T. A. C. Amaral

This short story was first published in Bound for Evil, by Dead Letter Press, organized by Tom English. https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/6255299-bound-for-evil

 

Damék ran desperately through the underground tunnels deep below the Academy. He ran for more than his life; he knew he ran for his soul.

Behind him, the creature conjured from the Abysses ran, its four legs thumping the stones of the floor like sledgehammers, the loud noise echoing from the yellow stone walls, the demon’s putrescent breath freezing the air in front of it.

Damék didn’t dare look back, for fear of losing his balance. After the first glimpse of frozen bluish eyes staring hungrily out of a dark corner, he just ran hard, passing closed wooden doors with iron bands and brass spikes. He knew the doors wouldn’t open, just as he knew he wouldn’t have time to open one, even if they would.

He heard the creature grunting, enjoying itself, enjoying the pursuit, when a door ahead of him opened suddenly, and Ghassán stepped out, fire in his eyes and a deadly spell already taking shape, a spell that would flay Damék’s skin from his flesh, boil his blood and rip the muscles from his bones, and yet preserve his soul, intact, for the abomination behind him to devour.

Damék screamed and tried to stop, and the creature rammed into his back, its claws tearing into Damék’s flesh, and he woke up covered in sweat. 

The young wizard sat up in a panic, trying to gather his thoughts for a spell, any spell, when he realized he was alone in his bedroom, and that it had been just another nightmare. 

By Kamin, he thought, while wiping his face with his left hand, not another one. 

He got up and went to his small basin and jar, poured some water and washed his face, then washed his torso and cast the smallest of spells to dry himself.

Damék sat on the edge of the bed and tried to relax. For several nights he’d had a nightmare, and every night it had been a dream of being chased through a dark place, sometimes a dungeon, sometimes a forest, sometimes a huge cave, always by a hideous creature, and all of them different. This had been the only nightmare in which Ghassán had appeared.

Just thinking of Ghassán made him tense up again. Ghassán was the most powerful wizard of his House, one of the Seats and ultimately the man who would decide upon Damék’s destiny when the Test came—the final testing of his skills, both magical and mundane, and which, if passed, would grant him the title of Academician. If he didn’t, however, he would never be allowed access to the Academy, and he would never work as a Wizard in Vlasti.

Damék had been impressed by Ghassán from the first time he saw him in the corridors, a tall man, dark-skinned, whose eyes continually smoldered with harsh judgment, wearing red and orange robes, and the symbol of his status as a Seat: the Ruby Medallion, which, according to legend throughout the Academy, contained the essence of fire, whatever that might be. 

At first, the young apprentice had been terrified, but later learned Ghassán simply ignored his existence, just as he did most students’. 

Perhaps, he thought, I still fear him. A little. After all, he was conducting unauthorized research, using a book he had stolen from the Library, on the single expressly forbidden area of study in the Academy for the Development of Arcane Science and Art, or the Academy at Vlasti. 

And though dangerous, it was most necessary. The knowledge which he was accumulating would be presented to the Academy, and he knew he would be hailed as a hero, as a great scholar. 

However, until he had all the information he wanted collected and organized, he would have to face the dangers of discovery and expulsion. Just the theft of a book from the Library was a serious crime in itself.

But it had been irresistible. It had been an opportunity to shine.

Damék came from Logovishchyeh, a huge plain to the far south, frozen and inhospitable. The people there were little more than savages, being too concerned with survival to pursue much more than rough music and an oral tradition of tales.

However, it had once been home, and Damék cherished what he had learned there, though he never intended to return.

Still, if he had stayed, he would definitely have become a Pevec, a poet-singer, memorizing the old tales and songs to repeat them endlessly. He could never have become any kind of priest, and his strength was in his brain, not his arm, barring him from becoming a warrior or a good worker. Besides, he wanted more for himself, more for his life.

And so, against all custom, he had run away to the north, with barely enough food for two days, no valuables but the few pelts he had managed to save, and practically no hard knowledge of the lands ahead of him.

