Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  She pulled Ruth through the door, and into the cool autumn sunlight.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  “Lorde? You know Stephen Lorde, President of the entire darn Federation? He really send you here to our little town?”

  “What?” Temperance turned from watching the church disappear through the trees. Astor walked behind, swishing his tail like they were out for a summer stroll. “Of course not. Haven’t spoke with the man since I was ten.”

  “Oh.” Ruth sounded disappointed. After a moment’s silence, she asked, “What ‘bout you being a Whiteoak, that the truth, at least?”

  “It is. Sorry I kept that from you, but . . . well, you saw how everybody reacted. I’d as soon nobody else find out.”

  “I won’t say nothing, though it would be a sight to see my papa’s face. He always likes when people tell Brimstone stories. I imagine you know a few he ain’t never heard before.”

  “More than a few, I reckon.”

  As they strolled into the Mason’s yard, Agnes stuck her head through the front door.

  “There you are, Ruth. You done helping Missus Felts with those pies?”

  “Huh? Oh! Yes Ma’am.”

  “Then get on in here and put your nice dress on, sunset ain’t more than an hour away.” Agnes glanced at Temperance. “I think I got an old dress of Flora’s that might fit you, if you like.”

  Temperance shook her head. “Thank you, Misses Mason, but I’ve never worn a dress before, and I don’t—”

  “Aw, c’mon Temperance, it’ll be fun! The social is the biggest event of the year!”

  “Ruth!” Agnes gave her daughter a scandalized look. “We don’t refer to guests by their birthing name! It ain’t proper. Why, if your father heard that . . . .”

  “It’s alright, Missus Mason, I told Ruth she could.” Temperance patted the girl on the shoulder. For some reason, Ruth went rather red in the face again. Agnes, for her part, was giving Temperance a critical eye.

  “Our Ruthie ain’t been bothering you too much, I hope.” She licked her lips. “She . . . you ain’t . . .”

  “Your daughter has been invaluable in helping me around town, is all,” Temperance said, perhaps more hastily than she should. No sense giving the girl’s mother reason to suspect their escape plan.

  “Oh, I see.” Agnes looked relieved. “If you change your mind ‘bout the dress, you come find me, you hear?”

  “I will. Thank you, Missus Mason.” Temperance watched Ruth disappear into the house after her mother, then went to stable Astor proper. As she walked in, the horse let out a low chuckle.

  “What?”

  Oh, nothing. Nice to see you making a friend, I suppose. You still planning to bring her with us when we leave?

  “Don’t see why not. Once we take care of Belial we’ll have time to kill. Plenty for taking a little visit back down to Martin.” She unhooked her saddle and slid it off Astor’s back.

  Even so, it’s just—Oh, that feels nice—it’s just you know how that old man is. Had enough trouble just getting him to take you on as an apprentice.

  “I expect I’ll figure out a way to convince him somehow, for that girl’s sake. She’s suffered enough in this little town. Deserves to have a run of good luck eventually.”

  Astor didn’t look particularly convinced. I guess we’ll see. You have fun at your celebration tonight. I’ll be here in this barn. Cold. And alone.

  Temperance paused in the doorway to smile. “I’ll bring you back something. Maybe they’ll even have carrot cake.”

  Don’t you dare! Astor called after her as she headed towards the house.

  * * *

  By the time she and the Masons arrived at the clearing, there was already a good-sized bonfire going, working hard to keep the autumn chill at bay. The sight of it reminded Temperance of another fire from not too long ago, another celebration. Hopefully this one wouldn’t end with the same amount of disaster.

  She spotted the mayor first, talking with Abner Samson. He nodded at her before turning away. It appeared they were at a truce again, that was something. Also, everyone greeted her as Miss Alba, so that secret still held. Not that anyone was friendly to her, but no one spat onto her plate either.

  One of the long tables had been filled with all manners of soups, pies, mounds of fresh-cooked corn, even a roasted orak. Temperance helped herself to a little of everything, then stood to one side, watching the crowd.

