Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  While Temperance waited for Sventa to clamber down the ladder, she inspected the shelves. Several of the ingredients she recognized from her grandfather’s workshop at home, the basics of any good sorcerer: newt eyes, calf tongue, and the paws of some small rodent.

  Another jar held a single creature floating in a liquid bath, reminding Temperance eerily of the wolf back in the lab. It was much smaller though, no bigger than her thumb. As she stared, it pulsed once with a pale green light.

  “What is that thing?” she asked Sventa.

  “Pickled erghast. Caught that one myself.”

  She turned and regarded the old man. “I thought you told me erghasts were just stories.”

  “You mean like daemons?” Sventa grinned at her, then reached out and took a black leather case off the shelf. He opened it to reveal a pair of hexbullets, secured to a faded piece of felt. Reaching down, he plucked one from the fabric and handed it to Temperance.

  “Here, this one might be just what you need. Won’t defeat your beast, but should put him on the defensive, at least.”

  “Better than nothing. Thank you, Mister—Sventa.”

  After she had repeated the words of power several times to him, Sventa nodded in satisfaction. He started to close the case, then paused, shrugged, and withdrew the second bullet.

  “Here. May as well have this one too. Ain’t never found much use for it myself, but there’s always a chance. Better to have it, eh?”

  Temperance inspected the hexbullet. She thought she recognized most of the runes. “What’s this one do?”

  “It’s a knockback shell. Doesn’t do no damage, but slides the target away from you a good dozen feet. It was the first shell I ever figured how to cast. I was real proud of it, but never did end up using it.”

  Sventa was right; that didn’t sound particularly useful. Still, she slipped it into one of the back pockets of her bandolier. You never knew.

  They returned topside, and Temperance made her goodbyes to the old man. Sventa clutched at her hand. “Farewell. I hope you defeat that daemon. I’d hate to have to do the work myself.” He gave her a thin smile.

  She smiled back. “I don’t suppose you have any other insight that might help?”

  “Only that not every problem can be solved head-on. If you can’t outmuscle this daemon, try to outsmart it instead.”

  “That’s . . . I will think on that. Thank you, for everything, Sventa.” She turned away, but then hesitated. “One last question—why all the acting? Why pretend to be feeble-minded?”

  Sventa smiled, but it was a sad smile, showing the weight of more years than Temperance cared to count. “It ain’t always acting.” He looked away. “The worst days are the ones I wake up and remember me wife ain’t here all over again. Those days, I actually pray for me mind to go faster, just so I don’t have to feel the pain no more.”

  “I—” Temperance closed her mouth, not knowing what to say.

  Sventa smiled again. “Don’t worry ‘bout me, young lady. You go slay your daemon.”

  He waved at her from his porch. Temperance tried not to notice the tears streaming down his face as she walked away.

  She passed back through the fields, and the forest beyond. The old man hadn’t had the answers she hoped for, but a few more pieces of the picture had come together. She also had a new hexbullet to try, and that was more than she had yesterday.

  When she stepped past the Mason barn and found a crowd of townsfolk standing outside the front door, Temperance wasn’t surprised. This was merely the obvious conclusion to this whole story, like a play whose plot she couldn’t follow, but still had to read lines for. The mayor stepped forward as she approached.

  “So,” Temperance asked, “what message did the daemon leave this time?”

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Ruth Mason, your retribution comes tonight. No mercy shall my servant give for your crimes, no quarter shall it grant. It will write the full measure of your guilt upon your flesh for the world to witness, right before sending you to Hell.

  Temperance read the message once. Twice. Three times. She turned to Ruth, who was standing a few steps apart from the rest of the crowd, as if they were already trying to distance themselves from what was coming. “I don’t suppose this message makes any sense to you, does it?”

  Ruth shook her head. “Nuh uh. What would any daemon want with me?”

