Demons of the Hunter

by Stephen Allan

  “You’re right to ask me that,” Tetra said. “But he gave me a task. His soul is beyond me now, having hopefully gone by the side of Chrystos. There are burial rites, but Zelda…”

  She grimaced.

  “There is knowledge in the library at Caia that Garo clearly wanted me to have. With that in mind, then, I must make haste for Caia and reach that library and take out the empire. If you want to give him and all who died here a proper burial, I will tell you how to do it according to magi customs of Dabira. But I cannot wait. I have nothing holding me back here. I have everything pulling me back to Caia. It is, I am starting to accept, the final task of my life.”

  It pained Zelda to hear that. But such was the compromised position of this war, and the pinned position the three girls found themselves in, that Zelda could no longer dislike Tetra’s actions. She could only hope that when Tetra left the rubble of Dabira, it would not be the last time she saw her.

  “I understand. Tell me what I need to do before you go, please.”

  “That I shall,” Tetra said.

  She walked over and offered Zelda a hand up. Zelda, staggering with the weight of all that had happened, slowly rose.

  “Each grave should be about six feet deep, with a single stone marking the resting spot,” Tetra said. “In better times, we would mark such spots with their name and perhaps a quote, but for what has happened here, you probably won’t be able to do so. When they are fully buried and their stone lies over them, kneel before the grave, close your eyes, say whatever personal remarks you have, and close with ‘May your soul find peace with Chrystos.’ Do you understand?”

  Zelda nodded that she did. Tetra’s eyes watered. Zelda moved in to embrace her, not wanting her to feel unwanted.

  “I have to go, Zelda,” Tetra said. “I have to do this. I have to see Garo’s wishes for peace in Hydor fulfilled.”

  “I know.”

  “I may not see you again,” Tetra said. “He said his will to live depended on me, but the reverse is true as well. The only part of him that lives in me is his hope, and when that has been fulfilled, I will have no reason to carry on.”

  Zelda bit her lip. She hated to say it, but she was becoming much better at saying goodbyes. She was sadly getting used to seeing the people she knew die. She could only hope that when Tetra perished, it would mark the final death in the war of the magi.

  They squeezed one more time, with only nods exchanged. Zelda went to Yeva and embraced her as well.

  “I’m going with her,” Yeva said. “I can’t stay here. I can’t, Zelda.”

  Zelda knew why. Yeva’s parents had perished in the deadly assault. To remain here would be to bury her parents before she had even married or bore children. Zelda wouldn’t wish that upon anyone her age.

  “I’ll see you again,” Yeva said. “I know it. You’re too important for me not to.”

  Zelda smiled, squeezed, let out a long exhale, and then took two steps back. Yeva looked to Tetra, who turned without a word and walked away slowly into the cold, chilly darkness of the night.

  For the next hour, the young fourteen year old girl hustled to collect as many stones as she could. She didn’t keep track of the number of stones she’d gathered, knowing whatever the number was, it was too many and not enough for how many had perished. Perhaps hundreds. Maybe thousands. She gave up looking for stones of size and settled on rocks, so long as they had enough size to stand out from the ground. She tried not to think of how many weren’t rocks but rubble from buildings and statues that had once marked Dabira.

  Overwhelmed by the death, sadness, chaos, and confusion, Zelda turned to what she always had used to get her through dark time—song. Zelda’s eyes remained moist the whole time, tears dropping on occasion but not frequently—she’d expended a significant portion of her emotions already. At some point, instead of humming, she sung over and over again:

  May your soul find eternal peace,

  May your soul have eternal rest.

  May your story live on forever,

  May your story be blessed.

  She had sung the song in the hopes that it would uplift her some, perhaps even give her some strength to fight through the pain of the moment, but all it did was leave her with a sinking feeling of despair.

  She felt sorrow for the magi, but at least they had found peace. She knew her soul would not know peace for a long, long time. And perhaps even worse, she’d uncovered the demon inside her.

