Demorn: Soul Fighter (The Asanti Series Book 3)

by David Finn

  Demorn said, ‘I know those codes on her face. That’s some dark witchcraft. What the hell have you got in the carriage?’

  He chuckled, taking off his cap, running his hand through close cropped greying hair. He was a fit forty. Alert eyes assessed Demorn as he put the cap back firmly on his head. She caught an accent she couldn’t place. ‘It’s just something I caught a long time ago.’

  Her glasses phased in conjunction with her magic eyes and for a moment Demorn saw a much older man standing in the light. Unlike the girl, there was not a single mark or curse upon the man’s dark skin. He seemed unguarded and uncaring. Worse, he seemed reckless. If Demorn had been any less desperate she wouldn’t have taken this job or this meet-up.

  Then again, if she had been any less desperate she wouldn’t have walked the Glass Desert just to catch up with an old friend, romantic overtones or not. She liked the girl but their good times were from a couple of years ago, and a visit to the Bay had been a visit, not work.

  ‘You can’t cage demons,’ Demorn said.

  His smile was thin and his confidence sounded shallow. ‘It’s not a demon. My name’s Wolf. I knew Santos back in the War, we were both Army. How’s he doing? I heard he’s dying.’

  A cold wind blew across them. Demorn glanced back at the Glass Desert. She didn’t feel like talking about Baron Santos. There was no warmth in the sun. No warmth in the Wolf’s eyes. He was nervous, he was playing with a weak hand. Demorn sighed because she knew. She knew what she was walking into. She knew this was the end of the line. Knew you can’t cage whatever it is that you dug up, pretending it was yours.

  But Demorn was used to clients that made her skin crawl if she thought about it too much. She had stumbled upon the solution a long time ago. She didn’t think about it too much.

  She said, ‘When I went into the Glass, Santos was hanging on. The doctors give him two months, but I know him better. He’s strong.’

  ‘How long has he got?’

  She held up some fingers. ‘About four more.’

  Maze softly growled as Demorn’s wrist pinged and beeped. An elegant watch flashed blue on her left wrist, above the glove. Only she could see it.

  Demorn smiled. ‘Your down payment just cleared, so that’s a start. Take me to a hotel and a hot shower. I need a wash.’

  The Wolf opened the cab door. ‘I don’t mean to be rude, but what happens to the cat? He can’t come into Bay City.’

  Demorn laughed, running a fond hand across Maze’s thick fur. She nuzzled her face into his white fur. Maze purred viciously.

  ‘Oh, he sure can’t. He’s wild.’

  The ruby lit up on her chest as he purred into it. Demorn murmured well-trained magic words. She thought of the Cavern, far away, but tied to her through the bonds of the Innocents. The ruby power encased the huge cat and Maze disappeared with one small incongruous meow of complaint.

  2

  * * *

  There was nobody inside the carriage as she slid onto the seat. There was a chill in the air, not helped by the cold leather. She pulled her black jacket tighter around her slender body.

  A small black globe was spinning in one corner, hurting her eyes.

  Demorn took off her purple glasses, blinking her vivid green eyes back to reality. The Wolf climbed in and slammed shut the door. The cab turned and began to roll back along the highway, away from the sheer desolation of the Glass Desert.

  The Wolf eased himself onto the seat, apologising for the cold. Through the darkened windows Demorn kept track of their winding route closing in on the coastline. She couldn’t see the sparkle of the endless ocean, but she could feel it, so close after months of journeying through desolation. An almost uncontrollable desire to see the ocean possessed Demorn, a desperate hunger to see the water hit the horizon after so long.

  ‘How long since you’ve been to Bay City?’

  Demorn’s hand flickered noncommittally. ‘Years ago.’

  ‘How long?’

  Demorn gave the Wolf a sharp look, breaking down a little of his old man “who cares” cool.

  ‘I told you. Years ago. I have some friends here.’

  Demorn felt a brief stirring in her chest, a heat echo of Xalos, the sword of Justice.

  The Wolf shot her a wolfish grin. ‘Two million Euro from our war chest can’t have hurt the chances of a reunion!’

