From where she lay curled inside a pile of old cornstalks, Temperance could make out every detail of the mayor's house almost as well as in the daylight. While shutters covered the windows on the bottom level, those above only had a thin oilcloth, allowing for brief glimpses of the occupants within.
With the rest of the valley dark, light from the windows reminded Temperance of the towers that lined the eastern coast, keeping ships from any jagged rocks hiding near the surface. The solitary buildings had fascinated her when she was younger, always wondering about the lives of the people that occupied them. It had seemed insanity, spending weeks cut off from the rest of the world. Only later, upon seeing the stench and press of life in the cities, did she start thinking the lightkeepers were the sane ones, and everyone else was mad.
Tonight, however, the lights served a much different purpose. Soon they would call Belial from its hiding place and lead the daemon to its doom. Still, the waiting ate at her. Every muscle in her body wanted to move, to fight, to do something.
There was a rustling among the stalks next to her. Temperance’s heart leapt into her throat. Had Belial gotten the drop on her somehow? She twisted about, guns coming up. A young lad a year or two younger than herself stared back at her with startled eyes. He stammered a rushed apology, curling himself up among the dry husks.
The boy looked familiar. Then the moonlight fell on his face, and she realized it was one of the mayor’s brood. What was his name again? Oh right. John. Or perhaps Johnnie, if she remembered his brother’s words correctly.
“What are you doing here?” she hissed, trying to be as quiet as she could manage, and hoping the lad had the sense to do the same. “Daemon could be here any minute.”
“He’s headed for my pa, ain’t he? I figured I ain’t much safer waiting inside. Can’t I stay here, watch you fight? I never seen a real Pistol Warlock fight before.”
Temperance doubted the boy had seen a Pistol Warlock at all, but didn’t bother pressing the point. She started to push him towards the house, when she heard that same howl from earlier, echoing through the trees.
The first time, she had assumed it was some distant wolf pack, skulking the edge of the village, looking for easy pickings. Now she realized that the sound had only ever come as solitary cries, perhaps with an echo, but never accompanied by another wolf. More important, this last cry had come from somewhere very, very nearby.
Johnnie opened his mouth, and Temperance slapped a hand over it, silencing him. They both turned and watched the house.
Everything was still, even the cold wind dying down at last. The surrounding forest seemed like it was holding its breath. No owl hooted. No nightlark trilled. The quiet settled into Temperance’s bones, leaving a sour twinge in her gut. She remembered this feeling before. Quiet like this was trouble, and it always seemed to find her right before the shooting started.
“What is it Miss? What’d you see?” Johnnie asked, not whispering in the least.
She hissed him to silence, almost clamping a hand over his mouth again. Something was wrong. This wasn’t exactly like all the times fighting Belial before. There was something else in the air. Something worse.
Temperance almost missed the first flicker of movement, it was so subtle, as if the shadows themselves had gathered up before her. At the far edge of the clearing, about even between herself and the house, a shape stepped from the trees. If she hadn’t been watching, she would have missed it. Would have just thought it a trick of the dark, playing her mind for a fool.
At first it looked more like a dog than a wolf. The beast paused, half out of the shadows, sniffing the air. It raised its head, letting out another mournful howl, a companion to the ones that had been serenading her for the last several hours. This one, however, lingered in the air, echoing about until Temperance was sure a dozen other of the beasts must surround them. She flicked her eyes from side to side. Even Johnnie craned his neck, looking for any sign that a ravenous pack would fall upon them in the next few moments.
The clearing was otherwise empty as near as Temperance could tell. So, some trick of the wolf or her panicked mind. The why didn’t matter so much as the what. She turned her attention back to the wolf as it drew itself the rest of the way from the shadows.
Her breath caught in her throat, and next to her Johnnie let out a high-pitched squeak before he clamped his mouth shut. Temperance didn’t bother chastising him again; she had bigger problems.
The distance between them had let her believe the beast some ordinary, lone wolf. Now it stood in silhouette next to the mayor’s wagon, as large as a draft horse, but with far more muscle. It’s mouth pulled back, revealing rows of teeth longer than Temperance’s fingers. Whenever the moonlight caught the creatures eyes, they reflected an unnatural blood red color, glittering with thought and cunning. Or perhaps that was just her own mind ascribing more to the creature than it was due.
Then it unfurled the tendrils on its back, and Temperance knew they were in real trouble.
Once, when she and Martin had taken a trip up to Arkton to collect supplies, he walked her through the market, filled with exotic goods and trinkets from around the world. Among the stalls had been a fishmonger selling what Martin had referred to as “gentry food”. Fish from deep in the ocean. Sharks no bigger than Temperance’s thumb. Rare bird eggs. And something else.
In one tank, still alive and swimming about, had been a creature different from any other Temperance had seen before. It was like a canvas ball with eyes, bulbous and intelligent. Underneath, it had eight legs, long and wispy, with small circles that the monger claimed adhered to most anything, which the creature used to capture and subdue its prey. As they watched, the strange animal ran a pair of tendrils along the top of its enclosure, as if seeking a way to escape.
