The Starry Rise: A Xiinisi Trilogy, #3

By Kit Daven

True nature is impossible to escape.

 

In the conclusion to The Forgotten Gemstone & The Other Castle…

 

Ule's current male form, Ulmaen, is on the verge of deathmorphing when he realizes what he truly must be—a monster. It explains why his kind, the Xiinisi, keep him imprisoned in the world of Elish. Accepting his fate, Ul decides to become a tree demon, only to discover that being a demon has its consequences. After deathmorphing back into a female-looking Elishian, Ul is captured by two bounty hunters and learns that, due to a prison break at Sondshor Castle, Mithreel, the deadliest of demons, walks free.

 

During Ul's pursuit of Mithreel, she gains unexpected allies along the way, learns to push beyond the limits of her abilities, but strangest of all, she finds a way out of her own prison. Upon returning to her home world, the realm of Xii, she discovers the Xiinisi are no where to be seen.

 

As Ul struggles to restore her realm, she is forced to let go of what she thinks she knows about herself and embrace a part of her nature that will assure her place among her kind once and for all.

 

Join Ul as she pursues a demon and learns she can't escape the call of her true nature, and undergoes her most authentic transformation of all.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Eager Eye Books
• Release date: Jun 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9781999387303

Book preview

· 1 ·

In the old castle buried beneath the ground, at the foot of the broken stairwell, Ulmaen lay on his side letting his body decay. He hadn’t moved in what seemed a very long time—several weeks, he was certain. He hadn’t wanted to move. If anyone possessed the curiosity to climb all the way down the tower to explore the rubble, they’d think him dead. Yet, deep within, his signature energy simmered, resisting an imperative and very natural urge—to change.

Stone and plaster pressed against his sunken chest. He spied the splay of his fingers lying over a rock. The dark skin had shrunk around the bone and his fingers resembled burnt tree branches slick with morning dew.

No part of him hurt anymore.

Broken steps spiralled upward and became whole again, leading up inside a tower that stopped beneath the surface of the ground. Above ground, a fountain with a round marble basin gurgled and glistened with sprays of water, and above it, an aperture in a pink marble covering opened up to the vast sky still farther above.

On the surface, Elishians walked about; some joyful, others bitter, all of them alive. Down here, he was… something else. Not Elishian. No longer wanting to be Xiinisi. Neither living nor truly dead.

I am a monster.

The compulsion to change demanded he take form.

To stave off the impulse, he stared at the jagged edge of the wall where plaster and stone had cracked and formed an unnatural alcove. Within the alcove, a dark fissure split the air and hung there shimmering. The Safeway remained intact.

The inside of the fissure was black, a rippling image of what existed on the other side—an Isolation Chamber filled with curtains of black threads. He imagined the world of Elish silently spinning on a dais in the middle of that empty prison. Knowing nothing waited for him in that prison stopped him from wanting to go through the portal.

Now that he thought about it, lying here rotting for as long as he had, the Safeway might not be as safe as he first imagined. It was ancient, as old as the world; surely, it must have degraded over time and anyone who went through risked mutation or death. And there was the barrier that surrounded the world of Elish, designed to prevent anyone—including him—from Ascending. What if its reach transected the Safeway? If it did, this world was a true jail and he, its prisoner.

Change. Change! Into what? Should I return as an Elishian for the third time? Should I be a man or a woman? Or something else?

Ulmaen lay there, unmoving, unwilling to do anything. In the stillness, his mind unleashed itself.

Monster! I’m nothing but a monster.

Ulmaen trembled at the admission. He didn’t care for the thought, at first.

I created this world; therefore, everything in this world reflects something about me. If demons exist in the Root Dimension, persist and evolve as solid living things, then I must accept that some part of me is like a demon.

His mind grew clearer as he considered the veracity of his self-deprecating declaration.

Yes, I am a demon.

Being a demon must be his true nature. Of all the worlds built by the Xiinisi, only this one possessed demons of a truly menacing corporeal kind. Perhaps that explained why Avn had murdered him and why the Xiinisi confined him to the world of Elish. They knew what he was. And the identity fitted him. He had, after all, built this world while incarcerated as a child for another crime.

A part of him resisted the idea, a small part of him that wailed like a child might, and he beat that snivelling brat down until it whimpered and died, quite done with the simpering attitude of his younger self. He had always wondered if he truly belonged among his kind, and now he knew. He didn’t. He never had. It took a mature mind to admit what he truly was.

A demon I shall be.

He gave in to the compulsion to change, to let go of his old generation of life and begin a new one. Instead of returning to the base state of his elemental array, which resulted in a smoky mass of energy, he stayed within his current form and began to push it around. What remained of his decaying body convulsed and churned and rippled. He was ready to become a demon.

The world of Elish possessed snake demons, spider demons, cat demons, cactus demons. Any type of fear or phobia imaginable had a corresponding manifestation in this world. Most of them were easily recognizable, forced to flee and find ways to hide. Some lived in caves or abandoned huts, some burrowed underground, and he’d met some with the uncanny talent for carving out sub-dimensions and wondered how they’d accomplished that.

