Diana Rowland - Touch of the Demon

Mzatal took my hand in a firm grip and strode toward the doors. We passed through the antechamber, crossed the corridor and exited onto the balcony.

He breathed deeply and closed his eyes as he released my hand, undoubtedly calling up the pygah. “A chance that he came upon it by accident? Yes,” he said, then he shook his head. “Likely? No.”

I leaned on the rail and rubbed at my temples. “Shit gets more and more fun,” I said with a sigh. “So when do you start training me? I think I’m going to need it, and soon.”

He stood beside me, looking out to the sea and sky. “You need everything I can teach you, all that you can absorb,” he said, voice still brimming with power. “Meet me at the column at midday wearing clothing suitable for working out.”

I straightened and regarded his profile. The set of his jaw betrayed his deep turmoil. “You got it, Boss,” I said, laying my hand briefly on his shoulder before I turned and departed.

Workout clothing? An ilius—Tata, I think—coiled out of my way as I passed through the main room and into the bedroom. To my utter shock, I found a tank top, something that looked very much like a sports bra, socks and shorts. Apparently the zrila had been busy sewing like, well, demons. I quickly threw the clothing on, then spent several frustrating minutes looking for my sneakers, finally finding them in the insane location known as the-bottom-of-the-wardrobe-where-they-belong. Crazy faas!

I raked my hair back into a ponytail as I headed out and reached the column just as the midday tone resonated through me. I looked up. It rose three stories or so, about ten feet in diameter at the base, narrowing gradually to a flat top that was half that. Though of the same ubiquitous basalt of the area, its polished surface glimmered in othersight as though coated with a thin layer of potency. As good a place to meet as any I supposed. What the heck did the lord have planned for me that required workout clothing? Exercise? The Arcane? I sucked equally at both.

A few minutes later Mzatal approached down the long path from the palace. I allowed myself an appreciative smile at his appearance. Barefooted and bare-chested, he wore loose pants of deep blue low on his hips, and a sleeveless and flowing knee-length open tunic in a fabric that shimmered impossibly between gold, maroon, and dark green. His braid hung over his right shoulder, though calling it simply a braid did little justice to the intricate weave. It had to be at least a dozen strands, wound through with cords of silver, gold, and bronze. He looked damn good.

As he neared I gave him a grin. “Nice duds, Boss. Looking sharp.”

With a glance and faint smile, he continued past me and to the column. Placing his right hand on the surface, he murmured something too low for me to hear, then clasped both hands behind his back and turned to regard me, smiling enigmatically.

I gave him a wary look. “What’s the plan for today?”

“This is where it begins,” he said, voice rich and intense, “and this is where it ends. The Primary Initiation.”

“Okaaay,” I said, totally baffled. “And what does that mean?”

“This segment of training begins now and ends when you survive the execution of a perfect shikvihr atop the column.”

Survive?? I tipped my head back to look at the column. How the hell was I supposed to climb that thing?

I dragged my eyes from the column and back to Mzatal. “You’re fucking kidding me.”

His smile didn’t waver. “No, I am not. It is an arduous undertaking, and one that will serve you well.”

I frowned. Clearly I was missing something incredibly obvious. I hated weird challenges like this, because I always seemed to miss the really obvious thing. “Okay, lemme make sure I have this straight,” I said. “I have to climb this smooth, really high column and then do a shikvihr? I don’t even know what that is yet.”

“The shikvihr is a full pattern lay, consisting of eleven rings with eleven sigils per ring,” he explained patiently. “It is a ritual foundation that greatly enhances ability to control and focus potency. When done properly, it flows like a harmonious dance. The column will adapt to the level of your preparedness. Step back ten paces, and I will demonstrate an initiate level shikvihr.”

Yeah, I was off to a great damn start. I backed up the requisite distance.

Mzatal turned to the column and placed both palms on it, murmuring low again. As I watched, the surface of the column began to flow and change. Ridges and footholds appeared and disappeared in an undulating rhythm. He ascended with a grace to make Nureyev weep, shifting effortlessly from each protrusion to the next as they ebbed and flowed around him. Some of the ridges couldn’t have been more than an inch or two deep, yet Mzatal seemed to glide up the column like a rock climber in zero gravity.

I craned my neck back as he reached the top and began what looked like a dance, or kata. He flowed around the perimeter of the top, a hair’s-breadth from the edge at times, laying sigils in a flowing chain, with movements so beautiful it made my heart ache. With a final sweep of his hand he ignited the sigils, sending a resonant tone through the column that vibrated my teeth in an impossibly good way.

Another wave of his hand dissipated the sigils. He descended as beautifully as he’d ascended, then placed a hand on the column again. It shimmered and became dormant. He turned and beckoned for me to approach.

“This was without the distractions that accompany the final trial,” he said with a slight smile.

I suddenly felt like a fifth grader who’d been handed a calculus test. Only a few weeks ago I’d been so damn confident in my summoning abilities, yet now there was no denying there were major gaps in my knowledge base.

Throat tight, I gestured to the column. “I don’t even know how to begin, to get to…” I shook my head. “I don’t know any of this.”

“It is why we are here,” he said, exuding calm. “It is why we are training. You will know it. You will understand it intimately. You will be able to dance the shikvihr even though the world breaks apart beneath your feet. It is your foundation. It is your salvation.”

Clearly, he’d never seen me dance. “Okay, fine. What do I do first?”

“You climb,” he said, placing his hand on the column again. It shimmered and then a narrow stair spiraled around it to the top.

Nice that the column has a “kindergarten” level , I thought. “Just climb?” I asked him.

“To the top. Go.”

I gave him one last doubtful look, then started up the stairs. I fully expected them to start shifting beneath my feet, but they remained stable, though they seemed to narrow considerably the higher I climbed. I kept my back pressed against the column and took my time, and finally eased up over the edge.

A swell of potency engulfed me like an emptiness needing to be filled. I dropped to my knees, fighting the surge of panic as I realized the top of the column wasn’t solid. I knelt on a perimeter about a foot and a half wide, but in the middle was a two foot diameter…hole? I didn’t know what it was. Deep blackness radiated potency like a ravenous maw, and whatever it was, I knew I didn’t want to step on it. Or touch it. Or be anywhere near it.

Panic continued to claw at me. I squeezed my eyes shut, called up a stupid pygah, and focused on my breathing. I didn’t have to see the hole to feel it, and even shifting out of othersight didn’t do much. It still lurked there, dark and unknown, sucking at me, tugging with questing fingers.

I had no idea how long I was up there doing my impression of a treed cat, but at long last I cracked my eyes open and peered down at Mzatal.