Demon Singer (2 page)

2 WHAT TO DO?

The High Master of the Soul Singers Guild listened in cold silence as the other Masters discussed the issue of young Lyric tying to a demon, then rendering a room full of the most powerful soul singers in the world unconscious with a drinking song used by Singers in their fifth measure.  He smiled grimly as he wondered how effective this meeting would be with one of his advisors absent in a coma and the rest nursing hangovers.

"There is no way it can be allowed to stand." Keith Normvy was purple in the face as he pounded the table to emphasize his point yet again. Bailey Storn rubbed his temples as his cell phone jumped to the rhythm of Normvy’s tantrum and tried to ignore the line of spit that showed up between Keith's lips every time he got angry.

"For the hundredth time, Keith, no one is disputing that. Can you please stop being so loud? Seriously, how can you
not
have a headache?  The problem we face isn't reaching consensus on whether to allow this, but what do we do about it? There is no precedent to guide us here."

"No one has mentioned the obvious solution, distasteful though it is." Johnson Chab studied his spot at the table carefully as he spoke, as though seeking answers there.  Lomong regarded him with disgust.  It was no secret Lomong considered Chab to be a spineless weasel.  His diminutive stature coupled with an apparent lack of a neck made him a comical figure at best.

Nevertheless, he did not earn his place at this table easily.  None of them had.  Of course, that did little to temper Lomong's low opinion of the man.

"No one has mentioned it," growled the Voice Master from his seat near the head of the table, "because it is unmentionable. soul singers do not murder. I, for one, am glad the boy thought so quickly, before you sent him alive into hell.  One of our founding principles is the sanctity and protection of life. Disregard that and you may excuse yourself from this table, this room and this guild."  The large voice master fixed his intimidating scowl on Chab.

"Lomong is correct," the Guild Master interjected.  "We will not murder an innocent man. I refuse to allow that to be an option.  I’m still very interested in knowing who began the banishment song." The High Master of the Soul Singers Guild's normally smiling eyes fixed his companions with steel this morning.  He tried to be present at all castings, but pressing matters out west had him away from the guild.  A crazy woman was stirring up trouble in the supernatural community and had become a serious problem, the likes of which humanity had not faced in centuries.  The Four Kings requested he be part of the advisory council to determine how best to deal with her; three solid weeks of meetings, debates, defense plans, and the bane of his existence, politics.  The four kings had grown complacent and all the royalty were more concerned with maintaining the appearance of control than actually facing the problem.  On top of that, he had to deal with the disappointing performance of three of his active Singer's in Markhato.  With the last few weeks behind him, this debacle was not what he wanted to come home to.  The table remained silent, waiting for their leader to continue.  He let the quiet stretch out.

“It appears a reminder of this Guild’s purpose would be valuable,” he began quoting from the first page of the first Measure.  

“ ‘
One of the principal functions of the Soul Singers Guild is to defend humanity from all malignant supernatural creatures, but our chief enemies by far are the Fallen Ones; demons.
’ “  

He paused to interject, “to have a soul singer tied to a demon is worse than unheard of, it is almost blasphemous.”  He continued with his quote,

“ ‘We hold high the sanctity of life and the idea of killing an innocent is an affront to the Composer, in Whose likeness all humans were made, as well as a betrayal of those we seek to protect.’

“I need you to understand these basic truths of our order before you make hasty decisions, like banishing young Singers to hell.”

There was another long, uncomfortable silence before Lomong spoke up again.

"The boy is in my employ and I feel a certain amount of responsibility for him. He cannot remain tied to a demon and stay here; there are too many possible repercussions. What if we exiled him from the Guild with instructions to find a way to sever the tie?"

"Ridiculous," Normvy scoffed, "might as well go ahead and kill the boy now and spare him suffering.  Besides, who knows what kind of havoc that creature will wreak if you let them loose on the world?"

Bailey Storn smiled sardonically

"From what we witnessed in the casting chamber, I can't say suffering is the appropriate term. I'd be more concerned about his corruption.  Nevertheless, your concern is valid."  Bailey addressed the assembled.  "Can we be responsible for releasing a demon into the world?"

