Demon Ties Read online

  Demon Ties

  Samantha Lau

  Published by SL Press, 2017.

  This is a work of fiction. Similarities to real people, places, or events are entirely coincidental.

  DEMON TIES

  First edition. September 6, 2017.

  Copyright © 2017 Samantha Lau.

  ISBN: 978-1393421245

  Written by Samantha Lau.

  Samantha Lau

  Table of Contents

  Copyright

  Part One: Meetings

  The Summon

  What’s Mine is Mine

  Stranger in a Strange Land

  The Body Knows

  Hunger

  Closer

  So it Begins

  Should Have Read the Small Letter

  Going to Great Pains to Save Your Ass

  So it Ends

  The Way Home is Through Hardship

  The Forgotten Tower

  The Haunted Monastery

  The Sorceress

  The Ruins

  The Heart Knows

  Part Two: What Happens After

  Old Friends and Old Foes

  Who Said I Needed Help?

  Family Ties

  The Summon (again)

  In Your Arms

  Thank You

  About Samantha Lau

  Part One: Meetings

  The Summon

  Though it was against all their traditions, he couldn’t hold back. He wasn’t supposed to see it – the child he’d sired with the priestess – not until the child’s coming of age. But he could not wait that long. A warrior like him, in a time of war... who knew if he’d survive that long? Who knew if his child would survive the training? It was an uncertain life, and he wished to see his child once, just once... so he’d sneaked into the temple after the last bell had clanged, waited patiently until the acolytes had left the nursing room, and had carefully slipped in on the dim-lit room.

  Even though there were six bassinets with six different children, he knew at once which was his. It was instinct that drove him to the one with his flesh and blood, that little baby sleeping soundly huddled in a blanket. A boy. A black, hardened nail ran gently over the child’s pointed ear – a sign of affection for their kind, to have something so sharp that could easily take a life touching so gently such sensitive part of the ear. In reward, the baby leaned to the caress, wriggling slightly, but sleeping on.

  For the briefest of moments he thought he could steal him away, take him far, spare the child from all this war, but what kind of honor was in that for a warlord? What kind of life awaited this little child, if he ripped him from all they both knew? Could a better fate await them beyond these lands?

  He might have had second thoughts about it all, in fact he’d been about to reach in for the child, but something distracted him. Something – a sound, like a chant. Not the priestesses, at this time even the acolytes would be asleep, and the voice sounded almost like a man’s. Men were not allowed in the temple, at least no man over thirteen were, and this was not the voice of children either. He turned his head to the source of the sound and, before he could reconsider his choice, followed it. If someone had breached the temple, he reasoned, someone besides himself, then he had to capture them. But there was something else guiding his feet to the dark, empty room across the hall. There was a sort of compulsion. He couldn’t stop himself from moving that way, even when every fiber of his body was telling him this was wrong. At the doorway, he stopped for a moment – it was about all he managed to do before his feet were carrying him again, but this time, he’d thought better of it. Even if someone else had breached the temple, even if he captured them, how would he explain his own presence? There was no way that would end well for him, and yet... his feet moved.

  Mustering up all his will power, he reached up to grasp to the threshold. A warrior, arms ripe with strong muscles, yet his hold held only for a mere second. His feet carried him on, his fingers lost purchase. And then there was a flash of bright light. For a split second, he thought he’d been caught by one of the priestesses, but no one called his name. There was no scream of alarm, no sound of distress. There was only the blinding light that made him cover his face, and then he was sinking. Sinking, sinking deep into something like muddy water, into something like blood. He couldn’t breathe, he felt a strong pressure all over his body, unbearable pain as if he were both being pushed from all angles and at the same time torn to pieces.

  With his next heartbeat, the light before him flashed again, and he screamed, the pain too strong.

  With the next one, the light flashed once more, the pressure and pain lessening.

  With the next, the light flashed again, and he could once more breathe fully.

  His feet touched solid ground. He curled up on himself, arms still protecting his form, his face. His eyes blinked, each time blinded by the brightness of the light surrounding him. Each time his eyes adjusted a little more. Each time he felt a little less sore.

  First it was blurs, then the forms took clearer shapes until, after blinking a few times, his eyes could focus on the form before him. Young, pale skin, long, almost white hair, and a piercing blue gaze trained on him. He held a staff in one hand; energy still pulsated from the other. His aura flowed around him, blue, strong and full of power.

  Still pained, he hissed a threat. He knew not what had happened, though there were stories... stories of their people sometimes disappearing, never to be seen again, except for the occasional one or two. One or two every many years, something rare, something caused only by humans. They called it The Summoning.

  In the most ancient of tongues, he said “Human,” and the word came out as if he’d not spoken in centuries, cavernous and rustic, full of pain and bitterness. “Why have you summoned me?”

  Yet the wizard before him only smiled. A self-satisfied little smirk. If he’d been a runt from his clan, he would have smacked the smirk right off his face, but this thing, this human, he was unsure on what to do.

