Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  Temperance didn’t really have an answer for that one. She started saddling Astor. “How are you holding up?”

  The girl shrugged. “Fine. I’ve been hit plenty worse than that.”

  “No, I meant . . . .” Temperance paused, then pushed on. “Ruth, it’s alright to grieve. Even if he was a horrible man, he was still your father. Killing him isn’t something you can just get over in a moment.”

  “He had it coming.” Ruth spoke as if that settled everything.

  “That doesn’t mean—”

  “I don’t want to talk about it, alright? Can we just get going?” There was an edge to Ruth’s voice, something dark that hadn’t been there before. Or perhaps it always had been, and Temperance just hadn’t noticed.

  She started to speak, thought better of it, and climbed into the saddle. “C’mon, let’s get going. I don’t think you want to be here when the rest of the town finds out what’s happened.”

  Chapter Thirty

  They moved between the quiet farmsteads, empty fields, and mottes of maples. The ground sloped down for a time, then began to climb upward. Ruth twined her fingers together across Temperance’s belly but didn’t speak. Likely the girl had much to think on, leaving the only place she had known behind her at last.

  Meanwhile, Temperance kept her own counsel.

  They stopped at the top of a hill, the same one that Ruth had showed her days before. The mound of dirt rose out of the darkness, its surface still devoid of any growth. Perhaps one day it would be covered by moss and grass, and future generations of Shady Hollow would look and wonder what act of nature gave birth to such a strange landmark. Given enough time, the town might even craft their own legend. Of this, and the daemon wolf that once stalked their citizens in the night.

  As Temperance clambered off Astor’s back, Ruth looked around, a confused expression growing on her face. “What are we doing here?”

  “I need to get my bearings, make sure we’re going in the right direction. Seemed as good a place as any.”

  Ruth nodded and slid from the back of the horse. She already looked so natural at it. Hard to believe it had only been a week since Temperance first arrived.

  They stood there, looking out at the night. The valley below was dark, not a single light visible among the trees. The town still hid its presence, but likely not for much longer. Soon it would be just another waystop for travelers heading west.

  “Ruth, can I ask you something?”

  The girl sucked on her lower lip. “I already told you, I don’t want to talk ‘bout what happened. Papa got what he deserved.”

  “No, that’s not it.” Temperance turned so she could look Ruth in the eye. “You had that stone in the fire already. You were planning on using it.”

  “I thought it might be handy, if he . . . you know, came at me again.”

  “Is that it?” Temperance asked. “Seems like not too long ago, you were ready to go for his throat no matter what happened. Maybe after I didn’t show up this morning, you were planning to take matters into your own hands.”

  Ruth scowled. “So what if I was? Ain’t you glad I thought of it? You might not be breathing right now otherwise.”

  “Still, I warned you, Ruth. A person who can so callously take another man’s life—”

  “I don’t care!” Ruth almost spat the words out. “After what he’s done, he deserved it! Deserved all of it!”

  Temperance was silent a moment. “What about David Hander? Did he deserve to die, too?”

  “I—what?”

  “David Hander, you remember him. The boy you were to marry?” Temperance did her best to keep her tone even. “Did he decide not to take you along to Arkton after all? What did he do that was so bad, you had to kill him?”

  “I didn’t kill him!” Ruth protested. “He ran off, abandoned me. He left a note!”

  “Yes, that was clever enough of you, planting the note in his room. Even more clever to get Patrick and Johnnie to help you. Still not sure how you managed that.”

  “I didn’t . . . is that what Patrick told you?”

  Temperance shook her head. “He didn’t have a chance. No, I learned that from David himself.” There was a rustling nearby, and she turned to look. “Ah, about time. Was worried you got lost.”

  Ceranach stepped out of the shadows, and Ruth’s eyes grew so large it looked like they might pop right out. “David! How are you—I mean what are you doing—”

  Then her gaze flicked down to the daemon’s arms, the line of spikes running along them. Any further words died as her teeth snapped together with an audible crack. Temperance could see Ruth was shaking all over again, even worse than she had back at the house.

