by S. L. Prater
“They long for me,” boomed the demon. “I’ll eat your heart!”
Jack smashed his forehead into the face of the bear. Its muzzle crunched, and the demon groaned.
Another swipe of its paw, and Jack was on his back, wheezing. The demon stepped on his chest, its clawed foot large enough to cover his abdomen. Jack punched its calf, and the massive leg buckled. It collapsed, and bits of the cave crumbled. Mud and small stones fell in Marnie’s eyes. She rubbed them clean quickly.
They grappled, panting and growling at one another. Jack’s nose bled. His hands were caked in sweat and dirt and fur. The demon wheezed. They rolled into walls and jagged stalactites. Pebbles and dirt loosened and rained down on them from the cavern’s ceiling.
Marnie chanted on, filling the cave with the smell of carnations, pumpkin seeds, wet leaves, and wood smoke. Loose stones rose in the air, hovering on the heavy magics. More rock fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing her. Light poured through the new openings. The bear demon’s maw was full of thick yellow teeth. One of its eyes was milky white, rotten. The vile scent of demon poured from the socket.
She felt the nudge, the gentle suggestion, from the spell of guidance in her inked star. Marnie knew what she had to do. Truth be told, she knew what she had to do without the spell.
She just didn’t want to do it.
“I grow weary of this,” the demon rasped. It yawned a great yawn that made its massive jaw pop. “The trees of the forest serve my every whim. With them, I never need to fight for my food. It’s brought to me at my liking. This is foolishness.”
Marnie focused on her magics, but the golden threads were sleepy and gray. She sent them to wrap around Jack, to lift him to safety.
“It’s . . . not . . . working,” Jack panted. His voice was faint, weakening.
Marnie unfolded the knife. The silver shuddered in her hand. The red crystal glowed like fire.
“The blade you carry brings death,” the demon said. “I only need to wait for you to die, and then I can fetch it off your corpse. Leave me and live for now. Abandon the warrior witch as my next meal. Let him become a martyr for your kind.”
The blade vibrated in her grasp. She charged the beast.
“Marnie, don’t!” Jack shouted.
She plunged the knife in its rotten, milky eye.
The crystal ruptured. The explosion threw her high. Marnie’s head hit rock. Her vision swam. A small, distant part of her mind was aware her hand was gone. She blinked, fighting to stay awake.
The black boulder-like body of the bear demon sprawled motionlessly. The stink of demon rot dissipated.
Marnie’s eyes shut against her wishes. She opened them to see Jack scooping something off the ground—her hand?—hefting it carefully.
She felt his lips, ice-cold, pressing fiercely against hers, smelled the healing magics, like chamomile.
Then Marnie saw darkness.
* * *
“Is she alive?” Shar’s voice.
“She’s alive.” Jack’s gruff voice.
Marnie’s eyes slid open. She saw blurry sunlight peek through a web of tree canopies. Then more darkness.
When her eyes opened again, she was lying over Jack’s shoulder, watching his familiar bare feet stomp down mossy undergrowth.
“She stopped breathing.” Shar’s voice.
“Fuck!” Jack’s voice. “Hang on, Marnie. We’re almost there.”
She wanted to speak, to ask questions. Is it over? Am I dead? The pain in her head and arm was too much. The darkness consumed her.
* * *
Marnie awoke to arguing voices. It took her mind a moment to register her surroundings: the roof of the canvas tent, the rim of the metal bathtub, the thick, cold, green liquid she floated in which smelled, not unpleasantly, like moss and grass and seaweed.
The fact that she was completely naked and not alone—this took its time sinking in. Her cheeks smoldered.
“She is the one who has the ear of the emperor,” Shar said. She huddled near Jack and Constable Alec by the tent flap. Her tight black braids were tied in a knot at the nape of her neck. She chewed at her nails.
Jack mussed his honey-colored hair. “Let her rest. She needs more time to heal.”