  Before he could decide if he’d even attempt a hit, a loud sound directed his attention elsewhere. His gaze turned to find a set of double doors bursting open. Older, wiser humans burst in; they yelled and demanded in a language he did not understand. It sounded angry, it felt threatening. The blonde man before him said something to them, in response they split up, some of the men grasping at his arms held him back, while some of the others raised a heavy crystal. The blond man yelled. Was he trying to help him? It looked like it, but he was still in a daze, his mind still a tad foggy, his reaction time slow. He did not know just what they were trying to do, but he knew it wasn’t good. He let a cry of war and lunged, only to have his body hit an invisible barrier. He started feeling once again like he was sinking and cried out in anger, looking down, finally noticing the glowing symbols within the circle.

  That sinking, painful feeling swallowed him whole again, but different this time – he felt heavy, tired, he was before those men, and then he was surrounded by darkness, enveloping, cold, in a constant state of mild awareness: never awake enough to escape, but awake enough to feel.

  It was torture.

  What’s Mine is Mine

  Yuval woke with a gasp, body covered in sweat. It was that dream again. For years now the face of that beautiful demon had haunted him. The elongated ears ending in points and decorated with earrings; the dark skin and the long, long, pitch black hair; the black, claw-like nails ready to torn down his enemies... and those eyes. Those gorgeous gold eyes with pupils slit like a cat’s, that shone with a light of their own, eyes that promised pain... and pleasure beyond his most unimaginable thoughts...

  The face had haunted his dreams and his nightmares in more ways than one, proof of which was the hard on he now sported. With a
heavy sigh, he reached down to touch himself. It still amazed him the response his own body had to the memory of that demon; a demon that by all means should have been frightening to anyone, but whom managed to wake in him only interest. Well, interest, and lust.

  Closing his eyes he recalled that face, the strong angles of that jaw, the depth of his stare, the fangs hiding behind full lips. What would those fangs feel like on his skin? He shuddered at the thought, and his hand slid faster on his member, following the hastening pace of his dream-demon, as he imagined himself taking that mouth until, unable to hold back anymore, he spilled hard down that throat... and in reality, all over his hands.

  He panted, eyes fluttering open, staring at the ceiling for a good, long moment. In all likelihood the demon would have torn him apart limb by limb before he did anything else. At least that was what the older wizards had said, that he’d been crazy to do such a summon three years before he should even be able to control such potent magic. His excuse – that the other boys had dared him try – had not been enough. His plead to have his demon returned had been denied. To add insult to injury, Yuval had been officially kicked out of Aelion, the one and only academy for wizardry in the whole world, at least if you were serious about learning magic and not just trying to be a third rate town-witch.

  But that had been years ago. They had sealed his demon away in a crystal, claiming he was a danger and Yuval would not be able to control him. They had cried foul and called him names. They had banished him from the academy and forbid him to further practice... as if he’d listen to them. They had even tried to bind his magic. Yuval had traveled far and wide to unbind his magic, and then again to work under every witch and wizard; had stolen books and magical artifacts, had traded and bought them, had done everything possible to become the strongest wizard in all the lands. Now, after all those years, he was certain that he was the strongest, and to prove it he had set himself the hardest task yet: he would steal the crystal back from Aelion and he would free his demon. He would have him no matter the cost.

  ***

  Bidding goodbye to his home was not the hardest thing he had done, nor was preparing for what was to come. He had prepared for that day, he’d done his research, and with each step closer to Aelion he revised every part of his plan carefully. He’d learned the maps by heart, knew every nook and cranny the castle offered – and every real and alleged passageway into it. He knew the types of traps he might find, how to detect them, how to overcome them, how not to trip them... he’d planned for everything, failure was not an option.

  And so as planned, he arrived via carriage to the vast lake that surrounded the castle – and the village at its shore – just as the sun began to set. There he rented a room for a couple nights and had a warm meal. It’d been long since the villagers had seen him, and it had only been twice then, both when he was far younger. Yuval had grown since, no longer a mere child, now he had the face of a man, the mass of a man, tall and strong – he looked more like a warrior mage than a simple wizard. He did not fear recognition, but he had still decided to lay low and act like he was just passing by. He was, after all, just passing by.

  Once done with his dinner he retired to his room. He waited awake until the night grew silent and the lights had gone off, and then, like a common thief, he left not through the door, but through the window of his room, climbing down with care to make as little noise as possible, and securing the cloak and hood around himself. Sneaking through the streets at the time was not difficult, he found no one but a few drunkards and harlots on the way to the docks, but once there it was another matter. Yuval followed the shadows from building to crate and past, trying to avoid sight of the sentries stationed before ships. He could not pick a boat that was close to the larger fishing ships, he would have to pick one on the farther corners of the docks. In passing, he startled a homeless man. With a signal for him to be silent, Yuval dropped a few coins in his hand and the man, with a nod of gratitude, let him go without raising the alarm.

