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

finally gotten what he wanted. Though he was not going to be killed, Jonis would be hauled away like a criminal. It seemed fitting, in a way. In Brein Amon, guilt was proven on capture, and there rarely was a trial. As a demon, guilt was inborn.

Jonis sat in silence, peering at the dark walls and up through the small window with bars that was between him and the driver and his other escort in the front seat. As the truck rumbled up the hill and out of the town, through the winding hills and over them, Jonis wished he had some prepared ginger to chew on.

 

Chapter Five: To Dalis Camp

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

“Technically, a Demon really is not a magic user, per se. But due to their natural (or actually unnatural) abilities,

many of them are able to tap into certain magic abilities that all otherwise they would not have as a normal human being.”

 

 

 

 

The trip to Dalis Camp took less than two days. They only stopped a few times for relief, watching Jonis as if he were an animal that might escape. The van rumbled up winding roads, down past the low mountains and through the dry stretches to the town of Yarrding. At the top speed of thirty miles an hour, it was just a bit slower than taking the train. In Yarrding, they let Jonis out to stretch his legs. He walked to the edge of the road and gazed over the small town that had a few more modern conveniences than his own village. Street lights, for starters. A town clock with brass gears. And what looked like a dirigible post—probably for mail, though maybe for sight-seeing.

“How far is it to Dalis?” the driver asked a man at the national gas pump. There was also a water filling station for steam cars.

The operator of that station waved over to a set of hills just south. “Go that way for about an hour. In between those hills is Dalis. You can’t miss it. The road ends there.” He took one look at Jonis and pulled back. “Are you shipping over demons for them to practice on?”

Jonis sighed and walked back to the van. He had enough fresh air, and people were already staring.

The driver shook his head. “Nope. That there is a village hero. He just saved us from a Cordril.”

“But ain’t he a Cordril? He got blue eyes,” the operator said.

The driver nodded. “Yep. But he’s an exception. Thanks much. We’ll take it from here.”

The men climbed into the vehicle and started off again.

 

The land around Dalis was a number of shades of green. Forests to the left and the right of the road stretched for miles, with underbrush so thick and impassable that they really didn’t need a fence. But the land immediately around the camp was flat and barren. Burn marks and wire filled this area. The road ran up the middle of this barren space like a black scorch mark.

When they reached the first gate, the policemen rolled down the windows and leaned out to the military guards. “Excuse me, but can you direct me to the recruitment office?”

The stiff-looking guard peered curiously at the police van. “Drive down the right fork. It ends at the main offices. Show your ID’s at the desk.”

“Thanks.” The police officer waved to him, and they continued on.

 The right fork took them around to an established brick building with a rusty-looking tin roof. Parking was minimal, but they managed.

“Out,” the police escort ordered Jonis as soon as he opened the door.

Jonis gratefully obeyed.

Blinking at the sun, he lifted his hand to shield his eyes. He looked around at the flat combat ground, peering at the troops on the field who were crawling across it. The shouts of their drill sergeant faintly echoed. Jonis sighed and turned to follow the two policemen.

“Come on,” the driver said to him, waving towards the building.

Jonis tugged on the cuffs of his gloves to make sure they were secure. He had just barely put them on. It was so hot and sweaty in the back of the police truck, Jonis had taken off his jacket and gloves to fan himself.

Walking up the path, they entered through the main doors, which were glass reinforced with wire—a new invention. Jonis noticed the post had telegraph wires and electrical wires. But the rest of it looked cut off from the world.

They stepped into an open foyer that was no larger than the bathroom in Mr. Farren’s house. A tall, painted-yellow desk stood from nearly one end of the room to the other as a barrier to control traffic in and out. Small swinging doors hung at both ends. Behind the desk, a military corporal sat on a high stool, lifting his eyebrows dryly the moment he saw them. “I.D.’s and name tags please.”

Both police officers handed over their identification and badges. They also passed over a legal document the village patriarch had signed concerning Jonis. The corporal took it without even looking at them. He seemed rather bored.

Glancing at the badges, the corporal peered at each of the policemen’s faces as if to make sure they weren’t imposters. Then he opened the document from the patriarch. At first he just glanced over it. But then his eyes stopped on a few words. Then he scoured over it again. The corporal’s eyes popped up, staring at Jonis—specifically at his eyes.

“I…I don’t know if the military even takes demons,” he murmured. He reached down and grabbed a bell off his desk, ringing it with a vigorous shake.

A private ran in, standing immediately at attention. “Yes, sir?”

“Take this to General Gomrey at once,” the corporal ordered.

“Yes, sir,” the private took the document and speedily marched out.