Ultimately, Ulmaen wanted freedom. He wanted to be out in the open with the ability to roam about without the worry of being hunted. Several environments offered that possibility. The first to come to mind was the desert, but too many demons already lived there. Next he thought of seas and mountains and forests.

Mmm, yes, plenty of creatures hide well in forests.

Forests covered a large portion of Elish. Sondshor Castle was on the edge of a massive one that sprawled into the North and skirted the edge of the desert to the South. This forest offered a natural camouflage, should he choose to become a particular kind of demon.

Why not?! If that kind of demon doesn’t work out, I can always change into another.

As soon as he made the decision, he realized he knew little about demons’ bodies. His knowledge about their physiology came from what he had observed of their outer appearance. They had to have some form of skeletal architecture to support their bipedal stature, to allow them to move and walk about. But did it matter whether or not a demon’s skeleton was made from actual bone?

As long as I look like a demon, it doesn’t matter what’s on the inside, right?

Ulmaen scanned his body, focusing on what he did know. He could be taller this time, if he chose, with less girth, less muscle. He could be a woman again. Or, he could be genderless or any of the many gender combinations.

The idea of being genderless intrigued him. He wondered about being free from the influence of a single hormone’s dominance; of distinguishable, identifiable genitalia. He could wipe the slate clean.

He began to deathmorph.

The air thickened with his magic scent—fresh green apples and the bite of ginger. Normally, he wouldn’t notice his own smell, but in this stale place with a rotting corpse, he welcomed it.

He pushed out any unnecessary molecules in exchange for others and harvested new elements from what remained of the rotten wood within the broken stairwell and from the air. These elements shot toward him, invisible to the eye until they breached the surface of his flesh and flared into tiny dots of bright light. Beneath his decayed flesh, the elements joined the flux of energy that pulsed within.

He willed length into his Elishian bones, matching the height of demons he’d encountered, ones he was certain were old and had been around since the dawn of the world, and he grew at least a head taller. Tendons and muscles adjusted to the new framework, joints popped and snapped, his posture twisted then straightened.

Beneath his slick flesh, muscles elongated and bulged. His shoulders remained wide in breadth yet narrowed in girth. His biceps grew small, his gently contoured chest stayed flat, his thighs thickened a little more than his calves, and his pelvic mound, though pronounced, lacked any distinguishable genitalia.

He focused next on his flesh. It dried and thickened and erupted into a rough grey-brown bark along his legs and arms and torso. Knots formed at his knees and elbows and at the edge of both shoulders. When he had finished, he bent his arms and twisted, admiring the way the woody hide flexed with ease despite being hard to the touch.

Then he ran his new fingers over his new face. Thin lips parted, wet with sap. A nose erupted—a swirled knot. Cheeks widened, growing ridged and sharp. From the top of his head, thin branches swirled into smaller green tendrils which unfurled into leaves. All that remained were his eyes.

The most he could do was mimic the small, round shape of a tree demon’s eyes but not the colour. Eye colour was the only aspect of his form he couldn’t alter. Among the Xiinisi, eyes were the only means to observe another’s core energy. They emitted a unique signature hue. His were azure blue.

Final details erupted along his bark flesh. Clusters of small shelf mushrooms grew around the two holes on either side of his head, forming rudimentary ears. Here and there, moss bubbled up and clung to the backs of his shoulders. Finally, creepers curled about his root-like toes, snaked up both legs, and opened into tiny pink flowers.

He was a demon now, neither man nor woman. How should he refer to himself? As an it or possibly as a they? Did the Elishians have a word for the genderless? And what of his name?

Ulmaen. No! Ule? Definitely not. Oo, oo, ool….The final iteration of the name was the very root of it and saying it felt like coming home.

Ul was satisfied, except for one detail—the tiny pink flowers.

Ul frowned at them a moment, then willed them into something more agreeable, less… soft. The pink darkened and deepened; lightness drained away until what remained was the hue of clotted blood.

· 2 ·

A ledge of plaster, brick, and stone jutted out where the stairs had broken away—beyond reach. The ledge seemed steady enough to hold the weight of an Elishian, if they managed to find a way up to it, but Ul couldn’t say the same for the weight of a demon. There had to be another way out.

Ul considered shifting into an ethereal state and flying up to the solid part of the stairwell, perhaps all the way up the tower, through the ground and into the open sky.

I must be careful not to squander my inner reserve.

That inner reserve consisted of two sources of energy. The first drew on energy provided by food, water, and sleep which helped sustain the biological functions of the Elishian body; in other words, the matter array. The second was drawn from deep within the Xiinisi signature core, from a well of time that determined and tracked the duration of a Xiinisi life cycle or generation, then converted that time into energy.

