Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

him, Patriarch,” the village constable said, shoving Jonis forward to the village head’s desk. He was holding the broadsword Jonis’s father always carried with him. The constable handed it to the village patriarch. “He was using this.”

Jonis stood sullenly on the finely woven rug in the patriarch’s office, head to toe encrusted with dirt. He looked up at the sword wishing he had it back.

The office was a mixture between the archaic and modern. Brass clocks ticked on the walls alongside gas lamps whose fragrant oil lit the room with a pleasant glow. A mimeograph machine sat on a stand nearby. With it were reams of scrolls alongside folded print books with sturdy leather binding. The village patriarch peered through modern bifocals at Jonis, lifting up his nose with a perusing sneer. “Where did you find him?”

“He was burying his father, Sir. We had the demon dug up and burned. But what should we do with the Cordril child?” the constable asked. He shook Jonis by the back of his collar. The man wore gloves and long legged pants with brass buttons, well prepared to deal with a Cordril. There was no way for Jonis to escape now, even by touching him. If he leapt at the man’s face, his attempt at freedom would be taken as an assault rather than as self-defense.

The patriarch of the village stroked his chin. He glanced once at his two advisors. They sat nearby in the large stuffed armchairs at the side of the room, carrying about them an air of dignity. One of them glared at Jonis, his wrinkles cracking deep in stern thought. But the other equally-aged man rose from his chair and delivered a bow to the patriarch. “I suggest, sir, that the boy stay with me.”

Jonis looked up at the man with a jerk of his head. His eyes opened in disbelief, and he stared. The village magistrates had always watched him with suspicion when he passed through the village to attend school. Of course, it was hard not to stare at the lean pale boy who no only had the demonic color of blue for eyes, but also a shock of sand colored hair—especially when he stood next to all the dark brown mops of his classmates. The villagers had only tolerated having him around, as he ran errands for his father. But this was inconceivable. No self-respecting magistrate would ever be seen speaking with him let alone allowing him to move in to his home.

“Are you insane? That child is a demon,” the patriarch exclaimed with the same incredulity Jonis felt. But he also expressed aloud a revulsion that the boy did not want to hear. 

Nodding as if he understood, the elderly man calmly replied with a smile that said everything would be fine. “Yes, but he is also a little boy who has gone through a terrible trauma. What he really needs is a good home and a clean education.”

“He is already a student at the Harsall school for boys, and not that bright either,” the other elderly gentleman reminded his companion, with irritation. “His teachers are not impressed with him.”

The gentle magistrate bowed graciously, glancing with admiration at the broadsword across the patriarch’s desk before looking the patriarch in the eye. “That may be, but I believe that a bit of kindness in his time of need, and an advanced education, may prevent future ills.”

The man stood back with an air of patience, now silent.

Jonis looked up at this man, wondering if this was all a lie or if his chance to live might be real. His heart has never stopped pounding since the police caught him and dragged him away from his father’s body.

Their village leader pressed his hand to his mouth in thought, drawing in a breath. He exhaled and glanced at the dirt-encrusted sword. He then looked at the boy who stood sulky and defiant as he hung by his shirt collar in the constable’s grip. After a moment of this silent contemplation, the patriarch waved for the constable to take Jonis out of his office so he could have a clearer head to think.

The constable grunted and steered Jonis out into the hall, setting the boy on the wood carved bench across from the patriarch’s office. He sat next to him, peering at Jonis’s suddenly blank expression. Then he checked his pocket watch.

“I don’t see what all the fuss over you is about. I told them they were crazy to let you learn with the other boys at the school, but they didn’t listen then either.” The constable frowned as if everything dealing with Jonis would turn ill. “Never trust a patriarch to act to the benefit of the people. He has some sneaky idea in mind.”

“What will happen to me?” Jonis said just above a whisper, staring at the floor.

The constable snorted, narrowing his eyes on Jonis’s blackened face. The soil from the hill was quite dark and had even got up Jonis’s nose from the scuffle, as he had tried to bury his father despite the police’s arrival. “If it were up to me, I’d have you burned with your daddy. I don’t need a demon stalking the people here. It is ancient knowledge that once you let a demon settle in, people start to die.”

Jonis knew that adage. It was in the back of his new memory as a truth. One of his ancestors had hunted other demons for profit, taking rewards from villagers that needed an expert. His credo included never allowing one demon to live that crossed his path—paid for or not. Demons of all kinds were the enemy in this world. Jonis shuddered, recalling it. That ancestor had been brutal. It was no wonder these people considered Cordrils just as bad as the other demons that roamed the land.

“I have never killed anyone,” Jonis murmured, still staring at his clay covered feet. He had been too slow at burying his father. Now it was too late.

“I bet you killed your old man,” the police constable replied.

Jonis turned his head, returning the glare this constable made at him. “You would lose that bet.”

