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

said, “That is good. It will come to us tonight.” He turned and walked toward the lab table where the doctor had been working before they arrived. “I think we had better make a poultice to draw out the toxins from the victims bodies. I’ll brew it up while you administer it. Ok?”

The doctor glanced at Lt. Gillway and then the others before turning with a shrug to do as Jonis instructed.

“And what will the rest of you do?” the patriarch of Kalsworth asked, looking from one man to the other.

Cpl. Higges grinned somewhat deviously. “We kill the Walking Corpse.”

Somehow that did not reassure the patriarch. He looked at Lt. Gillway for a more pleasant assurance.

The lieutenant obliged him. “Don’t worry. While Private Macoy is in here curing the sick, we will be out here laying wait for the demon.”

Somewhat more at ease, the patriarch nodded and walked back out the front door to his carriage, leaving them to do their work.

 

The poultice was fairly difficult to make in large batches. The ingredients were also not things one found in a hospital but in a kitchen. This, of course, got strange looks from the doctors and nurses. In small pots that Jonis had the nurses gather from the local homes around the hospital, he mixed dried heather with mint leaves, grinding them with a pestle. He used an entire chopped up garlic bulb and an entire onion, mincing both and dumping all of these with the herbs into a pot of boiling water. Letting it simmer for about a minute, he dumped in ash from a cook’s wood oven. It was a murky smelling batch of gray matter. Many plugged their noses, peering at him as they passed by.

As soon as it reached a rolling boil, Jonis took his spoon and stirred it in the directions of the compass, going clockwise. Under his breath he muttered, “Rivers flow south. Fish swim to the sea. Draw from the well. Come to me.”  He tapped the pot once with the spoon, watching the mixture ripple with a blue sheen. “Trap.”

“Is that it?” the doctor asked.

Jonis turned and lifted up the pot from the burner with a hot pad. “Yes. Have your nurses take this. A handful must be spread over the bite wound. If there are any rashes or contusions caused by the demon, these must be put over them. The poultice should swell and change color. When it is green and blue, starting to ooze, have them scrape the discharge off into a pail. When the pail is full, soak it in alcohol and set it on fire. Each pail must burn until nothing is left but dry ash. Understood?”

“How old are you, demon?” the doctor asked, peering at him.

Blinking, Jonis replied, “Fifteen. Why?”

Taking the pot and walking away, the doctor said, “You’re awfully bossy for a fifteen-year-old.”

Jonis’s mouth involuntarily opened.

However, his instructions were followed to the letter. While Jonis kept brewing the poultice, the nurses and doctor kept administering it. They had pails and pails of the green slimy goo that they drew out of the sick. The nurses rubbed the poultice all over their rashes, taking away the white and brown patches of dead skin where they had been touched. Only one patient could not be entirely cured. Already too late for him, his eyes were now going red.

Watching as they put a burlap sack over his head and tied his arms and legs, Jonis felt his insides quake. The man was moaning. The orderlies had to strap the man down to a stretcher, hauling him outside where he would have to be burned. His family had already been notified.

It was near sunset when the pyres for the waste pots burned with the writhing corpse that was yet alive. His moans and shrieks echoed over the city. Jonis closed his eyes, wishing he could also close his ears. His arms shivered with his hairs prickled, standing on end. He pulled his arms closer into himself, wishing that he were fit for another job—anything other than hearing the dead that he could not save. When he had promised Mr. Farren that he would become a magister, he had never imagined this would be his future.

“You made more of the poultice for future use?” the doctor asked, leaning his head near Jonis’s face.

Jonis had been sitting near the window, gazing out as the nurses closed the shutters to the lower windows to lock them for the night.

Jonis blinked his eyes and looked up. The doctor a familiar aloof expression on his face, a look that said he had chosen to distance himself from the pain others around him were feeling. In a way, Jonis was jealous. His feelings were not so detached.

“Yes,” Jonis said. He stood up. “I made enough for any outbreaks. It can be used for any kind of poisonous rash or bite. I’ll write down the process and spell for you for future reference.”

The doctor stepped back, raising his hands. “No. I can buy it from a magister.”

Blinking at him, Jonis shook his head. “No you can’t. I made this one up.”

Staring, the doctor’s eyes widened. “You made it up? Impossible.”

Jonis shook his head again. “No. Simple science of spells is all. I know how a drawing spell works. It just needs a mode conveyance. I made for you an herbal remedy for a basic poultice. It works on simple stings and bites. The magic is what makes it so the poultice can draw the poison out from the entire body.”

“Then how come you could not save that one man?” The doctor became angry. He folded his arms, glaring.

“He was already dead,” Jonis murmured, averting his eyes to the ground.

Clamping his mouth closed, the doctor drew back. He knew Jonis was right.

 

It was well after dark. Not one sign of the Walking Corpse the entire evening, and Cpl. Wigg started to nod off at his post. Strangely, it was Lt. Pratch that strove to keep him awake. Cpl. Pegsley trembled in complete terror, holding his sword out, his eyes darting here and there as he scanned the road. He seemed to think that the demon would fly in and bite them like a bat—but of course he got his demons confused. There was another like that. Lt. Gillway took watch with Cpl. Higges on the other side of the building. With the five of them outside, there was no one else for the Walking Corpse to prey upon. All the police and citizens locked themselves away and waited for the dawn.

