Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

Sky Children. That Cordril’s hate often woke Jonis up in sweats. Each man who had supplied these memories had their own complaints with the world, but this one seemed particularly irked with human civilization and authority. At the time that one hunted Sky Children, their power over the continent of Greater Gull waned. The nation of Brein Amon was just emerging. That last night he had dreamed of the hunter’s wife who had been nothing more than a housemaid he had rescued from a parasite demon. He had gotten her pregnant with twins, both girls, and had taken her to a safe place in the western wild to raise a family. They also had other children. Jonis’s ancestor was the hunter’s second son who became a fur trapper and tanner.

Scratching out the answer to the final equation and dabbing the ink so it would dry faster, Jonis slapped his book shut and pushed it off to the side. Getting up, he walked over to the cabinet where his sword was locked away. He pulled open a drawer just below the doors. Inside were the scrolls he had been studying that past week. So far he had learned cures for frostbite, warts, and a bad case of acne. Taking the top scroll, Jonis carried it back to the desk and dropped himself into the seat again. Untying the ribbon that held it closed, he rolled it out.

“Take one ginger root and chop into fine pieces,” Jonis read. “Let dry in the sun until hard. Place in a mortar and grind with the pestle until it is fine powder. Store away from moisture. Can be used in food for hot effect as a spice. Best used to prevent nausea while on the sea. Ginger can be pickled and also eaten raw, but it is not recommended for those who cannot handle spice. Best put in bread or water to ease consumption.”

Sighing, Jonis looked up. This stuff he already knew. It was a folk remedy an ancestor used often when sailing. That Cordril liked the taste of raw ginger.

“The medicinal qualities of peppermint….” Jonis ran his finger over the words, skimming the details. “How to identify poisonous mushrooms….” He yawned, rolled the scroll down further, and gazed over to the next section. “Six ways to prepare an expectorant….”

He heard the front door close.

Jonis lifted his head, listening for footfalls. Whoever came in had paused as if to look around. Then he heard the tap, tap, tap of Mr. Farren’s shoes on the wood. Rolling up the scroll, Jonis sighed. He took out the pen and his workbook for his guardian to sign so his teacher would accept it.

“You’re back!” Jonis walked to the entryway from the study. “I have the usual for you to sign. How was the village Hinze? You said you’d look for another red paper roll so we’d have plenty. Did you find any?”

Mr. Farren was not facing him. He was looking into the front room as if thinking. His guardian turned, tossing over the paper roll. “I got it. How are you, my boy? You have something for me, you said.”

Jonis stopped where he was. He stared at Mr. Farren’s eyes. They were no longer brown but bright blue.

Jonis took a step back. “What have you done to him?”

Blinking at him, the blue-eyed Mr. Farren gave his characteristic expression of curiosity and walked towards the boy. “What do you mean, boy? Done to whom?”

Jonis retreated towards the study. “What have you done to my guardian? Who are you?”

Blue-eyed Mr. Farren continued forward, sounding annoyed. “What are you talking about, child? Have you slipped and hit your head? You know me. I’m your guardian.”

Shaking his head, dropping his workbook, Jonis darted into the study, scrambling for the cupboard. “You are not Mr. Farren! His eyes are brown! Get away from me!”

Mr. Farren shook his head at Jonis. “You are talking nonsense, boy. My eyes are blue only because I spent so much time with you. It has rubbed off on me. That’s all.”

Jonis snatched the key from off the top of the cupboard, cramming it into the lock. “That’s a lie! No one becomes blue-eyed just by being near somebody. You killed him!”

He twisted the knob, reaching in for his father’s sword.

The blue-eyed magistrate strode quickly over to him. He grabbed Jonis’s arm. “Get a hold of yourself, child! I took you in and saved you from death. Is this madness how you repay me?”

Jonis ripped off the seal and drew the sword, pointing the mud-crusted blade at the man.

Blue-eyed Mr. Farren leaped back.

“My guardian never talked about repaying him,” Jonis growled, narrowing his eyes at the blue-eyed intruder. “You are nothing like him. He never called me ‘child’ either. I don’t know who you are, but get out of Mr. Farren’s house! Now!”

The man backed off, lifting his hands. “Come now, boy. I’m not your enemy. You are a Cordril. You must know an act of need when you see one. Now lower your sword.”

That only made Jonis’s chest heave more angrily. He lifted his sword higher, shoving its point at the man’s chest. Tears ran down Jonis’s cheeks. “Get out, or so help me, I’ll kill you!”

The maid screamed.

Both Jonis and the man looked to where she was. Mrs. Dayes dropped back against the wall then fled outside, screaming for help.

“Now you’ve done it,” the man who looked like Mr. Farren hissed. “You’ll bring the whole town on us. You couldn’t just leave well alone. I thought as a Cordril you’d understand.”

“You demon! You’ve killed him!”

Seeing Jonis meant to kill him, the blue-eyed Mr. Farren scrambled out of the room. He ran back out the front door, nearly leaping over the front steps into the gravely road—something an elderly man such as Mr. Farren would not have been capable of. Jonis chased after him, jumping over the steps entirely with a swing of his sword to chop off the Cordril’s head. The ‘old’ man spryly dodged, dashing into the road with all the energy of a man in his prime.