  “Hello Ruth. We wish we could say it was good to see you again, but we all know that isn’t true.” The daemon turned to Temperance. “Thank you for bringing her here.”

  “Temperance, you can’t let it hurt me! Please!” The girl took a step back.

  “‘It’?” Ceranach spat to one side. “We are not some dumb beast, child. David lives on, inside here.” The daemon tapped a finger against their chest. “At least have the decency to speak as if we are both present.”

  Ruth looked at Temperance, eyes filled with fear, as the daemon started towards her. Temperance shook her head.

  “Sorry Ruth, but Ceranach here is bound by the pact it formed with David. It—they have to see retribution done to all of those that hurt him. I’m sure you can sympathize with that.”

  “But I didn’t hurt David!” Ruth pleaded. “Johnnie and Patrick did! I never wanted nothing like that! I was just trying to scare him so he would call off the engagement, give me a bit more time! But then the boys started pushing and David fell down that ravine. We all thought he was dead, what were we supposed to do? I planted the note, yes, but I didn’t want none of this!” She burst into tears.

  Ceranach paused. “What she says may be true. At the least, none of David’s memories contradict her story.” They took a step back and regarded Temperance. “It . . . may be possible that David will accept this. He may allow the pact to be completed without any harm befalling Miss Mason.”

  Ruth’s tears cut off so quick, it was almost as if she hadn’t been crying at all. She glanced up, a look of sudden hope upon her face. Temperance regarded the girl for a moment, then spoke so soft, her words were almost lost to the wind.

  “Perhaps you are right. Perhaps she is not responsible for David Hander’s death.” Ruth looked at her, light coming back into her eyes. “But she is still responsible for the death of Patrick Felts and Johnnie Cullings.”

  “What?” said Ruth. “How’d you figure that?”

  “Because no one else here had reason to. The terms of Ceranach’s pact only required them to punish the boys, not to kill. Nobody in town knew what those two had done except you. Then, right after I tell you I’m planning to question Patrick, you realized that if he talked you might lose your chance of escape. You silenced both those boys just to protect your own skin!”

  Ruth opened her mouth, but Temperance glared her to silence. “I know it was you, Ruth. You told me you used to practice with your father’s old rifle. You told me you used to deliver food up to the miners, where the murder weapon was stolen from. Then, right after Patrick died, you had green stains on your dress. You don’t get stains from shucking corn, you get it from grass blades, like the ones you were hiding in when you shot him! I know it was you, don’t even try to deny it!” She was shouting by now, and Ruth flinched with each word.

  As Temperance prepared to release a further tirade, she felt a hand on her shoulder. Ceranach stood next to her. “That’s enough. We think you have more than proven your case.”

  “What you said, is it true?” Ruth’s voice cut between Temperance and the daemon, and they both turned to look at her. “The daemon wasn’t gonna kill Patrick or Johnnie? Does that mean it ain’t gonna to kill me, neither?”

  Ceranach stepped forward until they were looking right into R
uth’s face. The girl stared the daemon down, but there was a visible line of sweat dripping along her brow.

  “No, Ruth, we won’t kill you. Why should we do that, when you can spend the rest of your life suffering for your actions?” They took a step back.

  “Here.” Ruth looked over just in time to catch the canteen. She stared down at it a moment before looking up at Temperance. “There’s enough water in there to last you a few days. If you’re lucky, you’ll find more before you run out. Or you can head back to town and face the consequences of your actions. Either way, you’re not coming with me. I don’t want to see your face again.”

  “But you said I would be a Pistol Witch, just like you!” Ruth protested. “You’ve killed too, you’re no different than me!”

  “I’ve done things I regret, that’s true.” Temperance closed her eyes a moment. “But I’ve never forgotten the first lesson to being a Pistol Warlock—or a Witch. Our purpose isn’t to kill.

  “It’s to save.”

  Ruth started to speak, but Temperance shook her head. “No, you’ve said enough. We’re done here. Go.”

