by Ross Turner
Their favoured island was Vak’Istor, due mainly to the building design. The people were much more philosophical and religious than on the other three islands, and favoured large stone buildings often resembling churches for most of their construction. But it wasn’t just the church-like buildings that attracted Ayvins. It was more so the regularity of their design.
Thick grey stones castles, soaring towers and square turrets made perfect spots for a tired Ayvin. Everything from parliamentary courts to homes and schools were based around this same layout, just on varying scales. And therefore, almost everywhere in Vak’Istor, especially Kazra, the capital, looked virtually identical.
Considering this fact, it was bizarrely difficult to lose one’s bearings in Kazra. All the roads were named and eventually led back to the central statue of Koack, the God of the island. From an Ayvin’s view in flight the roads formed a star-shaped pattern, linking together and branching out from the centre and through the capital.
Ayvins often found comfort perching atop the buildings and rooftops. The solid stone designs were perfect, steady, stable and usually waterproof enough to provide decent shelter. They much preferred them to the makeshift homes of Hinaktor or the often damp and creaking wooden buildings of Land.
On this particular occasion, a young female Ayvin found herself in Aproklis, soaring gracefully down narrow streets and flitting round sharp corners. Breathing quite heavily, she stopped for a moment or two and, ever curious, investigated the human world below. Peering over the wooden building’s roof, she saw a young girl. She looked afraid.
Though a very primitive one, years of curiously watching people scurry to and fro had given the Ayvins at least some grasp of human emotion.
There was an old man too. He didn’t look scared, though her instincts told her that was a façade. He stood facing a demon, much larger than any she’d ever seen.
The atmosphere wasn’t pleasant. It was sinister and heavy, intense levels of energy radiated between the demon and the old man. Sensing it would be wise to leave she flexed her legs and leapt from her perch. Opening her wings as she fell, they guided her from her plummet at the last second and she swooped gracefully in an extended arc, up and over Isabel and her father.
He began to mutter incantations at an incredible speed, each instilled with some strange energy, and the demon flinched noticeably with each one. Isabel found it amazing to think that, her father, seemingly old and frail, harnessed such strength, the strength to defeat demons. Even a monster such as the one he now faced. His incantations however, were not the source of his strength; he was merely using them to direct it.
But then, in the middle of his fifth attack, without warning, the demon launched a wave of invisible energy back at the old man, drawing on strength from its own mind and soul - if demons can be said to have a soul.
The road twisted and churned under the pressure. Buildings either side rippled and heaved under immense strain. The ripple cascaded silently down the buildings towards Isabel’s father, the only indication of the imminent danger. It raced faster and faster. His words trailed off as the force hurtled towards him. Isabel screamed at him to do something. But he knew he couldn’t stop it, he could sense its power, he couldn’t run, he wouldn’t run. Those few moments turned to hours, years, never ending as wood creaked, groaned and splintered in a thundering display, hurtling down the street towards the frail old man.
At the last possible second, he uttered a single word, again in an unrecognisable language, and the strike hammered into him, sending him sprawling backwards thirty feet. He hurtled through the air before crashing down onto an old cart, left abandoned in haste as people had fled to their homes. He smashed through it and pummelled into the cobblestone ground. The cart exploded into splinters as he hit it. Stones shattered on impact and dust flew up in a plume from where he landed.
“Father!” Isabel cried in anguish, wanting to run to his aid but instead having to shield herself from flying debris.
He lay there motionless. Not even breathing. The dust began to settle and splinters already covered a huge area.
Then he opened his eyes and rose smoothly to his feet, still facing the demon with unchanged concentration.
The sight was uncanny; it seemed impossible, but the demon had not struck the old man physically. If it was to be a physical battle it would have to be hand-to-hand combat, a fight the old man would most certainly lose. He had to avoid that at all costs.
In a demonic battle such as this, one of the mind and soul, he was strong, probably the strongest Demon-Slayer in Tamarack. He had shielded himself from the blow at the last possible moment, rendering the demon’s attack futile. An amateur would likely not have been able to perform such a task, but with training and experience, the soul becomes almost untouchable, and only the mind remains vulnerable.
The old man gathered his strength, raising himself up, mustering the totality of his energy. Isabel felt the force building behind a concentrated rage; his will seethed as he focused it. He launched his strike with a roaring incantation, though Isabel couldn’t help but sense a slight hint of desperation alongside it.
Again, the buildings and street rippled with energy, but this time the silent wave raced back up the street towards the monster. Both wood and stone curved impossibly, like waves across deep waters. Isabel’s father drew in energy from his very surroundings, combining it with his own will, building an immortal strength. As his strike tore down the street it gathered more speed, more energy, draining it from the very buildings themselves.
It struck the demon directly, the hammering blow sending the colossal beast thundering to the ground. The road groaned and buckled forcing a new depression, crushing stone and mortar under the demon’s sudden weight.
Instinctively, the old man seized the demon’s mind, fighting vigorously for domination. Though this battle was one of many during the encounter, undertaken endlessly throughout, this was his golden opportunity.
