Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  Coolness returned, but only for a heartbeat. Then warmth passed through her skin and into her head. It traveled downward, spreading like flame across parchment. Her cheeks flushed, as did her neck. It reached her body and dispersed in all directions. Her limbs prickled with it, her stomach crawled with it. The sensation was neither unpleasant nor pleasurable. It simply was.

  Droë didn’t realize that the Arrokad had removed his hand from her head until he asked, “How do you feel?”

  She opened her eyes, regarded him, and then looked past him at the sea, the sand, the boulders.

  “Fine.”

  “Different?”

  “I don’t know yet. It was… I felt your power go through me, so I suppose it must have done something. Yes?”

  “That remains to be seen. You do not feel ill, or uncomfortable in any way?”

  She shook her head. A half-truth. She felt odd. Not sick or wrong, but… different. She couldn’t say how, and until she could she wasn’t ready to confide in him. Was that sense of caution new to her, the product of his magick? Or was she searching for difference where none existed?

  “It may take a few days before you notice any change, and before I am able to judge the success or failure of this first attempt. I would suggest we not speak again for several nights. If you must summon me, you may, but only do so if something feels… wrong.”

  “All right,” she said.

  “Goodnight, Droë of the Tirribin.”

  He didn’t wait for her reply, but strode into the surf and dove, only emerging again some time later, far out in the moonlit water. Droë sped back to the city. She had fed earlier in the evening, before she called for the Arrokad, but she was famished now and eager to hunt.

  She took one man near the wharves. He was drunk and had too few years left to sate her hunger. So she fed on a second man, this one younger. A sailor, perhaps. Even after this second kill, she remained hungry. As she prowled the lanes for prey, she considered every sensation, each motion and thought. Did she feel changed?

  Before long she grew impatient with this constant selfexamination. Qiyed said it would take days to know; she had given herself a half-bell.

  She went back to her lair and tried to sleep, ignoring her lingering hunger. She feared she would be too restless, but she dropped into a deep slumber that carried her all through the following day. Whatever Qiyed had done not only stimulated her appetite, but also exhausted her.

  Over the days that followed, she continued to sleep deeply and feed more than usual. By the fifth evening, she had grown certain of other differences as well. She didn’t fear her next encounter with the Arrokad quite so much. The recollection of her confrontation with Maeli and Teelo stung less. She missed Tresz still, but not the way she had. Her emotions had smoothed over.

  In all respects except one.

  Her longing for love remained as it had been. It might have been stronger. When she thought of Tobias, and of the woman – Mara – jealousy flared in her breast like oil poured over flame. Time and again, she imagined draining the woman of her years, reveling in her screams, her cries for help.

  That night, Droë returned to the same stretch of shoreline and summoned Qiyed again. She didn’t bother to raise her voice.

  He surfaced some moments later and glided through the surf to the sand before her, emerging from the water in his scaled form. He halted a short distance from her, his gaze keen, starlight in his eyes.

  “You are changed,” he said.

  His observation both thrilled and frightened her.

  “What do you see?”

  “What do you feel?” he answered.

  “I asked first.”

  “A human evasion.”

  She twitched a shoulder, unwilling to say more until he responded. After a brief silence, he made a small, sharp circular motion with a delicate hand. A gesture of annoyance and surrender.

  “I sense… patience, calm, but also willfulness, and the illusion of maturity not yet earned.”

  The words stung. No doubt they were meant to. Droë kept her expression mild. “Is that all?”

  The Arrokad laughed. “Very good, cousin. Perhaps there is less illusion than I implied. Now, tell me what you feel.”

  “My feelings reflect your observations. My emotions feel more controlled than they did.” She kept to herself her dark thoughts of the woman who sought Tobias. “I believe I am more observant, more thoughtful.”

  “Perhaps. It will not last, not if we continue with this.”

  Droë frowned in surprised. “But–”

  “Have you not observed humans in their adolescence?”

