Forest of Demons

by Debbie Cassidy

  Vinay was still recovering from his injuries, but Mittel was present, seated at the front of the crowd; a better vantage point from which to address the panchayat.

  The panchayat, comprised of a group of five elderly, well-respected males, sat on mats arranged in a semicircle on a raised platform.

  The munsiff sat to one side, not part of the panchayat but able to act as conductor of the proceedings.

  Priya stood at the back of the crowd, her body pressed to the wall. She couldn’t believe that things had escalated this far; surely the choice was obvious, bearing in mind the facts presented. The whole village needed to pack up and leave. They could move to Dakha, and from there a messenger could be sent to the Capital to alert the king of these strange invaders to their shores.

  The villagers, however, were not so keen. They’d lived with the threat of rakshasa, chudails, and all manner of horrors for so long and survived that the thought of invaders seemed too distant, too improbable, for their tiny minds to comprehend. They were complacent in their belief that God would protect them.

  Ma and Papa were seated in the middle of the crowd. Papa had been determined to attend, despite his pain.

  “God drove back the rakshasas!” someone shouted. “God will protect us from these invaders if they come!”

  “How do we know what these strangers say is true? They may just wish us to abandon our homes in haste so they can steal what we leave behind!” another pointed out.

  “So they deliberately injure themselves and allow infection to set in? Don’t be ridiculous!” Papa argued.

  The man who’d spoken ignored him and continued. “We’ve lived in peace for decades. We’ve ploughed our land and nurtured our cattle. This is our home, and we will not run on a flimsy threat. This stranger’s story sounds fantastical indeed; strange beasts that ride upon the waves—what nonsense!”

  The spokesperson of the panchayat raised his hand. “We must consider the possibility that this man is speaking the truth. We must consider that he may have lost his town, his loved ones, and we must consider that the same may happen here if we don’t take action.”

  The crowd erupted into a cacophony of voices.

  Priya gnawed on her bottom lip. Papa’s words came to mind. Something was coming. If only she’d agreed to leave before the winter. Now it would be impossible to get further than Dakha before the red sun hit. The capital would be a two days’ journey. They were stuck, and most of the villagers knew it; hence their reluctance to even try.

  Mittel was on his feet. “Please, I know I’m a stranger to you, but this soil under my feet is my home too. We share this land, and I would not lie to you. I have lost everything—my wife, my children, my mother and father. I have little left to live for. My only motivation was to warn others like me. We must get word to the capital. Save yourselves before it’s too late!”

  Countless murmurs rose in response to his words.

  The munsiff cleared his throat. “The panchayat will now vote.” He turned to the five elderly men. “All those in favor of action?”

  The spokesman was the only one to raise a hand.

  It was over.

  “The panchayat has voted. The village stays,” the munsiff declared.

  The villagers began to rise, eager to return to the confines of their homes.

  A cry of alarm from outside caught her attention. Priya pushed off the wall, moving to the entrance to investigate.

  “Monsters!” A little girl shouted.

  “Ma!” An older boy gathered the little girl into his arms and ran toward the village hall. Priya looked beyond, seeing what they were seeing. Her blood froze.

  It was a horde of huge monsters with shaggy hair, long black batons, and shiny swords.

  She rushed forward, screaming at the children to get inside. Villagers rushed out, summoned by the panic in her cries, and upon seeing what was descending on them, erupted into a frenzy of action.

  Some ran, some retreated back into the hall, others stood frozen, too afraid to act or simply accepting their doom.

  Priya ran toward the threat, gathering up the smallest of the children, one on her back and one under each arm. She ran, not toward the hall but to the temple. There was an underground vault there; Guru had shown her once. Pujariji kept all the idol jewels and fine silks in the vault. The children would be safe there under the protection of the gods.

  Behind them the army advanced, steadily and methodically, as if they had all day.

