Dimwater's Demons (4 page)

“Take them and eat them for all I care, they won’t do me any good,” Eleanor spat.

The physician sighed. “All right. I’ll just set them on the crate over here.” He moved to the crate and dropped all of the silver coins onto the crate. Then he turned and offered a smile. “If you need someone to talk to, my door is always open.”

“Just go,” Eleanor shouted. She knew it wasn’t his fault. The physician had told her days before that there wasn’t much he could do anymore. Consumption was not an easy disease to fight. Still, he was the closest object onto which she could project her sadness and anger, so that is what she did.

She stared at the doorway for at least an hour before she finally was able to calm down enough to think. She looked back to her mother and thought of the last conversation they had had together. Eleanor moved to her mother and kissed her cold forehead, and then she left, taking the six silver coins with her.

Before she made her way to Horace Bagman’s house, she found Mr. Gib, the local mortician.

He was a short, fat man who lived just on the outskirts of the slums where the dirt road met the cobblestone and the shanties became proper, small houses. He was outside, nailing a new coffin together as she approached.

“’Ello, Eleanor. What can I do for you?” he asked with his bright hazel eyes beaming over his round, bearded cheeks.

“How much does it cost for a burial and a proper coffin?”

Mr. Gib’s smile changed to an expression of confusion and the man wiped his hands and set his hammer down. “Now, why should that question cross your mind?” he asked.

“My mother passed away last night,” Eleanor said, choking back the tears and doing her best to hold her head high.

Mr. Gib sighed and shook his head. “I heard she was sick,” he said. “I’m sorry to hear she’s gone.” He turned around and put a hand on his head while he sighed again, this time it went out through his teeth and made a slight, sad whistle. “Eleanor, I’ll tell you what, I can give her a proper burial. I won’t charge for the coffin, deary, okay?”

Eleanor shook her head. “I don’t want her in a pauper’s grave,” Eleanor said. “She deserves better than that.”

Mr. Gib nodded. “Most people do, your mother especially.”

“How much for a proper grave and a proper burial?” Eleanor pressed.

Mr. Gib pursed his lips and scratched his chin. “How much do you have?” he asked after a moment.

Eleanor held up the six silver coins and the ivory comb. “This is all I have.”

Mr. Gib shook his head. “No, no, that comb is for you. Your mother was firm on that.”

Eleanor scrunched up her face. “What do you know about it?”

Mr. Gib pointed down the road. “Mr. Tavers, the merchant who deals with fine jewelry, tried to buy it a year or two ago. I know, because I was there when he made the offer. That was back when your mother worked in the inn serving coffee and such to travelers. Well, your mother told him in no uncertain terms that it belonged to you and was going to be the one thing she would leave to you no matter what.”

Eleanor looked down to the comb, confused why it should matter so much to her mother.

Mr. Gib put on a friendly smile and knelt in front of her. He gently took the comb and then slipped it into her pants pocket. “You don’t show this to anybody, you understand? This is yours, from your mother.”

“She told me to give it to Horace Bagman last night,” Eleanor said without thinking.

Mr. Gib’s left brow shot up and he cocked his head to the side. “Well then, I suppose you should do as your mother told you, but don’t flash it around, not in this town, you hear? You keep it safe and hidden in your pocket. You give it to Horace then, but no one else.”

Eleanor nodded.

“Also,” he continued, “I only need three silver coins to take care of your mother.”

Eleanor’s eyes went up to the two display coffins outside the house. The sign on the simple pine coffin said five silver. Even at fourteen, she knew the man was cutting her a deal he couldn’t afford. She held her hand out, with all six coins.

“I want her buried right,” Eleanor said.

Mr. Gib plucked three coins out of her small hand and smiled. “For your mother, I’ll get it done right for three silver. Now you get on over to Horace’s house. I bet your mother had something special planned for you.”

Eleanor nodded her thanks and watched the man move back to the coffins. His wife came out from the house just then and talked to him. Eleanor watched as they talked for a minute and then Mrs. Gib put her hand over her mouth and closed her eyes, dropping her head and shaking it slightly as Mr. Gib pulled her into an embrace.

Seeing the grief in another person was too much for her. She turned and made her way down the cobblestone street, headed for Horace Bagman’s house.

