Daemon

Artfully etched stone walls glow a soft orange against the flames of the hearth at the center of a room. Above it, a large square cut out in the ceiling makes the night sky visible from within the quarters. In front of a hefty standing mirror which leans against a wall is a chair gilded in gold, too small to be considered a throne but with all of the details and presence of royalty. Massive throw pillows, furs and ornate fabrics lay atop a veiled canopy bed in one of the corners of the room. Sheer fabrics dance in the night air and obscure a female frame. Eyes resembling nature’s primal forces twinkle in quiet contemplation until a voice is heard clearing its throat from outside the rose colored curtain that acts as a barrier to the room. Though she doesn’t move, her eyes shoot at the curtain like a predatory creature.

“You know you don’t have to announce yourself, you’re the king of this land.”

“I wasn’t announcing myself. I had a cough!”, the young King awkwardly moved passed the curtain into her presence, wrestling with himself to quell the obvious intimidation he was experiencing.

“What can I do for you, Lord?” She let the word dance around her lips, awkwardly. Her accent descending heavily at the utterance of it.

“Have you come to a decision? I’m sure these arrangements pale in comparison to the marvels of your people, but understand it can get exponentially worse than this. I’ve convinced the generals that we should reason with you like nobility, but if you give me nothing, I can’t guarantee your safety.” The King was barely 20 winters old, but his face was solemn like rulers more than twice his age. He held a small black book, a quill and a bottle of ink.

“I envy mortal children. They evolve ignorant of their first days on earth, unaware of their new caretakers first mistakes in parenting, unable to harbor grudges. If vengeance is a poison that corrupts the soul, then perhaps the ignorance of mortal youth is a miracle from your God.” Seraph looked like something half fairy, half shadow. The wind carried small folds in her garments and made her entire form wriggle almost out of view like a mirage that never fully dissipates.

“What are you going on about, wise woman? The fact that people within our borders have chosen to pretend you don’t exist makes you interesting to my generals. I want to make sure that once their interest runs dry, I can broker your safety. But I need the names of all the other Daemon who are hiding in the capital.”

“Memory. I speak of memories.” Seraph gazed up into the night sky through the opening in the ceiling and breathed in the night.

“So you’re refusing to make a tangible record of their names?” The King sighed. He discerned that Seraph was a woman of the absolute. His eyes shifted at the empty black tome he’d brought with him and his face hardened.

“My people pass down our histories through oral tradition. If I am to be tried so be it, but sit with me and allow me the pleasure of sharing one last story with you.” Seraph poured wine from a large piece of pottery into a goblet and passed it to the King. Then gathered up potent smelling powders and dyes made from ground up flowers, sat near the hearth fire and stared into it as if she expected the flames to start telling the story instead.

As he prepared to protest, Seraph threw the powders into the fire and caused it to flicker strange colors. He was halted by the blues, pinks, greens and golds now dancing their way through the ceiling’s opening and Seraph saw his pause as her cue to begin the tale.

“My people remember everything, that same memory once lent itself to the construction of academies and settled disputes between kings. Long before new rulers in the East and in the West had risen up, preaching the salvation of their God while murdering and raping those who refuse it. My people have lived in these lands. Before our name had been turned into a slur, before “Daemon” had become branded into folktales that men used to scare children. We were here. They say we serve diabolical figureheads, but I have yet to see an Elder-One in some time and they certainly aren’t diabolical.”

The King seemed to shrink as Seraph began her story. Though he was irritated at her brazen mention of his forefathers deeds, he sat down opposite from her.

“People often call our memory a special wisdom, but there was a time when my people were truly ignorant. The concept of war seemed like a far off joke to us. In those days, the spires of our temples dipped their pinnacles into the sky and churned the heavens into an artisan’s paint palette. We spent our days in eternal spring and when the first humans began to walk upright on land, we were already ancient.”

As Seraph continued her story, the room began to transcend into the illusion of a mirage. The young King looked first at his wine, then to her incense, trying to discern the flighty feeling that was overtaking his body. The colors in the fire seemed to coil and uncoil, tiny wisps formed fingers that painted stories in the air around them. Seraph’s voice caused him to feel as though he could slip away.

.....