He traveled for thousands of miles, sleeping where he could, eating what he could. He tried to get some food and shelter by working when he could find anything to be done, and did what he could when there was no work. He was neither trapper nor hunter, but he could pick some fruit and get some eggs from nests, when there wasn’t anywhere else to get food. He even stole a couple of times to avoid starvation—and he justified it to himself by thinking it was better than dying. 

After months of hardship and constant travel, always heading for Vlasti, always toward the heat and dampness of northern climates, Damék arrived at the fabled city.

The city’s high walls and tall towers impressed themselves on Damék’s mind. In the shimmering caused by the intense heat baking the dusty plateau, Vlasti seemed to be a vision, the spires inside the city gleaming in the merciless naked sun. A multitude walked in, as another walked out; merchants, students, workers, peddlers, beggars, soldiers—any kind of person, any race, could be seen in Vlasti.

Damék felt tears coming to his eyes as he contemplated the object of his dreams, the fulfillment of his destiny, glimmering before his eyes. He walked to it in a daze, mouth hanging, eyes wide open, and went in through one of the huge gates.

And yet, not all was as he had imagined, nor was all as he had dreamed.

He had to spend three years laboring and studying, trying to learn the language, and how to read and write. He hadn’t anticipated the heat, either, and suffered much from it. He had to learn how to live in Vlasti, for its people’s different customs astonished him. 

Even the money was a problem: he didn’t know it. He knew of it, but wasn’t used to its everyday and all-important use. 

After three years of hard work, Damék was finally accepted at the Academy. And, once there, he wasn’t considered a special student, and was not seen as particularly bright in any area.

Damék learned, the hardest way, that he was simply mediocre among the students of the Academy. In fact, he was so unremarkable that no professor knew him by name. Although he was a modest success in the city, especially with the ladies, but during the expositions at the Academy, he was just another nameless student.

It was true, he had a small bedroom to himself, and special permission to borrow many books from the Library, and also much more free time in which to pursue his studies, as well as considerable leeway in his choice of subjects, but all students who made it to the third year did.

But he would be famous, and his status would definitely be raised to the top of the city’s spires when he presented his own research to the Library, and he owed it all to the book he had found and taken that day. He had finally, with the directions and knowledge contained in the book, discovered his true calling: Demonology.

That was the reason why the theft of the book and the perusal of its contents were absolutely irresistible: Damék felt it was his destiny. An unknown boy from Logovishchyeh, against all odds becoming a respected, and maybe even feared, magician—he would be an inspiration for others. 

On the day he found his book (for he already thought of it as his), he had been searching for a tome in a dusty unused corner of the Library, containing texts on the nature of magic and the intrinsic behavior of it, when he saw the book.

Covered with dust, it was lying on its side, behind other books, on the bottom-most shelf, almost invisible in the relative gloom. It had probably been hastily hidden by a guilty student and then forgotten or left there on purpose. It looked different from the other books, and very much out of place.

Damék reached into the alcove and retrieved the dusty volume, taking a quick, discreet look around to check for anyone watching him. There was no one, and so he took the book, hiding it among the other ones he was carrying, and quickly walked to one of the desks available at the Library, taking care to choose one in a somewhat secluded space. He laid the pile of books on one corner of the desk, so as to shield what he was doing behind a respectable barrier, and examined the strange book. 

It wasn’t a thick book, nor particularly big, but it was very heavy. Perhaps the cover was responsible for that. It had been bound in some sort of bluish leather, and it had a single silver clasp holding it closed. Damék opened the book, and saw it was obviously an old book, not one of the new ones written with the new printing system, or whatever it was really called; but what astounded him was that the book was ancient, not merely old. Even Damék, who wasn’t interested in how books were made, could see it. The ink was fading, but could still be read clearly, and it had acquired the faded brown of old, old writing.

It had no author, and no name. It looked much more like a journal than like a book written for other people.

The drawings and diagrams were even more eloquent, for they depicted with no reservations the demons and visions of the Abysses. And though the author wasn’t an artist, his hand was talented enough to convey the horrors of what he had learned and seen. 

