Demonkin

by T. Eric Bakutis

  Even after a week on the road, it still shocked Jyllith how much she missed Melyssa. No one save Cantrall had ever been as decent to her, and Cantrall's decency had been a lie. Manipulations to keep her loyal.

  Even after all the horrific things Jyllith had done, Melyssa had still wanted to help her. Melyssa had trusted her, forgiven her. And to thank her for that, Jyllith had driven a dagger through the old woman’s heart.

  “Halt!” A loud male voice shouted from the walls.

  “I'm here to join up!” Jyllith raised a hand and three fingers, with her thumb and pinky touching.

  That was a formation emulating the Three Trunk Tree, a legend dating back to the first Children of the Forest. They believed the tree, a white cedar that brushed the heavens, had three trunks that existed simultaneously atop each other — one in the real world, one in the Underside, and one in the courtyard of the Five. Humans had sprung from seeds in the Five's courtyard.

  Many who lived in Rain's treetop villages considered the legend gospel, and though Flatlanders like Jyllith knew it as folklore, her three raised fingers remained a common sign among those taxed and oppressed by the Mynt. She hoped the tower guard could see them clearly.

  “What are you doing with Calun?” the man in the watchtower shouted.

  They recognized him. Good. “I haven't murdered him, if that's what you're hoping for! Now shall we yell at each other until I go hoarse, or will you open your gates and let me introduce myself?”

  No response. Jyllith prodded Calun. “Do you know who's up in that tower?”

  “This time of day, I'd think it'd be Yarn. He's old and always up early, one of the original slaves who Andar freed. He always takes first watch.”

  “Is he Demonkin?”

  “No.” Calun's shoulders hunched. “Listen ... don't say that word in front of Andar, all right? He wouldn't like it. He only knows us as mages friendly to Rain.”

  Could Jyllith trust Calun to tell the truth? If Andar did know that Divad was Demonkin, telling him would reveal her treachery and get her killed. If he didn't, Divad could simply deny everything and kill her anyway. Worse, Calun could simply be testing her loyalty.

  There was too much she did not know. Until she had better answers, Jyllith would act just like who she claimed to be. A woman loyal to Cantrall and the Mavoureen.

  The wooden gates did not open. A smaller postern door within them swung free, however, and a huge man in hunting leathers stepped out. A large scar stretched from his forehead to his chin, and gray streaked his close-cut black hair.

  The huge man wore a battered cudgel at his hip, one that had seen heavy use. He was a head larger than Byn Meris and even more muscular. He beckoned her forward with a frown that brooked no argument.

  Jyllith urged her horse forward. She still felt her davenger prowling in the trees, and she felt far too comfortable with that monster protecting her. The demon inside her whispered often. It grew harder to ignore it.

  Cantrall had explained how the Demonkin curse worked in great detail, ensuring Jyllith would know what to expect. When she scribed her first glyph, her soul would be offered to a Mavoureen — the demon chosen dependent on Paymon's whim. That demon would whisper inside her mind, and she had to suppress its voice at all times.

  Listening to the voice even once was the first mistake everyone made. After that came learning. The Mavoureen knew what mages craved — knowledge — and offered it freely, deluging their victims with new glyphs. Each lesson accepted progressed the demon's hold on the victim's soul, making them more susceptible to manipulation and control.

  Jyllith was doing far better than most. Her demon never spoke because she never let it, and she already knew every glyph she needed. She would retain her faculties long enough to bring down Divad and his cult.

  Jyllith put on a tired smile as she rode closer to the fort. She stopped her horse next to the big hunter at the gate and then poked Calun. “Off.”

  The boy slipped off her horse and did not run away. She appreciated that. Jyllith slid off and handed the big hunter the reins. He was almost certainly Free Rain.

  “You got a name?” Jyllith asked.

  “You can call me Klyde, miss.” The big man inclined his head. “Go on in. They're waiting for you.”

  Jyllith pulled her hunting knife, slowly. She wrapped her arm around Calun's neck and placed the knife against his ribs. She raised an eyebrow, but Klyde just shrugged. No problems so far.

  “With me,” she told Calun. “Together now.” He walked meekly in front of her, going where she guided.

