Jonis - Rowan Erlking (web based ebook reader .TXT) 📗

“Where’s your old man, Macoy? Did he finally knock off?” The Cordril swiped at Jonis’s legs.

Jonis pounced on the Cordril’s chest with a swift kick, forcing the sword back with his foot. Wrangling his hands around the man’s throat in an attempt to suck him dry, they both felt the shock of rebound, throwing them apart for the pain. Jonis fell flat on his back, wincing hard.

The other Cordril regained his balance. He took a step over his enemy, and lowered the sword point to Jonis’s chest.

“Now, we will see the end of the Macoy line,” the Cordril said with an air of success. The shadow he cast on the boy marked where he would strike his killing blow.

“Not likely!” Jonis kicked the blade to the side before the Cordril could shove it into his chest. The tip sliced along his front, tearing the shirt and vest Mr. Farren had only just paid for. The point stabbed into the dirt. Blood dribbled down into the road dust. The edge of his collar was caked with blood from the scratch down the side of his neck.

Jonis thrust his heel into the demon’s groin, grabbing for the handle on his sword.

The crowd had gotten larger. It surrounded the Cordrils as the cry that Mr. Farren was dead echoed over the village. Those that gathered around the two battling demons watched with bated breath. Their fists clenched their work tools in case they would be needed to take care of a larger problem.

The village police officers shoved to the forefront of the crowd and began to circle both Jonis and the Cordril, holding the people back.

The Cordril swatted Jonis with the back of his hand, knocking him to the edge of the crowd. Not even looking at the tears in his pants or the bleeding scrapes on his legs, Jonis panted for breath and attempted once more to get to his feet while the cries of the people around him grew louder. Raising his eyes, Jonis saw Cordril’s feet tromp over. The sword point lifted off the ground, shining red with his blood. Droplets shook off as the demon lifted it for the ‘final’ blow. If he could accomplish it this time.

“Die, brat!”

A deafening crack echoed over the street.

The crowd clapped their hands to their ears. Jonis covered his own, wincing. But he did get stabbed.

Instead, his father’s sword toppled from the Cordril’s grip, dropping behind him with a hollow clang to the ground. Jonis looked across the road. The constable staggered forward, breathing hard as he clenched his smoking gun in his hand.

Jonis got up quickly, lurching away from the Cordril to avoid being touched. He grabbed his father’s sword, dragging it back with him where the constable stood. The Cordril reached out towards the people, gasping for breath.

The crowd peered at the Cordril, many leaning in to see.

“Stay back!” Jonis shouted, rushing between them to shield them all if he could. His hands trembled as he kept his own distance from the Cordril. “If he touches you, he’ll drain the life out of you, just like he did to Mr. Farren—and that bullet wound will heal up.”

Gasping once more for breath, the Cordril stared up at Jonis. “Why? Why have you turned against me, your own kind?”

Jonis returned a deadly look.

“You killed the only person who cared about me.” Jonis lifted his voice to the crowd as he took a step closer to the Cordril. “He murdered Mr. Farren. Our national law states that murderers must die.”

The Cordril reached out to grab Jonis.

The air cracked a second time.

Blood vomited from the Cordril’s mouth, dribbling down his front. The constable loaded his pistol again. Two more shots echoed in the town. Right there, the stranger collapsed completely, staring glassy-eyed against the ground.

Staggering with each step, the constable walked over to the center of the road.

“We burn the body right here. No touching. You, sir, dump some of that bourbon on it. You there, let your cigarette drop here.” The constable leaned on his deputy, turning towards Jonis. “You, boy, give me that sword, now.”

Jonis’s heart pounded as he looked away from the dead demon to the constable’s expression. Still, he did as ordered. He handed over his father’s sword.

The constable passed it on to one of the other officers.

The fire on the Cordril’s body started to burn, producing a horrid odor of burned hair and flesh. The crowd slowly dispersed, but not before a few of them tossed on wood, keeping a safe distance from the flames just in case the Cordril was still alive and would jump at them.

“You, Officer Dougal, set a barrier in the road. Block it off, and keep people away until there is nothing but ashes.” The constable grabbed the back of Jonis’s neck. “And you, come with me.”

They dragged Jonis directly to the police station.

Jonis did not fight this time. He felt too wretched to do anything except trudge behind the police. Only once did he look up, and that was to see where they took his sword. That, they locked away in an iron cage where they kept the older weaponry they no longer used. The constable tossed Jonis a pair of gloves and made him sit down on a stool, while he opened a file folder. The constable dropped into his chair behind his desk. Taking out a clean sheet of paper, the chief started to fill out a crime report.

“Jonis Macoy, do you realize that you just broke the law?” the constable said, not even lifting his eyes from the paper.

Jonis blinked and then stared at his lap. “I….”

“It is against the law for a citizen to take the law into his own hands. You should have run to us instead of chasing that demon through town,” the constable said.

