by Ross Turner
Her internal battle raged on. She floundered in a sea of emotion, one after the other piling on top of her before she could register the first. With her head spinning nothing made sense, and until she could think straight, nothing would.
Finally, she’d had enough. With a resolute determination, she silenced her firing thoughts, cut off her unreasonable emotions, and felt a pain so deep she could not bear it, a loss so great it tore at her very soul. And she did the only thing she could to protect her rational mind. Seizing her ironclad will she steeled herself from that feeling of loss, from pain, and from suffering. Within her very mind she forged a barrier so great that every confused emotion hovered just on the edge of her consciousness, unable to touch her. Even if that barrier was only temporary, it was enough.
Slowly, ever so slowly, she allowed them back through, one by one. Now she was in control, once again thinking reasonably - no longer overpowered by confusion, or that typically human trait of making disastrous decisions based upon spur of the moment and irrationally foolish grounds.
She’d done it. She had won At least for now. She hoped that at any point she could re-erect that barrier and block out anything that might cloud her vision. She saw her parents, but felt no pain. They were no longer suffering. They had protected her against unimaginable peril, and they had given everything for her. Now she had to step up and take control of her life.
She turned to Zanriath. His expression was one of great respect, touched with a hint of adoration.
Isabel smiled gently, emitting a newfound composure and strength, stronger now than ever before. She began.
5
“My name is Isabella Ta’ Quedara, I’m not entirely sure where the name originated. It’s been passed down through my mother’s side of my family for as many generations as any of my family could remember, always given to the eldest daughter.”
“It’s derived from an ancient script, written many years ago by religious fanatics.” Zanriath supplied. “I believe it means Isabella the Eternal. The name Isabella was much more common back then, it’s fallen out of use over time, but it seems your family kept it up through the generations.”
“How do you know that?” Isabel asked surprised.
“I spent a considerable amount of time deciphering old texts when I was younger. I have a very wise tutor who taught me to translate ancient scripts.”
A gentle breeze picked up and the surrounding trees swayed calmly. Their oversized leaves fluttered surprisingly quietly in the wind. The more Zanriath revealed, the more Isabel realised how different he really was, and she found herself wondering why he’d been given such an extensive education. Perhaps it was customary in Rilako?
She continued.
“Demons are evil spirits, able to take the form of whatever or whomever they choose. Most people believe that Depozi controls them, but that’s not true. They’re relatively uncontrollable. I don’t know about the other Islands, but when life began here, everything was perfect, or at least harmonious, and Depozi ruled and looked after us well. Then something happened, something terrible, and Depozi couldn’t stand it. He drove himself to madness, turning from the angel everyone once loved, to the Demon-Lord everybody now knows.” Isabel sighed deeply, sorrow heavy in her heart.
The morning air warmed as they talked, time passed steadily and the sun rose higher. The streets grew more and more deserted. Isabel imagined that if people had been preparing to leave they would want to be far away and somewhere very safe by nightfall.
“Depozi forces the demons onto our island. There aren’t many volumes on the demonic, so finding out particulars can be difficult, but I believe they have their own realm, like a parallel universe of sorts. No matter what happens we’re still the people of an angel, and compassion’s in our nature - but Depozi couldn’t stop. It was like He reverted to a completely reverse being.”
Isabel rubbed stale sleep from her eyes and sighed once more. The air was warming more quickly now, but a refreshing breeze remained.
“The demons generally prefer dark and isolated places, but hunger drives them into contact with us. The Vale of Shadows is the ideal place for them, so that’s where the first of them went. Lands’ folk steer clear, plus the demons’ presence keeps the Vale in constant darkness, even on the brightest day. Over time they grow and learn and become more powerful, but they don’t die naturally. They live until they’re killed, either by each other, or by one of us.
“I know it sounds strange, but even when they’re fully-grown they can still change their form. Growing in their case doesn’t refer to size, but intelligence, strength, and maturity. They tend to find a favourite form. Some will just go for size and brute strength and power, others prefer to be quick, and some are more intelligent. With those ones their shape doesn’t really matter, because they focus more on increasing their demonic power.”
“When you explain it all like that they sound unstoppable. How do you kill them? How are they…created?”
“Again, there’s very little literature on it. Almost none in fact. My father once told me that only one with demonic ability from birth may call forth another. So, they combine their power and raise, well, a baby I suppose. It only makes sense.”
“Demonic ability from birth? So, since your power was passed down from your parents, could you do it?”
“It’s very difficult, and equally as dangerous. We don’t know how the demon would respond. As far as we know no one has ever tried.”
The idea was a frightening one. There was every possibility that the summoned demon would just turn on the summoner. They pondered the thought for a moment before Isabel continued.
“As you can probably imagine, there are very few people who would willingly fight a demon. Demon-Slayers are rare; my family are the most accomplished Slayers anyone has ever known. It put a fair amount of pressure on me when I discovered I had the ability too, but it also gave me the best possible tutors. I was born with the ability, but I didn’t have to adapt it if I didn’t want to. More people are capable of it than you probably think, but they either don’t know, or don’t want to know.”