She turned twice to the left, and once to the right. When she came to the corner of Mercer and Beauregard streets, Eleanor turned to face a tall, skinny building made of brown brick. She went to the door and pushed it inward. A small brass bell jangled above her, bouncing on a type of spring and swinging back and forth. The room was well appointed, a fine woven tapestry hanging on each of the two side walls, both depicting large dragons entangled in battle. Upon the floor was a blue and silver rug with a floral pattern woven into it. Alongside the rug were two long cases of glass that displayed fine pieces of jewelry.

The whole scene made her quite anxious. Eleanor bit her lip and fidgeted with her fingers as she stepped into the room. A short, balding man sat behind the far counter with a strange apparatus hanging around the crown of his head by a long strap that secured it in place. He looked up, one of his brown eyes covered by a series of round magnifying lenses. He reached up and slipped the strange hat off, setting it onto the table next to a ring that was held in some sort of metal vice.

“Come in, come in,” Horace said as he stood up and placed a hand on the small of his back, leaning into a stretch and groaning. “You are little Miss Eleanor Hughes, aren’t you?” Horace said with a wagging finger. “I’ve been expecting you.”

Eleanor approached the counter and stared up at the man. He smiled wide from ear to ear, but somehow it seemed less sincere than anyone else’s smile she had seen lately. Even the physician had appeared to be more genuine. Horace had shifty eyes that hardly stayed upon Eleanor. They constantly flicked back up to the doorway, or over to the window as he leaned over the counter and spoke to her.

“I have something for you,” he said quietly.

Eleanor nodded. “Yes, my mum told me,” she said.

Horace nodded and narrowed his eyes on her. “How is your mother?”

Eleanor didn’t want to answer Horace. Each time she acknowledged what had happened, it felt as if it made it more final. Somewhere inside of her, there remained a sliver of hope that perhaps she could yet wake from this horrid day, and that maybe it was all just a terrible nightmare.

“What’s the matter, cat got your tongue?” Horace asked.

“She’s dead,” Eleanor answered dully, wincing as she felt that sliver of hope deep within herself shrink a bit more.

Horace nodded and tapped the counter with a finger. “I see,” he said flatly. His eyes ceased shifting around the room and he bent forward to gently take Eleanor’s shoulders in each of his hands. “Keep your chin up, yeah? That’s what she would want you to do.”

Eleanor didn’t need a lecture from Horace. She pulled back and reached into her pocket. “My mum said to give you this. Then she said you would have instructions for me.” She fished out the ivory comb and set it upon the counter.

Horace’s greedy eyes lit up, sparkling wildly as his smile returned. This time, Eleanor believed the expression to be genuine.

“Did you know that in the Middle Kingdom, ivory is more valuable than gold? It is only found in the Eastern Wilds, and even there it is a rare thing to find, and usually comes at a high cost of life,” Horace said.

Horace had always had a hunger for expensive items that most people found unhealthy. He wasn’t a cheat, but he was always sure to play any bargain to his favor, and he never seemed to be pleased with his fortune. It was one of the reasons someone of his wealth dealt with people from the slums. Sometimes he preyed upon their desperation, other times he conspired with someone down on their luck to acquire items in a less than honorable fashion. Despite the rumors, Horace had never been caught by the authorities. Even when his first wife left him and threatened to have him arrested, nothing ever happened to Horace. That was why he was called Lucky Bagman.

The man held up the comb and quickly turned to lock it into a silver chest that sat upon a shelf over his workstation. He was still smiling when he turned back to Eleanor.

“Wait here a moment, will you?” he said before disappearing into a door that led to a back room. Eleanor could hear the scrape of a box being pulled from a shelf somewhere in the other room. A metallic click was then followed by a squeaky hinge and the rustling of papers. Horace returned seconds later, a small bundle wrapped in brown paper in his hands and sealed with twine.

“What is this?” Eleanor said as she held out her hand.

Horace held the package back and shook his head. “First, the instructions.” Horace walked out from around the counter and went to the front door. He locked it and then came back to kneel before Eleanor. “This is something your mother was working on for quite some time. Inside this bundle is everything you need for your new life.”

“My new life?” Eleanor echoed.

Bagman sighed impatiently. “I don’t have time to explain everything twice. Keep your mouth closed and your ears open, understand?”

Eleanor nodded.

