Time's Demon

by D. B. Jackson

  Droë ducked back into her byway and followed it to the other end. The lane that abutted it was empty, but another band of men waited at the next corner.

  Instinct told her they were searching for her; a moment’s consideration told her why. There was a reason Tirribin like Maeli and Teelo drove others of their kind from their towns and cities. There was a reason they took care to prey upon sailors from docked ships at least as often as they hunted residents of their villages.

  Droë had taken too many of Rooktown’s people, and now the humans wished to fight back. She didn’t fear them, but neither could she ignore the danger posed by their weapons. Mostly, she didn’t wish to spend every night avoiding hunters while hunting herself. She had used up Rooktown. She felt no particular attachment to the city, and so no true grief at having to leave. This was the price of her recklessness. She deserved no better.

  She departed the city at speed, blurring past the armed men, and the guards at the town gate. She followed a dirt road eastward along the north coast of the isle, knowing she would find a town eventually. Along the way she encountered a peddler. Her evening’s meal.

  She passed one village that she judged to be too small, but soon came to a more substantial town. It had a small waterfront and a wharf. Several ships were tied there. Sea trade would provide sailors, allowing her to feed without using up this town as well.

  Before long, she had even located a lair on the outskirts of the town: a shallow cave, one she wouldn’t outgrow. She went to sleep hungry, woke several times during the day, but managed always to slip back into her slumber.

  At dusk, she rose and crept into the town, passing through a gate guarded by one grizzled man. She left him alone, not wishing to invite attention.

  By the time it occurred to her to search for other Tirribin, it was too late. They found her.

  “What is it?” she heard from behind her.

  She turned, pulled herself up to her full height.

  Two male Tirribin stood before her, both shorter by a full head than she was. They were lovely to look at. Golden brown hair framed perfect oval faces. One had eyes of palest blue. The other had gray eyes, like Droë’s. The two resembled each other enough to be brothers, but she sensed that they weren’t. Too many centuries separated their ages. Gray-eyes was the elder.

  “It’s homely,” said the one with blue eyes. “But I sense its years. I believe it’s one of us.”

  “It’s powerful enough to kill both of you without effort,” she said. “So stop being rude and tell me your names.”

  The two males eyed each other, a question passing between them. Perhaps they thought she exaggerated her strength. After a fivecount they seemed to decide not to test her, at least not yet.

  Gray-eyes opened his hands. “Forgive us, cousin. I am Strie. This is my friend, Kreeva.” He lifted an eyebrow, expectant.

  “I’m Droë.” She surveyed the lane. “What town is this?”

  “It is our town.”

  A bit too pointed, that. She narrowed her eyes. “What do the humans call it?”

  “Humans have no imagination,” said the one named Kreeva. His voice was higher than Strie’s, more akin to a child’s. “They call it Barleyton. Can you guess why?” He smiled as he asked this, perhaps to mock, perhaps to soften.

  “Not your best riddle,” Strie said, a rebuke in the words.

  “It wasn’t meant to be.”

  “They grow barley nearby,” she said, drawing their gazes. “That’s what they trade? That’s what ships seek when they come to the wharf?”

  “Mostly,” Strie said. “The grain. Ale made from the grain. Bread made from the grain. Animals fattened on the grain.”

  “Do many ships come here?”

  “Enough for two of us. Not enough for three.”

  She stared down at Strie. He endured her scrutiny for a tencount before looking away.

  “That’s the second time you’ve suggested that I’m not welcome here,” she said. “Do you intend to chance a third, cousin?”

  “What are you?” he asked, risking a quick glance at her. “You smell like Tirribin, but you don’t look like any I’ve ever seen. And your years… they’re confused, hard to read.”

  “I’m Tirribin,” she said. “Just like you are, and yet nothing like you at all.”

  She allowed that to hang between them. After some time, Kreeva said, “Well, that’s a much better riddle.”

