by Jon David
A small table meant for two was pushed against the wall. It looked inviting, so she took it. Just how does one get food around here?
“You poor dear, you look half-frozen.”
Morgalla noticed the plump woman talking to her.
“More than half, but yeah,” Morgalla replied.
“Has someone taken your order, dear?”
The woman named off the short menu and Morgalla didn’t know what was what. She settled on something hot and ready. The woman brought out a bowl of stew and some bread. Digging her spoon into the meal, Morgalla couldn’t wait to end her hunger pains. She must have been a sight to the people around her, stuffing her face with meat and potatoes.
Soon she slowed down and savored the meal. Her situation was less bleak than when she’d entered the place, and her belly was filling up. She felt the heat return to her body as she explored the room with her eyes. Sounds of laughter filled the room. Morgalla sensed the good spirits emanating from their souls, and it was nice, almost as though wrapping herself in joy. She couldn’t help but smile.
A woman walked around the room, collecting gold from people at the tables. She approached Morgalla and just stared at her as if waiting for the demon-in-disguise to say or do something.
“Six dillers please, miss,” the girl said.
“Oh. Sorry.”
Morgalla reached into her pocket and took out some of the gold she had attained that morning. The girl accepted the gold and counted out some other coins in her hand. She set down some different ones made of copper and some silver. Morgalla looked curiously at the metal on the table. She then noticed someone else was her collection of currency. She grabbed it up and stuffed the money in her pocket.
Morgalla grinned at the happy spirits within the room. Feeling so much happiness and hearing laughter lifted her spirits a bit. Some children sat with their parents while other adults congregated in small groups. But there were some people whose appearance confused her. Their skin had wrinkles and what hair they had stood out in shades of grey and white. Some of those bodies seemed frail and weak. One man opened his mouth when he laughed, and Morgalla could see he was missing teeth. What were these people?
Was that decay? Delilah had mentioned how some species aged and got weaker as they grew older. The Usta, with their blue skin, could live centuries before their bodies became frail. Morgalla wondered how old these people were.
The mood died in an instant when the main doors opened. Two rain-soaked figures entered, their boots thumping across the wooden floor. Morgalla sensed everyone’s souls shift from happy to dread. The noticeable difference made her look up and focus on the figures who entered. They were clad in dark red leather. Their clawed hands rested on weapons, which, for the moment, remained sheathed. The pair of males removed the hoods from their horned heads, revealing dark red skin and yellow eyes. Their leather was adorned with golden symbols, and Morgalla recognized the calligraphy instantly. They studied the room as if predators searching for an excuse to start trouble. No one made eye contact, and Morgalla decided to follow suit. She turned her back for the moment and ate her bread.
When the demons decided on a table, they were soon served by the same plump woman. This time she appeared rather nervous. Her bubbly smile was a distant memory. Morgalla decided that maybe it was best to leave. Other people evidently felt the same way because a number of patrons got up to walk out. As Morgalla rose, one of the demons caught sight of what she was wearing. He focused on the golden runes of her new cloak, the symbol of Zorach. His fist connected with the table.
“You. Human,” the demon roared.
Morgalla noticed the demon was pointing at her. “Human? What?”
“You. Thief.”
The demon approached, his boots thumping along the floor. His friend was behind him with a clawed hand on the hilt of his blade, ready to unsheathe.
It took Morgalla a moment, but she looked around to all the other people…the humans who were in the room.
“You think I’m human?” she asked in shock. “I look human?”
“You steal that?” the demon roared, pointing to the metal holding Morgalla’s cloak.
Oh no.
Everyone else in the room minded their business. None of them rose or approached. They wondered just what to do. Morgalla raised her hands and backed away.
“I didn’t steal it. It’s complicated.”
“We kill thieves in Hell,” one demon said in a growl.
“Yeah, that I know, guys,” Morgalla said. “I’m just passing through, but trust me, I did not steal this.”
She used every idea she had to try and convince them that she wasn’t a thief, but so far it wasn’t working.
“Someone, go get the sheriff,” a woman called out.
There was no time because one demon took out his sword and lunged at Morgalla. His aim missed, and he destroyed a table instead. Morgalla ran across another table, headed towards the door. She stumbled out into the rain, tripping and falling in the mud. The demons were quick on her heels, and she was up and running as fast as she could down the street. She almost got hit by some people riding on mounted animals. She slipped in the mud again. The demons charged at her with their weapons and she unveiled Hero, ready to defend herself.
“The hoo-man is armed.” One demon laughed.
She was soaked and freezing again. Morgalla glared, letting them feel her rage.
“I hate being cold,” she yelled.
They attacked but soon found out that this human had skills. Since they were massive and strong, she didn’t bother blocking their attacks but chose to dodge again and connect with any punches, kicks, or slices of her blade. She held her own. Both demons were angered that she wasn’t dead. One wiped blood from his nose.
