Curse of the Daemon Beast

by Francis James Blair

  We? There someone else here I don’t see? Temperance glanced around. The daemon appeared to be alone. She eyed her guns again, but was still too shook up from her miraculous recovery to make another dive for them.

  The creature was looking at her, so she started talking while her mind sorted this all out. Might as well see what she could learn from the fiend. “Vertigo? Hemorrhaging? Fractures? You mind chewing that all a little finer?”

  “Of course. Small words, then. Let us see . . . you were injured, and would have died, but we saved you, so now you shall live. All clear?” The daemon tilted its head and gave her a tight-lipped smile.

  “No, nothing is ‘clear’ right now.” Temperance forced herself to stand. There was no way she would die laying down. Better to do it on her feet, back against the wall. “I’ve studied sorcery my whole Three-damn life, and I know for true, there’s no magick that can cure wounds like what was killing me.”

  “Ours can.” The smug superiority in its voice almost made her forget the fear she had seen before. Still, Temperance knew that for some reason she scared this creature, and that knowledge stoked the fire inside and drove her on.

  “What’s your game here, Belial?” she demanded.

  “Belial?” The daemon frowned and shook its head. “We are afraid we do not know that name. We are called . . .”

  It paused and stared off to the side a moment. Temperance thought about making a dive for her guns, but something stopped her. Curiosity, maybe, or vertigo, whatever that was.

  “Yes, we remember now. We were called Ceranach, once. We suppose we still are.” It looked back at her. “So long ago. We imagine everyone who knew us by that name is gone now. Certainly they would not have left us behind if they remained.”

  For a moment, Temperance considered whether all of this might be some elaborate trick. Martin had warned her how daemons twisted their words, using them to get what they wanted from their victims. Except there was nothing to get from Temperance. She had been on her way out, and now she wasn’t. This creature didn’t need to bother lying to her. It could have left her to die in the cold. Belial would have.

  So if it wasn’t Belial . . .

  “You’re that daemon, the one the Federation released from the lab, aren’t you? And that body you’re wearing—?”

  Realization hit like a thunderclap. The same nose as his father, the same sad eyes as his mother. It was obvious, now that she looked for it. “That’s David Hander, isn’t it?” She shook her head, trying to work things out even as her mouth kept moving. “This doesn’t make a lick of sense. Why are you wearing his body? Why attack his family and friends? To get back at Reynolds and his men?”

  “We did not want to attack anyone, let us be clear. Such were the terms when we enjoined with our host, the conditions required for him to grant us entrance.” Ceranach frowned. “Pure arrogance. His body was broken beyond even our ability to repair, but he knew we needed him as desperately as he needed us.”

  Broken? The boy had been dying? “You made a pact with David, that part’s plain as spots on a hog. Why would he want that though? Everyone in town has been worried sick over him. They thought he’d run off for life in the big city. His ma has about fallen apart over the not knowing.”

  “Everyone in town is missing him, you say? We doubt that. But first, let us ask you something. We have healed your wounds, spoken honestly with you, and shown you respect as an equal. Do we have your word you will not turn those strange weapons against us if we return them to you?”

  “I suppose,” Temperance said, not wanting to antagonize the daemon while it still held the upper hand. Still, she couldn’t help asking, “Why did you sick your daemon pet after me, then?”

  “You mean the Lu’pinor?” Ceranach made a strange clicking noise when he spoke the last word. “She had intelligence enough to follow what commands we gave her, but we had no true control over her. When she saw you approaching her den, she defended herself the only way she knew how. You can hardly blame her, after everything else she suffered at humanity’s hands.”

  Ceranach turned and looked out the cave entrance. During their discussion the fire had gone out, and already the cave was growing chill. “We saved her from the lab below, did you know? Rescued her from that barbaric butcher Reynolds, who has the audacity to call himself a ‘scientist’. She was the last of the viable samples that remained, perhaps that last of her kind anywhere in the world. And you dropped her off a cliff.”