  Demorn glanced at her invisible watch. The funds were still clear. If this was a hustle, Smile would still get the money, and she would go down swinging her holy sword. It would be a cold day in hell before this punk outfit screwed her out of a payday.

  She said, ‘A girl has needs. Baron Santos doesn’t own me. He never has.’

  ‘Do the table debts?’

  Demorn’s laugh was bitter and came with a sneer. She was looking into the spinning black globe, letting it bounce around her magic eyes for a while. ‘Is this how you speak to all the hired swords? Because it’s gonna take a lot more Euros to keep my hired sword here if this is your regular routine.’

  The Wolf put his hands up in a conciliatory gesture. ‘I’m sorry. Lady Josephine wanted to know.’

  ‘Well, Josephine’s news is out of date. I haven’t played the tables in years. I’m a free agent. The Baron told me to come, and I felt disinclined to act against his wishes.’

  The Wolf’s expression was unreadable. Demorn put the purple glasses back on. Somewhere inside of her there were tears, but she didn’t try to find them, not anymore. She had been alone too long, walked through too much Glass.

  Santos was dying. He might be dead. Firethorn was a burnt out husk. The future felt narrow and dark. She had to cling to the thin paths left.

  Demorn looked out the dark window as the cab climbed a steep hill, and the ocean came into view, the water a restful blue, gleaming in the morning sun, both more vast and more empty than she remembered.

  A feeling of freedom swept Demorn after the exhausting claustrophobia of the Glass Desert. She tore the purple glasses off her face. Her eyes were filled with hunger. As the cab rose higher, Bay City itself swung into view, a shimmering collection of casinos and massive resorts. It was bigger than she remembered, and it hummed with intensity and danger.

  The Wolf rattled his foot. Her magic eyes lit up and she saw a thin gossamer chain threaded around his ankle, winding back to the dark globe.

  ‘You’re a prisoner,’ she said.

  The Wolf gazed into the globe, a rueful smile on his face.

  ‘Or a guard. It’s hard to tell. I’ve worked with Josephine a long time.’

  Demorn felt stirring in her chest, the blade Xalos, hungry as ever, and restless for vengeance, or whatever passed for it. She drew a ritual sign of protection in the air.

  She said, ‘You’ll know when she owns you. Ask Lisa. Ask whatever calls itself Lisa.’

  Wolf looked into the distance.

  They had come from a secret, long forgotten road that few travelled, and the early morning traffic was light as they rejoined the highway. Nothing good comes from the Glass. That was an old local saying she still remembered, though she remembered little of her time here apart from liaisons with Winter in the hot pool after multiple Soul Fights, splashing well past midnight, Winter’s hands soothing her hurt, bruised body.

  The high walls of Bay City drew nearer, the desert transformed into lush gardens, beautiful and glistening beneath the massive electronic shields that covered the city and its environs, extending past the huge blast walls and into the fields. This was a big money city with a fat cash prize for the winners, while the flip-side of the big money dream ate the souls of the losers. If you didn’t like that, then don’t come to the Bay.

  The intercom crackled—city guards with city questions. Demorn listened as Wolf negotiated, his words casual but direct, half in code, half out, a trading of small favours and light debts to get them turning a blind eye to the contents of the cab, to not look too close into anything.

  Her eyes were drawn back to the ocean and the
vast blue sky. The icy morning sky seemed to blur. Her vision deepened and she seemed sunk in a dream. She was lost in the vision of a burning star, hurtling down to destroy them all, without fear or favour.

  Demorn had been gripping the leather couch hard without realising it. She gave an unconscious gasp of relief when the vision ended.

  The Wolf kept looking at the ocean, even as the Bay City blast walls drew closer. ‘You can see it then, Demorn. Lady Josephine said you would. She’s most often right, of course.’

  Her left hand was burning, charged, ready to turn, but she willed the metal away, calming her breathing. She couldn’t shake the blurred image of doom from her brain. ‘What the hell is it, Wolf?’

  He shrugged. ‘It is what it appears to be. It’s Death. A comet. Doubtless summoned by damn Prussian science wizards into this dimension. It’s going to kill us. Bay City won’t survive the impact.’

  He looked away from the burning sky and the ocean.

  Demorn was amazed. ‘This is why you called the Innocents? Why you asked Santos to send me!’