“I would have thought lots more people would be training, with so many demons. Wouldn’t people be desperate to fight?”
“Well yes, but you can’t just force someone to fight demons. It’s dangerous. There are a few novices, people who want to learn, but it’s not easy, you can’t just pick it up and be brilliant. It takes years of hard work. Without help it’s nearly impossible.”
“I can imagine.”
“We fight, or battle, whichever you prefer, duel I suppose, and it’s a contest for control of the opponents mind, and eventually their soul too.”
“What kind of duel?”
“Any kind. You have to understand, demons can take on any form. The demon my father fought, it was nowhere near as powerful as the boy - size and appearance don’t matter. It’s experience and will.”
“Ok. Can they be killed physically?”
“Yes, but I wouldn’t have fancied my chances against that monster earlier, I don’t know about you?”
“Alright I can understand that. What about using fire?”
“Well, yes I suppose fire would kill them, but you can’t control fire either, it would most probably burn down the town too. Everything here is made from wood.” She pointed out.
“Duly noted…what about fighting with demonics then?” He asked.
“It’s not easy to win. You need strength and determination, but mostly experience. Sadly the only way to gain experience is to practice - to fight.” She ran a hand down the side of her face and rubbed the back of her neck. Though she’d slept so deeply and for so long, she still felt exhausted. Trying to protect her father from the boy had drained her strength.
“Our strength and our determination decide our ability, our barriers, mind and soul barriers that is. When they’re broken, you lose. Attacks weaken those barriers. We use incantations to harness our power, and that power originates
from our soul.”
“It sounds complicated.” Isabel nodded in agreement and tried to explain it a different way.
“My mind and my soul are the sources of my strength, but I have to focus that energy using my will. I use them to strike my opponent and weaken their barriers, but at the same time, I must protect my own. It’s a skill, managing the two becomes an art, that’s where experience and training comes in. The victor claims the other’s soul and does with it what they will.”
“So if you lose, that’s it?”
“Basically. Unless they’re somehow being controlled, demons fight to feed; if you lose then you’re next. There are different ways to look at it, but I consider demons to be innocent. They only want the same thing as any other predator, except that they shouldn’t be trying to find it here. That’s Depozi’s doing.”
“When you look at it like that I suppose they’re no different from any other animals.”
“When we defeat them we banish them to the Lair of the Demonic. Sending them right back to Depozi. He allowed them here, so he can do as He wishes with them.”
“What would He do?”
“I don’t know. Maybe destroy them? Maybe torture them? I don’t know how deep His insanity has gone…”
“Can’t you send them back to their own realm?”
“We would, it would be kinder, but we have such little knowledge of it we probably wouldn’t be able to. How could we possibly know we’re sending them to the right place?”
“Ok. That’s a valid point.”
“It’s a battle for domination. Sometimes it can be as simple as trickery. We’ll attempt to deceive each other until one has the upper hand. Whatever forms the confrontations take, as I said, like anything else, all you need is practice. We try to force most demons into a demonic fight rather than anything physical. That’s usually the only way we’d ever stand a chance. Weaken your opponent’s barriers and strengthen your own.”
“Your father was the best then?”
“Yes, since my mother died, but that demon almost killed him.”
“You said something about incantations?”
“Yes, there aren’t any generic incantations; they’re different for each person, that’s what makes it so difficult. You have to discover your incantations before you can do anything else, they can’t be taught. As a Demon-Slayer himself, my father was able to guide me, to tell me how I should be feeling, how to focus my energy, when to use it and when to hold, but he could never give me the answers.
“They come to me when they’re needed. They’re in the demonic language. I use them regularly but I have no idea how or what I’m saying. They just come naturally. Over time I’ve been able to harness my power and utilise it the best I can. As with everything, the more I’ve done it, the more competent I’ve become.” Isabel finished with a heavy sigh and cast her eyes skyward for a second, thinking of the countless years she’d spent labouring over a language she knew she’d never fully understand.
That seemed to be a natural conclusion for Isabel’s explanation and she smiled benevolently at Zanriath. The day was proving to be quite pleasant and a small Ayvin perched atop a nearby rooftop, dozing slightly in the ever-increasing sunlight, watching the couple contentedly, without a care in the world.
“We don’t have any choice, do we?” Isabel asked, her voice barely a whisper, still gazing up through the branches towards the open air.
“I’m afraid not. We’re here to complete the tasks set for us. I’m sorry but that’s the reality.” Zanriath placed a comforting arm round Isabel’s shoulders and she sighed deeply once again. The air had turned strangely quiet, without even a breeze to be heard. “There’s a lot we still have to do. Let’s stretch our legs.” Zanriath suggested.
The Ayvin rose slowly to its feet as the couple did, yawning absentmindedly and calmly taking to the skies, soaring low over the rooftops.
“Zan…” Isabel stood up and thought for a moment. “We’re going to need help aren’t we?
