Calling On Fire (Book 1)

by Stephanie Beavers

  “I don’t think the church liked his idea of using magic to augment humans with animal traits.” Esset himself found the idea fascinating, but even he wasn’t sure that would be a good idea.

  “Well, no. That was a little extreme,” Mr. Esset admitted. “But all the research is linked. It was only because he was researching hybridizing animal traits that he made the advancement in healing.”

  “I know. I hope you manage to persuade the church and the university to preserve…” Esset’s voice trailed off as they turned a bend and saw a crowd up ahead, “…the research. What do you suppose is going on up there?” Esset changed their trajectory to investigate.

  “Guardsmen,” Mr. Esset noted as they drew closer. Sure enough, two men in uniform were trying to push back a crowd of twenty or so people. The expressions on the people’s faces were telling: horror, curiosity, fear. The guardsmen looked grim.

  “Guard Harn!” Mr. Esset called. The guard, an average-looking fellow with bulging biceps, glanced over at the call.

  “Mr. Esset,” he acknowledged them. His crowd was slowly dispersing, so he gave them his full attention. He appraised Esset for a moment and deducted who he was.

  “Summoner.”

  “Guard,” Esset greeted him back.

  “Is it…” Mr. Esset glanced at the departing crowd.

  “Another one.” Guard Harn gave a curt nod. “Better come take a look.”

  Esset glanced at his father in time to see him steel himself and felt a wave of sympathy. Mr. Esset hadn’t even done the same adventuring as Esset, let alone fought in wars. Seeing a dead body would be difficult for him—not that it was ever easy. The guard led them forward and Esset mentally added: especially a body like this one.

  The victim was a young woman, and it looked like a wild animal had slashed her to ribbons with its claws. Her blue eyes stared sightlessly at the sky. She’d been dragged into an alleyway and left discarded next to a manhole and a pile of rubble from the building adjacent, which seemed to be under construction.

  “It certainly does look like it was an animal,” Mr. Esset said. Esset nodded, but something seemed odd. He knelt next to the body to study it closer. He reached a hand out and closed her eyes, knowing he would remember them later—he always remembered the staring eyes of the dead.

  “Do you know who she was?” Esset asked, momentarily distracted.

  Guard Harn shook his head when Esset looked at him. “I’ve seen her before, but I don’t know her,” he said.

  “Tabby. Er, Tabitha,” the other guard replied. “She was the cooper’s daughter. Nice girl, always smiling. I didn’t know her well, but I did help her out one night. A drunk was giving her trouble on her way home, so I walked with her.”

  Esset looked back down at her and spotted what was bothering him. “Look at this cut,” Esset said. It ran straight down from just under her ribs to her navel. It was perfectly straight, and the cut was clean. Guard Harn crouched next to him.

  “There’s no way claws made this incision. Only a sharp, straight edge like a knife could cause this,” Esset said. He debated whether to add another suspicion to that as well.

  “That—” the guard frowned and inspected the wound more closely. “You might be right,” Guard Harn conceded.

  “Did someone defile the body after she died?” Mr. Esset guessed.

  “I don’t see how,” Guard Harn said. “Our witnesses said they heard screaming and came running, but they found her like this. I don’t see how someone would have had time to get to the body and do anything to it without being seen.”

  “Then it’s either something supernatural or someone wants to make us think it’s an animal or monster,” Esset said.

  “That seems reasonable,” Mr. Esset agreed.

  Guard Harn glanced between them.

  “We just can’t figure out how it’s getting away so quickly. This alley dead-ends back there, but there’s no sign of the killer,” the other guard said. Esset glanced around the alley, and his eyes fell on the manhole cover. It was sitting slightly ajar, its lid caught on a rock.

  “Have you checked the sewers?” Esset asked. Guard Harn followed his gaze and went over to the cover. The lid was heavy, but still easily moved by one man. An unpleasant—to say the least—odor wafted into the alley.

  Esset went to peer down into the murky darkness.

