The Knights of Sheba Episode 2: "Demons" B

 The Knights of Sheba 102 B…Start

 

            Claude’s stay in town has been filled, thus far, with mixed disappointment and luck.  The owner of the hotel—a tall, thin man named Thomas—was as kind, if not kinder, than Claude was told he would and gave Claude a discounted rate, but there were no jobs to find.  Claude has limited work experience and has always relied on his family to help him through most things.

            After weeks without employment the hotel owner approaches him and says, “Listen, Claude, I like you.  You’re a good sort of kid.  Seem earnest.  So, here’s the thing.  I recently had to let go of a dishwasher, and I know you’re down on your luck.  So, what do you say, I let you take the job and take your ‘rent’ out of your pay until you can get back on your feet.”

            “Thomas, I couldn’t.”  Looking back on it later, Claude feels like he could have fought back more.

            “I insist,” Thomas had said, and he patted Claude on the back.

            After that, Claude worked for him.  The hotel is mid-sized and hosts a rather impressive buffet.  The food, Claude has come to find out, is delicious.  He has to pay for his own meals and clean up after himself—conditions he imposed on Thomas before he would agree.  It feels like it isn’t enough, but Claude’s wallet is thin, and he doesn’t have the luxury of pride.

            Claude sits in the hotel lobby, a newspaper unfolded on his lap, and he stares out the front door.  Cars zoom by.  The city is so much bigger than his home, and everyone seems so much busier.  Where he comes from everyone knew his family and everyone was a friend.  Here, he is a number and an insignificant one at that.

            Thomas enters the room.  He moves stiffly as he walks but always with a smile.  It broadens when he sees Claude, and he approaches and eases himself into the chair.  His cowboy boots, embroidered brown leather, click on the tiles with each step.

            He pats Claude on the knee.  “Find any places yet?”

            Claude sighs.  “Nothing I can afford,” he says, folding the paper up and setting it to the side.  “Sorry I’m hanging around like this.”

            “Nah, you’re fine, son.  It’s your first day.”  Thomas gives him a smile.  “Excited yet?”

            “A little, I guess,” Claude says.  His stomach keeps twisting up.

            Thomas laughs.  “You’ll do fine.  It’s just dishes.”

            Claude nods.  “Thomas, I just want to say, thanks.  You’ve done so much for me, so much more than you had to do.”

            “I didn’t do nothing a good Christian wouldn’t do,” Thomas says. “Besides, you’re a good kid.  Done right by me to this point.  Just down on your luck, and when people are down, all they need is a hand up.”

            Claude smiles.  “Thanks,” he says, and he looks around the lobby and peeks into the dining room.  Despite the hotels modest size, there are always people.  Claude leans back.  “You guys are staying busy.”

            “We’re off the highway, good location,” Thomas says.  “Also, we get a small supper crowd.  Might surprise you, but some people come by just to eat Eddie’s cooking.”  Thomas looks at Claude.  “Eddie’s our chef.  You’ll meet him today.”

            “Okay,” Claude says, rubbing his sweaty palms on his pants.

            Thomas laughs.  He pats Claude on the knee again and then pushes himself to standing.  His body unfolds in an arthritic sort of way, and he groans with each movement.  “Well, I won’t keep you.  You’ll be getting to pretty soon.  If you need anything, just ask Eddie or come find me, okay?”

            Claude nods and says goodbye.

            Alone again, he stares out the window and thinks about recent events.  His life has changed so much, so rapidly.  He doesn’t like taking advantage of Thomas’ hospitality, but also knows how lucky he is to have it.

            He checks the clock.  “Almost time,” he thinks, standing.  “Just get in, do my work, and do it right.  I’ll make it up to him, and then I’ll get out of here.”  He takes a deep breath and turns toward the kitchen.

 

            After school Geneva waits by her locker.  She stands there, trying her best to look inconspicuous as the halls drain around her.  In all her life, she has never had to wait for friends after school and somehow it feels like an elaborate prank where Kit pretends to be friends with her for three years, kisses her, and all so she can get her with the fake-ride-home gag.

