Sa glyph [https://i.imgur.com/plK5EWM.png]

Once Paet was satisfied with Sam’s cleanliness, he marched him across the cavern to the place where Sam had spied on the ritual before. Behind the rock wall which shielded the area from the rest of the cave, a lone wooden chair stood in the middle of a double circle of chalk and salt.

Bent over, the Master worked his way round the circle, writing glyphs on the floor with a stick of chalk. Some of the glyphs seemed familiar to Sam, but he didn’t try to read them. He was still naked, and while no one was particularly looking at him — and frankly, compared to being possessed by a demon and maybe dying, nakedness wasn’t a major concern — he felt exposed.

Another of the older boys, Geraint, joined them. He was a short, powerfully built youth with red hair and a hint of ginger fluff on his top lip. He handed a folded green robe to Paet, who gave it to Sam. ‘Put that on.’

He put it on. It hung loose on him, several sizes too big.

Paet shoved Sam into the circle. Sam baulked. Between them, Geraint and Paet picked him up and deposited him squirming in the chair. They wrapped rope thickly round his chest and arms and tied it at the back. When they’d finished he could barely breathe.

‘Do we need all this?’ Geraint tugged at the knots. ‘He’s only small.’

‘It’s not his size that matters,’ Paet said.

Geraint left, and a few minutes later returned with a cup.

Paet held it to Sam’s mouth. ‘Drink.’

The dark liquid smelled medicinal — liquorice and herbs and wine. Sam closed his lips firmly and shook his head.

‘You don’t have to,’ Paet said. ‘But it will help you relax. This may be painful otherwise.’

‘Dumb kid,’ Geraint said, and pinched Sam’s nose.

Sam held out as long as he could, which wasn’t long at all, and then had to breathe through his mouth. Paet poured the drink down his throat, and it was swallow or drown. A bit of both, in practice. He coughed and gasped for breath.

The drink tasted like Nana’s cough remedies, sweet and sticky and vile at the back of his mouth.

By the time he’d recovered the boys had gone. He was alone in the circle, snug in his ropes. A warm muzzy feeling stole over him. If not for the ropes, he felt he might float gently upward.

The Master stood outside the chalked lines with his new red book. Sam watched him, fascinated by the way he drifted in and out of focus. When he spoke, the strange, musical words boomed and whistled in Sam’s head.

It didn’t sound like the words he’d used last time, with Mikael. Sam understood none of it. He didn’t even recognise the language, and yet, some of the sounds seemed almost meaningful, like something he’d heard in a dream and forgotten.

He should fight, he thought, resist somehow — but he didn’t know how. His body felt limp and drowsily content. He drifted on a sea of sound. All his fear had gone, dribbled off somewhere, down the drain where the soapy water went, down to the roots of the mountain where ancient fires burned.

Paet had said possession didn’t hurt, that he would live… He wanted to believe it. In this half-asleep state, it seemed perfectly believable. Perhaps he would just sleep and know nothing, while the demon had use of his body for a while.

Or there again, these might be the last thoughts of his life. A shame they weren’t very profound or interesting thoughts… He ought to be sad: Dad and Lorie and Nana — he’d never see them again. They’d be sad, if he died, and it was his fault.

Dad had warned him often enough not to run off alone. And he’d done it anyway, trusting nothing bad would happen. Only the bad thing had happened, which with hindsight was no surprise. If he’d behaved himself, he would now be safe in the gas storeroom, bored sick, instead of about to be possessed by a demon.

Being possessed by a demon was bad, he knew that. Demons were evil. He remembered sitting beside Nana in the chapel, and the priest talking of demons and sin, but he hadn’t listened and couldn’t remember it now. Not that it would help.

The Master closed the book.

Is that it? Sam smiled to himself. He felt no different. Demon, what demon? Stupid Master. Magic didn’t work.

He was safe after all, and he would have laughed out loud, only an odd sensation was creeping over him. His brain squished and tickled, his thoughts and memories shifting to one side to make room for something… something that wasn’t himself. It wasn’t painful, just very, very strange.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Hello.

What have we here?

It’s rather small.

And underdeveloped.

What are you, little one?

Not what I expected. Not one of the Makers.

The words were in his mind without arriving through his ears, exactly like the inner voice of his own thoughts. Only he knew these weren’t his thoughts, because he wasn’t thinking them.

Something was inside him. Was it a demon? Was this what it felt like, to be possessed? He’d expected it to be rather more violent and unpleasant.

Oh, I’m not a demon. What gave you that idea?

The Master loomed before him. ‘Jang.’ His face veered close but his voice echoed from far away. ‘Jang nay los. Ghot pus neh.’

Do you know that language? Ah, you don’t. It’s Demonic.

Sam concentrated through the fog in his head: What does he want?

Oh, you can talk? Good. You don’t need to shout, by the way. He wants you to tell him of the future.