  Klyde stepped past her, easily within knife reach, and took her horse's reins. Given he was big enough to snap her like a twig, he likely wasn't all that concerned. Jyllith suspected he was much faster than he looked.

  “You gonna' kill that boy?” Klyde led her horse to the wall by the open postern door. He sounded more curious than worried.

  “Not if I don't have too.” Jyllith gave Calun a squeeze. “Stay calm and you'll get through this.”

  Calun didn't say anything — he just walked — and Jyllith kept her knife pressed to his side and her arm around his neck. She maneuvered Calun through the door and stepped into a semicircle of six standing archers, each with a bow pulled back and a muscled arm quivering. Well then.

  A hard-faced man stood among the archers, hands clasped behind his back, and Jyllith suspected that was Andar. He had the bearing of a soldier, not a mage, and at this range, those arrows would go right through Calun and into her. If Andar thought Calun was dead anyway, he wouldn't hesitate.

  Knoll Point's leader was not a tall man, nor was he particularly muscular, but he held his well-toned body with confidence. Andar kept his hair shaved close to his head and mottled black tattoos covered his face, permanent war paint that allowed him to blend into the forest.

  Jyllith knew what type of soldier Andar was now — she had worked with men like him in Free Rain — and her nervousness mounted. Andar was a Ghost Cat, a man who had once been one of Rain's most elite soldiers. They lived off the land for months as they scouted, trapped, and murdered their enemies from the shadows.

  Ghost Cats did not fight on the battlefield. They cut the lines restraining enemy horses, set fire to tents, cut the throats of sentries and poisoned enemy wells. They dug pits of spikes sharp enough to impale even armored soldiers, then covered them with leaves and dirt.

  Rain's Ghost Cats did not fight fair. They fought to win. Faced with the might of Mynt's glittering legions, they had not managed to do even that — but even with the war long ended, the Ghost Cats kept killing. All Mynt soldiers had orders to execute them on the spot.

  “Morning,” Andar said. “I understand you caught something of ours.” He looked amused. “Come to toss him back?”

  Like Klyde, Andar wore simple brown hunting leathers and boots. He wore no cloak or jacket and seemed unbothered by the morning's chill, but very few things bothered a Ghost Cat. Some wondered if they were human.

  “I've no intent to harm anyone,” Jyllith said calmly. “I just didn't want you to shoot me before we talked.”

  “Can't really talk if you accidentally puncture his kidney.”

  Jyllith pulled her knife away from Calun's side. “You're right.” She let him go, dropped her knife, and raised her hands. Calun didn't move.

  “Go, Calun,” Jyllith said. “Go to your friends.”

  He did not move, and Jyllith wondered then if she had made a horrible mistake. Was Calun going to turn around and stab her, avenge his murdered davenger? Had he been pretending to be cowed all along?

  “Out of the way, boy,” Andar said.

  “What are you going to do to her?” Calun kept himself in between Jyllith and the archers.

  Andar raised an eyebrow. “What would you like us to do?”

  “Don't hurt her. She's a friend, like me. You should listen to her.”

  Calun's concern raised fresh guilt. Why would he protect her after she shredded his face, tortured him? Wh
at did Calun have to gain?

  Nothing. He had nothing to gain, so perhaps Cantrall had not corrupted Calun as he had corrupted her. Perhaps the fact that they had both lost their families meant something to this boy. Jyllith wondered if she would have to kill Calun, in the end, and how that would make her feel.

  “I'll consider it,” Andar said. “Now get out of the thrice-damned way.”

  Calun hunched his shoulders and passed meekly through the line of archers. He turned to stare at her, hugging himself. He still wore her cloak.

  “That was right decent of you, Red.” Andar hadn't lowered his arm, but he hadn’t told his archers to stand down either.

  Jyllith considered her new nickname, found it acceptable, and shrugged. “As I said, I don't want to hurt any of you.” She raised three fingers again. “I'm an ally. I've fought for Free Rain many times in the past.”

  “That's a wonderful story.” Andar's tattoos rippled as he scowled. “How much did the Mynt pay you to infiltrate this camp?”

