“Wine for breakfast?” I asked.
“Shut up.”
I drank.
“I want to know what’s in the ring Tien wanted,” I said.
“Why that one?”
“I think she knew what was in this tower. Maybe not everything, but what kind of stuff we’d find here. Think about it. She showed us the writing. She must know what it is. It’s something she wants for some reason.”
“Or she figured it’d kill you the moment you touched it.”
I hadn’t thought of that. “Maybe. I bet she knows more about demonologists than either of us. I think she knew I was one—even though I didn’t—and assumed I’d be able to command it to obey her. Her reaction, her lack of surprise, there must be other demonologists out there. Just more proof the wizards are lying.”
“Maybe,” she said. “Are you sure there’s a demon in that ring?”
“Yes. The writing on the ring. I still can’t read it, but I recognize it. I figure there’s no way she’d mess with a powerful demon. It has to be pretty minor.”
Shalayn looked unconvinced. “So, what do you need for this?”
I consulted my memories. “It depends on who bound the demon, how it was bound, and its last command. But…blood. Human blood.”
“There’s only two of us here, and if you come near me with a knife, it’s going to be your blood all over the floor.” She said it jokingly, but there was a brittle edge to her.
I held up my hands, placating. “Maybe I can bleed myself, a little at a time.” The idea didn’t particularly appeal.
Shalayn eyed me. “Where does the blood usually come from?”
“Sacrifices.”
“Human sacrifices.”
I grimaced. “Yes.”
“And demonologists aren’t evil?”
“Not all of them.”
“This new you, or rather the old you, the person you were, sacrificed people to summon and control demons.”
“I…” I couldn’t imagine doing that, but I may have, at some point deep in my forgotten past, done that. “Not that I can remember. And maybe people volunteered?” I said, cringing at how pathetic I sounded.
“Maybe,” said Shalayn, making no attempt to hide her doubt.
“I’m not that person.”
“Yet.”
“Look,” I said, frustrated, “if you have some other plan for getting us out, now is the time to share it.”
“Is it so bad in here, with me?”
“You know that’s not what I meant. But we can’t stay here forever. Someday another mage will come and we won’t be ready. Even if that doesn’t happen, eventually we’ll run out of food.”
“I know.” She sighed, and took another long drink of wine. “I’ve enjoyed having you to myself, pretending we are the entire world. Forgetting the last year. It’s been nice.”
“More than nice.” I grabbed her hand, spilling wine. “This has been a dream. A few months ago, I was a wild animal in the north. I’m still discovering myself. I don’t know who I was. I don’t even know who I am. You’ve helped me so much. You brought me back.”
“I know who you are,” she said. “You’re a good man. Who you were…” she shrugged. “The demonologists were evil. That’s why the wizards had to rise up against them. The old Empire sacrificed countless souls every year to feed its need for demons. The wizards stopped that.”
“The victors of any war write the history books. I don’t believe the intentions of the wizards were quite so pure.”
“Human sacrifice hasn’t taken place in thousands of years.”
“I have memories of wonders you wouldn’t believe. Their Empire spanned the entire world. This capital, Taramlae, would have been an outpost then, barely worthy of note. One man, above bribery and petty manoeuvring, decided the path for all humanity. The Emperor ruled fairly. People were happy, prosperous.”
“Were they? How about the people being sacrificed?”
“Criminals,” I said, guessing.
Shalayn looked unconvinced. “It’s all ancient history. I suppose we’ll never know. All my life, I’ve heard about how evil the demonologists were, how the Emperor was insane. I’ve seen the ruins of the old cities, the sites of ancient wars. Yes, they’re huge. Yes, they put Taramlae to shame. But I heard that inside those cities are huge public squares lined with blood troughs so hundreds could be sacrificed at once. They worked terrible magic, tore reality and summoned evil demons from a thousand hells.” She swallowed. “I can’t believe all those stories are wrong.”
“Someday,” I promised, “you and I will visit one of those cities and see for ourselves.”
“Someday. So,” she said, abruptly changing the subject. “What else do you need for this demonic dalliance?”
“The soul of a virgin,” I joked.
“Well, you’re fucked there.”
“If I were summoning the creature, I’d need souls to offer it. Since I’m just going to attempt a binding, blood will do. I’ll also need either paint or chalk.”
“For drawing evil symbols on the floor?”
“Pretty much. I need to trap the demon before I attempt to bind it.”
“Isn’t it already trapped in the ring?”
“Kind of. I need to wrap it in my own binding so it has to obey me rather than whoever bound it to the ring. Once bound, I’ll be able to question it, discover its powers.”
“And if it can’t get us out of the tower?”
“We keep living the dream. At least until we get hungry or you’re forced to sober up.”
She glared at me in mock anger and drank more wine. “Keep doing that thing with your tongue and we’ll be fine.”
“I realize I’ve been asleep for two days,” I said, “but I’m exhausted. I’ll do the binding in the morning.”
She raised an eyebrow, tossed the empty bottle aside, and crawled on top of me.
Apparently two days alone was more than enough. We killed another bottle of wine and I did that thing with my tongue.
