Considering I’d never even heard of it before, I had to agree with him about its not being common. “But what does that have to do with using floaters on Earth?” I asked again.
He grinned. “Sorry. If you complete the full shikvihr here, then you can actually dance the shikvihr, floaters and all, on Earth. Once you’ve laid the shikvihr, you can use other floaters. No need for chalk and blood!”
Well, that sounded cool as shit. Looked like the damn thing was worth learning after all and not simply as a stepping stone for returning home.
Mzatal entered, glanced at me, then approached the diagram Idris had created, eyes traveling over it in assessment.
Idris made one final adjustment. “I’ve reset the parameters you wanted, my lord. How does it look?”
“Stable,” Mzatal said, nodding approval. “It will serve. Go lay it in the chamber now.”
Idris grinned and dissipated the diagram with several broad sweeps of his arms, then headed out.
Mzatal’s gaze followed him as he exited.
“Well, that whole confrontation went better than expected,” I said.
“Idris is an exceptional young man,” Mzatal said, his eyes still on the empty doorway.
“He’s amazing,” I said. “Crazy talented and, holy shit, really has his head on straight.”
Mzatal’s mouth tightened. “Unusual focus and talent.”
There was something he wasn’t saying. “What’s wrong?”
He finally pulled his gaze back to me, expression oddly troubled, which made no sense considering that Idris had done nothing but be generally Awesome.
“Katashi reported that Idris’s biological mother had only a smattering of arcane ability,” Mzatal said. “It does not fit.”
“Well maybe his dad kicked ass?” I offered. “Or maybe he’s a genetic mutant. I mean, is arcane ability always genetic?”
“No, not always,” he said. “Though many attempts to manipulate potential proved ill-advised. Perhaps a high-potency father, but one completely unknown to Katashi.” He shook his head slowly. “I cannot pinpoint the issue, but it gnaws at me. Especially after witnessing Idris’s process today.”
“Process?” I asked. “You mean, how he dealt with me telling him to back off?”
Mzatal nodded. “It was swift and definitive,” he said. “He considered, analyzed, and accepted. Another noteworthy aspect.”
I blew out my breath. “Yeah, I’ve never met a nineteen-year-old who could react that maturely.” I snorted. “Hell, for that matter I’m not sure I’ve ever met a thirty- nine-year-old with that much maturity.”
“Agreed,” he said. He dropped his arm over my shoulders, surprising me with the gesture, though only for an instant. It felt curiously natural and utterly platonic, and I found myself not minding it one little bit.
“In light of other suspicions,” Mzatal continued, “I believe Katashi knows more than he has told.” A hint of suppressed anger colored his tone.
“You train pretty much all summoners who come to the demon realm, right?” I asked with a slight frown.
“Most, yes,” he said. “The other qaztahl—in the past—have sent promising summoners to me, those whom they wished to excel. Some were not sent to me, though, if they were only to receive basic training.”
“How many summoners are there?” I asked with a tilt of my head. “I mean, I used to think there were hundreds, but that was before I knew about the cataclysm.”
Mzatal drew a deep breath. “There have never been hundreds of summoners. Hundreds, even thousands, with the potential, yes. However only a small percentage of those have adequate innate talent along with the ability and desire to channel the energies. Often the propensity found other outlets. Currently, there are fewer than a hundred with potential identified, and barely thirty who have performed a summoning.” His arm tensed over my shoulders. “If Katashi is to be believed.”
My own tension wound higher. “And you lords, you really need summoners, don’t you.”
“Yes, we do,” he said, looking over at me. “What troubles you?”
I pulled away from him and looked into his face. “How do y’all find summoners?”
His eyes met mine steadily. “Since the ways reopened, most work is done through Katashi and his agents. Demons—kehza and nyssor—assist as well with assessments.” His brow creased. “Kara, what is it that disturbs you?”
My pulse pounded unevenly as my tension wound into a tight knot inside my chest. “How…how do you make sure those with ability become summoners?”
“It is not a matter of making sure they become summoners,” he replied, eyes on mine and a hint of concern showing through. “For the generations during and after the cataclysm, those hundreds of years while the ways to Earth were closed, skills faded. As the skills were not used, the genetics shifted as well, as a continuous flow of potency is critical.” Mzatal spread his hands. “There simply are not as many potential summoners as there once were. Those that are located are assessed, and if they show promise, then training evaluations can be made. Thus, we are slowly rebuilding the population.”
I took a step back, shaking my head, wishing I could dislodge the sense that something was seriously fucked up. “I mean, if you knew of someone with the ability, you’d make sure he or she ended up in training, right?”
“That opportunity is provided, yes,” he said. “Through Katashi and his agents.” The concern in his eyes deepened. “Kara?”
“Before Tracy Gordon died,” I said, very aware of the unsteadiness of my voice, “he said, ‘they make sure we become summoners.’ Tracy’s grandparents were summoners, and his parents died under strange circumstances. If my dad hadn’t died, I’d never have been raised by my aunt—my summoner aunt.” My hands tightened into fists, nails biting into my palms. “How far do you go to make sure summoners become summoners?”
Mzatal’s face abruptly slid into the unreadable mask. Without a word, he pivoted and exited to the balcony, hands clenched into fists behind his back.
I stared after him, going cold. “Mzatal?” I hesitated, then followed him out. “Mzatal, what the fuck?” I asked, my gut clenching even tighter as I stood behind him. My dad had been killed by a drunk driver, or so I’d believed until recently.
Have you ever looked at the accident report? Tracy had said. I have. He shouldn’t have died in that wreck.
My breath clogged in my throat. “Did…did you have my dad killed?”
Mzatal dropped his head and gripped the rail, not answering.
A red haze filled my vision. “Did you kill my dad?” I hauled off and punched him hard in the back by the right kidney. He tensed, but I didn’t give a shit about reprisals or consequences. “Did you? Answer me, motherfucker!”
“Not directly. No,” he said, head still lowered and his voice strained though filled with intensity.
“Turn around, goddammit!” I demanded, my voice shaking and my hands clenched into hard fists. “What do you mean, ‘not directly’? Did you order it?”
Mzatal turned to face me, his eyes deeply haunted. “I mean that if—if—this was a deliberate act at the hands of Katashi or his agents, then I am responsible,” he said, shaking his head. “I did not order it.”
“Swear it,” I gasped, chest clenched so tight I could barely breathe. “Swear to me that you know nothing of any plan or plot to kill the parents of potential summoners.”
Mzatal went demon-lord still, tension palpable. “I give you my oath, Kara Gillian. I do not condone such.”
Relief flooded me along with a pang of grief, and I threw my arms around him as a low sob caught in my throat. He returned the embrace and lowered his head over mine, his breathing unsteady. I trembled, absolutely knowing—knowing—my dad was murdered, yet trusting Mzatal fully in his oath.