  “He’ll be long gone by now,” he said.

  “Mmm,” Guard Harn agreed. He dropped the cover back into place and looked back at the body.

  “The undertaker will be here soon. Once she’s safely away, we’ll assemble a squad and search the sewers,” Guard Harn ordered. The other guard gave the manhole cover a look that was less than enthusiastic.

  Esset found himself looking at the body again, particularly the long abdominal cut. “You don’t suppose…” he began. Then he had to continue, because Guard Harn was giving him a curious look.

  “Why the abdominal cut?” Esset asked. “The rest of this just looks like an animal attack, inflicted to kill or subdue an opponent. But a cut like that is specific, probably made after death. If people were coming in a hurry, why take the time?”

  No one had an answer.

  “Could we… get a healer to look at her?” Esset requested.

  “She’s dead.”

  “I know, but maybe more was done than just the cut. Maybe something was…removed. Could it hurt to look?” Esset coaxed. He thought he heard the other guard mutter something about defiling the dead—and Esset did sympathize—but after a long, thoughtful look, Guard Harn nodded.

  “Very well. We’re still waiting for the undertaker to get her, but we’ll have a healer look at her before she’s buried.”

  “Thank you,” Esset said. “What about the other victims? How many have there been?”

  “We’ve found three bodies, all mangled like this one.” Guard Harn paused and studied the body a moment longer. “No,” the guard corrected himself. “They’ve been getting worse, little by little. I couldn’t tell you if they all had that particular cut though. I never noticed. No one did.”

  Esset had guessed as much, but he kept that to himself. Apparently he’d learned more than he’d thought while he’d been hunting various monsters with Toman. “What about missing people?” Esset asked, remembering his father’s words.

  “Four people have been reported missing, but one of those we suspect is just a runaway. Depending on what kind of people this monster goes after, we might not have heard. Like people from the corner district,” Guard Harn said. The corner district was the undesirable part of the city—beggars and criminals tended to congregate there.

  Esset nodded his understanding. He was about to ask another question when the clop of hooves and creak of wooden wheels signaled the undertaker’s arrival. Esset had to keep his lips from twitching into a smile at the man’s stereotypical appearance: black garments, pale skin, and a long, drawn face.

  “Guard,” the undertaker greeted Guard Harn as his horse and cart pulled up.

  “Undertaker,” Guard Harn replied with a nod.

  “Esset, why don’t we head to the guard house now?” Mr. Esset suggested. “They’ve a map of where victims were found. Maybe we can see if there are sewer entrances near all of them.”

  Esset nodded.

  “I’ll join you there soon,” Guard Harn said by way of farewell.

  Mr. Esset waited until they were a respectful distance away before patting his son on the shoulder.

  “I’m proud of you, son,” he said.

  Esset shot his dad an odd look. “We haven’t caught the killer yet,” Esset said.

  “I know, but you’ve already helped the investigation along,” Mr. Esset replied. “They called me in to answer questions about Forris, but I fear I wasn’t very useful. You’re far more like the summoners of old, helping the kingdom in times of need. I’m just a scholar.”

  “You do valuable work,” Esset objected. “And the original summoner was a scholar too.”
>
  “I know,” Mr. Esset said, smiling. “And I have no regrets with my path in life, but when I can’t summon anything past a horse, I hold the summoner’s title in name only. But you—I’m proud of you.”

  Esset flushed a little. “Uh, thanks.”

  Mr. Esset patted him on the shoulder again and when they rounded the corner, the guard house came into view.

  The stone building hummed with activity; guards and civilians bustled in and out, dealing with everyday disputes and squabbles. The guard at the desk recognized Mr. Esset and, like Guard Harn, recalled that Mr. Esset’s son had been called to help. He waved them through without pausing in his discussion with an irate merchant. They headed for a man with greying hair in a small office; the door was open.

  “Captain,” Mr. Esset greeted the man. “This is my son, Jonathan.”

