Duality - Rowan Erlking (sight word books .TXT) 📗

awakened early that morning to identify the bodies of five of his employees. The police had also been at Bernum’s place that morning, but they did not get much more than the same rundown as the police the night before. Omoni’s wife had been in the stands. She watched Bernum’s show intently, her eyes somewhat red around her chocolate irises, stress pulling her shoulders in a stoop despite her best efforts to appear contained with disinterest. Her mouth had been pressed in a line—a line so tight as one who was thinking of what to say, whether it be a tirade or a plea. It made Bernum wonder if she knew who he was, if she had figured it out. Would Malkia have told her? It seemed unlikely, even if the woman had built up a rapport with his sister. What was certain, she reflected the suspicions Merchant Omoni must have of him. The woman would not take her eyes off of his figure even until his exit.

Bernum lingered in the back tent area only as long as he ever did. It didn’t seem wise to change routine. Thugs and spies hired by Omoni could still be watching him. That thought made him nervous. If it were so, how was Jonis supposed to meet with him then? But he strode out the tent door with his usual air, strolling towards his home in the way he normally would. Of course, he paused at a market along the way to pick up supper then meandered while eating.

His feet took him towards Omoni’s neighborhood as if they had been going on their own. He tried to make the pace slow, waiting, yet not too anxious as if he were his usual tired. Somewhere between the marketplace and the hilly district he picked up a tail, someone trailing him with expert feet that Bernum only hoped belonged to that white demon and not one of those hired muscles. That tail followed him all the way to the seashore boardwalk where Bernum paused as if contemplating the waves, or the old man that cast him a look of recognition then a shake of his head. There, Bernum glanced behind him, feeling his tail near but did not see him. Bernum continued on. It wasn’t until he got to the high street that he heard those feet coming closer. He looked back again, recognizing the wizard’s sweeping coat with rainbow trim flapping as the imposing figure strode with purpose. The wizard’s boot heels clopped with regality, perhaps waiting to be noticed. So Bernum paused.

He looked back with a nod, meeting the gaze (he hoped) of the fair haired, creamy-faced foreigner.

“Wizard,” Bernum said.

“Magician,” the man replied, his mouth curling up on one side.

Bernum chuckled and turned, continuing on. “He’s smugger than that.”

“Are you ready to do this?” The northern copy of the Hann Wizard replied, setting his whiter fingers to the rim of the dark glasses, though he did not give in to the temptation to peer over it in case someone saw his glowing blue eyes.

Bernum nodded.

They walked for a while in silence, though Bernum’s mind drifted again to the question he had on his lips for many years now. And here was an experienced and famous magister he could ask. Glancing at Jonis, Bernum said, “I was wondering. Do you know anything about a magical cure for bent limbs—or missing parts?”

Blinking, Jonis halted. “Not without turning the poor sufferer into a demon. You need a wizard for straightening things out.”

“But what about for making what’s not there?” Bernum said, feeling the issue press against his chest. “Say, missing fingers?”

Jonis regarded him for several seconds before saying, “Is that why you are so passionate about learning magic? To cure someone?”

Lowering his head, Bernum nodded. “My brother. He was born deformed.”

Jonis asked, “Is his life in danger?”

Bernum shook his head then paused. “Well, everyone said he was a demon, and both our grandmothers tried to kill him.”

Jonis huffed.

Lifting his eyes, Bernum noticed Jonis frown. The Cordril had his arms across his chest, clearly grumbling something about Maldos mentality—or that was what Bernum thought he heard. The white northern demon had dropped back into his natural posture, one that said he was tired of being regarded as a demon himself. And when Jonis looked back to Bernum, his tone was just as decisively impertinent. “A twisted body is not proof that someone is a demon.”

Bernum lifted up his hands. “You don’t have to tell me.”

Immediately Jonis’s expression lightened. With a nod, he said, “Good.”

They continued to walk. However, Bernum didn’t want to drop the subject.

“So, you really don’t know a safe way to straighten out his deformity?”

With a glance, Jonis said, “No. Well…” He looked up to think about and shook his head again. “No, not really. But then I don’t believe in experimenting to find out. The world is full enough of demons already.”

Bernum frowned, realizing that was the dreaded point. He didn’t want to turn his brother into a demon—yet he didn’t want people to treat him like one either. It just didn’t seem right that there was no cure in their vast and living world for Dennik.

With a look to Jonis as they crossed the last street before going up Omoni’s hill, he asked, “You seem to know a lot about demons. You said you were writing a demon hunting book. But how can you tell if someone is a demon?”

Jonis paused once more. “You mean, if a deformity is not a sign that someone is a demon, what is?”

His face getting hot, Bernum cringed, secretly feeling guilty for thinking the same as those that wanted to kill Dennik.

Shrugging it off, Jonis replied as he started forward again, “I don’t know all the particulars, but it can be generally said that most demons are not friendly to humans. That feathered man in the circus seems to be the exception. And that Blue Lord certainly has a friendly agreement back in his homeland. But—”

“None of that is any physical proof,” Bernum said. He glanced up at the manor house. Lights in the windows and on the lot illuminated it. The gates with the guards waited with stares forward. “How can you know someone is a demon on sight?”