  Most people were milling around and talking while they ate. Hardly the most lively party Temperance had been to. She leaned in close to Ruth. “Is it always like this?”

  “There should be dancing soon enough. Everybody’s waiting for—yep, there he is.”

  Cyrus Hander appeared at the edge of the crowd, wife at his side and a black case in his hands. He passed by the food tables in favor of a chair raised over the ground on some planks. From out of the case came a fiddle of dark, reddish wood. The crowd quieted at the sight.

  With a sigh of relief Cyrus settled into the chair. He drew a single note out of the instrument, made a few adjustments, and did it again. Nodding in satisfaction, he looked to the crowd.

  “Well?” he asked. “Any requests?”

  A few shouted suggestions rang out. As he played his first song, Temperance forgot the food in front of her. She stood there, listening as notes flitted from the fiddle, faster than she would have thought possible, filling the night air with life and music. Others soon joined her, setting down plates and clearing a space for dancing. The first to re-enter was Penelope Samson, laughing joyfully as her ruddy-faced husband dragged her into the circle. Soon there were a dozen pairs, with children younger than Ruth and Temperance joining in the festivities. Even Edmund and Salina Felts stepped out after a time, their smiles strained but still there.

  Soon the only ones not dancing were Ruth, Temperance, and Mister Hander, for obvious reasons. Even baby John joined in, waving between the adults and clapping his hands out of time with the music. After so much worry and fear the last few days, it was strange to see the town at such ease. Especially when the daemon wolf was still out there, somewhere.

  Still, the music played on. Cyrus played Thistle And The Thrush, and Bear In The Henhouse, and a delightful variation of Chase That Rabbit.

  “Swing your partner ‘round and ‘round

  Pocket full of rocks to hold me down.

  Ducks in the river headed to the ford,

  Coffee in a little rag, sugar in a gourd.”

  From there he played The Tale of Iris Cunningham, followed by a hilariously outdated Battle Hymn of the Federation. He played songs Temperance had never heard before. He played songs she forgot she knew.

  Then, before it felt like he had even begun, the music came to a halt. Cyrus set down his instrument and accepted a jug of something from his wife. He took a big swig, and disappeared into the crowd.

  Temperance jumped when Ruth tapped her shoulder with a similar jug. “Don’t worry, he’ll be back to play more in a bit. Got to say, I wouldn’t take you for being that into music.”

  “I’ve always loved the fiddle, something about it reminds me of . . . of better times.” Temperance took the jug and sniffed at it. “What’s this?”

  “Dandelion wine. Mister Samson makes it.”

  Temperance reluctantly handed it back. “I’d better not. If my horse got wind of it, there’d be trouble of a kind I can’t easily explain away.” She gave the girl a wry smile. “Besides, aren’t you worried your pa will catch you with some of that ‘daemon brew’?”

  “Not tonight. See him there?” Temperance looked up. Across from them stood Jonas Mason, a jug in his own hands. Guess celebrations played by different rules.

  A few minutes later Cyrus climbed back into his seat, but he didn’t pick up his instrument again. While the crowd quieted itself, most of the town children gathered close around. Temperance wondered about that, until the schoolteacher slapped his knee.

  “What should tonight’s story be?” h
e asked, looking back and forth at the assembly.

  “Something with battles!” one of the Cullings boys yelled.

  “No, I want romance!” said a girl who Temperance recalled seeing around the Felts’ house.

  “Battles and romance!” called someone else.

  “Ain’t nobody got something specific, or should I make this up as I go along?” Cyrus asked, sounding like he was only half joking.

  “How ‘bout ‘Brimstone and the Crimson Gang’?” a voice from the crowd called out.

  Temperance head snapped over towards the mayor, assuming he was having a bit of sport at her expense. He was at the other end of the clearing, getting another plate of food. She scanned the crowd again and spotted Sventa Jacoben near the edge. Their eyes met, and he gave a little wink. She rose to follow him, but paused at a touch on her arm.