  She had, and she didn’t wish to experience what she had witnessed. “I will be like them?”

  “Possibly. I have never done this before.”

  She considered this and shrugged again. “So be it.”

  “Then you intend to continue with our arrangement?”

  “I do.”

  Emotion she could not read rippled across his face and was gone.

  “Do you disapprove?”

  “I make no judgement. We forged a bargain, you and I. Freely entered and fairly sworn. I will do as I promised.”

  She sensed that he held something back, that despite his denials, he had misgivings about going forward.

  “Do you fear for me, cousin?”

  “You spoke of changes of the mind,” Qiyed said. “What of changes of the body?”

  “I sleep more, and I feed more. Other than that, I feel much the same.”

  “Very well. You summoned me. I assume because you wish to have me push you further.”

  Fear made her falter, but not for long. “That’s right. It’s been five days. I’m ready.”

  His lips quirked. “That must be the newfound patience you mentioned.”

  She bristled at the irony in his tone. “That was rude. You said to wait several days. I have, and more.”

  “This is true. Forgive me.” She heard no contrition in his words. Before she could say so, he went on. “I said previously that I wish to learn about the misfuture you mentioned. Tell me more of what you know.”

  “And in return?”

  “Another push before we part.”

  “Agreed.”

  Qiyed lowered himself to the wet sand and she did the same a few paces away, where the sand was drier. When he gestured again, encouraging her to speak, Droë told him some of what Mara had told her, and shared a bit of what she knew about events in Daerjen. She didn’t reveal all, of course. This was commerce, and he had given her but a tiny fraction of what she sought. She was only so forthcoming, and, she knew, he understood her reticence.

  Qiyed did question her, but when she deflected his attempts to draw more from her, he acquiesced, addressing more general matters of time, of future and past, of the extent to which any one Walker might change the course of human history. It was, she had to admit, a pleasant conversation. Not often did a Tirribin, or any creature for that matter, earn the undivided attention of one of the Most Ancient. She enjoyed having one so lovely to look upon devote so much time to her.

  They spoke late into the night, until a slivered moon rose behind her, casting long, silvery shadows across the strand.

  Qiyed eyed it and stood. “I have lingered longer than I intended. Thank you, Droë of the Tirribin, for a most illuminating exchange.”

  She climbed to her feet and brushed sand from her tattered shift. “I enjoyed it, too.”

  “I am glad.” He stepped closer to her, raised his hand, fingers splayed. “You are ready for another push?”

  “I am.”

  He reached out and touched her forehead, his fingers somehow finding those same spots on her brow. Cool power flowed into her, warmed, spread as before. It felt stronger this time. She staggered, dropped to one knee. Somehow, Qiyed kept his fingers in place. He did raise an eyebrow.

  “You are all right?”

  She remained on one knee. “Fine.”

  Her stomach chu
rned, and the muscles in her legs cramped, making her cry out. Still the Arrokad did not relinquish his magickal grip on her. On it went, Ancient power, as hot and viscous as magma, spreading through her.

  When Qiyed removed his hand. Droë gasped at the release and dropped forward onto her hands and knees.

  “This was more extreme than the first time.” He offered it as a statement.

  “Much.”

  “I pushed you the equivalent of two human years. You will notice greater changes this time. Perhaps more discomfort. And it will take you longer to assess these changes. I do not expect to hear from you for many days. As long as a human ha’turn. Do you understand?”

  She nodded.

  “Good. I take my leave.” Yet, he stood over her, waiting for… something. After a tencount, she raised her gaze to his. He didn’t say more, but he scrutinized her. Could he already see the effect of his magick?

  After another breath, he turned from her, waded into the sea, and swam away.

  Droë remained as she was until she could no longer see him. Then she pushed herself up and struggled back toward the city. She was even more famished than she had been after the first push, but her gut writhed like a living thing. Tirribin didn’t get ill as humans did. Years could not be vomited. Still, her need for nourishment warred with the lingering queasiness brought on by the Arrokad’s magick.