Chuckling, Jonis said, “Most at first glance you don’t know. You have to look for traits, know the signs. And for each kind of demon there is a different sign.”

Exasperated, Bernum said, lowering his voice the nearer they got to the gates, “There has got to be billion kinds of demons. You can’t possibly know them all.”

“I’m trying to,” Jonis said.

Bernum just stared. What he knew about Cordrils was little. One thing he did know was that they could read a mind with a touch. He wondered how many minds this Jonis had read, and if demon minds were harder to read. The white demon had to be cheating in a way that humans just couldn’t.

The pair halted on the curb opposite the gates. Bernum drew in a breath and looked at the sky with a wish that things would go without a hitch, even as Jonis stepped one foot into the road. There was just a slight rustle overhead, but Bernum looked. No glowing eyes of any other demon, but he could have sworn he saw a large feathered shadow spring off the wall ledge. One of its downy white and black feathers fluttered down. Taking another breath for strength, Bernum marched into the road to get ahead of the white demon.

“What are you doing here, Magician?” The guard stepped only a foot from the gate, his spear resting tight in his fist as he peered both Bernum and Jonis down. He pulled back halfway as his eyes flickered on the rainbow trim of Jonis’s suit.

Slapping on a smug grin very much akin to the wizard that it looked stolen, Jonis tipped his head in a bow then added flourish with his arms and wrists, sweeping up his long coattails like a cape. “Apparently you two have not been that acquainted with the Amazing Aldolvio de la Morovina.”

Apparently they had. The guards lifted out their guns.

“Wait!” Bernum threw himself between them just as Jonis staggered backward looking stunned at such a reception—much how Aldolvio would have. Panting, Bernum said, “I just met him in the market today. He said he’s come to reconcile with Mr. Omoni.”

They stopped halfway, relaxing the hammers on their pistols. One said, “Reconcile? Is that so? Then what are you doing here?”

He gestured to Bernum with the pistol barrel.

Getting in a breath, Bernum nodded, lowering his shoulders. “Well, since he’s coming back, I was thinking about renegotiating my contract.”

The guards both chuckled then tucked their pistols away. Yet they did not fasten them into their holsters.

One of the guards waved to the long wrapped package that Jonis was carrying on his back. “What’s that?”

Bernum glanced at it also, opening his mouth, yet not sure what to say.

Jonis regained his wizardly posture and said with another ingratiating bow, “It is a reconciliatory gift for the merchant. It will suit his tastes for foreign objects, as it comes from foreign parts.”

The guard reached out, pulling open the wrapping on one side. It revealed the hilt to the ornate sword Jonis had carried the night before. Bernum stiffened.

“It is a Bekir style Brein Amon sword—an antique and a valuable weapon, one of the last great swords made by the famous Bekir Lake Smithy,” Jonis said. A crook of a genuine smile of pride eked out, though Bernum recognized it was full of mischief. The guards hadn’t noticed.

They opened the gates.

Jonis strode in first, taking confident grandiose steps up the cobblestone drive with hardly a look back at Bernum. Bernum imagined the wizard would be just as full of himself if he were there. And for that matter, Bernum glanced back to see if the wizard had come as promised—but it was too dark on the road to tell for certain. The lamps created more shadows than light. In any case, the man was probably hiding inside the wall if he came at all.

One of the guards nudged Bernum in the back, “Go in, magician. See to the steward. I’m sure Mr. Omoni would like to have a talk with the both of you.”

Bernum glanced back at them as he stumbled in. An ill feeling formed in the base of his stomach, stirring up a rumbling deep into his gut. With their looks, the wizard’s own warnings echoed in Bernum’s ears. So many things could go wrong with their plan. And like demons, Bernum didn’t think it possible to enumerate them all.

Jonis reached the front porch first. He gazed back somewhat disparagingly at Bernum, but it was more of the wizard’s sentiment than the demon’s. As soon as Bernum reached the door, Jonis rapped on it with his knuckles then quickly used the knocker. Apparently the wizard would not have worn his ‘exceptional’ hands on anything except magic, though that brief slip into his own personality didn’t cost Jonis. It was after just a short moment that the butler opened the door and cringed at Jonis with disgusted recognition of the outfit. Clearly he considered knowing the rest of a foreign face a waste of time.

“Wizard…” The butler then looked to Bernum, his chin lifting only slightly with more regard. “Magician. I hope you have an explanation for this.”

Bowing with all the nervous courtesy Bernum was feeling right then, he said, “I know this is intruding, but uh, we’ve come to make a deal with Mr. Omoni.”

Tsking, the butler merely turned from the door. He stepped aside. Taking that as a signal they could go in, Bernum crossed over the threshold. Jonis lingered on the porch, his head tilted back.

“Not even a polite hello?” Jonis said.

Though it was so much of the wizard, Bernum thought it was overkill.

Apparently the butler didn’t. Stiffening, the butler snapped back, “Impertinent swine. Either get in or get out. You have one