Deliverance (Knights of Black Swan Book 12)

by Victoria Danann

  She jumped and squealed a little, but then realized that she shouldn’t celebrate too soon. Perhaps there was some very ugly surprise lurking in the building. Perhaps. But somehow she didn’t think so.

  The shade of the palms was just a few steps away and she found that, as soon as she stepped onto the garden path, the temperature plummeted to a very pleasant range. She pulled the jacket away from her head and started toward the building, which she hesitated to call a house. It looked more like a temple. Or a dream.

  Nothing had ever in her life looked as good to her as the clear running water at her feet. She knelt down, cupped some in her hand and started to bring it to her lips, but stopped with the thought that it might be poison. She stared at the water for a few seconds before deciding that poisoned water wouldn’t be a much worse way to go than dying of thirst.

  She tasted the water and found it sweeter than anything ever bottled. She filled her hand again and again until her thirst was completely slaked.

  Proceeding to the house, she picked an orange from a tree laden with ripe fruit, each leaf so perfect and glossy it looked like it had been polished. The garden was full of flowering bushes and vines that wound around the tree trunks.

  Again an inner voice suggested that the fruit might not be what it seemed. She sent the fear scurrying, broke the peel of the orange, and closed her eyes with delight when the air filled with the nose-tingling scent of fresh citrus. The flesh of the orange was almost as red as grapefruit and sweeter than any orange she’d ever tasted.

  Just as she made her way to the door and pushed it open, she realized it was getting darker. It came to her attention partly because of twilight setting in and partly because the garden was completely outfitted with lighting. Lighting that illuminated trees from the ground up. Lighting that accentuated the garden walls. Lighting that lined the pathways. Lighting in the flower beds. And certainly not least, lighting the exterior and interior of the house, making it as inviting as any fantasy. Power source courtesy of magic.

  “What do you know?” she said aloud. “I have a good imagination.”

  She stepped inside. While the exterior made the building look monumental, the interior was small. Just one room that housed a small round dining table, a couch, a chair, and a bed against the wall. It was beautifully decorated in a style that reminded her of what she’d done with the interior of the house in Aspen.

  “I must like that a lot,” she said. Again to no one.

  There were no electronics, but there was an extensive collection of books and there was a wood Pan flute hanging on the wall. She’d always said she wanted to learn to play.

  The only other room was the bath and, again, it looked very much like her bathroom in Aspen. She turned the sink faucet and laughed out loud when a stream propelled by strong water pressure fell into the hammered copper basin.

  Sixt was grateful beyond measure for the unexpected comfort she’d been afforded because magic had never responded to her so effusively and so effortlessly. Deliverance’s implication was that her magic, should she attempt to use it, would produce undesirable results. But perhaps he was just playing head games. Perhaps the ‘unexpected’ to which he’d referred meant unexpectedly good.

  Even so, she would never forget or forgive her ‘sentence’ as decided by the demon, because she found herself growing more anxious as night fell. She tried telling herself that, if there were no humans, there was nothing to fear.

  Unfortunately, traumatically induced phobias that take root in a young psyche have no respect for reason and, as it grew darker outside, she began to experience waves of fear that caused her body to shake.

  She huddled on the couch with a heavy throw pulled around her even though it wasn’t needed because the ‘house’ was maintaining a perfect temperature inside. Eventually exhaustion overtook her, despite the fear, and she fell asleep.

  She woke the next morning to the sound of birds, still sitting, knees drawn up, at the end of the couch. After blinking away the disorientation and remembering what had transpired, she breathed in deeply and smiled.

  Birds.

  The birdsong in the trees outside was delightful and somehow made her feel less alone.

  Rally had tracked down a guide magically. In Kathmandu it wasn’t easy to tell the mystics from the mundanes. While he was negotiating with the man, Harm had a look around. He hadn’t been there for a hundred years, but not much had changed.