That night I dreamed of a strange hell where demons were immaterial spirits that could be bound to steel and iron. They thirsted for death, fed off the essence of the living as it fled the dying body.
I wanted to summon one, to bind it to a sword. But not just any demon, I wanted their master, the Lord of the entire Hell. He had a name, and it was the End of Sorrow.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
The next day we found powdered chalk in one of the bedrooms. I had no idea what the wizards would have used it for, but it would work perfectly.
Shalayn watched, shaking her head in disgust, as I bled myself into the chalk bowl. She bound my wound, and I set about stirring the concoction into a thick paint. Once the consistency felt right, I drew a circle on the floor with my finger. Using the kerchief so I didn’t touch it, I laid the ring in the centre of the circle.
“Next come the Accords,” I explained, as I wrote unearthly text around the perimeter of the circle. “They’re sort of a set of rules, an agreement, a contract set down to bind all parties.”
“What does it say?” she asked.
“No idea. Though I think I used to know.”
“So you’re basically signing a contract you can’t read.”
“Basically.”
“Brilliant. Who wrote the first ones? Who created the contracts? Who enforces them?”
That stopped me. “I think I used to know that too.”
“Doesn’t that seem like an important detail? Who would have the power to enforce something like that?”
“Gods?”
“There are no gods.”
“There aren’t?” That surprised me. I realized I’d never heard anyone mention a god, nor had I seen a church in any of the small towns we passed. It felt wrong.
“The wizards say religion was a tool of the demonologists to control people. They say the gods, and all their many hells, were meant to scare people into behaving.”
That definitely sounded wrong
, but I had no memory of that time and knew little of this one. It was frustrating, like someone hand-chose which memories I reacquired, deliberately keeping me ignorant of some things while returning knowledge of others.
“No one worships gods?” I asked, stunned.
“Not in thousands of years. At least no one civilized. The Septks worship trees, animal spirits, and their dead.”
Civilized. I hated that word. The demonologists had a world-spanning civilization, I was sure of that. They achieved wonders that made the cities of the mages look like crude farming communities. While I couldn’t remember their gods, I also couldn’t believe they weren’t real.
“Demonologists summon things from other realities, from other worlds,” I said. “How can you be sure there aren’t gods?”
“Then, where are they?” she asked. “Why did they suddenly all disappear when the demonologists were defeated?”
I didn’t know. “What if, like demons, the gods required demonologists to gain entry to this world?”
Shalayn stared at me, expression flat. “Is that what you want, to bring back ancient gods? To see tens of thousands sacrificed to feed them?”
“No, of course not. But if the demonologists called gods through into this world, it was for a reason.”
“Yes, evil.”
“No one does something just to be evil,” I said, frustrated. “There’s always a reason that—at least to them—seems sound. It’s only other people, coming along thousands of years later with nothing but history books written by wizards to rely on, that call them evil.”
“Sacrificing people is evil. You can’t possibly defend that.”
“What if sacrificing one person will save an entire city?” I asked. “Would you not make the evil choice for the greater good?”
Seeing the trap I set, she glared at me.
“Do I seem evil?” I asked. “Did I stab that wizard in the throat? Did I even ask for some of your blood? No.” I took a calming breath. “I just want to understand. I want to know the truth.”
Shalayn gave a half-shrug that might have been her conceding the point, or saying she remained unconvinced. “You finished with the circle?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Yes.” I stood back to examine my work. “Whatever you do, don’t cross the paint or scuff the circle. The demon should be trapped in there.”
“Should.”
“Should. Break the circle, and it’s free. That would be bad.”
“How bad?”
I shrugged, helpless. “No idea. I don’t remember that.”
“Great.”
I ignored her sarcasm. “If this works, maybe I can try some of the other objects in here.” Though in truth, the thought scared the hell out of me. I stifled a laugh. Next, she’d tell me there were no hells. “At least we can try the ones we think might hold minor demons.” I had no way of knowing what was in each object. There was no reason a Lord of Hell couldn’t be bound to a cheap trinket, if a powerful enough demonologist did the work.
“At least until you run out of blood,” she said.
I walked the circle, making sure it was perfect. One small flaw, one missed character, would spell our doom. Finally, without thought, I moved to stand before one of the characters. It felt right. I’d painted it from memory with no understanding of what it was.
“Hold on,” said Shalayn, leaving at a jog.
She returned a moment later with her sword, drawn. “Just in case it takes you over and I have to kill you.”
“How will you know?” I asked.
She shrugged. “Maybe I can give you the stab test.”
“Stab test?”
“If you don’t die, you’re a demon.”
“Right then. Stand back,” I said, though the advice was probably pointless. If I messed this up, nowhere in this tower would be safe.
I chanted the words I remembered, throat twisting and harsh, until my voice cracked.
Nothing happened.
“Well?” asked Shalayn.
I didn’t know. Was something supposed to happen? I had no idea. Had I missed something, made a mistake somewhere? Again, I didn’t know.
“It worked,” I said, feeling less confident than I sounded. “I’m going to pick it up now.” What the hell was I doing?
She clutched her sword, ready. “Is that a good idea?”