Suddenly, a loud bang startled Damék—he looked around frantically, terrified. It had been a ladder, tipped over by a careless student, but the wizard’s heart kept thumping erratically in his chest. Luckily, he hadn’t drawn attention to himself, since everyone was staring at the girl who had caused all the noise, but he realized he couldn’t stay there. How to take that book out of the Library, though? 

So he stole it. He hid the book in his robes, and carried the pile of books he had already taken to distract the librarians. Damék presented them all at the desk, where the librarian noted the titles of the books and their respective codes, and he made his way to his bedroom.

For the following two days, Damék hardly left his room, except for the bare minimum of time necessary to keep his bodily functions. He was reading, and learning, and absorbing the knowledge he so easily understood. 

On the first night, he had his first nightmare. And he knew why he was having them: guilt. He knew he was wrong, but couldn’t stop himself, perhaps out of curiosity, perhaps out of a desire of knowing something nobody else did, but he persisted in reading the book.

It contained, besides the descriptions and drawings, many different spells—some which drew Teann straight from the Abysses, some which allowed a demon to step through some sort of gate, some binding enchantments…all of them evil, Damék knew in his heart. There was even one which enslaved a man’s soul, turning him into a mindless abomination. 

The young wizard didn’t intend to Weave any of them; he knew he would be damning himself if he did, but his resolve not to do so evaporated instantly when he found a small enchantment in the book.

He read it again and again, trying to find any hidden traps, but there was none. In fact, the enchantment was so simple he thought it probably wouldn’t work. It needed a small silver mirror, fire – even from a candle would do – a drop of blood, an iron knife, and a very small amount of Teann. From that, according to the author, the enchantment would open a tiny portal between the Abysses and the conjurer, a portal just large enough to allow sound to pass through. It would also bind a minor demon into answering truthfully any questions asked by the conjurer.

Below the enchantment, there was a list of names of demons, which, presumably, the author had contacted himself. One of the names had two heavy lines under it, and Damék thought it looked promising.

And so, thinking it would pose no danger, and promising himself to stop if it looked even remotely like it might become a problem, Damék gathered what he needed to Weave the spell.

That night, Damék positioned himself with his own journal—a sheaf of paper, actually—and quill, and waited for the silence which meant most students were already in bed. 

He lit his candle, and positioned it in front of the mirror. The mirror would provide the physical link for the gate, and the light from the flame, a beacon. He pricked his finger with the tip of the iron dagger, and allowed a drop of blood to fall onto the surface of the mirror, while he Wove the thin tendrils of Teann as described in the book. The shimmering scarlet drop spread itself out to cover the entire surface of the mirror, making it look as if it were made entirely of blood. The iron dagger would bind the demon to answer all questions truthfully, to the best of its knowledge. The final word of the enchantment was the true name of the demon he intended to bind, and he called it out in a hoarse whisper: “Asatya-badi.”

Damék waited, half expecting it not to work, until he heard a harsh voice speaking through the mirror. It reminded him of pale, dead things revolving under the earth, it reminded him of gray worms feasting on a child’s flesh, it reminded him of dreams burned to ashes. He shivered.

“Called the master we, presented we.”

The wizard, still a little unnerved, raised his quill, dipped it in the cheap grayish ink, and commanded, uncertainly: “Tell me about the Abysses.”

Damék hoped the spell would really bind the demon, and was almost surprised when Asatya-badi answered his question, and told him about the Abysses’ divisions, and Damék wrote everything down, as fast as he could, until he felt the enchantment starting to weaken. The mirror was almost clear. He thought it had lasted about an hour. So, praying to Kamin for the enchantment to be maintained as easily as that, he pricked his finger once more, and dropped some blood on the mirror again. The blood spread itself out as before, and the enchantment was renewed. He felt a little tired, but knew he couldn’t stop now.

Asatya-badi spoke in a structure that was strange and difficult to comprehend. Though the language was perfectly understandable to Damék, for it was in his own native language the demon spoke, the word order was odd. Still, he could discern much of what was being said.

Damék commanded, certain it would work, “Tell me more about the divisions.”