“Good.” Horace grabbed one of her hands and set the package into it. “Inside this bundle is everything you need. You will find a nobleman’s family pedigree tied to your name. You will also find your new family history. You must memorize everything in this manual and forget about your life here in the slums. You are no longer Eleanor Hughes from Brighton. You are Miss Linny Ravia, a young noblewoman from Nortwyn Abbey. Can you remember your new name?”

Eleanor nodded. “Sure, my mum used to call me Linny when I was younger.”

“Good girl. Now, the first paper you will find is a note to a driver. I have hired a coach to take you to Kuldiga Academy. Your travel charter and your school enrollment papers are all included. Also, in the coach you will find a trunk with clothes, and a wand.”

“Kuldiga Academy?” Eleanor asked.

Horace nodded emphatically. “You have magic in your veins, little Eleanor. Your mother did too, but she never was able to develop it. She lacked the funds for that, you see. She’s been working hard on this for years. She wanted to make sure that you would have the chance she never did. Make us proud little Eleanor.”

“How can I pay for tuition?” Eleanor said. “I can pretend to be anyone I want, but I can’t afford to study there.”

Horace reached out, set his right hand on her shoulder, and gave her a wink. “Eleanor, if I can forge a new life for you, don’t you think I could arrange to make it look like your education had already been paid in full?”

Eleanor’s eyes teared up as she realized why her mother had never sold the ivory comb before. It could have bought life-saving medicine, but her mother was bent on saving another life. “I’ll make her proud,” Eleanor said.

Kyra slipped her textbook back into her bag as Cyrus wiped the chalkboard clean. The lesson today had been dry and boring, but Cyrus had insisted upon going through each painful detail of the first recorded encounter with a wraith. Truth be told, it wasn’t much different from her own. A young wizard had been out in the woods, plying his magic to the fish in a stream, when a wraith came upon him and nearly killed him. The main difference from Kyra’s own encounter was that the young wizard’s tutor was near enough by to come running in and save the young man. Kyra had had to rescue herself, though it had rendered her unconscious.

She must have sighed a bit too loudly, for Cyrus turned back from the chalkboard and raised a snowy brow as he cast his eyes upon her.

“What did you learn today?” he asked in his raspy voice.

Kyra shook her head and gave her honest assessment. “Nothing I didn’t already learn for myself out in the woods.”

Cyrus nodded and stepped around his desk before leaning back upon it. “You see no value in the text we studied today?”

Kyra shook her head. “Gamel didn’t even fight the wraith that attacked him. He just froze and shouted for help. It was Master Coen who banished the wraith.”

Cyrus nodded and smiled. “Ah, and so there is nothing for you to learn from his encounter because it wasn’t as exciting as yours, is that it?”

Kyra sighed.

The old wizard moved toward her and slowly slipped into the seat next to hers. “Did you find it odd that the wraith suddenly appeared?”

Kyra shrugged. “No,” she said.

“So, I suppose you also failed to question why the wraith chose to attack the young wizard, even despite Master Coen’s close proximity.”

“What difference does it make
why
it attacked? What matters is how to fight them.”

Cyrus laughed and nodded as he stroked his beard. “I might have said the same thing many years ago. However, in order to fight your enemy, you must understand them.”

“It doesn’t say why the wraith attacked,” Kyra said impatiently. “It just says what happened, where it happened, and how they banished it.”

Cyrus nodded. “That is why we are studying this account. It is a prime example of why we must stretch our minds beyond the plain text.” He reached out with a bony finger and gently poked her forehead. “You should put yourself there, and ask yourself why the creature attacked. What did it want? What did it hope to gain? Why the boy?” He then indicated the bag with his finger and shook his head. “If all you ever learn to put in your brain are the accounts written by historians, then you will fail to see clearly. Each historian has his or her own bias. They present a passage the way they see fit, sometimes omitting or embellishing truths that ultimately twist or altogether hide the true lesson to be gained from the experience.”

“So what should I learn from this?”

Cyrus shook his head. “We are out of time today. Go and think on it. We will discuss it together tomorrow. Hopefully by then you will have figured the answers out for yourself.” Cyrus then rose and went back to pack his books into his own bag.

Kyra might have argued the point, but she was anxious to get to Leatherback. The priests would be coming today, so she wanted to read to him and calm him before their visit.

She rushed out from the room and through the empty corridors until she made the field outside the southern exit. A pair of instructors wearing green robes stood near a large, smooth-topped stump, but they hardly glanced at her as she ran past.