“That doesn’t matter.  Demons walk the earth freely."  Soldeck Fishne said impatiently.  "The core issue is the Soul Tie.  It isn't possible to sever the tie of Singer to Verger without killing them both.  Considering that is a property of the tie itself, I don’t see how it would be different for a Singer and a demon."

"That is not necessarily true, Fishne."  Their leader replied. All eyes turned to him.   "There are ways to sever the tie, difficult and dangerous yes, but it is possible."

The silence that followed was palpable.

"How would you know that?" Lomong asked quietly.

“
Why
would you know that?”  Fishne added.

"Let it suffice that I do." He met each pair of eyes around the table and they dropped from his with the exception of Lomong, who seemed surlier than usual.   The High Master sighed.   His second in command was invaluable and a powerful Singer in his own right.    He trusted him implicitly, but had discovered long ago that the man occasionally required a delicate touch.   "Lomong, you know the boy best, is his corruption a concern?”

“Of course it is!  How could it not be?  Any of us in that position would be in danger of corruption.  However, I’ve never met a boy like Lyric.  What kind of power must his Song hold that it can cast all the way through the Verge into Hell itself and tie a
demon
?  Unprecedented? Had the idea ever been brought up I’d have called it impossible.  Do we want to destroy a talent like that without trying everything we can to save it?”

“Besides,” the throaty alto voice of their youngest member, Allison Holt, spoke up.  “With the events unfolding in the west, can we afford to lose even one Singer?”  She turned to look at the leader of the Soul Singers Guild.  “We haven’t heard your report yet, sir, but everyone is aware of the rumors.  It is being said the woman Melody is a serious threat to Markhato and the entire supernatural community.  Should we be concerned?”

The man considered his words carefully.

“We should be faithful, Ms. Holt.”  He said firmly.  “Everything will play out according to the way the Composer has written it.  It would seem that Melody has a significant theme in the Score, but as I’ve listened closely over the last few weeks, something is out of tune with the whole situation.  I can’t help but wonder at what power might allow this woman to appear out of nowhere and have the influence and resources she has already.  Conflicting reports identify her as everything from a harmless rabble-rouser to a deadly force bent on the destruction of the world as we know it. There is no trustworthy information.  

"I’ve brought home the Singers stationed in Markhato.  Their time in the City of Light has made them soft, and dulled their ears to the Song.”  His eyes turned to Johnson Chab.  “Mr. Chab, I will be sending you to Markhato to lend your protection and experience to the Kings while I select three replacement Singers.  Mr. Fishne, I’d like you to accompany him.  Between the two of you, you should be able to keep the Kings well advised.”

“So we’re not concerned?”  Allison pressed.   Her leader smiled at her tenacity, one of the reasons he promoted her early.  She was careful, thoughtful and relentless, excellent qualities for those responsible for training the Defenders of the Score.

“Sometimes the Song is quiet, the Voice mysterious and the Composer unfathomable.  We will be vigilant and faithful to our duties.   As for the issue that brought us to this table,” the Master Singer tented his fingers and leaned back in his chair.  “The history of this young singer is thick with impossible situations that he has handled with integrity, skill and what appears to be almost constant blessing from the Composer.  It has been a long time since we’ve trained a Writer in this guild.  With everything the boy has shown us thus far, perhaps it’s time we focused his undeniable abilities.  The situation he is in now will naturally provide much of the tension we might have otherwise had to seek out or manufacture.  I suggest we send Lyric out with instructions to find a way to sever this tie. Keep a close eye on him, but don't interfere.  Let him choose his path.  He has demonstrated more than once his faithfulness to this Guild.  He is a resourceful, talented and powerful Singer.  Let's give him the opportunity to solve his problem. We can offer the incentive of Writer training to further motivate him."

“Respectfully, sir,” Lomong growled dangerously, “I wonder if you are treating this situation with the proper gravity.  It sounds to me, respectfully sir, that you’re treating this as a game we might put together in the guild for education, rather than a matter of a man’s eternal soul...respectfully...sir.”

The High Master's eyes fell on Lomong as he carefully considered the voice Master’s words.  There was no outward indication of the anger that rose up within him.  Regardless, the air in the room crackled with tension.