  “Good to meet you, Jonathan, I’m Captain Carlson.” The captain rose and leaned over his desk so he could shake Esset’s hand.

  “The honor is mine,” Esset replied. “Guard Harn filled me in on some of the details of the case, but said you’d have more.”

  “You met Harn?” the captain asked, eyebrows rising.

  “We ran into him as he reached the latest victim,” Mr. Esset said.

  “Ah. Well, it’s good you’ve seen things firsthand and spoken to Harn then. He’s lead investigator. I’ll get you caught up on what we have,” the captain said. “Where would you like to start?”

  “The victims. Are there any connections between them?” Esset asked. The captain shook his head.

  “One old woman—a drunk—a foreign merchant, and a carpenter. And now a girl,” the captain said.

  “A cooper’s daughter,” Mr. Esset supplied, and the captain nodded his thanks for the information.

  “None of them seemed to know each other. As for the missing…well, there’s a boy, but we figure he’s just a runaway who hitched a ride with a merchant caravan. The others are a scholar, a housewife, a butcher, and a kooky old nuisance who sold cure-alls.” The captain relayed the information matter-of-factly, except for that last bit, which had a hint of “good riddance” to it. Esset imagined there was history there.

  “What about where the bodies were found?” Esset asked. The captain waved at a map on the wall, one marked with red and blue pins.

  “The red pins are where the bodies were found. The blue ones are the residences and work places of the missing folks.”

  The pins appeared to sprawl randomly.

  “Do you have any maps of the sewers?” Esset asked, but the captain shook his head.

  “No, why?”

  Mr. Esset and his son explained what they’d noticed at the crime scene.

  “Hm.” The captain stroked his beard as he stared at the map.

  “If I’m recalling right, there are sewer access points near all of bodies except this one. The merchant. He was the first.” The captain pointed at a red pin.

  “Has anyone caught so much as a glimpse of the killer?” Esset asked. The captain shook his head grimly.

  “There’s been rumors that it’s an angry ghoul or some such, but…” The captain shrugged. “We’re at a loss.”

  A tap sounded at the door, and they all turned to see Guard Harn there.

  “I’ve assembled a squad. We’re ready to take a look in the sewers,” he said. He waved for them to follow, already turning to go.

  “Good luck,” the captain said.

  “Thanks…” Esset wasn’t looking forward to delving into the city’s foul-smelling underbelly, but if that was what it took to find the source of these attacks, that was where he was going.

  The stench was so bad that even breathing through his mouth didn’t help. Esset and most of the guards had secured kerchiefs around their mouths and noses. Refuse flowed around their feet, following the slight downhill slope to—Esset didn’t actually know. He wondered where all the waste went for a moment before pulling his attention back to his immediate surroundings.

  The liquid and muck covered the toes of their boots, and Esset was glad his had been treated to repel water. One guard wasn’t so lucky, and he was groaning and lifting his feet with rude squelching sounds.

  “This is just gro—” The guard was cut off by falling refuse; the pile of feces shot down an overhead chute and splattered against the back of his neck. Snickers echoed around the sewer as the other guards moved closer to the walls, where the refuse couldn’t hit them.

  “Quiet,” Guard Harn reminded them in a soft voice, and the snickers and complaints faded.

  “It doesn’t look like there’s any surface we could track prints on,” Esset said, his voice soft enough that it wouldn’t echo down the tunnels.

  “No,” Guard Harn agreed grimly.

  Esset frowned at the liquid muck.

  “I was going to summon a wolf, but standing in liquid will force them to banish before I can do any effective scouting,” Esset said quietly to his father. Plus there was nothing around for the wolf to fight, not even one of Toman’s animations. “Too bad Toman’s not here. He could create something to navigate this mess,” Esset murmured.

  “A sewer would be a very bad place for healing wounds,” Mr. Esset reminded him, and Esset winced. He hadn’t thought of that.

  “I can still summon a bat,” Esset suggested. He’d hoped for the wolf’s keen nose, but the sewer probably would have foiled any scent-tracking anyways.

