6. Chapter 6
Chapter 6
Caelan
H ad the demon commanded the Mother to split the world as she did? Her timing seemed awfully in his favor.
All my swordbrothers had fallen away but one. Loyal Joab still stood with me. In the four cycles he’d guarded my back, the sound of his footsteps falling just behind my own had become as familiar as the hiss of the wind. But the others of my party had been split from me by the tearing of the world. Arbaaz’ wings flapped laboriously, too far away.
And the demons kept rising. Joab and I stood on a shattered glass island as they appeared out of the red sands as if from a bloody slit.
I twirled my scimitar and took up a low, squatted stance. The Mother still shook us like dice.
This party was different than the others that had attacked us. I quickly scanned their weaponry and noted what I could of their bodies beneath their shapeless tunics. Well-crafted blades and muscled figures. Daggers stuffed into boots and belts. No heavy packs to slow them down.
"These are fighters," I warned Joab. Probably sent by the child I'd recklessly allowed to escape.
He grunted in acknowledgment as the demons darted forward together like many arms of a single bug. They came on silently, no grunts or battle cries. The shifting land was louder than they were. It screeched as glass slid along glass. Shards flew as pieces shattered. Sand rumbled like a hungry stomach. It rose into the air around us like splashes of ocean waves. It was an assault on the senses.
I blocked one attack and dodged another, spinning away. Behind me, Joab dropped low and cut up with his blade, not wanting to move too far away from me as he dodged and twisted. Ufuk stomped nearby. He couldn’t escape now; we were cut off.
I retrieved my dagger from my boot. “Come on!” I shouted. The demons’ quiet made me louder.
Two—no, three—slashed at me in unison. Choreographed motions. It was the only way for them to fight in such close quarters without cutting each other. One scimitar sliced down towards my skull while another came for my right thigh and a third slashed for my left arm.
But the reach of my own blade was greater than any of theirs. With a single swipe, I blocked two. I turned to the side and a blade cut the air beside my face. With a kick, I unbalanced the wielder, sending him tripping towards Joab. The demon saw his opportunity. He raised his sword to surprise my bodyguard.
But Joab paid as much attention to my fight as he did his own. He pulled his own boot dagger and plunged it up just as the demon came down. The demon grunted as the narrow, straight blade penetrated near his ribs. The point emerged through his back, coated in slimy red blood. Even these fighters wore no armor.
Joab was pulling his dagger out as I turned away from him to greet the blades that came once more with the inevitability of the suns’ rise. But they were not both swung with equal strength.
One of the fighters was better than the other. The better one was the first to rise from the sands, the one with larger horns. They were gnarled and twisted things of red and black. They must be heavy on his head, for he held his skull forward, chin down.
He swung his sword with one hand while the other hand danced, his fingers quick and sharp. The second demon, who had green-and-black horns that twisted like curls, watched the signs out of the corner of one slitted eye.
So that’s how they communicated this careful dance of theirs. I could work with that.
They came at me, another barrage. Their scimitars whizzed faster now, filling the space. Rarely had I seen fighters move like this and I was grateful for my time spent sparring Baris. He had their speed, their swift and sudden changes of direction, and joints that bent and flexed in unnatural ways. The leader dipped so low to escape my sword, I was baffled that he managed to stand so smoothly back up again. The other jumped and landed solidly and softly back on ground that was still quaking.
It took all my focus just to dodge their attacks. They forced me to retreat from Joab. Ufuk, smarter than all of us, hugged the edge of the island, avoiding the flashing swords. I was on the defensive and I allowed myself to be, waiting for the right opening.
They pressed me back against the island’s edge. I couldn’t retreat further or I’d fall into the sands. I thought they’d try to make me, but they didn’t. They allowed me to pivot, to regain some ground.
I laughed. “You want a body, don’t you? It’s not satisfying to let the sands swallow your prize.”
“The Mother watches over us all, but this kill is mine,” said the big-horned one. His split tongue made every word a hiss and he had an unfamiliar accent. “I’ve paid enough for it.”
“Then you made a poor deal,” I promised him. “You will make no kill today.”
Just then, I saw my opening. The follower was looking away from me, seeking instruction from his leader’s hands. Moving quicker than I’d shown them I could, I slashed at the leader’s chest with my scimitar. Surprised, he didn’t jump back in time and I cut him. But my blade did not penetrate his flesh. Unlike the rest of them, he wore armor. A plate of leather protected his chest, hidden beneath robes.
