Studies in Demonolgy: the complete series

by Nichols, TJ

  The priest who accompanied them from the bar suddenly pressed a knife to Angus’s back. “Not so smart, warlock.”

  Without magic, all he had was the hot food and leftover beer, so he lurched forward and swung the bottle. It connected with the knife and shattered, sending glass and beer everywhere. His breathing came in pants. The broken glass didn’t stop the priest—if he was even a priest. He pressed forward with the knife, and Angus stumbled back, still grasping the broken neck of the bottle. He threw that, and the man sidestepped out of the way. But then he went oddly still as an arrow appeared in his neck.

  A green-clad soldier climbed out of a tree, arrow nocked and ready to fire. The priest fell to the ground, his expression stunned as he lay twitching and struggling for breath.

  Angus felt much the same way. He put his hands on his knees and tried to slow his pulse and dull the headache so he could think and focus without wanting to fall over. Terrance was several steps away with the man who’d been running toward him, the man Angus had been ready to lash out at. Was this one to be trusted or were they all Vinnish spies and Mayan traitors? He’d heard rumors of priests who envied the power of warlocks.

  “Thank you,” Angus said to the soldier. So far he was looking like the most trustworthy person there. He was also the one with the best weapon.

  The people who planned the meeting with Reece had expected it to go wrong and had brought in either a fake Intelligence Temple priest or one they had in their pocket. Either way, without some immediate help, the priest was dead. He should be questioned.

  The soldier checked the wound, and there was too much blood. “I don’t want him dead. Can you stem the bleeding until help arrives?”

  Sirens were drawing closer, and Angus wanted to leave the man to bleed out slowly, but the soldier was right. “Terrance, want some practice?”

  Healing wasn’t Terrance’s strength, and healing was painful even with a skilled practitioner, but if someone couldn’t soothe the pain as they worked, it was twice as bad. In an emergency, a healer would skip the soothing for survival, but this man didn’t deserve any comfort.

  Terrance gave a single nod. “Yeah.”

  The other man, the one who’d run toward them—to warn them?—approached slowly as if expecting Angus to lash out with magic. “I was hoping the traitor in our ranks would be revealed. Lozim has shamed us all.”

  “You’ll excuse me if I don’t trust you right away.” Angus really wanted the rest of that beer, but magic and alcohol didn’t mix at the best of times, and this was nowhere close to a good time. He shouldn’t have drunk anything until he was safe in his room.

  Lozim lay on the ground and gargled in agony as Terrance attempted to heal him just enough so he’d survive questioning by the Intelligence Temple. Angus had no sympathy to spare. His fate would’ve been worse if he’d been taken to Vinland, and Lozim wouldn’t have lost any sleep.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  The map now covered most of Saka’s tent. With the help of Iktan and the other mages, he’d been able to reach farther across the sand. But the news wasn’t any better. Many tribes were struggling to survive. Those without human contact seemed to be doing a little better than others, but they were all in dire need of rebalancing.

  He had symbols for the human countries, and he was sure that Angus would know them and they’d be able to match them up. He could’ve asked Iktan to get a map from Cadmael, but Saka wasn’t sure Cadmael would supply a map, and Iktan didn’t offer.

  While Iktan worked with his human, he still had autonomy and saw to his responsibilities as a mage. Most of what the mages did now was make sure there was water and food, both of which were becoming harder to source. And predators were stalking closer to the village as they grew desperate.

  Demons from smaller villages were flooding in. Doorways that had stood for longer than anyone knew were no longer working, which horrified many demons because the priests would randomly appear. Although Saka was used to that, the priests were equally horrified by the change. With no doorway they were dependent on their anchors to return them to their side of the void.

  The Mayans were so used to coming and going freely that the idea of waiting in Demonside was abhorrent.

  There was no longer a steady trickle of humans seeking healing or simply visiting. The only people who crossed the void now were priests, and they were just as desperate for answers as everyone else.

  Iktan and five other mages—the most senior in the area—paced around the painted tent. They had nothing more to add, and they all agreed that pushing further would risk damage to the brain. They were concerned when Saka explained what had happened the first time he stretched himself over the sand via the telestones. Words had been hard to find and form, and he’d needed to heal himself before he tried again. He didn’t tell them that he would’ve died if not for Wek.

  “We need to make copies of the map,” Saka said. “We cannot lose this information again.”

  The golden mage still whispered in his dreams. She showed him the map and talked about lost things.

  Iktan nodded. “It needs to be made in stone.”

  “It needs to be on cloth and carried far,” said another.

  While it was important to know where all the tribes were and who they worked with, that alone wouldn’t save them. It would be useful only when they were safe.

  “If the doorways are failing because there isn’t enough magic to sustain them, perhaps we should take the magic from the many and devote it just to one.” Saka drew in a breath because his idea wasn’t complete and he didn’t fully understand the magic that operated the doorways. He should be learning about them, not speaking about them. “If there were just one, could we shut it and stop the flow of magic to Humanside?”

  All the mages stared at him.