  The girl hesitated a moment, looking at Temperance and the daemon. Then she fled down the hill, and was lost to the dark.

  Temperance let out a breath she hadn’t known she was holding. That had been more difficult than she thought it would be. She had seen such potential in Ruth, and all of it had been stolen away in a few moments. Didn’t seem right fair.

  Ceranach turned towards her. “Thank you, Temperance. Already we can feel the bonds of our pact fading away.” They hesitated a moment. “Now that this agreement is complete, what do you . . . intend to do about us?”

  The daemon tensed, every muscle in its decaying body going taut. Temperance regarded them a moment before speaking. “If you’re asking if I’m planning to kill you now . . . you know, I don’t recall ever seeing a wanted poster for a daemon by the name of ‘Ceranach’. Not much point to bringing you in if there’s no bounty in it.”

  Immediately Ceranach relaxed. “That is good. We would hate to return to a prison we so recently departed. Although we are not sure what good it does us now. This body was severely damaged even before we came to inhabit it. It will not last us long.”

  They sighed and looked out at the distant mountains. “Of course, even if this body were new, it would only delay the inevitable. The world has changed while we slept, and we do not know if the home we remember even still exists out in the world. We do not even know where to look.”

  “I might have some advice in that regard.” Ceranach frowned at her, and Temperance continued, “There is a group of people to the west of here. Travel in wagons, call themselves Harmonists. If anyone knows where the rest of your people are, my money is on them.”

  Ceranach nodded. “A slim hope is better than nothing. We shall travel west, then.”

  They looked as if they were about to leave, but paused at the last moment. “If we may return the favor . . . you are seeking another of our kind, the one you referred to as ‘Belial’, correct?”

  “I am.”

  “We felt another sibling’s presence when they passed by several days ago. We feel their presence still. You can find our sibling many days to the north of here, as north as you can go before the land falls away. Our sibling hides there, amid a great press of people, where foul smoke fills the air too thick to see the walls.” Ceranach shook their head, as if clearing something away. “That is all we can see. We hope it will be of some help to you.”

  “That it will. Safe travels to you, Cerenach.”

  “You as well, Temperance.” Then the daemon launched itself off the hill and disappeared.

  Astor trotted up from wherever he had been hiding and nuzzled Temperance’s shoulder. You sure you’re alright with letting a daemon walk free? The church would have still given you something for it.

  “Ceranach isn’t some dumb beast, Astor. You should understand that better than anyone.” Temperance smiled, and the horse gave her a bland look. She swung into the saddle and turned Astor towards Arkton. “Capturing them won’t bring me any closer to Varconis. Besides, we have another daemon to catch, and I finally know where they are.”

  Oh? And what are you going to do once you find this daemon? You only have one silver spike left.

  “What I should have done in the first place.” Temperance patted one of her saddle bags, which was filled with a plethora of flowers, roots, and seeds taken from Sventa Jacoben’s garden. “If you can’t outmuscle them, outsmart them.”

  They rode off the hill, leaving behind only tracks for the first snowfall to fill.

  Conclusion

  “Pass the glasses ‘round, boys, drinks are on me tonight!” Belial poured out the dregs of the whiskey bottle, shaking the last few drops out with a half-drunk frown. The daemon regarded the empty glass a moment before waving it over its head. “Barkeep, another bottle of snake poison, if you don’t mind.”

  Belial’s new companions, a true scraping of the bottom of humanity’s barrel, smiled and joked while cigar and cigarillo smoke swirled around them. The daemon hadn’t bothered to catch their names; they let it join their cards and camaraderie in exchange for the free libations, and that was enough.

  The rest of the saloon patrons remained hidden behind the gray-green haze that permeated the place. That was probably how they liked it here. One rarely came to such establishments on the outskirts of Arkton unless they were unwelcome anywhere else. For its own part, the daemon had thought it best to keep a low profile. Well, low by its usual standards, anyway.