“You men will have to wait here,” the corporal said, not taking his eyes off Jonis.

Nodding, the two police escorts motioned for Jonis to follow.

They sat on a bare bench across from the reception desk. Jonis dropped on the end and exhaled loud. He looked up once to see if the corporal was still watching him. But when their eyes met, the corporal averted his gaze and pretended he had something to do. The private marched back to the reception desk soon after, trying not to look flustered.

“The general wishes to see you now,” the private announced. His eyes also searched the three that had entered, quickly setting his eyes on Jonis. The private’s face flushed.

Both constables briskly stood up.

Jonis closed his eyes with resignation and followed soon after. They marched him to the right side gate where the private stood waiting for them.

The solider spun on his heels and tramped back down the hall.

They followed him, taking several turns down the tiled corridor until they stopped at a set of mahogany doors with brass door handles. With an air of business, the private rapped on the doors with his knuckles.

“The two men and the demon from Harsall are here to see you, General,” the private announced.

Jonis groaned inside. To be constantly referred to as ‘the demon’ was not a good start.

“Let them enter,” the general replied from the other side.

The private opened the doors as directed and stepped aside.

As they entered the room, Jonis blinked at its marked difference from the rest of the building. Plush carpet covered the floor. The windows were wide with sheer curtains and brocade. The general sat at a mahogany desk in a lush, padded chair that swiveled when he turned. Two clocks hung on the walls—one with brass gears and black numerals, the other made from wood, with little moving parts and a crescent-shaped window that showed the rise and fall of the sun and moon.

General Gomrey rose from his seat and bowed to the policemen, giving Jonis one sweeping glance. The policemen pigeon-marched Jonis directly to the front of the desk. They bowed.

“General Gomrey, you have read the letter from our village patriarch concerning our special case here. This is Jonis Macoy.”

Jonis stepped forward and bowed as was customary.

The general narrowed his eyes as the man looked on him. “A Cordril. I had to see it for myself.” He cleared his throat. “So what exactly is this village patriarch of yours proposing? That we take this demon in as part of our army? I don’t even know if the Patriarch of Brein Amon would approve of that.”

“All recruits are under probationary watch anyway, aren’t they? Why not give Jonis a chance? He has proven most loyal to Our Sovereign, and to our people. We believe that he can be of best service in the military.” The police escort frankly spoke. Even Jonis wondered if the constable believed his own words or if it was all talk just to get rid of him.

“Jonis, huh?” the general murmured, stroking his chin. “Alright. We can send to the Patriarch for special permission. But if he fails to please Our Sovereign, what do you expect us to do with him?”

Joins’s body felt cold. He knew his fate was always under discussion. It had never changed.

“He is a ward of the state,” the police escort replied. “It is up to the Patriarch to decide his fate.”

“I see.”

General Gomrey stood up. Placing his hands behind his back, he walked around the desk, then around Jonis.

“Lift your chin, boy.”

Jonis obeyed, standing straight. His hair stuck to his forehead from sweat and the dirt from the last few days of the trip, as well as his fight with the Cordril. He knew he must be a wretched mess to look at.

“He went to school?” the general asked. “He is wearing a uniform.”

“Yes,” the police escort said. “He went to the Harsall School for Boys. When he was young, we felt it would keep him out of trouble. After his father’s death, we applied for his graduation. Here is his graduation certificate and final test score.”

He handed the general the documents.

General Gomrey, glanced at them once—then peered more closely at the paper to make sure what he read wasn’t a misprint. He raised his eyebrows. Gazing upon Jonis with even more surprise, he murmured, “Well…. And how old is he?”

Jonis kept his eyes ahead. He hated it when adults talked about him as if he were not in the room and couldn’t answer for himself. It made him feel like a bug.

“Thirteen years, nearing fourteen. He was born in the spring,” the police escort replied.

“Born in your village?” the general asked, setting the papers aside on his desk.

Shaking his head, the police escort said, “No, sir. He was born somewhere out west. Apparently, he and his father were driven from his village when he was a mere infant.”

“Probably because he was born,” the general murmured. He looked into Jonis’s face. “Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jonis said just above a whisper, keeping his eyes down.

The general squared his shoulders, standing right in front of him. “You are going to be in the military, boy. You must answer clearly and succinctly. Now answer me. Am I right?”

“Yes, sir,” Jonis said a little louder.

“I can’t hear you,” General Gomrey snapped back.

“Yes, sir!” Jonis answered in a brisk shout.

General Gomrey smiled. “Much better. But you must always address me by my title: General Gomrey. Do it again.”

Jonis felt like moaning. However, he squared