  “You won’t see me losing any tears over that.” Temperance retorted.

  “Understandable. Still, we hope you can appreciate that we did not intend to watch you two kill each other last night. We simply waited until it was over and did our best to repair the damage.”

  “So I’m supposed to believe that when you and I done talking, you’re just going to let me walk out of here?”

  “We healed you, it would be a shame to undo all of our hard work. Besides, we do not want you to just walk out of here. We want you to help us. We still have one more obligation to uphold before being released from the terms of our pact.”

  “You mean Ruth.” The daemon nodded, and Temperance eyed her guns again. “Now why would I do a thing like that? For that matter, why use me at all, or your little pet out there? Why not go down to Shady Hollow yourself?”

  Ceranach snorted. A puff of flame came out with it. “We are a doctor, not a soldier.”

  A what? “Well, I hate to disappoint, but you’re deluding yourself if you think I’ll help you kill Ruth. I’d rather die up here, knowing I did what I could for her.”

  Temperance tensed, preparing to dive for her guns. If the silver spike was still loaded, she might have a chance. She froze as Ceranach waved a hand dismissively.

  “Her life is in no danger, even the bonds of our pact cannot force us to violate our medical oath.”

  “That—” Temperance paused and frowned. Something was turning over in her head, something that smelled sour the more she thought about it. “Maybe you better start from the beginning.”

  The daemon began its story, and the more it talked, the more the sour feeling settled inside Temperance, until she felt its taint down to her very core.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  It was sunset again when Temperance made her way back down the cliff face. Seeing it now in the light, she realized how lucky it had been that she hadn’t missed a step and fallen to her death on the way up.

  The body of the wolf beast waited for her at the bottom, long since gone cold and stiff. It was a strange creature, but didn’t seem nearly so imposing now it was dead. The lupinor, or whatever Ceranach had called it. The beast wasn’t a true daemon, just a creature bred and modified for combat. As for what combat that was, Ceranach had been less forthcoming.

  Neither had the daemon recognized the name Varconis, when she finally thought to ask. Disappointing, but still fine. There had been far more pressing questions, once she got going.

  The daemon had been more than willing to talk about Shady Hollow and its residents. Including certain facts that Temperance would have preferred not to know, truth told.

  She had just finished hacking the lupinor’s head off when Astor cantered out of the trees. Temperance nearly jumped from her skin. “Were you waiting here the entire time? I thought I told you to go find Sventa at sunrise.”

  Yes, well, I had faith you would be back. The horse pulled out a tuft of grass, then looked up and grinned.

  “You shouldn’t have. Shape I was in after that battle, I never should have moved again.”

  You don’t say? Astor nuzzled her side, blowing out a waft of hot air. You smell different from before. What happened up there?

  “I’ll tell you on the way to town.” Temperance slipped the wolf head inside a sack, then climbed into the saddle. “Got a lot of things to cover. You might want to take the long route back to Shady Hollow.”

  * * *

  She found the mayor outside his home, leading a herd of orak into
the barn. One of his boys noticed her coming and let out a hoot. She waved in response and called out a greeting. At least she never had to worry about forgetting any of their names.

  “Miss Alba!” The mayor stopped to lean against the barn doorway. “I thought you lost to us. Did the beast escape again?”

  “You tell me, Mister Cullings.” Temperance upended the sack. The wolf’s head bounced and rolled, coming to a stop by the mayor’s feet. One eye remained to the creature, staring out sightlessly. Its tongue was swollen and almost black with congealed blood.

  “That’s . . . that’s dead, bless the Three.” The mayor swallowed. “And the other daemon? The one leaving the messages?”

  “Trying to get back at Reynolds for his work in the mines. It thought by striking the town’s mayor and physiker, it could keep you all at each other’s throats.” She patted her pocket. “I put a bullet in its head. Should net me a pretty bit of kos when I get back to Arkton. Enough to make this trip worth the trouble, anyway.”

