The Demon’s Call
Philip C. Anderson
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2019 by Philip Martin
All rights reserved. This book or any portions thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express, written permission of the copyright holder, except for the use of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
First Printing, 2019
ISBN 978-1-5323-9591-8
ISBN 978-1-5323-9590-1 (e-book)
www.philipcanderson.com
Cover Art and Design, Interior Art and Design, and maps by Paul Martin (www.artofpaulmartin.com)
Contents
Foreword
Prologue
I. Of Pumpkins and Kings
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
II. Unexpected Coincidences
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
III. The Jewel of the West
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
IV. Darkness’s Hymn
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
V. The Demon’s Call
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
About the Author
Thank You
For the only other person who saw this book get made, you know all the angst I went through getting here—
For Paul
Foreword
The author has taken great care to ensure the translation of this story from its original codex; however, the transcription could not always be verbatim, and as such, there may be typographical inaccuracies for the sake of maintaining the integrity of the original text.
Prologue
A young serren ran to her brother and threw her front paws around his neck. “Burth!” Her ears hung down her back to her hind paws as she dangled off him, and though she had nothing to pat against, her back leg swatted through the air.
“Meri,” Burth said. He returned the embrace, then let her go to greet the rest of his family, which had grown in the last year.
Around his mama, little ones scampered and tussled, uncaring of the occasion of one of their own returning home. She, like his sister, hugged him and added a nuzzle against his cheek.
“Mama,” Burth said. “How go the runs?”
“Kempt and tidy,” she said, a token response in the common tongue.
Qimber watched with relief. He’d made it another year, and as he’d promised Burth’s papa when his own father had bought the little serren for him, Qimber had taken Burth on the perennial pilgrimage to his homeland—to the shadow of the Dragons’ Forest.
“Uman,” Qimber said. He knelt and held out his hand to Burth’s papa, whose fur had grayed around his eyes since last they’d seen each other.
“Qimber,” Uman said. He gripped Qimber’s pointer in his paw. “Once again, so great of you to bring Burth home.”
“It’s my pleasure,” said Qimber. “As always.” He pulled from his pocket a brown paper bag that he’d tied shut with twine.
A sly grin spread across Uman’s face. “Is that the good stuff?” Before he had a chance, one of Burth’s brothers ran over and tore into the bag. He held up a jar and looked back at his siblings.
“It is!” the serren shouted. “Brackenberry jam!”
“Yay!” they yelled in chorus, and from them issued a quiet applause that sounded like soft pats of rain.
“You have more?” Meri asked. She’d joined the brother and pored over the jar’s label.
“Of course I do,” Qimber said, then he looked to Burth’s mama. “And Yerriam, I have one with your name on it.”
“Oh, that not necessary,” she said. “Qimber, you spoil us.”
“And that is my pleasure as well. With all Burth does for me, it’s the least I can do in return.”
Yerriam waved her paw at him, then she turned to break up a pair of rolling little ones. “Hey!” They didn’t come apart until she grabbed either one by their ears, at which they squalled. “Play nice—no teeth marks.”
“Burth, come on,” another little one said, so excited that his back leg wouldn’t stop patting. “We can show you the new tunnels we’ve started. Papa even let me help on some.”
Burth looked to Uman, who shook his head.
“Nothing intricate,” his papa said. “Just something to get his paws dirty.”
“Was about to say,” said Burth. “I don’t even trust myself too far Underground.”
“You scared of Underground?” the little serren asked. His voice pitched to a tease. “You been spending too much time Above.”
Burth looked down at his brother. “Hey, you, I dint say I was scared.”
“Then prove it!” The little one scampered away, giggling as Burth gave chase. He dove into a hole. Burth almost followed, but he stopped and looked back to Qimber.
“Go on,” Qimber said. “I’m thinking about a nap anyway.”
Burth smiled, and he waved his little paw at his master before he followed the little one into the hole.
Qimber looked to Burth’s papa. “Didn’t get much sleep last night.”
“Mm,” Uman intoned. “When it not always dark, that can be difficult.”
Qimber nodded against the undue salience the serren awarded his words.
“Welp, in that case, we come get you for dinner.” Uman started for the hole down which Burth had followed his brother. “Past time for us to get back under. Once again, Qimber, is great you’re here.” He looked around, past where the forest’s darkness set upon them, then gestured for Burth’s mama.
“Brackenberry jam,” a little one said, her voice squeaky and soft. She hung onto her mama as they followed Uman. “Oh gods, I wanna have it with celery and carrots and our oats and our rice”—
“Be careful, Qimber,” Uman said, then Yerriam popped back up and skittered to fetch the last little one, who’d gotten held up by a fight with his own back foot.