“Have you seen it yet?” Jonis whispered, sticking his head out the front door.

Cpl. Pegsley jumped, grabbing his chest. “Don’t do that!”

Normally, Jonis would have smirked and made a wisecrack about how jumpy the Pimple was, but he was in no mood to joke. His own nerves were raw. After having destroyed the Walking Corpse’s food source, he knew the demon would be hungry and seek them out—him most especially since he was a ready meal.

“Sorry. Where is, Mer—Lt. Gillway?”

Casting him a glare, Lt. Pratch elbowed Cpl. Wigg to stay awake. The man jerked upright. “He’s near the back. You’d better draw your big sword. Personally, I don’t see why you don’t just sniff him out like you always do with the worms.”

Jonis made a face. “I didn’t sniff out the worms. Besides, smell the air. It is full of burnt corpse stink. Who can sniff out a half-dead one in this?”

Lt. Pratch shrugged and nudged Cpl. Wigg again. “Go on. I’m sure the lieutenant is waiting for you.”

Nodding, Jonis drew his broadsword, walking along the wall to the corner.

“I wonder. Where does a Walking Corpse hide in the day time?” Cpl. Pegsley said aloud. Jonis could hear their voices as he continued on, turning the corner and walking down in the shadows towards the other end of the building.

“In the dark, demon boy said,” sleepy Cpl. Wigg muttered.

“Probably in the graveyard in a sarcophagus,” Lt. Pratch said.

Cpl. Pegsley’s tremulous voice murmured. “What about the sewers? They are pretty dark places. Right under the city. No one could see it coming.”

Jonis’s heart made a jump. He had just heard the sliding of a grate near the alley wall. A groan came with it.

“Merkham!” Jonis shouted, leaping away from the sewage grate and holding his sword between the rotting demon and himself.

It was decomposing. Its skin was red and white like bloody leprosy. Part of its cheekbone could be seen through its flesh. It reached out, his mouth opened in a smile, its fangs hanging long and bony yellow from his jaw. Drawing in a long wheezy breath, it plunged forward—right at Jonis.

Jonis’s broadsword went right through, bones crunching as the flesh parted like paper.

Face to face with the demon, rotting hands grasped Jonis’s coat. In his ears, Jonis could hear the tromping of boots. The cries of men shouted out, but echoed distantly as the demon pulled him in for a bite.

An inch from his nose, Jonis saw a sword point slide through the rotting flesh. The head teetered, dropping to the ground with a sick thud. Staring over the headless shoulders, Jonis saw Lt. Gillway panting for breath. The lieutenant wrenched the demon off him. Its arms were still clawing to get Jonis, still angling as if for a bite. Tossing it aside, the body thumped back onto the stone. Lt. Gillway cursed.

Yanking Jonis’s sword out of the body, Cpl. Higges chopped the Walking Corpse to pieces with it, kicking it away from Jonis.

 “No! Set it on fire!” shouted Cpl. Pratch as if through a distant tunnel.

Jonis could smell the alcohol already being doused onto the demon, as well as the street. The smoke started to fill his nostrils.

Panting, Jonis collapsed onto the cobblestone.

“Oh, no,” Lt. Gillway murmured. His voice sounded like it was underwater. “Look at him. It must have touched his skin.”

It was hard to breathe. Jonis’s arms ached, burning, feeling as if his skin was being eaten alive.

“Get the poultice! Now!”

Lt. Gillway’s shouts were getting more and more distant. He could see his friend’s face looking down at him, Lt. Gillway’s brow wrinkled, covered with sweat. Cpl. Higges was next to him, slapping a slimy cold substance onto Jonis’s skin.

Immediately two sensations pulled at each other inside his body. One brought enormous cooling relief. The other seared deeper into his skin. The searing sensation moved faster, though, and the burning continued.

“It’s not working!” Lt. Gillway looked near tears, panic shaking him. That was when Jonis realized he was lying in Lt. Gillway’s arms, cradled and gazing up into the lieutenant’s face. Unfortunately, Jonis knew he was slipping away. Jonis only hoped he would not bite his friend first before attacking the others.

The noises around him muted more and the smells of death seemed to accentuate in his nostrils. He could barely see as the fire on the street cast shadows on his friend’s face. Lt. Gillway’s tears reflected yellow and gold. The man then bent over him, blocking out the firelight. Almost instantly, a different sensation flooded across Jonis’s face and then down through his neck to his entire body. It was like water, cool and relaxing. The searing sensation was put out. No, pulled out and doused with the flood.

Jonis drew in a deep breath and blinked his eyes.

All the shouting slowly became clear. It no longer sounded distant but like a person tuning a guitar to the proper note—only the song was not what he remembered. They were calling for Lt. Gillway rather than him.

Jonis sat up, blinking.

Lt. Gillway was no longer holding him, though the fire was still casting its glow on the buildings and posts on street around them.

“What happened?”

Cpl. Higges turned from where he had been crouching a second before. He jumped up with a shout. “He’s alive!”

To his left, Jonis saw Lt. Gillway groaning, flat on his back. The others were stooped over him.

Jonis crawled over, peering at Lt. Gillway’s ash white face. “What happened to Merkham?”

Lt. Pratch