Strength of Fate - 17. Chapter Seventeen

Throbbing pain awakened Nathan from his slumber. He rubbed his arm, bringing temporary relief from the soreness, but it did nothing to ease his mind. Denial couldn’t last forever, and every time the pain flared up, he pondered if the beginning of the end was upon him.

Judging by the angle of sunlight creeping into their suite, accompanied by the hubbub on the street below, he deemed it to be midmorning. Turning toward Brohm, he found him watching Nathan through half-opened eyes. The big man wore a lazy smile and reached out to pull him over. Nathan slid close, laying his head on Brohm’s chest and wrapping an arm across his belly.

“Did you get enough sleep?” he asked.

Brohm grunted in affirmation. “Doesn’t mean I wanna get up, though.”

Nathan nodded against his chest. He considered taking one more day off from their task, but there was no telling when another iratxo attack would hit the city. They’d already selfishly wasted enough time, and he didn’t want to contemplate who would die for his indulgences if they didn’t finish what they started. Spending his remaining days with Brohm would be his reward. No obligations, no distractions. However, one concern came to mind.

“When this is all done, we’re gonna have to take that book from Rabiah. I don’t trust her to keep it,” he said.

“Yuh? What you reckon we do?”

Nathan shrugged. “We’ll see how things play out, but it has to happen. We didn’t go through all this trouble just to have her summon another daemon for her own dubious wants.”

A tiny scoff escaped from Brohm’s lips. “Reckon she’d be that dumb?”

“No idea, but it’s no secret she covets that book. You saw how she practically worshipped Theodrik. She talked about the power daemons have—it’s like a drug to her.”

Brohm let out another grunt, one of contemplation. “Yuh, I see your point. Dunno how we’ll do it without making her angry, though.”

“Her happiness isn’t our concern. She has that book because we got it for her. It’s our responsibility to return it.” He stretched up to nuzzle Brohm’s neck, giving him a small kiss. “And when this is done, we’re taking that extended vacation we talked about.”

Brohm returned the show of affection by kissing Nathan’s forehead. “Yuh? Where to?”

“I don’t care. As long as it’s with you, any place will be perfect.”

They ate a hasty breakfast and then headed to the university. It was still well before noon, but Nathan’s impatience deemed it inconsequential. At least Rabiah couldn’t complain they were late. Brohm knocked at her office door, and after a moment of waiting, the lock slid free and the door opened.

Rabiah stared at them. Her face was unreadable—the excitement from the last night long forgotten. Before Nathan could remark this fact, she ushered them in and closed the door. Books covered her desk again, with the tome they’d retrieved sitting atop them all.

“I’m still working through the details, but . . . we’ve got a small problem,” she said, grimacing.

Brohm let out a rough sigh. “What now?”

“The ritual states we require four warm bodies.”

Nathan gawked at her. “What in the hells does that mean?”

She shrugged in confusion. “We need four warm bodies?”

“No, I mean, what constitutes a warm body? Someone freshly killed?”

Rabiah burst out laughing, covering her mouth with a hand. “No! Gods, I’ve been reading this book for hours, and the way it’s written and translates in my head is . . . not elegant. What I mean is we need four people to complete the ritual.”

“But, we’re only three,” Brohm muttered.

She pointed a finger at him. “You understand the problem.”

Nathan waved his arms in the air, exasperated. “You said you needed the book for the words and symbols. You didn’t say anything about needing a fourth person.”

“How was I supposed to know the details?” she responded, matching Nathan’s outrage. “That’s why I needed the book.”

Nathan glared at her. “Who could we possibly trust to bring with us? We’d have to fill them in, hope they don’t run off screaming for the guard. It’s a huge risk, and if we’re caught, it’ll be a lot of work to explain our reasons.”

“You’re stating the obvious,” Rabiah said.

“You don’t know anyone else who loves daemons as much as you?” Nathan asked.

That earned him a dumbfounded expression from Rabiah, as though he’d announced her darkest secret to the world. Her lips trembled as she tried to find the words. “Unfortunately, no,” she uttered softly.

“What about Cormac?” Brohm chimed in.

Brohm’s solution was so obvious, Nathan was embarrassed to admit it.

“Who?” Rabiah asked.

