Page 111 of Demon of the Dead


Font Size:  

Valgrind’s head popped up into view, streaming water, his jaws held carefully ajar, diamonds glittering on his tongue.

~*~

There were five, just as Lucian had said there would be, and Náli sat down hard on the ground, stunned. “I don’t suppose I believed it, truly,” he admitted. “Didn’t believe him.”

Mattias, too, sounded awed. “He told the truth, then. Your dead man.”

“He’s not my dead man.” Náli frowned. “Well. Dead great-great-great grand-something, I suppose.” He shook his head as if that might clear it.

The diamonds, lying in a pool of milky water at the center of the circle they’d formed to inspect them, glowed faintly. Náli could feel the hum and pulse of magic, a staggering repository of it, right here at his fingertips. It would have been a lie to say it didn’t tempt him; even if he hated what his magic did to him, the magic itself was worth craving. Each gem was a replica of the one he wore: fat-bottomed teardrops with long tails like comets.

Einrih stretched out the toe of his boot as if to kick at one, but withdrew. “Now what?” he asked.

Indeed. Now what?

Náli lifted his hand, and Mattias placed the satchel in it without being asked. “I learned something valuable about my abilities at Aeres, when I helped the Drake cousins enchant that torq for Ragnar. For the first time,” he said, as he rummaged for what he needed, “I was able to use my power for something that had nothing to do with death. Up until then, magic had always been a vehicle for communicating with those who’d already crossed over, or, in some cases, animating their corpses once they’d vacated the host. Dead and deader still. But with the torq – ah, here we are – I was able to imbue an object with magic and store it there, permanently. Granted, the Drakes helped, but the principle remains.

“My task is to take the magic stored here” – he gestured to the five new diamonds – “into myself, coalesce it, and then fragment it again in a new formation and imbue it into the five of you. Hopefully, the diamonds will then act as locus points, as my own does, rather than the repositories for the magic themselves – which is what you will all become.”

“That sounds…dangerous,” Darri said.

“Oh. It is.” From the satchel, Náli withdrew an old, yellow, crumbling scroll. He untied its ribbon slowly, and unrolled it inch by inch with delicate fingertips, smoothing it across a dry portion of floor. He anchored it at each corner with the iron candlesticks they’d brought, and then lit the tallow tapers set within them so he could read the old, faded words. “The risk is twofold: firstly, that I won’t be able to tolerate such a wealth of power on my own, and it will kill me dead. Secondly, that the transfer might kill one of you.”

He examined each of their faces in turn, meeting firm resolve, if grim, each time. He watched Mattias do the same, and he was the one who answered for all of them, as their leader and captain. He said, “We understand the risks, and we accept.”

“Good.” Náli’s nerves tightened, threatened to strangle him, and he swallowed resolutely and pressed forward with quick, efficient movements, trying to let momentum carry him toward something like bravery.

He set out his usual silver bowl, and his favorite knife, freshly sharpened. Rolled up his sleeves and secured them at his elbows.

“How will you do it?” Klemens asked.

Náli found a fat vein in the crook of his elbow and nicked it with the tip of the knife. Gritted his teeth as he turned his arm over the bowl and watched the blood trickle down into it with the sound of drizzling rainwater. “It isn’t an exact science, you understand. I can’t say a few magic words, turn around three times and…”

Klemens settled down across from him on the ground, expression unamused.

“Yes, well, you know that. You’ve all watched me flounder often enough.”

The others sat, too: Mattias on his right, Danski on his left, Einrih and Darri filling the other two gaps in their small circle.

“This” – he touched the edge of the parchment – “is a very old summons written by one of my dead, dusty relatives. A very specific kind of summons that, quite frankly, I’ve never had the nerve to try. It says here” – he traced the runic letters across the top – “that this particular combination of meditation and invocation invites ‘forces beyond mortal ken’ to enter the living vessel, which would be me, in this case.”

“Isn’t that what you already do?” Darri asked. “When dead men’s voices come out of your mouth?”

“A version, yes. But the dead men are dead, and were men, are not a ‘force beyond mortal ken.’ They are mortal – or were. This invites something wholly inhuman to come calling.”

“Like what?” Danski asked, frowning.

“That is the question. The language here makes me think it was something specific – at least for this particular relative. He had a definitive goal. As do I, which leaves me hopeful I can use this as a sort of guide. This volume of magic certainly counts as a force beyond my understanding. The trick will be opening the door to it…without letting in anything else.”

“Else?” Einrih echoed, brows lifted.

Náli twitched a wry smile. “The other side isn’t a cupboard that you step neatly into and back out of again. It’s a world unto its own. It has its own people, its own forces of nature. It has dangers as rich and plentiful as this realm. And, like here, wielding magic shines brightly. There’s always the chance you could…attract attention. The undesirable kind.”

He thought of a cave in the side of a mountain, a people hiding in the dark, and suppressed a shudder. If Lucian was being hunted, then so too would he be, when he crossed over.

A chill had settled over their group, one that Valgrind could sense, if his distressed rumble was any indication. He curled up around them, head propped on Náli’s shoulder, tail flicking up between Danski and Mattias.

Mattias took a deep breath and said, “Tell us what to do.”

Source: www.allfreenovel.com
Articles you may like