at will. It’s a strange sensation. I feel the magic around him, lightly crackling, not that different to the power Drust and I create when we cast a spell. Except his magic is constant, never changing.
Finally the game ends and Drust begins rearranging the pieces.
“What is that you play?” Lord Loss asks, his voice laced with sorrow.
“Chess,” Drust says and peers up. “You don’t play?”
“No.”
“A pity.”
“But I would like to learn.”
Drust pauses, surprised. “Do demons play human games?”
“No,” Lord Loss says. “But this interests me. I have never seen it before. And the board… there is magic in it.”
“This board is unique,” Drust says, smiling proudly. “My master told me it is the original Board, a gift to us from the Old Creatures. My people have guarded it for many centuries, and others of magic protected it before the druids. Long ago, one of its owners fashioned a game to play on it, to pass the time. He crafted the pieces which have developed into what you see now, and so the game of chess came into being.”
“Then the board was not created for the game?” Lord Loss asks.
“No.”
“What was its original purpose?”
Drust shrugs. “Nobody knows. As you noticed, it is an artefact of magic, but we have never been able to unlock its secrets.”
“Perhaps I could,” Lord Loss says.
“Perhaps,” Drust agrees, then smiles. “Some other time.”
“Why not now?” Lord Loss asks eagerly.
Drust’s smile spreads. “That’s not possible. You have to leave.”
“I do not,” Lord Loss frowns.
“Aye,” Drust says. “You do.” He raises a hand and Lord Loss drifts backwards.
“What’s happening?” the demon master shouts, trying to stop but unable to.
“A minor spell,” Drust chuckles. “I tire of having you hound our trail. This will keep you at a safe distance for a while.”
“No!” Lord Loss roars. “You have no power over me! You’re just a human! You cannot command a demon master!”
“Normally, no,” Drust murmurs. “But magic works differently here. I am able to do things on this Jutland which I could do nowhere else—and you are helpless to resist, since this magic is more mine than yours.”
Lord Loss’s features darken and eight arms extend outwards. I feel power build within him, directed at Drust. Then it stops suddenly as he realises what will happen if he strikes in anger.
“You are very clever,” the demon snarls, drifting further away. “But once I’m back on normal land my powers will be mine again. I will wait. And follow. And next time I will kill.”
Drust shakes his head. “The spell won’t last for long, but it will hold for a few days, no matter where you go.” He crooks a finger at Lord Loss and the demon master stops. “But I can break the spell now, if you wish to bargain.”
“Bargain with what?” Lord Loss spits.
“Information,” Drust says. “Tell me why you follow us. Why you laid the trap but did not kill me. What’s in this for you?”
“I feed on the sorrow of others,” Lord Loss says stiffly. “I follow you because I know misery is your destiny. Your suffering brings me pleasure.”
“No,” Drust says. “This land is full of suffering. I don’t believe you’d pick us at random, out of all the thousands of tortured souls, for special attention.”
Lord Loss shrugs and smiles. “What other reason could there be?”
“You interfered with the girl,” Drust says. The others look at me questioningly but I avoid their gaze. “You filled her with magic of your own. Why?”
“I like her,” the demon gurgles. “I wanted to help.”
“Answer me honestly,” Drust growls, “or I’ll banish you.”
“Actually, I don’t think you will,” Lord Loss purrs, then points an arm at Goll. Abruptly, unwillingly, with a startled roar, Goll turns away from the rest of us and runs.
For an awful second I think Lord Loss plans to run him over the edge of the cliff. But then I see he’s more cunning than that—he’s making Goll race to the mainland, where the dog demon is yapping with delight, ready to tear Goll to pieces on a patch of ground where there’s no magical protection.
“Goll!” I scream and try to stop him with magic. But I can’t find a way to unlock Lord Loss’s spell.
“Release me,” Lord Loss says. “Immediately. Or the human dies at the hands of the ever-faithful, ever-vicious Vein.”
“No,” Drust says.
“You must,” Lord Loss growls, “or I’ll send the others to their deaths too.”
/>
“No,” Drust repeats.
“Very well,” the demon master sneers. “Vein! Destroy him!”
The dog demon barks and howls, leaping around, jaws snapping open and shut. Goll’s almost at the mainland. A few more seconds and…
Suddenly, Bran is in front of the old warrior, by the side of Vein, patting his knees, whistling as though calling to a tame dog and not some demon half-breed. Vein leaps at Bran. Lord Loss laughs. The rest of us gasp with horror.
