Demonhome

by Michael G. Manning

  At his waist was a sturdy leather belt, chased with silver metal. Both the buckle and the tip appeared to be silver with small emerald stones ornamenting them. The pouch and scabbards it held were similarly adorned.

  “Who carries a sword into the wilderness?” she asked him, though she didn’t expect an answer. He was completely unconscious.

  Is he breathing?! How could she have been so stupid? After hitting the trees there was every chance he might be dead, or dying. She should have checked that immediately. Leaning forward, she placed her ear gently against his chest. The material there was smooth and soft, though perhaps stiffer than cotton. She could hear his heart beating steadily within his chest.

  As she raised her head she saw a glint of gold at his throat, a bit of metal peeking out from his collar. With one hand she pulled a heavy chain out of his shirt where she could examine it.

  “Costume jewelry?” she wondered aloud. While his clothes were obviously expensive beyond belief, there was no way the necklace could be gold. It was made of links that were thick enough to have been part of the chain on a child’s swingset, although they were much more elegantly formed. The links were square and designed in such a way that they could lie flat against the skin. If it were real it would have been worth tens of thousands of dollars, if not more. Even people who could afford such clothes wouldn’t be foolish enough to walk around displaying that much precious metal openly.

  There was no way it was real. “What a tacky necklace,” she observed. “You aren’t a rapper are you, my mysterious friend?” Karen laughed at the thought, there weren’t any rappers anymore. “At least not in this world.”

  A small trickle of blood made its way from one nostril and down the man’s cheek.

  Karen felt a sudden surge of panic. Was he dying? Perhaps he had hit his head? He might be hemorrhaging internally. She had heard of people walking away from similar accidents complaining of nothing more than a headache, only to die hours later.

  “I’ve got to get us off this mountain.” She reached into her pocket to retrieve her PM. The pert could have them back to civilization in less than an hour.

  It wasn’t there.

  “No! No, no, no! Goddamnit!” she swore. When had she had it last? Right before the rockslide—she must have dropped it. Glancing back up the steep rocky slope, she knew it was probably buried under several tons of rock. What would she do now? She couldn’t summon her pert, and it had taken her four days to hike this far into the mountains. There was no way she could carry someone back out the same way.

  “And what about food, water, shelter? Sweet Jesus!” It would start getting cold in a few hours, and all of her gear; her tent, sleeping bag, everything, was all packed up in the pert’s storage compartments.

  She closed her eyes and held herself still, “First things first, Karen, what’s your first priority?” He’s breathing but unconscious. I can’t do anything about a head injury, but I should check him over to make sure there aren’t any other serious injuries. She stared at the man once again, “Do I have to take his clothes off?”

  Karen shook her head, “I probably should, but I don’t know that I could get them back on him, and it will be getting cold. I’ll check for broken bones, but unless I see blood, the clothes stay on.” That was something of a relief; she hadn’t really wanted to strip him.

  Running her hands along his torso, she felt his ribs and then along his arms but found nothing out of place. A visual inspection revealed no blood, other than what was trickling from his nose. She continued her search, moving down over his hips and checking the long bones of his legs. The first was fine, but the right leg had a suspicious bend in the thigh. Probing it with her fingers caused her patient to groan.

  “Groaning is a good sign, maybe.” She had no idea, but she hoped it meant his unconsciousness wasn’t a result of serious brain injury. “I should have studied medicine instead of pharmacy, not that either is worth a damn anymore.” Of course, her current situation belied that statement. Obviously, there were extraordinary circumstances where it was handy for a person to know something of the old disciplines.

  “So, you’ve got a broken femur,” she told the stranger. “That probably won’t kill you, unless you’ve also torn an artery, but I have no way to know, and even if I did I wouldn’t begin to know how to treat it, so I’m just going to assume it’s fine. In addition, you have a head injury, also something I can’t do much about.” She was forgetting something.

  “Oh!” Leaning forward she pried one of his eyelids open, letting the sunlight spill in. He had blue eyes, and the iris contracted as the light shone in. “That’s good—I think.”

  Having done as much as she could to assess her patient, she considered her next priority, “We need to get farther down where it won’t be as cold tonight.” How in the hell was she supposed to move a grown man by herself? Even if he weren’t unconscious, he certainly couldn’t walk with his leg in that condition.

  “A litter,” she pronounced. Is that the right term? She wasn’t sure, but it didn’t really matter.

  The only tool she was carrying was her pocket knife. She didn’t relish the idea of trying to cut even slender saplings with that. Fortunately, a much large blade was right at hand. It might not be an axe, but she figured the sword would be easier than a swiss army knife. Gripping the hilt she slid the weapon from its scabbard and then whistled.

  It wasn’t a toy. The blade was almost three feet in length and was polished to a brilliant sheen. Double edged, it looked to be very sharp, though she didn’t try her fingers on the edge. Making a slow circuit of the area she found several small trees with trunks less than two inches in diameter. Karen raised the sword and chopped at one, holding the hilt in both hands.

