Revelation (Rai Kirah) Read Online Free Page B

wrists. I jerked my hands away from the monster, but the flat rings did not disappear . . .
    . . . slave rings . . . and my hands were not my own. They were slender young hands . . . a girl’s hands . . . and the monster was not a misshapen manifestation of demon life, but a slack-jawed man with eyes that devoured me with imaginings of unholy pleasure. He licked his lips . . . and his tongue came toward my face . . .
    With disgust and fury I lashed out, trying to banish the images of the evil this soul had wrought. But one after another they came upon me in all their terror, pain, shame, and degradation. I lived those children’s horror as I fought, unable to see the monstrous limbs or sharpened fangs because of the visions that clouded my sight. I had to fight with senses that were not sight, to guide my hands and feet with the remembrance of the bestial form, not allowing myself to be misled by the evidence of my eyes. And when I at last plunged my dagger into the living center of the demon shape, I was so outraged at the violation of those children, that I made a terrible mistake.
    When its physical manifestation dies, the rai-kirah is set loose. The Warden must discern the position of the demon as it leaves the dead hulk, and use the Luthen mirror to paralyze it, giving it the choice to leave the host or die. But on that day, once I had the demon trapped, I gave it no choice. I killed it, not in sober judgment, but in rage, and I killed it so violently and so viciously that I killed the victim, too.
    Whatever land and sky had existed around me dissolved instantly into chaos. A whirlwind of darkness streaked with garish colorings, a nauseating disorientation as up and down, left and right, lost all meaning. I struggled to keep my own body from being ripped apart in the tumult, and I lunged for the gray portal, shimmering, wavering at my back . . .
     
    “Do you know what you’ve done?” Fiona’s harsh accusation was the first thing to penetrate the momentary confusion of my return to the real world. The Aife could not see into the landscape she created, only sense the shape of it and the outcome of the battle as it progressed. But she would not mistake the death of the victim.
    “I struck too hard,” I said—in explanation, not justification. A Warden did not have to justify the outcome of a battle save to another Warden. No one but another Warden understood how difficult demon combat could be. “He did not deserve to live.” I believed that. I had walked his soul and I knew. But I had never intended to kill him.
    I got slowly to my feet, taking stock of limbs and senses, of bruises and aches, making sure that the blood that soaked my clothing and covered my hands was not my own. A red clay jar and mug sat on the stone platform, and I filled the cup over and over until the cool, clean water was gone. I felt as if I’d been trampled by a herd of maddened chastou. Every bone ached. My skin felt stretched tight and was raw from venom and scraping claws.
    “What happened? Explain it.”
    “I don’t have to explain it.” Every breath grated like skin on ground glass.
    I cleaned and put away my weapons, washed my hands and face, and retrieved my cloak from the preparation room.
    “You’re not leaving? We’ve not sung the chants or wiped the floor or—”
    “Do them if you wish. I need to sleep.”
    “This is a violation. The law says—”
    “Gods of night, Fiona. I’ve just fought a monster for half the night. I can scarcely stand. The demon is dead. The victim is dead. Wiping the floor and singing will change nothing.”
    I did not look back as I strode into the forest. The raging in my blood masked the too long hours of combat and the too short hours of sleep. I didn’t know when I would ever be able to sleep again. How could I have done it? I was not fool enough to believe I could fight as I did and never make mistakes. We had to take the risk, and my old mentor Galadon had made sure I understood that