  Priya screamed orders to the villagers to gather the children, to follow her. But only a few listened. She gave up and ran, taking the small lives she had in her hands and those that would follow to the only safety she knew. She made it to the temple and into the vault below. Leaving the children in the hands of the gods, she went back, intent on saving her parents.

  “Priya! We have to get out of here now!” Ravi appeared beside her, reaching for her hand, but she evaded him.

  “I have to get my parents.”

  “NO!” He tried to stop her, but she slipped by him and ran toward the village hall. She could hear his feet crunching the earth behind her, but she was faster. She reached the tree line by the hall and skidded to a halt, Ravi’s breath hot on the nape of her neck.

  “It’s too late. We need to go now!”

  Priya stared at the crimson snow, at the bodies as they fell when cut down. She listened to the screams of violation emanating from the village hall.

  A bonfire had been lit, and Priya watched in shock as they dragged people from the hall—the panchayat spokesman, the barber, and behind them, Ma and Papa. Priya opened her mouth to cry out, but Ravi clamped a hand over it. She struggled against him as he dragged her back into the cover of the trees. Her eyes burned with impotent rage as she watched them fling the spokesperson and then the barber into the flames, their screams of pain cut short as the hungry flames devoured their tongues. They reached for Ma next, who clung to Papa. They tried to pry them apart, but they would not be parted. One of the monsters lifted them both in to the air.

  Please, please no. Priya closed her eyes, aware of what was coming but not wanting to bear witness.

  The screams were heart-rending and all too brief.

  “I’m sorry, so sorry,” Ravi whispered in her ear.

  Wasted time, she had wasted time when she could have saved them all. Why hadn’t she thought sooner? She could have . . .

  She grabbed his hand, ripping it from her mouth she threw back her head and she began to sing.

  Ravi fell back in horror as the village stilled, every monster stopped and turned to look in their direction. But she continued to sing, her heart breaking, her pain rising like a phoenix of rage. Tears slid down her cheeks unchecked as the melody rode the wind.

  The monsters broke from their stunned paralysis and began to advance.

  “Priya? It’s not working. They’re not coming.” Ravi gripped her elbow.

  Priya shook him off. They would come, because she needed them. Her monsters would come, and they would tear these new monsters to shreds.

  A howl ripped through the air and Priya’s heart soared. They were here.

  The rakshasas descended on the ocean monsters with graceful force, ripping and tearing, and the invaders, stunned by this new development, fell under their talons. One lost its hideous face. It rolled across the snow. Priya looked into the monster’s real face; eyes more blue than the sky, a face of beauty beyond comprehension.

  “Masks, they’re wearing masks. They’re no monsters, they’re men!” Ravi said.

  The blue-eyed man locked eyes with her for the briefest of moments before turning to cleave a rakshasa in two with his sword.

  Recovering from the surprise, the invaders began to fight back. Black batons boomed, and the rakshasa fell.

  “We need to go. Now!” Ravi took her hand.

  This time Priya didn’t need urging, she turned and ran.

  II

  THE FROZEN ISLE

  THREE MONTHS EARLIER


  Never the Muse is absent

  from their ways: lyres clash and flutes cry

  and everywhere maiden choruses whirling.

  Neither disease nor bitter old age is mixed

  in their sacred blood; far from labor and battle they live.

  Pindar

  ONE

  Aryan led his firstborn through the frozen wilderness, his pace steady but not too fast. The sun months were upon them, and the world above was constantly bathed in light. It was early, what would have been predawn had the sun deigned to sleep. He had only a few hours to find his son the perfect spot. He had been preparing for this for the last twelve years, from the day he’d held Ivor in his arms and his heart had squeezed painfully with love and fear. He’d pushed the fear aside, collared the love, and simply cared for the boy. The task before him now was difficult but not impossible. Mia, on the other hand, was inconsolable; he had left her at assembly before setting out, hoping that their god, The Divine, would sooth her troubled heart.