“A travelling companion who’s here in the city. A monk who’s helped us in the past,” Nathan said.

She scrunched up her nose in disgust. “A monk? Something tells me he won’t be interested in helping us.”

“Ex-monk,” Brohm corrected.

“He’s already aware of the situation,” Nathan said.

Rabiah’s eyes widened in hope. “You think he’ll be willing?”

“We’ll have to ask him, but I feel confident he’d agree to help.”

“Well, what are you doing standing here, then?” she said, waving them away. “Go get him. There’s just one small section left yet to translate, and I need to consult the star charts for the correct time, but that won’t take but a moment.”

She continued to shoo them toward the exit, and Brohm opened the door to push Nathan out, escaping her incessant waving hands.

Aside from the knowledge of a hostel called The Wheel and Spoke in the northeast quarter—an area neither of them had explored—they had no clue how to find Cormac. Nathan decided they should keep to the main streets, walking south along the familiar avenue. Upon reaching the plaza where the Amberley resided, Brohm pointed to the eastern exit.

“Cormac came from there last time he visited, yuh?”

Nathan nodded, and they headed in that direction. At each major intersection, they wormed their way north and east, passing all manner of shops and townhouses, as well as a few anomalous estates enclosed by tall iron gates and fences. One thing became clear the farther they strayed from the Amberley: the northeast quarter was home to Etton Crossing’s impoverished folk.

Nathan flagged a passerby to catch their attention. “Excuse me. Are you familiar with The Wheel and Spoke?”

The man, who’d clearly heard Nathan’s question, made a point to ignore him as he rushed past. Brohm attempted the same with someone walking in step with them, only to be rebuffed in a similar manner.

“You lookin’ for Wheel n’ Spoke?”

Nathan turned toward the rough voice addressing them. A man sitting on the ground against a brick wall signalled for them to approach. At his feet, a battered tin cup held a few coins.

“You know where it is?” Brohm asked.

“Sure do,” the beggar replied with a snaggletoothed grin. He nudged the cup with his foot. “All I ask is compensation for me time.”

Nathan pulled his coinpurse free, only to find silver and gold coins inside. “I guess it’s your lucky day,” he said, covertly placing a silver coin into the cup.

Wide-eyed, the man plucked it out and studied it a few moments, careful to keep it hidden. “You’s serious?”

Nathan nodded. “We’re looking for a friend at that hostel.”

Palming the top of the cup, the man stood and tucked the silver coin into his dirty trouser pocket. “No doubt I c’n help you find yer friend. Name’s Maddox. Right this way, gentlemen.”

Despite his hunched back, the man was surprisingly spry, almost dancing as he led them. The streets narrowed the deeper they ventured into the northeast quarter, growing in neglect with missing cobblestones in places. Ramshackle buildings hung over them at odd angles, almost threatening to collapse. In contrast with the rest of the city, however, the denizens of the area were warm and neighbourly with each other. Instead of scowls and self-centred attitudes, they greeted each other with smiles and pleasant hellos. Nathan assumed they knew each other well, as the friendliness didn’t extend to himself and Brohm. Instead, they received cautious glares.

They approached a nondescript building. “Our destination,” Maddox stated with a grand gesture.

It took a moment before Nathan caught sight of a small painted sign hanging from a hook. The paint was well faded, its words nearly illegible, but he managed to discern The Wheel and Spoke when he squinted. Their guide led them inside.

“Ahoy, Maddox,” the proprietor said with a smile. “Managed to scrape some coin together for a night’s stay?”

Maddox revealed the silver coin from his pocket, and the proprietor looked impressed. “Me fellows here are searchin’ for someone,” he said before turning to Nathan. “What’s the name?”

Nathan waved in greeting. “We’re looking for Cormac. He said he was working for you?”

The man beamed a smile. “A gift from the gods, he is. The most selfless man I’ve ever known. You’ll find him upstairs. Room seven.”

Nathan nodded his thanks, and then turned to Maddox. “Thanks for your help.”

Maddox burst out laughing. “You kiddin’ me? Best pay for easy work. Thanks for yer generosity.”

Nathan and Brohm left them and headed up the rickety stairs. Each door was numbered with roughly painted white brush strokes. Number seven stood at the end of the hall. Nathan knocked, and after a moment, the door opened slightly. A stranger appeared on the other side, holding his boot against the door as though expecting Brohm to knock it down.