“Help me!” Blue-eyed Mr. Farren ran straight to the town square. “The demon has gone mad! He’s going to kill me!”

Heads turned, watching both the elderly man scramble from his house and his young charge chasing after him.

“You run awfully fast for an old man!” Jonis shouted. His arms ached from holding up the weapon, though his heart hurt worse. “The real Mr. Farren never runs! You murderer!”

 Hearing the commotion in the square, the townspeople stuck their heads out of their shops. The constable heard it also, and ran out from the café where he had been having lunch. He wiped his mouth with a dumbfounded blink at the scene—seeing the boy chase after the magistrate down the gravelly road and across the newly laid cobblestone. Grabbing his sword and gun, he bolted onto the street. “Stop, Jonis! Or I’ll shoot you!”

Jonis skidded to a halt, still holding his sword up, though he dared not move another step. The tears on his face were now covered in dirt, making tracks down his cheeks. His chest heaved and his arms shook, yet the sword was still up in the air.

“Oh! Thank goodness! My ward infected me then tried to kill me!” The blue-eyed Mr. Farren rushed to the constable, clasping the constable’s lapels with his long aged fingers. “Stop him before he harms me!”

“Look at his eyes, constable,” Jonis replied, trying to keep his voice calm though he breathed heavily. He set the sword point down. “They’re blue. Only two creatures have blue eyes in our world—Cordrils and Sky Children. That is not Mr. Farren.”

“He lies,” the Mr. Farren look-a-like cast back, panting.

The constable lifted his pistol. “Drop your sword, Jonis.”

Jonis turned his head and swore. But he obeyed, tossing the weapon to the ground. “I’m not lying. That man there is not the magistrate. I cannot make any one have blue-eyes without killing him. That man is a Cordril. And he has killed Mr. Farren and taken his place.”

The fake Mr. Farren stepped into the road, glaring at Jonis. “What has possessed you, boy? I was doing everything in my power to help you.”

“Mr. Farren was,” Jonis replied through his teeth. Dejected, he remained where he was under the constable’s watchful aim. “But you aren’t him.”

Blue-eyed Mr. Farren bent over and picked the discarded sword from off the gravel. He peered at it, turning it in his hands. Then he promptly looked up at Jonis, inspecting his face. “Macoy.”

Jonis said nothing, still glaring at him.

“Hand me the sword, old man,” the constable said.

The blue-eyed Mr. Farren reluctantly handed the blade to the police chief. “We really should deposit this in a safe place. We can’t let that monster get at it again.”

The constable cocked his gun. He turned and pointed it at the magistrate. “The real Mr. Farren gave that sword back to the boy. He was stubborn about it. Who are you?”

Jonis nearly fell down with a huge sigh of relief. It was safe to move. He hastily headed across the street to join the constable. “I told you. He killed him. He is a Cordril.”

Blue-eyed Mr. Farren turned with a concerted look at the constable. Then he glanced at Jonis. Whirling around, he reached out and touched the constable’s face.

“Don’t let him touch you!” Jonis ran the rest of the distance.

But he reached him too late. The constable went white, then fell to his knees.

Ripping off his glove, Jonis pounced on the fake Mr. Farren with a slap against the blue-eyed magistrate’s ear. It was so harsh that white sparks flew.

A woman screamed.

The baker shouted, running out of his shop as his basket of bread tumbled to the ground.

The village butcher dashed over, his meat cleaver high in the air.

As the constable swayed to maintain upright, suddenly weak and pale-lipped, he watched what everyone else had seen.

Mr. Farren’s face and wrinkled skin flaked off the man before them—blowing away like dry leaves scattered by the wind—leaving a total stranger in his place. He was much broader built, as if he had suddenly grown.

The stranger clamped his hand on his throbbing ear, throwing Jonis off into the dusty street. He rounded on the boy with his teeth clenched. “You ruined everything, child! Why couldn’t you have let it go and played along! It would have benefited the both of us!”

“Not me,” Jonis growled. He crawled up from his crouched position on the ground, taking off his other glove. He scooted backward to make some distance to plan his next move. “You killed my guardian—the only human who treated me like I was somebody! I can’t let you live.”

The Cordril swaggered over to where the sword lay and picked it off the ground. Standing to his full height, he lifted it up. “Too bad. I was also going to let you live. But now, child Macoy, you will die.”

He heaved up the blade. With strength twice that of the stringy thirteen-year-old, he brought the sword down where Jonis was crouched on the road. 

“Not if I get you first!” Jonis tumbled out of the way, rolling to the right.

The Cordril struck out again.

Jonis dodged the next swipe also. The sword barely scraped by his shirtfront, clipping off one button. He heard it plink onto the ground, lost in the gravel.

A crowd had gathered on the sides of the street. Their eyes goggled wide open. Their faces paled as they watched Jonis scramble away from the stronger, larger blue-eyed demon. There was something savage in the way Jonis fought back though, something that gave him a fighting chance. Perhaps it was the presence of his ferocious glare on his enemy shining brighter blue out from his tear-stained face, coated in dirt, which told them the boy would not go easily. Or maybe it was how nimble Jonis proved to be when confronted with danger. Despite this increased curiosity, no one moved to help him. No one was fool enough to interfere