An expression of Xiinisi power drew from one source of energy more than the other or from both, depending on the kind of power and where that power was being used. Back in Xii, the abundance of An Energy powered abilities with little to no drain on that inner well of time. Yet, in worlds like Elish, where An Energy was scarce, the expression of any Xiinisi power relied heavily on drawing from both sources of energy.

For months, Ul had lain on the cusp of deathmorphing into a new generation—that well of time on the verge of refilling to the brim. Now that the well of time was full again, Ul wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible. Ul possessed enough generations to live for many eons; still, life was finite even if the Quietus—the final death—was a long time coming.

Some supernatural ability was required to escape the broken stairwell. Shifting, like other psychically driven skills, relied primarily on temporal energy and, to a lesser extent, biological energy. Whatever Ul decided upon needed to be biological in nature.

What’s a tree demon to do?

As a child, Ul had played with many a tree demon. Each had their own unique power—that one ability that separated them from the rest—yet they all climbed trees with the agility of apes. From branch to branch they swung. All of them. Every single one. How had it been possible for tree demons to climb?

Their roots! Each of them had a tangle of roots.

At the mental suggestion, Ul’s root-woven toes curled. Vine-like tendrils shot out from each toe, bored down, then receded. Setting a foot against a wall, then a hand, roots shot out from the toes and heel, from the palm and fingertips. The other foot. The other hand. Ul crawled upward along the wall, well past the broken ledge, then willed the roots to retract and leaped down onto the part of the stairwell that was intact.

A cursory glance of each new demon hand, arm, and leg deepened Ul’s understanding of potential now. As long as energy was withdrawn from the biological reserve, as long as there was food to be eaten, Ul could easily express a number of different powers.

But I’m not supposed to express any powers, none at all. That’s the rule.

The Xiinisi Code of Conduct required their kind to hide both identity and power while among the inhabitants of a world, but Ul was a prisoner, excommunicated from Xii. Did this rule even apply anymore?

That’s the Council’s rule, not mine! I’m a demon now. I’m obligated to express some kind of supernatural ability. People will expect it of me. They will fear me for it. Won’t they?

Determined to find out, Ul climbed the steps of the stairwell, three at a time up to a landing where a tunnel snaked through the ground back to Fehran’s Hall. Someone had to be tending to affairs there, someone worth scaring.

Look upon me and shiver!

Ul sought out some evidence for the time of day, paused a moment, and felt for the pull of the moon. It was weak, which meant it must be well on the other side of the world and about midday at Sondshor Castle. Ul expected Fehran’s Hall to be busy with Importants formally outlining their agendas before the Magnes, or the public gathering to attend some special event.

What a perfect place for me to run amok!

Being demon size made the tunnels narrow and small. Ul squeezed through and occasionally knocked into a wooden reinforcement beam, making dirt lightly rain down. At the mouth of a familiar sub-chamber, Ul erupted like a woodland beast birthed from the tight canal of its mother. With a creaky grumble of satisfaction, Ul shook away the loose dirt and lurched from that room into another and then another, disappointed to discover no one there.

Ul scuttled up the flight of stairs to the main floor and on a landing discovered a Novice Scribe. At the sight of a tree demon, the Scribe froze. He stood rod straight, clutching his arms about a dozen scrolls. Though terror twisted his face, something about him seemed familiar.

The Scribe shuddered and sank to his knees. Several scrolls tumbled from his arms and down the steps. In that moment, Ul remembered having worked with him once. He had been a sour man, with a tendency to mock anyone he despised, and he despised nearly everyone.

He dropped what remained of the scrolls he carried and stiffly stood again. P-please, I have a d-daughter, he blubbered, eyes peering up the stairs, searching for help, no doubt calculating how fast he needed to be to outrun a demon.

Liar! Ul’s voice came out raspy and hushed. You have no children.

How did you— Before he could finish his question, Ul leaned into him, smelled his sweat, lifted a wooden hand and pointed the sharp tip of a finger close, very close, to his left eye.

Ul’s stomach lurched at the thought of bursting that eye. There was no reason to. The Scribe was already very much afraid. He trembled, knees weak. His breath grew foul, as he pressed himself into the wall and began to slide down.

Was he about to prostrate himself the way the inhabitants of Elish did so long ago when Ul had been a child? The first Elishians had bowed in submission out of reverence, out of love. Had it been love? Perhaps it had been fear all along. It didn’t matter. Either way, Ul thought fondly of being revered again, of being in control.

Lower and lower the Scribe slid, and when he was close to the ground, he hurled himself down the stairs. He turned and rolled off every other step until he collapsed on the floor in the chamber below. Bruised and bloodied, he scrambled to his feet. He glanced up the stairwell before he fled, along with any reverence, through one of several doorways. Ul didn’t care. The need for reverence felt impulsive and empty now, probably because it was a desire that belonged to the past. The need for control, however…

The flight of the Scribe prompted a curious notion.

He was repulsed by me. Couldn’t get far enough away fast enough. The Xiinisi behaved like that, back when I destroyed the world of Gaiath because the Granites and the Gypsums had ground each other into dust, making a mess of their world. Yes, I disgusted my kind and they locked me away for it.