When they’d gone, the forest became quiet and still.
Qimber yawned. He’d been serious about needing a nap—gods knew the work he’d done over the last year would have earned anyone a permanent sleep in an unmarked ditch—but mostly he just wanted time to himself, to unwind and relax, far removed from his responsibilities and entanglements. He headed for a small clearing, where he and Burth had left their traveling gear, and threw a folded tent to a bare piece of ground, where it began erecting itself. While he waited, he looked around.
The eyepiece he’d put on when they entered the forest showed him how he would have seen the wood in the light of day, but even then, the darkness pressed around him with unconscionable rancor.
Uman had told him a few years ago, “You’re brave, living up here in the Above.” The serren had offered to eat the final meal of Burth’s visit that year with Qimber at his tent. “I don’t understand how humans do it.” He shook his head and let the piece of cabbage he’d nibbled on rest against his stomach. “Is bad enough keeping the Underground safe, but the Above—you didn’t m
ake it, didn’t dig it yourself, can’t possibly know everything that goes in and out of it. Chaos, and the Above falls headlong into it a little more every day.” Burth’s family had spoken in the years past about how the forest seemed to be darkening, that the trees had pulled together against an encroaching shadow, a menace that they thanked the gods didn’t stalk the Underground.
“Too small of holes,” one of Burth’s brothers had suggested. “Big darkness, like mama used to tell us about, can’t get us where it’s safe.”
When the tent finished, he headed a few paces out of the clearing for a piss and tuned his wearable in to a news station over in Yarnle.
“… The royal investiture has stopped taking petitioners at this time as it prepares for the royal son’s birthday,” an anchor said. “I’ve talked about the waste I think Arnin foists upon its peoples every damn day since I got this job, and I’m glad I have a viewership and a producer who can see reason through this bog of madness. I’m joined right now”—the view split, and on its left side, the anchor’s guest joined him on screen—“by Elector Lemon, the commonstate official from Winstone. Elector, it’s my understanding that the Yarnle electorate was aiming to have an air traffic restructuring plan on his Majesty’s desk before the end of spring. It sounds like that’s not happening anymore.”
“Unfortunately not, Logan,” Lemon said. “His Majesty has chosen to ignore”—
A scream louder than the program in his ear caused Qimber to hop in fear, far enough backwards that he ended up on his ass. He scrambled upright and looked around. The pills in his ears had quickly filtered much of the sound, but the desperation of its caller still caused him panic. Trees pulled together and abated his sight, but he quickly found the direction from which the screams came—back toward where he and Burth had come into the forest.
“Help me!” a woman shrieked. “Help me!”
Most of Qimber didn’t want to find her—to do so, he would also have to find what made her scream, and he had less than no interest in that. But already a thin sheen of sweat had covered his body while he listened. A lesser part of his mind needed to find her before she stopped. If something got her, it might get him, too, and—Gods, why must You prove the serrens’ tales true.
He stupidly started toward the screaming woman, and as he followed her sounds, it seemed that the forest missioned to keep him away. The trees had pulled their roots toward the surface soil, and his feet caught on their feelers in his haste; the closer he got to her, the closer the darkness rushed upon him, until he couldn’t even see the next tree beyond the ones he passed. He quickly understood why such terror had gripped the young woman, even if nothing else had. Because she had to be young, right? Surely the gods wouldn’t put him through this unless—
Around the next tree, he suddenly came upon her. “Hey,” he said, then raised his voice. “Hey!”
She turned at his shout and threw her arms around his neck. “Oh, thank the gods. We thought we were alone. Knew we’d heard someone else.” The young woman held him tight. He breathed in her scent. She didn’t smell bad, but she didn’t smell good, either—Like soil and maybe a kind of metal? Qimber couldn’t decide which.
“We?” he said.
The girl giggled, and Qimber wondered what she found so funny. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end against her little laugh, but the way her body puffed against his—it had been a while since he’d held a woman.
“You scared the hells out of me.” His arms found their way around her thin waist, in the least to try to calm her nerves. “What the fuck are you doing out here all alone?”
“It was all fun, until we—sorry, my Plainari’s not the best—I got lost,” she said. “Does that sound like something someone would do?” She pulled her face away from his, looked him in the eye from beneath a drape of hair. Her head cocked, and she smiled.
“Sure,” Qimber said. He ran a hand up her side. The dress she wore betrayed her waifish figure. And her gray eyes looked pretty enough; they almost glowed. “People get lost all the time. Just—what are you doing here? I’ve been coming out for years. Never met anyone else in the forest.”