The demon told him about the seven Abysses, and how they were organized and ruled. Damék kept breaking his skin and dropping blood on the mirror, until he realized all the fingers of his left hand were stinging from the cuts, and his right hand hurt as if it had been stomped several times. It was almost morning, and he couldn’t write anymore—besides the hour and the cramp, he had no more paper. He let the enchantment unravel, and felt the Weave falling apart.

Damék looked at the sheaf of paper on his desk. He had much information, but realized fully he had only had a brief glimpse of everything he could learn.

He picked up the book he had found, and decided to compare his own notes with those of the author, trying to understand more and more by ****crossing the information.

 

Damék woke up in the afternoon with a jerk. He was slumped over his desk, with the book open and his notes spread out. He had fallen asleep while reading and re-reading, and had another nightmare. He was being chased through a dark, silent forest by a two-legged beast with huge forelimbs and sharp dark claws. It had enormous fangs which glinted faintly in the gloom. Despite having powerful fangs, it had sunk its claws in Damék’s back. 

He washed himself and went out to eat, taking care to hide both the book and his notes inside his own robes. He couldn’t bear the thought of risking everything by leaving any of them in his room, which could be searched. Though unlikely, it was not unheard of.

The corridors of the Academy, made of yellowish stone and timber, had never been more inhospitable for Damék, who had, after more than two years, grown accustomed to the high ceilings and decorated passageways. During the short way he had to walk, he thought many students were looking askew at him, though he was sure none of them could know what he was doing. He put it down to nerves and just tried to go through the day normally.

He couldn’t, however, concentrate on anything. He kept thinking about the book, and he kept thinking about the book he would write. The book and the sheets of paper hidden beneath his robes seemed to have a warmth of their own, luring him to his room to Weave the spell once more and to ask the questions he had burning in his mind. For once, Damék couldn’t hear a single word any professor was saying at any of the lectures, nor see the demonstrations: he could only think of the questions.

For he knew what to ask next. What Asatya-badi had told him enabled him to formulate more direct questions. Damék thought he already knew much more than anyone else about the Abysses.

In order to write down what Asatya-badi would tell him, Damék decided to buy a real journal for himself, a relatively simple, leather-bound book. 

And so he went to one of the numerous bookbinders in the Great City, the city which was the center of all knowledge and culture, and spent his meager savings on one of the already bound journals. 

 

When he pronounced Asatya-badi’s name, more clearly this time, the demon answered as speedily as before. Damék hadn’t forgotten it, but the effect of the demon’s voice had worn off a little, and he was surprised and frightened again by its horrid, rasping sound. 

“Called the master we, presented we.”

“Asatya-badi, I want you to tell me about the lord of the first division. What is its name?”

And so Asatya-badi told Damék about Lord Yudhisthir and his Legions, and detailed enchantments designed specifically to deal with the first division of the Abysses. Damék wrote everything down, as fast as he could, asking more and more, keeping the enchantment, breaking the skin of his fingers first, and then proceeding to the back of his left hand. And while Asatya-badi spoke, never stopping, never tiring, pouring his knowledge into Damék’s journal, corrupting the air with his foul voice. 

Damék could only imagine what Asatya-badi looked like, and hoped he would never actually see him. 

Though there was an enchantment detailed in the book which allowed the conjurer to see into the Abysses through a basin filled with blood (and which Damék suspected had been Woven by the author many times, judging by his drawings), he was determined never to use it. Perhaps later, when he knew more, he would, but not until then, and it would certainly take him many years until he felt confident enough to look into the Abysses.

One more night passed, and for one more night Damék wrote and wrote, piercing his skin, drawing his own blood in places he imagined wouldn’t impair his writing nor stain his journal. He wrote until he passed out from exhaustion, and then he had another nightmare.

Damék dreamed of a small beast, almost as tall as a common hunting dog, but covered with scars, its pink skin pulsating slightly. It ran after him, laughing maniacally, through a labyrinth made of greenish stones, and plunged its claws into his back. 

He awoke suddenly, with half a scream in his throat, and realized the stabbing light in his eyes was the sun. Dawn had arrived and gone, and it was so late the light was shining down on his floor through the small window in his room, blinding him and waking him up.

