Demon Singer

by Nichols, Benjamin

  "Why are you telling me this? Why didn't you just take over? According to what you’re telling me, you could be the most powerful being on the face of the planet."

  "I have my reasons, and they are my own. It is enough to say, it is in my best interests to keep our relationship as it is and protect you as long as we are tied. What's important right now is that you not lose control like that again. While I can boost you with power, I cannot prevent you from taking it, and you were drawing on me heavy for that little fit you threw. Not only is it dangerous for you, it's like setting off a flare saying 'come get us'."

  As if on cue the sound of several running feet caused demoness and Singer to look up the street. At least two dozen men were running toward them. Lyric stood cautiously, already humming in his throat. Acheron at his side said:

  "I hate goblins." Turning with hands on hips to glare at Lyric. "See? This is exactly what I'm talking about. Set off enough power and someone is going to notice. I hate goblins, Lover. They stink.” She sighed. "Oh well, let’s get this done.” The demoness strode purposefully forward.

  As the men drew closer, Lyric was able to see that Acheron was right. Goblins can fit very easily into the human world. Aside from slightly long ears, abnormally wide foreheads, and the tremendous stench of unwashed body, they didn't differ from humans a whole lot physically. Goblins, however, had magic. They had an ability, learned long ago and passed down through the generations. Every goblin warrior could shift their location, transporting themselves easily through the ubiquitous shadows. As soon as they disappear, they become completely ephemeral, allowing them to go through walls. The best fighters time things so they can’t be touched by weapon strikes.

  Lyric had spent some time running intelligence forays into a major goblin holding in North Dakota a few years back early in his fifth measure. It had been his first command and he had lost a dear friend in the first run. Quickly he learned the importance of being aggressive and cold. A large piece of his innocence was lost in the catacombs of the Goblin King. He remembered the stench all through the tunnels and snippets of children’s rhymes came to mind and immediately fled before stark reality as cold steel appeared from the shadows seeking the soft spots in his armor. The second run left three of his soldiers dead and seven injured, but halfway through, Lyric changed objective from intel to slaughter. In his anger, he began a fire starter song and sent it singing through the tunnels. They had managed to burn an entire supply train, including its loading dock and all of the workers that did not manage to escape the inferno called up by his rage. He refused to acknowledge the memory of screams he heard that did not belong to the workers or soldiers. The rage and shame that accompanied the memories joined with the turmoil in his soul currently shattered what was left of his self-control. Acheron was fireproof and there were no innocents here.

  He opened his mouth and exerting his will deep inside his burning anger he released a vocalization that did not even have words. His beautiful voice, the voice that made such a tremendous stir in the Guild and tied him to a demon resonated through his town. Houses along either side of the street began to waver crazily before he realized he was seeing them through the waves of heat carrying his song through the air, enveloped and passed Acheron, leaving the demoness unharmed. Then it reached the goblins.

  The front line of the attackers barely managed to register surprise and never had a chance to display the fear that must have accompanied their incineration. In mere seconds, Lyric stopped singing Acheron was staring at him with an unhappy expression, and the road behind her glowed red with an unholy heat. The mailbox and streetlights nearby had melted like chocolate on a hot day.

  Lyric wasn’t even breathing hard, all he felt was exhilarated, strong and proud. He held tight to the sense of power, exulting in his victory, refusing to acknowledge what he knew awaited him in the quiet moments. Looking at Acheron, he asked.

  “Do you think there are anymore around?”

  “It’s possible," she looked around at the circles of melted world that surrounded her. Her usual glee at destruction was oddly absent. "I don’t think they’ll bother us though, after what you just did to their brethren. I’m sure there’ll be an attempted reckoning down the road, but you just set off another flare. Why don’t we just worry about finding your Prophet Man? There's nothing you can do here, either they are all dead and beyond your help or they’re alive somewhere and you and I don’t know how to retrieve them. Odds are if your prophet can tell you how to sever our tie without killing us, he can probably shed some light on this little mystery.”

  Lyric resisted the sense she made, still riding high from his fiery display, wanting to do something more to whoever was responsible for taking his mother.