  “Da, are we almost there?” Ivor’s breaths plumed before his face.

  “Yes. Over that rise.” He pointed, and Ivor shielded his eyes with his hand to look. He was small for his age, and slender, but that meant little. Aryan had also been a slight boy, but he had grown into a monolith of a man. All Borean men grew large; it was just their way.

  “Come.” Aryan started up the rise, Ivor close on his heels. The boy stumbled. Aryan balled his hands into fists. He would not help. The boy must help himself. Ivor picked himself off the ground and continued up the rise.

  They slid down into the valley below. The summer brought a rise in temperature, enough to melt the snow, leaving bogs and pools of icy water. Plants and shoots had broken through the ground. They would attract small game. Trees were scarce, unable to bed down their roots in the frozen ground, but Aryan had found a spot where there was struggling woodland, enough to provide shelter and fuel. The high land surrounding the valley protected it from the worst of the elements, in particular the north wind that could whip the landscape into a frenzy and leave frozen devastation in its wake.

  “Da, this is perfect!” Ivor looked at his new home in awe. The world above had always fascinated him. Aryan would return from a long day’s hunting or from patrol to find Ivor waiting eagerly for stories of his day. Aryan would object at first, but in the end he would always capitulate.

  Ivor hoisted his supply pack high on his shoulder, clutching the spear he’d designed in his final class against his chest. The excitement in his eyes had dimmed.

  Aryan swallowed past the tightness in his throat. This was the moment he had been dreading—the good-bye, the leaving. “May we meet again.” He turned and began to climb up the rise.

  “Da!”

  Aryan paused in his ascent as Ivor’s muffled footsteps approached. Do not cry, boy, do not beg, do not shame me. He clenched his jaw as Ivor wrapped his arms around his waist.

  “I love you,” Ivor said.

  Aryan pressed his lips together against the words. Those words were trapped inside him—dangerous words, words that could taint his actions.

  Ivor released him, then took his hand and pressed something hard and smooth into it.

  His steps retreated. Aryan resumed his journey up the rise.

  He didn’t look back, not once.

  He strode past the passage guards. Leaving the above behind, he descended deep into The City below.

  The City was stirring into consciousness, the morning crystals slowly waking. He hurried toward his modest home on the outer edge of the center of The City.

  He found Mia in their open kitchen. The room blazed with the heat of the stove and was filled with the scent of freshly baked bread.

  She was upset. She always baked when upset.

  She tensed when he entered but didn’t acknowledge him.

  “We will see him soon,” Aryan said.

  “You don’t know that.”

  “I have faith in The Divine.”

  Mia snorted.

  Aryan’s skin prickled with unease. Her behavior was bordering on treason. “Did you attend the Assembly this morning?”

  “No.”

  Frack! “When was the last time you attended Assembly, Mia?”

  Mia shrugged, picked up her mixing spoon, and began to beat the batter in her bowl.

  Aryan’s unease flipped to anger. Assembly was held twice a week; Assembly was essential, Assembly promoted peace and amity. There was no reasonable explanation for her idleness. The law required citizens attend, at minimum, once a month.

  “Stop that!” He grabbed her shoulder, turning her to face him.

  Her eyes grew wide, because he never lost his temper with her. But today was an exception; today, he had just abandoned his only child in the wilderness.

  “You must attend assembly. Look at you, you’re a mess.”

  Her large gray eyes were red-rimmed and swollen from crying, her skin was blotchy from the heat of the kitchen, and her hair escaped in untidy wisps from her usually neat knot.

  She stared up at him, reading the displeasure on his face. “I-I’m sorry. I promise, I’ll go this evening.”

  He released her. “Make sure you do. I do not want to have to employ firmer methods, but if you test me, then I will.” He turned away from her, ignoring her soft sobs. Tears had little effect on him when it came to the prosperity of the City. The City would always come first.

  This was their way.

  The Borean way.