“Master Lomong,” he began slowly, “I understand you have a personal interest in the boy, as his primary Master.  Please don’t ever again assume that I take the fate of any of the members of this Guild with anything less than the utmost seriousness.  My recommendation and reasoning is sound and stands as is.  Question my decisions all you like, never question my motives.”   The High Master never raised his voice, yet the authority of his last statement cracked like a whip and Lomong sat back in silence.

"Will you share your secrets with him regarding the severing of his tie?"

Fishne's sour tone matched his face.

"I will give Lyric what help I can, but whether he succeeds or not will be up to him.  If he cannot or will not do it, I see no choice but to consider him fallen. At that point we will have to deal with him accordingly."

His advisors remained silent, so he spoke again.

"As always I will pay close attention to your council.  Let's vote."

3 SO MUCH FOR FAMILY

"Let me get this straight.”  Lyric paced back and forth in the voice shop, trying to process what Lomong had just shared with him.  The familiar ugly piano, the large mirror, the stack of music organized in a fashion that made sense only to Lomong, even the coffee pot his mentor used to brew tea; all things familiar and comfortable seemed alien suddenly, as though he no longer belonged among them.  “I’m supposed to leave my Guild, tied to the very thing I’ve pledged my life to fight.  I have one year to sever a tie that is supposed to be unbreakable and eternal.  If I succeed, the Guild will groom me to be the next Writing Master, a position that has never existed outside of stories since I have been here.  If I fail, the Guild will be sending someone to ‘handle’ me.  Is that about it?"

"That sums it up, son." Lomong replied with his characteristic lack of levity.

"Why not just kill me now and get it over with?"

"That's the alternative."

Lyric stared at his mentor in anger. Lomong's face remained impassive.

"Don't look so sad, Lover," Acheron’s boot heels clicked on the floor as she turned from her perusal of Lomong's book shelves and oozed between Lyric and his teacher, both of whom took a step backward.  Resting her forearms on his shoulders, she tousled the hair on the back of his head.  "You had to know these bastards will do anything to prevent you and me from happening." She spared Lomong a withering glance over her shoulder, before turning back to Lyric. "Look on the bright side, we're going to be spending a lot of time together and I can be
lots
of fun."

"There is no you and me." Lyric refused to look at the sultry demoness and pushed her arms away.  "You are a monster. I have been thoroughly trained to kill monsters.  In fact, just don't talk to me... ever." The soul singer stepped around her to address Lomong. "How am I supposed to sever a soul tie with this thing? Why would the Council give me an impossi..AHH!" Lyric leapt away from the sensation of a hot fork jabbing him in the rear.  He whirled on Acheron angrily.

"I can also be a real pain in the ass if you're rude to me.”  She smiled sweetly “Your girl isn’t a thing, she has a name and I’ll thank you to use it."

Lyric's eyes narrowed and he spat out a staccato phrase from a song of transference.  This particular song would transfer whatever the subject was feeling - emotional or physical - to another.  The Guild taught soul singers these songs as a means to enable better diplomacy.  Someone with Lyric’s quick mind and natural knack had the ability to improvise a bit.  This particular improvisation amped up the sensation Acheron had fired at him exponentially and returned it to her. Acheron's eyes widened briefly before she purred, "do that again, Lover, that's how parties start."

Lyric looked away in disgust.  Lomong almost smiled.

"Don't get pulled into her games son, you'll lose, and she'll just enjoy herself.  Come to my office before you leave tonight, I have something to give you."

* * *

"Lyric!"

Lyric stopped and turned at the sound of his name. Allison Holt, the youngest mistress in the Guild was hurrying to catch up with him.

"I smell fairies."  Acheron looked around.  Her eyes locked on Mistress Holt.  "She's cute!" the demoness said enthusiastically.  "Introduce us."  Lyric spared her a withering look before turning to greet his instructor.

"Mistress Holt, what can I do for you?"

The tiny Singer grabbed Lyric's arm and pulled him into an empty classroom off the hall.

"It's more what I can do for you." She pressed a small booklet into his hand.  He leafed through it briefly and his eyebrows shot up.

"Mistress, is this original?"

"Yes."  

"Why are you giving it to me?"  Writing new songs without Writer training was strictly forbidden in the Guild.