Swallowing, Jonis nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“I think as punishment, we will have to confiscate your father’s sword and keep you confined until we have sorted everything out.” The constable dotted a few i’s and crossed his t’s. He looked up. “Do you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” Jonis replied, closing his eyes.

The scritch-scratching of the constable’s pen was the only thing Jonis heard for a while. Besides the chatter outside on the street, his heart thumped in his own chest and ears. Tears broke out again, knowing Mr. Farren would never come back, dribbling down the dirt on his face.

“It must have been traumatizing to find Mr. Farren like that.” The constable’s voice broke the silence.

“He wasn’t Mr. Farren,” Jonis whispered. “He killed him.”

“Yes,” the constable said. “But he was a Cordril, just like you. I’m sure that was a hard decision to make.”

“Not as hard as you think,” Jonis murmured.

The constable blinked at him. “It isn’t? How? You are not human. How can you choose to side against your own kind?”

“It is not a matter of sides,” Jonis said, quoting his guardian. He sobbed again. “It is a matter of truth.”

Placing his pen on the paper with an unusual if not puzzled sigh, the constable slowly shook his head. “You and that old man. Too bad he’s not here to fight your causes for you. You could have been a good magister.”

Jonis raised his eyes, once meeting the regret-filled look in the village police chief’s gaze.

Jonis spent the night in jail. After the sun had risen and the commotion of sellers and buyers had begun to bustle around in the streets in the village center, the constable took him to see the village patriarch. They passed by the fire that continued to cremate the Cordril’s corpse. It was now fenced off, yet still smoldering as it burned up every last bit of body and bones into ashes. Though there was no way that demon would be back, it was little consolation to Jonis. Mr. Farren was gone forever, and he was again a ward of the state.

All eyes watched them as once again the Cordril orphan entered the village patriarch’s home to receive judgement.

Drawing in a deep breath after peering over the police report, the patriarch barely lifted his eyes to Jonis. He sighed once more. Sitting up in his chair, he lifted another document. “This has been a grim situation, Jonis Macoy. I am sure you have an idea what I am now facing concerning you.”

Jonis remained silent. He stared at his shoes rather than at the leader of their village.

“Mr. Farren’s property and all that is in it will be left to his daughters. I take it you did not know that my wife was his child?” The patriarch peered down at him. Jonis was still dirty from the fight. The blood in his collar had crusted, and the scratch along his chest was now inflamed. No medical attention had been given to either.

Shaking his head, Jonis lifted his eyes. “No, sir.”

“However, Mr. Farren had recently added an addendum on his will in regards to you.” The patriarch cleared his throat as if this was an annoyance. “He has left you that old cabinet with all the spell scrolls and potions with it, including, of course, your father’s sword.”

Blinking, Jonis’s eyes widened at him. Jonis peered at the paper in the patriarch’s hands, drawing in a sharp breath.

“Also, we have just received the permission forms from the capitol for you to graduate from school. So, Jonis, it seems that you have no more ties to this village. Therefore, you will take your few belongings, and you will be transported to Dalis Camp to join the new recruits for the Brein Amon army.”

Mr. Farren would not have liked that decision, but he was not there to object on Jonis’s behalf. At least the village leaders were letting him live.

Jonis bowed his head and nodded. “Yes, sir.”

“We will apprise the general there of your valiant attempts to fight the demon that possessed our dear beloved magistrate. Hopefully it will ease your transition into more productive society with honors.” Setting aside the papers in his hands, the patriarch handed over a folded brochure. “Read this. It should tell you all you need to know about Dalis Camp. And good luck.”

That ended their interview.

The constable took Jonis back to Mr. Farren’s home to gather his belongings. Though they had to return the sword then had taken from him, the police made Jonis seal up the sword again, place it into the cupboard, then lock and seal up the doors. As the maids sobbed and the cook cursed Jonis under her breath, it took three men to lug the cabinet out to the new police van that waited on the curb. Jonis stood by, keeping his eyes fixed on the paved sidewalk. Passers by walked on the other side of the road, going back and forth to get second and third looks as the police slid the cabinet inside the back of the van. There was more public travel on that road than any road in any one day that year, all getting their last look of the demon boy.

Dusting off their sore hands, the policemen gestured for Jonis to come. “Now you. Get in the back.”

Jonis lifted his eyes and stared into the van. It was the first time he would be inside a motorized vehicle. He had ridden horse drawn carts and even once snuck a ride on the back of a carriage, but this steam-powered noisemaker did not look as comfortable as either. However, Jonis heaved a resigned breath and did as he was told. He found a spot on the side bench next to the cabinet.

Nothing would be the same anymore.

Pulling down and locking the van’s back doors, one of the officers patted them and waved to the driver. “All is secure!”

The van pulled out with a jerk. Rumbling over the gravelly road, Jonis’s back banged against the steel wall and cabinet shook. Uncomfortable seat, uncomfortable place, it seemed to bode of things to come. Perhaps his life with Mr. Farren had only been a dream. It was as if the constable had