He got up in a hurry, and realized he had been lying on the cold stone floor. He was ravenous and parched—he hadn’t eaten since the previous afternoon. He felt confused, dizzy, and nauseated. Though starving, he thought he might not be able to eat anything. 

He gathered his papers, the book and his journal, and made a decision: he would have to limit himself. His time researching the Abysses and Weaving the spell repeatedly every night was burning him out. He would try to attend to his studies as usual and apply himself, pursuing what he already thought of as his special studies whenever he could. Priorities simply had to be set.

And thinking so, Damék washed his face and torso as usual, hid his papers under his robes, and went out to eat. 

Luckily, the Academy provided its students with food, because Damék had no money left; all his savings had been put into buying his journal. 

He went directly to the kitchens, the only place where one could get food from sunup to sundown, trying to avoid any acquaintance—checking surreptitiously for anyone who might stop him. 

He managed to avoid drawing attention, despite his somewhat strange behavior, and arrived at the kitchens without meeting anyone. There is at least one advantage in not being remarkable, he thought bitterly. 

As usual, the cooks were distant but polite, not refusing any food but not encouraging any conversation, either. It suited Damék perfectly. He grabbed some bread, cheese, and some sort of well-seasoned and spicy eggplant paste, very common in Vlasti, called opeprìt. He also took a bottle of wine, and sat down at one of the tables to eat.

After eating, Damék left the kitchens, thanking one of the cooks, who smiled vaguely in return. He took the rest of the food with him, knowing it would be a long day. Damék went to the expositions of the day, and tried to keep the book and his notes out of his mind, if not far from his body.

 

That night, Damék thought of what else he could ask Asatya-badi, took some notes, and started leafing through the book. Soon, he thoroughly surprised himself by gathering the materials and Weaving the communication spell again. He pricked his left index finger, which was already very sore, and promised himself he would do it just once, just to ask one or two questions.

After the Weaving, which already felt like second nature to Damék, he heard Asatya-badi’s foul voice coming through the mirror. 

“Called the master we, presented we.”

“Asatya-badi, why are the Abysses divided like you told me? Wouldn’t it be better if it were only one?” Damék felt much more confident. He even scoffed at the idea of being afraid of Asatya-badi and this little enchantment. 

The demon explained the seven Abysses existed because there were seven great demon-lords who couldn’t fight among themselves, because none of them could win. So, instead of destroying each other, and leaving the Abyss for a weaker demon, they had decided to create levels. Asatya-badi told Damék, almost as an afterthought, that once there was only the Abyss, not many Abysses.

“What do you mean by that?” Damék asked, a little breathlessly. He had never heard of such a thing, and thought maybe Asatya-badi was lying. 

“Many time past, Abyss only one, ruled by one demon lord. Defeated seven demons her, split the Abyss. Seven Abysses now.”

Damék tried to imagine how long ago that had been, but had absolutely no idea, and he felt Asatya-badi wouldn’t be able to explain it in human terms. 

He couldn’t stop, he had already gathered so much information… He kept the enchantment for as long as he could, taking his notes and interrogating Asatya-badi, until dawn approached, and Damék finally realized he had spent yet another night talking to the demon. He let the spell dissolve, and flopped down onto his bed, exhausted. 

Not only was it tiring to write everything down and to Weave the spell in itself, but the sleepless nights were taking their toll on Damék. He couldn’t focus properly anymore, and he knew it was due to the fatigue. 

He ate the rest of the bread and cheese he had taken earlier from the kitchens and decided to sleep at least a little before leaving for the day. He was half scared of sleeping, because he was certain another nightmare was coming, but he simply couldn’t help it—he had to sleep.

As predicted, he dreamed of a malevolent creature staring at him from the corner of a stone cave. He ran away, but, as before, the creature ran him down. It resembled a huge, bloated spider, its body crawling with smaller spiders, all chittering, thirsting after him. Though the fangs were clearly its main weapon, it sank its claws into Damék’s upper back, ripping into his flesh and hooking its talons onto his ribs. 