"Because you will likely need it.  It has all manner of songs in it that will be useful.  I will be presenting it to the High Master for inclusion into the curriculum for next year.

"No disrespect, Mistress, but why are you doing this?  What you've handed me here is tantamount to treason, besides, the Guild is likely going to kill me in a year's time."

"A lot can happen in a year, Lyric," the small woman said sternly.  "Do not think that any of the Council wishes to see you fail.  On the contrary, it is our belief in your abilities that is affording you this opportunity.  You never know where help will come from.  I expect you to return with a full report on how your unique dilemma has been resolved, including specific details on how this book may have aided you."  She began to turn away then stopped.  "Lyric, I want nothing more than the Guild to flourish and grow.  I would never betray the only place that's been a home to me.  You've been tapped for Writer training.  This book may help give you a leg up."

"Yes ma'am," Lyric tucked the book into his back pocket.  "I'm grateful for your support."

"It's extended on credit, Lyric," she looked pointedly at Acheron who blew her a kiss.  Mistress Holt shook her head in disgust.  "I expect you to earn it."

With that, she turned and left.

* * *

“Strange, you tying to a demoness,” Ervin sat in his barber’s chair facing Lyric who took his customary position in the center waiting chair against the wall.  Acheron sat beside him, looking around curiously, as he related his story.  The barber’s laughing blue eyes were unusually sober as he listened to his young friend.  “I didn’t even know that was possible.”

Lyric shrugged his frustration.

“Me neither,” the soul singer tried to keep the increasing desperation out of his voice, but it screamed from his body language as he spoke with the confidant of every student in the Guild.   The old man tapped his chin thoughtfully and hummed a pretty melody as he considered the dilemma.

Ervin was a pillar at the Soul Singers Guild.  No one knew how he came to be there, and each of the Masters gave a different answer.  Regardless, the entire Guild, masters and students alike, trusted and loved the affable barber.  With the rigorous demands of being a soul singer, there needed to be a place with an ear that was friendly.  Ervin filled that important function perfectly.  He listened closely, remembered names of family members and the minutiae of the students lives.  He always spoke directly, honestly and kindly.  Sometimes he even cut hair.  Lyric, like the rest of the Guild, wondered where he came from, briefly, and like the rest of the Guild, he dismissed it as a non-issue.

“What is your plan?”

“I don’t have one yet.  I have to leave the Guild and find a way to sever this tie, but I don’t even know where to begin.”

Ervin nodded,

“Far be it from me to speak on things you already know, but I’ve heard other students tell a story about two brothers who were tied to the same Verger and somehow managed to break that tie.  Are there any helpful ideas there?”

“It’s just a legend,” Lyric dismissed the idea.  “Even if it wasn’t, there’s no version that tells how the brothers did it, just that it happened when one of them lost control.  I can’t afford to lose control, especially since I’m not tied to a Verger.”  Acheron threw her arm around Lyric’s shoulders.

“Damn straight, Lover,” she smiled brightly, “I’m not a Verger.  Are we about done here?  I don’t like this guy.”  She turned her smile on Ervin.  

“I respect your honesty, my dear.”  The elderly barber chuckled kindly.  “I don’t suppose you have any helpful ideas?”

"Yeah, burn this place to the ground.  No issue if there's no Guild."

Ervin nodded gravely.

"You have a point, that would be effective, but I wonder if our friend Lyric might consider that to be doing more harm than good."  The barber smiled brightly.  "Perhaps you have a friend who specializes in bondage!"

"None you want to meet."

Ervin turned his gaze back to Lyric who was regarding Acheron with obvious disgust.

"The Composer knows what he's doing, Lyric.  Trust the Voice and remember your training.  One of the things I've learned here is that singers not only hear things differently than the rest of the world, they see things differently as well.  I think if you keep your ears and eyes open, all will be well."

Lyric stood and clasped Ervin’s hand affectionately before taking his leave.

* * *

Lyric sat across from Philip, his closest friend for the last several years.  He had just asked him to accompany him when he left the Guild.