  Fighting for the good of the world had seemed so simple before. She used her magic for good, fought evil dragons, defended all of humanity, and lived in morally unambiguous areas. Life made sense, and everything that followed did too.

  But the more time that went by with Tetra and Garo, the more confused she became. Perhaps this was part of growing up, but she just became fearful that she’d become irreversibly darker. She had willingly used violent, deadly, unstoppable magic to wipe out all but a single soldier in an entire unit, nearly killing one of her closest allies in the process. She had gained tremendous power through Indica, but it had come at a cost.

  She couldn’t pretend that she didn’t have a demon within her capable of destroying all of humanity. She had to wrestle it and control it, understand how to use it in the right context.

  But how? How would she know when to do that? How would she know when using her darker qualities would actually serve the greater good? And was it serving the greater good if her more evil characteristics got her that greater good?

  Would she turn out like Tetra? She was already beginning to see the signs of it. When her mother lived, she felt guilty just stealing meat so they could survive. Now she was responsible for the death of twenty-some soldiers.

  And Tyus.

  Less than an hour ago, she was speaking to the son of the emperor. She could imagine making great inroads with him. She could see him ascending to the throne within the decade, the two of them making peace throughout Hydor.

  And now her ice magic had killed him.

  Her magic didn’t just make her a threat to the empire. The power she had inside her made her a threat to the world.

  But if she didn’t accumulate power, the empire would. And if the empire would, then the magi would cease to exist—as it was, they were probably down to her, Tetra, Yeva, and a few stragglers hiding in shame in Caia. Maybe Mathos. But likely not.

  She would have to engage in an arms race of power with the empire. She realized it was her curse where she would have to accumulate as much power as possible in the ensuing weeks to fight the empire—and whatever dragons it awoke, even if she struggled with moral implications and fear of abusing her powers. She had to become so powerful that she would strike such fear into the hearts of men that they wouldn’t dare raise a finger, let alone a sword, against the magi. She hoped that peace could come not by violence itself, but by the threat of violence.

  But could she trust herself with the magic? She didn’t know. She hoped she would. But…

  As she continued to gather rocks, as she continued to pass by the horrifying piles of ashes and bodies, Zelda knew she would never get around to burying everyone. Even if she only took ten minutes per burial and worked for ten hours a day, it would take her months to get everyone a proper burial. After a pass of carrying rocks to the center of the former town, she let them fall from her arms, weary and exhausted.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t.”

  She instead began picking the rocks back up, scattering them across the now-open space as far as she could. She wanted each rock to have the kind of space where a body could have the necessary space to lie in peace.

  But even this became an exhausting exercise when she remembered that if she truly wanted to have a burial spot for everyone in the town, she would spend hours laying out rocks, with no guarantees that she had gotten her number right. After laying down a hundred rocks, she dropped to her knees and began crying.

  “I’m so sorry,” Zelda said
repeatedly. “I can only do one, though.”

  Wearily and nervously, she approached the body of Garo and stood over it. In this light, he looked so much more at peace than in the moments leading up to his death. His face didn’t contort in pain. He didn’t strain. He didn’t arc up in agony. He was just a body, his soul having passed on to the other side.

  And that was what Zelda tried to grasp onto. Chrystos, whoever and whatever kind of god he was, would provide mercy for the souls. That was what mattered. The burial rites mattered more for her own sanity than the peace of the souls.

  I hope.

  She headed down toward the beach and stopped about two dozen feet away. She tried to guess where Mathos was and began digging a grave, using rocks and her hands, placing the feet of the grave toward where Mathos was. This grave isn’t just for you, Garo. It’s for all the magi. For everyone here. For the soul of Dabira, and for you, the man who found it.

  She dug a hole about four feet deep, as deep as she could go without needing more strength to dig further down. She thought of using magic, but the very thought made her ill. Magic had killed many people. Magic had led to the death of those who used it. For at least a night or two, Zelda wanted a break from magic.