“Yeah?” he muttered nervously.

“Is Cormac here?” Nathan asked.

“Whitter? Is that you?” came an excited and familiar voice from within.

Nathan found it strange to hear his pseudonym spoken again. “Yeah, it’s us,” he replied to Cormac.

The man at the door, disarmed by the monk’s joyful greeting, moved aside to allow them into the room. It was simply decorated with a bed in each corner, separated by wood-thatched partitions. Cormac drew near and gave each of them a hearty handshake.

“’Tis good to see you both,” he said. “What brings you here?”

Brohm jerked a thumb toward the hallway. “We need your help. Can we talk in private?”

Cormac glanced back at the man now sitting on his bed, looking mildly concerned and protective of the monk. “’Tis fine,” he said to him before gesturing to Nathan and Brohm to head out. Closing the door and taking a few steps away, Cormac spoke in hushed tones.

“Is everything alright?”

“It’s about the daemon,” Nathan whispered. “We’ve just discovered we need four people to complete the ritual. You’re the only person we can trust to fill the role.”

Cormac blanched at the prospect. “What would you have me do?”

Nathan and Brohm sheepishly exchanged glances.

“Actually, that’s a good question. We don’t know,” Nathan replied. “Rabiah’s been translating the book with the details. She said we needed four people, and asked us to get you. We’ll be able to get more answers if you come with us.”

Cormac appeared conflicted, and Nathan laid a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“We know this is asking a lot,” he continued, “but would you be willing to hear us out before making a decision?”

“It just . . . frightens me,” Cormac said, offering a weak smile.

“I don’t blame you. We don’t know what to expect, either, but I find there’s comfort in facing the unknown as a group.”

It was clear from Cormac’s expression he was unconvinced, but nodded for them to head downstairs. Once outside, Nathan and Brohm flanked the monk, escorting him back to the university.

“We appreciate you helping us,” Nathan said.

“Of course. The needs of others outweigh my fears. I’m at my best when I’m helping people.”

Brohm glanced around at the crowd on the street. “Everyone seems pretty calm given what happened yesterday, yuh?”

“They’re a hardy folk. The attack, while short-lived, ’twas horrifying,” Cormac said, presenting a fearful glance to Brohm. “You say that returning this daemon to its realm will stop those creatures from appearing?”

The big man shrugged. “That’s what Theodrik says.”

“I have hope this is true,” Cormac said. “Too many innocents died yesterday.”

“Did anyone get bitten, yet survive?” Nathan asked apprehensively.

The monk, full of sorrow, shook his head. “Anyone who’d been attacked suffered fatally.”

Not wanting to appear insensitive, Nathan didn’t voice his thoughts on the matter, but he knew they were lucky to die quickly.

Returning to Rabiah’s office once again, Brohm knocked on the door. There was no reply, so Brohm knocked again with more insistence.

“It’s open,” came Rabiah’s reply.

Nathan and Brohm exchanged questioning glances. In all their visits, the door was always locked. With deliberate care, Nathan opened it enough to find Rabiah at her desk. Her expression was bleak.

“What’s wrong?” he asked.

She beckoned them to enter. They did so, and Brohm closed the door behind them. Glancing furtively at the green pools of light illuminating the room, Cormac gave the impression the surroundings put him ill-at-ease, and he remained near the door.

“Cormac, this is Rabiah,” Nathan said. “Rabiah, I’d like you to meet Cormac.”

She glanced at the monk passively, not making any effort to welcome him. Growing weary of her attitude, anger welled within Nathan.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded.

Rabiah’s gaze shifted to him, seemingly falling out of her trance. She shook her head in despair. “We can’t perform the ritual.”

Nathan took a moment to process the simple statement, assuming he misheard. “Why?”

She pointed to a single line of text in the book on her desk. “Sacrifice.”

The room fell silent, assuming she’d continue. When she didn’t, Nathan slammed the table.

“What does that mean? Give us details!”

Rabiah stood to meet his anger in kind. “The ritual requires a sacrifice—a willing sacrifice—to open the gateway!”

“But I thought that’s what the crystal and the fancy words were for,” Brohm said.