Damék woke up, unsurprised at having had another nightmare, but trembling from the feeling of the creature’s paws and the chittering. He shook himself, got up and washed. It was still early, and so he would have time to go through a normal day.

He checked his journal and saw about half the pages had been filled in. He wasn’t sure what he would do once they were all taken, but decided it was something to worry about later. Perhaps he wouldn’t even need to buy another journal—he would be given one.

However, while on the verge of leaving, the wizard felt an inexplicable curiosity overwhelm him: what did Asatya-badi look like? Was he small, large? Furry, scaly? He had no idea. Though he could try to imagine him, he didn’t know. The book had no drawings of any demon named Asatya-badi. Damék decided he would Weave the enchantment this once just to know Asatya-badi’s appearance.

He memorized the materials he would need, and left to gather them.

 

He had gotten the blood from one of the slaughterhouses outside the city. Luckily, it could be any kind of blood, so he managed to get a bottle of goat’s blood. Though it earned him a strange look from the man who actually got it for him, it was worth the trouble.

He also needed a twig of hazel, which was easily obtained from the nearby woods, and a small piece of haima stone.

The haima stone proved to be no problem, either. Damék got a small piece, big enough for what he needed, from the streets. It was a lump, really, dark red, very similar to rust. He knew from previous experience it could be ground into a reddish powder, which was the color of blood.

The Teann Woven for the enchantment would be much stronger, but Damék felt confident no one would notice one more spell in the whole Academy. Besides, it would be this one time, only.

He felt almost buoyant as he walked back to his room. In a way, Asatya-badi was becoming a sort of friend for him. He would be the source of Damék’s knowledge, perhaps even a trusted ally, some day.

Damék went into his room and promptly fell into bed. He was still exhausted; he hadn’t slept for several nights, only catching snatches of sleep during the day, and he would have to wait for the night to come, so he could Weave the spell and see Asatya-badi’s face, as well as a small part of the Abysses. 

 

That night, Damék readied himself to Weave the enchantment, the new enchantment, he kept thinking. All the materials were there, and he had already memorized the necessary incantations and gestures, which were much more complex than those he already new. He took great care with them, because he knew he simply couldn’t make a mistake. He could be discovered, or even taken to the Abysses, if he weren’t careful enough. 

He poured the goat’s blood into a shallow basin while muttering the first part of the enchantment. As he finished the last words, the blood stabilized and seemed to solidify. Next he drew more Teann into the Weave he already had, and sprinkled the powdered haima stone over the surface of the blood. It seemed to melt, then connect, every tiny particle becoming part of the whole, and it vitrified. Damék couldn’t see the bottom of the basin—it was lost in the murky red of the solidified blood. For the final part, he burned the twig of hazel, broken into several pieces, in a small brazier filled with coals. The heady smell filled the air, and Damék finished the incantations. He whispered, “Show me Asatya-badi.”

As before, he wasn’t sure it would work as he hoped it would, but he expected it to work somehow. 

However, it did work as he had predicted. A blurry image took shape slowly, and then congealed into a small humanoid, its ocher skin dull in the diffuse light of the Abyss. It was beyond scrawny; it was emaciated, all the bones showing through the desiccated skin. It had a protruding jaw and a protruding nose, which seemed almost to touch one another. It seemed to have no hair at all. Its paws curved rhythmically, closing and opening, closing and opening. It seemed to be listening to something, and answering. Its apparently frail body was nestled in what looked like blasted rocks, the color of sand, and blistering with the heat.

With a jerk, Asatya-badi looked up, directly into Damék’s eyes, and he felt foolish and scared for having tried this spell. He thought of escaping, and the mere thought drew the focus of the spell from Asatya-badi to nothing. The wizard realized, then, all he had to do was concentrate on something. 

He wondered how it would be to take a quick peek at Lord Yudhisthir, and noticed with horror the enchantment begin to shift, to focus on the lord of the first division of the Abysses.

Damék panicked, and dissolved the Weave in a hurry, not caring if anyone noticed it or not. He was glad he had avoided looking at Yudhisthir, but also ashamed he had seen Asatya-badi. He was a pity-inspiring creature, lonely and pathetic. 