  Damn goblins, it was their fault for having non-military personnel inside that mine. He had to make a call with men on the line who counted on him for protection and he made it, there was nothing about which to feel guilty.

  As his heart slowed and his head began to clear, his training asserted itself and he realized that he was at a complete loss here. Obviously powerful magic was used to take the town, but for all his training, strength and ability, he did not have the slightest idea how to counter it. He looked at red glowing asphalt where the goblins had been and instead of feeling better, his shame returned a hundredfold. He had just ended a score of lives without a thought, without a twitch. He had opened his mouth, called on his power and killed them. Numbness punched him in his chest. Not knowing what or how to feel he turned to the demoness.

  “So, we get in the car and get back on the road.” Lyric wearily ran his fingers through his hair. “I might know someone who can help us find the Prophet Man.”

  * * *

  Kneeling down he touched the melted asphalt, cool to the touch. They had been gone a while. His cold eyes surveyed the wrecked street. The boy's power was ridiculous. After the ease with which Lyric dispatched the hellhounds, wisdom demanded he be approached carefully. Maybe an ambush, if he could get ahead of him somehow.

  One thing was sure; goblins were not the solution. He remembered how long it took the boy to recover after the slaughter in North Dakota. He had thought sending the goblins would throw him off. Apparently, Lyric was made of sterner stuff than he had given him credit for.

  His phone buzzed in his pocket. He ignored it, knowing it was the Guild Master again. He had been trying to get a hold of him for days.

  The man jerked his head at his large friend and they headed back to his truck. Perhaps his mistress could advise him. Hopefully she'd calmed down after his last failure. He would find a suitable place to call her after they had been on the road a while. Johaus pointed the direction they had gone. Smiling at his Verger affectionately, Keith Normvy spun the wheel and hit the gas.

  7 WHERE IS THE PROPHET MAN?

  “Where to, oh Captain my Captain?” The demoness sat sideways in the passenger seat facing Lyric.

  “We’ll head back to Ru Batoe, to the library there, but I have a stop to make along the way.”

  “Whatever you say, Lover, as I’ve said, I’m in no hurry.”

  A short drive brought them to the edge of an ancient orchard of fruit trees. Acheron stepped out of the car and looked around, her eyebrows drew into a frown as she sniffed the air.

  “What is this place?”

  “Aunt Bea’s, a crazy old lady from my childhood. Why?”

  Acheron raised an eyebrow at Lyric.

  “Lover, no one’s aunt lives here. I don’t want to go in there.”

  Lyric looked at her in surprise.

  “Why, what’s the matter?”

  Acheron rubbed her bare arms.

  “The air here burns my skin.”

  “Then maybe you shouldn’t show so much skin, young lady!”

  Lyric and Acheron both whirled at the voice behind them. Lyric smiled and embraced the old woman who came hobbling out of the trees.

  “Aunt Bea, how are you?” He asked enthusiastically, ignoring her sputte
ring incoherent protests.

  “I’m fine,” she managed, “and I’ll thank you to put me down!”

  “Yes ma’am,” Lyric set her carefully on her feet. “I apologize.”

  Aunt Bea peered closely at Lyric with a fierce expression on her face then lit up with a happy smile and exclaimed, “Lyric? Oh baby, how are you? When did you get so tall? And muscular? Land’s sakes you’re gonna make a fine lookin’ man when you grow up, child.”

  Acheron was quietly backing away.

  “Don’t you move, you hussy.” Aunt Bea snapped at Acheron.

  “Careful, old lady, you might hurt a girl’s feelings.” Acheron shot back.

  “Girl?” Aunt Bea sniffed, “you’re as a much a girl as I am.”

  Lyric looked back and forth between the two in confusion. He had grown up climbing Aunt Bea’s trees with his little sister, eating fruit, enjoying her pies and hot cocoa in the winter months. She was a harmless, crazy old lady with magical treats, an understanding ear and great stories. Now here she was scolding a demon who was as old as creation. Was the whole world going crazy?