  Temperance didn’t answer. Part of her still hoped that this was all some scheme of Belial’s. Perhaps the daemon had seen her and Ruth together and thought to strike at a perceived weakness. She would have to set it right on that matter, in more ways than one.

  She turned to address the crowd. “Same as last time. I’ll seal everyone’s house with a protection circle—even you, Reverend—and wait for the beast to show itself. I have a plan that should put this matter to rest once and for all, Three willing.”

  She had been dwelling on Sventa’s words the whole walk back. Outsmart what you can’t outmuscle. An idea had formed in her mind, one built on the last battle. For it to work, she would need to do sufficient damage to the wolf here first, enough to get it to flee to where there weren’t so many people. After that, well, Temperance bet she was smarter than that stinking beast.

  The mayor sidled up next to her. “After the daemon is dealt with, I expect you’ll be taking your leave of us?” He didn’t look at Temperance as he spoke.

  “I expect I will, Mister Cullings. I have my own business that needs tending to.”

  “Good, good.” John cleared his throat and glanced at the crowd, which was already breaking apart and heading for their homes. “And that . . . mutual friend of ours. You’ll be speaking of us with him?”

  Temperance smiled, in a way she hoped the mayor would take for cunning. “I’ll be sure to mention you were ever so helpful, aiding me in my work out here. Can’t say the same for the good reverend, though.”

  “Ah, I see, I see.” John looked relieved. Clearly he thought he was coming out ahead on the whole affair. “What of the girl, Miss Mason? You still fixing to take her with you?”

  “If that is her wish.” Temperance flicked her gaze to Ruth, who was milling about, pretending not to listen in on the conversation.

  “Just as well. She ain’t gonna find herself with many friends once this is over, no matter how tonight plays out.”

  “She has me,” Temperance replied. “That will have to be enough, I reckon.”

  She left the mayor and went to speak with Ruth. “How you holding up?”

  “Fine, I suppose, considering.” Ruth glanced around, but everyone else had disappeared. Even the mayor had slipped out of sight already. “I keep trying to pack what I can, but I’m terrified Papa will notice. If he comes after me again . . . I don’t know what I’ll do.”

  “You leave him to me.” Temperance reached a hand to pat the girl on the shoulder, but stopped herself. The silence between them took a sudden turn towards the awkward, forcing her to consider a mixed-up jumble of emotions she didn’t even know where to begin processing.

  “Can I ask you ‘bout something?” Ruth looked at her, and Temperance immediately found herself on guard. Was the girl going to press again about last night? How should she even respond? Why couldn’t everything go back to the way it was before? “It’s been bothering me for a while, but I never found the right time to bring it up.”

  “Better ask it now, then.” Temperance did her best to smile. “I’ll answer if I can.”

  “It’s just . . . .” Ruth paused, looked at the ground, then back up. She bit her lip, which made Temperance feel even more uneasy. “I wondered, is it true? Do they really have metal carriages back east that move without horses?”

  “They what?” For a moment Temperance couldn’t get the girl’s words to register in her head. At last they sank in. “Trains? That what you mean?”

  “Yeah, that’s what David called ‘em!” Ruth clapped her hands. “Are they real? Or was he just laughing at my expense?�
��

  “Of course they’re real! They move by burning coal. I’ve ridden in one a few times, while taking trips along the coast. Haven’t been anytime recently though, on account of Astor. That horse hates being closed in one of those train cars.”

  The more Temperance told her, the more Ruth’s face lit up. It was like watching the sun rise. “Think we might take one on our way to Martin?”

  “Maybe? You’ll have to convince Astor yourself, though.”

  Ruth clapped her hands and almost danced around. Temperance couldn’t help feel herself swell with joy, watching the other girl. Whatever had happened the other night, Ruth was still Ruth, and Temperance was still herself. They would be fine.

  “Let’s get you back inside. I’ve got to get drawing protection circles if I want to be done before sundown.”