“Yes, they create the portal, but a sacrifice is needed to open it.”

“How could you miss such an important step until now?” Nathan cried.

She pounded on the tome. “This isn’t a recipe to make a cake! There’s no ingredient list. It just states it at the end, and even then, it’s written matter-of-factly.” Using a finger on the page, she found the passage. “It says, ‘sacrifice the chosen and willing participant.’ That’s it. This is the one and only mention that someone needs to die to open the damn portal.”

Nathan swiped his hand across his face in frustration. After being so close to completing their endeavour, he couldn’t fathom how to leap this hurdle.

“What about using an animal?” he asked.

Rabiah scoffed. “That’s hardly a willing participant. Anyway, it goes on to describe what the person needs to do after their death. These are things an animal couldn’t do.”

“What you mean after their death?” Brohm asked. “Like a ghost?”

“Part of the ritual is a temporary soul trap, allowing the person time to open the portal. Afterward, their soul is freed.”

“To the heavens?”

The three of them jumped at Cormac’s voice. He lingered in the gloom, forgotten.

Rabiah offered a noncommittal shrug. “For one who believes such things, I presume so.”

“And if this daemon leaves our realm, how sure are you that these creatures will stop appearing?” Cormac asked.

“What? You want guarantees?” Rabiah laughed mirthlessly. “In perusing another section of this book, it does warn those who try to summon daemons that small rifts will open, allowing beasts to invade. Knowledge of the iratxo has been written about in many texts, however no one in recent history has witnessed them until now. So with that in mind, we can assume if the daemon is gone, the rifts will close and the attacks will stop. The iratxo will return to the history books until someone else is stupid enough to summon a daemon again.”

That last statement gave Nathan a touch of confidence that Rabiah’s unbridled interest in daemons would remain purely academic. She understood the gravity and consequences of such an act. Regardless, that knowledge did nothing to help them now. Theodrik would remain a prisoner in their world, and iratxos would continue to plague them.

“What if the daemon killed itself?” Brohm mused.

Rabiah gave him a skeptical look. “Doesn’t that defeat the point of opening the portal? Anyway, even if it tried, it would fail.”

“What do you mean?” Brohm asked.

“They’re immortal beings.”

Nathan stood in disbelief. “What if it flew high in the sky and dropped to the ground? Surely that would kill it.”

She let out another laugh. “It’d leave a nice crater, but otherwise it’d be fine.”

Brohm let out a frustrated groan and slumped to the floor, leaning against an overfilled bookshelf. Nathan, likewise, hopelessly sat down on the chair opposite Rabiah’s desk.

“I’ll do it.” Cormac’s voice cracked when he spoke, and he cleared it, standing up straighter before them.

Looking back in confusion, Nathan considered the man. “You’ll do . . . what?”

“I’ll do it,” Cormac repeated. “I’ll be your sacrifice.”

“You can’t be serious,” Rabiah said.

Brohm, equally confused and a touch concerned, rose from his seat on the floor.

“I would not jest at such a time,” Cormac replied defiantly.

Nathan stood. “You can’t just throw your life away. Why would you even consider this?”

Cormac smiled and reached out to Nathan, both hands gripping his shoulders. “Don’t see you? ’Tis my final act of redemption. A life for a life.”

“What is he talking about?” Rabiah asked.

With a whip of his head and a scowl, Nathan silenced her, then returned his attention to Cormac. “I understand the guilt you feel, but this isn’t a solution.”

Staring past him, Cormac’s eyes glistened. “All this time, I’ve been trying to help others. But to save the lives of so many by ending the iratxo threat? Whitter, I must do this.”

Rabiah interrupted again. “What’d he call you?”

“Would you please shut up!” Nathan pleaded to her before looking into Cormac’s eyes again. He tried to think of a way to dissuade the monk, then turned to Brohm for guidance, but the big man only looked on in disbelief. With a sigh, Nathan made another attempt to reason with Cormac.

“Back at the guildhouse, you told us death was the easy way out.” It was a cheap shot—Cormac’s glower confirmed it—but Nathan was desperate to discourage him. “I don’t know much about the gods, but I can’t believe they think a life for a life is acceptable. The death of your friend was an accident. You didn’t mean to do it.”