But the spell had worked, despite the description clearly being insufficient and not accurate enough.

But the writer was taking notes for himself, Damék thought, and had probably been aware that what he could see in the Abysses could look back at him. Still, it would have been nice to have known that beforehand. He would never have Woven the enchantment otherwise.

That night, Damék didn’t Weave the spell, didn’t make any notes. He went to bed early, but still didn’t sleep well; he kept thinking about Asatya-badi and how he had simply treated him as a source of information, and not as a thinking creature. 

He tried to justify it to himself by saying over and over that he was just a demon. But, if he was just a demon, why did Damék refer to the creature as him and not as it? Wasn’t that proof enough that he had his own ideas and feelings? Perhaps the spell was painful, or drained him of something. 

But no: he was a demon. It was a demon. It was an inhabitant of the Abysses, and it had no feelings other than the desire to cheat and lie, maim and slaughter. It had answered Damék’s questions because the enchantment bound it to, not out of an interest in helping anyone. 

Damék felt he was right: using the book was right, it would provide him with the information he needed to defend all peoples against the Abysses, and it would bring him his deserved fame.

Damék finally slept, right after the Midnight Bell sounded, deep and restlessly, and he dreamed again.

 

And so it was that Damék sat on the edge of his bed, reflecting on the last days and his actions during those days. In his last dream, Ghassán had appeared. Perhaps it was a warning to stop, perhaps people were noticing him.

But…no. Though he admitted to himself he had made some mistakes, he knew that, all in all, he had done what was right. And he would still do it, until he had everything he needed to present to the Academy and astound his colleagues and tutors. 

 

Damék didn’t eat the whole day, waiting for darkness in his bedroom. He felt as if he were in a fever, in a delirium. He awaited the night, and would ask Asatya-badi about the plans of the Abysses.

Finally, after what seemed like an interminable wait, night fell, and Damék prepared the spell once more. During the last few days, he had cut and pierced his skin countless times, gone without food and water; he had deprived himself of rest and sleep, all for the glory and safety of Vlasti and the rest of the world. 

He felt tears for his own heroism coming to his eyes as he Wove the spell once more and saw the familiar effect of the mirror, the fire and the blood, and whispered the all-too-familiar name.

“Called the master we, presented we.”

With a tone of triumph in his voice, Damék ordered:

“Asatya-badi, what are the plans of the Abysses?”

“Know not I the plans of the levels, sorceror.”

“Then tell me what the plans of your level are. I command you, Asatya-badi.” He had believed the demon wouldn’t know everything; after all, it was just a minor demon, but he had hoped it would know at least something. 

“Invade we shall, conquer we shall, destroy the weak races we shall. Your perdition we shall.”

“Are these plans real? For when?” Damék heard a small note of fear in his voice, and prayed to Kamin that Asatya-badi wouldn’t notice it.

The demon grunted. He was probably trying to resist the spell. But the enchantment proved its worth and compelled the demon to speak: “Planning attack masters. Gathering forces masters. Soon.” Asatya-badi’s voice had taken an undertone of effort. 

“Do you have allies here? People helping you? Other people in contact with you? Tell me!”

“Sorceror studious. Contact many we, but few allies. Yet, allies, yes.”

“Who are your allies? Who are they?”

“Know not the names we. Know only masters.”

“You must know one name at least! Dammit!” Damék didn’t care anymore if Asatya-badi noticed his fear or not. He had to know more about this, he had to tell other people. He had to do something. But he needed information with more substance before he could tell them anything. 

“Has powerful enchantment sorceror, binds and makes talk we. Know not we.” 

Shocked, Damék let the spell Unweave iself. The first division of the Abyss, at least, was planning an attack. He had to let someone know of that. This was terrible news! Perhaps it would be a large-scale assault. Who knew what could happen if it were a complete surprise? He had to warn the Seats, the Orders, everyone! 