Ul destroyed things, repulsed everyone. In return, they kept their distance. The Elishians treated their demons similarly. An odd sense of validation came from that realization, at the predictable ways of frightened people.

Yes, yes. I am a demon. I am—

Ul’s reverie was interrupted by muffled chatter that spilled down from the top of the stairs, no doubt from a crowd of people milling about in the main hall. If one man cowered and fled, how might a group of people react? Would they shriek and beg? Would they run? If they ran, Ul never needed to worry about being attacked by them.

Ul climbed the steps, lunged through the door, and strode forward a few steps, grateful to finally be able to stretch to full height. The crown of leaves on Ul’s head grazed the bottom of the mezzanine above. Hanging down along the front facing of the mezzanine was a long tapestry that concealed Ul from those who gathered in Fehran’s Hall.

Gather round, gather round, the voice of a man boomed. The soothing tone, so commanding, so easily recognizable, hushed the din within the Hall.

Hmm, Sabien, what stories do you plan to tell today, old friend?

As though Sabien had heard Ul’s thoughts, he spoke to everyone again. Closer now. That’s it, come closer.

Ul peered out from behind the tapestry. At the far end of Fehran’s Hall, near a fluted pink marble pillar close to the main doors, Sabien stood on a wooden stool. Always stylish, today he wore a violet and black pinstriped vest over a crimson shirt and black slacks, offering a visual play of colours too impossible to ignore.

He faced the openness of the rectangular hall, his back to a pale pink tapestry covered in geometric eyes, an abstract depiction of a beast from the Elishian Afterworld. But the Elishians never seemed to remember anything accurately. Otherwise, they’d know the tapestry actually represented a Xiinisi Council member. Indeed, all the tapestries and murals were distorted, half-recollected depictions of Xii.

The bas-relief that spanned the rear wall of the hall was the worst of it. Peaks within the painted plaster cast tiny shadows over the strange structures and creatures within the composition. Elishians fell into pits of torment only to be dismembered, their parts then reattached to others in new and hideous ways. A tall round building without doors or windows featured prominently in the composition. Its roof opened onto a sky and fire spewed out. Surrounding it, a moat spurted blood. What was meant to depict Mxalem, Elish’s Land of the Dead, was actually a rendering of the Consilium in Xii, where transgressors were interrogated and convicted.

Ul attempted a growl. What came out sounded similar to the creak of wood bending in a heavy breeze, but no one in the crowd heard. They were fully enthralled with Sabien.

"What you’re about to see may unsettle you, but I promise, you will be amazed. And don’t be afraid to ask questions." He pointed behind him, past the pillar and the tapestry, indicating the door to a room where a specially curated show had been set up several months ago.

What you’re about to see is a collection of the bizarre and the strange, the latest finds from the desert carefully preserved by my hand. Come see the oldest evolution of a snake demon, so old it walks on two legs, and my latest finds from the castle. Come gaze into Erzo’s Mirror that reflects everything but you. And I dare you to solve the puzzles of the ancient Sun Child God, Ul.

Again, Ul found validation in hearing this ancient name. Something about it caused Sabien a moment of pause as well. His eyes blanked as though some strange notion tugged at his mind. Then he licked his lips, regained his focus. Join me! Take a break from the mundane and enjoy some of the strangeness this world has to offer.

Ul couldn’t have asked for a better cue and stepped out from behind the tapestry. Drawing closer to the bas-relief, Ul placed a gnarled hand on the depiction of a birdman known to the Elishians as Mneos. Ul saw only Hethn, the leader of the Xiinisi Council.

A growl—a real growl this time, resonant and full of dissatisfaction—made the hall fall silent a moment. Gasps and muffled cries followed as the assembly observed Ul for the first time. Then a light chattering ensued, hushed and frantic. Some of them advised others to back away, to clear a wide path to the door, not to provoke the demon.

What? Did they hope I would leave quietly? Without mayhem? How about a bit of havoc? And why aren’t they all fleeing?

Turning to face them, Ul growled again. The sound of wood creaking and whipping about in a heavy wind erupted from both chest and throat, louder this time. A few patrons did flee. Others refused to leave, either mesmerized or frozen in place by their terror. Several larger men and women inched forward, fists raised, obviously not frightened enough.

Demon, Sabien called out. The main door is clear, the forest not far. If you make your way there quietly, I’m sure the Guard won’t follow you. We mean you no bother. Do you feel the same?

The crowd of people stepped back to make a pathway, the younger children clinging to their parents or hiding behind pillars. These patrons had come to gape at dead demons but found themselves a living one instead. And Ul very much wanted to bother them all.

One of the large men advanced. Ul pointed at him. A vine barbed with sharp thorns shot through the air, snapped like a whip, gashed him across the chest, and withdrew. He stumbled backward, warning the others to stay back.

Ul supposed everyone had their breaking point—a limit as to how much they would suffer before fleeing for safety. They were all supposed to run away. Only a few had.