  “Temperance, you gonna be okay? Is this story . . . if you want to leave, I understand.”

  “No, it’s fine.” Temperance glanced back at the crowd, but Sventa had disappeared again. The two of them would have to talk, real soon. “I actually don’t think I know this one.”

  The story started out typical enough, usual James Whiteoak stuff. Town under attack by daemons, before the Brimstone rolls into town. Hunts the monsters down to their lair, this time a trio of daemons operating as the “Crimson Gang”. Didn’t even sound like that much of a challenge, far as these things went. Her grandfather had faced much more difficult odds, if half the stories out there were true.

  Then the twist came; the daemons had been keeping prisoners, for reasons not made apparent in the telling. After scattering the daemons, James untied prisoners, until one caught his attention.

  “. . . The maid gazed at her rescuer, all bright eyes and pouting lips. In fact, they were the prettiest eyes James had ever seen. Enormous, beautiful eyes, just the way eyes ought to be, so he’d always thought . . . .”

  On and on the tale went, growing more bawdy by the moment. Cyrus’s innuendo went over the childrens’ heads, but more than a few of the adults were having difficulty suppressing their laughter. Temperance might have even joined them, under different circumstances.

  There was a touch on her shoulder. Ruth looked on with a worried expression. “You ain’t getting sick, are you?”

  “What?” Temperance realized she had been grinding her teeth for several minutes now. Heat flushed to her face. “No, I’m—I should be fine.”

  Of course she knew her grandfather must have had his share of . . . other adventures when he was younger, but to hear of his dalliances described in such detail, well, it was a little much. She could only imagine what her prude of a grandmother would have thought, hearing her husband described in such a lewd fashion.

  Mister Hander’s voice penetrated the haze over her thoughts. “James asked after the girl’s family name, to which she replied. ‘For my neighbors I was Miss Cooper, but you may call me Kestobel’.”

  Temperance’s insides churned over several times, threatening to return her dinner. Kestobel? That’s my grandmother he’s talking about? He can’t—that’s not—

  “I changed my mind,” she told Ruth. “Let’s get out of here.”

  * * *

  They moved away, until the glow of the fire was just visible in the distance. A short while later the music started up again, but Temperance wasn’t interested in rejoining the crowd.

  Instead she and Ruth sat and looked up at the stars. The clouds had cleared and the moons had yet to rise, so it seemed like every other light in the sky was on display. The night above twinkled with a million dim sparks, each competing for their bit of space. Felt like there was something more to take away from that, but if so Temperance didn’t know what.

  “Mmm, pretty,” Ruth commented, then let out a shiver. She scooted a little closer to Temperance.

  “What, you cold now?” Temperance smiled down at the other girl. “That’s what happens when you wear a sleeveless dress at the tail end of autumn. Meanwhile, some of us wore sensible clothes to the social.”

  “Sensible perhaps, but they ain’t what I call flattering.” Ruth eyed her critically. “I suppose that jacket is nice, if a bit worn.”

  “Here.” Temperance pulled off the jacket and set it over the other girl’s shoulders. Ruth pulled it close, sighing. She leaned her head against Temperance’s shoulder. “Where have you been my whole life, Temperance?”

  “Around.”

  “Not nowhere that counts. Not where you could do me a lick of good.”

  “You seem like you’ve done fine. Another day or two and you can leave this town behind forever.”

  “Even so, it’s just . . . I wish we could have more time together, is all.” Ruth shifted so she was looking up into Temperance’s eyes. “I think I’m falling for you.”

  “Falling?” Temperance chuckled. “You sound like you’re—” She froze. Something in her head clicked into place. All the conversations she and Ruth had over the last week took on a new light.

  She glanced back at the other girl, her mind still processing this new information. “You mean—don’t get me wrong, I like you and all, it’s just—not like—”

  “I know, I figured that out already. That’s how it always is, when I find somebody they never quite feel the same.” The girl sighed again, deeper this time. “Just let me stay like this a little longer, please?”

