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“Hopefully, I’ll be back soon,” Idris said. “Maybe I can get away with only laying it and not working it.” He shrugged. “Normally, he’d have already told me to do it. I think he thought he was done, too.” He shrugged again, then headed toward the pavilion, leaving shirt and boots on the rock.
I took a few minutes to appreciate the view of the two shirtless men. Sure, Mzatal was my teacher and Idris was, well, not someone I wanted to get involved with, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t appreciate the fact that both were fine specimens of the male physique.
Laughing at myself, I pressed up to sit, then took several deep breaths as my head briefly swam. Idris completed and ignited his support structure, and immediately it dimmed as Mzatal began to draw from it. Poor Idris.
Gestamar suddenly twitched. I snapped my gaze back to him. Mzatal rose from his crouch and turned to face the reyza fully.
In the blink of an eye Gestamar became a whirlwind of movement, snarling as he laid a series of wards around himself so quickly he’d obviously prepared them earlier and had been holding them ready. I watched, frowning. What the hell was he doing? Faruk hadn’t done anything like this. Maybe it was different for reyza?
I flicked a glance at Idris. He stared as well, brow creased in similar bafflement. But he’s seen reyza summoned before, I reminded myself. If this looked weird to him, then that probably meant it was.
Mzatal called something out in demon, and Gestamar answered, still snarling and laying wards. The lord watched, not moving except to clench his hands at his sides.
Mzatal gestured to Idris, eyes never leaving Gestamar. Idris hurried over, and the two exchanged quick words.
“Kara! C’mon!” Idris called as he turned and ran back to the support diagram.
Grimacing, I pushed off the rock, staggering a few steps before I got my equilibrium back. Idris had barely shed a few tablespoons of blood, the perky fucker.
“What’s going on?” I asked as soon as I reached him.
Idris swept an assessing gaze over the diagram, then began to rebuild part of it in swift, precise tracings. “Hostile summoning,” he told me, quickly reworking sigils, in full-blown focused summoner mode. “Gestamar resists. Can’t assist directly since it’s locked straight onto his signature. We’re prepping in case his resistance fails.” He flicked a quick glance at me. “Lay a full perimeter around this diagram. Use the ascended model, quickly.”>I dropped my head back against his shoulder. “I saw that sigil, in Rhyzkahl’s ritual,” I said, my voice shaking. “It was directly in front of me, in the inner ring.”
“And it affected you now,” he said, pressing slightly with his hand. “Jesral’s glyph only?”
I closed my eyes and assessed myself just to be sure. “Yeah, that’s the only one that flared,” I said, slowly easing. “And it’s okay now, like it never happened.”
Mzatal remained silent and still, likely making his own assessment.
I swallowed. “I guess they aren’t just scars after all.” Helori had said as much, but denial had been a lot more comfortable.
“They are not what they were created to be,” he said quietly, “but they are not quiescent, and I do not know what they are.”
“Well ain’t that goddamn peachy,” I said, new apprehension settling in atop the old. I turned around so I could look up into his face, not wanting to dwell on any thoughts of the fucking scars. “I’m sorry I messed with the sigil.”
“Admittedly, such could be dangerous and ill-advised,” he said. “However, in this case, quite useful. The adjustments you made were an adaptation for rakkuhr that I did not know, but that resonates with what has been out of sync in the final ring.” He gave me a slight smile. “As impulsively reckless as your action was, I now have enough insight to complete the series.”
I snorted. “Go me!”
Mzatal laughed, placed his hands on my shoulders, then leaned in and kissed me on the forehead. “Go you, indeed. Now bathe and prepare. We will begin the beacon midday at the nexus.”
Smiling despite myself at the unexpected sound of his laughter, I headed off to bathe and prepare. But my smile faded as I reached the bath chamber. The scars were clearly more than scars, yet no one seemed to know what the hell they were.
I scowled as I slipped into the tub. It’d been a big deal just to get my ears pierced, and now I had arcane scarification. Fuck you, Rhyzkahl. Fuck. You.
Chapter 39
The sun hung low over the sea in an increasingly glorious display of fiery orange and purple, casting the black sand of the beach in shifting hues that reminded me of the album cover for Pink Floyd’s Dark Side of the Moon album. The mild sea breeze wound around me, cooling the sweat that plastered my shirt to my body as I lay sprawled on my side on the large flat boulder. I smiled wearily. That album would be a pretty nifty soundtrack for this particular scene.
Rippling waves of power pulsed from the active ritual diagram that was set within Mzatal’s nexus point. The low crash of surf against rock mingled with the sub-audible hum of the ritual in a strangely rhythmic discordance, both lulling me into a stupor and keeping me from actually drifting off.
Events moved swiftly once Mzatal knew how to tune the series of sigils. That afternoon, he’d brought us back out here to create the ritual to seek out the blade. This was like a message signal, a “Hey, wake up!” to the blade, combined with a way to lock onto it once it was found. And then, assuming that was successful, we would relocate to Szerain’s palace and create a new ritual—the final one, where, if all went well, I would actually call it into my hand.
For three days we worked on this diagram, first in the creation and then taking turns tending and maintaining it. In between periods of work on the beacon, we trained and studied and prepared for the next ritual. And, occasionally, Idris and I grabbed naps on blankets spread on the sand. Needless to say, I was damn tired and more than ready to sleep in a real bed. I’d had my fill of camping out during my time with Helori. An outdoorsy chick I was not.
Adding to my fatigue was the fact that the creation of this beacon required a fair amount of bloodletting on my part, since I was the one who would make the final call to the blade. I had no problem with the actual shedding of blood; I’d been taught to summon with a diagram formed of chalk and blood, and I wasn’t squeamish about making the cut. However the amount needed in a summoning was never more than a few tablespoons. I figured I’d dumped about a pint for this one so far.
The diagram thrummed and flared on the pavilion, and I smiled in weary satisfaction. In some ways it was similar to the beacon I’d used to call Tessa’s essence back to her body, though on a vastly larger scale. Rhyzkahl gave me that beacon. I mused on that. I’d developed my storage diagram from it, which made it possible for me to summon whenever I wanted instead of being limited by the phase of the moon. No doubt there was some significance to the fact that Rhyzkahl had given me the parameters to a beacon similar to this one, but I was far too tired to explore it now. Didn’t matter. I wasn’t retrieving the blade for his punk ass anyway.