This won’t do, Ul told them with a grin, and then bared the points of each tooth. This prompted several more Elishians to run through the main entrance, dragging their children with them.

What won’t do? Sabien asked. Is there some way we can help you?

The kindness offered felt like a platitude. Ul’s head ached. No! The word struck like a punch, the pain subsided, and the words that followed were full of menace. It’s too small.

If you mean Woedshor, it’s a giant of a forest, Sabien replied, blinking in confusion.

I meant the doorway, Ul explained, then turned back toward the bas-relief and held up both hands. Roots pushed out from palms and fingertips and bore into the sculpture.

A woman screamed as the first chunk of plaster sheered free with a crack and shattered against the floor. The shrillness echoed briefly and faded away. Ul imagined the woman ran now, ran as fast as her wobbly legs would permit.

I’ll take you there myself. Just don’t hurt anyone.

Sabien’s offer sounded more like a plea for peace. Ul preferred the screams, willed the roots to grow longer and spread. They crawled over the remainder of the bas-relief, drilling into it. Piece by piece the artwork cracked and sheered away, tumbling to the marble floor, fine dust clouding the air. Beneath, the wood framework split and revealed the mortar and stone of the wall beneath that.

Ul turned back around. Only a handful of men and women remained—tall and muscular and scarred; the kind of roughers you wouldn’t want to find yourself in a fight with. Sabien remained on his stool, unbuttoning the cuffs of his sleeves and rolling them up one at a time. He was no match for any of the roughers and certainly no match for a demon, but he stood his ground, willing to at least try to fight.

Daylight streamed in through cracks in the broken wall as the last bits of mortar and stone tumbled to the floor. The place needs a bigger door, don’t you think? Ul faced what remained of the exterior wall again and shoved hard with the might of a Xiines, deeply satisfied that the display of strength would be seen as that of a demon.

The stone and mortar gave way in the middle and collapsed into a heap. Fresh air and plaster dust wafted into the stale hall. Ul turned back around just as the roughers began exiting the main entrance.

See, everyone has their breaking point, even the roughers.

Only Sabien remained. Eyes narrowed, he stepped down from his stool podium and retreated to the entrance. There, he stopped and peered across the Hall. Uncertainty pulled at his thin, narrow lips.

Ul wanted to tell Sabien his stories were the best, but such compliments seemed odd in this situation. Also, it was unlikely demons ever attended any of his shows without becoming trapped or killed and turned into a specimen for display.

That won’t happen to me! I won’t let you destroy me, but I won’t destroy you either. You’re like… family?

A pang of guilt pricked Ul’s heart.

Go on now, run. I tend to destroy the things I love, so run. Run! Why won’t you run?!

Sabien threw back his head and shouted. You’ve got blue eyes.

The thump-thump of Ul’s heart skipped a bit.

Your eyes, they’re blue, Sabien shouted again.

The observation was astute, accurate, and the very thought that he noticed shook Ul to the core.

· 3 ·

Sabien had always been an observant man, wilful and stubborn as well, so when he stood firm in the main entrance, his shadow cutting a dark narrow slice across the marble floor, Ul wasn’t at all surprised when a few of the roughers that lingered beyond the doors urged him to run.

Come away, you dimwart!

You daft cow, get out of there!

Do you want that scrawny neck of yours snapped?

Get away before that thing eats yer ugly mug.

Their words fell on deaf ears. Sabien remained motionless, squinting with a tilted head as though doing so helped him be more perceptive. Ul glared at his scrutiny, needing to disarm him once and for all; yet, no matter how vile a look Ul cast him, their gazes remained locked in a stand-off. Determined to make him flee, Ul willed vines to grow from the bottom of each leg. The vines slithered over the floor, their red flowers and green leaves melting into woody stems that sharpened into arrowheads.

Sabien glanced nervously at the mess of arrows aimed at him. Only certain cat demons have blue eyes, he shouted defiantly. Tree demons, theirs are usually green, sometimes brown or gold, never blue. Yours are the right shape and the right size, but the wrong colour. Maybe you’re a Mystic, maybe you’re not. I don’t know what you are, but I knew another of your kind. He had green eyes. He’d make a more convincing tree demon.

Ul shuddered. I am a monster. I am.

Insisting that notion to be true simply wasn’t reassuring enough. Remembering to channel power through the matter array, Ul harvested elements from the floor and the walls, from the broken mural, the air, and nearby tapestries. Elements shot across the marble floor, invisible until it struck the bark flesh and flared.

Leg muscles swelled and lengthened, followed by the stomach, chest, and arms. Bit by bit, Ul grew not only in girth but height as well. And bit by bit Sabien straightened his head, eyes widening. Perhaps now he understood that Ul was neither a demon nor a Mystic pretending to be one.

Sabien lingered a moment longer and finally, succumbing to fear, fled Fehran’s Hall.