  She had expected it to require several swings if not more to cut through the base of the tree, but to her surprise the blade bit deeply, almost severing it in one go. She had used an axe before, which should have been a better tool for the task, but it hadn’t been that easy. Her second swing finished the job, and when she took aim at another tree she managed it with a single blow. The sword was impossibly sharp.

  “Damn thing almost cuts like a lightsaber,” she muttered, examining the edge again. There was no sign of damage from the hard use, but she could see a faint shimmer hovering around the edge. Now I’m imagining things, she thought. With a laugh, she held it out in front of her, “Magic, no doubt about it. This must be the fabled blade, Excalibur.”

  She turned back toward the unconscious stranger, “Which means you must be Arthur.”

  Putting aside her nervous attempt at humor, she cut a third sapling and then used the sword to trim away all the smaller branches before arranging the three lengths of wood in a triangle. She returned the sword to its scabbard and borrowed the stranger’s knife. It seemed to be just as sharp.

  She needed rope, but she had that covered. Karen unbuckled her belt and with a twist removed the buckle and began unravelling the paracord it was constructed from. It had been made for just such a purpose, though she had never seriously believed she would need it.

  “Sadly, the only knot I can remember is a square knot,” she mumbled to herself as she began attempting to lash the wooden frame together. In the end she succeeded, but it was not a job any scout would have been proud of, and she had probably used far more of the paracord than was necessary. She added the smaller branches she had cut from the trees earlier, lashing them across the framework, and eventually she had something that she thought might support a body.

  Karen eyed her handiwork critically, “Not my best work.”

  Getting the man onto the litter turned out to be the worst part of the job. He wasn’t particularly heavy for his height, but even a hundred and sixty some-odd pounds of dead-weight was a serious challenge. Thankfully she wasn’t small, at five feet and ten inches, Karen was taller than most women she knew. She was also in excellent shape.

  She got her arms under his shoulders and hooked her elbows beneath
his armpits. Grunting and swearing, she tugged and pulled until she had him roughly positioned on the ramshackle litter. The sun was beginning to drop behind the mountains to the west, and she knew she didn’t have much time left.

  An hour and a half later she was convinced she had made a mistake. Karen hurt everywhere. Her hands were raw and sore; she had lost some skin while making the litter and even more dragging the damned thing down the rough and tumble mountainside. Then there were her muscles: her back hurt, her shoulders hurt, and her legs had been tired before she had even started all of this.

  Worse still, she wasn’t covering much distance. The litter might have been a big help across even terrain, but going downhill it was a constant struggle. The wide end kept catching between bushes, rocks, and small trees, forcing her to stop and free it before she could continue.

  How far had she gone? I doubt I’ve gotten us much more than three or four hundred feet down this damned mountain. “This sucks,” she swore. “How much worse can it get?” As if in answer to her question a light rain began to fall.

  Karen cast her eyes skyward, “Forget I asked.”

  She kept going for another hour, until the light became so poor that she began to worry about injuring herself in the dark. In the distance, she could hear the sound of rushing water, which was a good sign, since it meant she must be getting close to the bottom.

  The rain had stopped, and there wasn’t much wind, but her clothes were still damp and even a slight breeze of the now chilly air made her shiver. Her passenger didn’t seem to notice, but his skin was cold and clammy to the touch.

  “This is going to be a fun night.”

  She propped the head of her litter on a short stone that stood only a foot from the ground. That kept it off the wet soil. Casting her eyes about, she looked for something she could use to help insulate them, but none of the thin bushes that grew nearby looked appealing. There were some dead leaves on the ground, but they were wet, and she didn’t care for the thought of whatever insects might be hiding in them.

  Snakes didn’t bother her, most bugs were ok too, but the thought of possibly finding a centipede made her skin crawl.

  “Why don’t you have one of those giant wool cloaks they always wear in fantasy novels?” she asked, addressing the unconscious man again. As usual, he didn’t reply.

  She tried propping herself up against a tree, but she was soon shivering, and sleep was out of the question. Her patient didn’t shiver, but looking at him made her feel worse. If I’m cold, he might die of hypothermia, his body isn’t even responding.

  Standing, she moved over and lay down on the litter beside him. Getting comfortable was difficult. The cross-pieces were just wide enough to cause them to cut into her back, and sharp twigs seemed to be everywhere, but she made the best of it. Pressing herself close against the stranger’s left side to avoid the injured leg, she closed her eyes.

  A thought occurred to her then, What if he wakes up? That was stupid. He was in no condition to be a threat, and even if he tried anything it would only take one poke to his leg to end any such thoughts.

  Karen sighed as she closed her eyes, “I’m never going to be able to sleep like this,” but her tired body had other ideas, and she was soon fast asleep.

  Chapter 4

  Matthew scratched at his cheek. There was something dry and crusty stuck there. Opening his eyes he found himself confronted by a dazzling display of stars. The sky was black and absolutely clear, revealing a celestial show of unparalleled beauty.