The constable blustered, rising up. He raised his hand and slapped him. “Insolent boy!”

Jonis clutched his ear. It throbbed. The ringing in it muted out all other noise.

“Never talk back to your superiors!” the constable shouted with his fists clenched.

“We need him now,” the patriarch’s secretary called from the office, leaning out the doorway of fine wood.

The constable yanked Jonis from off his seat, kicking his backside and shoving him through the doorway, then followed after him. Jonis stumbled, glancing back at him with a scowl, rubbing his rear end with his free hand.

“We have reached a decision,” the patriarch announced, gazing on Jonis and the constable with a light air as if their behavior was usual.

The constable forced Jonis by the collar to stand at the desk front, holding him there with the expectation that he would run.

Jonis’s body tensed. This was end. It was over.

“You will stay with the honorable magistrate, Mr. Farren, as he has requested. But if you do anything unlawful, you will face immediate execution. Is that understood?” The patriarch folded his hands on top of his desk and waited for Jonis’s response.

Jonis hung from his collar without a fight as he stared up at the town magistrate. His mouth dropped open. “You are letting me live?”

The patriarch gazed down on him with a magnanimous grin. “We are allowing you to learn how to be of service to your country. If you prove worthy, Jonis Macoy, then maybe you will live a long and prosperous life as a good and regular citizen. Mr. Farren seems to be quite convinced that you have potential to be an asset to our village, and maybe one day to the nation of Brein Amon. What do you say to that?”

Jonis’s heart thundered in his chest. He knew this was not an ordinary offer. He was being given the chance to live and maybe even be accepted by the people as one of them.

“I’ll do anything you ask!” Jonis shouted out, staring from the patriarch to Mr. Farren.

The constable dropped his grip on Jonis’s collar as if in shock, though perhaps he let go on orders. Jonis practically fell against the desk to prostrate himself in front of the two men. 

“Oh, thank you, sirs! Thank you a thousand times!”

The patriarch smiled, gesturing with a wave. “Go then with Mr. Farren. He will set you up in your new home.”

Jonis jumped to his feet and practically fell to the feet of the elderly man. Mr. Farren gave a small nod of his head, smiling, though flustered. Jonis rushed straight up to him, grinning like a little boy again. He was too earnest for even the hardened constable to consider his action as devious as most considered a demon’s motives to be. The magistrate was already holding his father’s broadsword, feeling the weight of such an instrument in his wiry arms, yet managing to carry it well. It seemed strange that the old man was allowed to keep it instead of it ending up as a trophy on the patriarch’s wall.

Mr. Farren led out with a gloved hand. “Come this way, boy. We will get you cleaned and fed.”

They passed the constable who looked on Jonis darkly but stepped back, knowing the patriarch’s word was law. The constable watched Mr. Farren and Jonis walk out the office and into the warm hallway together as if they had been paired long ago. The elderly man had a quick step for his age, and strangely, Jonis walked at his new guardian’s pace as if no other man’s opinion mattered more in the world.

As soon as Jonis was out of earshot, the constable turned to the patriarch. “I think you are making a terrible mistake.”

“And I think you are shortsighted,” the patriarch replied. He was grinning to himself, leaning back in his chair with his fingers steepled against one another as if an idea of genius had just come to him. “With a Cordril around, no other demon would dare enter our village. That is why we have been so sheltered for so long. That Cordril and his son kept them away. Mr. Farren knows what he is doing. You’ll see.”

“But what about a Cordril infestation? You know demons spread themselves out.” The constable almost shouted.

However, the patriarch was still smiling, spinning around in his monogihide chair. “Do not worry. Cordrils breed like humans. They need a mate first. And as for this child, he has yet to grow up.”

The constable was still not satisfied. However, he bowed and stepped back. “Your word is law.”

“Yes,” the patriarch answered with a smirk. “It is.”

 

Mr. Farren took Jonis out of the main council building, going into the village square which was near the center of the village. He led him down the broad stone steps and to the dirt road towards his own home. The air reeked of smoke. Up above the town, Jonis could still see the light where his father’s tent smoldered. Smoke covered the stars and masked the moon with reddish film. He wasn’t the only one looking up to the hill either. The villagers peered out their windows, sniffing the air and murmuring to each other that the demon was dead. But as Jonis and Mr. Farren passed through the village, heads turned and stared at them. Most gawked with just as much surprise as the constable had to see that the boy was allowed to live. Jonis lowered his eyes, trudging across the sanded road with increasing apprehension.

“Now, Jonis,” Mr. Farren said after some silence, “You must know that your situation is very precarious. You must be on your best behavior from now on. Do you understand?”

Jonis nodded, peeking at the dirty glares from the fishmonger and the butcher as they walked by their shops as they were being closed. His father and he had brought in