Tears streamed down Cormac’s face, and he grasped Nathan’s shirt in his fists. “I still have to live with it every single day. ’Tis a pain that never dulls, like a knife stabbing my chest, never-ending. I hide it from the world, but within, I am tormented. Please—Whitter, Sid, Rabiah—I need to do this.”

The monk fell to sobbing, and Nathan took him into his arms to comfort him. Brohm appeared at his side, watching Cormac with doleful eyes, and laid a hand on his shoulder. Rabiah could only silently observe the scene unfold before her.

After a few moments, Cormac managed to compose himself, nodding at Nathan and Brohm in silent thanks for their concern. If there were words that could counter Cormac’s plea, Nathan was at a loss to find them. Asking for confirmation again felt callous. As wrong as it seemed, there was no doubt in Cormac’s mind this was the right course of action.

Nathan turned to Rabiah. “Are you willing to go through with this?”

Doubt crossed her face as she gazed upon the tome before her, then back to Nathan. “I think so, but you’re forgetting an important question: who’s going to be the one to kill him?”

A ball of lead dropped into Nathan’s stomach, and the memory of Tarn flashed before his eyes. The circumstances were different, but he questioned if he could do it again.

“What about Theodrik?” Brohm muttered. “Reckon it should do its part.”

Cormac’s eyes, still wet, creased with worry. “Death at the hands of a daemon? I’d rather die by my own hand.”

“Absolutely not!” Nathan said with decisiveness. “Cormac, I’ll do it. I’ll make sure it’s quick, painless.” Bile threatened to rise up his throat as the words hung in the air.

“So, we’re really gonna do this?” Brohm asked.

Taking a deep breath, Cormac answered with a resolute nod.

“Rabiah, you said portals can only be opened at specific times. When’s the next window we can do this?” Nathan asked.

She freed a book from the pile and flipped through the pages. The three men drew near as she consulted tables of calculations and measurements.

“Tomorrow, just before dawn,” she stated.

“Reckon we can be ready in time?” Brohm asked.

She nodded. “It’ll take most of the night, but yes.”

A nervous chuckle broke out from Cormac’s lips. “I will admit, the sooner we can do this, the better. ’Tis easy to lose one’s nerve.”

 

 

◆ ◆ ◆

 

 

The afternoon passed in a flurry of activity while they prepared for the expedition to the northern bluffs. Lanterns and oil were procured. Flasks of water were collected, along with food that travelled well, though Nathan doubted anyone would consider eating. He certainly had no appetite.

Cormac fetched his belongings at the hostel while Nathan and Brohm returned to the Amberley. After strapping his dagger to his belt, Nathan questioned if he could follow through using it on Cormac. Slicing the carotid artery was a quick solution, but far from painless. An alternative was poison—causing the victim to fall unconscious and ultimately die—but obtaining that required contacts, none of which he had in Etton Crossing.

“We need to get some hard liquor,” he blurted out.

Brohm gave him a questioning frown while tightening his sword belt.

“We’ll get Cormac passed-out drunk, and then I’ll . . . cut his neck.” The words felt like sand in his mouth.

Brohm nodded sombrely. “Sure, I’ll go get something strong. Reckon we need anything else?”

Nathan shook his head. “I’ll meet you outside?”

“Yuh. Shouldn’t take me long.”

Brohm shouldered his rucksack and took his leave, leaving Nathan alone with his thoughts. Running the plan through his head yet again, he concluded everything was accounted for. He knew the night would drag on, most of it spent waiting for the right time to begin the ritual. That waiting would be torture for everyone, but especially Cormac. Nathan couldn’t comprehend how he agreed so readily, but acknowledged the voice in his head stating it was a solution to their grim dilemma. They required a sacrifice, and Cormac fulfilled that need. Nonetheless, a wave of guilt tore through him.

Crossing the room, he caught sight of his reflection in the looking glass. He’d passed it regularly, yet this was the first time he gazed into it. Before him stood the stranger everyone knew as Whitter—and to a lesser extent, Nathan—but the face before him remained unrecognizable. In the past year, his thought process and how he approached each situation had changed. Those shifts in judgement were undoubtedly an improvement from his past deeds, but he contemplated if he was still Nathan—the true Nathan—or had a foreigner taken his place.