The creature in the tank had fascinated Temperance, and she only left when Martin dragged her away by one of her braids. This wolf in front of them elicited no such feelings. Unlike the sea creature, it was free of any enclosure, and it was much, much bigger.
“Johnnie, when I tell you to, I want you to run for the barn as fast as you can.” The rough building was not exactly secure, but it lay behind them, away from the beast. Gaining access to the house now meant crossing the wolf’s path. She glanced at the boy. “Think you can do that for me?”
“What if it chases me?” Johnnie asked through chattering lips. “I . . . I ain’t so good at running quick.”
“You worry about getting to the barn, leave that daemon to me. Get up in the loft and don’t you come down until it’s all over.”
“How will I know when that is?”
“Because I won’t be shooting anymore.” Before the boy lost his courage, she gave him a hard shove. “Go, now!”
She didn’t wait to see if Johnnie listened. If he stayed the boy might be just as safe; the daemon was likely here for his father, after all. She leapt out from underneath the corn stalks and waved her hand in a complex pattern, shouting, “Lumenta!”
All through the clearing, the lanterns she had taken from the various farmholds burst to life. They lit up the house, the fields, everything around her and the wolf as bright as day. When the light first struck her eyes the pain cut deep and left her unable to see, but the effect faded fast enough. The daemon wolf—for what else could it be?—let out a high-pitched whine and thrashed about, as if trying to shake off a small animal.
Temperance closed the distance. Holding her guns before her, she got near enough to spit on the creature. It gave one last shake of its massive head and then turned hungry eyes on her.
Every fiber of her body, every twitch of muscle, every reflex that Martin and her grandfather had ever trained in to her, they all screamed to open fire. To subdue this threat before it reacted. Try as she might though, she couldn’t bring herself to pull the trigger. Not without knowing the answer first.
“Belial?” she asked.
The wolf pulled back its lips and let out a growl so deep and reverber
ating that it shook the ground beneath Temperance’s feet. The muscles in its shoulders tensed.
Not Belial then.
Temperance pulled the trigger. “Estalia Vos!”
Purple lines flared to life along her revolver’s cylinder, and silver poured from the barrel. The distance between her and the wolf stretched, until it seemed as if they stared at each other across an endless abyss, the glittering line all that connected them together.
Reality snapped back to normal. The silver spike burst from her gun, headed straight for between the daemon’s eyes. It was over so fast Temperance didn’t even have time to blink.
The wolf twitched, and one of its tendrils batted the spike from the air.
Temperance froze. That . . . wasn’t possible. She had never seen a daemon just ignore silver like that. Avoid it, or fight through the pain, sure. How strong was this creature that it could cast aside a spike like it was nothing? What was she up against here?
She shook herself out of her panic and dived to one side as teeth snapped through empty air. Scrambling to her feet, Temperance dove again as a tendril smashed to the ground, casting great clods of earth into the night. The beast harried her back towards the fields, taking one step to every five of hers. Keeping out of the creature’s grasp left every muscle in her body screaming from the effort.
Then a tendril caught her right in the gut.
Corn stalks and dry husks flew into the air. Temperance found herself laying back amid the pile where the evening had all started. Beyond, the daemon turned away and let out another howl, the sound reverberating through the fields, multiplying until it seemed a thousand wolves were all around them. It moved towards the house.
Climbing to her feet, Temperance drew her other pistol. The beast took another step away from her, did not even glance in her direction. It no longer considered her a threat.
She drew a whistling breath.
“Habero!”
The wolf looked at her at last, just in time to catch an inferno of white-hot fire to its face. Fangs large enough to shred a bear appeared as it let out a rumbling snarl. The fire washed over it without effect.
Temperance flashed her own teeth in a grimace as she dodged another swinging tendril. Immune to fire as well? Figures. Not like I haven’t dealt with that before. Still have plenty of rounds loaded, let’s try . . . .
She leapt to her feet as the beast slammed the earth about her, then traced a quick pattern on the side of her jacket. The leather stiffened and stretched down to the ground. With the force of a mallet strike it pushed, sending Temperance sailing into the air. The beast paused below and tilted its head to regard her. She could almost believe that was curiosity on its face. Perhaps something more intelligent dwelled inside after all.
“Hueno!”
Few of the hexbullets that Temperance carried served only a single purpose. Most, like the white fire, she could modify with a simple change to their word of power. A Pistol Warlock’s true skill lay in knowing the many uses of their ammo, and how best to apply them to a situation.
This time, streaks of white lightning arced from her barrel, weaving in a zigzag pattern through the air. The daemon thrust its tendrils forward. Wherever the lightning impacted, black scars puckered and bubbled along the surface. The wolf hissed and recoiled, but it was too late. One of its tendrils fell away as the beast leapt back, leaving a blackened and smoking husk on the ground.
The beast turned to face her, and now the look in its eyes was calculating; more like an equal sizing up an unexpected opponent. It flexed its muscles and crouched low to the ground.
Temperance landed several dozen yards away. There weren’t many of her elemental strikers left, but with a few lucky shots perhaps the remaining tendrils could be severed. Then killing their owner was just a matter of time.
As she and the beast regarded each other, its back gave a quiver, and another tendril began to curl and twine its way out of its spine. Of course. Because nothing was ever easy, was it?