Philip did not respond. He could not stop staring at Acheron, stretched out on Lyric’s bed ignoring them both, shooting smoke squares into the air from her fingertips.  Where every other male student in the hallways on the way to the dorms had gawked at her with obvious lust, Philip's expression carried only fear and sadness.

“I don’t know what to do, or how to feel.”  Philip finally spoke, still staring at Acheron who finally looked over and winked at him.  He paled and turned his eyes from her to his friend.  “You’re the closest thing I have to a brother.  There's no man on this earth who matters to me more than you."  Philip paused and glanced quickly at Acheron as though hoping she could not hear him.  The demoness had gone back to ignoring them.  "You’ve tied to the one thing we’ve been taught to hate above all else, the same thing that killed Krissy."  Philip's voice broke and he stopped talking, pulling himself together.  Lyric waited quietly, a cold numbness creeping up his chest.  Philip finally continued, measuring his words carefully.   "I think, until you are able to make some kind of headway with this Tie, I need to stay here.”

Lyric did not respond. He had been with Philip since he arrived at the school.  They had dormed together, eaten together, learned the secrets of the Guild together.  Lyric had been the one to support Philip upon the death of his younger sister three years ago. They had banished their first demon together, the very one who changed Philip's life forever.  He did not think anything could damage their friendship.  In his rational mind, he realized that it was unreasonable to expect his friend to support him, especially considering the mess he was in must hit a little too close to home and memories of Krissy.  His sense of betrayal was not rational.  The murky gray area his mentor and Master had plunged him into by throwing him to the wolves so to speak had left him needing a friend.  He had counted on Philip to be his implacable self, strong and steady.  Instead, with yet another twist added to the knot of tension in his chest, he felt himself close to the breaking point.  Since he could not trust himself to respond appropriately, Lyric stood up.

“I understand, Philip, I’ll see you when I get back.”  He left the room quickly and made his way to Lomong’s office, wanting nothing more than to be gone from this place that had already stopped feeling like home.  Acheron followed him down the hallway.

“Your friend is a tool.”  She said.

“I don’t see any reason to talk to you about anything, so if you could please shut up, that’d be super.”  Lyric lengthened his stride, irrationally trying to lose the demoness.

“Of course, if you talk to him the way you talk to me I’d probably leave you high and dry too.”  She easily kept pace with him, smiling in amusement at his distress.  Lyric stopped and turned on her.

“Shut up!!”  He exploded at the hellion.  All the lessons the Guild had drilled into him about self-control over the years evaporated in the heat of his frustration.  “You disgusting, skeezy, WHORE!"  Everyone in the hall stopped pretending to ignore them and stared outright.   "Being around you
literally
makes me want to throw up on your face!  Demon or Verger, it makes no difference, I am your Singer. The Guild has trained me to destroy the likes of you and like it or not you are in
my
control!  So SHUT UP!!”

“Temper, temper,” Acheron cocked an eyebrow.  “That’s no way to treat your new bestie.  Being that we’re tied together for the rest of
your
life, you should try to be nicer to me.  Besides,” she got close enough for him to feel her hot breath on his face, “you wouldn’t want to do anything mean to this face, would you?”  She smiled dazzlingly and the knot in Lyric’s back came back, as for a brief instant he considered closing the last inch and kissing her.

“DAMMIT!!” He shouted and wheeled away, focused on reaching his voice teacher’s office as quickly as possible without losing his last shred of dignity and running flat out.  Acheron laughed happily and matched his pace.

* * *

Lomong did not remark on Lyric’s sudden red-faced appearance with a smirking hellion on his heels.  Instead, he opened a drawer in his desk and pulled out an ancient, weathered book.

"Here," he tossed it to Lyric, who deftly snatched it out of the air despite his disquiet.  "Since I can't finish your training, this should give you some help."

"I can't read this" Lyric frowned, thumbing through it.

"I'm sure you can't.  That, son, is the eighth measure.”  Lyric stared at Lomong in shock.  The voice master continued.  “It was written over a thousand years ago.  No human can read it on his own.  An idiot of a Singer lost the most recently copied version in the thirteen hundreds. A Mr. Voynich found it at the beginning of the last century. Every copy looks different and is completely untranslatable.  The Voynich copy is apparently full of charts, drawings of hydraulics and naked ladies.”