  “Don't hurt her!” Calun snatched at Andar's arm but Andar slipped aside and dropped him with a precise shove. Given what a Ghost Cat could do, that was gentle treatment. Calun scrambled away and got up.

  “Quiet, kid.” Andar's arm was ready to drop. “The adults are talking.”

  Jyllith looked past the archers for anyone else, anyone who might be Divad, the Demonkin leader. Behind her, she heard Klyde enter and close the door. He led her horse, and her horse had something in a small sack.

  “What would convince you I'm not bound to Mynt gold?” Jyllith asked.

  “You'd probably have to kill one of them for me.” Andar smiled. “Sadly, we did this whole lot years ago.”

  Melyssa had been right, but of course she had been right. She was Melyssa Honuron, one of the saviors of the Five Provinces. The strongest woman Jyllith had ever met.

  “Then let me offer you an olive branch.” Jyllith gave Klyde a sidelong glance. “Would you be so kind as to bring me that small burlap sack? The one hanging off my horse?”

  Klyde glanced at Andar for permission. Andar shrugged and Klyde unwound the thin rope tying the sack to the saddle. He looked up before he opened it. “This thing going to explode?”

  Jyllith snorted and shook her head. It was an honest question, she supposed, but was he serious? Klyde opened the bag, looked inside, and closed it again.

  “May I have it?” she asked.

  Klyde handed her the sack, returned to the palisade wall, and leaned against it. He crossed his arms over his wide chest. His smile was gone.

  Jyllith slowly raised the sack. “May I show you what I've brought to prove my loyalty?” She decided using his name was worth the risk. “Andar?”

  Andar smiled, a very dangerous smile. The sidelong glance he gave Calun told the boy exactly what he thought about Calun revealing his name. Calun hugged Jyllith's cloak closer.

  “Let's see it, Red,” Andar said. “You've got me damned curious.”

  Jyllith reached into the sack, gripped the hair inside firmly, and gave what remained attached a good, solid toss. Melyssa Honuron's severed, pitch-soaked head landed and rolled, wobbling left and right. It stopped in the center of the archer circle, mouth gaping.

  Calun gasped and gagged. Andar eyed the head and raised an eyebrow at her. “Should I know who that is?”

  “Melyssa Honuron.” Jyllith forced a smile that made her sick inside. “Mynt's most decorated Bloodmender.”

  “Andar,” a quiet voice called. “Put your archers at ease.”

  Andar scowled, glanced over his shoulder, and snapped his fingers. All six archers lowered their bows and carefully unstrung the black-feathered arrows. More than one looked grateful to finally relax.

  A man appeared, clad in red robes that had once belonged to an elder. Stolen robes. This man must be Divad.

  Jyllith suspected now that Divad had watched the whole confrontation, concealed by an impressively powerful astral glyph. Had she bothered to take the dream world she would have seen him at once, but she had been too focused on Andar. She could not afford mistakes like that.

  “How did you come by Melyssa's head?” Divad asked.

  All Jyllith could see beneath his hood was a square, bearded chin. His robes fit his frame well, and like Andar, he looked healthy, but not overly muscular. A man like any other save for his cursed soul.

  Now that there were no longer a half-dozen arrows pointed at her, Jyllith needed to take back some control. She glanced at Klyde and motioned to the unoccupied space on the palisade wall at his side. He offered a nod.

  She leaned against the wall beside Klyde and crossed her arms. Andar and his Free Rain soldiers knew nothing of recent events at Terras, but Divad might. How much had the Mavoureen told him?

  If Divad had brought the Mavoureen through a portal, they might have spoken about the final battle at Terras. They might have told Divad she was there, possessed by the spirit of Breath. How to explain all that away?

  “Melyssa took me hostage.” Jyllith settled on a shaded truth. “She tortured me in hopes I would reveal my allies, men allied with Free Rain.” Jyllith's true memories had tortured her, after all, the knowledge of all the evil she had done to people who had not deserved it.

  “Did you tell her what she wanted?” Divad asked.

  “No.” Jyllith remembered Sera's brutal glyphs tearing her apart, ripping her bones open. “That's why I died. Then she brought me back and tortured me again.” She paused to shape her lie. “I don't remember much ... not until I killed her and escaped. That was a week ago.”