Strike the demon, wound it, and then destroy its mind - that was the most effective way to defeat them. But with a monster of such colossal strength, no such task would ever be so simple. And the stronger they are, the harder it is to knock them down.
Even so, its mind began to crack and weaken. He pressed, pushed at it, forced its weakened defence to bend and shatter under his will. The demon roared in agony, screaming and shrieking, writhing in pain, ever deepening the depression, forcing its way down into the ground. Hideous cries rang loud and carried for miles from the huge beast, reverberating down twisted streets and echoing over distant hills.
Eventually, exhausted, the old man reached into the beast’s very soul and shattered its will, banishing all the demon clung to: its mind, its soul, and almost even its entire existence. He could feel it leave the mortal world and spiral past in thought, deep into the Lair of the Demonic. Demon-Lord Depozi would be most displeased.
It was finished.
What remained of the demon sank agonisingly into the ground, dissolving slowly through the cobblestones. Its body bubbled gruesomely as it liquefied and eventually vanished.
Isabel released a lengthy sigh of relief, realising she’d been absently holding her breath.
Above them the clouds drifted slowly as a chilling breeze cut down the street. With her head in her hands she exhaled several more stuttered breaths and muttered a quiet prayer, though she wasn’t entirely sure to whom she was praying.
She ran both hands down her face and neck and slowly raised her head, overwhelmingly relieved, looking up with the glimmer of a smile, just in time to see her father collapse to the floor.
3
The streets remained desolate. The silence was piercing and debris lay strewn about carelessly. Splintered wood and crushed stone were scattered wildly across the narrow cobblestone street. Isabel knelt by her father, crying out in anguish, her eyes darting back and forth, heart racing, pounding against her chest. Tears streamed openly down her cheeks and fell silently against the cold ston
e ground. Even the weather had changed. There was no wind, clouds hung motionless, the temperature dropped and the light faded to barely a dim glow, the sun obstructed by the formidable bank of cloud.
His breathing was quick and sharp. He gasped suddenly, desperately, taking in only small amounts of air at a time. Isabel had fought demons before, and won, but never had any been as colossal as the one she’d just seen her father defeat, and it had exhausted him.
Closing her eyes, she calmed herself, concentrating with all her might, drawing in her will. She used the strength of her soul to reach out to her father, as her father had done to the demon, not with the intent to harm, but instead to heal. Her mind touched his, and she strengthened him as much as she could. She focused, concentration creasing her forehead. But she was soon tired and became short of breath, the effort sapping her strength.
His breathing slowed and deepened, eventually becoming more regular. Holding her father close Isabel managed to cease her weeping. She was his barrier to any outward evil. Never before had she come so close to losing him, and it was an all too real possibility - exactly how her mother had died. The memory was vivid, etched in the back of her mind. With the situation now more under control, she heaved a welcome sigh of relief.
She couldn’t but allow her mind to replay that memory, even now so clear to her, all these years later.
The three of them had travelled east, far out from Aproklis, past even the southern marshland, to a small village named Minbris, not far from the coast. They’d been told of a pack of small demons; the vicious little cretins had been preying on cattle and threatening the villagers. Isabel and her parents had gone to help, as they had done so many times before. They had become well renowned for their demonic skills.
When they arrived everything appeared to be surprisingly peaceful, but as night fell, as is usually the case, the demons hunted. Swarming from forests and fields they melted through the shadows. They were little bigger than dogs, very thin and quick, each and every one dedicated to the hunt, driven into a pack by hunger, though even still fighting amongst themselves.
Isabel and her father took them by surprise, engaging three of them before they’d even realised there were strangers in the village. Her mother took on a fourth, attacking from behind. Everything ran relatively smoothly, the demons were by no means formidable, relying mostly on their numbers and speed rather than their actual ability, and taking them on a few at a time worked well. But it was not to last, sensing the battle, more demons poured in to the village, quickly overwhelming the three strangers.
Isabel and her father were trapped. By combining their efforts they were able to defeat a ravenous pack of seven, but whilst they were cornered, Isabel’s mother had become isolated with no aid. They could not help her; if they’d shifted their concentration they would have been overcome, and then all three would have perished. Isabel knew her father would not have let that happen, even if it meant watching helplessly as his wife perished. She shuddered, as she always did, sympathising with him for the difficult decision he was forced to make.
Once the pair had finally banished the pack surrounding them they were able to surface, turning to help Isabel’s mother, but it was too late. Though of the three, she was the most accomplished, there had simply been too many, eventually overpowering her desperate efforts.
In a rush of fury, Isabel’s father lost his calm composure. Filled with rage he bore down upon the remaining demons as they snapped at him in a futile attempt to ward him off.
His anger boiled white-hot and he screamed curses in that same unrecognisable dialect. Isabel too shrieked openly, desperately reaching for her mother. Being younger, her poise had been shattered at the sight. But her father held her back with an iron-grip. He obliterated the remaining demons. They combined their remaining strength to destroy the old man. But they were nothing. He became unstoppable and shredded the diminished pack, banishing their souls with such rage that they flowed like water, streaming into Depozi’s grasp. His wild, uncontrollable emotion became his greatest weapon, but it usually takes something horrific to unlock such a weapon.
