THE DEMON that called itself Wisdom hurried through the empty hallways of the keep. It was fairly certain that the paladin would keep his brethren busy for some time, whether he intended to or not.
Wisdom bore the human Shane no ill will. Indeed, it had rather liked him. He was so desperately confused, and yet so doggedly persistent that every time he did manage to work something out, it wanted to cheer. He reminded Wisdom of the demon’s own early, faltering steps in the world, when everything was new and terrible and strange, when every feeling registered with blinding intensity.
Well, it had done the best it could. It rather hoped that Shane would survive. Humans did such terrible things to each other, and it regretted having to leave him to his brethren’s mercies. But that was nothing compared to what they did to demons, and Wisdom would not allow itself to be bound to hell forever.
It was just congratulating itself on its escape when something came out of nowhere and sliced through the tendons in the back of its host’s legs. Pain flared through its consciousness, pain so intense that it felt like another sense had opened up and drunk in a thousand shades of agony. Wisdom wrenched itself back from the pain, shutting down its host’s senses as fast as it could. No more pleasant for her than me, it thought. It was currently ascendant in the body, of necessity, but it would have been cruel to let its host feel pain that Wisdom itself could shut out.
When the pain was shut down, the demon became aware of the next sense, which was cold stone against the host’s cheek. It rolled and sat up gingerly. Its host’s head did not feel right. We slammed into the floor very hard. The skull has moved in ways it should not.
It knew already that it could not run. Its attacker had cut vital tendons. Many injuries could simply be ignored once you knew how, but this was not one of them. The legs no longer worked right. It would have to crawl.
Damnation, it might even have to kill its host and go back to hell after all. What a miserable thought.
Its vision was not working well, but it managed to focus its host’s eyes on its attacker, which loomed over it like an avenging angel.
The human was female, taller than its current host, with hair that tinted red-brown in the light. Her
soul was strange. It did not extend far enough past her skin. Wisdom’s experience with humans was that their souls surrounded them like the corona of a star. Shane’s, for example, had blazed out in a halo of silver and violet, a good six inches from his body.
This human’s was tightly compressed inside herself, barely a glow along her own skin. When Wisdom reached out, she felt… dense. As if there was too much soul clamped in too tightly. How very odd.
Still, humans were odd and Wisdom knew it had not encountered even a tenth of the variations among them. This was just another kind, it seemed. Wisdom ran its senses over the strange new human and saw something unexpected. A channel, just above her heart, as scarred and closed as Shane’s had been. Another paladin? You do find them flocking together, like sheep or sparrows.
“Listen to me,” said the new paladin, her voice flat and cold. “You are going to do what I say.”
“Am I?” asked Wisdom. “You seem very sure of that.”
“You will,” said the paladin, “because if you do not, I will sever your spine here.” A cold kiss of blade against the skin that covered its host’s upper vertebrae. The body wanted to shudder and Wisdom allowed it. “Then I will summon the Dreaming God’s people, while you remain trapped, and they will bind you.”
Wisdom considered this. It was a fine threat, but it failed to account for one particular possibility.
It wondered if it should bother pointing this out to the human. Wise or unwise? Was the human being foolish or did she have some other plan? Did she think that she could prevent herself from becoming possessed? Perhaps against one of my lesser brethren your will would be enough, but I am something else entirely, human.
In the end, it spoke simply because it was curious how she would react. “You realize, do you not, that I could simply jump to your body?”
“Yes,” the human said, leaning in. The point of the knife stroked underneath its body’s chin. “That is exactly what I am counting on.”
This was unexpected. Wisdom was fascinated and also, it had to admit, somewhat charmed. “I am listening.”
“The first thing you are going to do,” Judith said, “is let my brother go.”
“PLEASE,” said Jorge pleadingly. “Choose. The water or the sword?”
“Perform the rite,” said one of the others. “We’re wasting valuable time.” He carried a warhammer instead of a sword and there was blood splattered across his gauntlets. Shane wondered which of Wisdom’s faithful had bled and died for that.
“He has the right to—” Jorge began.
And then something happened inside Shane’s chest, something so sharp and shocking that he looked down, expecting to see that Jorge had simply stabbed him after all. Except that there was no
blade and no blood and the sensation was horribly familiar, something that he had felt once before, on the day that the god had died.
For two heartbeats it didn’t even hurt. It was almost too big to hurt. Then his heart squeezed a third time and pain tore through him and he screamed.
Like a barbed arrow in the soul. That was how it was usually described, having a demon torn out of you. He’d even used that description himself. Now Shane marveled at the sheer uselessness of it.
This hurt like being ripped in two, like dying or being born, on and on, forever.
He kept screaming, of course. No amount of pride would have stopped him. Pride could not have touched a pain like this. The last time it had happened, the tide had risen and he had attacked someone, then lost consciousness. There was no tide now, no merciful unconsciousness, only Wisdom leaving and tearing him apart in its wake.
And then, as suddenly as it had come, it was over. Shane collapsed backward, his breath coming in thin rasps. The inside of his chest felt as if it had been scalded raw, and the memory of pain was so vivid that it was almost pain itself.
Jorge was half on top of him. It didn’t occur to Shane to wonder why until the other paladin sat up, one arm still pinning his chest. Was I having a seizure? Perhaps I was.
“That,” Jorge said grimly, “was a demon leaving the hard way, I think.”
“Or that’s what it wants us to think,” said the one with the warhammer.
Jorge ignored him. “Shane? Can you hear me?”
“I hear you,” Shane croaked. Blackness edged the corner of his vision, but it seemed that he still was not allowed to faint. He managed to lift a hand—Warhammer took a step forward—and rubbed his chest. “Feels like…I…drank hot lead…”
“Can you sit up?”
“Stop this.” Warhammer loomed over them both. “Jorge, we have our orders. I know he’s your friend, but the kindest thing you can do is end it quickly.”
“If the demon’s gone, there’s no need—”
“And what if it isn’t?” Warhammer folded his arms. “Do you really want another massacre on your hands? A berserker Caliban?”