  Droë laughed. Strie cast a withering look at his friend.

  “This is too small a town for three,” he said. “I don’t mean that as a threat, and I’m not saying that you have to leave. If… if we must, we’ll go, and you can remain. Three of us will draw attention from the humans here. We’ve been here a long time. It’s our home.”

  She heard a plea in his tone, but no menace. She thought he might weep. They were afraid of her. She should have rejoiced in that. Not long ago, she would have given nearly anything to inspire fear in Maeli and Teelo. Instead, she felt a tightness in her chest. She wanted them to like her. If she could have remained here and been their friend, she would have, which was strange for her. Was Qiyed’s power responsible for this, as well?

  You would be a creature unto yourself, the Arrokad told her that first night. That strikes me as a lonely existence.

  She complained then of being lonely already. She sensed now that the isolation she’d known was nothing compared to what lay in her future.

  Fine. If all she could have was fear, then fear she would have.

  “It was your home,” she said. “It’s mine now. Leave or stay – I don’t really care. If you challenge me, I’ll kill you both.”

  CHAPTER 21

  4th Day of Kheraya’s Descent, Year 634

  “How do you know you can?” Strie asked after a pause. “We’re two to your one. You might be bigger, but that doesn’t mean–”

  Droë gave him time for no more. With a single stride at Tirribin speed she closed the distance between them, grabbed him with both hands, and threw him against the nearest wall. He dropped to the ground, twisting as he fell. He snarled, launched himself at her.

  Kreeva flew at her as well. They clamped themselves to her shoulders. Both bit at her neck and tried to overbalance her.

  She should have been scared. Fighting two Tirribin carried perils for even the most fearsome of Ancients. But it was rage and not panic that exploded inside her. She pried Strie off her and threw him again. Before he struck the wall, she grabbed Kreeva as well. She flung him away in time to meet Strie’s next assault.

  As he reached her, she grabbed him by both arms and held him fast, raising his exposed throat to her mouth.

  Kreeva had gathered himself for another attack, but she pinned him where he was with her glare.

  “I’ll take all his years,” she said, a rasp in the threat.

  Strie writhed in her grasp. She pounded him into the nearest wall, stunning him into stillness. Then she held him again within easy reach of her mouth.

  “Shall I show you that I’m willing to kill, or do you believe me?”

  Kreeva faltered, needle teeth bared, his gaze darting from her eyes to those of his friend.

  “Attack!” Strie growled.

  The other Tirribin eased his stance and shook his head. “No. She means what she says.” To Droë he said, “What are you?” as Strie had before.

  “I’m Tirribin. Can’t you tell?”

  “You’re different, and I wish to know why.”

  She tossed Strie to the ground. Like a cat dropped from a window, he contorted himself, landing again on feet and hands, coiling to renew their battle. He bled from a jagged gash on his brow.

  “I won’t tell you that.” She eyed Strie, expecting him to attack.

  She had handled this poorly, allowing herself to be guided by loneliness and petulance rather than sense. She didn’t want to kill them, and she didn’t want them as enemies.

  “But,” she went on, “I’ll do my best to keep your town safe
for all three of us.”

  Kreeva glanced at Strie, who still stared up at her.

  Strie canted his head. “How would you do that?”

  “I would be willing to hunt on the road some nights, outside of town. Perhaps the two of you could do the same. Other nights, we can go to the little village between here and Rooktown.”

  “That’s a long way.”

  “Not at speed.”

  “You would do this? After threatening us as you did?”

  Droë winced. “That was rude of me. I apologize.”

  Strie straightened, surprise registering on his beautiful, bloodstreaked face. “That was… unexpected.”

  “I know. I shouldn’t have said the things I did. I would rather have you as friends than as foes.”

  The boys shared a look.

  “You have to stop asking me what I am,” she said. “I’m Tirribin. I have time sense, I feed on years as you do. The rest – the way I look – it’s not something I can explain to you.”