“She’s been out for three days, and we only have one left!” Shar held up her finger for emphasis. “The edict is stamped and sealed by the high councilor himself. Many people will refuse to leave. They have committed too much to this land. The Church of the Cloth fears them unjustly, but tomorrow these people will give them something to be afraid of! Many will die!”
“Brother Doyle has already gone on ahead,” Alec said. His arm was in a sling made from his red stole. He appeared otherwise unharmed. His clothing had seen better days, now covered in linen patches. “I will join him. Together we will tell the bishop, the emperor, the high council—anyone who will listen will know what I saw. Brother Doyle took the bear demon’s corpse along with him. The crown will know what you all accomplished, what Marnie and Jack did for the kingdom. We won’t sit by and let them take this land from you now that you’ve salvaged it.”
“If rumors can be believed, the emperor favors our hero witch.” Shar paced the small space between her cot and the tent flap. “It needs to come from her.”
Marnie made a noise. It was supposed to be words, but her throat was a desert. Her voice cracked when she tried to clear it.
Jack was the first by her side. He checked her eyes, pulling at her lids. His fingers probed her. She wanted to protest her nakedness, but his cool hands soothed the bloom of bruises she felt on her chin and the dark purple splotches spread over her chest.
“Marnie, child?” Shar said. “Are you truly awake this time?”
Marnie blinked at them. Her vision was fuzzy around the edges. Her body ached dully. “I . . .” She lifted her hand.
What was left of it.
Shar hugged herself. “We did the best we could, child.”
“It’ll be all right, Marnie.” Jack patted her head, squeezed her shoulder. “I’ll keep working on it. I’ll make it all right. We’ll get you a mechanical one. It’ll be even better than your real one.”
Magic had repaired her chin. She felt the thin scar with her fingers. It had also reattached her right hand, which felt numb and strange, like a clump of clay stuck to her wrist. Master Shar told her three of her fingers had been unsalvageable. Marnie stared at the linen bandages engulfing her wrist and palm. She flexed her thumb and pointer finger, which were black as coal. The color would return to normal, the alchemist vowed.
“We should let you sleep,” Jack fussed. “You need another day of rest, at least.”
Marnie waved him away. The world felt dream-like. Nothing seemed entirely real, aside from her pain. “I’m alive. That’s what matters,” she breathed.
Jack did an odd thing then. He kissed her forehead, worry pinching his gaze. She patted his arm, moved by his affection.
“The entire island now knows the bear demon was real.” Alec kept his back to her. Marnie appreciated the privacy. He was favoring his right foot, she noted. “Brother Doyle planned to present its head to the bishop. That got them talking, I bet.”
“They were gone for less than a day before a new crew showed up on orders from their captain,” Shar said. “Blade Guards. Hundreds of them. There are trees in these woods full of rubber sap. Fresh water. Minerals in the caves, iron deposits, possibly even gold, and the demon filth is gone now.”
Marnie tried to sit up. The thick green liquid clung to her, slurping when she moved. “I don’t understand.”
“The crown doesn’t want this rich land to be unincorporated anymore,” Shar said. “And once again, we need you, Marnie. We must impose upon you to save us.”
“Jack, the knife?” Marnie asked, eyes watering.
He brushed her hair out of her face, a small smile curling his lips. “It’s gone. Completely destroyed.”
“The demons?”
“Gone.”<
br />
She blinked away the urge to cry. Jack pressed another kiss to her hair.
Marnie gritted her teeth, struggling against the sap-like goo. “Get me out of this bathtub, Jack,” she breathed. “Over my . . .” She was already winded. “Over my dead body, they’ll take Magus District now. I lost my best fingers for it! But first, I’m going to need help rolling a cigarette. Lots of cigarettes.”
* * *
The gallows of Magus District had been delivered overnight. Guardsmen hovering near its platform wore black tunics with swords on their hips and rifles on their backs.
“An airship dropped it by the wharf as the Blade Guards docked,” Shar said outside her tent. They stared together at the mechanical monstrosity as it hissed steam into the air, pistons whirring.