But no matter. That was only a distraction to keep him from seeing my dagger, which came up from below, angling for the follower's face. With a sharp jab upward, I sliced it. The wrap fell away, revealing a woman. Her lips split in half, and then her nose. I ruined only one eye, but it would be enough to stop her from reading signed messages. Blood poured from the cut, blinding her other eye. The pain probably didn’t help either.
She was screaming, but to her credit, she did not drop her sword and clutch at her ruined face. She must know she was finished, but still she charged.
“Not so quiet now, are you, demon?” I mocked as I blocked the attack. Though the leader came to her aid, both of them pressing me together, they no longer moved in sync with each other. It felt like only moments later when I gutted the bloody-faced demon woman. Pressing my boot into her gut, I shoved her over the side of the glass island and into the swallowing sands.
“They communicate with hand signals,” I called back to Joab. “Go for the hands or the eyes.”
Joab didn’t answer, but the clashing of steel let me know he fought on. I should get to his side and help him.
But the remaining demon came around, sliding through the air like silk through fingers, to block my path. His shoulders bunched forward as if he were about to charge, but he only stood as still as a blade of grass on a windless day. “Invader. You steal our land and kill our gods. Now you come into the wasteland you’ve left me and kill the people I have left. You will die in my lands today.”
“I don’t need a history lesson,” I said, and then I was moving towards him, my scimitar raised. I feigned left but attacked right. I was tiring, but not yet injured. The fight flooded me with energy. I pushed myself to move faster.
My speed impressed most sparring partners, given my size, but this demon met my attack almost lazily, as if he’d known a thousand cycles ago what feint I’d use.
He was well-trained, that was certain. Impeccable footwork, though now, unpartnered in his dance, he swung his weapon with wild recklessness. Every time our blades met, my arm vibrated with the force of his swing. His scimitar was short, but his fighting style suited it. He wove and dodged, dipping and spinning like a desert mirage. I had a much longer range than him, if only I could take advantage of it. But I was weighed down by my dragonstone armor, exhausted by our race through the sands and the time spent in Arbaaz’ mind in these last days.
“Fucking bug,” I muttered as the demon got inside my guard and nearly cut me. I punched out with my fist and unbalanced him just before his blade would’ve sliced open the exposed skin at my hip. I thrust out my sword as he recovered his footing. It easily cut the red fabric that draped loosely about his legs. But there was nothing on the other side of that draping fabric but air.
Father damn him. I needed to get to Joab.
I sheathed my dagger and put both hands on the handle of my scimitar.
The demon smiled. He waited.
I charged him, throwing all my strength into each blow. Thanking the Father for my cycles spent in practice, I didn’t allow the brutality of my swings to slow their pace. It was me battering him now, and he could barely keep up.
I pressed the attack. I turned, and he had to turn to stay with me.
“You good?” I asked Joab when I felt him at my back again.
“Fine, my prince,” he said. He was wheezing and I thought he might be injured, but I couldn’t be sure. In returning to Joab, I’d reunited the long-horned demon with the only other demon left standing. This one had stark white horns, narrow and thin but tall.
“You know why we call them bugs?” Joab said. It was an old joke, but the familiar words sounded labored, his breaths heavy.
“Because they exist to be swatted,” I supplied.
“Because they come in swarms and swarms, and no matter what we do, we can never kill them all,” Joab said. It wasn’t the ending of the joke.
I repositioned to grab a quick look at him. He’d taken a cut across his waist, just below his plate. His pants were soaked in red, almost as red as the clothes of the demons who fought him. But he swung on, every swipe of his arm less powerful than the last. Every parry raised less high.
It was time to end this.
I stepped forward and engaged both demons, pulling them away from Joab as he fell to his knees. His kneecaps cracked as they hit the glass.
My rage made me stronger. I was Jupe and the demons were Ksafa. The heat of my power would make them disappear. I would turn the whole world the red of their blood.
And I knew just how. I threw my attacks at the leader, dodging everything I could from his companion. I threw so much weight into those attacks that he had no choice but to put his second hand on his sword to help him hold it. My strength slammed into his arm. If he hadn’t taken both hands to his sword, he would’ve dropped it.
As soon as that second hand closed on the hilt—the hand that was signing to his friend—I pivoted my grip and brought the hilt of my weapon down hard on his hands.
He grunted in pain and dropped his blade. All those delicate bones in the fingers; I wondered which I’d crushed. As soon as the sword dropped from his hands, I spun to his friend. I paid them back for Joab with a slice across the gut. I made sure to go deep enough for guts to fall out.
The leader growled and then barked like a fucking animal.
