Demon's Daughter (Demon Outlaws)

by Paula Altenburg

  He would have liked to bury what was left of these people, but the ground was too hard, and he did not have that much time. The sky had begun to darken on the horizon, and an arroyo was not the place to be when the rains came. It would not take long for it to revert to a river.

  The river would have to take care of the wagoners’ remains.

  A vulture, its droopy eyes gleaming, dropped to the ground and hopped toward a trail of drying flesh. Hunter turned away, fixing his gaze on the abandoned wagons instead. He would see what the demon had left behind with regard to staples.

  Two of the wagons were empty, much as he had expected. The third, however, came as a surprise. It contained common household goods.

  Hunter’s stomach plunged lower, bile burning his throat. This wagon had belonged to settlers, probably too poor to join a proper wagon train, and with hopes of earning back the cost of their passage through trade. He flipped open the lid of one of the trunks. It was filled with women’s clothing.

  Thoughtful now, and already suspecting what he might find, he leapt from the running board on the wagon box and looked beneath it. A young woman, more of a girl, lay curled on her side, her arms tucked under her head as if in sleep, a crusted pool of dried black blood staining her dress and the ground around her. A narrow gold wedding band circled one slender finger. A stray blond curl escaped her bonnet to lie against her waxen cheek.

  Hunter knew what had happened to her. When the demons had struck, her husband had shot her. He did not blame him for it. She would have had to watch the slaughter, and since as a married woman she was not untouched, the best she could have hoped for was to be raped and abandoned in the desert. Worst case meant she, too, would have been torn apart, like the others.

  If her husband was at fault for anything, it was for bringing her into demon territory in the first place.

  Hunter looked at the sky, still clear above him, and decided taking the time to bury her would be worth the risk to him. He could not leave her for the vultures and the coyotes.

  He carried her body out of the arroyo, and using the sand swift to haul stones from the dry creek bed, spent the next several hours erecting a crude cairn over her remains. Sand from the rising wind stung his eyes, and he wiped his face with his sweat-soaked neckerchief. Despite the scorching rays of the sun, he had discarded his hat and his shirt while he worked.

  The makeshift burial complete, he turned back to the wagons. The woman’s clothing, he would take with him for either Airie or Blade’s women to use. They did not need to know where he’d gotten it. Any nonperishable food he would take with him as well.

  As he returned to the wagons one last time, he spotted something lying on the ground near one wagon wheel. He stooped, brushing the dirt away with his fingertips.

  It was an amulet. Hunter picked it up. It had been carved from desert sandstone to look much like the one he wore, although it was a very poor copy and had no real power. His lips thinned. He had seen many fake amulets over the years, but this was the first that was meant to match his own.

  His fingers squeezed the fake amulet, crumbling it into pieces. Whoever had worn it had led these people to their deaths, letting them believe they had protection from demons. Whoever it was, he had gotten what he deserved.

  The young couple had not.

  Hunter crammed the food and clothing into his empty packs, removing his duster from one and putting it on as he did.

  Raindrops began to fall. He needed to get out of the arroyo and find shelter. Part of him worried about Airie, who was unfamiliar with desert weather and its dangers. What if she had decided to explore the canyon?

  What if she had decided to head into Freetown without him and got caught in the storm?

  He should not worry about her, but he did. He settled his hat on his head to shield his face from the rain as he and the sand swift passed the newly erected cairn.

  He knew what Airie was but at some point had finally accepted that it made no real difference to him. He’d had seven sisters he had loved beyond reason. One of them was dead. He could not willfully put any woman’s life in danger. He had to find her a place where she could be safe.

  But it was one thing for him to protect Airie from danger. How would he keep her from becoming a danger to others?

  …

  As Airie unpinned their bedding from the clothesline where she had hung it out to air, she kept an eye on the darkening sky. Heavy black storm clouds gathered on the horizon, shifting the colorful sandstone carvings peppering the desert landscape from shades of fire to a dull, lifeless gray.

  Hunter had been gone for hours now, and in spite of everything, and his terrible moodiness, Airie was worried about him.

  He was hunting the demon she had allowed to escape. She knew he had not liked that she’d interfered in their fight, but she had not been able to stand back and allow him to battle the demon alone.

  Neither had she been able to talk to Hunter about how the demon had approached her first. She could not bear to see disgust for her in his eyes.

  She folded a blanket, bending to lay it in a colorful woven basket, brushing strands of long dark hair that had worked free of its braid away from her face. She had no problem with fighting. She’d done it often after the offerings had stopped and her mother grew sick, and Airie needed to feed and clothe them both.

  But she had been raised to believe that life was sacred and not to be taken without reason. Hatred such as Hunter possessed for demons and their spawn was foreign to her. It was a terrible emotion that led to unforgivable acts.

  Airie had only ever been cherished. She had only known love and given her love in return. Until now, she had never been hated.

  And it was for something she could not change.

  The sting of sand on the rising wind prickled her skin. She sniffed back the sudden threat of tears. She missed her mother.