Shouldering his pack, he left the stranger behind with a shake of the head. The warm late afternoon sun fought at the anxiety trying to strangle him, and soon Brohm returned with a brown glass bottle in hand.

“Got some whisky,” he said.

Nathan grabbed it, pulled the stopper, and took a swig. The drink burned, and he grimaced as Brohm looked on with knitted brows.

“You gonna be okay?” the big man asked.

Nathan gulped another mouthful before replacing the stopper. “That’s up for debate.”

Brohm hunched down to look at Nathan straight on. “You don’t gotta do this, y’know. I could—”

“No. I’m doing it,” Nathan said with determination, more to himself than Brohm. “This time tomorrow, it’ll all be over. Then it’ll be just you and me.”

With worried eyes, Brohm continued to scrutinize him, and then cupped Nathan’s cheek with a hand. “I’m here for you.”

Nathan nestled his head against Brohm’s hand. “I know. We’ll make it through this. Thanks, big guy.”

Satisfied, Brohm gave him his crooked smile. That simple act was enough to give Nathan the strength he needed. He took the hand against his face and kissed it gently, prompting Brohm to blush and utter a small chuckle.

They turned northward and strolled side by side, oblivious to the bustling street. Reaching the north gate, they caught sight of Cormac leaning against the massive stone wall. He gave them a small nod in greeting as they approached, which they returned. No one felt the need—nor dared—to speak. Rabiah arrived ten minutes later, laden with her own pack. She looked upon them solemnly.

“Well, I guess this is it,” she said with raised eyebrows.

The three men straightened and fell into line behind her, led through the gate to the fiery red bluffs beyond. While they tread the path, long shadows grew from the sun kissing the tips of the western mountain range. Brohm took the lead, finding the way up until they reached the highest bluff they could stand on. Further north, the rock took on a craggy form, making travel difficult if not impossible. It didn’t matter. They were far enough from the city to be invisible, despite the fact they still had a direct line of sight.

Nathan and Brohm busied themselves setting up a makeshift camp, venturing out to gather sticks and kindling. They wouldn’t have enough fuel to produce a large fire, but it would be enough to stave off the nighttime chill. At Nathan’s request, Cormac remained at camp while they worked. He reluctantly agreed, sitting against the northern cliff face and staring out at the vast landscape in meditation.

Rabiah established a workspace at the centre of the flat area. First, she swept away small rocks and debris, and then carefully poured small piles of crushed black crystal on the ground. Using miniature tools akin to rakes and trowels, she drew two large circles, each intersecting the other. Then, while consulting the tome stolen from the library, she rendered the finer details. Intricate designs branched off the edges of the circles. Judging by the imagery on the page, she would be busy well into the night.

With nothing left to do, Nathan and Brohm sat near Cormac, silently observing the view together. A smooth gradient of colour—red, purple, and deep blue—painted the cloudless sky. Some of the brighter stars twinkled into view. The city below—a stout shape against the darkening sky—gained stars of its own in the form of lamplight in windows.

Nathan looked over to Rabiah, and noticed she was squinting at the book. He lit an oil lamp and brought it to her.

“Thanks,” she said, rubbing her eyes. “I’m so absorbed in the details, I didn’t realize the sun had fallen.”

Nathan studied the elaborate motifs and patterns. “Could you tell me how people discovered this kind of magick? It’s so complex. It couldn’t have been discovered by accident.”

Rabiah looked down at her work. “It’s ancient knowledge, passed on for untold generations. Nobody knows its origin, but some theorize it was introduced by some otherworldly source.” She smiled. “I tend to agree with that idea. No amount of research could produce these results without outside help.”

“Are you hungry, thirsty?”

She swallowed and smacked her dry lips. “Now that you ask, yes, water would be nice.”

Nathan retrieved a flask from his rucksack and handed it to her. While she took a deep draught, Nathan admired the designs again. The crystal dust sparkled in the lamplight like a rainbow during an afternoon shower. She handed back the flask, but Nathan waved his hand for her to keep it.

“We have others,” he said.

“Thanks. Now, leave me to it,” she said, shooing him away.

Nathan returned to the two men, finding them deep in conversation while Brohm built a fire. Judging by the discussion, Nathan assumed Brohm had apologized again for his poor treatment of the old monk.

