Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

the rubble in the alley so that it can be ready for Jonis by the time he got there. Many of the men ran over, quickly clearing the debris and junk from out of the alley. Several of them hauled over brooms, sweeping away the dust so the ground was entirely clear to take paint.

Some of the ill stepped from the hospital, approaching Jonis as he painted on the stone. Seeing this, the lieutenant in charge barked to five men to assist Jonis. They marched forward at once, stepping over the wet paint. When one infected man was not even three yards from Jonis the soldiers barred their way.

“What is he doing?” the sick asked them, peering over their bulky frames to see, but holding back.

“Painting,” one of the soldiers replied. “Now stay back.”

Jonis entered into the alley, painting the line as best as possible, following the men that cleared the way. More people gathered, watching him paint. He rounded to the back of the building, dipping his brush and making his line thick and white as he went along. Going further, he was seen coming from the left side street, still marking the ground all the way until his first lines met.

Standing up. He wiped his brow. Then, dipping his brush once more, Jonis started at the northern point and wrote down the first words to the spell. He whispered them under his breath. Leaving North, he jogged to the east end, writing as neatly and quickly as possible. His marks were a great curiosity, and his silent mutterings drew a crowd. All the while the guards administered the ‘cure’, sorting out the sick from the healthy. When Jonis went south and then west, writing on the ground, the soldiers followed him, guarding him until Jonis had completed the entire circle and muttered at the end of the circle.

Skipping up the hospital steps, followed by many infected people who stared at him with increased curiosity, Jonis ran to where he had already marked the center of the circle. He clapped his hands and declared, “Wall!”

“What did you just do?” The doctor followed Jonis from the building, practically hissing at him. Others followed, staring

Jonis ignored him, walking back out to the white line. He drew his military saber to make the fire ward.

The doctor followed him each step of the way, batting away the guards that tried to block him.

“What are you doing? This is a hospital! Not a playground! Kid, get out of here!”

The doctor endeavored to shove him, but two soldiers held him back. Looking at the two determined men, the doctor hissed. “What are you all up to? Why is that line here?”

No one answered him. Both soldiers stared at the doctor’s tinted glasses and clenched their mouths shut.

The doctor glared and turned to where Jonis was now rounding the building, dragging his sword point on the ground. The man stepped back. He peered at the soldiers. As they turned their heads, he saw their ears were plugged just like those men with the pickaxes. His eyes widened.

“Why are you wearing earplugs?” The doctor’s voice pitched into panic.

The solders still held him back from Jonis, now drawing their swords.

“Go back inside the hospital,” one of them said.

The doctor shook his head. “No. I’m getting your superior.”

He proceeded to march towards the white line.

The soldiers raised their blades, blocking his way. “Go back in the hospital now.”

Shoving the swords aside, the doctor ran to the line. The people watched, waiting in the crowd as the doctor approached. The doctor’s face screwed tight, glaring right at Lt. Laslow as he advanced on him. He reached out to grab the lieutenant’s collar.

An invisible force threw the doctor back, and someone screamed. It was not like he hit a wall, but as if a giant hand had slapped him to the ground. The doctor fell hard on the concrete, moaning.

Jonis finished his circle. He ran outside of it and wrote in large scratches, “North!”

He ran to the next point.

The doctor blinked, hastily getting to his feet.

“East!” Jonis scrambled to the next point. The doctor ran after him, pounding the ground and reaching out for the young man.

“South!” They heard Jonis’s voice echo from behind the building.

Everyone saw Jonis charge with the doctor on his heels. Jonis leapt out of the circle, scrawling the next incantation. “West!”

Jonis jumped back into the circle, swinging a harsh kick right into the doctor’s face.

The man fell backward, yelping inhumanly.

Two of the soldiers from the containment crew ran in after them, one throwing a jingling chain around the doctor’s neck.

Jonis completed the circle. “Ward encircle and keep fire in.”

“No!” the doctor screamed, but then he started to choke.

The watching crowd screamed louder.  

One man shouted, “Look what’s coming out of his mouth!”

Jonis did not stop to look. He ran straight inside the hospital, stopping back at the center again. He clapped his hands and shouted, “Trap!”

“What was that you said?” a sick sounding voice asked. The owner of it stood in Jonis’s way.

Backing up with an apologetic smile, Jonis headed towards the open door.

“I need all of you to take your medicine. Until you do you can’t get out of here. Rumor has it that you are all infested.” Jonis ran out onto the street, cupping his hands around his mouth. “With worms!”

Many people screamed. The sick spilled out of the building. The mob behind Jonis ran out, chasing him as if he had been a child who had just pulled their hair. They pursued him to the white line where Jonis jumped over. Everyone struck the invisible wall, thrown back with horror on their faces.

“What is this?” one of the infected people shouted out.

“A quarantine line,” Jonis said. “It keeps the truly sick inside the hospital. If you cannot get out, go back inside the building.”