Ul waited for the roughers to return or bring with them a soldier or two to investigate. When no one came, Ul climbed over the indiscernible mess of fractured images heaped on the ground in the alley behind Fehran’s Hall.

The alley was empty. On the opposite side was an ancient ruin—the remnants of what had been another hall. Jagged walls stood higher in some places than others and extended as far as Northgate. To the right, a brick wall with stairs zigzagged up to the balustrade above where Clothiers began to gather and lean against the railing, peering down to determine what had befallen Fehran’s Hall. At the sight of a tree demon, they recoiled.

Yes, that’s better.

Hoping the Clothiers would simply run away, Ul swaggered toward the hill. Instead, more gathered to gasp and shriek and occasionally snicker. Ul stopped to listen to the hive of heightened anxiety and in the midst of their buzz, a tittering evolved into a strange annoying giggle.

Who dare laughs at a demon?!

Ul roared, a deafening sound reminiscent of forest trees being ravaged by a windstorm. A chorus of gasps and shrieks followed. Yet, the giggle persisted, erupting into loud, obnoxious laughter.

Roots shot out from Ul’s hands and feet and dug into the brick wall. Fist over fist, Ul climbed up to the balustrade, growing more irritated by the mirthful sound. Shrill screams pierced the air the closer Ul neared the gathering. Several Clothiers ran away, yet the laughter grew louder, more frenzied, full of mockery, and Ul finally spotted a young skinny Clothier, her body convulsing, her face twisted into a strange grin.

Stop laughing! Ul commanded.

Demons deserved the awestruck silence that came when someone recognized their superiority, but the Clothier slapped a hand over her mouth as she giggled, eyes wide and welling with tears, her body trembling.

Ul gripped the railing in one hand, while the other reached out and grabbed the Clothier, vines twisting about her thin waist, binding her, lifting her off the ground. She flailed, yet continued to laugh. Even when Ul shook her, the Clothier wouldn’t stop laughing. Tears streamed down her face. Ul shook her again and brought her close. Their noses nearly touched, and still she laughed. Finally, Ul howled. The crack of wood splitting beneath a fork of lightning thundered about them. The Clothier struggled to pry herself free, to run away, and yet she smiled.

She tried not to. Ul could see that now, how her lips quivered as she tried to resist the impulse, how they stretched wide despite her efforts. Her breath heaved and she squirmed to get away. The Clothier was indeed frightened after all. Satisfied, Ul set her back down on the balustrade, where she collapsed on the ground and curled up, wracked by laughter that finally gave way to a fit of sobbing.

That’s more like it!

Ul released the balustrade and climbed down the wall. Some of the bricks and stones dislodged underfoot and tumbled to the ground, evidence of Ul’s deeper destructive tendencies. Inspired by the debris, Ul landed on the ground and slammed both fists into the retaining wall with the might of a Xiines.

The wall shook. More stones and bricks tumbled free, and the balustrade high above cracked in several places. The gathering fell silent at the low rumbling and backed away from the railing, uncertain about their safety. Below, mice bolted from their tiny holes and skittered down the alley between the ruin and the retaining wall of the hill. Ul dashed after them.

Farther north, the alley became less brick and stonier in structure, the ground strewn with dried pine needles, dead leaves, and twigs. Ul snatched up several fuzzy black mice without any thought and ate them whole. Though they restored some energy, the biological reserve required more to ensure the temporal reserve remained intact, to ensure this life cycle and the others to follow lasted a very long time.

Ul searched for more mice, until the alley dead-ended unexpectedly, the ruin butting against the hill at an odd angle. Given the choice between scaling the hill or running the maze of rooms and corridors of the ruin, Ul sought out the nearest broken archway of a window and climbed through into the ancient hall. The remnants of a room opened onto another, and Ul strolled from room to room, down narrow corridors scattered with debris, down worn steps, and headed toward the far end, that part of the decrepit building closest to Northgate.

Northgate offered the shortest route to an abundance of energy, a jetty of woods that ran along the crest of a steppe of land and merged with Woedshor Forest, home to all kinds of living beings. A home indeed, as Sabien had suggested, but Ul was in no rush. Ul was a demon—a monster—and there were others who might benefit from a good scare. They were nearby. Ul felt them.

The march of feet vibrated through the well-packed ground. One. Two. Three. Four. Commands boomed throughout the ruins and then they were inside, swiftly infiltrating the roofless hull of the building, skulking behind half-walls and spying through broken archways.

The moss along Ul’s shoulders stood on end.

Soldiers. At least two of them crept about close by, and Ul backed into a room determined to hide from them. Although the ceiling was gone, portions of the walls and the floor were still tiled with indigo resin and yellow ceramics. Set into the middle of the floor was a large circular stone basin.

Two soldiers, practically boys, darted toward the room and hunkered down behind the half-walls on either side of the doorway. They signalled to one another. The shnnng of swords being released from their sheaths sung a brief haunting melody.

They’re so young. Too young. They’ll be easy to scare.

