Instead of rooming with the Tolokok who clearly wanted space for the night, I spotted a pile of fresh hay in the back of the keep. With a huff I flung myself back into it and attempted to get comfortable. Fingers trailing over the tip of one of the daggers, the one that had pierced the hand of that man, I wondered if I’d truly gone too far. Had that all consuming wrath been my own, or the shadows? I’d need to expel a bit of the magic soon. My rage was always too quick to spark when I kept it contained for too long.
You should have gone further, little shadow.
I scowled slightly as they slithered through my thoughts, thick and ominous with contempt. They always pushed me, fed and fanned my anger until it was raging fire within. An inferno of vengeance and injustice.
We are but of one mind.
They hissed.
We cannot create what is not already there.
Do not fear us for we are you.
Do not blame us for we do not create what you feel.
Your mind is your own. We are merely an extension of your desires, your magic.
Weareyou.
"You arenotme."
I slammed down upon them, fortifying that mental barrier I had been building all my life. I felt the anger as they whirled within, furious at the rejection, but I gritted my teeth, pushing back until there was silence.
Pure and blissful nothingness.
Stiffening at a sudden noise, I stilled, head tilting as I listened closely.
There it was again. The crunch of sand beneath boots.
Instantly my daggers were in hand, my full attention fixed on the entrance of the stables. Had those bastards seen me enter the Tolokok keep for the night?
Adrenaline melted to confusion when a soft feminine voice called out a quiet, "Hello?"
I stood just as the girl from the caravan came into view, holding something clutched to her chest. When her gaze found my daggers, she lit up, quick steps leading her further inside.
"You really know how to wield those?" She asked, slowing until she was a few feet away, her wariness returning.
Sheathing the blades, my shoulder lifted. "I do."
"Did those soldiers teach you?"
I cleared my throat. “Some of them. What’s your name?”
The girl hesitated before she answered, her toe digging into the sand. “Yasmine. I told my Pa about how you approached the caravan after our show. He scolded me for being rude and said I should apologize, especially after you intervened on our behalf with those men."
"Your Pa sounds like a good man."
Yasmine eyed me for a moment, before she thrust the rectangular parcel wrapped in brown paper towards me. “To show our gratitude for your help. You were asking of the tale we told and that book contains all the ones we tell on our journeys. My father writes them himself, it's not the original, but a copy he made in case his journal was ever destroyed or misplaced."
Running a hand over the rough brown paper the journal was wrapped in, the coarse bit of string that was tied into a bow around it, I softly spoke. “Thank you, this will be very helpful."
"I have to head back now or else he'll be worried, but," Yasmine hesitated once more, "if we meet again, will you teach me how to use those?"
I followed her line of sight to the blade strapped to my thigh, a smile tilting the corners of my lips. "If we meet again," I promised with a nod, before motioning for her to go. “Hurry back, don't make your Pa worry."
After Yasmine departed I settled back into my bed of hay, tearing apart the brown paper to see a leather bound journal, thick with knowledge. Excitement coursed through me as I began to carefully flip through the pages, reading brief passages—tales of the Celestial War, simple, eerie stories meant to be told around campfires. I didn't stop searching until I settled upon one sentence.
The Demon Princes of the Nine Hells.