  Rally came back and said that the guide wanted three thousand Nepalese rupees. That would be for him, his three men, and yak rental. The agreement was that they would carry the gear Harm’s group brought with them, plus tents, food, firewood, and utensils. They would stay outside the cave for up to three days, which is the extent to which provisions would last, and would do the cooking.

  It was easy for Harm and the others to calculate the expense because the exchange rate to dollars was more or less a hundred to one.

  “I’ll pay it,” Harm said with a look that let Rally know there was no amount of money he wouldn’t pay to get his sister back safe and sound. “How long?”

  “Three days.”

  “That’s too long.”

  “What’s the alternative?”

  “Ask him if he’ll go with us by helicopter and tell the pilot where to land.”

  Rally went back to talk to the man. At one point he was looking at Harm, pointing him out. The guide gave Harm a good long look making Harm think he was discriminatory about who he took to sacred places. At length he seemed to make up his mind and nodded at Rally.

  They agreed that they would charter as many helicopters as needed to transport the seven warlocks, a guide, his two men, and equipment. In other words, everything but the yaks.

  Three hours later they were standing on a plateau with the guide explaining that there would be a short climb to the ledge and a short walk around the side of the mountain. They were told that the cave entrance wouldn’t come into view until they were there.

  The warlocks each carried a Coleman twin LED lantern capable of twenty-five watts for eighty-five hours. It wasn’t daylight by any means, but multiplied times seven they’d be able to see where they were going and what was around them. They’d also packed a supply of fruit, bottled waters, and energy bars, except for Turf, who brought Snickers, and towels packed inside the bedrolls they carried on their packs. Various and sundry magical items had been doled out, but nothing in the way of casting paraphernalia weighed much. They’d managed to travel light.

  The guide and his men carried firewood and firestarter logs to the mouth of the cave and left it there. They seemed to be skittish about the idea of entering the cave, which was fine with the warlocks. They would just as soon restrict energy deposits and not have to clean up whatever residue humans would leave behind.

  “Let’s go,” Jean Mar said. As he gave a gentle slap to Harm’s shoulder, the helicopters took off behind them.

  Everybody in the group knew that Harm was understandably eager to find out what had happened to his little sister. The sooner they got to it, the sooner they’d know what had happened to Sixt.

  The climb to the ledge was steep and without a path, but it didn’t require special equipment. The hair-raising part of the journey began when they reached the ledge and inched around the part of the mountain that had been out of sight. The ledge was narrow and icy. It was clear that one wrong move would mean plunging to a bottom that couldn’t be seen from their vantage point.

  The guide and his men walked along, seeming as carefree as if they were on the sidewalk in Kathmandu.

  When they reached the mouth of the cave without incident, it was evident that the warlocks, who thrived on extreme adventure and were no strangers to jeopardy, were relieved. The guide left the wood and starter logs just inside the mouth of the cave and said they’d be back at dusk and leave hot food in the same place.

  Left alone inside the mouth of the cave, with the light of outdoors on one side, darkness on the other, they set the
ir packs down to pull out the lanterns, then pulled them back onto their backs. Aodh stopped long enough to ward the entrance against other visitors. They needed to be sure they weren’t surprised.

  As they started into the maw of the mountain, Harm could hear Sixt’s voice teasing him about believing folklore. She’d said something about snake oil.

  What if there’s nothing here? he asked himself, but he didn’t want the others to pick up on his doubts. So he covered those thoughts with “Whistle While You Work”. He chuckled to himself when he made the connection that his subconscious had probably latched onto that particular tune because the dwarves were miners.

  Wolfram led the way. Aodh brought up the rear. As they went further into the cave the wind tunnel noise that had been near deafening at the opening got further and further away, while the cave itself took on an atmosphere of quiet. There wasn’t much to see. Rock walls. Sand floor. Fortunately the ceiling was high enough for all the warlocks, who were tall by human standards, to stand up straight with a couple of feet of clearance above their heads.