  * * *

  Temperance lay in the hay loft, rolling a hexbullet between her fingers. From up here, she had a clear view of the entire farmhouse. A single light still burned upstairs, glimpses of it visible through the shutters. While Temperance couldn’t see her, she knew Ruth must be peeking out, watching.

  The bullet in her hands was one she had carried without ever much hope of firing. Much like Sventa’s, it had never seemed useful to her. More important though was how, of all the bullets her grandfather had left her, this was perhaps the most precious. It was the last one he had shown her before he died. A bullet that was all but useless in combat. Something that would not kill, or stun, or even disable.

  A tracking brand.

  Back then, she hadn’t understood the words her grandfather spoke to her as he held the bullet aloft. Tonight though, at last, they aided in her hour of need. Now she would honor her grandfather as he had always wanted her to.

  A true Pistol Warlock’s job is not to kill, but to save. Tonight she intended this bullet to do just that.

  The echoing howl announced the creature’s presence long before she ever caught sight. Next the beast appeared, separating the dead corn stalks like a ship parting the sea. It stood before the house, moonslight reflecting off its coarse fur, and another howl burst from its lips. Even up in the loft, the sound seemed to echo all about her, leaving her with the impression that more of the creatures surrounded her.

  She leaned out the bay doors, revolver loaded and held at the ready. Only the one shot, so this had to be perfect.

  The daemon beast approached the house, drawing up a foot or so before the circle. It sniffed at the ground, then slapped a tendril against the air. The appendage struck the barrier and bounced off, and the creature let out a snarl. It paced to the left and tried again.

  So, not so stupid after all. Temperance mused. She leaned out further and took aim. That’s it, a little further . . . got you!

  “Losa Momensito!” she screamed, and something that resembled a red bird erupted from the revolver, leaving ruby sparkles in its wake.

  The bird spun circles in the air as it descended, a casualness to its movements that belied the speed with which it coursed through the night. It let out a keening cry, and the daemon wolf turned to swat at it with one of its tendrils. With a loud crack the tendril and bird collided, the latter exploding into an array of feathers that faded away to nothing as they drifted towards the earth.

  For the briefest of moments Temperance felt her heart hammering in her chest. As the daemon returned his attention to the barrier, a glowing red mark spread across one of its tendrils. Already she felt the connection inside her, telling her just where the beast was even without looking at it.

  No more hiding. Now let’s see if we can chase you back home.

  She leapt down from the barn, her jacket catching her before she impacted the ground. Drawing her other revolver, she took aim at the beast.

  “Hey!” she called. The wolf turned around and looked at her, lips pulling back into a snarl. “How about you and I dance a little?”

  As the beast lowered itself to charge, Temperance let out a shout. “Avoosa Mechura!”

  The bullet Sventa had given her did not erupt so much as it flowed, a glowing yellow ball that reminded Temperance of nothing less than honey pouring from a glass. When the orb was bigger than her head it fell to the ground, where it rolled towards the charging wolf.

  Just when it looked like the two might impact, time seemed to slow down. Temperance could see the beast’s paws as they struck the ground, bits of dirt rising into the surrounding air. Tendrils waved like stalks of wheat in a summer breeze. Lips pulled back, and a low howl started to pour from the daemon’s mouth.

  The ball of light shuddered and reformed itself. In a moment it resembled nothing more than . . . than . . . well, nothing more than a squirrel, if she were being honest. One of the vermin that Martin had once been so fond of feeding seeds and dried berries while he sat on his front porch. Whoever had crafted this particular hexbullet must have had quite the sense of humor.

  The little yellow squirrel tilted its head and regarded the wolf, who had slowed so much it almost appeared frozen in place.

  So fast she almost missed it, the squirrel split in two. Two became four, then eight, then too many for her to count. They formed a circle around the wolf, tiny hands linked together. Sparks burst from their heads and tails, building until they glowed so bright that Temperance’s eyes teared up.