  Claiming ignorance was the safest route. If Divad challenged her about fighting alongside Kara and her allies as a champion of the Five — if he even knew she had done that — Jyllith could claim she remembered none of it.

  “My eggs are getting cold,” Andar asked. “They're really good eggs. We killing this woman or not?”

  “You’ll have your breakfast soon enough, old friend.” Divad picked up Melyssa's pitch-soaked head and shoved a finger into the bottom of its severed neck. “If you have the stomach for it.”

  The sound of Divad’s fingers inside Melyssa’s neck made several men turn green, but not Jyllith. She had heard and done much worse. Divad's finger emerged covered with dried blood.

  He kept that clotted blood on one finger as he cut the other and scribed a bloody glyph. Aether sucked the dried blood away.

  There was a green flash and a life-sized echo of Melyssa appeared between Jyllith and Divad. Next an echo of Jyllith appeared, tear-stained face hard. Teeth bared, Jyllith drove her knife into Melyssa's ribs.

  Melyssa fell and the image faded like smoke. The archers surrounding her looked spooked, but Andar merely looked annoyed.

  “That's how this woman died?” He really wanted those eggs.

  Divad set down Melyssa's head and tucked his hands into his robe. “Murdered by this brave young woman. Our new arrival is no Mynt spy.”

  Time to build on the lie they had all just seen. “Melyssa thought she could alter my memories and turn me against my people.” That was rich, given what Cantrall had done to her. “She was a fool and she died bloody.”

  Andar shook out his arms and rolled his head around. “One less Mynt to keep us down. That was a clean kill.”

  “It hasn't been the only one.”

  Andar rewarded her with a smirk. This man understood subterfuge, misdirection, and treachery because that was how a Ghost Cat survived one against thirty, on a battlefield where his only allies were trees. The leader of Knoll Point had accepted her ... for the moment.

  Divad turned his robed hood to Andar. “I'd like to talk with her. Learn about her travels and discover the ways she may help us.”

  “That begs a question.” Andar glanced at her, then at Divad. “How did she find us?”

  Jyllith stared at Divad and tapped the side of her head. Her meaning was obvious, but only to him. Her demon had directed her here.

  “I'll certainly find that out
,” Divad said. “In the meantime, Jyllith Malconen, I welcome you to Knoll Point. We have long been without a trained Bloodmender.”

  Divad knew her name. Of course he knew her name. She would have known his as well, if Cantrall had ever spoken of him. It seemed Cantrall had hidden his cult from her, but not hidden her from his cult. Unfair.

  Yet she had infiltrated the enemy camp. Without Melyssa's sacrifice, Jyllith suspected she would now be filled with arrows. Melyssa had saved her life again, and now Jyllith had to ensure that sacrifice meant something.

  She had to gain Divad's trust and then murder him.

  Chapter 17

  JYLLITH FOLLOWED DIVAD. Cowl hiding his face, Divad led her through a town of well-made cabins, one or two stories high. All had walls of wood-sealed wax and glass windows insulated against winter's chill.

  Rain's carpenters were the best in the Five Provinces, but these cabins had likely been built for the Mynt who ran the quarry, not their slaves. It was fitting these builders now had their cabins back. Their hands, their work.

  Jyllith saw no clutter in the streets and alleys, and every cabin porch looked well-kept. She wondered how many who lived here were former slaves and how many had come after, leaderless soldiers like Andar and Klyde. Escaped slaves from other work camps.

  Why had the Mynt not retaken this town? Jyllith reasoned it out. Knoll Point was high in the hills, and its modest quarry was obviously spent. What would Mynt gain by sending tax collectors this far south? They could wring much more gold and blood from closer towns.

  Jyllith measured her old fury. The Mynt might not burn villages, as most in Rain believed, but they stamped out resistance. Arrests remained common and executions not as uncommon as they should be.

  Many had perfectly legitimate reasons to despise the Mynt, so was that the true legacy of Cantrall's lies? Ensuring a generation of Rain and Mynt grew up at each other's throats? Did the people Jyllith murdered have parents or children who hated her as she hated the Mynt?