Sam shook his head. — How could I do that? I don’t know.

Indeed. Neither do I. Demons do, though. Angels too, but angels won’t speak of the future, not to mortals. Demons will. Of course they aren’t very reliable.

The Master was still speaking, but Sam decided to ignore him. The voice inside his head seemed more important right now. He shut his eyes.

Colour bloomed in darkness. Sparkling blue and dazzling green unrolled before him. Cities bloomed, cities of shining glass towers set in gardens threaded by canals. People — tall and graceful, their proportions strange yet somehow right — strolled beside pools choked with waterlilies, and jewel-bright birds flew to their hands and sang.

My Makers.

— Where are they? Perhaps the sothron lands. Wherever it was, it looked warm.

Abruptly, the vision darkened and shrank into something more familiar. The same long-limbed, elegant people, the same flowers and birds, but not alive — painted on a wall. It was a picture from Sam’s own memory, though brighter and more solid than his memory usually would be. Every detail was sharp and vivid.

— The tomb in the mine. Dad said the Forerunners made it. Oh! Your Makers were the Forerunners?

The realisation brought an odd, drifty melancholy, as he realised the shining towers and the beautiful people were gone forever, dead thousands of years ago. The Cataclysm had destroyed their world, destroyed everything but a few fragments of buildings like the tomb. It was the sort of thing Dad talked about, because he was an Earth Adept. The deep rocks remembered the Cataclysm.

— So they made you? You aren’t an angel or a demon?

No.

— Do you have a name?

A name? What an odd idea. No.

— What are you?

An idea formed. It was large and complicated and had many parts themselves complicated. He felt the shape of it, but there were no words, and Sam decided understanding it was not his most pressing problem.

— So am I possessed?

Not as you understand it. I am not in control of you. In fact, it would be more accurate to say you possess me. My purpose is to assist.

That sounded promising. Whatever was happening to him, it clearly wasn’t what had happened to Mikael. And that had to be good news, though his immediate situation wasn’t really improved. He was still tied to a chair with the Master bellowing questions at him in Demonic, and shortly, he guessed, the Master would tire of this and do something different, possibly unpleasant.

— How can you help me?

I can do anything. Though…

Sam’s hands and feet tingled.

Ah. Full operancy will take about two hours. Sorry about that. Your brain is not optimally configured for my requirements. Modifications take time.

— Oh. And then what?

Then, my little friend, you can do whatever you like.

Sam sucked in a breath and opened his eyes.

The Master stared back at him, looking annoyed. ‘Sam? Sam, speak to me.’

The effects of the drink had faded somewhat. His eyes focused, his vision was clearer, and the Master’s voice had lost the weird booming quality. Sam thought he could speak, if he wanted to.

If he told the Master nothing had happened and he wasn’t possessed, would he be released? He suspected not.

But he only had to survive for the next two hours, and then—he wasn’t sure what would happen, but something would happen. He didn’t begin to understand what the Voice was, yet he was already sure he could trust it. A lot more than he could trust the Master, anyway.

I’d recommend not telling him about me.

The Master scowled and slapped him. Sam’s head rocked from the blow. ‘Sam, are you in there? Say something, there’s a good lad.’

Sam made up his mind. He wasn’t going to tell the Master anything. He would play dumb. This had the advantage of requiring little effort on his part. He just had to gape and dribble, which was about as much as he could manage right now anyway.

The Master stepped back, shaking his head. ‘Damn. I was sure this codex was something special, but it’s a dud. Though maybe a more mature subject… Well, never mind. Progress requires experiment, eh?’ He beckoned to someone out of Sam’s sight. ‘Take it to the Snakes.’

— Can you make it less than two hours? I think we may need to hurry.

Mm. I’ll see what I can do.

Gas hissed under Sam’s nose. The strong acrid smell made him gag and gasp for breath, and he sagged into the firm embrace of the ropes as darkness rolled over him.

L glyph [https://i.imgur.com/2vwU4yB.png]

The three green-robed girls led Lorie through twisting tunnels never meant for men, where the oil-lamp they carried was the only light. Down and down, deeper into the earth than she’d thought possible, until the gloomy journey seemed endless and timeless, like a bad dream. Time had passed, though. They must have walked for over an hour.

‘Is it much further?’

‘We’re nearly there,’ Ellise said.

Lorie looked back at the dark path they’d travelled. At the Refuge, they would have gathered for the hearing. Her father would be wondering where she was; perhaps he’d be worried. If she went on, by the time she got back the hearing might be over. Her father might be gone. She might never see him again.

But then, nothing she could do would change the outcome of the hearing, and if she went back now, what would she say? That she knew where Sam was, that she’d been close, but she’d turned back?

On the other hand, if everything worked out — if the hearing went well, and she returned with Sam — how happy they all would be.

‘Are you coming?’ Ellise said.

Lorie nodded and walked on beside the younger girl, following the lamplight ever downward.