Kyra didn’t have to worry about escaping from the priests today. Since they were coming later anyway, they expected her to run on ahead. So long as she didn’t try to interfere once they arrived, they didn’t mind her extra time with Leatherback.

She found him resting in the glade, sunning himself lazily on his side with his neck stretched upward and his eyes closed.

Leatherback smiled when he saw her coming toward him, and rolled over to his stomach.

“Story?” he asked.

Kyra nodded. “I brought a fun one today,” she said. “One that should help us with the shade.”

The dragon snorted a puff of smoke and blue flame through his nostrils to show his disgust for the dark creature they had fought together.

“No worries,” Kyra said as she settled in next to his front right shoulder. “It looks like it will be a fun read as well as informative. I’ve skimmed through this book already, and I’m pleased to say I’ve found us a historian who took the time to tell the story well, and not just report the events. I found it in the library in the same section with the books about dragons. A friend at the school told me about the section last year, and that is how I was able to learn what a special egg I had found when I first came across your nest. The section is full of books about rare and extinct creatures. The story I’m going to read is the only one that talks about a garunda beast at all, so it seems like pure luck that it was filed right in the place I usually go to read, but I think you will like it.”

Leatherback brought his neck around and rested his head before Kyra’s feet, effectively wrapping her into a protective embrace.

“This is the tale of Ravenel and the Garunda,” Kyra said. “The foreword in the book says it is a favorite among the cities of southern Landale. It comes from the second century of the Era of Kings and is the first encounter with a garunda recorded in all of Terramyr.” She lifted the book and peered at the dragon’s sky-blue eye from under the book. “The garunda may be our key to slaying the shade,” she said with a grin.

Leatherback purred and his lips stretched back into a smile.

Kyra continued, quoting from the last sentence in the foreword. “The garunda is a rare creature. It’s elusive and savage, and this tale actually is one of the best texts to understanding the monster even today.” She snuggled into Leatherback’s shoulder. “All right, here we go,” she said.

“Ravenel fidgeted with his bow and glanced around the room to the eyes that now were fixed upon him. ‘I fear there has been a mistake,’ Ravenel said as he crossed his arms over his chest. ‘I am a simple hunter.’ His fingers tapped on his bow as he looked around the room once more.

Princess Lirian, who had summoned him to her court, nodded and smiled. ‘Yes, I know, that’ Lirian replied with another nod of her head that seemed to make her golden hair dance softly about her face. ‘From what I hear, you are also among the best archers to live in our land.’ She looked up from the table then and her gaze met that of his deep blue eyes. ‘Your valor in the Battle of Detean is legendary,’ she added.

“‘Even so, I have been living a life of peace in the forests since then. This creature you describe to me is strange, and I have never encountered such, nor do I wish to,’ Ravenel announced.”

Leatherback let out a throaty growl. “Coward,” he said.

Kyra shook her head and lowered the book to look into the dragon’s fierce eye. “Hold on until you hear the whole story,” she said. “You might change your mind.”

Leatherback snorted and a wisp of smoke snaked out from his nostrils to dance upon the light breeze that found its way through the rustling aspen leaves around them.

“Where was I?” Kyra asked herself as she looked back to the book. She ran her finger down the page until she located where she had left off. “Ah, yes. Here we go. Lirian shook her head. ‘In the Battle of Detean, you fought against the Khattuun, the great lion people from the east. You slew them by the score, and saved the day for all of our tribe. The other tribe leaders and city kings of our alliance each sent thank offerings to our tribe as a testament to your great acts. I would say you do know more about this beast than you admit.’

“Ravenel bowed his head reverently before replying. ‘My apologies, milady, but the Khattuun are a great and proud race. They are like lions, and also like men. True it may be that they are fearsome warriors, and among the most feared on the battlefield, but they are much easier to understand than this beast you ask me to slay.’

‘“I understand,” Lirian agreed softly. She stood from her ivory throne and motioned for everyone except for Ravenel to exit the room. The large hunter watched as the others filtered out of the room, each murmuring and whispering. After they were all gone and the guards closed the doors, Lirian moved in closer to Ravenel. ‘The foul garunda beasts that have attacked our fair city of Kilistyrin, are more dangerous than normal beasts of prey,’ she admitted. ‘However, they do somewhat resemble the fierce mountain cats that roam along the great mountains in the east, though these creatures are much larger. The primary cause for concern is that their presence is only a prelude to the appearance of a much more sinister creature.’