            “Worst. Prank. Ever,” she thinks to herself.

            The students thin and then disappear altogether, and Geneva stands alone, holding the straps of her backpack and staring at the empty halls.  It reminds her of summer school.  “Maybe she’s still in I.S.S,” she thinks, “Maybe she punched Lana again.”  She smiles.

            Geneva starts down the hall, in the direction of the I.S.S. room, or in the direction she hopes the I.S.S. room is in.  She entertains the idea that there will be signs on the way, starting a few halls out.  “I.S.S. room three halls down.  Home to the World’s Richest Delinquents.”

            After wandering aimlessly for a few minutes, she starts hearing strange noises.  Scuffling and scratching like desks being moved, chaotic echoes carrying down the hall.  She stops and listens, and then she hears a scream.  Without thinking, she runs toward it.

            She comes to a stop near an open door.  Inside, she hears a woman crying, begging.  “No, please, no.”  It is choked and horrified.  Geneva goes to the door just as the woman inside shouts, “Please, someone, anyone, help me!”

            The classroom interior is a disaster.  Desks are tipped and windows broken.  Chairs are scattered to the edges of the room and, kneeling in the far corner away from the door, is a small, blonde woman with thick, wavy hair and running mascara.

            In the center of the room is a small, green creature, vaguely humanoid in shape and possessed of a surly, wiry frame.  Large, yellow teeth protrude from its mouth, and a sizable, hooked nose balances them out.  It stares at the woman in mix of fright and anger.

            “Martians,” Geneva thinks, staring.  She hides beside the door and watches as the creature stalks forward.  “What in the world is it,” she thinks, “And what is it doing here?”

            The creature’s gait is hunched, predatory.  It is closing in and preparing to strike, and despite its size, it looks able to kill.  Geneva hides back in the hall, stares at the white walls and considers the situation.  She is just a sixteen-year-old girl, but she is the only one who can help.

            She stands and steps into the doorway and, before she can second-guess herself, she shouts, “Hey, you, ugly thing!  Get away from her.  Now!”  And she kicks a nearby desk as a form of intimidation.

            The creature leaps back and hisses at her.  Geneva takes a chair and slides it toward the creature as hard as she can.  It catches the chair and throws it to the side, shattering it against the wall.  By then, Geneva is urging the woman forward and out of the door.

            “Come on, let’s go,” Geneva shouts as she yanks the woman into the hall and pushes her forward.  They sprint as hard as their legs will take them.  Geneva stumbles and staggers.  The woman, still sobbing, can hardly keep her breath.

            They take a turn down a hall and keep running until Geneva collapses.  She gasps for air while the woman kneels beside her and cries.

            “Are you okay,” Geneva asks while pulling herself back up.  She can hear the thing howling and following them.  “Can you stand?”

            “What is it,” the woman asks between sobs.

            “It doesn’t matter,” Geneva says, pulling the woman up.  She leads her to a nearby classroom and shoves her inside.  “You go in here and hide.  I’ll lead it somewhere else, okay?”

            “But…”

            Geneva closes the door.  “Lock it, don’t let it in!”

            “Thank you,” the woman says, staring at Geneva through the glass.

            “Yeah, yeah, just hide.” Geneva turns just in time to see the monster.  It is partway down the hall and approaching, squat and growling.  Geneva holds her hands up.  “Whoa, there.  I know I took your person-sized ragdoll away and all, but let’s be honest, you weren’t playing very nice with it, now, were you?”

            The creature shouts and lunges at her, and Geneva is quick to sprint away.  She runs down to the other end of the hall and stops at the stairwell.  Even with her head start, she only just gets the door open as the creature reaches her.  It grabs her book bag and pulls hard, tearing one strap and causing her to spin as she approaches the stairs.