“I appreciate your words,” Cormac said, “but as I said before, you are forgiven. Please don’t let these worries cloud your mind. ’Tis in the past. Perhaps treat it as a learning experience. Wariness can keep you safe, but it should be tempered with a critical eye. To be distrustful of all those around you is no way to live. Allow them the chance to prove themselves before you judge them harshly.”

Unable to meet the monk’s gaze, Brohm stared at the rusty earth in deep contemplation of his words. After a moment, he nodded.

“I don’t know what we did to deserve you,” Nathan said, adding a stick to the fire. “You arrived in our lives when we needed it most.”

The monk smiled. “It touches my heart to hear that. Thank you.”

“But, I need to ask again . . .” Nathan faltered, not wanting to ruin the tranquil mood of the group, but it was too important not to voice his concern. “Are you absolutely sure you want to go through with this?”

Cormac turned himself so he could look more directly at Nathan. “Most certainly. I’ve lived a long life, and ’tis a worthwhile way to end it.”

There was no doubt in Nathan’s mind he did his utmost to dissuade Cormac, but the weight of guilt still sat heavy on his chest. Before he could consider it further, however, the telltale sound of leathery wings announced Theodrik’s arrival. Cormac glanced about nervously, catching sight of the daemon high in the sky, circling tightly as it fell toward the group.

“Gods keep us. ’Tis a nightmare made flesh,” he whispered, cowering close to Brohm in search of protection.

Knowing the wake of its wings would ruin Rabiah’s work, Nathan stood up and signalled for Theodrik to land farther away. Acknowledging his request, the daemon loosened its spiral descent to touch down at the far edge of the bluff, and then advanced on foot.

“Good evening, Nathan,” Theodrik said, its voice deep and reverberant.

“Hello. I hope you’re ready to leave because everything’s in motion. We’ll be opening the portal just before sunrise.”

It had taken time for Nathan to decipher Theodrik’s mannerisms and expressions, to understand its body language. Now, it was clear Theodrik was surprised, and—to a lesser extent—cautiously optimistic about the good news.

“I’d also like you to meet someone,” Nathan continued, gesturing for it to follow him to the campfire.

As they approached, Cormac shrank deeper against Brohm’s side.

“Don’t worry, it’s okay,” Brohm said to him, but the monk remained unconvinced.

Using the daemon’s arrival as an excuse to take a break, Rabiah joined them, strategically positioning herself to stand near Theodrik. She wore an alluring smile, making no attempt to hide her gaze upon its dark skin rippling with taut muscle.

“It’s a pleasure to see you again,” she said, “but I suppose you already know that about me.”

Theodrik stared down at her. “Yes. You are a curious and rare being, Rabiah. You are attracted to me, whereas most recoil at my appearance”—it turned its attention to Cormac—“such as your friend here.”

As it had in the past, Theodrik fell to one knee in an attempt to lessen its massive height. It did nothing to ease Cormac’s fears.

“Theodrik, I’d like to introduce Cormac,” Nathan said. “He’s been a good friend to us.”

The monk risked a nervous glance over Brohm’s shoulder.

“I understand my presence is disturbing for you,” Theodrik said, “but if you trust the wariness of your companions, you will find—as they have—I am benevolent.”

Cormac took a deep breath. “I mean no disrespect, but ’tis the stories of your kind that bring fear to my heart.”

“Yes. I understand that a minority of my kind have sullied our reputation as a whole. As this is not our realm, humans only meet the worst of our kind—those who would torture and enslave purely for the perverted joy of it. I am not one of those. I was brought here against my will to perform a task. One that shall always bring me shame.” Theodrik gestured to Nathan and Brohm. “Actions that nearly claimed the lives of these men.”

Cormac, his curiosity piqued, managed to straighten up. “How did you first meet?”

“That story belongs to Nathan.”

“Who’s that?” Cormac asked.

Nathan and Brohm chuckled, only bringing more confusion to Cormac’s face.

“I realize you know me as Whitter, and him as Sid, but that’s not our real names. We’ve been in hiding this whole time. My name is Nathan, he’s Brohm.”

Rabiah nudged Nathan in the ribs. “You trusted me, but not Cormac? Should I feel honoured?”