‘“A demon of some sort?’ Ravenel guessed.” Kyra paused here and nudged Leatherback with her foot. “This is where it gets interesting, so keep listening.”

Leatherback didn’t say anything, but his blue eye fixed itself on the back of the book as he waited for the story to unfold.

Kyra cleared her throat and resumed reading from the book. “Lirian shook her head. ‘A shade,’ she said simply.”

Leatherback growled again, this time in an angry tone. Kyra didn’t bother to pause the story however. Now that she had him hooked, she continued on without stopping.

“Ravenel sucked in a breath and backed away. ‘You expect me to slay a shade?’ he asked incredulously. ‘It would be easier to best a Khattuun with my bare hands,’ he declared.

‘“I will not lie,’ Lirian began. ‘I have sent others already, and they have all perished. However, we have enough information to know that there are two garunda in a cave to the east of here. It is my belief that they guard a single shade.’

‘“No,’ Ravenel said. ‘I would need an army, and even then it wouldn’t be enough.’

“Lirian shook her head. ‘I have sent groups to fight already. They have failed. I believe we stand a better chance if we send one man alone. That way there is less risk of being caught. You are a master with your bow, and you are skilled in stalking and hunting prey of all kinds.’

‘“I hunt game. This is not the same,’ Ravenel protested.

“Lirian nodded and a frown dragged her ruby lips down. ‘Yet, if someone does not defeat the garunda and the shade, then
we
shall become little more than game for a far more sinister force that walks upon our plane.’”

Kyra nudged Leatherback with her foot again. “See, my friend, I told you this would be a good story.” She continued, “Ravenel stood silently. He cast a glance to the door behind him, and then looked back to Lirian’s desperate eyes. ‘A shade cannot be beaten by an arrow,’ he said. ‘A shade is a Verr’Tai, or blood elf, twisted by Attek’s curse into something akin to a vampire, only instead of drinking blood it drains your very soul and life force. Even if I could slay the two garunda, I wouldn’t be able to scratch the shade.’

‘“I know full well what a shade is,’ Lirian chided. ‘Only days ago, I watched helplessly as the two garunda stalked into the city and ripped apart men as though they were made of straw. The shade came soon afterward, devouring all who challenged her.’

‘“Then you know their kind cannot be beaten,’ Ravenel said decisively. ‘Our best hope for survival is to move. None can stay here.’

‘“They have one weakness that I know of,’ Lirian said. ‘The rays of the sun burn them, and force them into their holes and burrows.’

‘“I am sorry for the misunderstanding,’ Ravenel offered as he began moving toward the door. ‘It just isn’t possible.’

‘“We have no one else,’ Lirian called out after him. ‘As I said before, the warriors we could spare have already gone to the cave, and none have returned. We have only a few men left capable of wielding a sword, and we need them here to defend our citizens from the continued attacks.’ Ravenel continued walking to the door. ‘We won’t leave,’ Lirian said. ‘This is our home.’

‘“Home is where you decide it to be,’ Ravenel countered.

‘“We are not nomads,’ Lirian argued. ‘To move north would be to offer ourselves as slaves to the mighty kings and tribes of the north. To go east would be to die by the claw and fang of the Khattuun. We have no ships capable of assisting with a mass exodus, and it would take months to reach the sea. Besides, the garunda and shade would hunt us down as we fled. Tell me, where are we to go?’

“Ravenel stopped in mid-step and looked down to the floor with a great sigh. He could sense the feeling of desperation within Lirian’s voice, and he well understood the plight of the city and vassal towns that belonged to the tribe. Within his mind two voices were heard, one urging him to defend those weaker than he, and the other seemed to be shouting for him to run far away from this dark place. He closed his eyes as he sorted out the possible consequences of his actions. In the back of his mind came the nagging notion that none of the nearby tribal lords would be likely to send aid, despite the alliance, and he knew the townsfolk had no place to flee to. Lirian was correct. If he refused to help, then no one else would.

‘“There is no one else,’ Lirian repeated, as if she was confirming Ravenel’s thoughts. ‘We are prepared to pay you three fold the usual price for a dragon’s bounty.’”

Leatherback snarled. “They hunt dragons?” he hissed. “How much do they pay for one like me?” The anger in his voice was not lost on the young apprentice.