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

about the confrontation not long after they had met the master. The master wanted to learn all he could about Jonis’s life, so he often asked Jonis questions. The master was a great deal more enthusiastic than Mr. Farren was.

Jonis shook his head. “No. The constable killed him, but I would have. He murdered my guardian.”

They had heard much about Mr. Farren also. Jonis’s reverence for the late magistrate had improved their opinion of the boy. They talked to Jonis publicly now. They even defended him from Oprin when the man chose to harass Jonis in the shower. It was different from before.

“No.” Jonis shook his head. “Mr. Farren said that there was a growing number of demons out there. And unchecked, they could overrun this land.”

“Like the Sky Children did?” Emrit asked, not entirely believing him.

Jonis shook his head again. “No. The Sky Children wanted to rule everything. These demons want to eat everything. Their hunger is insatiable.”

He looked into his memory, remembering all the demons his ancestors had fought, and shuddered.

“No. They would overrun the land and kill us all. And then they would turn on one another. Our world would become a demon world entirely.”

“Is that why the master calls you a civilized demon? You have no desire to eat everybody?” Cyle asked. There was cynicism in that question.

Jonis ignored it. “Basically, yes. Sky Children are the same. They don’t attack for food, but for power. Cordrils don’t care for power, but survival. That is why we are civilized.”

Emrit decided not respond to that. Jonis had proved disturbingly good at the martial arts their master had taught. Sergeant Romley had pointed out that it was because Cordrils are sly, not to be trusted. The way Jonis spoke made that obvious. He was too smart for his age, now fourteen and taller than when he had first come, but still a kid. Sometimes he talked as if he had lived ages ago—and that made them especially nervous.

 

In the fifth month when another set of new recruits arrived, Jonis’s troop was out in the shooting range lying on their stomachs with rifles. As soon as Jonis took his rifle in his hands at the end of the line, he loaded it without any need for instruction. His aim was also extremely accurate. It terrified the others as he hit the mark every single time.

“You, get up and hand me your gun!” Sergeant Romley ordered Jonis.

The troop watched the boy stand up, dusting off the dirt with a stroke of his hand. He reluctantly passed over the rifle.

“Take the weights and run five laps around the camp.”

Jonis hesitated, glancing back at the men in the rifle range.

Sergeant Romley lifted his chin, setting the rifle to the side with the ammunition clips. “You obviously don’t need the practice, so I’m not wasting time or precious munitions on you. Now go.”

Heaving out a sigh, Jonis accepted the order, agreeing too quickly for his troop mates. He had not told a soul that he had thousands of years of practice in using a rifle, starting with an ancient ancestor that also used to be a pilot. Jonis hefted up the weights and put them over his shoulders. Counting out, he jogged away towards the fence to begin his laps.

 

So he jogged, passing the fence as he watched more young hopefuls enter the main administration building. One man saw him and screamed. “Demon!”

Jonis shook his head and continued his run. With an audience now, there was no point to linger. On the wind he heard Lt. Chappel say, “Oh, don’t worry about him. They have him quite under control. He’s in Gold troop, training for the army.”

Their disbelieving gasps echoed through the fence. 

“Why is he wearing weights? Is he really that strong?” one man pointed out.

Jonis huffed, keeping pace though his back hurt from the extra pounds.

“No, he’s not that strong. His drill instructor is punishing him for his mouth. Watch him though,” the lieutenant said. “One finger on his skin will render you weak. We handle him with gloves.”

There were more remarks from the men, but Jonis could not hear them any longer. He had run too far around the compound by then.

 

“Hey, fungus face,” Oprin called from the open door, gesturing outside. “The Green Troop drill instructor wants to talk to you.”

Jonis knew the man meant him. Oprin called everyone else by his first name, but he never addressed Jonis with anything less than an epithet. Fungus face was one of the nicer ones.

Rolling up the scroll he had been studying, leaving the notes for how to cure stomach ulcers with Emrit, Jonis got up and walked to the door. Outside, he found exactly whom Oprin had said was there. It gave Jonis some relief, realizing that it was not another cruel trick to get him alone so he could get the blood kicked out of him.

“Yes, sir?” Jonis said, saluting the Green Troop drill sergeant.

Sighing, the D.I. glanced uncomfortably to the right and then the left. Green troop’s drill instructor spoke in a whisper. “I hear you have cures for things in those scrolls of yours.”

Jonis blinked. He then glanced around. Talking in a low voice, he said, “I do. What do you have in mind?”

Trying to look like he was on official business, the instructor stood back at his intimidating height. However, he whispered, “I need a cure for…” his face turned red. He ducked down. “Diarrhea.”

Jonis had to stifle a laugh. He whispered back, “Haven’t you seen the doctor about this?”

Barely nodding, the drill sergeant hissed, “Who do you think sent me to you? My condition is not the usual indigestion. He says you have ancient herbal remedies in your scrolls. That foot fungus thing worked like magic. We know it was you and not Emrit that found it. But you know how it is with Sergeant Hybiss; he won’t hear a good word about you.”

“That’s all right,” Jonis replied with a shrug. “Sergeant Romley won’t say a good word about me either. I think the staff sergeant should be very pleased about that.”