  In the distance, the sound of someone abusing piano keys drifted to the card players’ ears. Laughter mixed with a woman’s scream, although whether either was real or fake was anyone’s guess. Feeling impatient, Belial banged on the table with the bottle, harder than he should have but not enough to break it. “Barkeep! Another round!”

  At last the owner, a wispy man who looked like he wouldn’t weigh five pounds dripping wet and with his clothes still on, came by with an unopened bottle. It was more rotgut than real whiskey, but still the finest stuff in the building. The whole saloon stank of sweat and piss, which suited Belial just fine.

  The body it currently wore, newly acquired just two days past, would be some time before showing its usual signs and smells of deterioration. Still, better to be in the company of men who appeared almost corpse already. Made the daemon seem better by comparison.

  “Twelve kos,” the bartender said when Belial reached for the bottle. It was overpriced, and they both knew it, but they also both knew Belial was in no shape to be going anywhere else. Or maybe raising the price with each new bottle was the owner’s way of keeping drunkenness to a minimum.

  “Here, by all means, take your precious kos.” The daemon overturned its purse and shook out a smattering of silver coins. A few rolled off the table, but most came to a stop near the edge, clinking and clattering together until they all stilled.

  With a deft hand, the barkeep swept up the coins and disappeared. Belial gave the coin purse another shake, then peered inside. Seeing it empty, the daemon shrugged and tossed the purse over its shoulder. Such was the way with human currency. Easily spent and easily acquired anew.

  Besides, this was a celebration. It had gotten rid of that horrible Pistol Wench, made it back to proper civilization, and found itself a sweet-smelling new body to boot. It would be days, weeks before anyone sniffed out who and what Belial was, plenty of time to enjoy the many luxuries this barbarian life had to offer. Speaking of which . . . .

  Through the haze, a girl weaved her way between gamblers, drunks, and several fistfights. She was the last person the daemon would ever have thought to see in a place like this: brown hair curled on top of her head in the latest fashion, cheeks painted with delicate touches of rouge. Completely at odds with the refreshment girls who haunted the upstairs railing, faces smeared with so much powder they looked more ghost than mortal.

  The girl’s clothes wer
e almost as much at odds with the place as their owner: an evening dress of red satin, cut to show everything from neckline to navel. Even the workers upstairs didn’t give that much skin away for free. For this little thing to wander the main floor without looking concerned over what effect her appearance might have on the other patrons was almost laughable.

  Indeed, as Belial watched a surly dock worker, all meaty arms and curled mustache, fell in beside the red dress. His words were lost through the crowd, as was her response, but there was no missing the man’s reaction. His face turned a shade of red almost brighter than the girl’s attire. He lunged forward and grabbed her arm, spinning the girl to face him.

  The daemon didn’t quite catch what happened next, dust or cigarillo smoke got into its eyes. By the time Belial had blinked it away, the dock worker lay curled into a ball on the floor, and the red dress was heading straight for their table.

  “Evenin’, fellas,” she said, her drawl sweet as candied cotton. “Mind if I join in your little game?”

  One of Belial’s companions, who must have been blind as well as drunk, said, “Table’s full. Take yourself back upstairs where you belong, you uppity wh—”

  The drunk cut off as the bottle of whiskey struck him on the head. He let out a yelp that carried through the noisy saloon, but nobody even glanced their way. Belial watched with regret as the bottle disappeared into the swirling crowd. Still, if it kept the old codger from scaring off the red dress, the daemon would consider it worth the cost.

  “What was that for you crazy . . . .” The drunk went off with a litany of curses. For a moment the daemon contemplated the cost of breaking the man’s neck while surrounded by witnesses. It would be satisfying, if nothing else.

  Before it could decide, the red dress said. “Aw, boys, don’t turn cruel over little old me. I’m sure I can squeeze in somewhere.”

  With that, she dropped into Belial’s lap.

  “Ooh, aren’t you a tall drink of water.” She ran a finger along Belial’s cheek, tracing her way towards the daemon’s hairline. “What do they call you, hon?”