Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  After some time passed, enough for the sun to move a noticeable click, she clambered to her feet and moved on to the next body. It was another of her grandfather’s apprentices, and this time she did not even bother to try to recall the man’s name. She moved on, a horrible need now driving her. Temperance knew what she would find.

  Even so, when she came to the last body, removed from the others and slumped against a fence, she still stared for several solid minutes before comprehension set in.

  It was her grandfather. His shirt was in tatters, and blood coated almost every inch of the coarse fabric. The skin on his arms hung in loose strips, as if the daemons had whipped him repeatedly with iron-tipped barbs. There were burn marks all over, and what looked like a railroad spike driven through his leg.

  Temperance took at step closer, still dumbfounded over the enormity of what she was seeing. This isn’t possible. Grandpa couldn’t be brought down, not like this. I must be dreaming. That’s it, I hit my head earlier, and this is all a fever dream. I’ll wake any moment and it’ll all be over.

  Draped over the fence and folded with almost reverent care, was the coat that had been as much a part of James Whiteoak’s image as the man himself. His belt and holsters hung alongside. The guns glinted in the waning sunlight, and something about their mere presence helped calm her. They were a part of her grandfather, a part of her family. Not everything was lost.

  Temperance reached out a numb hand and brushed it against one of the revolver handles. As she did so, her grandfather gave a wet cough. Surprise and terror gripped Temperance’s heart, and she fell back with a shrill cry.

  The next moment she was at his side. “Grandpa, hold on! I’ll go find the physik! We’ll get you patched up!”

  Even as she spoke the words, she could feel the lie in them. She had seen enough orak butchered in her life to know the sight of too many wounds and too much blood. Still, if there was even a sliver of hope, she would grasp it with all her strength.

  James coughed again, then said something in a hoarse whisper. Temperance frowned and leaned in closer, until her ear pressed against her grandfather’s lips.

  “V . . . Varconis . . .” he managed to get out at last.

  “What? What does that mean, Grandpa?” Temperance looked at him, but her grandfather did not look back. His eyes were glazed over. His chest failed to rise. Even the blood had stopped flowing from the gashes in his arms.

  James Whiteoak, first of the Pistol Warlocks, was dead.

  Temperance stumbled away from the body, feeling almost in the grave herself. She wandered without looking where she was going, or how long it took to get there. Shapes passed in indistinct blurs, colors seemed to stretch and twist, but she only registered this all with the barest portion of her attention. The rest of her turned inward, lost to dark paths inside her own mind.

  How can he be dead? How can da be dead? What will Mama and I do now? Where will we go? Cold Valley is the only home I’ve ever known. On and on her thoughts went, circling like a hawk gone mad for lack of a mouse in the prairie grass.

  When she came back to reality at last, she found herself at the bottom of the path leading to home. She still clutched her father’s hat between her fingers, and somehow in her delirious state she had grabbed her grandfather’s coat and guns off the fence. For the life of her she didn’t know why though.

  A cold breeze drifted from the distant peaks and played across her bare arms. Temperance shivered and slipped her grandfather’s coat around her. The leather was stiffer than she expected, but it cut the chill off. She felt heat returning to her limbs.

  At least there’s that. Not sure why I brought grandpa’s guns though. Not much use for them, anymore.

  She made her way up the path, dreading what waited for her, but also hopeful too. Her mother might be hiding nearby. As soon as she saw Temperance, she would be sure to let her daughter know everything would be okay. That was the only thing that kept Temperance’s feet moving. Her mother would put everything right, she was sure of that.

  She reached the crest of the hill.

  The house was nothing more than charred timbers. Temperance should have known, should have been able to tell from the road below, but she hadn’t allowed herself to believe it until she stood before the smoking ruin. She looked around, waiting for her mother to emerge from the gathering shadows, but everything was quiet as a graveyard. Which, she realized, is what it was. What the entire town had become in a single afternoon.

  And nobody, not her mother, her father, nor anyone else was coming to her rescue.