  “If you’re Tirribin, you understand the power of curiosity. Not asking such questions is harder than you make it sound.”

  The power of curiosity. Who understood it more than she?

  “You’re right. And when I can tell you, I will. I give you my word.” She took a breath. “In the meantime, I offer my friendship.” She raised her hand, palm out. “Freely offered, fairly sworn.”

  Kreeva and Strie exchanged glances again. Sworn friendships were common among Ancients of different races, but rare within any one sept. With all that had already passed between them, however, Droë thought it a wise precaution. Betraying a sworn friendship was punishable by death.

  The two males eyed each other for the span of a breath, then nodded in unison. Strie pressed his hand to Droë’s.

  “I give my friendship,” he said. “Freely offered, fairly sworn.”

  Kreeva followed. “Freely offered, fairly sworn.”

  Droë lowered her hand, smiled. “I’m hungry. Shall we walk the road together?”

  They did, and in time they happened upon a group of four traders. Three they fed on. The oldest they might have let live, but he produced a flintlock and fired at Kreeva, who was closest to him. The man’s hand shook and he missed, but he tried to reload and Droë didn’t wish to risk a second attempt.

  “He’s yours, cousin,” she said. “Meager though his years might be. He aimed at you.”

  Strie echoed, “He’s yours.”

  Kreeva shrugged and fed.

  They walked back to the city at human speed. Droë asked them about Barleyton, and then about other nearby villages. They described several places where they might hunt. They offered to find a lair for her near their own, but Droë declined, preferring the solitude of her cave.

  Over the days that followed, their friendship deepened. For the first time in her life, Droë was part of a larger group, a band of Tirribin friends. This both pleased and frightened her. In mere days, she would call for Qiyed again. He would touch his hand to her brow and push her further down this lonely path. How would Kreeva and Strie receive her when she returned to them appearing older still?

  The night of the ha’turn had come and gone, but she did not go to the shoreline. She didn’t wish to remain in this form for the rest of her existence. She was between now – no longer just Tirribin, but not yet anything else. She found this unpleasant. Then again, this was the form her friends knew, and they had accepted her.

  To her astonishment, and her chagrin, it was Qiyed who called to her. His summons came at dusk a ha’turn after her arrival in Barleyton. It reverberated in her mind like the crash of breakers in a rocky cove, waking her from her day’s sleep and leaving her pulse pounding.

  She heard only a single word: her name. That was enough to convey his impatience, his irritation. She left her lair and started toward the shoreline. Before she had gone far, Strie and Kreeva found her.

  They were eager to hunt, and assumed she would be as well. When she told them she wouldn’t be hunting with them that night, they took offense. When she explained that she needed to leave the town and would see them the next day, they grew leery.

  “You swore friendship,” Strie said.

  “And I meant it. This, though, is part of who and what I am. You can’t ask me more about it.”

  They didn’t appear satisfied, and yet…

  “There’s more,” she said. “When you see me next… I’ll be changed. I won’t look quite like this anymore. I’ll be… older.” A part of her quailed at the changes she knew would come from this next encounter with the Arrokad. A part of her thrilled.

  “Where are you going, Droë?” Strie asked, concern for her shading his words.

  She couldn’t remember anyone sounding worried about her, ever. She nearly told them all.

  “To meet someone,” she said.

  “Another friend?”

  Was Qiyed her friend? She wanted to believe he was, but she knew better. “Someone with whom I have an arrangement, a bargain freely entered and fairly sworn.”

  Even that revealed much. They might guess she was meeting an Ancient. But she owed them candor.

  “I can’t tell you more, and I must go.” She edged away from them. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She blurred from the town. She knew they stared after her, and she resisted the impulse to peek back at them.

  Once in the countryside, she sped directly to the coast. She was hungry, but didn’t hunt. No doubt she would be both sickened and famished by the time Qiyed finished with her. Best then not to feed before their encounter.