  John nodded, although his expression was grim. “Thank you, Miss Alba. I can rest easier knowing my boy’s murderer is suffering for its crimes.” The look in his eyes, however, said that putting this matter to rest wouldn’t be that easy.

  “Well, I can’t say it was all a pleasure, Mister Cullings, but I’m glad I can leave your town better off than I found it. I’ll be heading out at first light, if you want to speak any further.”

  “Thank you, but I . . . no. I wish you safe travels back to Arkton, Miss.”

  John turned and followed the last of his herd into the barn. Temperance watched him go, then pulled the reins to turn Astor about. “Time to move on. Still plenty left to do before we rest.”

  Astor glanced up at her as they passed through an empty field, nothing left to it but scraps for the scavengers now. You sure you don’t want to tell the mayor the truth? Man has a right to hear who really killed his boy. There’s the Handers, too. They might like to know their son is never coming home.

  “I don’t trust what the mayor might do if he knew the truth.” Temperance said softly, even though there was no one around to hear. “As for Cyrus and Olivia, let them have their lie. Better if they think their son is alive and happy somewhere, rather than being worn like an old suit by some daemonic creature. Sometimes the truth is more trouble than it’s worth.”

  Huh, Astor said with a light chuckle. That’s rather rich, coming from you.

  * * *

  She found the Masons just finishing their evening meal as she arrived, a single lantern burning on the table. Ruth was picking at a plate of mostly untouched food when Temperance stepped through the door. When the girl saw her, she dropped the piece of corn she was holding and bolted upright.

  “Temperance! I knew you’d come back!” Before she had time to even register movement, Temperance found herself entrapped in the girl’s arms. Ruth squeezed her tight, like she was afraid something might happen if she ever let go.

  “Sorry about that, the daemon had its lair way up in the mountains. By the time I got a good rest, it was evening already.” She patted the other girl’s hair. “You can all rest easy now, that creature won’t be coming around to bother you ever again.”

  Jonas glowered at her without speaking, but Temperance thought she detected a hint of relief in his eyes. His wife, meanwhile, was all smiles. “You must be famished, dear. Let me fix you a plate of something.”

  “Thank you, but I just need to rest. I’ll be leaving first thing in the morning, headed West for Benson City. Need to move quick if I want to make it before the passes get snowed in.”

  She said her farewells to the family and made her way to the guest room. As she sat watching the moons rise through the window, Temperance realized that in all her time in Shady Hollow, she had never met the room’s former occupant. What was Ruth’s sister like? Were they similar at all? Siblings had always seemed like something of a mystery to her while growing up. Having someone near your own age under the same roof seemed like some sort of strange luxury.

  I wonder if my parents ever thought of having more children? Seems odd they stopped at just me. Did they talk about it, or did life just happen that way? There were so many questions she had for the both of them, and no way to ever ask. Life wasn’t fair, but everyone had to make the best of it, anyway.

  Before she even realized how much time had passed, she heard a soft knock at the door. Temperance rose and went to it. Ruth waited in the hallway, a sack slung over one shoulder.

  “I think I’m good.” She glanced towards her parent’s room. “Didn’t bring everything I’d like, tried to only put in the essentials. Why we headed for Benson City?”

  “We’re not, but if your da follows us in the morning, I don’t want him going in the right direction.” Temperance checked to make sure she had left nothing in the room, shrugged on her jacket, and was out the door. Ruth padded along behind.

  “Thanks again for this, Temperance. There ain’t gonna be much in this town I miss, that’s for sure. Why just today, Papa screamed at me for not watering the animal’s proper, like it has to be his way or nothing else—”

  “And where you two sneaking off to, pretty as a picture?” The voice froze Temperance in place halfway through the kitchen. Ruth let out a little squeak and grabbed ahold of a nearby chair. She pulled it close, like she was planning to use it as a weapon. On second glance, that’s exactly what the girl was doing.