  Somewhere inside her a dam burst. All the fear and panic and sorrow that had been building since Ezra first ran into the training house, all of it came roiling to the surface. It crashed against the walls she had erected and washed them away, leaving her bare to all the pain and loss that today had brought.

  Temperance crumpled to the ground and curled into a ball. Tears streamed from her eyes as she tried to shut out everything again, but there was no stopping the agony that tore through her all the way to the bone.

  Chapter Fourteen

  The next day passed uneventfully. By the time Temperance awoke the Mason family were at work in their fields, but Missus Mason had been kind enough to leave some corn porridge over the stove. It had gone black on the bottom, but that was nothing a little salt couldn’t cure.

  As she ate, Temperance dwelled on that. Where did the Masons, or anyone else in the town, get their salt? Or any other supplies they couldn’t produce on their own? Most of the other squatter towns she had visited maintained trade with the outside world for just that reason, but it was also how the local gentry usually discovered them. If traders came through Shady Hollow, she had yet to see any sign.

  Perhaps the miners were the town’s connection to the rest of Korvana. The men would have to go somewhere to sell their ore.

  Another question without an answer. She was getting right tired of those.

  After eating she walked the town, making an appearance of keeping an eye on things. Not that there was much to see. Fields dry and harvested, mostly. Corn was all that remained, and once that was done the town would likely hold that Harvest Social that Ruth had mentioned.

  As if summoned by the mere thought of her name, Ruth’s head appeared from amid towering cornstalks. She spotted Temperance and waved, then disappeared back into the field. Several other townsfolk glanced in Temperance’s direction, but turned without a similar greeting. Well, that was fine. Not like she was risking her life for them or anything.

  She checked in with Astor around noon, but the horse still hadn’t sniffed out any sign of Belial’s trail.

  I noticed a woman—what was her name, Penelope?—headed towards the mountains with a basket of foodstuff. Seemed odd, her being out by herself. That anything you want me to look into?

  Temperance recalled seeing Missus Samson with a pot of stew just yesterday. Hadn’t she said it was for the miners? Odd, that. “I doubt it’s related. You just make sure you’re rested, I have a feeling you’ll be busy tomorrow night.”

  Oh, you know me, spring foal that I am. I’ll be ready.

  Despite her efforts to drag it out, the day wore quickly on, perhaps sensing her distaste for what awaited on the morrow.

  She made rounds again that evening to renew the protection circles and found the townsfolk’s reception even chillier than the day before. Salina Felts only opened the door long enough to nod before slamming it in Temperance’s face, whereas Marie Cullings stared knives the entire time she was there. Only old Sventa appeared happy to see her, and likely the man had forgotten what she was even about a few minutes later.

  When she returned to the Mason’s, Jonas was waiting outside. He leaned against the wall of his house and spat as she approached. “Don’t think I didn’t notice the markings on the ground this morning. I told you I don’t need none of your filthy tricks.”

  Temperance bristled at his tone. “I don’t recall asking your permission.”


  “This is my home—”

  “That’s right, and I am a guest in that home, or have you forgotten? I have a right to feel safe. Or do you possess some method of keeping out daemons I’m unaware of?”

  They glared at each other in silence. Finally Jonas dropped his gaze and spat off to the side again. “Fine. You do what you want, just don’t come crying when the Three close the gates of paradise in your face.” He stomped back inside.

  Temperance inspected the circle around the house, and much to her surprise it was still usable. Someone—she suspected she knew who—had scuffed and kicked at it in a few places, but that was the work of a moment to repair. After renewing the spell, she stepped into the darkened home and sought what rest she could.

  * * *

  A rhythmic pounding woke her from dreams of daemons in the guise of rabbits and field mice. Temperance leapt from the bed and pulled the door open, revolver at the ready.

  Agnes squeaked at the sight of the gun in her face. Temperance dropped the weapon to her side. “What’s wrong, Missus Mason?” Everything sounded quiet.