            She grabs at the handrail and manages to stop herself from tumbling.  Her legs give out, and she rolls down two stairs before regaining her footing.  As she stands, it is on her.  They fall together to the bottom, and she slams hard against the wall.

            It staggers to its feet above her and howls.  Despite its size, it is very strong.  She stares up at it, into its yellow, sickly eyes, into its red irises, and into its drooling, demonic face.  It grabs her, first by the shoulders, and then moves its hands up to her neck.

 

            After work, Nina stays in her office to fill out paperwork.  Mostly, she has tests to grade.  When given the job, she expected to spend most of her time outside.  However, upon seeing the meager requirements established by the school for Physical Education, she decided to give an overhaul to the program.  As a result, her students are learning about their bodies and their physical health, and she has schoolwork to grade.

            She is on her last five sheets when her phone goes off.  She answers, “Hello, Nina speaking.”

            “Nina, huh?”

            She sits up.  “Sir.”

            “They’re here.”

            She drops her pen and stands from her desk.  “Where?”

            “In your school.  We found it playing around one of the nearby fields and gave chase, but we couldn’t take any shots.  It’s in your domain now.  Take care of it.”

            Nina opens her desk drawer and pulls a pistol from the false bottom.  She checks the clip.  “I will, sir.”

            Erak hangs up on her, and Nina pockets her phone.  She checks her gun once more and puts a bullet in the chamber.  Then, she sets the safety and slips it into the waistband of her pants.  She pulls her shirt over it and leaves the office.

            The halls are empty.  Even most teachers have left by this point.  Those that have stayed are keeping to their classrooms.  Nina walks the halls slowly, keeping an ear and eye out for trouble.  Further down, she hears sobbing and finds a woman leaning against a set of lockers.  She is doubled over and out of breath.

            Nina rushes to her.  “Are you okay?”

            “No,” she says, looking Nina in the eyes.  Tears run down her face.  “Yes, I mean—It’s after a student. It’s…”

            “Which way?”

            The woman points down the hall.  “I saw her go down the stairwell.”

            Nina touches the woman’s shoulder.  “You stay here.”

            The woman nods and grabs Nina’s hand.  “She saved me.  The girl, she saved me.  Risked her life so it wouldn’t…”

            “I understand,” Nina says.  “Don’t worry, I’ll save her.”

            “Thank you.”

            Nina pulls free and sprints down the hall.  She takes a turn and runs straight for the stairwell.  She hears a yell and some scuffling.  On the way, she draws her pistol and flips the safety off.  Then, she kicks the door open.

            At the base of the stairs Nina finds a small, brutish demon hunched over a student. She takes a step forward, plants her feet, breathes deeply, and levels her gun.  Then, she pulls the trigger twice.  The shots echo around the stairwell and make her ears ring.

            The demon jerks.  Red spots bloom on its back.  It turns, howls, charges.  Two more bullets and it falls.  Thick red streams of blood pool on the stairs, run down them slowly.  When the demon dies, it reveals Geneva behind it, her back to the wall, and panting in pain.

            Nina checks the demon first, making sure it is dead. Then puts away her gun.  She kneels beside Geneva.  “Ms. Oaks?”

            “Ms. Olivia?”  Geneva looks at her.  She is wincing and holding her arm.  “Why is it that whenever I fall down you’re always there, standing over me?”

            “I don’t know,” she says.  She checks Geneva’s eyes.

            Geneva points.  “Look.  A Martian. You killed it,” she says.  “How’d you know I was here?”

            “I got a call.”

            “I was calling you?  Weird.”

            “No,” she says.  “Ms. Oaks, I think you may have a concussion.”

            “Makes sense.  I’m feeling kind of sleepy.”

            “No, Ms. Oaks.  Don’t fall asleep, try and…”  Geneva slumps over into Nina’s grasp.  Sighing, Nina lays her down and stands.  She looks at the demon and pulls out her phone.  “Sir?  I found the demon.  We need clean-up and fast.”