There was no hope. Her mother was no more, her body sprawled on the floor, difficult even to recognise as human. Distraught and furious, Isabel was left with a cavernous tear in her heart, ripping through her very soul. Even now she could vividly picture the mutilated corpse, unable to eradicate the memory. She had wept for days, though to her it had felt like an eternity. Her father’s pain too was unbearable.
The old man suffered a great deal in the years following that night, mourning the loss of his wife, whom he had so dearly loved. She had been wrenched from him, and from his daughter. He dared not think what might have become of him without Isabel. She became his existence. He cursed Depozi, vowing to the cruel God that he would never take Isabel from him - he would give anything and everything for her safety.
And true to his word, on the cobblestone streets of Aproklis, he almost did.
“Excuse me.” A small voice piped from a corner, tucked away in a shadowed passage. Isabel snapped back to reality from her nightmare, scanning for the voice’s owner.
“Hello? Please help…” She called without thinking.
“What can I do?” the small voice asked. It had a high tone, sounding young, sweet and innocent. It was the voice of a child. A small boy stepped out into the dim light. “Can I help? Is he ok?” The boy knelt beside Isabel and looked deeply, almost lovingly into her eyes. She looked back, confused, not knowing what to say. He couldn’t have been more than six years old.
“What? Who? I mean…what?” Isabel was completely taken aback by the boy’s calm, what was he thinking? He must have seen everything; surely he could sense something was wrong. She certainly could.
“GET BACK!” She screamed in horror, her eyes wide, she spat the words through the air. Tearing her gaze from his, she pushed the boy away and knelt defensively over her father. The boy fell heavily to the floor and cracked the back of his head on the hard stone. Sitting up with a pained look, he clutched his head; tears welled in his green eyes.
“I only wanted to help.” He whimpered, a tear running down his left cheek and his face adopting a pained expression. “You don’t have to be so mean!” His penetrating eyes bore into Isabel’s, large and emerald green.
With what little strength she could muster, Isabel half-carried, half-dragged her father’s limp body back away from the boy as far as she could.
“This world is a cruel place child.” She said quietly, her tone grave and menacing.
“But why!? What makes it so mean?” The boy replied and he tried his utmost to keep from bursting into floods of tears. His voice was tiny and hushed.
“There are many evils.” She said icily. “I’ve seen them…perhaps one too many.”
“Why? What do you mean? There are lots of lovely things in the world.”
“Don’t play with me.”
“Play?”
“Yes, play. It’s a disgusting game, and I’m getting sick of it.” Her voice was cold and she stared into his innocent eyes, penetrating the look he maintained.
“Hah.” The child jeered cruelly. “You’re very good, and determined I see. He has raised you well.” The young boy stood and composed himself, brushing dust and dirt from his clothes, the pain from his fall dissipating instantly. He wore thick pair of trousers, black, and coffee-coloured leather shoes. His shirt was thinner, but black still, resting perfectly on his tiny frame. He seemed to be completely indifferent to the chill that had crept in.
Drying his eyes with the hem of his top, he smiled an evil grin. “Not well enough though.” His tone mocked Isabel’s distress. His voice was deeper now, more of a growling from the back of his throat. Isabel perceived it was closer to his genuine voice. “The amulet is yours. Though you may know very little at present, you will be there for the finale, when we shall finish this little…game, as you so accurately put it.”
Bewildered and confused, she glanced at h
er amulet. It was a fiery, burning ruby, similar to before, only more vibrant and striking, filled with rage. Unable to speak, she gazed numbly at the boy.
“I hope you enjoy your little adventure. For now, we must part, as I cannot intervene here, but trust me my dear Isabella, when I am permitted, and I shall be permitted, my Lord shall reward me greatly for bringing about your demise. It will save Him the trouble.”
“Lord?”
“Yes child, Demon-Lord Depozi, Lord of the Demonic; you know the stories I’m sure, though now they’re little more than folktales to some. Soon you will be a part of the latest addition; as a matter of fact, the tale is already being woven. My Lord is the wise and masterful storyteller, only He knows how this will conclude, and He is merely writing your failure into the histories. But for now He must allow you to live, for with your help others will come. And it is through you they will also fall.”
“Liar! What story? What am I supposed to do?”
“I’m not going to tell you, insolent child. I’m merely using you. Children have always been the easiest to manipulate. But your father was strong and intelligent, he has raised you in a similar fashion; my Lord will enjoy his victory over the weaker Gods. Now, I’m tired of this petty banter.”
“What? What about my father!?”
“Oh no! What about your father!?” The boy exclaimed, his voice dripping with mockery and sarcasm. An evil grin spread across his face and he turned his back to the distraught Isabel. He paused for a moment. “Isabella Ta’ Quedara.” He muttered, pondering a thought. “We will just have to wait and see, won’t we?”
Without even seeing his face, the twisted grin he held made Isabel cringe. He turned and his eyes locked on her.
His flesh began to creep, alive and stirring. Different layers of skin slid grotesquely over one and other along his whole body. His arms slithered horribly, no longer those of a boy.