  “Thought you might appreciate a wake up.” Agnes composed herself in the space of a breath, all smiles once again. She was wearing a dress of some cream color. It looked like it was challis, maybe? Not something she had made herself, that was for true. “We’ll leave for the church as soon as you’ve had breakfast.”

  “Church?” Temperance glanced towards the window. The shutters were still closed, but even so she didn’t see much in the way of light leaking through. “At this hour?”

  Agnes nodded. “I let you sleep as late as I could dear, but Jonas is in one of his moods.” Her eyes flitted towards the end of the hallway. Temperance thought she saw a flash of something in the woman’s eyes. Fear, if she had to guess. “Best hurry now.”

  When Temperance stepped into the kitchen wearing the same outfit as the day before, the look on Jonas’ face could have curdled fresh milk. Temperance thought the man should appreciate that her shirt didn’t show too much blood on it. Or maybe it was the riding skirt he found distasteful.

  Next to him, Ruth looked at her with all smiles. The girl had on a dress similar to her mother, except this one was perhaps a shade lighter, with some blue lace around the collar. It suited her complexion, but looked a pain to keep clean.

  The walk through the fields was a quiet one, Jonas leading the way with Agnes clinging to her daughter. Temperance fell a couple steps behind, wondering if she might drop back into one of the fields without being noticed.

  Now, now. I made a promise. Still, even the thought of stepping into that building left her guts in a knot. The whole notion that a trio of all-powerful beings were watching her every move had never exactly washed for her. The church’s corruption of her grandfather’s legacy was just extra strings on the fiddle.

  When the church slid out of the darkness, all sharp corners and looming steeple, Temperance almost lost her nerve. Then she felt a touch on her arm and turned to see Ruth next to her.

  “Shall we go in?”

  “I suppose. May as well get this over with.” Jonas looked at her sharply at that comment, but Temperance ignored him.

  The pews were as plain as they come, hewn wood with a bit of polish, and not a cushion to be seen. Even after months of getting used to the saddle, Temperance groaned as she lowered herself down. Perhaps the uncomfortable seating meant that the service itself would not be long.

  No such luck. Six songs and two stints of silent prayer later, Reverend Reynold finally stepped up to the pulpit, a copy of the holy Saentom gripped between his fingers. By this point Temperance had soured enough on the experience that she doubted his presence boded anything but ill.

  “Friends, countrymen.” He paused, his eyes locked on Temperance. “Esteemed guests. We gather here today to remember that the Divines are merciful, but that some acts even they may not forgive. That is why we must constantly reaffirm our commitment to walk in their light, to hold to their commandments, and to stray not into wanton temptation.”

  Temperance could have sworn the man glanced at Ruth as he said this. For her own part the girl was intent on studying the floorboards at her feet.

  “So if you would,” the reverend continued, “turn to page thirty-six and follow with me in reading the gospel of Alpharion.”

  Pages rustled as the townsfolk searched for the passage. Then the reverend’s booming voice overtook the room, the sound filling every nook and dark cranny.

  “At the end of the fourth year the angel Hephestrion entered the great hall of the Three, and on bent knee pleaded before Their thrones. ‘Oh Divine Ones, take pity on your angelic servants. Your creation mankind has made war upon us, and in their desire for conquest they turn from your light, casting their souls into shadow. They draw from this darkness and feed upon it. Soon they will grow strong enough that none among my kind may stand against them. We humbly beseech Your aid.’

  “But Vo, mightiest of the Three, said, ‘Fear not, oh servant. Are We not great? Are We not wise? We have seen the hearts of men, have watched their wicked deeds. Three chances have We given them for redemption, and three times have they refused. Now their desire for power shall also be their demise. So We proclaim, and so shall it be.’

  “Hephestrion bowed at his master’s words. Vo cast his mighty power across the land, and a great cry went up from mankind. Wherever men had forsaken the glory of heaven and sought power in dark places it turned against them, giving birth to terrible creatures of flame and ruin. Many perished in that first night, and all the nights of terror that followed. Those that survived came before their gods, begging forgiveness.”