Ul hammered the rim of the ancient cistern with a fist, breaking off a large chunk of stone, delighting in the surge of fierce strength it took to raise it high into the air. Ul hurled it at the doorway, where it struck the half-walls, shattering the mortar, making the stone tumble free.

The young soldiers held their ground, raised their swords a little higher.

You’re supposed to run, Ul mumbled.

But they didn’t, and they spoke to one another and to Ul and to other soldiers nearby.

We’re not easy to spook.

We made a vow to the Magnes to protect him and his castle.

Come quickly, we’ve got the demon trapped.

Feet shuffled and men whispered behind distant walls.

Ul considered turning the slab of cistern into a living creature, something feral and fierce to scare the two young soldiers away, but doing so required both biological and temporal energy. Instead, Ul willed vines to shoot from both hands. The soldiers were quick and skilled for their age. They bolted forward, swung their swords and sheared the vines before they touched them, not realizing Ul’s true intentions.

Along the tile floor, over the rubble that had once been walls, a knot of roots spread out, swelling like a wave. It crept up, around the soldiers’ bodies, and squeezed tight, restricting their muscles, making them grunt and groan, forcing their swords from their grips. No matter how fiercely they writhed, Ul’s force exceeded theirs.

Ever so slightly, Ul lifted the soldiers off the ground and knocked them together. Their heads collided with a thump and they fell limp. The roots receded, easing the unconscious soldiers onto the ground.

Ul stepped over them, returning to the maze of the ancient ruin. Farther along, the corridor ended at what must have been a grand ballroom at one time. Cracked columns of pink marble still stood, yet most of the outer walls were gone. Here and there, slabs of marble jutted from the ground.

On the northern most wall, the wide girth of an old watchtower cast a shadow, and just beyond it, a newer tower cast a second.

A glint of metal. A sword swooshed and nicked Ul’s arm, drawing bright red blood against the bark flesh. The wound stung briefly as Ul jumped back to face the soldier who had been lurking behind a nearby pillar. He had been close enough to do more damage, but he hadn’t. At the sight of the blood, the soldier blinked in confusion.

Let me guess, Ul mumbled, immediately healing the minor wound and enduring the after-ache. Tree demon blood isn’t red. It’s something else, brown or yellow perhaps?

The soldier raised his sword in response. Across the ballroom, a flurry of movement. Feet scuffed the ground. One by one, from behind every pillar, soldiers emerged. Older ones this time; battle-scarred and no doubt more skilled than the first two. There were a dozen of them at least.

Ul circled backward, scanning them, making note of their positions. Scaring them would require more effort, more creativity, and Ul suddenly wondered if healing that wound was worth the expended energy, energy that would be better used for immobilizing these soldiers.

An arrow zipped through the air. Ul dodged it, noting the rope tied to the shaft. The first soldier let out a loud cry, and the other soldiers raised their swords and advanced, faces contorted in anger and aggression.

Ul shot out long whips of vines from both hands, one after another after another, aimed at the soldier about to strike a side blow, then at another with sword raised high, and at others close by. The vines wrapped about them, binding them tight, the energy in Ul’s biological reserve diminishing with every attack.

Some of the soldiers toppled to the ground immobile. Others remained upright, struggling to get free. The soldier with the sword raised high avoided having his weapon hand bound. He slashed at the vines until he was free again.

Another arrow zipped through the air, a thin rope trailing behind. Then another. This time, the arrow stuck into Ul’s right shoulder, the tip hooking the muscle. At the tug of the rope, Ul groaned from the sharpness of the wound.

None of them intend to kill me. No, they mean to capture me.

Ul recalled the demons locked away in the old prison, what was commonly called The Pit. That place was easy enough to escape, until Ul remembered the spider demon who had been magically bound by Mystics and had been kept there for hundreds of years.

Several soldiers tugged hard on the rope. Ul cried out. Before they caused any more pain, Ul snapped off the shaft.

Another arrow whizzed by. Ul caught this one and threw it back at the archer, then swung a wide backhand that hurtled several of the bound soldiers across the ballroom.

Ul sprouted a mess of roots beneath each foot, and with every step toward the end of the ancient hall, their buoyancy increased. Finally, Ul jumped hard against the ground and launched into the air toward the old watchtower, the springs of vines uncurling.

Halfway up the ruin, roots shot out from feet and hands and clung to the old stones and mortar. Ul crawled up the outside of the tower, approving of how some of the mortar and stones crumbled underfoot and rained down on the soldiers below.

At the top of the tower, Ul sat a moment in silence. Below, more soldiers infiltrated the ancient hall and freed the others before gathering at the base of the old tower. At the command of an officer, the men fastened ropes to grappling hooks.

Why don’t they have the sense to climb the stairwell inside the tower?

A glance at an opening in the floor of the lookout provided the answer. There were no stairs, only darkness.

Ul flinched as an arrow whizzed past an ear, then another. The nearly straight trajectories indicated the missiles came from somewhere high, and Ul looked in the direction of the other watchtower and spied archers crowded together, each desperate to be the one to strike the demon first. In the distance, soldiers guarded the jetty of woods and blocked Northgate and the road to Warfield.