 

            Geneva wakes up later in Ms.Olivia’s office, stretched out on a foam mat.  Her neck feels stiff and her head aches in the back.  She sits up slowly, and Ms. Olivia comes to her side to help her.  Together, they rest Geneva’s back against the wall.  “Are you okay,” Ms. Olivia asks.

            “Been better,” Geneva says, taking account of her various pains.  Her ankle pulses when she tries to flex it and her left arm feels tender.  “What happened?

            “You passed out.  Most likely from trauma and stress.”

            “Yeah, makes sense,” Geneva says, “I never had much constitution.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “So, Martians are real.”

            “Well, no.  And yes.  Not Martians.  Demons. But that is not important.  Here.”  She hands Geneva a small paper cup filled with water.

            Geneva looks at it and sets it to the side.  “It attacked me.”

            “We took care of it.”

            “You shot it, didn’t you?”

            Ms. Olivia pauses, gives Geneva a long stare.  “Yes, I did.”

            “And it’s dead.”

            “Yes.”

            Geneva takes a deep breath, and when she exhales, she tries to go limp.  Her body won’t.  It is stiff and tight, coiled, prepared for the worst.  She meets Ms. Olivia’s gaze again.  “And the teacher, is she okay?”

            Ms. Olivia almost smiles at that and says, “She is fine.  Only superficial damage.”

            “Then what are you?  Who are you?”

            “That is a very complicated question, Ms. Oaks.”

            “Then give me the uncomplicated version,” Geneva says.  “You know, if you want.”

             “Drink the water, and maybe I’ll tell you.”

            Geneva picks up the cup and looks at it. She shrugs and gulps it down.  Ms. Olivia gives her a refill and waits.

            “I am an elf,” she says once Geneva finishes the second cup.  “I come from Alfheim or the Realm of Light as we call it. And…”

            “Short version, please.  My head is killing me.”

            “Well, we’re here to watch your world, and to protect humanity from outside threats.”

            “Like demon-Martians.”

            “Yes and no.  The demons were not considered a threat.  Not until recently.”

            “And what in the world does that mean?”

            “It means they’ve returned,” Ms. Olivia says.  “No one knows how, but their gate tree was closed for nearly three thousand years.  Until two days ago, in fact.”

            “Ah-huh,” Geneva says.  “That’s interesting and all.  Crazy, but interesting.  Anyway, I think I’m in shock, so…”  Geneva braces against the wall and eases herself up.  Her legs shake, her back pops, but she limps her way up to standing.  “I think I need to make a few calls, get home before my parents do.  They’re worriers.”

            “That is sweet of them.”

            Geneva gives Ms. Olivia a very serious look.  “You’ve clearly never seen a Jewish mother worry.  There’s nothing sweet about it.”

            “Yes.  Well, if you require transportation, I can be of assistance.”

            “Normally, I’d say no, but considering circumstances.”

            “Yes, but first.”  Ms. Olivia goes to her desk, removes the false bottom from the top drawer, and then takes a box from inside.  It is small, wooden, and otherwise non-descript.  She returns to Geneva and hands it to her.  “Open it.”

            Geneva stares at the box in her hands and is reminded of so many proposals in movies.  She slides the lid off and stares at the ring inside.  It looks like polished ivory, smooth and gleaming.  The top is flattened and etched with a foreign sigil.  To Geneva it looks almost like a pair of wings.  She slides the lid back into place and tries to return the box.  “Listen, I appreciate the thought, but I feel like we’re moving too quickly.”

            Ms. Olivia knits her brow.  “You’re a very strange girl.”

            “So I’ve heard.  But seriously, I don’t want this.”

            “You don’t even know what it is.”

            “I know it’s jewelry. That you’re giving me.  You.  A teacher.”  Geneva shrugs.  “I know I don’t want to know that it is.”

            “That is the white signet.”

            “Some sort of ancient, old world magic then?”