I wanted to get back to Joab. To wrap his wound, or say the words over his body if he was dead. But only an idiot leaves a feral animal at their back. So I turned and faced the demon that was left.
In my mind this was almost over, but he did not seem to care that he’d lost his scimitar. He laughed, a chuckle at first but it crescendoed until the shards of glass that cut the red sky echoed his mockery.
“The Mother has blessed your death. I will kill you slowly so you can bleed out on your back, looking up at a sky that promises the Rebirth of dragons.” He charged, moving like a dart that threaded the air. The loose tunic he wore shifted, revealing thick leather plating beneath. A crowned dragon was stamped into the burnished red leather.
My eyes darted once more across the rest of him. His horns towered high and proud above his skull like the horns of an addax. Leather armor protected his legs beneath the loose peasant garb of his disguise. The boots he wore had good soles. And the scimitar he wielded had something I’d never seen before: a dragonstone hilt.
This was no poor, nameless raider. He was somebody.
I swept the air before him with my sword, but I couldn’t catch him. He was faster without his weapon. He darted inside my guard as if it were nothing. I may have broken some fingers, but his fist slammed into my hand as if he felt no pain at all. Tiny horns protruding from each knuckle punctured me. I dropped my sword.
Fuck, how had he done that?
I bent to retrieve it but he kicked it away. Wouldn’t let me get by him.
My fists flew out but I could not catch him. Laughing, he ducked my punches and swept out his leg, wrapping it around mine like a lover’s to try to trip me. My feet stayed solid. My arms circled his neck and I sought to crush his windpipe. His hands pressed at my face, seeking my eyes. I twisted to protect myself. I expected him to toss his head like an animal to impale me on his horns. But he pressed his palm flat against my cheek instead and kept it there as I strangled him slowly.
We held our strange embrace. Unless demons didn’t breathe like men, my opponent would soon lose consciousness. His laughter had ceased along with his breath, but he was still awake. Why did he not flail and fight?
My cheek felt hot where his palm touched me. I began to sweat, my skin growing sleek beneath his fingers. I shook my head to throw him off, but the demon would not move his hand. No matter; it was a mere annoyance.
The heat increased. His hand was too close to my eyes for me to see it clearly. Perhaps that’s why it looked like his hand was turning red. His eyes glowed as orange as the liquid fire seeping from the mouth of the Firecap Mountain.
Most pure-blooded demons had red, slitted eyes. But before, white had surrounded the iris. Now, the demon’s eyes were coals that glowed red with sparks of gold. He made the name demon make sense.
I became sure that his hand was hot as an iron rod in the fire. The heat of his digits seared my cheek. Panic flared. A burn like this would scar me forever, if it didn’t kill me first. And the damned demon wasn’t losing consciousness.
But neither was I. Gradually I realized I wasn’t in pain. The smell of burnt skin didn’t fill the dry air. I was only hot.
“Enough,” I said, and I threw him away from me, out of my lock. I didn’t give him time to recover from the surprise. I moved in quickly and threw punches with all my weight behind them.
I didn’t really expect this to work. He’d been so quick before. A dancing demon who laughed at my fists. But now he stood still and stared at his hands. They were the color of a poker just pulled from the forge and his eyes still glowed coal-red, but these things no longer concerned me. My fist crashed into the surprised look on his face. I followed that punch with a second, and he went down.
“What are you?” he called up from his back. The glow had left his eyes and his hands were brown skin once more. He seemed awed that his magic hadn’t felled me. If all demons were as weak as this, Vaharilar had nothing to worry about.
I kicked at his face, but he rolled.
“I’m a prince of Vaharilar.” I sent another kick his way, but he dodged this, too. He made no attacks, still lost in his thoughts. His eyes flew to the sigil on my chest and then settled on my face.
This was growing tiresome. I retrieved my scimitar and his. The demon made no move to stop me. When I turned back to him, his face had transformed. His eyes spilled venomous hate. His thin bottom lip curled. His body shook with the ferocity of his rage. “You. I know who you are.”
“And who are you?” I asked politely. The suddenness of his transformation unsettled me. The seething, boiling fury spilling from him scared me. So I retreated into courtly niceties to hide my feelings. It was a well-practiced habit.
“I—” spat the insane demon. He ripped off his robes, exposing the armor I’d glimpsed beneath. It was richer than I’d expected, though old as his fallen empire. The dragon on his chest wore a crown. “—am Tanead Tajawl, the Prince of Snakes, Heir of Los, slayer of Slayers.”