Thunder in the distance caught all of their attention, and Morgalla jumped. There was a man there, holding one of those strange staff-life weapons. Morgalla had seen fire erupt from the end of it, making it sound like thunder. He worked a lever with one hand, and it made a strange noise. She didn’t know what kind of weapon it was, but it must have been one of the many machines that Delilah had told her about. Two other men approached, drawing swords with black blades.
“Enough,” a man roared. “All of you, weapons down.”
Morgalla didn’t comply. She realized the demons still had bloodlust. She stepped back, Hero still pointed in their direction.
“She’s a thief,” a demon yelled. “She deserves death.”
“You ain’t in Hell, buddy,” the man shouted back. “Now lower your weapon.”
The demons complied under protest, stepping back. One of them pointed at Morgalla. “I see you again, you’re dead.”
A shivering Morgalla lowered her weapon when the demons walked away. The man with the boom stick stepped up, obviously some sort of authority figure.
“I don’t want any trouble.”
“What the hell are you doing, antagonizing a pair of demons? You got a death wish?”
“I…I didn’t do anything to them, I swear.”
“Then why are you wearing a cloak with a demon symbol on it?”
“I can explain.”
“Do it and be quick,” the man commanded.
Morgalla stood there shaking, searching for a good lie but none came.
“Aw, damn,” she said.
“That’s what I thought. Bring her.”
Morgalla was taken to another building and a small room with only space for a desk and some chairs. She saw a hallway in the back where a cell was located. Her hair and clothes were soaking wet, and she shivered in the chair. She noticed fire roaring in a container made of iron. There was a metal tube of some sort that led up into the ceiling.
Keeps the room warm and sends the smoke up and out. That’s clever.
The woman, some sort of authority figure, removed a belt from around her waist with a sword connected to it. She set the weapon on the desk. Morgalla noticed the handle and hilt. It appeared to be made by a
demon.
“I didn’t do it, I tell ya.”
As Morgalla sat shivering, she listened to the shouts from down the hall and the banging of iron.
“Smalls, don’t make me come back there,” shouted the deputy. “So help me…”
The deputy took a drink of coffee from the tin cup. She looked at Morgalla who continued to shiver sitting in the chair.
“Don’t worry,” the woman said. “He can’t get out.”
“I’m shivering because I’m f-f-freezing.”
The woman poured another cup and handed the tin container to Morgalla. The beverage smelled strange, but the cup was hot and brought some relief to her half-frozen fingers. She tasted it, and an expression of disgust crossed her face.
The man in his cage called out again, “I wanna talk to the mayor.”
“You already did,” the deputy shouted back. “Now shut up.”
“But I didn’t kill no one.”
As she clutched the tin cup, Morgalla looked confused. “He’s lying.” The woman raised her eyebrow. Morgalla couldn’t see the man down the hallway, but she knew and could feel the black mark of death on his soul. He also wasn’t the best of liars. Morgalla found it curious though, only for a moment, that they had thrown him in a cage. She had no time or energy to ponder anything more since she was half frozen to the bone.
“Can I please go sit next to that? she asked through chattering teeth while pointing to the iron.
The woman glanced over her shoulder, then to the fire, realizing the door was next to it.
“Don’t you dare leave. The chief will have questions for ya.”
Morgalla took the chair and sat next to the fire, holding her hands near the warmth. The ache in her fingers would soon be a memory, but she still had a sniffle. She heard someone coming. As the heavy oak door swung open, a mammoth figure came thumping in. A deep, masculine voice swore under his breath at the weather, rain dripping off his heavy coat. His masculine features, carved in stone, were difficult to see clearly under his wide hat.
Morgalla looked up, teeth still chattering at the tallest human she had ever seen. He stood at least six-and-a-half feet tall with shoulders that rivaled most demons. His hair and eyes were black. He didn’t realize that Morgalla was in the room at first, but she watched him shake off the rain like an animal would dry its fur. Though he wore a long, heavy coat, Morgalla spotted two weapons holsters. One she didn’t recognize, but the other held a clear hint of a black metal demon sword.
The man finally noticed her and did a double-take before approaching the deputy.
“What’s her story, Jel? he asked in a deep voice.
“Had a scuffle down the street, boss.”
“She had a scuffle? Tell her parents and be done with it.”
“She ain’t no child, Dil.”
The man looked at her. “How old are you, girl?”
“I…do not know,” Morgalla said.
“You’re rather small,” he said.
“You’re not the first to notice.”
He smirked.
“I don’t think she’s from around here, Dil. I don’t recognize her.”
“Come to think of it, I don’t recognize you, either.”
Deputy Jelica Fairbrother held Morgalla’s medal where the chief could see it. “She had this. She’s pretty good with it too.”
“Is this what I think it is?”
Fairbrother nodded, and the chief pulled up a chair near Morgalla and sat down. She wasn’t as cold now, but her nervousness didn’t help the shivers.
“What’s your name, girl?” he asked.
“M…Morgalla.”
“You one of the Izar?”
“What’s that?”
He raised an eyebrow. “They’re like gypsies.”