  She went to Garo’s body and bent down to reach it. But when she went to put her hands on him, she couldn’t do it. To put his body into the grave would finally say goodbye, would make it real. Maybe there was a way to bring him back from the dead. Maybe she could contact his soul as long as his body remained above ground. Maybe—

  Then she heard footsteps west of her.

  Zelda looked up alertly. An older man with a grizzled beard, a worn out expression, a large scar over his eye, tattered clothing, and concern etched onto his face approached slowly, his hands raised to signify his peace. Zelda recognized the man from before but couldn’t place him. Maybe if she hadn’t had to bury an entire town, she would have better been able to remember him.

  “Do you want help?” he asked.

  Zelda felt unsure of what to say. He wasn’t a mage. Zelda hadn’t sensed him during her spell. That alone could’ve made him a threat. It wasn’t like he came from the far north or west, uninhabited lands. He had to have come from Caia, possibly making him sympathetic to the empire. The very thought of a representative of the empire appearing triggered sick thoughts in her, the demon within begging to be unleashed once more.

  But if he had witnessed what she had done moments before, he had to know he couldn’t win a fight with her. Even an exhausted and depleted Zelda could handle just about any soldier without the dexterity or acumen of the highest order. Most importantly, he offered assistance—what more could he do to show that he was not an enemy?

  He’s not the enemy, Zelda. And even if he is, he’s not going to fight. Do you want more violence? Haven’t you had enough?

  “If you want,” she said, her words more emotional than she’d meant to.

  The man nodded and came over. Without the emotional attachment to Garo that she had, he bent over, wrapped his arms around Garo, picked up the elder mage and carried him to the grave. He gently laid him down into the hole and took a few feet back, remaining silent. His breathing was heavy and exhausted.

  Zelda sighed and looked at the dirt around her. She’d used the stones nearby to dig the grave, but now she faced the difficult task of putting the dirt back in place for a proper grave. And now, saying goodbye wasn’t something that was going to happen. It was happening.

  “I’m sorry for your loss,” the man said.

  Zelda just bit her lip and nodded. She remained torn between talking more to the man and remaining silent, keeping her feelings to herself. She didn’t mind his presence. But she feared that if she engaged him, she would either say things she regretted or things that would enrage a non-magi.

  “Greed has made enemies of us all,” he said with a heavy sigh. “Greed has caused us all to turn on each other. Greed for power, greed for annihilation, greed for whatever you want to call it. Greed has unleashed the demon within all of us. I am guilty, having a kind of greed that manifests itself as an unwillingness to help those who need it.”

  “You helped me,” Zelda said.

  She turned to look at the man’s eyes, choosing to examine him as a human and not a threat. She saw a man who had lost something recently… but felt relieved about it. He had compassion, but not sorrow. He had empathy, but not grief. He seemed unburdened despite his words. She decided he would not harm her, and she turned her body completely to him.

  “I help those who are good and who have good intentions,” he said. “A boy near your age was once under my wing, but greed for vengeance drove him past the point where even I could help him. I tried to appeal to his and my former superior but to no avail. In fact, it could be argued doing so made him more vengeful, to say nothing of the darkness within my former superior. So I left, telling myself that I would help whoever needed it. But when I saw the soldiers come here… I knew it would get ugly. The relationship between the empire and the magi, even to an outsider like me, is blatantly antagonistic. But instead of warning others, I went to the edge of town and retreated as soon as the attack began. I acted as a coward. My greed? My greed was self-preservation, even as I knew who was at fault. And it wasn’t the residents of Dabira.”

  He snorted and shook his head. He actually laughed, but it didn’t look like a cheerful laugh.

  “Not that it really matters. The boy, Eric, and our superior, Artemia, are headed to the south to fight Ragnor. And when they do, they will perish in a matter of moments. As will the rest of us. Such is the fate we’ve brought onto ourselves. But while I’m here, I suppose I’ll do what I can. I can’t die just watching the legendary dragon destroy the world without raising my sword.”