The D.I. shook his head. “Oh…this is not a joking matter. But what about my problem, can you help me?”

Jonis saw the watching eyes. He motioned with his head. “Come on. You’d better start shouting at me or people will get suspicious. Make me run somewhere, and we’ll discuss it as we go.”

“Alright, you son of a farting worm! For that back talk you’re going to run six miles. And I’m going to make you do it fast!” The drill instructor shouted on cue.

“Very good,” Jonis whispered, ducking his head. “Yes, Drill Sergeant!”

“Oh…. Not again,” Temis said, peering out the door as the two jogged off. “That kid gets into so much trouble.”

 

Jonis returned during dinner, sweaty and panting. He was seen inhaling his food and rushing out of the mess hall to his cot where he rolled out a scroll. By the time they had to go to evening drills, he had stuffed a paper into his pocket. Jonis made one stop at the medical office. He joined the group soon after, smiling to himself.

“What were you doing at the doctor’s?” Korin asked him when he got in line.

Coming out of his reverie, Jonis replied, “What? Oh. The doctor’s. Yes, I was, uh, getting a cure for hiccups. I ate too fast and they wouldn’t stop.”

Korin’s brow furrowed. He didn’t recall hearing Jonis hiccup once.

“Attention!” Sergeant Romley called out.

The troop stood ready.

“Tonight drills have been cancelled. Apparently there is a parasite epidemic in the camp causing major diarrhea and sour stomachs. Even if you do not have the symptoms, we have all been ordered to receive inoculations. The doctor is preparing a cure as we speak.” Then he glared at Jonis. “And he has requested the assistance of our demon here, to help.”

Jonis pretended to be shocked. “Me? Yes, Sergeant Romley, sir.”

The sergeant rolled his eyes with an unconvinced exhale. “Everyone, except him, is to return to the barracks until we are called. Dismissed.”

“Did you know about this?” Korin asked, as soon as they could go.

Deciding to play stupid, Jonis shrugged. “It’s news to me.”

“I wonder if it is a demon parasite,” Emrit murmured.

Jonis shook his head. “Nah. Demon parasites don’t cause diarrhea. They eat your insides out and take over your body.”

The men cringed.

Waving good bye, Jonis went directly to the doctor’s office as ordered.

In his chat with the drill instructor that afternoon, Jonis had him describe all his symptoms, how and when it started. Right away he knew it was a parasite and not the flu. One of the new recruits had carried it into camp, a filthy man with incredibly bad health habits. He had been groaning in the hospital from the second week on. Others had joined him, but the doctor had no clue to the cure. He did not consider it a serious until the Green Troop drill instructor became infected.

Jonis recruited Emrit and Cyle to help make the multiple remedies for treatment. Parasites were difficult to kill without harming the host. This, the doctor knew from experience. In this case, a mixture of magic and herbal remedy was needed.

“First off,” Jonis said nodding to the doctor as they brewed a mixture of mint, ginger, onion, and garlic, “we need to clean everything in that barracks out. Everything should be bleached, rinsed with water, and then sprayed with vinegar.”

The doctor nodded. “Of course. I’ll order it done.”

“Second,” Jonis said, pointing to the mixture of oils and fruit acids in the bowl Emrit was mixing, “We need everyone to take a shower with his concoction, using only one of the latrines. I’m afraid that room must be treated after we are done. This will take some time. Then, comes the icky part.”

“The flushing out of the parasite,” the doctor said, nodding his head. “I understand the concept.”

But Jonis shook his head. “Not so easy. Everyone must drink a full two glasses of the brew we are making. I suggest the cooks in the mess hall make a jumbo batch. We must make sure everyone drinks their full two glasses, so we should recommend three to be on the safe side. That way, even if it tastes bad and they try to fake it, we can tell if some has gotten in them. Personally, I think those that are well should oversee it. So far, only one part of the camp is infected.”

“It is better to treat everyone,” the doctor said, raising a finger.

“I know. I know” Jonis nodded irritably. “But this isn’t like an inoculation. We want to make the parasites leave the body, to flee. After the men drink the brew, the parasites will move into the large intestine in about an hour. Then you will have to personally give them the enema I’m making to clear the system entirely. I don’t think everyone wants that.”

Cyle made a face. “No kidding. If I’m not sick, I don’t want that.”

“We can make everyone drink the brew though, right?” Emrit asked.

Jonis glanced at the doctor. “I think that is the best bet. If anyone is infected and they have drunk the brew, they’ll be able to tell if they have parasites in them. It will be hard to ignore the crawly feeling up their backside.”

Emrit shuddered.

The doctor sighed and got up. “All right. I’ll send the order for the brew and shower. You finish that…stuff. What did you call it? An enema?”

“Old medicine is kind of disgusting,” Jonis said with a tired nod

“Not very scientific, but ok,” the doctor said. But then he paused. “But what about the spell you have to make?”

Jonis smiled. “It is in the enema. It draws the parasites out—a combination of herbal remedy and magic. You’ll see.”

 

The entire camp gathered in a long, winding line for the showers. They took a handful of the concocted soap from Emrit and Cyle, and had to scrub under their fingernails and between their buttocks. They were not allowed out until