  She pressed her hand against the glass. ‘Because that’s not something I can beat with a sword! That’s death, that’s craziness. You’ve wasted my time and you’ve certainly wasted your two million Euro.’

  She sat back, shaking her head with cold certainty.

  Wolf was laconic. ‘We’ve been here before, Demorn. On this road, heading toward this city.’

  She raised an eyebrow. ‘What you do mean?’

  ‘Moralising. Haggling over price. Sometimes we fight back there in the dirt. Sometimes you pull the trigger on Lisa and turn on me. Sometimes you walk back into the Glass. You’re a strange one, Demorn. We want your help. There’s not a lot of universes left. Not many chances left in the chamber. If that comet crashes into Bay City, so many futures die.’

  Was he crazy?

  Demorn’s magic eyes blazed, scouring Wolf’s mind, as the cab rattled down the highway. He was open and vacant. Echoes of defeat and too many compromises ran through him. Bought and sold to Josephine. Nothing meant too much. A generalised terror of the comet was overlaid with an almost cosmic level of boredom. She kept looking, searching for something deeper, but Demorn had seen his like before. He had given the best of what he had, in some long ago battle, and neither victory nor loss had granted him any peace.

  She looked again into the blue sky. The sky merged to twilight, and she saw it again, the beautiful purple tail of the comet, breathtaking and terrible, burning through the atmosphere, boiling the waters, an engine of destruction, as beautiful as it was powerful.

  The Wolf rattled the chain on his ankle. The soft clinking sound summoned her back again, forcing her to tear her eyes away, ignore the silent terror in her heart. The vision of the comet passed out of her view.

  ‘It hasn’t happened yet,’ he said.

  Her hand was shaking on the seat. It had changed into a steel fist.

  ‘How do you know all this?’ she asked.

  He said, ‘I caught a dark god when I was young. It’s been whispering to me for a long time.’

  Demorn gestured at the black globe. ‘Is it in there?’

  ‘No.’ The laconic voice had turned dull. ‘It escaped. Lady Josephine helps me.’

  Demorn watched him with care. She wanted to put the purple sunglasses back on, power her magic eyes, peel every secret from him before this trip ended. With every moment the big money city at the end of the Glass Desert felt more like a mousetrap designed to catch her at her most desperate moment, with Baron Santos choking out behind her in Ceron City, ratcheting up the tension.

  He asked, ‘What’s in the cloud you dragged over the Glass? I heard Lisa ask you.’

  ‘None of your fucking business, man.’

  He smiled bleakly. ‘It’s okay, Demorn. This is just small talk. I’ve done all this before. I know what’s in your cloud. Love songs and glamorous blondes you let break your heart. You obsess over a reality TV whore who isn’t worth—’

  He never got any further. Demorn sprang from her seat, smashing a powerful, fast left straight into his mouth. The blow took the Wolf by complete surprise, snapping his neck back. She caught him as he dropped. He slumped back into the leather seat, out cold. A mix of anger and adrenaline pulsed through Demorn.

  It was her first blow struck in anger in weeks. Demorn looked down at her left fist. A small trace of blood was visible on the gleaming steel. She focused her mind and the steel phased back to flesh, blood gone.

  She felt her face where Lisa had touched her. She’d left a single rune. The mask seared onto her steel. The cab rattled on, the skeletal horse oblivious to the plight of the Wolf. They were getting close to the Bay City blast walls now. Demorn pulled the dark curtains across the windows to avoid the prying eyes of other carts, morning foot traffic, and vendors with their stalls on the dusty highway.

  Demorn placed her hand against the pulsating globe, stilling her mind, repeating the single rune of power upon the marking. Hope. Hope. Hope.

  Quick rainbows of light ran across the glistening black globe. Her eyes merged with the landscape. She saw a mighty multi-headed red dragon, the great pride of Firethorn, homeland to her sisters, flying over a battlefield, a death valley filled with bones and the dead. The creature’s yellow eyes were fierce and untamed. Demorn realised with a grim certainty that this battle had been fought, fought and won, or fought and lost. She saw the dead moving in the mass of corpses. The red dragon screamed out in futile anger, soaring upward, escaping the battlefield. Demorn heard the screaming of a witches’ coven, layer upon layer of spells. Demorn felt a presence watching her with cold eyes. She was filled with a horrible sense of unease and déjà vu. There was a dreadful flicker of life inside the bones of the fallen. A malevolent intelligence overruling everything. Across everything the stink of necromancy, polluting her soul. She heard the hiss of a dark voice: Malisk . . .