“Anyone? Or someone like me? Am I special to you? Because you’re special to us—me.”
“What—who else”—
“I’m sorry. Is that not something someone would say? I haven’t had much practice.”
“Right,” Qimber said. He let her go. She clung to him for a second, but he pulled her hands from around his neck and stepped away. One of her nails scraped his right palm. “Do, uh, do you live somewhere around here?”
Her fists opened and closed against her chest. She only watched him for a few moments, but in that time, he became intensely uncomfortable. Those eyes didn’t betray anything—certainly not the fear her screams had—and he quickly wanted nothing to do with her. But she watched, and he felt her prey upon him.
The spell broke when she spoke: “Home, yes! Our—my home is close. I could take you there.”
“No.” Qimber shook his head, though he wondered for his haste if he should have at least pretended to be reluctant. “No, I’m staying here in the forest for a few days.” But should I? And should I have told her that? “If you live near here, how’d you get lost?”
Her smile faded. She stared at him, then glee lit her face again. “A little flaw in our story. We’ll need to shore that up for next time. The master thanks you.”
“The master. Who”—
“No time, no time. I’m going home. You’ll take us there, yes? At least partway out of this darkness?”
Qimber swallowed. He didn’t want to, but gods, if it would get her to leave. “All right.” He nodded. “Sure. Just let me have a piss, and then we can see about gettin you outta here.”
“Oh, good,” she said. “Or maybe… no, we can’t”—her gaze shot to him. “I can’t, I mean. Yes, yes, I’ll leave, and then you can, uh, enjoy yourself.”
Qimber hesitated. “Right. Well I’ll be right back, yeah?”
“Yes, yes. Go, go. And then we—you and me, I mean—will go, go.”
Qimber headed back the way he’d come. He really did need to piss, and the past few minutes had done nothing to slacken that load. Five trees on, he leaned against rough bark. The button on the front of his trousers caught against his underwear, and at first he didn’t have space enough to maneuver himself, but he got it right in the end and went.
Gods, whoever is listening, he thought. Just get me past this, and I—well, there’s not much I wouldn’t do right now—
Something stung his right side. He swiped with his arm, but already his body failed him. The momentum of his swing spun him too far, and his legs buckled under him. His breath wheezed in his throat as he watched a shadow approach him from the darkness, and though he wanted nothing more to get up and run, he couldn’t move. He tried to scream, but that only came as a low whimper.
“There,” she said. The woman knelt and cradled his body against hers. She handled him so easily. “Sleep now, and we’ll take you to our home. We’re going to have some fun, aren’t we? You’ll enjoy yourself, yes?”
She dragged him for miles until she dropped him in the middle of a cave. He’d lost his eyepiece for the jostling journey, but his eyes had become accustomed to the dark. He just wished her eyes didn’t glow the way they did, that their light didn’t shine off her teeth. She turned into a monster and feasted.
Qimber blacked out from exhaustion and fright not long after, and the following time came to him in snippets, the last of which occurred after his spirit left his body.
“That’s it!” she said again and again. “That’s it!”
He didn’t feel her pierce his stomach with her claws, didn’t feel much of anything as she swirled her arm elbow-deep in his body. When she stood, her hand dripped with his blood like a quill overloaded with ink, and she turned to write on the wall.
1
The demon fled eastward.
People in Tanvarn called it t
he Beast, said it stood nine feet tall and ranged from the city to as far as the northern hills. Others told of a darkness that skulked in the corners of bedrooms, crept at the edges of their sight, molested the imaginations of those who lacked the wit to guard them. But most hadn’t even seen it.
Gossamer clouds etched across the sky over the Charred Reaches to the north, and the brown of wintered grass and wild land passed in a sea of vacant umber as Kendra’s sight followed. Each mile further washed the world of color; the crystal that blazed against her right palm provided a lens that saw only so far. Excitement beat through her: she’d ported her vision farther north that morning to head off the demon’s passage toward the cliffs, and in front of her lay a dimming forest, where she would corner her charge.
A mile and half from the trees, the Beast spun around and roared into the still air. Its harking voice echoed across the plains north of them while it watched her, its body prostrate against frosted grass. Kendra understood—a warning, talking at her in the only way it knew. But she persisted, and the Beast jolted to its feet to bark again at its chasing specter before it darted north and east, inbound for the forest.
Kendra twisted her sight in final pursuit.
Carried on a nascent wind that whistled past her ears, screeches answered the demon’s. North of her, a cloud quickly billowed to the heathered sky, where it blotted out the firmament and the afternoon sun. The forest’s trees turned into shadows whose towered eminence became a haven as Kendra left the fledgling storm beneath the open sky.
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