  She soon reached a promontory overlooking the Sea of the Labyrinth. A narrow path led down the cliff face to the shoreline. She called Qiyed’s name and began her descent.

  As she stepped onto the wet sand and rocks below, he emerged from the waves, water running down his torso and naked legs. Not scaled. She steeled herself, certain he wouldn’t cover himself for her. He knew her preference in this regard and had chosen to ignore it. She would not embarrass herself by asking him to change. That, she intuited, was what he wanted of her.

  Another friend?

  Far from it.

  “I expected you to call for me sooner.”

  She kept her eyes locked on his. Wind twisted golden hair around her face. “The last time we spoke you chastised me for summoning you too soon. Make up your mind, Qiyed.”

  He grinned. “Bravely said. You wear your new years well.” He surveyed the strand. “You have left Rooktown?”

  She raised a shoulder. “These changes leave me hungry. I overhunted the city and had to leave.”

  “A pity.”

  “A trifle.”

  His grin this time was more brittle. “I sense mistrust on your part, or perhaps a change of heart.”

  “My wishes haven’t changed. As for trusting you or not…” She shrugged again. “Which would you choose?”

  He laughed. “Yes, you are more mature than you were. You sound more and more like an Arrokad each time we meet.”

  Her heart stuttered. “Is that what I’m becoming?”

  “I do not know what you are, or what you will be. Not Arrokad, but perhaps not Tirribin either.” He took a step in her direction. “Shall we proceed, and find out?”

  She didn’t back away, but neither did she approach him. “You would complete the process tonight?”

  He answered with a decisive shake of his head. “No. A few more years. That is all.”

  Qiyed took another step.

  “If I wanted to stop now, it would be too late, wouldn’t it?” The question came in a jumble. She regretted asking as soon as the words crossed her lips.

  He didn’t mock her, as she feared, nor did he respond right away. “There is no going back,” he said, speaking slowly. “We could stop now, if you wanted to, but already you are much changed. I thought you would want to go on, if for no other reason than to pass through this phase you are in now, which is neither child nor adult.” />
  “Yes, of course. I was… curious. Nothing more.”

  She wasn’t sure he believed her, but he kept his doubts to himself. He beckoned her closer, a question in his silvery eyes. She walked to where he stood, her breathing quick, her heart racing.

  “My shift,” she said, aware of how abrupt the words sounded.

  His smile was indulgent. “What about it?”

  “Did you change it, make it bigger?”

  “No. Such clothes are a part of you, essential to the Tirribin form. Have you not noticed that all of your kind dress much the same way?”

  He was right, they did. She knew this somehow, though until now she had given it no thought.

  “I see. Thank you.”

  “Of course.” A pause and then, “This night’s push will be even more powerful than the last,” he said. “I cannot tell you what you will feel afterward, but I imagine the effects will be the most severe yet.”

  She cringed at this, but did her best to keep her expression neutral. “Thank you for the warning.”

  He raised a pale hand to her brow, his middle three fingers finding those spots on her forehead.

  A hint of cold passed through her skin, followed by heat that stole her breath. She cried out, tried to jerk away. His touch held her fast. Fire spread through her body, her arms and legs, her gut. It blazed behind her eyes, scorched her throat and lungs, seared her chest.

  Droë whimpered, desperate for the torment to end, willing to forego her quest for love if that meant release from Qiyed’s magick. She heard popping noises, understood after a moment that they came from her knees, her elbows, her back, her wrists and ankles.

  “What are you doing to me?” she rasped.

  “You are growing, becoming what you have sought.”

  “It hurts.”

  “I know.”

  He didn’t remove his hand. Droë didn’t try again to pull away. His power burned on, searing every fingerbreadth of her from the inside out, until she thought her flesh must be blackened like roasted meat. She swooned, losing her sense of time. The surge and retreat of the surf faded. The wind remained, lashing at her tender skin, fanning the flames he had conjured.