The size of the camp had been cut in half. Marnie saw several abandoned tents. The cleansing fire was out; the blackened wood smoking gently. The air was clear, free of demon rot. The trees no longer swayed or crackled. It was safe to enter the woods again. Small foraging parties did so, returning with baskets of berries and mushrooms.
Marnie borrowed fresh clothing from Shar. She had to roll up the trousers. The blouse was loose and bright purple, like her bruises. She attached her apprentice badge in the space above her heart, mindful of her many contusions. The lion was in rough shape, faded and cracked. Her clothing was lightweight but still uncomfortable brushing the welts on her chest. An ache made itself known in each of her muscles, but she gritted her teeth and stomped toward the gallows.
Several paper edicts dotted the platform before her. She ripped one free. The nearest blade guard pulled his sword threateningly.
Marnie pointed to her lion badge—what remained of it. “My business is the emperor’s business. Leave me be,” she snapped.
He sheathed his sword, convinced either by her confidence or the madness in her eyes.
She scanned the paper declaration furiously. Beside the latitude and longitude of their current location was a small hand-drawn map of the camp. Below it, a deadline was stamped in red, dated for tomorrow at sunrise. The bottom of the edict was covered in signatures. None of the signatures included Bran’s rushed hand—she double-checked.
By royal decree, signed this day by high council Alastor of House Bechtold, sanctioned by the royal council, all who reside in the place formerly known as Magus District will vacate the premises by the listed date. Violators found on the grounds are trespassing. All trespassers will be hung from the neck until dead. Final warning.
Marnie wadded up the edict in her fist and then thought better of it. She smoothed it out, folded it neatly, and tucked the paper in her borrowed blouse.
* * *
Late in the afternoon, a trolley let Marnie and Jack off a block from the palace. She marched toward its hulking stone walls and spiral parapets with Jack at her heels. On the move, she had to stop herself twice from checking for the demon blade. The silver folding knife was gone for good, and so were its demons. She felt lighter, still sore for sure, but lighter.
Frogs brought out by the light drizzle hopped for cover from her stomping boots. The braziers flanking the palace steps were the first oddity Marnie registered. The blazing fires were an unnatural shade of green. Next, the gates were barren, no crowd. Blade Guards patrolled the entrance lazily.
Raif caught her attention, arms waving over his head. He motioned them over to a space in the bars beside the shrubbery. Marnie had the distinct impression he was expecting her.
“Good God, girl! Look what happened to you! I almost didn’t recognize you with all those bruises.” Raif stared in disbelief at her bandages.
“Not important right now,” Marnie said, feeling flushed. She tucked her injured hand behind her back.
“You’ve got to explain something to me, Sophia.” His pale red eyebrows were knit together. “Why is Captain Alastor so sure you’re about to break into the palace without a summons? I was told specifically to watch for you and to alert him when I saw you.”
She felt her mouth shrinking. “Because Alastor doesn’t want the emperor to find out about this in time to do anything.” Marnie handed him the edict through the bars.
Raif read quickly, his blue eyes squinting. “I’ve heard about that camp. They’ve been out there a long time.” He returned the edict.
“Which is why this is horseshit, and if I don’t get in there to warn Bran, a lot of people are going to die.”
“Lower your voice,” Raif cautioned. He glanced over his shoulder.
“Has Constable Alec been through?” Jack asked.
Raif nodded. “He was here this morning. I haven’t seen him since. He’ll have a hard time getting to the emperor right now. The delegation is in full swing, has been for days. I can’t even get in to see the lord, and I work here.”
“Delegation?” Marnie asked.
Raif pointed behind him to the braziers with their unnatural fire and the banners which streamed from the palace parapets: the naked tree symbol for the Cloth, the capital’s crown banner, Stejin’s ram, and Acheus’s rearing horse.
“Hundreds of landowners are inside right now, arguing the merits of the current appointment system. If everything goes as expected, citizens of Loreley will soon select all their leaders, church and crown included, by a vote. The fires will stay green until the delegation has decided. And I don’t think I need to remind you that, unless you have a summons or can get your hands on one, I can’t let you in through the gates.” Raif leaned close, his voice a whisper, “From what I hear, you don’t need a gate to get anywhere you want to go.”