Then everybody’s jaw drops as the dog demon licks Bran’s face, before rolling over on to her back and offering her stomach to be tickled.
“Vein!” Lord Loss bellows. “Stop that! Kill him!”
The demon ignores her master’s call and whines with pleasure as Bran scratches under her chin. He’s giggling, playing with her as he would with any normal dog, making cooing sounds and uttering the odd insensible word or two.
Lord Loss can’t believe it. Nobody can. But then Fiachna laughs out loud and soon all of us are laughing, pointing at the boy and the dog, and Goll standing beside the pair of them, having come to a stop at last. We double over, tears of mirth streaming down our faces. Even Drust is smiling.
Lord Loss doesn’t see the funny side of it. He glares at the dog demon, then the rest of us. When his eyes eventually settle on Drust, he snarls and says, “What manner of thing is that boy?”
“I’m not sure,” Drust chuckles. “I knew he’d been blessed with some special form of magic but I never guessed he was this powerful. It seems he can charm any creature he wishes. And maybe that’s only one of his lesser gifts. Who knows what else he might be capable of?” Drust’s smile tightens. “Maybe he can kill a demon master.”
Lord Loss quivers but I’m not sure if it’s with fear or outrage. “You have humiliated me,” he hisses.
“Aye,” Drust agrees cheerfully.
“You will pay for that.” Seven of Lord Loss’s arms come up and he points at each of us. “I place a geis upon you. A curse to destroy you all. Whether you succeed in your quest or not, none of you will know anything but misery for the rest of your pitifully short lives.”
“Your geis doesn’t frighten us,” Drust snorts. “Now begone—and I don’t want to see you again any time soon.”
He waves his right hand and Lord Loss peels away as though blown by a strong wind. He shoots off the Jutland, managing to grab his dog as he flies past, yanking her away from Bran by grabbing her snout. Vein gives a muffled howl. Bran’s hands stretch out after the dog and he waves goodbye. Soon the pair vanish from sight, separated from us by Drust’s spell and the darkness of the night.
On the Jutland we carry on laughing, delighted to have thwarted the demon master. But there’s an edge to our laughter. A demon’s geis is nothing to sneer at. As happy as we are, I’m certain that each of us is inwardly pondering Lord Loss’s curse and wondering what sort of a price we might ultimately be made to pay for our meagre victory.
OLD CREATURES
Drust is still playing chess. The rest of us are gathered around the fire. Now that the danger has passed, my clansfolk discuss the conversation between Drust and Lord Loss and I feel eyes settle on me suspiciously. Finally Fiachna asks the question which is on all their tongues. “What did Drust mean about Lord Loss interfering with you?”
I sigh miserably. “My magic has grown faster than it should. I’ve leapt from being a poor apprentice to being almost as strong as Drust, with the ability to be a lot stronger—because of Lord Loss. He reached within me and gave me power. Thanks to him, I’m able to do things which nobody of my limited experience should be able to.”
“Why would he do that?” Goll asks gruffly.
“We don’t know,” I answer honestly. “We’d be fools to think he did it to help but we can’t see how my being so strong can be a drawback. Unless…” I gulp, then say what I’ve been thinking since Drust revealed the truth about my powers. “Unless he left a secret spell behind. Maybe, when I’m powerful enough, a force will explode inside me and destroy everything around me.”
“A demon in the fold,” Lorcan growls bitterly, with venom born out of the loss of his brother. “We can’t harm her here, but I say we take her back to the mainland and slit her throat before—”
“Peace,” Goll hushes him.
“But—”
“Peace!” Goll says again, harshly this time. Then he smiles at me. “I don’t believe that, Bec. I’ve known you since you were a baby. You wouldn’t hurt anyone, intentionally or otherwise. If the demon master thinks he can use you to harm us, he’s wrong.”
Tears spring to my eyes. I haven’t cried since I was a very young child—tears are for the weak—but the warmth of Goll’s words unleashes a spring within me and soon my cheeks are wet with warm, salty water.
“Goll’s right,” Fiachna says, putting a thumb to my cheeks and wiping some of the tears away. “We have nothing to fear from you, Bec.”
“Of course we don’t,” Connla agrees, stunning us all by giving me a quick hug. Then he looks pointedly at Lorcan.
The teenager pulls a face. “If that’s how you feel, I won’t argue. But I’ll be keeping an eye on her, especially when there’s a full moon, because there’s the threat of her turning into a wild beast too, in case you’d forgotten. And if I ever think she’s going to act against us…”
“…you’ll tell us and we’ll have a calm chat about it,” Connla finishes sternly, in the authoritative tone of a true king. “Understood?”