  After ten minutes of walking the naturally formed corridor began to gradually widen until they emerged into a cavern that appeared to be vast. As they held their lanterns up, Mallach gave a breathy whistle of appreciation. The sight before them looked more like a temple designed by gods than a random accident of geology.

  There was a pool in the center roughly fifty feet across and half that distance to the other side. The walls were adorned with flowstones, calcium carbonate formations that resembled the wax drip deposits that form on bottles that have served as candle holders for a very long time.

  Huge red stalagmites, appearing to grow upward stood in the pool like silent sentries with wafts of steam rising from their feet. Pale stalactites hung from the ceiling and a rimstone dam of green calcite accentuated the pool’s border like an artist’s design.

  The chamber floor seemed to be made of some kind of crushed stone.

  “Hey. Look at this,” Turf said. Everybody turned their lanterns his direction. “I wouldn’t believe it if I didn’t see it for myself.”

  “Torches?” Aodh scoffed. “Somebody’s got a cliché problem.”

  “Yeah? Well.” said Mihai. “Clichés get a bad rap. There’s a reason why they’re popular. Who’s got fire? Let’s see if it lights.”

  “Here’s another one,” Jean Mar pointed his lantern at an iron torch cage about ten feet away.

  Wolfram pulled a lighter from his pocket, flicked it, and the torch came to life, making as much light as all their lanterns put together.

  The warlocks exchanged grins. Turf and Rally started a search for torches and, when they were done, thirteen fires were illuminating the space, adding to the surreal beauty.

  “Is this black onyx?” Rally leaned down and picked up a piece of stone from the floor. The onyx floor was reflecting the torchlight like thousands of little twinkling lights. Between that, the fire, and the steam rising from the pool the cavern felt full of life.

  “Pretty,” said Mihai.

  “Yes, but they’re kind of sharp. I’d hate to have to crawl over this floor naked if it had been dusted with salt,” Rally said. Everyone stopped what they were doing and looked at him. “What?”

  “What’s keeping the torches lit?” asked Jean Mar, which let Rally off the hook for his bizarre comment.

  Turf shrugged. “Don’t know. Magic I guess.”

  “Whatever it is, I like it.”

  Harm dipped a finger into the water. “Warm,” he said. He brought his finger to his mouth. “Tastes okay.”

  “What exactly does that mean?” Mallach asked him.

  “It means it’s alright for liquid that is not beer,” Harm replied.

  Turf snorted. “I’m claiming that as a magical goal. A pool of beer. I understand it’s good for skin and hair.”

  “Skin and hair, my ass,” said Aodh. “Nobody likes warm beer and nobody wants to soak in cold beer.”

  “I don’t mind warm beer,” said Harm.

  Jean Mar spoke up. “Figures. You Germans.”

  Everybody laughed but Harm, who hadn’t forgotten why they were there for a second.

  Wolfram sensed Harm’s reluctance to take the lead since he was the newest member of the group. So he took charge. “Okay. Time to get down to business. Did you bring the book?” He directed the question to Aodh.

  Aodh pulled a old-looking leather tome with a brass latch out of his pack. “Got it.”

  “Okay,” Wolfram said. “You read from the book. We’ll get everything set up. Did everybody bring swim shorts?” They all started talking so he held up his hand. “Did anybody not bring swim shorts?” No one responded. “Okay. It’s warm enough in here to be okay in shorts. We’ll change before we do this.”

  Turf posed the question they were all dying to ask. “Why?”

  “I’m going to spell the water. If things don’t go the way we want with the demon? Jump in.”

  “That is ridiculous,” Mallach said.

  “You got a better idea?” Wolfram charged. When nobody said anything, he continued. “Walk us through it step by step, Aodh.”

  “Who’s good at composing incantations?”

  When no one jumped in to volunteer, Mallach offerred, “I’ll do it.”

  “Alright. What’s the demon’s name?”

  “Deliverance,” Harm said.