Marnie understood his meaning. Her heart thumped in her chest. Stress had her pulse dancing. If she used magic to commit a crime, the Cloth could string her up in the streets. For trespassing at the palace, a blade guard could cut her down on sight.
Raif straightened up and cleared his throat. “I’m feeling unwell,” he said loudly, drawing attention. “I’m going to end my shift early.” Then he lowered his voice. “In about an hour, I’m thinking I’ll feel like visiting the palace library. I like that place. It’s calming.” He winked at her.
* * *
“You can’t come with me,” Marnie said.
“I can’t just sit on my hands, either.” Jack was in Marnie’s bedroom, facing the wall while she changed her clothes.
“You’re not going to do nothing.” She pulled on a common cream frock and found her black apron. “You’re going to pray for me. I need all the help I can get and luck to boot.”
Short on fingers, Marnie recruited him to help her tie the apron. Then she tucked the edict in the front pocket.
He turned her and gripped her shoulders, his eyes locked on hers. “Do not let anyone catch you in the palace using magic. Bran can pardon you for a lot of things, but not if you’re caught using magic.”
Marnie squeezed his hands for good luck. Then she stepped back, closed her eyes, and transported.
“Hell’s balls!” Raif yelped when Marnie materialized before him. He had been browsing through a book in the palace library—Bran’s makeshift room—but it slipped out of his fingers in his surprise, clattering to the floor.
“Oh no,” Marnie said. On the red velvet settee was the morning’s newspaper. She was drawn to a title on the front page beside a photo of her walking through the markets. She unfolded it and read.
Hero Witch?
No one denies the bravery of Sophia Marnie Becker. No one is more grateful than the villagers whose homes and livelihoods were most threatened by the spreading demon magic in the northern jungles, but should unquestioning deference always be awarded to the actions of the brave? Even our strongest, most beloved soldiers, in times of war, come home more volatile after facing atrocities. Who is ensuring our witch is properly evaluated for risk after spending so much time in the presence of demons?
Marnie Becker, hero or not, is still a witch, still susceptible to the organic magics which attract demon filth. Before she resumes her services as appr
entice council, the Sophia needs to receive extensive testing by the Cloth to ensure our hero witch has not turned street.
Marnie crumpled the paper and threw it. She took a deep breath. “One problem at a time,” she said to herself. Through her frock, she touched the Sidra symbol inked over her heart for comfort and grounding.
“Clever, dressing like that,” Raif said. “And don’t pay attention to that nonsense, Sophia. There have been way more articles the last two days in your favor. There’s even a song about you going around now. The kids like to sing it when they skip rope in the walkways by the gates.”
Side by side, they slipped out of the library and into the quiet maze of marble halls. At Marnie’s suggestion, they detoured into the kitchens. She fit right in amongst the bustling staff, who thought nothing of her in her simple dress and apron. She loaded a tray with chopped fruit and balanced a pitcher of water at its center. Raif drew stares, but no one voiced their feelings.
Her hand still sore, Marnie had a little trouble hefting the tray, but she managed. Raif guided her to a receiving hall which led into the palace auditorium. The hall was packed with bodies, so many, the sounds of their collected voices was a dull roar. Spitting stone fountains gushed water from a sculpture of a horse with a ram’s curling horns and a crown on its head.
She spotted Alec in his patched watchman’s tunic and arm sling. He was in the middle of a long line, roped off by Blade Guards. The line ended at the tall, heavy doors of the auditorium. Raif stuck close as Marnie doled out refreshments, keeping her head and eyes down.
She overheard an argument in the crowd, and she kept her bruised chin low, letting loose curls shadow most of her face, hopeful no one would recognize her.
“It’s an issue of life or death!” a man in a boiler suit said, his fingers clasped together, begging a nearby blade guard. “At least let me get in line!”
“Your failing business is not a life or death issue,” said the blade guard with silver buttons and a bald head. “You won’t be permitted in line. Based on current demands, you might be able to address the council in two days.”