  Scratch had been playing a game with two sticks, shuffling a stone back and forth in the dirt. He set the sticks aside and came to stand beside her, his worried little face turned up to the sky and his tiny fingers clutching at her skirt.

  “Hunter will be back soon,” Airie assured him, stroking his head. “It’s just a little rain coming. Nothing to worry about.”

  She hoped she was telling him the truth. Rain in the desert was unlike rain in the mountains. She did not know what might happen once it started to fall.

  She lifted Scratch in her arms and kissed his cheek. He patted her face, his eyes looking deep into hers for reassurance. Here was one person who did not see a demon when he looked at her, and she loved him all the more for it. The two of them had much in common.

  She did not see a demon when she looked at him either.

  “Do you know what raindrops are?” she asked him. “They are the goddesses’ tears. When it rains it means the goddesses are thinking of us. They cry because they take all of our sorrow for themselves and leave us nothing but happiness. Their tears make things grow for us, so we can have life.”

  The rain was well timed. It reminded her that tears for her mother helped wash away the pain of loss, but eventually, the memories would strengthen and grow bright.

  She carried Scratch to the cabin and set him on the step under the shelter of the verandah roof, then went back to gather her bedding and the basket. As she picked up the basket the sky opened up and the rain fell in thick, dirty sheets, the fine, wind-driven sand mixing with the drops of moisture.

  Airie raced for the cabin. It was only a distance of a few feet, but she was wet to the skin by the time she reached it. She carried the basket on one hip, and seizing Scratch’s hand, hurried him inside and shut the door against the storm. She dropped the basket on the table.

  The rain pounding on the roof and the walls was loud, and Scratch covered his ears against it. Airie cuddled him in her arms. She loved the rain and did not want him to develop a fear of it. The poor little soul had been damaged enough.

  She had an idea. She was wet already, and Scratch
always seemed to be dirty. The rain was not cold.

  “Lift up your arms,” she said to him, and then peeled his shirt over his head. She stripped down to her shift. “Come on.”

  They dashed back out into the rainstorm. At first Scratch didn’t like it, turning his face into her shoulder, but then Airie began to dance with him still cradled in her arms. Before long he was down on the ground, ankle deep in the slippery mud and squishing it between his toes.

  Airie showed him how to slide in it by taking a running start and letting her feet shoot out from under her. They were drenched and soon very dirty, and the smile on Scratch’s face was worth every minute of it.

  As they played, it was impossible to see more than a few feet in front of them through the heavy rain. Airie understood why Hunter had built the cabin at the mouth of the canyon rather than deeper in, and she was glad he had taken Sally with him, because much of the canyon floor was a river now and the sand swift would have been trapped.

  She tried not to worry about Hunter. He had survived on his own for years. He could look after himself.

  Unease ate at her. She had no illusions that she and Scratch were anything more than a burden to Hunter despite the fact that so far, he had refused to take them to Freetown. He would do so eventually.

  When he did, what was to become of them?

  She needed guidance. The only source she knew to turn to, that she’d ever been taught to seek out other than her mother, was the goddesses themselves.

  The rain was their gift to a burning land. She cleared her mind, lifted her face, and murmured the prayers her mother had taught her.

  The rain gentled but did not stop. Without the driving force of the wind to mix them with sand, the drops cleared from opaque to glass. They shimmered and danced to fall around Airie like curtains of tiny, glittering crystals.

  A figure appeared, outlined in the backdrop of rain, and Airie caught her breath, afraid at first that the demon had returned. Her immediate concern was for Scratch.

  But the figure was that of a woman, and Airie’s concern turned quickly to awe.

  She was in the presence of a goddess. At least one of them had not turned from her.

  The goddess’s lips moved as if attempting to speak, but Airie heard nothing other than the patter of the rain on the mud-slickened ground. The goddess stretched out a hand in invitation and Airie accepted it, her own fingers trembling. The goddess’s touch had no substance to it, and yet that it was real, she did not doubt.

  The rain parted around them, leaving them isolated in a sparkling oasis of sunlight. The goddess was golden and glorious, dressed in a gown crafted from a rainbow of colors, and the warm hunger in her eyes as she examined Airie from head to toe was palpable.

  All worry for the future was forgotten, banished by an opportunity Airie had never believed could be hers. Hope grazed her heart and overrode any disinclination to beg.

  “Please,” she implored, “can you tell me if my mother is at peace?”

  The goddess went still. “She wants you to know that she is with you.” An indefinable expression flashed across her face. “And that she loves you.”

  Airie closed her eyes and absorbed the goddess’s words. She had never been given a chance to properly mourn her mother. She had left no offerings with her body, or dressed her in fine clothes so she could stand with pride before the goddesses she had served. Airie had left her alone, discarded in a temple even the goddesses had abandoned.

  But now she knew beyond doubt that her mother was at peace, and Airie owed it to her memory to try to do something worthwhile with her life, as she would have wanted.

  The sorrow she had struggled to control since leaving the mountain surged through her, then abated, although it did not disappear completely and never would.

  “Thank you,” she whispered.

