Jonis, Rowan Erlking [first e reader txt] 📗

“Are you the village patriarch?” Jonis asked, peering at him and taking another step onto the wooden walk.

The man with the axe shook his head with grief. “No. I am his brother. He is now dead.”

Lt. Gillway gave his orders immediately. He sent Cpl. Pegsley and Cpl. Wigg to gather all flammable liquid and other tinder for the fire. And the other two he sent to the graveyard to burn everything new and old, instructing them not to come back until everything was assuredly dead. He set Jonis to the task of making fire wards and demon circles around the infested house. They left the magister’s home for last.

The village patriarch’s brother was entirely hospitable. He fed them all, including Jonis, whom he had even given a larger piece of bread as well as a full satisfying bowl of soup. When they ate, he informed his people that they would burn the patriarch’s home with the infected inside. That night they were to choose a new patriarch, but the vote would be delayed until after the plague was over. In the meantime they gathered the villagers together to sing in the village main hall as loudly as they could to drown out the sound of the demons that would howl once the fire burned their hosts.

Each member of the demon-hunting troop exited the hall with the song of ancients behind him. The soldiers took up their tools and set the home afire. 

At first they hear nothing but the singing of the villagers, but as the fire grew hotter, a shriek so high and painful split the air. It nearly stifled the songs of the locals. But the villagers continued to sing as the howling screams continued in a pathetic chorus, calling for help first, and then just yowling wordlessly to an inhuman din. Pangs of pity and regret stabbed Jonis as he heard them, wishing he could just plug his ears and block out the noise—but the singing in the main lodge only grew louder to block them out. Some of the children wept in the lodge, ducking underneath their mother’s arms, but their parents’ voices rang out with a comforting resonance until they all felt safe.

The five human soldiers stood back to watch the blaze at a distance. The shrieks and wails echoed in between the buildings, washing up to their feet and sending shivers up their legs. Closing their hearts to the cries of the women and children, they attempting to hear the last gurgles of the worms to justify what they had just done. Only Jonis stood alone, white lipped and shaking. He wished that his ancient memories did not have to become real in his own lifetime.

The last demon worm was left. The brother of the village patriarch requested to join Jonis in this last extermination once the screaming died down, leading him directly to the magister’s home.

“I want to kill it,” the brother said.

Jonis nodded when they reached the doors to the well made wood structure. “I understand. I will get the worm out of him, and you can kill it.”

Rapping his knuckles on the door, Jonis waited for an answer.

“Enter.” The voice inside sounded like it was coated, rasping and wheezing for air.

Carefully, Jonis pushed the door aside, sliding it along the wall. Flowing directly to their noses came a sick mucous smell, combined with the odor of rot and acid. Both men cringed, stepping up the front walkway into the room.

Drawn in chalk in the front foyer was a medium sized demon circle. The spells around it were written in elegant calligraphy, making Jonis’s heart patter with admiration. Inside lay the empty corpse of one man, rotting with stink, and the infected body of the aged magister dressed in the ancient garb with robes of red silk and black writing. The magister’s eyes stared at them, bilious yellow, intently following Jonis as he crossed the room. His mouth hung open, drooling slime and blood onto the finished wood floor. The worm was dying for a new host.

“Keep your distance,” Jonis said to the patriarch’s brother.

“You have come, Cordril,” the worm infested man hissed, struggling for breath.

“Yes, I have. To kill you. How did you get out of the city?” Jonis walked around the circle, cradling a demon chain in his hands that he had taken out of his pocket.

The worm choked in its laugh. “I saw you enter Ladis with that soldier. That is when I left.”

Jonis nodded slowly. “So, you are the one that started it all.”

It laughed more. The body shuddered, rotting around it. “No. But I am not a fool.”

“Oh, yes you are,” Jonis said. He threw the demon chain noose over the infected man’s neck and pulled tight. “You should never have stayed any place too long. Now you will die.”

The body choked and writhed. His arms flopped forward and contorted into strange shapes as the neck was pulled and anchored to the ground. He looked like he was gagging at first, then vomit, but spewing out of the magister’s mouth slimed out the largest worm Jonis had yet to see. If it hadn’t been the start of the infestation, it surely was one of the early generations. It had been five months since that time, time enough for the worm to grow enormous.

The worm hissed, spitting out vapors so foul they made Jonis’s eyes water. It crawled towards them, but never managed any farther than the white circle line.

With one powerful swing of the axe, the patriarch’s brother brought the weapon down on the worm’s body, squishing through and splitting it in half. Like a water sack too full, it popped. Yellow slime splattered out over the fine wood floor, speckling their pant legs with its smelly innards. The brother hacked the worm to pieces until nothing was left but slime and jellied worm.

“We have to burn it and them,” Jonis said as soon as the brother got his complete revenge, nodding over to the slimy mess.

“If we have to burn down the entire village, I’ll do it,” the brother said.

Jonis painfully laughed at his fervent enthusiasm, drawing his sword, placing point tip to the ground. “No need for that.”