  “So then why would you come to me?” Zelda said. “Why are you here?”

  The man smiled. Zelda felt strangely at ease. This man was clearly not a mage, but his demeanor felt similar to Garo—calm, even-keeled, wise, and built on solid moral grounds.

  “The sorrow in your eyes is not something you can fake. For the last several years—decades, I daresay—the woman closest to me in my life has faked many expressions and emotions. I knew it, but I didn’t acknowledge it. Yet seeing you now, I know that you can’t fake it. I have thrown away much of my life helping someone who could fake how she felt. I’m not going to do that anymore. In the relatively short time I have left, I want to fight for someone who is real. Let me tell you something. Anyone who works to bury an entire town is a real, genuine, soulful human being. And for that reason, I will follow you.”

  He looked down at the grave, grimaced, and turned back to the girl.

  “With the time I have left, I’ll do what I can to help. I am Abraham Wallace, but you can just call me Abe.”

  “Abe,” she said. “I’m Zelda. Thank you for coming here and offering to help me. But I don’t think that you should. I’m not worthy of being helped.”

  “Why?”

  “Because,” Zelda said, taking a beat to continue. “I have killed many. My spell is what killed all of the guards and the son of the emperor. Death follows—”

  Abe put a hand up to silence her, but he did so with a gentle, calming smile. He doesn’t even know what I’m capable of. He didn’t see what I did or how cruelly I did it. I’m just as bad as this Artemia woman he mentioned.

  “We’ve all done things that we will have to face up to in our dying breaths, even if we’ve never killed anyone,” he said. “In order to deliver justice, sometimes, you have to deliver a swift punch to the jaw. There’s a misconception among the youth that you can reason with evil, but evil is evil because it cannot be reasoned with. It forces the good side of us to turn dark to win battles. We must all commit sins that we abhor, even as evil revels in the fact that we turned to it. The important thing is not avoiding sin, but having a cause to commit those sins for. I know the empire doesn’t have a just cause. Nor does my former employer, the Dragon Hunter’s Guil
d. I see you, as a girl, making a grave for this man, for those men and women, and for everyone who perished here this night. So what do you fight for, Zelda?”

  Zelda felt taken aback. What had happened to her simple world? What happened to breaking life into good, the magi, and evil, the empire? When could she go back to the days when everything was simple and apparent on the surface?

  Never. You can’t go back.

  And it’s better this way. You can live with yourself and your actions.

  She didn’t quite accept her own words. She struggled with her actions, even as they had saved her own life and the lives of Tetra and Yeva. But at least, finally, she had a light out of the self-loathing. At least, finally, she could see a way to harness her demons. At least, finally, she understood what it would take to defeat the evil of Hydor.

  “I want to believe peace,” she said. “But I just don’t know how. I want to understand what you’ve said, Abe. And it kind of makes sense. But I’m not sure I fully understand it. Or want to understand it.”

  “It’s OK to have your doubts,” Abe said. “As long as your actions help your cause, then you’ll have plenty of time to think about your cause. As a good rule of thumb, if your cause isn’t actively hurting other people, it’s at least a good place to start. What comes after that, though, is up to you.”

  He went and grabbed a pile of dirt, picked it up, and looked to Zelda. The message was clear. We have to bury him.

  Zelda also grabbed dirt and nodded to him. After a count of three, they both tossed dirt on the body of Garo. It scattered almost perfectly across the mage’s chest, so symmetrical it seemed like a magical act.

  “There will be plenty of time to think about our coming battle and your cause, but for now, Zelda, let us lay this man to rest. Gaius, I think his name was. I recognize him from Caia.”

  Zelda hesitated on if she should correct Abe on who this man really was. Would the name mean anything to him? To a man who wasn’t a magi?