  Jonas Mason sat across from them. He stood up slowly, pushing the chair back with almost a casual ease. “I knew there was something I didn’t like ‘bout you, Alba. Once Ruthie started following you ‘round like a lost dog, I figured it was nothing more than her usual sinful ways. Now it seems you’re planning to take my daughter away from her family, did I hear that right?”

  “Mister Mason, if you’ll let me explain—”

  “To Hell with your explanations!” Jonas snarled and slammed his fist down on the table. Ruth let out a whimper and dropped the chair, her whole body shaking to the point it looked as if she might fall over. “You’re trying to steal what belongs to me! That girl is mine, and she ain’t leaving this house unless I say so!”

  “Papa, please,” Ruth’s voice was barely above a whisper. “I don’t belong here, in this town. You know it, I know it, the whole damn town knows it. Maybe somewhere out there I can find somewhere I can be myself. Somewhere people don’t think there’s something wrong with me.”

  “You shut your filthy scrum mouth!” Jonas lunged across the room, the sudden movement catching Temperance off guard. Before she could react, his fist struck the side of Ruth’s head. She let out a scream and crumpled to the floor. Jonas barely spared her a second glance as he turned his attention to Temperance.

  “You ain’t been nothing but trouble since you first arrived. I saw it right away, but you managed to pull the rakhair over the rest of the town’s eyes. Should’a put a bullet in you the moment I seen which way the wind was blowing.”

  He advanced towards her, and only then did Temperance notice the knife. She backed up, one hand going for her revolver. Heart hammering, she started to draw.

  Quick as a snake, Jonas’s hand closed around her wrist, squeezing so tight she dropped the weapon out of pure reflex.

  “By the time I’m done with you, Ruthie ain’t never gonna think ‘bout running off again.” Jonas raised the knife above his head. Temperance tried to grapple with him, but he had a farmer’s strength, and she was at a bad angle. She stared with wide eyes as firelight glinted off the blade.

  Firelight?

  “Let her go!” Temperance turned to see Ruth standing by the open stove. She held a pair of tongs in her hands, and clenched between them was a flat stone, white markings just visible along its surface.

  “Tavolar!” Ruth screamed.

  The stone leapt out of the tongs, and with the force of a battering ram flew across the room, punching straight through her father’s chest. Jonas let out a barking cough and dropped the knife. He
put a hand to his gut, feeling the hole stretching from one side to the other. Blood coursed through his fingers as he pressed them against the wound.

  “You . . . stupid . . .” Jonas took a single step towards his daughter, then collapsed onto the floor.

  Temperance and Ruth stood staring silently at each other. A scream from the hallway brought them back to their senses, as Agnes Mason rushed into the room. She dropped to the ground next to her husband, shaking him frantically by the shoulders.

  “He’s dead!” Agnes looked up at her daughter, her face going through stages of shock, to grief, to something else entirely.

  “It’s alright, Mama,” Ruth said, sounding surprisingly calm. “He can’t hurt any of us no more. You’re safe. You ain’t got to defend him.”

  Agnes looked at her daughter, and the expression on her face made it hard for Temperance to reconcile the sweet woman she knew from the one that now crouched before her.

  “Defend him? Defend him? All your father ever did was looked out for what’s best for you! If you hadn’t been such an ungrateful brat, you might have seen that. You made nothing but trouble for us. If you had just done as you were told, he wouldn’t—he’d have never—”

  She cut off her tirade and went back to staring at her dead husband. Ruth stepped closer, reaching a hand out towards her mother. Agnes looked back up, and Ruth’s hand dropped away as if it had been slapped.

  “Get out.” Agnes practically hissed the words. “You wanted freedom so bad, you got it. I don’t want to see you again.”

  Temperance grabbed Ruth’s limp hand and made for the door. Behind them, Agnes continued to sob over her fallen husband. The sound faded away as the door slid shut.

  They walked towards the barn. Temperance kept looking at Ruth, but the other girl just stared off into the distance, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.

  “How could she say that?” she asked at last. “How could she side with him? After everything he’s done?”