  She found walking difficult. At first she blamed illness, weariness, the uneven sand and strewn rocks of the shoreline.

  After some time, she realized it was more than that. She had changed. Qiyed had seen it, and now she felt it. Her limbs were too long, her joints oddly placed. She had grown.

  Droë halted, swayed. Looking down at the ground she reeled with vertigo. Too great a distance to her feet. This new body was alien to her. Apprehension and excitement again. This was what she wanted, what she had sought since leaving Trevynisle. Yet the Arrokad had spoken of her having time to change her mind, of it taking three or four pushes before she could no longer stray from this path. They had arrived at that point in half the time. She wondered if she could still move at Tirribin speed, if she could still clamber onto the back of prey. What if she couldn’t hunt anymore? What if she starved during the respite the Most Ancient One had demanded? An entire ha’turn. Could she last so long?

  She wanted to try to move at speed, but she was too weak. If she used that power now, she might not have it when it came time to feed.

  It didn’t escape her notice that somehow her tatters still fit. She had worn them for as long as she could recall. Were they part of her, then? Did they grow as she did? Or had Qiyed done that with his magick?

  She resumed walking, judging each step, trying to adjust to her new form. Had her face changed as well? On the thought, she paused again, raised her hands tentatively to her chest. It remained as flat as before. Relief flooded her. A surprise. She had thought she was ready to be womanly.

  Upon reaching the city wharf, she slowed, scented the air. Whatever else the Arrokad had done to her, he hadn’t diminished her ability to sense years for the taking. If anything, she felt more attuned to the city. She crept around corners, scanned lanes for prey. It was late and few were abroad. Few, but not none.

  As she prowled, her mind eased fractionally. In hunting, she rediscovered her truest self. Relief again; she retained the essence of who and what she was.

  A man slumbered in an alley, stinking of whiskey and his own urine. Not the most attractive prey, but a good start, someone on whom she could test her body. She attacked at speed, aware of the way her form blurred. Her legs, longer now, coltish, carried her to him in no time. She didn’t have to leap, and wasn’t sure she could. But when he woke and struggled against her, she overpowered him with ease. As fast as ever. Perhaps a shade less nimble, but far stronger, which was more than fair compensation for whatever she might have lost.

  Droë’s stomach settled after this first meal, leaving her ravenous still. She resumed her hunt, more confident now that she had taken prey. Indeed, she experienced a surge of recklessness that was alien to her. The old Droë – the smaller, weaker Droë – would have resigned herself to the possibility that she might not find suitable prey so late.

  Now she asked herself why she should have to confine her predation to the streets. She needed only to press her hand to the wood of the nearest house to perceive the sweet, young years that dwelt within. They were hers for the taking if only she was willing to step inside. Why shouldn’t she enter?

  The answer came to her on the heels of the question: for this night she might be safe, but it would ruin the town for her. Before long, humans would hunt for her in numbers, armed, united, and therefore dangerous.

  Reluctantly, she walked on. Her hunger deepened, and with it her frustration. What was the use of her new strength if she was forced to hunt the same old way?

  The eastern sky began to brighten, which usually signaled the end to her wanderings. Not this night.

  She remained in the lanes, eager for the first humans to leave the safety of their homes. She didn’t have to wait long. As dawn’s silver spread across the sky, a young man emerged from a small structure and started toward the wharf. He walked without urgency, emboldened, no doubt, by the burgeoning daylight. Droë followed at a distance, keeping to shadows, awaiting her opportunity.

  When he turned down a narrow byway, a shortcut to the shoreline, she followed at speed. He heard her at the last moment, whirled, and raised his arms to ward off a blow. She did leap this time, and crashed into him. He toppled to the dirty stone, and she locked her hands on him, her mouth latching to his neck. He fought her, but to no avail. Her power was a thing of wonder. Never had she imagined that taking a human male in the prime of his life could be so easy. There was no stink of whiskey, no sweat from a day spent laboring. He was clean, sober, awake, alive, and his years were hers.

