I squinted at him as I sat up, my eyes feeling oversensitive to the light. “You okay? I can’t believe I fell asleep.”
He gave a quick nod. “With a triple pygah set above you, you would have found it challenging to stay awake, and I needed the stillness of your mind.”
“Well, it worked,” I said as I watched Idris clear the last of a support diagram that hadn’t been there when the ritual started. “It was hard?”
His mouth curved in a faint smile. “Rhyzkahl does not relinquish his treasures easily.”
“I bet he doesn’t.” I met his eyes. “Thanks.”
“You are welcome.” He stood and held his hand out to me. “I searched for anything else that had been integrated using rakkuhr and found nothing.”
I pushed aside the thought of Mzatal digging through my head before it could weird me out. It had to be done. As I straightened my clothes, I found myself looking down at the deactivated glyph in the center of the floor. I frowned. There’d been a pair in the center of Rhyzkahl’s ritual. One had been Rhyzkahl’s mark, and the other one naggingly familiar though I couldn’t place it.
I nodded toward the glyph. “Is that your mark?”
He crouched and passed his hand over the glyph, igniting it to a soft blue glow. “Yes, with a few variations for this specific ritual.” He traced around a section with his finger. “Here is the core of it.”
“So any ritual you do has your mark in it?”
He looked up at me and nodded. “Yes, the qaztahl’s mark is the hub of any ritual in the demon realm.”
“In…in his ritual, his mark was there along with another. I didn’t realize it then, but it had to have been a qaztahl’s mark as well. Probably Jesral’s, right?”
“Yes, Jesral’s mark was there,” he said. He stood slowly, eyes on mine. “What troubles you?”
“It looked so familiar.” I pinched the bridge of my nose, trying to place it. “I didn’t have time to think about it then though, y’know? But I’ve seen it before. On Earth.” I struggled to remember. “Shit.”
“Pygah,” Mzatal said, reminding me to use my resources. “That you’ve seen Jesral’s mark on Earth is significant.”
I called the pygah and breathed, but the connection still eluded me. “Damn it,” I said, knowing I needed to remember. “Can you, um, help?”
He smiled a bit, probably amused that I asked him to do something I’d so strenuously resisted before. “Yes. A simple prompt, nothing more.”
A second later, I knew. I could hear the water drip in the shower, smell the soap, feel the humidity of steam. “Tattoo,” I said. “On one of Katashi’s senior students. Tsuneo.” A smooth-faced Japanese man a few years younger than me who’d been studying with Katashi for five or six years. I didn’t know much more about him. Katashi didn’t have more than a few students with him at any time, and his more senior students tended to live and practice elsewhere, only coming to Katashi’s mansion for summonings. “It was down by his hip where no one would normally see it,” I continued, “but I walked in on him in the bathroom. It was small, but I know it was the same.”
Mzatal went still, only the muscle in his jaw shifting as he ground his teeth.
“Why would one of Katashi’s students have a tat of Jesral’s mark?” I asked, not liking any of the answers I came up with.
Mzatal remained silent for another moment, and when he spoke, power boiled behind the words. “Only if Jesral has influence in Katashi’s enclave.”
Everything about that was disturbing. Jesral with a foothold in Mzatal’s Earth presence held implications beyond my puny knowledge, but I knew enough to label it a Really Bad Thing. “I guess it’s too much to hope that Tsuneo simply found it in a book and thought it would make a cool tat?”
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.
Chapter 27
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.”