            Ms. Olivia laughs.  “Please, Ms. Oaks.  Magic doesn’t exist.”

            “Right, and neither do demons.  Anyway, what’s so special about this,” Geneva gestures with the box, “thing?”

            “The signet is, as you previously said, quite ancient.  It houses an armor inside, an extremely advanced tool used long ago to fight the demonic threat.  I think that, if the demons are returning, then humanity should once again be given a chance to defend itself.”

            “Ah-huh.  And you’re giving it to me,” Geneva points at herself, “A sixteen-year-old girl.”

            “Yes, I am.”

            “Yeah, see, you’re a pretty poor judge of character.  I’m not much of a protector.  Hell, I’m barely even a student.”

            “So you say, but in the short time I’ve known you, I’ve seen you protect two people.  In fact, most recently, you even risked your life to do it.”

            “Yeah, well—that’s different.”

            “I don’t believe it is,” Ms. Olivia says.  She pushes the box toward Geneva.  “Just keep it for now and think on it.”

            Geneva looks at the box, sighs.  “Fine, fine.  Now, will you take me home?”

            “Yes, of course.”  Ms. Olivia returns the false bottom to her desk and then scoops up her keys.  She looks back at Geneva. “Let’s go.”

            They leave her office.  On the way out, Ms. Olivia grabs Geneva’s book bag with the torn shoulder strap and carries it.  They stop to lock the office door, and then walk together across the gym floor with Geneva limping slightly behind. 

            “Are there other signet-whatevers?”

            “Yes,” Ms. Olivia says.  “Once, there was a whole knighthood. Now, we only have five rings left, including that one.”

            “And it was made up of all the races?”

            “No.  Only humans.”

            “And what happened to them?  Did they retire the rings when the demons disappeared?  Was it all noble and stuff?”

            “In a sense, but that is a very long story meant for later.  After you’ve had time to consider your situation.  For now, let’s get you home.”

            “But I want to know n—Ow!”  Geneva leans against a wall and flexes her right ankle.  She grimaces.  “On second thought, your plan works.”

            They leave the school together.  Ms. Olivia parked in the back lot.  They start across the hot asphalt when Geneva sees Kit, who comes running to her.  Geneva quickly takes her backpack from Ms. Olivia and jams the signet case inside.  Then, she waves.

            “Uh, hey, Kit,” she says once they are close, “I thought you would have went home already.”

            “I was just about to.  I thought you went home on the bus just to spite me.”  She looks at Ms. Olivia.  “Everything alright?”

            “Yeah, I was, uh,” Geneva looks at Ms. Olivia, too.

            “Ms. Oaks and I were just discussing some extracurricular assignments.  I’m sorry to have kept her so long.”

            “Yeah, what she said.”

            Kit looks between them.  “Okay. Well, you still want that ride?”

            “I didn’t want it in the first place,” Geneva says, “But sure.”  She turns to Ms. Olivia and says, “So, uh, thanks for your help.  And, we’ll, uh, talk later?”

            “Yes, Ms. Oaks.  You take care and get some rest.”

            “Yeah.”

            The girls leave Ms. Olivia and start towards Kit’s car.  Geneva limps along, and Kit steps in close, pulling Geneva’s arm over her slender shoulders.  “Hey, Genny, why’re you limping?”

            “Would you believe me if I told you that that I fell down the stairs?”

            Kit gives her a short stare and then laughs.  “You are such a ditz.”

 

            Seere arrives at Andromalius’ city by midday.  By then the rain is easing but the mud is still thick on the roads.  Ruka exits the carriage first and greets the city guard before they are let in.  From there, they ride the winding streets to Andromalius’ castle.  The demons here are well-fed and large by comparison to most.  Those on the streets wear the skins of the animals they hunt and eat.

            At the castle, Ruka exits again and gives the area a quick look over.  Then, he holds the door for Seere, who lifts his robe as he steps out onto the wet ground.  Together, they scale the long staircase, where two guards stop them at a set of large, molding wooden doors.