  His body was mostly cold, but one side was warmer than the other. Nestled against him was the woman he had seen earlier, or at least he assumed it was her. It was hard to tell in the dark, and his magesight was almost absent in this dead world. He kept still for a few minutes, creating a dim light to see by, and then examining his surroundings.

  He was off the ground, suspended on a rough litter, and he didn’t think he was in the same place where he had lost consciousness, though he couldn’t be sure. He also needed to pee.

  The pain struck when he tried to get up, and an involuntary groan passed his lips. Fuck that hurts! he thought. Turning his magesight inward was easier, there was plenty of aythar within him to see by. My leg is broken.

  He supposed that was to be expected. It could have been much worse. Drawing upon what strength he had, he attempted to straighten the bone before fusing it back together—and nearly screamed.

  Idiot, of course it hurts! You know better, block the nerves first, he chided himself. He was glad his sister wasn’t there to see his mistake. She was always loftily superior about her healing skills.

  Starting again, he blocked the nerves this time and succeeded in getting the bones back in place and mended. The bruising he couldn’t do much about, but there didn’t seem to be much damage otherwise. Releasing the nerve block he gently eased himself up from the litter, hissing at the soreness when he put weight on the injured leg. It held him up, though.

  Limping slowly, he went a short distance before unlacing his trousers and relieving himself. With that important business taken care of he returned and spent a few minutes considering the girl. She looked thoroughly miserable, wet and shivering on the litter.

  Once again he reached futilely into his empty belt pouch. With a sigh he withdrew his hand. He felt weak as a kitten, but he could probably do something about their damp clothes and the cold air.

  Muttering softly, he used his aythar to expel the moisture from the woman’s clothes first, then he took care of his own. A wave of dizziness came over him, accompanied by a throbbing pain in his head. I definitely overdid it earlier.

  He wasn’t suffering from feedback sickness, though. The headache would have been much worse. He had simply pushed himself too far.

  Lying back down on the litter, he eased himself closer to the woman before creating an envelope of warm air around the two of them. Her shivering stopped after several minutes, and she seemed to sigh contentedly, but she didn’t awaken.

  Matthew ached all over. It felt as though even his bruises had bruises, and the hard, irregular surface of the litter didn’t help. He took a while adjusting his position until the wooden lattice was positioned so that it was pressing into relatively uninjured places, and then he closed his eyes.

  He didn’t think he would sleep, but when he opened them again the bright morning sun was already shining on his face. The woman was leaning over him, staring down with concern on her features.

  He smiled, “I’m alright.”

  She frowned.

  Matthew started to get up. The wooden frame was cutting into him in various places, making his aches and pains even worse. The woman put her hand on his chest, pushing him back down. She said something, but he couldn’t understand her words. It sounded like a warning or cautionary statement from her tone.

  “What did you say?” he asked.

  Her reply was equally unintelligible, though he thought he caught the word ‘no’ in it.

  Great, he thought, we don’t speak the same language. It was something he should have expected. He tried again, “Nice to meet you. My name is Matthew.”

  She responded with a long utterance that was irritatingly familiar but still unintelligible. It sounded as if she was speaking Barion, but the words didn’t make sense. He felt as though he should understand what she was saying, but he couldn’t find any meaning in her sentences other than the occasional word that he recognized. In this case, the only word he was certain of was ‘no’.

  Patting his chest again he kept his reply short, “Matthew.”

  After a second she did the same, “Karen,” then she pointed at him, “Matthew.”

  “Yes,” he nodded.

  Her eyes lit up, “Yes!” She followed that with another strange sentence that seemed to emphasize the word ‘yes’.

  So, we have yes and no in common, he decided. Her language must be either a precursor to Barion, or it could have developed from it. That should make it easier to learn to understan
d one another. He sat up and started to get off the litter again.

  “No,” she declared, following the word with an obvious warning as she pointed at his leg.

  Matthew smiled, “My leg is fine. I’m a wizard.”

  Karen shook her head, “No, Matthew.” Using hand gestures and more peculiar phrases she made it clear that he should remain still.

  He pointed at his leg again, “I fixed it.” When that didn’t seem to elicit any comprehension he put his hand on his chest again, “Wizard.”

  She repeated the word ‘wizard’ and then laughed. Clearly the word held some meaning for her, although he wasn’t sure if she laughed because she thought it was silly, or if it meant something entirely different.

  As far as I know I just told her I was a jackass or something. He sighed and tried to consider a different approach, but it was at that moment when he heard the rustling of bushes nearby.

  It wasn’t the casual sound of the wind catching branches, it was much louder. Something large, probably an animal, was approaching. People often mistakenly assumed that animals were silent in the forest, but nothing could be further from the truth. In actuality, they just had better hearing and usually moved away when they detected humans nearby.

  This animal was large however, and it wasn’t moving away. Once again Matthew felt frustration at the limits on his magesight. Back home he would have detected anything that large long before it came within range of hearing, while here his magesight extended only a few tens of feet from his location.

  Without any ambient native aythar he could only sense things that were within the reach of the aythar that must be radiating from his own body. Sort of like a man carrying a lantern on a dark night, he supposed.