  Acheron swept a hand down her body and her tight leather was replaced with a stunning deep blue velvet evening gown that hugged her sleek body, decked with tiny dazzling jewels. The addition of matching gloves that went above her elbows left very little skin exposed. Where before she was the embodiment of sex appeal, now she was painfully beautiful. The knot in Lyric's back twisted and in disgust, he realized he could not deny it was desire.

  “Well, at least it’s an improvement." Aunt Bea sniffed and turned back to Lyric to appraise him more carefully. "Oh, my poor sweet innocent boy, you've grown up, haven't you?" A gentle sadness softened her stern expression. "The years fly so quickly now, don't they child? Your innocence is gone, and we can never get it back now can we? I'm so sorry." Tears threatened the old woman's eyes. "Wait!" She dug through her large canvas bag for a moment before crowing triumphantly. "Would you like some jam? It's from my very last batch." She produced a jar filled with red memories of Lyric's boyhood.

  Lyric sternly reminded himself to stay on task.

  "Actually, Aunt Bea, I was hoping you could tell me if anything strange has occurred around here or in town lately."

  "Well, none of the children have come to see me in a few weeks now. I've been terribly lonely." She gazed off in the direction from which they had come, her eyes seeming to see farther than Lyric could. "I think I'll be leaving for a while. Maybe I'll return someday." It seemed like Bea was talking to herself. Impulsively, Lyric questioned his childhood mentor.

  "Aunt Bea, have you ever heard of the Prophet Man?"

  "Oh heavens, what do you want with that crazy old coot?" Aunt Bea rolled her eyes and started walking into the orchard, her hobble oddly absent.

  "You know him? Do you know where I can find him?" Lyric asked eagerly following the old lady.

  "Lyric, prophets are rare and wondrous creatures. They also tend to be somewhat terrifying. You’re all grown up now, and I can't stop you from looking for him, but you need to know... he's been touched."

  Lyric barely registered Acheron’s quiet intake of breath at the word.

  "Touched?"

  Aunt Bea sighed, dug one of her hard sugar free candies from the bag, and offered it to him. Lyric accepted it automatically with a polite "thank you" and Acheron smirked in the background at this insight into Lyric’s history.

  “The story is that the Prophet Man desperately sought the Composer, wanting to know Him. So earnest was his desire that he was visited by the Voice in a dream. They sang together and the Prophet Man was able to understand the song. The Voice asked him what he would ask for and the Prophet Man asked for wisdom and power. Wisdom was given to him and tremendous power. He became a soul singer.” Lyric started at this revelation, not realizing Aunt Bea had heard of the soul singers. He wondered briefly where his adopted Aunt had heard this story, Aunt Bea continued, not noticing his reaction. “soul singers are a secret organization of men and women who work in service to the Composer. No one knows much of anything about them. In fact, only a handful of people seem to know they exist at all. Most who’ve heard of them dismiss them as legends.” At this point she looked at Lyric who remained carefully neutral. “soul singers are real Lyric; as are the monsters they face to protect the Composer’s Score.” Aunt Bea got out a candy for herself and offered one to Acheron who shook her head. “The Prophet Man became a powerful soul singer, full of Wisdom. He did many wonderful things in service to the Composer. The stories of his exploits have been lost, the only record destroyed in the second war of the Second Sighted. Unfortunately, even after everything he had seen and done, his pride poisoned him. Pride is one of the deadliest enemies of us all, but perhaps more so for the soul singers than for anyone else. Because of the tremendous responsibility they have to guard the score, as well as the power they are given to carry their duties out, pride is always at the door, knocking, seeking to come in and drown out the sound of the Song. Sadly, the Prophet Man’s arrogance grew and he made a decision that had dreadful consequences. In order to save him, his companion paid the price demanded of his pride and the two of them were separated forever."

  Lyric was stunned. If what Bea said was true, someone had survived separating from their Verger. The old woman continued.

  “Soon he had another dream. The Voice stood before him and sang a song of sorrow. The Prophet Man in his arrogance attempted to change the song but was unable to sing a counterpoint. Instead, he unwillingly sang harmony to the Voice. He struggled for a long time, trying to change the song, but the Voice remained in control.