The patriarch’s brother stood back, watching Jonis work his spell. As deftly as ever, Jonis scratched out every part into the wooden floor. Completing the fire ward, Jonis, clapped his hands and declared a shield.

He turned and gave a nod to the man. “It’s ready now. We’ll get the other men to set this on fire. The building and floor will withstand the burn.”

“What do you get out of this?” the patriarch’s brother asked him where he stood, leaning on his axe. “Did they promise you blood for your work?”

Blinking twice, Jonis made a face, recoiling towards the door. “No. I am soldier in the army. I do as I’m told.”

The brother huffed and marched toward the door. “No. You are a Cordril. Of all of those I have met, they love many different things. Some love power. Others love the chase. Some love to deceive and take what they want. You seem to take great joy in seeing the end of other creatures. I suppose killing demons is your legal outlet. Will it remain that way when you grow up?”

Jonis clenched his fists, trying to contain his anger. It seemed that no matter what he did, people thought the worst of him. Even now he had done this man a favor by helping him, and yet this man is had judged him as a monster. Him, the boy who tossed in bed at the nightmares he had, who threw up from disgust at his own ancestors’ brutality. Dead things? They made him ill. Why was it that so many assumed he loved killing things?

“I love nothing more than life,” Jonis said. He stomped through the front door back onto the front ledge. “I helped you avenge the murder of your brother. Read nothing else into it.”

“What’s bugging you? Is it dead?” Lt. Gillway said as he watched Jonis stomp out of the house into the village square. 

“Yes, it’s dead. Can we go now? There are other villages that need help.” Jonis walked directly to the village entrance.

Lt. Gillway blinked once. Then he glanced at the puzzled expression on the brother’s face as that man watched Jonis leave. “Let us set the corpse on fire, and we’ll be on our way.”

“Already?” Cpl. Wigg whined, as his legs bent weakly from so much walking. “Can’t we get a good night’s rest first?”

“I agree,” Lt. Pratch chimed in, looking to the brother of the patriarch as if waiting for a hospitable offer.

“The forest is awfully dangerous,” Cpl. Pegsley whimpered aloud, stopping where he was.

“Wimp.” Cpl. Higges said, striding to the magister’s door with the jug of alcohol they had been using in the graveyard. He poured a generous amount on the corpse and lit a match. “The lieutenant said we are going. Let’s go.”

Jonis had remained at the village gate, glaring at his boots with his arms folded tight across his chest while the soldiers finished the job. The others joined him as soon as the fire in the circle burned well, though most grumbled until Lt. Gillway ordered them to be silent. And under orders, they departed without any more to do, taking the road towards the next village on their list.

They marched along the roadside until it got too dark to see ahead. Under the tree cover, there was neither moonlight nor starlight. Lt. Gillway ordered them to halt in a clearing near the mile marker along the road, having Corporals Pegsley and Higges clear the ground of sticks and rocks while the other set up tents. Lt. Gillway built a fire in the center of the camp and ordered Jonis to make a demon ward to encircle their camp for when they slept. Jonis also put up an extra wind ward to protect them from the elements, a ward he had been experimenting with before they left Ladis. He had learned that almost every ward could be made if the spell was specifically worded with an appropriate command. With red paper strips posted on their tents to keep Goles away, all of them slept soundly—all except for Cpl. Pegsley who shared a tent with Cpl. Higges.

The following day was spent traveling to their next destination. It was a half-day hike to the village of Franken from Dobus. The village of Franken had their worm problem well under control. It was their magister that was the problem. He had charged them two goats for the service, plus a hundred gold pieces for every worm killed. However, they discovered that he had yet to burn the graveyard and had no plans to do so. Only the recent corpses had been cremated.

“He did that on purpose!” Jonis snapped as he set the graves on fire, hearing the young worms shriek in the ground. “I bet he wanted return service with these infected bodies!”

“Magisters are thieves,” Cpl. Higges said, dousing another fresh grave.

“That can’t be entirely true.” Lt. Gillway set that batch on fire with his torch and weaved around the stones to another grave. “I’m sure there are some honest magisters out there.”

“Once, long ago,” Jonis murmured, walking to another grave. “Mr. Farren seemed to think so.”

“Quit talking about this Mr. Farren!” Cpl. Wigg said tersely, getting more peevish by the second. “Mr. Farren this, Mr. Farren that! I am sick of it! You make him sound like a saint.”

“Yeah,” Cpl. Higges agreed, dumping the liquor he was carrying on a grave. “He was one of your village magistrates wasn’t he? They’re all corrupt. All the way up to the Patriarch of Brein Amon himself.”

Jonis clenched his fists, feeling his cheeks get hot.

Lt. Pratch went white and tromped over Cpl. Higges with his torch in hand. “You can’t say that! That’s blasphemy!”

“It’s the truth,” Cpl. Higges snorted back, continuing to douse each grave.

Jonis turned, ignoring the rest of