  They were like him, but all different. Their feathers and scales and fur were the obvious differences, but it went much deeper. Their magical workings with their humans were unlike what he’d grown up with.

  But to close Demonside and halt the flow of magic would go against everything they believed and the Mayans believed in.

  “The flow of magic is needed,” the woman with the crest of red feathers said. Niri had explained to Saka that the doorways operated because of the flow of magic but that setting them up took great skill and not all locations were suitable.

  “The flow of magic to Humanside is killing us. The closure of the doorways need only be temporary and only one way. Magic must be able to flow back to Demonside.” It was the only solution that Saka had been able to come up with. It wasn’t so much a solution as sticking a finger in the hole of a leaky jug while water still poured from the spout.

  Iktan shook his head. “Every tribe would need to act, and most do not have doorways.”

  “We have a network of telestones. They can direct thought and more.” He’d tried a few things, like growing ynns—the staple food for many tribes—from a distance, feeding them magic through the telestones.

  Niri tilted her head. “We bind all tribes to our doorway.”

  “Yes.” It was as awful as it sounded. Saka held his hands palm up. “I do not see any other solution. If we wait much longer, there will be no tribes left to contact. There will be no demons.”

  “Can it even be done?” a brown-and-red scaled mage asked.

  “I don’t know. But I cannot sit around and wait for the humans to do something,” Saka said.

  “There will be games tomorrow and a new tide of magic. As long as pitz is played, we will survive,” the scaled demon said.

  Iktan scowled, and his ears flattened. “Then perhaps with the tide we should make an attempt with the local villages and see if we can link their doorways to ours.”

  “If their doorways are closed, their priests and humans would be stuck here.”

  “We can’t close the doorway without discussing it with them.”

  “It is our world, not theirs. Our magic bleeds through, and they have failed to
return it.” Saka fisted his hand. “While some do the right thing, many do not. We must protect ourselves.”

  “And what would your human—your mage—say?” Niri crossed her arms and glared at him. She didn’t like the idea of a human mage, even though Saka had explained that Angus had done what was required to become one, according to the customs of Lifeblood.

  “He would agree.”

  “I believe Cadmael would too, though he would want to make sure that any humans who are here could get back.”

  “If we control the doorway, then we can let them return.” How hard would it be to open the door so the humans could go home?

  “I hope so. To trap them here would not behoove us.”

  “The priests will have limited power without us.”

  Saka smiled. “They will have to resort to using what is already there, like the wizards of Vinland and the many magic users around the human world who shun demon magic.”

  Iktan glanced at the demons gathered around the tent. “So we will shut down and link all local doorways to ours tomorrow?”

  One by one the mages nodded.

  “I will spread the word that we are attempting to slow the flow of magic.” Iktan held Saka’s gaze. “I do not know if I want it to work.”

  “If it fails, we have at least tried something, learned something.”

  Perhaps that was all they could hope for.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Angus didn’t want to go to the pitz game. He still wasn’t comfortable with death and sacrifice being treated as entertainment. But Terrance insisted they go as a mark of respect for the players and their sacrifice. Because he had played, he understood what it meant on a much more personal level, and Angus hadn’t been able to come up with any argument that didn’t make him sound heartless.

  While Terrance’s life wasn’t up for grabs this time, Angus was no less tense. Maybe it was the atmosphere around the court. On the roads leading up to it, vendors were selling food and drink. Others were taking bets on the matches and players. It was business as much as magic. In that regard it was no different from the rugby matches he was used to watching. In the stands the excitement and tension were thick. He could grab the energy and use it if he wanted to.

  Everyone knew the reason the matches were held and understood that they would run out of water soon without them. This match would be used to bring rain and rebalance. And there were more blood matches than last time—more deaths.

  When they arrived, the first few games had already been played.

  Because they were considered priests, or would become priests, they sat in the reserved area. The distinction between magic users and others was clear. And while there were those Angus would’ve called wizards, they used their magic in defined ways that never crossed into the territory of priests. They were the ones who sought out demons in the entertainment quarter to gather magic for their charms and simple spells. His life would’ve been better if he’d been a wizard. But the college would eventually have found him and killed him. He’d have been caught up in the purges that were happening in Vinland, and worldwide, as fear got the better of people.

  Angus raked his fingers through his hair, forced a smile, and tried to enjoy the game for what it was and not think about the fate of some of the players. The atmosphere thickened with each match, whether it were fatal or just for show. Although he didn’t want to become caught up in it, the magic prickled along his arms and made his heart beat faster with excitement.

  Toward the end of one of the fatal matches, he stopped watching the game. He heard the cheers and groans and knew it was still being played, but something else had caught his attention.

  A small patch of blue sky had become bruised. There was a gray green smudge in the cloudless blue. At first he thought it was nothing—perhaps a cloud for the promised rain. But as he watched, it swelled. Then clouds bled through the blue sky and spread the green sickness. He elbowed Terrance hard in the ribs. “I think a clean sweep is building.”

  “What?” He cheered as the ball went to the other team. Not even dragging his attention from the court for a second.