“It’s not like that. In Millsfield, where we’re from, everyone knows us as Whitter and Sid.”

“But how does this relate to . . .” Cormac gestured at the daemon.

“The short version? A lord wanted me dead, and with Brohm’s help, we managed to evade his every attempt. He was desperate enough to have a daemon summoned and bound by some kind of magick, forcing Theodrik to find and return me.”

“But why did this lord demand your death?” Cormac asked. “What manner of deed could’ve gained such ire?”

Nathan bit his lip. “I assassinated his son.”

Cormac gaped at Nathan, then turned to Brohm for confirmation, who nodded matter-of-factly.

“Don’t look so surprised, Cormac. I told you we had a violent past,” Nathan said.

“I knew it!” Rabiah said. “There was something about you two that felt off.”

“Well, if we’re all opening up, I have a question for you,” Nathan said to Rabiah. “That book we stole for you. I get why Edouard didn’t want to give it to you.”

Rabiah opened her mouth to retort, but Nathan held up a hand to silence her.

“Can we trust you to keep it safe? I don’t want a repeat of what we’re dealing with right now.”

Rabiah stared back, nonplussed. “You really think I’d use it to summon another daemon?”

Theodrik looked to her with a scowl, showing the edges of its sharp teeth.

“Well, would you?” Nathan asked.

“Gods. You think I’m that reckless?”

“Quite frankly, yeah.”

Rabiah pursed her lips, a touch of pain daubing her eyes. “No. Never! Just because I’m . . . enthusiastic about daemons doesn’t mean I’d be stupid enough to invoke one. I always knew the risk, more so now.”

Her genuine anger spoke volumes. It wasn’t a smokescreen of deceit. Nathan deemed it one of the few times she spoke with complete honesty.

“I’m sorry,” he replied. “I just had to be sure.”

She turned away from him, glancing up at Theodrik a moment, seemingly embarrassed by her outburst. “I should get back to work.”

Using the lamp as a beacon, she retreated to the black circles, sitting with her back to the rest of the group. Nathan took a breath before speaking again.

“Theodrik, we’ve discovered the ritual is more complicated than we thought. Someone needs to be . . . sacrificed to open the portal.”

The daemon’s eyes grew large, glowing brightly. “I cannot accept this. Who among you would be willing to sacrifice your life on my behalf?”

“I am,” Cormac replied meekly.

Incredulous, Theodrik turned to the monk. “You? I must know the reason you would sacrifice yourself for me.”

“I’ll admit, returning you home is a secondary reason. ’Tis the iratxo attacks that must end. Too many have died, and should you remain, many more will fall.”

A deep rumble accompanied Theodrik’s long sigh. “I am not worthy of you. I am not worthy of your life.”

“’Tis my decision to make,” Cormac said.

The daemon, still unable to accept this, turned to Nathan and Brohm for affirmation.

“Believe me,” Nathan said, “I tried to talk him out of it. He has his reasons, and I respect that.”

Theodrik reached out to delicately touch the monk’s arm. Cormac flinched, but otherwise accepted the gesture of gratitude.

“Thank you,” it said with a deep, purring voice.

Cormac gave a sombre nod in return. “I’ll admit, you’re unlike anything I could’ve imagined. Your words and manner don’t match your appearance.”

Theodrik smiled, trying its best to hide its teeth. “Your words parallel those of your companions. It gladdens me to know my appearance, while startling at first, can be accepted.”

Brohm stifled a yawn, and Nathan found himself yawning sympathetically. Catching Brohm’s eye, Nathan gestured toward their rucksacks as an invitation. The big man nodded and rose to his feet.

“We’ll leave you two. Nathan and me are gonna take a nap.”

For a moment, Cormac appeared unsettled at the prospect of being alone with Theodrik, but then realized he had nothing to fear. They continued their conversation, but soon fell out of earshot as Nathan and Brohm reached their packs. Pulling a few blankets free, Nathan built a makeshift bed on the rocky ground. The night was pleasant enough that Brohm could keep him warm. As though reading his thoughts, Brohm lay down on his side and beckoned him into his arms to spoon him. Having the big man at his back reminded him of all the cold nights they’d spent together. His warmth seeped into Nathan’s body, lulling him to sleep.