  She took them all, and when she’d finished, she sauntered out of the byway in plain view of others who had emerged from their homes. They barely glanced at her. A child still, in tatters, taller than she had been, perhaps ungainly now, but no one of consequence. Why would the humans take notice of her?

  She could have walked around the city all day. She wasn’t afraid to do so, as once she had been. Having conquered her hunger, however, she fell prey to her weariness. Qiyed’s touch and the growth it spurred had drained her. She retreated to the deserted stretch of alleyway where she had her lair: a pile of old wood and stone, hidden and hollowed out so that she could come and go without being seen.

  On this morning, though, she barely fit inside. The space had been snug for as long as she had been here. Now it was too small. She tried to hollow it out, but as she removed more rock and wood, what remained began to sag until she feared it would collapse entirely. She crawled inside, folded herself into a tight, uncomfortable ball, and attempted to sleep.

  She woke many bells later, her limbs cramped and sore, and barely managed to extricate herself from the pile. After hunting for the evening’s meal – again, she fed twice – she searched for a new lair, settling on a space behind a tavern. It was rank and open to the sky, not nearly as comfortable as her old home. But it would have to do, at least until the coldest turns arrived.

  The next several days passed in a haze of hunger and fatigue. Droë fed and slept, and did little else. The boldness imparted to her by Qiyed’s latest push remained, but she didn’t know what to do with it.

  On the fifth night, she emerged from her new lair to uncommon noise. Music floated on the city air from every direction, disparate melodies mixing sourly. The lanes hummed with conversation and laughter. Smells of human food were nearly strong enough to blot out the scent of years. Droë crept from the byway, wary and intrigued. It didn’t take her long to recognize the celebration. Kheraya Ascendant – the solstice.

  Hunting would be easy this night. Rooktown would be filled with its usual residents, as well as with men and women from a hundred ships. Yet this once, she cared
nothing for years. On this night, humans gave their love more freely even than usual for an animal species.

  It was a celebration of the sensual – food and drink, music and love. She walked among the humans, not worrying that someone might notice the paleness of her eyes, and she searched for lovers, desperate to observe, to learn, to imagine. They weren’t difficult to find.

  She followed one pair to an alleyway, peered out from a hiding place as they kissed and touched and peeled off clothes in the warm night air. They both appeared to derive equal pleasure from the coupling; there was no exchange of coin at the end.

  Two women lay together in a house along a small lane, their windows open, their voices twined in desire and satisfaction. Droë watched them avidly as well. Most of the time when she thought of love, she imagined being with a man – with Tobias. What if she found a woman to love instead?

  She observed other couples, of every combination of women and men. With each encounter she witnessed, her longing to know what it meant to love grew, until her heart ached with it. She wondered if this new body of hers was capable of desire. For though she wished desperately to feel love, she could not understand the physical need that seemed to drive all that humans did. When did that begin in their species?

  Later certainly than the stage at which Qiyed’s push had left her. Was that his intention? Had he pushed her this far and no further on purpose?

  Droë did not tire of observing the lovers. She didn’t believe that could ever happen. In time, though, her hunger grew more desperate than her need to observe and learn. On the strand nearest the docks, she found a fluid crowd of men and women. They sang and danced and shared food cooked over open fires. No one noticed when a lone woman wandered from the throng and waded out into the shallow surf. Nor did anyone hear her struggle against the overgrown Tirribin who took her years and left her floating in the brine.

  Over the next few nights, Droë continued to hunt with abandon. Four evenings into Kheraya’s Descent, she paid the price for her carelessness. She stepped from her new lair into streets that looked unnaturally bright. Following the alley to a larger thoroughfare, she spotted a group of men standing together in a tight cluster. Some held torches. Many others carried muskets or pistols.