  The boat he found at the edge of the docks was in poor conditions. Yuval cursed his bad luck under his breath, but it was still within his calculations. With a few words and a hand gesture, the spell that would make the boat temporarily impervious to water was set in place. He pushed the boat off the bank and into it he hopped, using his own strength to row it ahead, should he need to save his energy for harder spells.

  He had reached three quarters of the way there before the first protection spell was to be found. It was a simple confounding spell, meant to make him lose his way and instead make him sail back to shore, but Yuval knew better; he’d encountered many before on his trips, and knew to recognize them when he felt one take hold of his psyche. Another chant and another symbol drawn in the air granted him clarity of mind and eyes, and he reached the rocky shores of Aelion’s island with no further hindrance. Around he rowed to reach the side, find the cave that had been in some maps – there, further ahead, the crack in the rock was barely visible, and it barely fit his boat. Unguarded, long unused, but not entirely forgotten. He rowed within this cave until he reached the old passages, a spell got him through a few locked doors, yet another disarmed a trap, deeper in, and up the stairs, he stopped short of triggering an alarm. Some old style thieving skills took care of that one, and a spell or five removed the rest. But he was barely out of the underground passageways by then, and he knew the sun would soon come up. He had to make a choice. He could wait the day out in the passageways, but feared being missed in the city... he could risk it in the daytime and try to recover the crystal then, or he could try to rush through it now, and hope to be back in the passageways before anyone would see him.

  Yuval pondered his choices quickly, but with care. Keeping up a spell to shield his appearance so he could move during the day would take a lot of energy and it might not fool higher wizards fully, so he would leave it as a last resort. He could not risk waiting until the next night. He would have to try and rush through.

  His choice made, he peered out the passageway and into the dark storage chamber, and then quickly but carefully made his way out into the academy itself. The place was large, but having come through the lower levels, he was already much closer to where the crystal was likely to be stored – along with all the other magical artifacts. Reaching the vault was not difficult, stripping spell after spell of predictable wards, Yuval could not help but think the old wizards had gotten comfortable in their ways. When the large double doors of the vault finally opened for him, Yuval was left speechless. He’d often heard of the many treasures to be found there, but he had somehow not expected... this.

  Wall to wall, floor to ceiling, the vault was filled with books and items that reverberated with magic. Some looked mundane, like the books and the knife, a ladle or a simple chair; some downright horrific, like the severed human hand burnt to a crisp, or the head with the sewn in mouth, with eyes that tracked every move; others yet were clearly magical, glowing with energy. Like his crystal.

  There, further ahead, almost to the middle of the vault, was his crystal. Blood red, it glowed beautifully. Yuval no longer had eyes for the rest of the treasures when he saw it, and unable to stop himself, hurried at once to it. He knew something was wrong the moment his hand hovered over it. This was a magical crystal, yes, but it was not his crystal.

  “You took long to come,” the voice came from behind him, old and crimped.

  Yuval swerved to look at his old instructor, the one who had captured his demon, the same one who had kicked him out of the academy.

  “Did we not forbid you to return here? Ah, but I knew you would – for this.” Old boney fingers wrapped around a chain at his neck, and pulled from within the layers of his robes a crystal much like the one he’d just seen: Oval, multi-faceted, a bright blood red, but tainted with the ghost of some sort of black smoke. It moved within it, alive.

  This was the right crystal. This was his demon, he could feel it.

  “That is rightfully mine, old man.”
Yuval said, licking his lips, eyes fixed on the crystal.

  The old wizard let it rest against his chest, his other hand rested on a staff which seemed to hold most of his weight. “You still don’t understand the danger... ”

  “He’s but a demon, I could tame him.” Yuval argued.

  “Not any demon!” the high wizard argued, looking at him like he would any spoiled child. “Did you not see those eyes? The claws. The marking on his forehead-”

  “I saw.” Yuval cut off, impatient.

  “It all spells death. It’s too strong a demon for a mere human to tame, let alone a child like you. It is amazing you could even summon it.” The wizard shook his head, tapping the crystal. “It feeds on us. Even now, trapped away, it is sapping my energy constantly. Every day it brings me closer to death, not even the best of us has been able to banish him back to whence he came.”

  “Then give him to me. What do you care if he eats me to death? You know he’s mine by right, old man. Summons are bound, and I summoned him.”

  “And once he eats you alive, he’ll be free to destroy this world. No, my child,” the high wizard said. He raised the hand with his staff, mumbling the words of a spell, in the blink of an eye a ball of green energy exploded Yuval’s way. “I cannot allow it!”

  Yuval barely had time to react, dodging sideways and rolling out of the way, he sprung to his feet. He did not bother with a staff, they were meant to focus your energy and make magic easier, but Yuval had long since learned to channel his power not through elements of power, but through his own hands. Fingers crackled with something akin to electricity, and he shot back. The high wizard blinked out of view and back into view again, just a bit away. It looked like he’d disappeared, but it was only magically-heightened speed. Two could play that game.