I grinned at her. “Only one way to find out. If I start acting strange—”
“Stranger than some young man who claims to be a demonologist reborn after thousands of years whose heart is made of obsidian which has been shattered by the wizards and scattered around the world?”
“Yes, stranger than that, then you should probably kill me.”
“I will.”
I’d been joking, but maybe it wasn’t bad advice after all.
Bending over the circle, I picked up the ring.
Nothing happened.
“I think it worked!”
I slipped the ring onto my finger.
I stood, alone.
The rock beneath my feet was jagged and black, mirrored like obsidian. Smoke, oily and thick, coiled from cracks in the stone. The rock rose up on my left, becoming a mountain of glistening jet. To my right it fell away to a sharp ledge. A long path wended away from me and ended in a castle hewn from the mountain. Piles of bright white littered the path here and there. The sky above was an endless dome of purple and black swirling around what appeared to be a dark red sun. The sun ate the clouds.
The air stank.
A hot wind pulled at my clothes.
I felt heavy, like something invisible weighed me down. I stared up at the black castle. Windows, dark and sunk in shadow, stared back. Aside from the curling smoke and the sinkhole spiralling of the sky, nothing moved.
“Shalayn,” I called.
Nothing.
“Shalayn!”
Nothing.
I glanced at the ring on my finger. If it was anything other than a ring, I couldn’t tell.
“Hello?” I said.
The ring ignored me.
I had to get back. Somehow.
First, I needed to understand where I was. Picking my way across the obsidian, careful not to trip and fall for fear of cutting myself and bleeding to death, I walked to the edge. Looking down, I saw nothing. The same purple and black swirl of sky continued below. Movement caught my eye. An obsidian rock floated past. With nothing to compare it to, it was impossible to judge size or distance. My best guess put it at half a mile away, but it easily could have been much farther and larger than I thought. It disappeared behind the mountain I stood on. Was it circling? Would it appear again if I waited long enough?
Curiosity almost caught me.
“I have to find a way back to Shalayn.”
Turning away from that purple and black infinity, I made my way back to the path. When I reached the spot I first stood upon, I realized the path started there.
“Who puts a path from an empty spot to a castle?”
Whoever owned the castle must know that arriving guests would stand where I stood. Was that promising? It seemed unlikely.
With little choice, I walked toward that black keep.
I inventoried what I had with me. While Shalayn often padded barefoot around the wizard’s tower, I always felt more comfortable in shoes. Thank the gods—whoever and wherever they might be—for that foible. My only weapon was one of the Septk knives I still wore at my side. I never thought I’d miss that decrepit old hatchet. Aside from my black pants and crimson shirt, that was it.
I noticed the chalk and blood still drying on my fingers but decided that didn’t quite qualify as inventory.
The first pile of jagged white I came across, was a corpse. It was ancient, nothing remained but bone. All the white piles dotting the path were corpses. Ribs, rounded by millennium of exposure to that hot wind, clawed the air like dull fingers. The most recent corpse still bore sunken black flesh stretched over pale bone.
I saw n
o signs of violence. Had they starved?
That wasn’t good.
The glint of gold caught my attention. There, on the finger of a corpse, was a ring identical to the one I wore. A quick search showed that all the corpses had an identical gold ring. I was careful not to touch them. The rings had brought them here just as this one brought me.
They died out here, all of them.
“Tien,” I said. She sent us for that ring. I remembered her telling Shalayn not to touch it. “She knew.” I was sure. Maybe the wizard didn’t know exactly where the ring would take me, but she knew it would take me somewhere I’d never return from.
‘I deserve better,’ That had been the trigger phrase for the levitation ring. Tien didn’t like me, wanted to separate Shalayn and I.
She succeeded. The thieving bitch effectively murdered me to remove me from Shalayn’s life.
Fucking wizards.
Rage built in me, cold like obsidian. I’d find my way back to Shalayn, and then pay the diminutive wizard a visit. She would regret the day she made me her enemy.
I was going to kill her. Whatever she was to Shalayn in the past, I was Shalayn’s future.
Setting aside my anger, I turned from the littered corpses.
The tower was larger, and farther away, than I thought.
The sun devoured the sky, the constant swirl leaving me nauseated.
By the time I reached the first tower, a colossal turret reaching hundreds of times the height of a man into the spinning sky, I was exhausted and desperately thirsty. I felt like I’d eaten a bowl of chalk. Dust choked my throat and tongue.
Leaning back, I shaded my eyes from the hard, red sun. The lowest window was easily fifty feet above me. While, from a distance, the tower looked to have been carved from obsidian, up close, it was much stranger. Surprisingly smooth, the walls looked like a smoky mirror. I saw myself reflected back, dark and evil, warped by imperfections in the stone. I stopped, caught by the sight of myself. My hair had grown longer and fell in tight curls past my shoulders. The weeks in the wizard’s tower, eating and drinking with Shalayn had filled me out. I was no longer the gaunt, half-starved animal I remembered. My eyes, even in the dark glass of the stone, glinted bright, their own shards of obsidian.
Black Stone Heart (The Obsidian Path Book 1) Page 12