Damék jumped out of his chair, determined to make as much noise as possible, when the full realization of his own deeds hit him: he couldn’t tell them anything without revealing himself as a man who trafficked with demons. No matter what his reasons, the cold fact of it was: he was doing something so unlawful the trial would be as brief as possible. He would be Severed, then branded, then expelled. He would be a pariah everywhere he went. Nobody dealt with a man who even claimed to have seen a demon and didn’t have scars to prove he had fought it. He needed to think.

 

Some time later, during the darkest hours of the night, Damék reached a decision: he simply wasn’t good enough at deception to avoid his fate; he could look at himself and say honestly what his flaws were. On the one hand, he had to let others know. On the other, he couldn’t be caught. It would be a pretty dance, and he decided to ask a very experienced dancer to help him.

He reached for the mirror, his hand trembling from the pain of the many cuts, and performed the short ritual, so easy and so clean now, cutting his arm this time, and summoned Asatya-badi. 

“Called the master we, presented we.”

The familiar voice of the demon sent shivers down his spine. Especially now that he knew about the Abyss’s plans.

“How can I tell the world about the attack without anyone knowing I am the one telling it?”

“Needs nothing do sorceror. Warned the master we. Communicate your world he shall.”

“What?! What do you mean? What master? What warning? I didn’t order you to do anything!”

“Ah, careless studious sorceror. Bound to answer we, bound not to obey. When asked sorceror ‘plans,’ knew wanted to know master we. Says ‘too curious sorceror’ master.”

“Who is your master?!” Damék screamed. He was furious as he had never been before. He felt betrayed, as indeed he had been. He had even felt pity for the hideous creature, and it had stabbed him in the back!

“Say not can his name we, sorceror. Know not we.”

Damék tried to think of what to ask next, when the small door of the room banged open, making the candle flame flicker and shadows dance crazily on the walls. Terrified, Damék turned to the newcomer, his heart beating madly inside his ribcage, and he saw who it was. Ghassán’s dark skin made him look like a piece of the night had torn itself out and decided to take human shape. His black eyes absorbed the light from the candle, and he looked down at Damék with fiery rage.

Damék got up, defeated, and cast his eyes down. Ghassán was Weaving a spell to bind him and stop him from Weaving even a mere candle flame into light, and Damék couldn’t do anything. He had absolutely no chance, there was nothing he could do against such a powerful wizard – resisting would mean the student’s death. Perhaps if he explained everything, his line of thinking, what he had discovered, Ghassán would intercede for him with the Council, perhaps he wouldn’t be Severed and made a pariah.

He opened his mouth to say something, any excuse, anything to delay his imprisonment, when he heard Asatya-badi’s cold, raspy voice saying through the mirror, “Master,” with a deep tone of reverence.

Before Damék could scream, run, do anything, he was unconscious.

 

Damék awoke slowly, all his senses dragging themselves back to him at an excruciating crawl, one by one. First, touch. He felt cold hard stone. A stone floor. Then hearing. Something dripping in the distance, heavy breathing, his own breathing, his heart. And then he awoke all at once, all his senses flushing back into his head, all his memories fighting to get back to their proper places. He could smell dampness, and the stench of decomposition, and the metallic taste in his mouth of an internal cut on his cheek. He had probably been dropped onto the floor.

He opened his eyes and looked around. Dimly lit walls covered with moss and lichen showed him he was in an ancient ruin, probably one of the famous labyrinthine crypts of the old warlords of Vlasti. They were corridors deeply dug into the earth and lined with stones, filled with niches holding the bodies of servants, wives and concubines of the warlords. The crypts were endless, and some said—probably truthfully—that they were very much haunted. 

Damék stood and looked up into the cloud-covered sky and the very little moonlight drifting slowly down into the corridor. And then he heard a low growl behind him, and slowly turned to it, praying and hoping it was a wolf or some other natural beast, knowing it wouldn’t be. He heard the wet sound of jaws working, and saw the long paws opening and closing, opening and closing. He stared into the greenish eyes, deeply set into the yellowed skin, and wasn’t surprised at all when he heard the abomination speaking to him in a rough, ghastly voice, and saw its sardonic grin:

“Called the master we, presented we.”