Page 70 of Caught in the Devil’s Hand

After they’d put Shumei to bed, they’d had quite a long conversation with Oka concerning what had happened to his older sister. The boy had been much more suspicious than they’d led her to believe, but they had successfully quelled his concerns.

Only after that intense inquisition was Vallen finally able to tell Rosuke of the news about their cure. Rosuke had cracked a joke, certain Vallen was kidding about finding the Devil’s Hand, and only when Vallen had pointed out the open spell book on the table did Rosuke believe him.

Rosuke had lost the ability to speak, then the ability to sit straight, slumping in shock and putting his face in his hands. He’d muttered to himself for a moment, sending up prayers of thanks to the Divine One.

“I know you love her, Vallen,” he’d eventually said, “but for what she’s done for me—for us—and for what she’s about to do, I swear on my life to spend what remains of it doing everything in my power to show my full and undying loyalty.”

They had spent the rest of the day preparing a separate bedroom for Rosuke and cleaning the inner ring of hallways, but one of the three of them felt the need to check on Shumei more than a dozen times. As they worked, Rosuke had him and Oka laughing several times, his spirits higher than Vallen had seen in centuries.

Of course, Rosuke had not yet used his bedroom. As demons, neither of them needed to sleep, and with an end to their curse in sight, they wouldn’t have been able to even if they’d tried.

Looking at Shumei, who regarded Rosuke with feigned anger, Vallen realized just how much she had given both of them, and how much more she was going to give them. He wondered how he could ever repay her.

“There are some dresses to choose from in the cabinet over here,” he explained, getting off the bed as well. She turned to him. “You may join us for breakfast in the sitting room in about an hour, I would estimate.” He headed toward the bedroom door, through which Rosuke had already left.

Shumei hadn’t told him about her dream yet. She had dreamed it again last night, and it had been longer this time. More details about the land had become clear to her, and they hadn’t faded into the vague memories of dreams one usually had after waking.

She still remembered the many vistas, the faces of leaders who had witnessed her passing, and even the dress she’d worn as she’d traveled through all these realms—white with a golden sun pattern. At the end, when she had arrived at Vallen’s estate, she had recognized one of the black-haired people who’d come to greet her. Rosuke’s smiling face was right behind Oka as both ran up to her, including a third person—a woman with confident eyes.

“V-Vallen,” she started, rising to her knees. He turned back to her, eyebrows raised. She stared at him for a moment, and the words she wanted to say were on the tip of her tongue. “It’s nothing, never mind.”

“Take your time getting dressed,” he said, smiling. He slid the door shut behind him, and his footsteps faded as he walked down the hall.

“I dream about you,” she whispered, staring sadly at the closed door. “And in my dreams, you’re dead.”

⁂

Everyone had finished the midday meal, and Shumei sat on the edge of the porch, swinging her legs. The dress she’d chosen was deep blue and covered with a koi fish pattern from collar to hem. The turquoise belt had given her difficulty, being of a style she’d not worn before. The two ends of the bow in back were meant to drape low, and it had taken her forever to keep them short enough not to touch the floor when walking around. She rather liked the effect, though, for it looked like a bright blue tail.

Vallen and Rosuke had liked it as well, but Oka had wondered why anyone would wear something so hard to fight in.

“Why would I need to fight if you three are protecting me?” she had asked, and in response, Oka had straightened with pride. She knew being equated to two skilled warriors would please him.

Thus, the three of them had been engaged in sword practice all morning. At present, Oka was taking a break to watch Vallen and Rosuke show off their rather impressive techniques using real swords. The wide-eyed look on her brother’s face made her smile every time she glanced at him.

She, however, was busy memorizing the ritual circle. She returned her gaze to the spell book, which lay on a cloth draped over her lap to protect her skirt from the cover’s chalky black residue. Frowning with concentration, she scrutinized the complicated pattern.

Several basic shapes overlapped, each containing symbols Vallen had explained were the written form of Mahou. One read sunder, another read lust… This complex array was then surrounded by several concentric circles of different thicknesses, which apparently determined how much magic was fed into different stages of the invocation and how quickly. Within these rings were longer phrases in Mahou, each describing desired magical effects.

She was only grateful there was no specific order in which to draw the circle, and the dimensions didn’t have to be perfect. Vallen had told her of spells where the time limit was even smaller, and the circle could only be successfully drawn if the caster never lifted the writing instrument they were using. She wished she could have the spell book next to her and open for reference when drawing it for real, but allowing another representation of the circle within the ritual space disrupted the casting.

Both hands on the pages in front of her, she leaned down and stared at the circle she had come to loathe, wishing with all her might that she knew it by heart. She wanted to be able to draw it in fifteen minutes, eyes closed. But so far, the fastest she’d managed was twenty minutes too long.

Her vision blurred. She lifted her head and blinked but couldn’t get her focus back. She shut her eyes, waited a moment, and then opened them again. The pages had turned black and looked as deep as a canyon, as vast and powerful as the ocean Vallen had once described to her.

Then she lost her balance.

Her hands sank into the book, through her legs, through the porch, and then she tipped forward, falling into the pages. Her feet flew over her head. Her whole body was being sucked into the book.

Panicking, she tried to look around, but saw only darkness. She couldn’t even see her hands in front of her face. Then a faint figure appeared before her. It looked like a person, but it had no clean shape, as though it wasn’t solid.

The circle appeared in front of her, giant and shining. It glowed so bright the air hummed at a resonance that hurt. She slapped her hands over her ears, eyes watering because she couldn’t close them. Then the humming cut off and the circle burst into a thousand pieces, all jagged shapes like broken glass. She screamed in fright as they flew at her, but she couldn’t move. She could only float there as they came zooming at her.

The first one pierced her body, warm and liquid. She fell silent with a gasp when there was no pain. The pieces all fell into her, then into place inside her, reassembling themselves. Her mind’s eye traced the circle over and over again, starting from a new spot every time. She watched it being traced hundreds, thousands of times and knew she would never forget its shape.

Then a new circle appeared in front of her, and she somehow knew it was the circle drawn to invoke the Incubus Curse. It burst as well, flying into her body and imprinting itself on her brain.

Another circle appeared, and then another. One for curing a particular magical illness, one for growing whole forests, one for casting a defensive shield over a city thousands of miles away, one for a ritual to pay homage to the Divine One.