  Angus didn’t want to start a panic if he was wrong, but if he was right…. Terrance wasn’t going to be able to do anything. “I’ll be back.” He gave Terrance a quick kiss on the cheek so as not to distract him.

  “All right.” Terrance glanced at him. His eyes lit with fervor from the magic and brewing excitement.

  Angus stood and made his way up the stairs. He’d only gotten halfway before someone in the crowd started yelling “clean sweep.” Everyone looked up at the green clouds, and the ball hit the ground—usually the end of the game. No one cared who won. No judge called out the result. People started to flee to find shelter. Priests fled to the small temple in the sacrificial area.

  He should go with them and be safe. But the magic was still around the court. It had been carefully gathered, ready to be used. When the clean sweep unleashed, there’d be even more available. He watched the sky as an idea formed. He could return it all to Demonside, not just the magic gathered during the games. Open the void and then shut it before the clean sweep could suck everything back to it. If the void was open when that happened, the clean sweep might suck out what magic was left in Demonside, which would be disastrous.

  That the clean sweep was launched during the game meant someone had told Vinland. He hoped that Lozim, the traitor priest, was paying for his crimes and his pain wasn’t going to waste.

  Terrance raced toward him. “We need to get inside.”

  “You go.” Angus used Terrance’s shirt to pull him close and kiss him hard. “I’ll be fine.”

  “No. You aren’t going to stand out here and take it on.” Terrance tugged his hand.

  Angus stood his ground. “I’m not fighting it. I’m going to send the magic to Demonside.”

  “If it were that easy, then why has no one else done it? Come on.” Terrance tugged him again, and the crowd jostled Angus closer.

  He put a hand on Terrance’s chest. “Because I’m the only one who’s survived. I only survived because of this.” He pulled aside the shirt to show the mark Saka had made. The scar glinted as though metal were in his skin. “Be safe.”

  “I’m not leaving you.” He gripped Angus’s hand and squeezed tight.

  “You have to.” Priests were calling to them. They’d close the doors soon. “I can do this. Tell them what I’m going to do.”

  “What if you don’t survive?” Panic widened Terrance’s eyes, and for a moment, Angus hesitated. He could hide with the others and wait until they knew more, but every day they waited was a day wasted.

  There were many times when he’d thought he wouldn’t survive. He had to do something with all of his good luck, and this would just about use the rest of it up. “I guess I’ll die doing something good?”

  Terrance shook his head. “Don’t be so careless with your life. Please.”

  Maybe he was a mage and ready to use his life for Demonside. “I think you are the only one who’ll miss me.” He gripped Terrance’s hand hard and didn’t want to let go, but he had to. If Terrance stayed outside, he’d die.

  “That’s not true. The college really wants you.”

  Angus managed a small laugh. “I’d hate to disappoint them.”

  “Please. Come with me. Let the priests do this.”

  But the priests weren’t doing it. “I can’t. I don’t know why the mark works, but it does.”

  “Maybe we should all get one tomorrow.”

  “You can ask Saka to carve his name into you next time you see him.” He released Terrance’s hand and gave him a shove. “Go.”

  Angus turned to watch the sky. He couldn’t watch Terrance leave, so he tuned into the magic. He felt Terrance hesitate and then run. Would he get other priests to come and drag Angus in?

  As the sky thickened and roiled, the air became sharp enough to cut his tongue, and the court emptied, he wondered if he was doing the right thin
g or the stupid thing. Just because he’d gotten lucky once didn’t mean he’d be able to repeat it.

  Sirens went off around the city, warning people that they were about to be hit.

  Angus walked down the steps to stand at the edge of the court and stare down at the bare sand and the rubber ball the size of a human head.

  He drew in a breath and tried to settle his heartbeat. There was no way to warn the demons that there’d be a huge influx of magic rushing through their doorway, and he hoped no one would get hurt.

  Carefully he gathered the magic in the court to himself. The ball rolled toward him and the clouds did too, searching for where the magic was. How much control did the warlocks have once the clean sweep was unleashed? The clouds sank lower.

  For a moment he did nothing but stand at the railing by the edge of the court, staring down at the sheer drop to the sand below, and draw everything he could to him. The scar on his chest burned through his ribs and branded his heart with the heat. While the pain made it hard to breathe, he didn’t stop. He had to be ready to open the void when the storm unleashed—too early and it might halt, too late and it would suck the magic from Demonside. The storm could kill Saka and everyone there.

  He took a step back, knowing it was too late to seek shelter, but that he could still survive even if he did nothing. Terrance would be telling the priests about his plan. But at least Angus was trying. While they generated emotion and death and helped to rebalance, the games weren’t enough.

  Even if he succeeded, it wouldn’t be enough. But it would be something.

  He grinned up at the clouds and lifted his hands. Magic sparked across his fingertips and made them tingle. If he were in Demonside, the magic would be bright around him.

  “Well what are you waiting for?”

  The clean sweep hit him hard, and he fell back onto the stairs, his breathing tight. Something was broken. A rib? He fought his way upright as the tide of magic swept over him, drowning him, smothering him.

  One breath.