The wound in Ul’s shoulder ached. Healing it seemed a waste of energy that would be better used for defensive manoeuvres or, given the way the archers goaded Ul, perhaps offensive ones. Not wanting to be wounded again, Ul decided to use a bit of energy to thicken the bark flesh.

The air fizzled and crackled. A force slammed into Ul’s chest. Fine chords of energy snaked and coiled around each limb, immobilizing every muscle, prickling every nerve. And the force of the energy caused the tower to grumble and shift.

This... this is magic!

Ul scanned the hillside for the source. Citizens of Sondshor Castle huddled by Mareel’s Gatehouse, and another crowd had gathered along the stairs which descended into the courtyard of Fehran’s Hall. The side of the hill had split in places from where Ul had punched the land. And farther eastward, the hillside plunged straight down, hints of architectural details poking through bush and grass. At the very precipice of that part of the hill stood another ruin. Perched on broken balconies and heaps of collapsed walls were figures in teal robes—Master Mystics.

There were six of them, their outstretched arms inscribing symbols into the air, calling forth energies to do their bidding. The magic stirred the air, creating a wind that whistled and whined. Ul tried to flex. Not a single muscle responded. Anxiety churned inside at the inability to move, a reminder of having once been trapped inside a gemstone.

Never again!

The floor shifted. The tower grumbled. Ul peered into the tower’s infrastructure, adjusting the scope of vision to detect the finer details—cracks in the mortar, decay and mold in the wood, rust on the spikes and nails. The tower was crumbling from the force of the magic, and it began to lean to one side, toward the pink marble walkway of the Colonnade that veered off into the west.

Ul had a choice, either brace for impact against the ground and be swarmed by Soldiers or find a way to dismantle the magic net. Peering deeper into the magic, Ul hastily studied the containment energies. They were complicated but not complex, and with the slightest mental nudge, the chords unravelled. Ul flexed a muscle just as the tower leaned at a steep angle. Giving in to using a bit of temporal energy, Ul deflected the Mystic’s attempts at ensnaring her again.

Ul lifted both arms straight above and willed silky vines from the ends of each finger. The tendrils wove into one another, enduring a rain of arrows, and created a tight mesh that billowed like fabric as the supernatural wind caught it. The tower pitched at an impossible angle. Ul’s feet released their hold and slid off the edge. The wind caused by the mystical summoning lifted Ul across the sky, high enough above the Soldier’s heads, clear of the tower that crashed in a deafening grumble, sending clouds of dirt into the air that obscured Ul’s gradual descent.

The wind pushed Ul well past the Dining Hall and Kitchen, past the old castle wall, where the Colonnade turned to rubble on the edge of a grassy field. The jetty of woods lay to the north, and across the field, beyond the prison, Woedshor Forest was a swell of green that offered abundant sustenance and camouflage.

As the wind subsided, descent increased rapidly. Ul released the sail and it fluttered back through the air and settled down onto a half dozen soldiers racing along the Colonnade.

Ul hit the ground running hard. Pangs of hunger ripped through Ul’s stomach at the emptiness within. Refuelling was essential before fatigue set in. Ul tore through the field, grabbing fistfuls of waist-high grass and eating it, but the energy the plants provided helped only a little.

Soldiers in full armour surged from Soldier’s Alley at the south end of the field. Scattered among them were teal robes. Master Mystics and soldiers advanced on the field together. Remaining steadfast, Ul fled toward the Prison with its smooth flat walls and watchtowers at every corner, wanting to run faster than a demon could, but the reservoir of energy within was nearly depleted.

I can’t fall asleep now. I won’t let them capture me. I won’t—

Black dots disrupted Ul’s vision. A deep breath. Rushing toward the south arm of the prison, Ul ducked low into the long grass, tearing out more fists of weeds to be eaten. At the south arm, the smell of earth and pine promised a reprieve from this nonsense, and Ul headed south along the wall.

A high pitched sound pierced the air followed by a strange pause that seemed to interrupt reality. Ul waited out the uncomfortable sensation. Reality resumed in a rush. Energy flooded the air, smashing into the wall. Brilliant light blazed. Ul fell to the ground, blinded, gut aching.

Fighting a few soldiers at once was a possibility, even a few Mystics, but an army of soldiers and Master Mystics required a life cycle of energy Ul wasn’t yet willing to sacrifice.

Blindly, Ul felt at the air at first, then the wall, where the smooth stone was now pitted and jagged. In the distance, the thrashing of long grass grew louder—someone approached. Dots of darkness finally faded. Ul’s vision returned, taking in the rubble strewn through the grass and the hole in the side of the prison.

With a deep breath, Ul tapped into what remained of the biological reserve of energy within as well as what was required from the temporal reserve to shift every molecule beyond the Root Dimension. Only a few seconds were needed to get away. Ul shifted. What remained was a faded image of a