  Demorn dropped the globe and backed away. It didn’t shatter but floated to the back of the cab. Rainbow rain filtered across the blackness, then washed away. Her steel hand had turned to flesh.

  The rune burnt for a moment on her skin, tingling, then vanished. The Wolf was watching her, dabbing his mouth, his expression sour but amused.

  He said, ‘I said that sometimes we fight.’

  Demorn said, ‘That wasn’t a fight, that was me telling you to stay out of my personal life. What the hell is in that snow globe?’

  ‘Oh, it’s a kind of hell. A reality gone wrong. Ulihurin is the name of the place.’

  He hissed the last word. She recognised it.

  ‘Ulihurin? The town in New Prussia? What does that have to do with anything?’

  He shrugged. ‘Maybe nothing. Maybe everything, if you believe in necromancers invoking a Dark God.’

  She could remember the cold, not much else. Soft snow falling over in a scene that would have been tranquil—if not for the bodies scattered beneath it.

  ‘We fought some Prussian separatists there, at the start of the War. Nobody important.’

  The Wolf’s smile was vicious as his cold eyes glittered. Demorn realised she couldn’t pick his age, it seemed to float and bounce.

  He rapped his cane with sudden authority. ‘It’s not Prussian separatists.’

  He pushed the curtain back and lightened the windows. Bay City blazed in the early sun, a picture postcard of opulence and sin. The sight of it up close thrilled Demorn. Hotels glittered against the sweeping shoreline, blue water sparkling as the morning waves crashed onto the white sands. She could see the purple outline of the Jade Hotel towering amongst the colossal skyscrapers, the neon purple sun symbol recognisable from Babelzon to Bay City. Hunger and ambition filled her, regenerating her spirits.

  The Glass Desert was so far from this, while the battlefield frontier cities of New Prussia and Ceron held a completely different set of attractions to this high rolling gambling town. Even with a comet about to crash into the Bay, Bay City was a thousand miles away f
rom the normal War.

  ‘Get me a suite in the Jade and leave me alone till tonight.’

  He nodded. ‘There’s a Souls Tournament at Suns Casino. Glamour matches as well as Tour matchups.’

  She gave him a look, smiling. Maybe this wouldn’t be so bad after all. ‘Tonight, then.’

  The Wolf rapped the driver’s headboard. The cab slowed to a stop. She ignored the remainder of the Wolf’s smooth goodbye as she left the cab and hit the street. She didn’t need his hype.

  As her boots hit the pavement, she felt the buzz. Demorn knew she wouldn’t be crossing back over the Glass any time soon. Her implant came online and she felt the Dragon-cage fold over her for the first time since she entered the Glass. Her head buzzed with game requests and cash offers. It was total bullshit when she’d told Wolf she hadn’t played the tables in years.

  She slid her glasses on, feeling naked and raw. Her ruby heart flared under her shirt. A sudden, desperate desire to play the tables overcame Demorn. She found herself walking faster and faster, almost running in the morning sun, through a mixture of old and new streets, hi-tech storefronts and crumbling side streets, running numbers in her head, horribly aware she had known exactly what section of Bay City she had stopped the cab in, so conscious of the void inside her, a vast valley of corpses and blood mixed with so much need and hunger.

  3

  * * *

  ONE WEEK LATER

  Demorn was bleeding at the Cage table. Her opponent wore a black biker’s helmet like a fucking amateur teen. She sighed with disgust as he won again and took the pot. Her credit was in light pink across her watch readout.

  There was a wall of unread text messages from Smile and others telling her to stop. She shut the Cage connection down seconds before the next hand started. Reality jagged back.

  The gaming rooms were set high up in the Jade Hotel and she looked at the cold, tall harbour waves, feeling nothing but completely alone. The room rotated slowly and she saw the glisten and glow of the Soul Tournament advertising.