            “Who are you,” asks a guard in rusting armor.  He is tall and has his sword drawn and poised to strike.  The guard beside him, shorter and thinner but still quite stout, also has his weapon ready.

            Ruka looks between the two, and then Seere touches his shoulder.  He sighs and steps back, allowing Seere to take lead.  “I am Viscount Salamand of the House Seere, seventieth in line of the late king, Loki God Slayer, and I have come to call on my distant cousin, the mighty Count Serpens Andromalius, should he have time or interest in entertaining.”  Seere gives a low bow and does not rise until the guards respond.

            “You’re Viscount Seere,” the larger guard asks.

            “And how do we know it is really you,” the smaller guard says.

            “How do you know it’s not,” Seere asks, gracing the two with a smile.  “Were I not a lord, then why would I travel to your lands in the first place? And better yet, why would I travel with an escort?”

            “That don’t prove nothing,” the smaller guard says.

            The taller guard looks between them and nods.  “Yeah,” he says, “Don’t prove nothing.”

            “Really? Think on it a bit.  When last did either of you travel outside of your own lands?”

            The guards exchange glances.  “Well,” one says.  The other picks at the rust on his shoulder guard.

            “And, assuming you have travelled, would either of you travel with escort?”

            The tall guard taps his boot against the steps, testing the sole.  Beside him, the smaller guard says, “Well, that makes sense, I guess.  But then, ain’t we at war with them?”

            The tall guard looks up.  He lifts his blade slightly.  “Yeah, that’s right.  Ain’t we at war with you?”

            “When last did our nations do battle?  If we are, as you say, at war, we’re hardly doing it well,” Seere says.

            “Yeah, but then you might be here to kill the count and do it right.”

            “Yeah, right,” the smaller guard says, nodding firmly.

            Ruka growls and Seere looks back at him and sighs.  “Fine, have it your way,” he says, stepping to the side.

            The guards don’t have time to react before Ruka disarms them.  He smoothly bypasses their extended blades and yanks them free.  The smaller guard draws a thin, dull dagger from his belt and swipes wide, managing only to be kicked in the chest and knocked over the side of the stairwell.

            The taller guard doesn’t even get this.  Before he can respond at all Ruka has him pinned, face-first, against the door, with his arm twisted behind his back.  Leaning forward, Ruka growls into his ear, “If we were here for war, you would have already been killed.  Understand?”

            The taller guard nods as best he can with his head pinned to the door.

            “Good.  Then tell your lord that he has guests.  And be quick.”

            “R-right, of course,” the tall guard says, and Ruka releases him.  He looks back at Ruka and Seere before pulling one door slightly open and disappearing behind it.

            Ruka steps back and adjusts his cloak.  He rests his hands on his belt.  Seere looks at him. “Do you feel better now?”

            “Not better, but productive.”

            Seere shrugs.  “I suppose that is all one can ask for in life.”

            They wait together for a short time.  Minutes later, the guard returns and leads them inside.  They follow him down long, grey halls to a dilapidating audience chamber.  Pale, bleak light shines through dripping holes in the ceiling and through large, broken windows.  The chill from outside lingers in the air.  The walls of the chamber are barren, and a large, jagged throne sits at its center.

            Sitting on the throne is an equally large demon, largest of the lords Seere knows.  He is muscle on muscle, with the body of the gods from old stories, and his corrupted blood gives him the strength of twenty demons combined.  Upon seeing Seere, he crosses his enormous arms over his massive chest.  “Viscount Seere and his guard.  Welcome.  It is a surprise to find you waiting at my step.”

            Seere approaches and they join hands.  Seere’s hand is swallowed by the Andromalius’.  They shake, vigorously, and then Seere steps back, allowing Ruka to shake hands with the lord as well.

            “I heard a tale that you gave my guards a good beating.  Surprised someone like you remembers what it is to be demon, considering your lord’s love of words.”

