Two ilius—Wuki and Dakdak—lay curled in the cushions like shifting multicolored smoke with hints of fangs, eyes, and sinuous bodies. A third, Tata, ceaselessly coiled and uncoiled beside Mzatal, waist-high, its eyes steadily visible and focused on the plexus flows. They were three of the dozen or so third-level demons that made their home in and around the palace. In the demon realm, ilius fit into the niche of arcane vultures, feeding on stray essence from dead or dying creatures. When I’d summoned them to Earth, I’d paid them with nutria which seemed to work well for all concerned except perhaps the nutria. I’d also thought of them as being fairly low in sentience and intelligence, little more than arcane bloodhounds I used to help me occasionally on cases. However, even though I still couldn’t communicate with them worth a damn, Mzatal had deep affinity with the creatures and actually consulted with them.
Mzatal’s eyes remained on the blue-green strands and the pair of glowing orbs before him, but I felt his awareness of me as well as his assessment of my well-being. After I patiently waited a few minutes, he anchored the strands then moved to me, touched my cheek with the back of his fingers. He looked much better today, I noted. The stress and dismay no longer vibrated through him, which served to relieve the last traces of my own anxiety.
I gave him a light kiss. “I feel fine now. It’s all going to be okay,” I said, reassuring us both.
A surprisingly gentle smile touched his mouth. He rested a hand against my cheek, caressed it with his thumb. “Yes, the containment was successful.”
“Perfect. Because in about five minutes I’m going outside. I’m going to nail down the seventh ring today, and then you can culminate it.” I referred to the seventh ring of the shikvihr—a powerful ritual consisting of eleven rings of eleven sigils each. Mastery of each ring significantly augmented a summoner’s focus and mastery of potency. Moreover, the completion of all eleven rings gave the ability to create and use floating sigils, or “floaters,” on Earth rather than only in the demon realm. The ability to use floaters meant a huge advantage in speed and effectiveness over chalk and blood drawings. Mastering all eleven rings was a rare accomplishment, but I intended to beat the odds and take home the This Summoner Kicks All the Ass Award.
“You will have it by midday,” he said with utter confidence.
I grinned. “Damn straight.”
He glanced to the strands to make sure they still held, then slipped an arm around my waist. “If all agreements are made satisfactorily today,” he said as we exited the plexus, “it is my intention to set the ritual to send you to Earth for mid-afternoon today. Kadir arrives soon to begin preparations.”
I stopped dead and stared at him. “Whoa. Hang on.” I held up a hand. “You want him to assist you in the ritual? You expect me to get inside a diagram with him at the controls?”
Mzatal gave me a small frown. “Under agreement, there is no better choice.”
“I don’t understand.” I shook my head. “He’s one of them. And, for that matter, why was he here yesterday?”
He put his hands on my shoulders. “He was here yesterday under a long-standing agreement allowing him access to the Little Waterfall. It helps him maintain stability.” He paused, gathering thoughts to explain. “Kadir and I have a history that extends far beyond his association with the Mraztur. His skill with the flows is unparalleled and, because of the implanted rakkuhr virus—even contained as it is—the sending ritual must be flawless.”
I struggled to put aside my emotional reaction to Kadir. “I trust you, but how do you know he won’t break the agreement?” I gave him a sour smile. “The Mraztur haven’t exactly been bound by their ethics lately.”
“No, they have not,” he agreed. He looked off into the distance even though we were still in the corridor. “But Kadir is meticulous with agreements. I have never known him to break even the smallest point.” He met my eyes again. “However, if what I require conflicts in any way with terms he has with the Mraztur, he will not come to agreement with me, and I will find another to assist.”
His eyes held a flicker of worry. It was clear he preferred to have Kadir do the ritual with him, and I forced myself to remember that his worry for me mattered as well. It was unfair not to take that into consideration.
“All right.” I gave a grudging nod. “It’s obviously a complicated relationship, but I’ll trust you to trust him for me.” I angled my head. “Speaking of complicated things, are you going to give me some sort of training or FAQ on how to use Vsuhl properly?”
Mzatal went still, and I felt the connection between us thin slightly as if it had grown distant. “Beloved, Vsuhl was not recovered for your use,” he said in a quiet, grave voice. “It is Szerain’s blade.”
The odd change in his mood had me baffled, but I forged on anyway. “I know that,” I said. “But I’m its bearer now. Wouldn’t it be safer if I knew how to actually use it while I have it?”
“No,” he said firmly, brows drawn together. “You are safe when it is away. You are not Vsuhl’s bearer. You are its custodian. It is Szerain’s blade.” His aura flared with each sentence, as if to punctuate it. “Too much for a human.”
I’d taken a step back without realizing it. “Right,” I said. “Okay.” My throat felt tight, and I took another step back, feeling the sting of the rebuke. Had I said or done something wrong? Maybe I’d messed up when I used the blade the day before, and he was mad about it? “I . . . I’d better go work on the shikvihr,” I said and turned to go, bewildered and hurt.
He reached out and caught my shoulder, pulled me to him. I didn’t resist and let him hold me close. Tension kept his body rigid, and though he said nothing, I felt his pain and regret that he’d upset me.
I sighed against him, did my best to not be a ninny. There was obviously a lot more he wasn’t telling me, but now wasn’t the time to push the issue.
“Yaghir tahn,” he finally said, voice soft. Forgive me. “The matter is complex and fraught.”
“Yeah, it’s cool.” I looked up at him and forced a smile. “I’d better get started on the seventh ring.”
He hesitated briefly, then released me and stepped back. “I will be there to culminate it when you are ready.”
I nodded, turned and departed, smile slipping as I headed outside and to the column. The connection Mzatal and I shared was incredibly intimate, amazing and profound, yet it did nothing to balance the massive difference in the power dynamic between us. It wasn’t an issue of one of us being more “in control” of the relationship than the other. This was a flat and simple: “He’s super powerful and can read my every thought, and I’m . . . really good at feeling what he needs and helping him be super powerful.”
I reached the column, began some basic warm-up movements. No, it wasn’t a flat and simple anything, I realized. Our partnership benefited us both, and the shikvihr was a perfect example of it. Learning it from him with the added input I gained through our bond, I understood nuances of the creation process that would be impossible to grasp from words and demonstration alone. I knew it on a deeper level, which ultimately enhanced it. Yes, I still had to create it and weave the sigils in their rings completely on my own, but what I ended up with was simply awesome.
With my psyche thus soothed, I began to dance the shikvihr. The first six rings flowed out of me without hesitation, igniting perfectly and carrying the deeper resonance that showed they’d been culminated by a demonic lord—like hitting the enter key on a computer. They drifted in slow rotation around me, a foot above the ground, colors shifting and sparkling.