“What’s that?”
“Are you being a wise-ass?”
“I’m not—”
Jel interrupted, “Couple of demons came into town and claim she stole something from them.”
“I didn’t steal anything,” Morgalla said.
“I should hope not,” the chief said. “Stealing from demons is rather stupid.”
“That much I know,” Morgalla said. “You never told me your name…sir.”
For a moment, she almost forgot her manners and remembered to add the sir at the end. It wouldn’t be wise to antagonize someone who was obviously the man in charge.
“My name is Dillon. I keep the peace around here. Now…you mind telling me what you’re doing with a shadow blade?”
“A what?”
“Playing dumb?” he asked as he held up her medal. “What do you think this is? I know for a fact you didn’t steal this because shadow blades only recognize their owner.”
“Then I’m not guilty of theft.”
“I didn’t say you were. But I will say that coming here with a concealed weapon could get you thrown in jail. Or would you prefer to have me just kick you out of town?”
“With the weather, I’d prefer neither. I already had a bad day yesterday running into someone weird attacking me with crows.”
“Crows?” Dillon asked. She had caught his full attention. “This person, a woman, used magic against you?”
“Had to be magic.”
Dillon turned to the surprised deputy.
“What did she look like?” Jel asked.
“Young and ugly.”
Dillon frowned. “Sounds to me you had a run-in with Deadra.”
“Dead-ra?” Morgalla asked in shock. “That thing had a name?”
“Deadra Greyworm. Local witch. You’re the first in a while to survive an encounter with her. Folk ’round here knows not to go up on her mountain.”
Dillon stood and walked over where Morgalla’s cloak was hanging. He took his own heavy coat off, and Morgalla realized he was armed. On his left hip was a sword with a black blade. On his right hip was something she had never seen before. It wasn’t a knife, but it rested in a leather sheath. From what she could see of the weapon, the handle was pearl and silver, but it had a strange curve to it. Dillon studied the medal with Zorach’s symbol on it. The mark itself didn’t mean anything to him, but he recognized it was a demon language.
“Did you steal this?” he asked.
“No.”
“Then how did you get it?”
“It was given to me.”
“Right,” he said and took the cloak off the hook and handed it to her. “I suggest you take it off, so you don’t antagonize anyone else, demon or otherwise.”
Morgalla rose and put her cloak on.
“May I have my medal back?”
Dillon paused. He examined the medallion and pondered a moment. He held it out to her, and she took it, but his grip was tight. Morgalla figured he had another warning to issue.
“The only reason I’m giving this back is I don’t want to see you unarmed. It’s a dangerous place out there. We don’t allow weapons like this in town. Get me?”
“Yes, sir.”
She took Hero and hid him away. Throwing her hood over her head, she stepped out into the pouring rain.
Dillon peeked out his window at the small figure running into the rain.
“What are you thinking, boss?”
The chief responded with a small grunt.
“How much of that you think was a lie?” Jel asked.
“About half…if I had to guess. She’s hiding something, that’s for sure. Keep your eyes peeled, will ya? I got a feeling.”
12
Dottie
Morgalla found shelter under a tree in the town square. Though shaded from the rain, her arms wrapped around her and hugged her shivering body. She contemplated what to do next.
This town wasn’t much better than Hell, but at least there wasn’t anyone trying to kill her…for the moment, anyway. And so long as she kept clear of any demons, she would be fine. This world was rather odd, not to mention cold. They had the strangest rules, to think someone could be punished for somethin
g that seemed completely normal to her.
Morgalla saw many people walking towards a large building. The night sky had gotten darker, and street lamps were being lit. She noticed a lot of people strolling around the streets, seemingly headed to the towering building within sight. Seemed like a gathering of some sort. At any rate, it was more than likely warmer and certainly dryer than being outside.
She ran to follow the crowd and found a secluded spot to sit. The huge room was packed with people on benches. At the front was a riser with a podium where a small group of men and women were sitting. One woman stood at the podium and called the meeting to order.
She spoke in a loud voice. “Our first order of business…”
“And the last if we’re not careful,” a man called out.
Some laughed, but the woman at the podium banged a gavel. “You’ll have your chance to speak, Mr. Sudderth. You’ve been warned before. Now, as you all know, Lord Makrus has made another offer.”
“Which will mean the death of us all,” another voice echoed.
The woman at the podium had to bring the room back to order again. “Lord Makrus has given his word that the truce will stand.”
Sounds of disapproval rumbled within the room. Someone shouted, “And you trust him?”
One man stood with his hand raised. After the room had been brought to order, the woman gave him the floor. “Mayor Rasper, I’d like to point out that it was Lord Makrus himself who has lived with us for over a hundred years.”
“Mr. Davis, he was not the one who enslaved us,” the mayor noted.
“He’s his father’s son,” Sudderth shouted.
Davis, keeping a calm demeanor, continued with his questions. “Another concern is that you refer to him as a demon lord when he isn’t one.”