  A flash of pain crossed the goddess’s face before her expression closed. “You have no reason to thank me. I am a part of you, and I owe a great debt to your…mother…for that. You are the product of her upbringing, not mine, and I’ve tried not to interfere before this. But now, if you need me, I’ll be here for you. You have only to ask.”

  Airie heard the slight hesitation in the soft-spoken words and her worry returned, not only for what was to become of both her and Scratch, but also as to whether she would be able to overcome the taint of her parentage.

  She would not let the past overwhelm her future. She might not be able to change the fact that her father had been a demon, but her mother had been nothing but the personification of goodness and strength. She would make her mother proud, although it would not be easy. Airie had no illusions about herself or her flaws.

  “I don’t know what I will do without my mother to guide me,” she confessed.

  Tension stiffened the goddess’s features, making her appear uncompromising. “You must make a choice,” she said. “Not now, but soon. You were born on this world, but you were not born to it. It is not yours. If you wish to make a place for yourself here, you must be welcomed in it. If you don’t do so soon, you will then have to choose between worlds. Will you choose the world of your mother or that of your father?”

  Airie did not understand. The words made little sense to her. “I choose this world,” she said.

  “You have not yet earned any choice,” the goddess replied. “You can make none until you do so. If you want to be a part of this world, you must make it yours.”

  The rain began to thin. Airie had hoped for more guidance than this.

  Bursts of light shone from the goddess’s pores. “The immortals watch you. But they do not favor you. It is up to you to earn their respect.” She began to fade with the thinning droplets of rain, her form growing more translucent. The golden light dimmed. “Desire did very well with you,” she added, her intent gaze memorizing Airie. “Know that your mother loves you.”

  The rain ceased and the goddess was gone.

  As Airie glanced at the rain-soaked mud and rivulets of water streaming down the craggy canyon walls, sudden panic filled her.

  Scratch was gone as well.

  …

  The rainstorm had forced Hunter to seek temporary shelter in a yucca grove, which meant he’d had no real shelter at all. His miserable day was complete.

  Once the storm let up enough for him to judge that the slippery terrain was again safe for travel, he and the sand swift started for home.

  He rocked in the saddle, settling his hat farther back on his head. Water trickled from its brim down the back of his neck. Why that irritated him he had no idea, because he was already soaked to the skin.

  He’d had plenty of time to think while he waited for the rain to abate.

  Perhaps the Godseekers really were the best ones to take Airie in. They would assume her differences stemmed from immortality. They would care for her and keep her safe. He would tell them of how she had healed Sally and Scratch, and they would believe he brought them salvation. He was the Demon Slayer. They might try to kill him for his amulet, but they would not doubt him.

  Before he gave her over to the Godseekers, he would need to return Mamna’s gold. The thought of doing so gave him great pleasure. It had weighed too heavily on him.

  He finally crested the bluff overlooking the canyon. Sally picked her way down the other side of the steep, muddy slope, aware from past falls that the potential for landslides had greatly increased and that the rocks were no longer secure.

  Hunter wiped water from his face, puzzled by what appeared to be two shadows in the canyon where there should not be any at all. Not in this weather. One shadow belonged to Airie. The owner of the second was unidentifiable from this distance because of the rain.

  What quickly became obvious to him, however, not only from the halo of unnatural golden light surrounding Airie but also from the sudden responding warmth of the amulet around his neck, was that Airie was not speaking with a mortal.

  Hunter had seen very few demons in mortal form before and wondered if
that was what protected this one from the rain, or if its protection came from the hypnotic golden light around Airie.

  What if the falling of the goddesses’ mountain meant the rains were no longer able to keep the demons away?

  His heart lurched in his chest. The thought of Airie facing another demon alone caused him far more concern than it should, since this demon appeared to pose no immediate threat to her. If it had, his amulet would warn him. Instead it sent a gentle heat seeping through him, chasing away the dampness that had permeated his skin for miles. Sally, too, would have charged to her defense.

  But unwelcome memories of his sister, vibrant, beautiful, and trusting, surfaced. His fingers tightened on the reins and his vision blurred. A demon had seen Airie the night before. That it might return for her should come as no surprise. She, too, was a beautiful woman.

  He had been a fool to leave her alone.

  Instinct had him ready to dig his heels into the sand swift’s sides and urge it forward so he could ride to Airie’s rescue, but a mean, suspicious part of him made him draw back on the reins to see how she would respond to one of her own kind this time.

  She stretched out her hand to the faint figure before her as if in supplication, and Hunter’s shoulder muscles bunched in response as he watched.

  The rain eased, then stopped entirely, and suddenly, he saw she was alone.

  His relief disappeared an instant later as her hand went to her chest, clutching into a fist over her heart. She spun around in frantic circles, searching for something that was no longer there.

  He had seen enough.

  He gave the sand swift its head and within moments he was at her side.

  The man in him admired the picture she presented even while the part of him that hated demons wished she did not look quite so appealing. Clad in a thin white cotton shift, its wet fabric clinging to her curves and far too transparent, she swiped damp curls off her flushed cheeks and tucked them with shaking fingers into the long, thick braid of coal-black hair she wore. She looked fresh and innocent, except for the fear filling her wide brown eyes.