“How dare you! You said you were going to cure us!” one of the other infected shouted.

“I did?” Jonis blinked at them, scratching his head. “Oops. My mistake. I just wanted to see who was well enough to run.”

“Stop tormenting us, Cordril,” a nurse said, while panting and wiping the foam off of her mouth. “Let us out, now.”

Jonis paced in front of her, folding his arms and shaking his head. “I can’t do that.” He watched as his team exited the circle, many of them nodding to him. One man lit a cigarette. “You see, you are infected, and I don’t want the disease to spread. So, so long.”

“The hospital is entirely worms,” one man whispered to Jonis as he passed by, taking out one earplug. “But I don’t think that is all of them.”

Whispering back, Jonis said, “Pan out and join Lt. Laslow’s team. Search the crowd. The worms will try to escape.”

Jonis turned and faced the people on the street. “All of you who are well, must go to the military office and take your medicine. Only by this will you be cured and the plague will end.”

The people turned, listening to the shouts of the infected in the demon circle. Some from the crowd wept, watching family stuck inside the circle cry out to them. The soldiers maintained crowd control, sending the people along and keeping people away from the demon circle.

Making sure there were no stragglers, Lt. Laslow’s teams went out and searched the streets again for infected people, taking all the healthy personally to the main office. From there, one by one, people were led upstairs through the demon circle for an extra check, handed the garlic brew to drink, then sent on to the enormous auditorium in the city center to wait for news from Cap. Powal that it was safe to leave. No one had yet been informed of the true nature of the plague. As of that moment, they were still not ready to hear it.

House by house, the city was systematically cleared. Lt. Laslow’s crew found a few stragglers that had evaded their searches, demons that knew their identities were discovered. Some attempted to climb the city walls. Most tried to pass through the gates, getting stuck in the demon circles. They were killed on the spot. Fires burned all around the city, eliminating any eggs that might hatch. The stench from them turned heads. The infected people in the demon circle that surrounded the hospital had begun to howl, long and loud with an echoing wail.

The soldiers returned to the hospital, opening up the barrels of alcohol. Several men grabbed pumps, sticking the end hose into the tops. Immediately one man pumped while the others held out the hoses, spraying the crowd inside the demon circle. The people screamed, shouting for them to stop. The soldiers closed their eyes, biting back tears so they could ignore the faces of people they knew pleading to be released. Many of them repeated in their minds over and over again that all the people inside the demon circle were already dead. They did not stop until every barrel of alcohol was empty. The lieutenant in charge lit a match, drew in a breath and set a roll of papers on fire.

“No way,” one man inside the circle shouted. “Don’t do this! This is murder!”

The lieutenant looked straight at that man and said, “No. You are not who you pretend to be, demon. And we will not allow demon worms to destroy this city.”

Howling, the demon crowd clawed their alcohol-covered skin in desperation to take it off. Some worms emerged, abandoning the bodies, crawling to the white line in an attempt to cross. The air electrically rippled, throwing them back into the heaps of the dead.

The lieutenant tossed in the burning papers.

Catching on the fermented liquid, the fire flared up in a plume of bright reds and oranges, spreading, fuming, smoking—though the odor of the burning flesh somehow never made it out of the circle. The screams of the captive—worm and human voices—split the air, digging even through the earplugs of the soldiers on search.

But the soldiers marched away, covering their ears and watching for demons that may have escaped them. 

 

Crammed in the city auditorium the people stood around rather than sat as they had been instructed, demanding angrily for an explanation. The city patriarch was one among them, shouting irate curses at the captain with such language that even he had never stooped to use before. His advisors were already writing up complaint letters to the Patriarch of Brein Amon, demanding for the captain’s court-martial. However, Cap. Powal maintained his stance until Jonis and his crews had all returned.

Jonis saluted the captain. “The city has been searched and fires have been lit. If there are any left, they are hiding. I suggest we take a census, count how many have survived.”

“What is this demon talking about? Captain Powal! This has gone far enough! I demand an explanation!” the patriarch bellowed, red-faced with spit flying.

The captain glanced at Jonis for permission to disclose the truth.

Jonis nodded back. “It is safe to tell them now.”

Cap. Powal bowed to the city patriarch. “Patriarch Datton, if you please, I am ready to disclose the situation to you and everyone. Please take your seats, and I will explain.”

The patriarch glared at him but then glowered more angrily at Jonis, still cursing under his breath. He did sit down, however.

One of the men handed the captain a megaphone. Cap. Powal stood up in the center of the auditorium stage, joined by the soldiers. He cleared his throat, waving for Jonis to step back. He said as loudly as possible, letting the acoustics of the room do its work. “Attention please. We have an announcement to make.”

The murmuring of the crowd died down. There were still whispers, but most of the noise came from small children who were crying.

“It is a grave announcement that must be heeded,” the captain said. He then let out a sigh. “As you all know, our city is under quarantine for a plague. The airport and train stations have been closed down to contain