  “A . . . alright.” Temperance nodded. Ruth settled back against her shoulder, and together they watched the twin moons rise over the distant hills.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Five Years Earlier

  Every bone in her body was stiff and cold when Temperance awoke. Sleeping outside had never been her favorite pastime, and the packed earth in front of her former home was not the comfiest of beds either. She had been too tired to care last night, but was sure paying the price for it today.

  As her mind awoke and the previous day came back, it threatened to overwhelm and crush her fragile grip on sanity. Instead of allowing herself to retreat, she locked the memories away, tucked them into a dusty corner of her mind to reopen and deal with later. For now, there were more immediate concerns, like how she hadn’t eaten since breakfast yesterday.

  Her gut gurgled its agreement, as if to say, Not like that problem will fix itself.

  Temperance stood, rolled out her shoulders, and wandered over to the barn. Miraculously it had not caught fire along with the house, although there was a hole in its western side.

  As she opened the door, a blast of hot air almost knocked her feet out from under her. After the icy ground, it was a welcome change. She spent several long minutes sitting on the edge of a watering trough, letting the intense heat sink into her bones.

  Before too long it became more than she could handle, and she retreated to the far end where the heat was not as strong.

  Here she found her father’s half-dozen orak, clustered together in one pen. They rolled their eyes in terror when they first saw her, but calmed down after a minute and crept forward to nuzzle at her hands. Once they realized she had no sugar cubes, they ignored her.

  Temperance shook her head, unable to keep the ghost of a smile from her face. Leave it to an orak to put its belly before its own safety.

  She found several bags of oats in the loft. After casting some into a trough for the orak she swallowed a handful herself, crunching them in an unsatisfying way. The animals flocked back around her again, nibbling her clothes and trying to tug the sack from her fingers.

  “Greedy little monsters, aren’t you?” She gave up on getting more out of the sack herself and dumped the remnants into the now empty trough.

  Feeling sated if not exactly satisfied, she considered her next task. She knew she couldn’t ignore her father and grandfather’s remains forever, but the thought of returning to the clearing turned her guts all over again. Fortunately, there was another, more immediate concern to focus on: locating other survivors, if there were still any to find.

  The
rest of the morning was an unpleasant one. She climbed and crawled her way through a dozen buildings in various states of collapse, shouting until her voice went hoarse and searching until dust covered every inch of her.

  Most of the people were long past any point of saving. She found Mister Hable lying outside his store, a slash across his back stretching from shoulder to hip. It looked like he died defending his daughter, hands still clasped to either side of the doorframe to keep someone or something from getting in.

  Temperance found his daughter a little further inside, crushed underneath a piece of roof that had caved in. She hurried back outside and didn’t return.

  In other places she found survivors. A gunsmith by the name of Simeon poked his head around the doorframe of his shop as she approached. Before she got closer he bolted, running as quick as his skinny legs would carry him towards the distant hills.

  She found the physiker, Arlan Holt, curled in a corner of his office with a hole in his gut. He only remained lucid long enough to ask for his bottle of whiskey, then quickly spiraled into a delirious, drunken mess. Temperance sat by his side for over an hour until he died.

  Once all the buildings in town had been searched, she decided to check the outer farms. They might have had more opportunity to flee than the people trapped below. It certainly wasn’t because she was putting off her other task. Not at all.

  Besides, she argued to herself, If I can find anybody else unhurt and not crazy, they can help me with the digging. That alone is worth the extra time.

  The first three farms were more of the same: death, destruction, and ghostly quiet farmsteads. Interesting enough, the daemons that attacked the valley had killed most of the human residents, but left their animals untouched. Of all the places she searched, she only came across two dead orak and one wounded steer, and all of those appeared more from accident than any intentional harm.

  At the fourth farm, she didn’t even have to enter the ruined house to know there was nobody alive inside. The smell alone was enough to turn her already hardened guts. She backed up several paces until the air was clear again, and leaned against a stone wall, debating what to do next.