“We probably will.” He answered carefully. “Why?”
Before Isabel could reply she felt a chill crawl up her spine and warning bells rang through her mind. Glancing round slowly, she breathed deeply and relaxed her body.
“Don’t look round, we’re not alone.” She warned, keeping her tone and breathing unchanged.
“What? A demon?”
“Yes. I can feel it… My father had a very good friend, for years they fought demons together. His name is Mr Drixen…it’s getting closer.”
“Can you kill it?”
“I’m still tired, I don’t know. I don’t think I’d like to find out.” Weighing up the options
Isabel knew there wasn’t much time. She made a decision. “Come on, let’s go.”
6
Isabel steered Zanriath through the narrow streets, darting left and right, somehow remembering every nook and cranny and twist and turn of the closely packed town. Aproklis’ bizarre and unplanned blueprint was enough to throw anyone’s bearings. It was only Zanriath’s keen sense of direction that kept him from completely losing their position. As they ran the sky above them darkened menacingly and a harsh mantle of cloud crept wickedly over the slanted rooftops.
“What if he can’t help us?” Zanriath asked, his tone lowering sullenly. Isabel slowed her frantic pace and turned to him.
“What do you mean? Of course he’ll help us, why wouldn’t he?”
“I’m sure he would want to help, but what if we’re too late? We need to leave Isabel.” His words chilled her to the core - he sounded so sure - but she forced that fear from herself and resided in hope.
“We’re almost there now come on, it’ll be fine. He will help us.” She led him on once more, but his expression spoke volumes otherwise.
They came to a halt outside a small wooden house, its slate roof slanted more so than the neighbouring buildings and, though a similar design, it looked far older than any other on the street. It had a short, straight pathway leading from the street to the front door, with no recognisable garden either side, just an array of small potholes and piles of dirt. An abundance of weeds was slowly creeping its way closer to entirely covering the dirtied and broken path. The majority of the windows were either cracked or smashed and a small column of unwelcoming smoke rose slowly and gladly from the old chimney, with its tip broken off and lying atop a mound of dirt on the ground beneath the front window. The smoke seemed to strangely beckon Isabel closer, pulling her in to its blackness.
Zanriath drew a shallow breath and whispered quietly in Isabel’s ear.
“This isn’t good. We have to leave, right now.”
Before Isabel could reply and voice her agreement, the ancient door to the unkempt house clicked and creaked slowly open, wailing loudly as if in agonising pain. A short, shaggy and untidy man limped out into the light, emerging from his blackened cocoon. His hair was grey and messy, and his eyes dull and unwary, as if they’d suffered a great agony and died many years ago. He resembled the old man Isabel knew as Mr Drixen, her father’s lifelong friend, but at the same time, this was not the same person who now stood before her. His bright and charming personality seemed to have faded along with the home he’d always strove to keep pristine and tidy. Something was most definitely not right.
“May I help you?” He croaked in a voice so age-old and unused that it sounded unnatural. Isabel took a wary step forward with a confused expression across her face. “No, please. Stay where you are.” He said, shielding his eyes even though the sunlight had by now severely dimmed.
“Mr Drixen? Please what’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing dear, just please don’t come any closer.” His posture roused the suspicion of inebriation; he swayed slowly from side to side with his head bobbing slightly, though his other mannerisms gave no such suggestion. His words weren’t slurred and he concentrated quite keenly on the couple before him.
Isabel turned her head slightly to Zanriath and her look said more than wo
rds ever could. He nodded in silent reply and they took several discrete but cautious steps rearward, holding the man’s steady and piercing gaze. As much distance between them and this unnerving character seemed like a step in the right direction.
“Where are you going? We haven’t finished talking.” Mr Drixen exclaimed, suddenly very agitated at their distaste to his company. “Is there something wrong?” His voice had changed entirely, becoming increasingly harsh and coarse, though oddly, his facial expression remained fixed, his angry words carrying almost no emotion.
Isabel was sure she felt the temperature drop and her suddenly shivering muscles acted as acute warning signs. She didn’t know whether it was just unease, or something more, but she didn’t really want to find out.
“Do you remember my father?” She asked of him.
“Why yes of course. How could I forget?” His tone was lighter now, but it still sounded bored and emotionless.
“He was killed by a demon. Please, can you help us?”
“Oh that’s a pity dear, and who is this charming young gentleman? I’m sure I could help the two of you, what seems to be the problem?” Isabel found his non-caring manner even more disturbing than his lack of emotion. Did he not care about her father? How could he possibly not know what had happened? As a Demon-Slayer himself surely he would have at least sensed the danger? “I’m sorry dear, what was your name again?” That was it. She spun on her heel and grabbed Zanriath’s arm.
“Run!” She ordered through gritted teeth and in sudden panic they fled down the street from which they’d come, not daring to look back. They stopped only when they reached a turn in the road and glanced to see the bizarre man’s reaction. Nothing, he stood at his doorstep, a living, breathing sculpture.