  The City was rumbling with life, the morning crystals burning with yellow and orange hues, mimicking the rays of the sun. The boiler room chugged loudly, the many pipes jutting from it carrying water and steam to the outermost extremities of The City. Citizens rushed to work either at the textile or food mills, or to the education centers that shaped their future. Everyone fulfilled a specific role. Sloth was not tolerated. Life was purpose. To serve and obey was to flourish.

  The hot baths were in the center of The City, and that was Aryan’s destination. His rank of chief in the Borean Force gave him accommodation close to all the necessary amenities. He entered the baths to the echo of several voices he recognized.

  The cavernous room was filled with steam, and four men were already submerged in the depths of the crystal water.

  They greeted him with nods and raised hands. He stripped off his robe and stepped in beside them.

  “How’s Mia?” Fen asked.

  “Upset,” Aryan said.

  “To be expected,” Earl said. “Assembly will sooth her fears. Hera is feeling much better after the morning session. She’s confident Victor will return.”

  “Did he like the valley you found?” Aryan asked.

  Earl grinned, his handsome face lighting up. “He couldn’t wait for me to leave. I know he will return.”

  “You remember our year?” Fen said. “I almost crud myself. Da almost didn’t leave me. Those days alone in the wild were the worst and the best. I finally learned who I was, what I was capable of. When I bear a son, I will proudly leave him to the Forging,” he added, referring to a young boy’s initiation from boyhood to manhood.

  Aryan smiled and listened, but Ivor’s pale, pinched face swam through his mind. May we meet again. A son meant prosperity, the possibility of moving up in ranks, but it also meant the Forging, and not all returned from this enforced exile into the wilderness above. On the waxing of the new moon, those who returned would return not as boys but as men.

  Earl turned to Cadoc, his face creased in concern. “Hera said that Alma was feeling unwell?”

  Cadoc sighed. “Alma’s carrying is coming to an end, but the burden is making her ill. I hope for my son to arrive soon.”

  “Praise The Divine!” Fen said.

  “Praise The Divine!” They all repeated.

  They finished their bath in silence. Leaving the water one by one, they donned their uniforms. White and brown furs and thick britches of the finest leather made up their attire. Their hair, ke
pt long, was a sign of their warrior status. They twisted it into a cue at the nape of their necks with black leather.

  “What’s on the agenda today, Chief?” Bojan asked.

  Aryan adjusted his headband, a mark of his station. “Today we hunt.”

  They left The City behind, taking the tunnel up to the surface and into a wilderness coated in patches of white. The chill brushed against the areas of skin left exposed by the sealskin-lined furs, but it barely affected them. Borean blood ran hot in their veins, the fish-oil-coated seal and caribou-hide boots and furs did the rest. Summer simply turned the snow to icy pools, but the air continued to bite.

  “Kemp’s Hand spotted musk ox to the east while returning from their seal hunt two days ago,” Bojan said. Kemp, another commander in the Borean Force, headed up his own group of warriors.

  Aryan nodded. “Let’s go.”

  They trudged east. Amba and Disa, two of their large hounds, pulled the sledge that would carry their kill. He was proud of his Hand, had picked his four warriors himself, raising them from the reserve ranks to proper status in the Force. There were twenty-five Hands in total, made up of teams of five. They were responsible for hunting, scavenging, and the collection of goods from the discovery ship; the vessel that sailed to new lands and brought back essential goods. He was proud to serve The City, proud of his purpose.

  “What I wouldn’t give for a warm cunny,” Bojan muttered.

  “I know what you mean,” Cadoc said.

  “What do you mean? You have Alma,” Fen said. “And you!” He pointed at Bojan. “You had your cunny and you broke it!”

  “What the Frack!” Earl laughed.

  Fen sighed, his long, mischievous face arranged in a pout. “I swear I think The Divine has forgotten about me. If I don’t get assigned a life-mate at the next shipment, I may just have to hand-fast with my . . . well, hand.”