  The reverend paused, and his gaze looked out over the crowd, lingering once again upon Temperance. She hadn’t liked this story when he started it, and she liked it even less now.

  “Our gods are merciful, but I say again, there are certain things that even they may not forgive. Vo rose from his throne, and looking over the masses of mankind said, ‘Did you not seek power from where Our light does not touch? Did you not seek to strike at Our servants, who We have placed to watch over you? So now for all time shall you bear the price of your sins. To you the doors of paradise are shut, and all that follow your wicked path. Any among you that reach out to the darkness We name sorcerer, and they are lost forever from Our hall. The creatures that your sorcery has begot We name daemon. May they plague mankind and remind you always of your transgressions. We give unto them a new realm. It shall be called Hell, and there forever will they torment the souls of mankind that cannot be brought back into the light.’”

  By some unseen cue, books closed through the room with quiet snaps. Reynolds bowed his head a moment, and just when Temperance thought he might sit down, the reverend spoke again.

  “So rejoice, my brothers and sisters. Rejoice and remember that the Three have given to us a great bounty in this rich and mighty land of Korvana. Here we are free to worship in peace, away from the pagans and non-believers that infest ancient Galinor. Here we may at last seek redemption for our forefathers’ crimes, and see the gates of heaven again. Unless someone—” The reverend’s voice had grown louder as he spoke, and now as he paused the room faded to a palpable quiet. Temperance could feel every eye in the room upon her. “—someone were to tempt the very gates of Hell with powers that are better left forgotten.”

  Reverend Reynold slumped against the pulpit, resting a hand against his forehead, as if the reading had drained him. “Go now, my brothers and sisters. Peace and love upon you, always.”

  Temperance was out the door before any of the townsfolk even had a chance to stand.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Ruth found Temperance grinding her teeth to dust underneath a maple tree, leaves drifting down around her like the embers of some enormous bonfire. A fitting image, considering the reverend’s words.

  Why did I ever think stepping in there would be a good idea? I knew the reverend had been poisoning the watering hole ag
ainst me, no reason for him to stop now. Not like she should have expected different. The Triarchy’s views against sorcery hadn’t changed, and giving her magicks a pretty new name couldn’t erase several hundred years of condemnation.

  As soon as I catch Belial tonight, I’m out of here. Whole town can burn to the ground far as I’m concerned, not like there’s anyone here worth saving anyway—

  “Temperance, you feeling alright?”

  She glanced up. Ruth stood a step or two away, picking nervously at her dress.

  Well, maybe there’s at least one person in this town worth saving.

  “I’ve been better, I suppose. The reverend sure has got it out for me, that’s for true, I just didn’t quite count on him out and out lying like that.”

  “Lying?” Ruth tilted her head at the question. “You mean that ain’t true, what he said ‘bout Vo and Hephestrion?” She stumbled over the angel’s name, frowning as it refused to come out right.

  “Maybe? Hard to say with stories old as that. No, I meant that last part about Korvana. Don’t know how Reynolds got such an idea into his head, but it’s nothing but propaganda and foolishness. No church doctrine in it at all.”

  Ruth came and leaned against the tree next to her as the other townsfolk drifted out of the church and towards their homes. “How so? Ain’t the rest of Korvana as nice as Shady Hollow?”

  “Yeah, but that whole idea that the Three gave us this country is nothing but hogwash. You know what they called this land before settlers came here from Galinor?”

  She didn’t wait for Ruth to answer; her anger had boiled back up again and there was no stopping the words tumbling from her mouth. “Hell, that’s what. They weren’t just being dramatic when they called it that either. People thought this place was the actual Hell the Divines created. Finding daemons here only reinforced that idea when the first settlers landed. If what was waiting for them back in Galinor hadn’t been a thousand times worse, they might have just run home with their tails tucked—”