  “Okay. We’re going to summon him, imprison him in a circle and interrogate him. Agreed?” Wolfram asked everybody.

  Harm cleared his throat. “Have any of you ever done this before?”

  Silence.

  “I think my great-grandmother’s sister might have done it.”

  Turf threw his hands up. “Great.”

  “We just need to be really sure that we bind him against reprisal. I think he’s got a vengeful streak.”

  “Good idea,” Wolfram said. “How do we do it?”

  Rally, Turf, and Jean Mar made the trek back to the cave entrance to fetch the firewood.

  First they drew a circle about eight feet in diameter with salt. Then they laid the wood so that it would burn in a circle. Before it was lit they changed into shorts.

  “Ow. These rocks hurt my feet,” Rally said.

  “You should have brought flip flops, numb nuts,” said Turf.

  “What kind of pussy would think to bring flip flops?” Rally retorted.

  “The kind who doesn’t whine about his widdle fweet hurting,” Turf said.

  “Knock it off and grow a pair,” said Wolfram. “Time to put on your magic hats and act like big boys.”

  Aodh noticed Turf pull a knit skull cap out of his pocket and put it on. “You don’t really have a magic hat,” he deadpanned.

  Turf just shrugged. “I call it a lucky hat. But it can pull double duty.”

  “Mallach, you got something?” Wolfram asked. Mallach nodded. “Well, read it to us.”

  Magic rush the demon’s flight

  Bring him here this moonless night

  Interrupt what he is doing

  while we stir the spell a’brewing

  As we conjure here this hour

  Let this spell not twist or sour.

  Air and Water, Earth and Fire

  Bring the demon we require.

  To Witch Gods, we give reverence,

  Call the demon, Deliverance

  Wolfram pursed his lips, but said, “It’ll do.”

  Mallach, who had been raised in the American south ended by saying, “Can I get an abracadabra?” Either nobody thought the reference was funny or nobody got the joke. “Somebody wrote a note in the margins that the easiest way to hold the demon once you’ve caught him is by envisioning a glass cylinder the same size as your circle. Remember to give it a top or bottom. He can escape into the air above or the ground below.”

  Wolfram nodded. “Everything else ready?”

  “I think so,” said Aodh. “You want to do a checklist?”

  “That’s a good idea,”
said Wolfram.

  They went through the paraphernalia required to conjure a demon according to the book Aodh borrowed from his family’s library. Everything was in place.

  “Harm, since it’s your sister, you should make the sacrifice,” Wolfram said.

  Harm took the paper with the invocation and the feather pin offered to him by Mallach along with the athame offered by Wolfram.

  “Turn around,” Harm said to Rally, who did so without question. Harm held the paper to Rally’s back, pierced his forearm deeply enough to bring blood, then dipped the pen four times. Enough to complete his signature. He was careful to use his given name, Hans Lichterketten, and not his alias.

  “Alright,” said Wolfram. “When we get to the incantation part, I think we should stand around the circle and join hands.”

  Turf started shaking his head. “No.”

  “Why not?” said Wolfram.

  “Are. You. Serious?”

  “Yes.” Wolfram’s confusion cleared suddenly. “You are not homophobic.”

  “No,” said Turf. “I’m not homophobic. I’m just not interested in holding hands with other guys.”

  “You don’t mind traveling halfway around the world with us, literally, swimming with, sleeping on the ground with us, but you draw the line at holding hands?”

  “Yeah,” said Turf.

  Rally shrugged. “Let’s find a work around.”

  “Like what?” Wolfram asked.

  Rally looked around. “We can take the laces out of some of our shoes. Instead of completing the circle by holding hands, we’ll complete by each holding onto an end of a lace. That way we’re still connected.”

  Wolfram looked at Turf. “But we don’t have to hold hands.”

  “Exactly,” said Rally.

  “It’s okay with me,” Wolfram agreed. Looking at Turf, he said, “But it’s a lot of extra trouble to cater to your damage.”

  “I’m not damaged.”