The beast tensed, and Temperance braced herself for its next attack.
A crack echoed through the air.
Temperance turned towards the house and stared in undisguised horror as the mayor took aim at the beast again. His second shot went as wild as the first, but the beast still curled its lips and snarled in the man’s direction.
“Threaten my family will you? Take this!” Another crack, and this time a bullet managed to strike the daemon, bouncing off the creature’s flank without effect. The beast didn’t even attempt to brush the shot aside.
“John, get back inside! Protect your family!” Temperance was more worried about the man’s wild shots giving her a haircut than having much effect on the daemon. The mayor ignored her.
“I’ll show you what the men of Shady Hollow are made of!” He fired another shot, this one clipping the daemon’s ear, to little effect. Then, to Temperance’s surprise and confusion, the beast turned and dashed off into the night. She felt the wind press against her as it rushed by, and the next moment it disappeared amid the shadows.
The mayor appeared at her side. “We did it! We chased it off!”
“No, I don’t think we did. I hardly scratched it, and your shooting is worse than useless.” Temperance eyed the gun. It was a multi-barrel flintlock, probably a relic from the previous century. “Your rifle needs retooling. How in the world did you expect to hit anything with that?”
John glared at her. “If we ain’t scared it off, why’d it run so fast?”
The man’s question lit a spark in Temperance’s skull. She stared in the direction the daemon had run, and the spark ignited into clarity the same moment as Missus Cullings stumbled down the steps.
“Where’s Johnnie? Where’s my boy?”
The barn. The daemon had headed straight for it, like it knew just what it was looking for.
Temperance didn’t bother answering the woman. She took off running fast as her legs would carry her, hoping to Hell she would make it in time.
Chapter Six
Past the circle of lanterns, darkness fell like a shroud. Lentil bushes shook and whisked at the wind of Temperance’s passage, but none so much as rubbed her boots. The beast had already crushed those in its path.
Even without a light she knew the way. John Cullings had given her a tour of the barn earlier, and despite the peeling paint and several timbers in need of replacing, it had once been an impressive structure. It was several times larger than the one Temperance’s father had owned, with space for several dozen orak to spend the winter months in relative comfort. Its monitor-style roof covered a loft already close to bursting with hay, giving the building a homey feel and smell. The Cullings would have fit in quite well among the other farmers back in Cold Valley.
If only the mayor hadn’t built it so darn far away.
The barn appeared, bulging out of the night so fast she near ran into it. It was little more than a black lump in the dark, and she felt along its surface in a frantic search for the door. What little moonslight had graced her earlier was gone now, lost behind a smattering of clouds.
Temperance turned a corner, and the slash of light creasing the ground was so sudden and unexpected she pulled back a moment, fearing attack. When nothing happened, she crept forward again.
The door to the barn was broken like so much kindling, smashed in beyond any hope of repair. A few pieces littered the ground outside. She stepped over them, afraid for what awaited her within but needing to know with a burning anguish as well. How many times in her short life had she sought out danger, if only because the not knowing was worse than whatever lay ahead?
Someone, likely the Cullings boy, had lit a lantern and hung it from a peg near the door. Somehow it had not dislodged when the door caved in, else the whole barn might be aflame by now. Instead it swung back and forth, unhinged but in no danger of falling. The lantern, however, was not her immediate concern.
Standing at the far end of the barn was the daemon wolf, front paws res
ting on a slumped form beneath. Its eyes met Temperance’s gaze, and for a moment they both held still, waiting for the other to make the first move. The barn was quiet, other than the steady creak of the swaying lantern.
Johnnie moaned, and the sound broke the spell. Temperance let out a shout of “Estalia Vos!” the same moment the wolf leapt back, landing before the barn’s far doors. It turned away from her, and one of its tendrils flicked the silver spike from the air with almost casual grace. Then it was out into the night and gone.
Temperance ran to the far doors and glanced out, but although she heard the daemon’s crashing through the fields, she couldn’t catch enough sight for a clear shot. A curse bubbled onto her lips, and she thought about firing anyway, wasted hexbullet or no. Instead she turned and dropped to her knees next to the wounded boy.
Johnnie was alive, if only by a thinning thread. At first glance he appeared to have broken both of his legs. While the bones in his arms were still intact, so many bruises covered them they were likely to be purple from shoulder to wrist come tomorrow morning. At least one of his ribs felt cracked, and there was a solid welt on his forehead. It looked as if the daemon had swung him around, tenderizing the boy proper. He let out a dull moan.
Not the best result, but at least Temperance had arrived before the beast could finish the job. Hopefully that would count for something in the mayor’s eyes.
As if summoned by her thoughts, John Cullings appeared in the doorway, eyes wild in flickering lantern light. He took in the scene, and at the sight of his son a gulping, choking noise came from his throat.
“My boy . . . .” He looked at Temperance. “Is he—”
“He’s still alive, and should remain so if you get those wounds tended. I can’t imagine he’ll be feeling himself for a while though.” She stood up and dusted her pants.
“Where are you going?” The mayor’s question had a hard edge to it.
Curse of the Daemon Beast Page 5