Touch of the Demon (Kara Gillian 5)

“Szerain,” it said, speaking the name with a sibilant intensity that echoed from the walls of the shrine and back to us.

Gulping, I nodded. “Yes,” I replied softly. “He’s my friend. I care about him very much.”

The demon gave an odd whine. “When? Where?” It fixed its gold-flecked, luminescent purple eyes on me.

Keeping my eyes on its, I gave my head a small shake. “I don’t dare say it. I don’t want Mzatal to know.”

“He cannot penetrate here. Where? When?” it asked, the intensity in its voice taking on a near desperate edge.

“On Earth,” I said. “He doesn’t know himself, but he seems content. He’s…” I groped for a way to explain what an FBI agent was. “He helps protect innocents,” I finally said. “We’re partners in this.”

The savik released my shoulders and head then shifted off to crouch beside me. “Who guards him?”

I pushed myself up to sit. I decided to dub this demon male, since it had that feel about it, though I had no idea if I was even close. “A syraza. At least, I’m pretty sure that’s what he is. He goes by Zack.”

“Zakaar!” He gave a hiss-growl. “Ptarl of Rhyzkahl.” The ‘k’ sound in his words came out as its own guttural click, giving an unusual cadence to his speech. Zah-KH-aar. Rhyzzz-KH-ahl

So Szerain was being guarded by Rhyzkahl’s syraza? “Is that good or bad?” I asked.

The savik snorted. “Good, bad…meaningless. It simply is. Zakaar is of the old line. Zakaar will guard him well.”

“He does,” I said quietly. “He guards him well.” I peered at him. “I am Kara Gillian.”

The demon dipped his head in acknowledgment. “I am Turek, essence-sworn to Szerain.” There was something about the way Turek spoke, a deep resonance in the inflection, that told me he was not only very very old, but also that being essence-sworn to a lord was rare and special.

“I am honored to meet you, Turek.” I leaned in toward him. “Can you tell me why he was exiled?”

“It was his choice,” he replied, eyes luminescent.

“His choice?!” I said, shocked. “But what…? Why would he do that? And why is he called an ‘oathbreaker’?”

Turek brought his arms in close. “His actions were judged to violate an ancient oath, and so he is named kiraknikahl, oathbreaker. He holds information he chooses not to reveal concerning the ways and means of his anathema. For this, he is judged to be too dangerous to remain here, and fifteen years, nine months, six days, and two hundred twelve heartbeats ago chose exile over revelation.”

I struggled to process that. It was loads more information than I’d ever managed to get up until now, yet at the same time it told me damn near nothing except that the scope of whatever he did was huge. More data for the mental clue board, I thought in frustration.

“Is he exiled forever?”

Turek stood and dipped a claw in the water of the pedestal. “It cannot be forever. The balance of potency suffers with the absence of even one qaztahl.” After a moment, he lifted his hand and traced a quick amber sigil with a single claw.

I blinked in amazement as a horizontal circle of points of light spun lazily a couple of feet above the basin, making a flat-tire wobble on each revolution. Eleven points. Multiple strands of vari-colored light dropped from each point and twisted together below, like a ring of long fringe with its ends wound into a crazy ball of glowing string. The savik lifted its claw toward the dimmest of the light points that trailed only a single sickly strand. “Szerain. Diminished. Exiled. Vilified. All out of balance.”

I scrambled to my feet. “If he’s so needed, then why can’t he come back now?”

Turek remained silent and made a slashing motion with his hand, dispelling the ring of light. He touched the water again, eerie eyes on the fuzzy image taking shape above the water. I tugged at the collar in annoyance as if tugging could bring sharper focus, but slowly it began to coalesce into an image of the same man I saw in the Elinor bathtub memory, and looking no more like Ryan now than then. Will his personality be different as well? I wondered, uncomfortable worry twining through me again.

“The demon council is at an impasse,” Turek finally said, again in that resonant tone that felt so powerful and ancient. Perhaps Earth summoners only ever called juvenile savik? They were considered second-level demons, but I had zero doubt that this particular demon was far stronger and had more arcane ability than even a tenth-level zhurn.

“Until resolved, Szerain…” Turek paused as if the thought brought pain. “Szerain remains in exile. And it is safer there, safer hidden, than here. Much more challenging for others to reach him. And Zakaar is better able to suppress him should he emerge.” His top lip curled back from those razor teeth, and a low growl came from his throat. “He despised being submerged. He will not willingly submit to it again.”

Gooseflesh crawled over me. I couldn’t even imagine what that would be like. “What happened to Elinor?”

Turek tapped the lip of the basin, claw clicking on the stone, and the image shifted to the sweet-faced young woman. “I cannot speak of what happened to Elinor.”

I let out a sigh. Once again with the damn oathbound crap.

But Turek surprised me by continuing. “Szerain asked me to remain silent, and so silent I remain.” He shifted the image; Szerain again, but the expression seemed somehow harder.

“What was he like?” I asked, eyes taking in everything about Szerain. “Was he…nice?” That wasn’t really the word I needed, but I couldn’t think of another way to convey what I so desperately wanted to know.