They left the circle and watched uneasily as he deftly joined the lines again. This ceremony he knew only from his studies. He’d never even witnessed an actual exorcism, but Sedge was the only living person who might know what had actually happened the night of Toneus’s murder, so he had to risk it.

Taking up the ink and brush, he painted warding symbols on his own forehead, over his heart, and on the palms of both hands. Kneeling beside Sedge, he wove a seeking spell on the air. It spread lazily over the man’s body for an instant, then streamed swiftly into Sedge’s mouth and nose as if he’d suddenly sucked in a great breath. He convulsed violently for an instant, then sat up and gave Thero a sly, baleful look, eyes rolled up in his head, leaving only the bloodshot whites showing. “Aka nor reh?” he growled in the same thick, eerie voice he’d spoken with in the madhouse.

Thero blinked in surprise. The words meant “Who summons me?” in early Konic.

“Aka tu mani?” Who are you?

Sedge let out a horrid laugh. “Urazia reh tu ali?” Want me to show you?

“Ra nor tu. Ali tua!” I summon you. Show yourself!

Sedge shuddered, then fell back on the blankets with a choked snarl, a plume of thick grey vapor pouring from his mouth. Formless, it swirled and buffeted around Thero, confined within the wards of the protective circle. The painted symbols on Thero’s skin grew hot and felt like they were crawling across his skin; whatever the spirit was, it was trying to invade his body as it had the captain’s. The warding symbols Thero had placed on Sedge would not let the creature back in, either. Formless though it was, Thero could hear it hissing and spitting in anger, and suddenly something cut across his forearm, opening the thick wool fabric of his coat like a razor whip and leaving a welt on the exposed skin. Other blows came in rapid succession across his shoulder, across his knee, his cheek, as the entity attacked from every direction at once like a storm of lashes. It couldn’t draw blood, thanks to his protective magic, but the pain was real and serious. Protecting his eyes with one arm, he reached in his pocket for anything he could use. He had nothing but the lump of chalk. This he held up, shouting “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” Bind, twice bind, thrice bind this being.

A storm of sharp blows covered his hands and neck. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!” He clung to the chalk, hoping desperately that it would not shatter, and chanted the third and fateful binding. “Avah! Aravah! Arasaaavah tula reso!”

A roar like thunder threw him against the table, but still he held the chalk. The grey vapor constricted around him, burning like fire, then it was gone. The chalk was so hot now it was raising blisters on his fingertips. He tried to pull himself up one-handed by the edge of the table, but it overturned on him. The basin and ewer smashed to bits and water sloshed across the floor, sinking into the cracks between the floorboards and running along them like channels. If the protective circle was washed away and the binding didn’t hold, the others would be killed.