  Time snapped back to normal. The daemon wolf lunged forward, but the squirrels sent up a wave of yellow lightning, blocking it on all sides. In another moment they had formed a domed cage of pure energy. Although the wolf slammed and snapped at it, each time it struck a shock coursed across its body. It let out a series of yelps and went still.

  This was the moment Temperance had waited for. She loaded a pair of bullets and took aim at the wolf twisting around inside its cage.

  “Estalia Vos!”

  The silver spike split the cage apart for the briefest of heartbeats, pinning a tendril to the ground. A second spike followed, trapping the beast in place. It let out a howl that near split her eardrums. As the daemon frothed and snapped about, straining at its bonds, the cage of yellow lightning collapsed away. Temperance strode forward, loading a third spike into her revolver. She pointed the gun at the creature’s head.

  “Estalia—”

  With another howl, the creature sprung backwards, tearing long gashes in its tendrils as the silver shredded them like a knife through hot butter. It landed several feet away, two of its appendages hanging limp at its size. Giving its broken limbs a shake, it growled at Temperance before fleeing into the dark.

  “Oh no you don’t. Astor!”

  The horse burst from the barn. Temperance launched herself into the air, landing half on the saddle as Astor galloped through the trees.

  She righted herself and had just enough time to wrap the reins as tight around her hands as they would go. Astor couldn’t reach his full speed, not with so many trees and rocks to contend with, but the horse still ran faster than she would like, following a trail only he could sense.

  They loped along for what felt like hours. Long enough for the moons to move across the sky, anyway. The wolf was trying to shake them, cutting back and forth around the mountains, through gullies, culverts, and cut-banks. Its tricks were no match for Astor, though.

  As the horse started down a hill leading back towards town, Temperance pulled on the reins.

  What? Trail goes straight through here, down to that clump of trees. Bet he’s going to cut over the hills again.

  “No, he’s not. Brand says he’s off that way.” She pointed towards one of the smaller mountains. Astor grunted and muttered something she didn’t catch, but he followed her directions. A short while later they stood at the base of a cliff, the mountain above towering over them, barely visible from here.

  Temperance glanced at her companion. “This the same cliff from last time?”

  No. Astor didn’t sound pleased. I don’t see another way around. You’ll have to climb this one on your own.

  She patted the horse’
s side. “Don’t worry, this won’t be like last time, I promise.”

  You shouldn’t make promises you don’t know you can keep, the horse chastised as she dug into one of her packs and brought out a length of rope. Temperance eyed the cliff. Hard to tell in the dark, but she thought it might be long enough.

  “If I’m not back by morning, go get Sventa. At the least he might—well, he’ll take care of you.”

  Temperance. She paused, one hand already reaching for an outcropping above her head. I—that is, I mean to say—you come back now, you hear?

  “I will. Talk to you soon, Astor.”

  Chapter Twenty-Seven

  The lip of the cliff appeared without warning, bulging out of the night. One moment Temperance was scrambling over a lichen-covered ledge, the next she lay on flat ground, the plateau stretching off towards the rest of the mountain range. There wasn’t much for cover up here, or even to break the chill wind, just patches of moss that caught and held the dimming moonslight.

  She stood and deposited the rope near the cliff edge. At least the trip down will be all the easier for it, she mused, assuming I survive that long.

  The beast’s lair was somewhere nearby. Already she could make out what looked like holes in the mountain, the perfect place for a daemonic wolf to lick its wounds and plot its next attack.

  Temperance pulled her revolver and loaded a second silver spike to accompany the one from earlier. Only two others remained in her pack, and she needed to save at least one for whenever Belial put in an appearance again. Besides, the beast wasn’t likely to give her another opportunity for more shots than that.

  She loaded her other gun with several rounds from a rarely used pouch on her bandolier. Like the tracking brand, she had never expected to find a use for these hexbullets. Now an idea that had been fixing in her head since she fended the creature away from poor departed Patrick might see some use.