“Before the Elder-ones gave fire to mankind, the Daemon were the only things that shined in the dark. As spirits of nature we were the rhythm of life around human kind. We were your rivers and streams, your trees, the wind, the sun and moon. But humanity was created curious, and when given fire, they began to explore the dark. Eventually, their inventions were the only things that lit up the night. Cities filled with temples made of sea glass and metal stood tall like mountains and let so much smoke into the air that it casted out the stars in many places. Their waste filled the upper oceans and desecrated the rivers. Wildlife was thrown into chaos, many species were extinct from hunting or homeless because the great wilds were ravaged. The ground shrieked with rage as the blood of children and infants turned soil red. Countless lives were lost protecting imaginary land boundaries. Leaders across various nations constructed weapons so heinous that the Daemon eventually stepped in. They called us foreigners when it was in fact our homes that they had destroyed. So we ground their mountain towers into nubs, made their technology ineffective and had their cities evacuated before burning them to ash.”

The smell of cinnamon incense became the smell of burning bodies. The young King looked sick to his stomach but said nothing.

“One-hundred and forty-four kings opposed us, and one-hundred and forty-four kingdoms fell. It was not without casualties on our end. The kings used every weapon in their arsenal including manipulating their people. Their money systems were imaginary and yet their soldiers fought for coin like it was food or air.”

As Seraph told the story, flashes of Daemon with glittering eyes, some with wings, others whose bodies shined like small suns were seen being ripped in half by blasts from large metal devices.

“What is all of this?”, the king sounded frantic.

“The truth. Just like those days, your leaders stockpile the wealth that its people toil to create. It’s kings have forgotten that it is a leaders place to provide.”

“What would you have us do, elevate the commoners to the status of a royal!? How then would our chain of command be recognized?! This is how it’s always been done!”, the King’s exclamations sounded half hearted.

“Do not proceed to tell me how things have always been.” Seraph clasped her henna marked hands together. When they separated, a ball of white light emerged and causing color to dull in its presence. Eventually, neither one of them could see their own hands in front of them.

When his vision returned, the King fell forward in horror. The Capital was under siege, but it wasn’t Daemons doing it.

Because of food scarcity, two women fight over a carcass, its limbs swinging back and fourth until something cracks and scares one of the women into letting go of the baby. A group of nobles rape a woman in the town square and strangers walk by as if her screams are whispers. Beyond the glimmering walls of the palace, all is lit afire.

“What are you doing!?”, the King tried to stop the men from assaulting the woman and froze when he realized that each of the attackers were his generals. He stumbled backwards, but instead of hitting the ground, he fell for what felt like an eternity. Once the falling had stopped, his feet were planted in front of the same mirror that had been in Seraphs quarters. But the reflection staring back at him wasn’t the hard form of a young king, it was softer and rounder. He touched his frame, confused by the new lines which marked his face and watched in horror from a tower window as the city ate itself alive.

“Adam, you have the power to break the cycles of ignorance.” Seraphs voice blared out from an unknown direction and caused the king to jump.

“My city is on fire! Seraph, I’ve destroyed everything.” King Adam looked ill. From his tower window everything was chaos.

Seraph’s hand suddenly touched King Adam’s shoulder and rather than rejecting it, he embraced her attempt to console him. Her other hand stroked his chest and another rubbed his head. At first he was comforted, but there were too many hands to belong to Seraph. Adam shrieked as a sea of henna marked arms tossed him across the room. His body flew through a doorway and he fell into a darkness that led to the cold mosaic floor of a dimly lit hall. Seraph finally stood before him, not a mass of hands or illusions, but an olive skinned woman with desert colored eyes and long ebony hair. Before he could be frightened again he swung his fist towards her face. As his knuckle were about to make impact, he froze. His arm felt awkward under the new weight of straps that had somehow made their way into his clutched hand. As Adam moved, the sound of a cumbersome sum of coins clanging against one another became evident to him. The large sack seemed to be getting heavier as he held it.

“You’re welcome.” Seraph smiled for the first time since they had met. Up close, her eyes seemed kind.

“What is all of this!?” Adam demanded.

“A king’s inheritance. It’ll help you begin fixing what your fathers began destroying in this age. Twenty-thousand gold pieces. One for each of the Daemon that perished fixing what mankind had wrought in a previous age. Take these and sew goodness, but first you’ll need to wake up.”

....

When King Adam awoke it was barely dawn. He rubbed his eyes trying to shake off his odd dreams but became rigid when his leg hit something hard. He lifted his quilt fearfully only to find that a large sack of gold coins had been placed in his bed.