Lorcan bares his teeth, but then nods roughly and turns away to sulk. I don’t blame him for this unusual show of hatred. It’s hard when you lose one you love, even if you’re a warrior who isn’t supposed to let sorrow affect you.
Bran shuffles up beside me a few seconds later, stares at my damp cheeks, touches them with a finger, then tastes it. “Stony,” he declares mysteriously, then lays his head on my shoulder, closes his eyes, smiles and goes to sleep.
Some hours later, having finished another game of chess, Drust packs the pieces and board away, sets his bag down and rises. “Bec,” he summons me. I gently move Bran’s head and go see what the druid wants.
“It’s time,” Drust says, looking down at me solemnly.
“For what?” I frown.
“I’ve been waiting for the tide,” he answers cryptically. “The level is correct now. But it won’t remain that way for long. We must hurry.”
“I don’t understand. What…?” I stop. Drust is taking off his robes. Soon he’s naked. I’ve seen many naked men—a lot of warriors fight the old way, stripped bare—but Drust looks different in the flesh. His nudity is unsettling, as if I’m seeing an aspect of him I shouldn’t.
“Hey!” Goll grunts, getting up. “What are you—”
“Stay back,” Drust says, eyes flashing. “Bec and I must go for a while. But we’ll return shortly.”
“Go where?” Fiachna asks. He’s standing beside Goll now, as is Lorcan. Connla watches us with mild interest, lying on his back. Bran still sleeps.
Drust nods towards the edge of the cliff. “Old Creatures reside beneath our feet. They are maybe the only true beings of Old Magic left in the world. They can tell us where to find the tunnel between this world and the Demonata’s. Now stay back and keep quiet—this is a delicate business and we need to concentrate.”
Drust faces me again. “Remove your clothes,” he says, and though I feel uneasy, I do as he commands. “We’re going to walk to the edge of the cliff, then step off. Before that, we’ll cast two spells. One will let us hold our breath for several minutes. The other will keep us warm—the water’s extremely cold.”
“But… the fall… I can’t swim… the rocks…” I stammer.
“You have nothing to fear,” Drust says. He takes hold of my right hand. “I’ll be with you. I’ll guide you. As long as you cast the spells correctly and don’t panic, you’ll be fine.”
“But how will we get back up?”
“Climb,” he says, then lau
ghs at my incredulous expression. “It’s easier than it sounds. Trust me. You’re no good to me dead. I’ll not see you come to harm.”
“You left me for the demons tonight,” I mutter.
“Aye,” he agrees. “But I thought I’d perish if I went back for you. It was better that one of us survive than none at all. But I need you, Bec. If you’d died, I’d have had to search for another apprentice.”
“Why?” I ask. “Why am I so important to you?”
“You’ll find out soon,” Drust promises, then turns to face the edge of the cliff. “Will you do this with me? Take my word that the future of your land and people rests upon it?”
I don’t want to. But we’ve come too far, faced too many dangers, and lost too many friends to stop now. I start walking, Drust beside me. We mutter spells, warming ourselves, holding our breath and extending it. Behind us the others watch—except Bran—unsure of what to expect.
We reach the edge. The waves are rough below, smashing into the rocks of the cliff, tearing themselves to pieces along the length of the Jutland. It looks like the mouth into the Otherworld. Only a fool could stare down and not feel fear. And only someone far beyond ordinary foolishness would even think for a moment of leaping into that roaring, forbidding abyss.
I look up quickly at Drust, starting to unlock the breathing spell, to tell him I’ve changed my mind, this is madness, I’m not going to do it. But before I can, Drust hops forward. His fingers are tight around mine. He drags me after him. I fall. The land disappears behind me. I plummet into darkness… violent roaring… into terror and certain death.
* * * * *
The fall doesn’t last as long as I thought it would. A couple of seconds, surely no longer. Then the collision. Our feet hit hard. We shoot underwater. My teeth shake in my jaw, threatening to snap loose and burst up into my brain. Even with the warming spell, the water is colder than anything I’ve experienced.
Dark down here, much darker than the night world above. We slow. Water presses tight around me. I feel the swell of the waves. Inside my head I see myself being smashed against the rocks. I start to panic, to kick defensively against the rocks—which must be close—breaking for the surface so I can scream.
[Demonata 04] - Bec Page 13