  Finally, the Voice stopped singing and allowed the Prophet Man an opportunity, which in his arrogance he seized. Rather than humbling himself before the Voice and turning away from his foolish pride, he attempted a song to control the Voice. Long in patience and mercy, the Voice did not destroy the Prophet Man, but instead reached out and touched him in the head. Remember your lessons?”

  Lyric nodded.

  “The Voice sang creation into being. He is one with the Composer and the Song and together they wrote the score that holds the secrets of our world.” His mother, Aunt Bea and the Guild, had drilled this into him every day of his life. Bea nodded approvingly.

  “Imagine the power contained in the finger of Voice. Imagine what that power might do to the mind of a mortal. The Prophet Man became crippled in the head where the Voice touched him. From then on, he has been unable or unwilling to sing, some say he has no melody left but can only sing harmony. Regardless, what most stories agree on is his wisdom remains, but it’s masked by his broken mind. His power remains, but it is transformed into his ability to understand and interpret soul songs.” Bea finished her narrative and gazed wistfully at her grove of fruit trees as they passed among them. “The most beautiful place to spend a lifetime,” she said softly.

  “Do you know where I can find him?”

  “Find who, dear?”

  “The Prophet Man.” Lyric said patiently

  “The Prophet Man? Who’s that? What an ostentatious title!”

  Lyric realized Aunt Bea was slipping into one of her confused states and that signaled time to leave.

  "Is there anything I can do for you, Aunt Bea?"

  Bea turned her eyes back to Lyric and smiled gently.

  "No, dear, you’re a sweet boy and I love you dearly, but our time is done.”

  “No!” Lyric protested in shock. “What do you mean? Where are you going to go?”

  “There is a time for everything Lyrical Sound of the Evening.” Bea said fiercely. “And as is the nature of time, it doesn’t come to last but it comes to pass. That’s my last lesson for you, so learn it well. It is important, now that you are a man who will face the sorrows of all men. Time moves, and everything passes. The only thing eternal is the Composer, the Voice and the Song. Our time was lovely and I wouldn’t trade a single smile of it. However, you still have a great many times ahead of you,
so remember it. Times of joy will pass, so cherish them. Times of sorrow will pass, too, so endure them. I love you, dear child.” A single tear threatened the corner of Bea’s eye. She smiled brightly and Lyric swore she suddenly looked sixty years younger. “Now you take this naughty girl,” she pointed at Acheron, “and be on your way. Tell that Uncle Dirge of yours I said goodbye. Now go on, go! " She shooed them along and taking Lyric's hand she pressed the jar of jam in it. "And remember, when you're in a jam, share the jam." Lyric accepted the jar, overcome with a piercing sadness. Unbidden tears filled his eyes as he regarded the jar in his hand. To think this was the last time he might see Aunt Bea, that this was the last jar of the jam that flavored so many happy memories of his childhood. As though it were made of delicate crystal, he carefully packed the precious treasure in his backpack. Wiping his eyes, he thanked Aunt Bea and hugged her affectionately.

  “Please put me down.” the woman said sternly

  “Sorry ma’am.” Lyric gently set her down and jerked his head at Acheron to follow him. Before he turned to go, he was certain he saw Acheron incline her head to Bea before following him. The old woman vanished into the grove.

  "What was that about?" Lyric asked the demon as they made their way back to the car.

  "What, Lover?" Acheron made a gesture and was once again clothed in her leather ensemble.

  "All that back there between you and Aunt Bea. You almost treated her with respect."

  “You don’t know what she is?”

  “Yes,” Lyric answered carefully, holding tight to his frustration and unreasonable sadness. “She’s the crazy old lady with the second sight who lives up the road and bakes pies and makes hot chocolate and gives out candy. She stops bullies; chases fear away and understands children. She is patience and sweetness and stories...and love.”

  Acheron did not speak for a moment, then asked.

  “And if you couldn’t find your parents, or had a problem you couldn’t handle at home, where is the first place that would occur to you as being safe?”