  Guard Harn moved closer to them so he could hear. “Shall we move out?” he asked.

  “I might be able to save us a trip through the muck. I can summon a bat that can navigate the tunnels and hopefully spy out our killer, if he’s down here,” Esset said.

  “That…would be preferable,” Guard Harn said after a moment.

  Esset automatically looked for a place to sit, but he quickly realized he wasn’t going to find one. Somehow, he was going to have to do this standing. “Okay, watch my back,” he said, spreading his feet apart and clasping his hands behind his back to get balanced.

  Foregoing speaking the incantation, a little bat materialized in front of Esset and he tried to submerge his consciousness into it. He almost succeeded, but at the last moment, he felt himself falling backwards and jerked back into himself. He didn’t even get as far on his second attempt, but on the third, his mind slipped into his summon and it darted away down the tunnel, along with Esset’s consciousness.

  The slimy walls crawled with flames, and the water looked like churning lava. Every time waste came flying down an offshoot, the bat swerved wildly, even though Esset kept the creature high in the center of the tunnel to avoid it.

  The sewer split several times, and Esset mentally marked which way he went each time, backtracking when he went too far to keep from getting lost. He was starting to wonder if he shouldn’t have the group move forward so he could banish and re-summon from scratch, but he wasn’t finding anything at all. With liquid on the floor, there were no tracks to follow, and Esset hadn’t even spotted any irregularities on the walls.

  He did see rats swimming in the sewage a number of times, however. Esset had no particular dislike for rats, but he did shudder when he saw them, mostly at the thought of swimming in all that waste. He was backtracking yet again when he saw yet another rat swimming—and then two more. Thinking back, he realized that all of the rats he’d seen had been headed in the same direction. It was only when he’d followed the one branch that he’d seen them—whenever he followed a bystream, he wouldn’t see them anymore, unless they were headed to that one branch. Thinking it odd, Esset started to follow the rats. Maybe they knew something he didn’t.

  Something struck Esset’s physical body back with the group, and Esset jolted back to himself to find himself falling. He flailed and his hand slid against the slimy wall, but he caught himself and managed to keep from falling into the sewage.

  It was chaos as Esset tried to catch his bearings. Men were shouting and moving, including the man holding the lantern, throwing firelight helter-
skelter around the tunnel.

  That was when Esset realized that he didn’t see his dad.

  Toman stood on the empty hillside, having trudged on foot to the spot. When Mrs. Esset had been busy, he’d snuck out to do something both she and Esset would heartily disapprove of: relocate the castle.

  He’d almost said something to Esset about his plan, but then Esset had said what he had about stopping Moloch… Toman pushed that thought away. Esset would say he was still too sick to move the castle, too drained. He would think Toman was being rash. Well, Esset needed to think less sometimes.

  Toman felt weary and sore all over, and for a moment—just a moment—he wondered if Esset was right. Then stubborn pride took the fore: he could do this. He had to prove that he could. After all, if he wasn’t getting better, he couldn’t build an arm, and if he couldn’t make a new arm, he couldn’t fight Moloch.

  Toman closed his eyes and exhaled slowly, reaching for that particular spot in his mind, that spot right “beside” his animator magic.

  Here. Come here, he thought, and the castle materialized before him. At the same time, Toman felt the energy leave his body in a great rush, like water pouring from a cup tipped over. Black splotches danced across his vision. Just before consciousness left him, he admitted to himself that both he and Esset had been right. He was capable of moving the castle, but it hadn’t been a wise move.

  Toman collapsed, unaware than his cheek was pressed up against a muddy little spot on the ground. The door of the castle opened and a stone soldier came out and carried the animator inside.

  Esset glanced around frantically, trying to find his father. He felt panic rising when he still didn’t see him, but then a cough came from behind him. Esset whirled around and found his dad on one knee in the sewage. Slime was smeared all over his back, and there were long slashes down the sleeve of his coat.