            “Not all nobles share gifts given of flesh, Lord Andromalius,” Seere says.

            “Real nobles do,” Andromalius snorts, and he stomps back to his throne and slumps into it. Resting his head on one massive, balled fist, he says, “Now then, why exactly are you here?  You’ve long been withdrawn from the world.  What brings this change?”

            “Circumstances,” Seere says, “New ones.”

            “What circumstances?”

            “Well, if you insist on knowing, I had sent hunters out not long ago.  My people hungered, you see, and required fresh meat from the plains around my home.  My hunters, while following the trail of a particularly stout beast, stumbled onto your lands and became lost…”

            “Lost?  Must you always be so coy?”

            “Coy? I speak only the truth, lord, for I would never dream to lie to you,” Seere says.

            Andromalius growls.  “What did your hunters find?”

            “A tree.  The gate tree, to be precise.”

            Andromalius sits up, grips the arms of his throne tightly.  “I see.  And what of it?”

            “It was open.”

            “You mean to say,” Andromalius pauses, brow knitted.  “The gate is in my wood, and…” 

            “Yes, lord, I mean to say.”

            “I see.”  Androamlius rubs his chin and watches Seere.  He scrutinizes him for a time, then asks, “And why bring this information to me?  I would never have known if you were not so courteous enough as to tell me.”

            “I came out of respect, lord, and to warn you, lest you forget what happened to our forefathers.  A gate opened goes both ways.  If we know, then I’d wager our enemies do, as well.  Should the elves once again declare war on our people, it will be yours who die first.”

            “I see,” Andromalius says after a lengthy pause.

            “So, I had come in hopes of proposing not only a truce, but perhaps even an alliance, at least until the nature of the gate and those beyond it are better understood.”

            “And why would you want that, viscount?  Were I to fall, that would leave you one less rival for the throne.”

            “Maybe, but after you fall I may be next.  If I am not to get the throne, then I want one of my people on it regardless, not a smooth-skinned outsider with a grudge,” Seere says.  “These are our lands, and we do not welcome outsiders.  On that, at least, I am sure we can agree.”

            Andromalius grunts.  “Entirely.  A truce, then, as strange as it is.  But you have my ear.”

            “And that is all I ask for,” Seere says, wearing his most earnest smile.

 

The Knights of Sheba 102…End

The Knights of Sheba Episode 2: "Demons" A

Episode Two: Demons

 

            Geneva lies in bed, staring at her ceiling, and feeling her lips.  She has the window open and sunlight bounces off of her white walls and illuminates the room.  Her room is the smallest in the house, tucked into a corner with a slanted roof and a small closet.  She keeps it cluttered, in part because of negligence and in part to keep her parents out.

            While feeling her lips, she replays that afternoon in her mind.  She argued with her teacher, rode home with Kit, and they talked like real friends.  Kit said her house was nice, and then they kissed.  “No, Kit kissed me,” she says aloud.  Her cheeks grow hot.  “And, maybe I kissed her back.”  She shakes her head.  “I don’t know!”

            She hears the rumble of a car pulling up and shortly after the front door opening.  Beatrice, her older sister, barely has the door closed before Geneva is halfway down the stairs.  Beatrice stops, her purse in hand, and stares at Geneva.  “Yes?”

            “Um,” Geneva says, stumbling on the stairs and nearly tumbling forward.  She holds the handrail.  “Er—Welcome home?”

            “Meeting me at the door now like a good doggy,” Beatrice asks, and she starts up the stairs and passes Geneva.

            The two sisters are, according to their parents, very similar, and according to themselves, very different.  Comparatively, Beatrice is taller, having both longer legs and a slightly longer torso.  She keeps her hair, the color of honey, long.  Both are slightly heavy, though Beatrice wears the weight confidently.  In fact, everything about her seems to bleed confidence.

            “Well,” Geneva says, following her sister back up the stairs.  “I peed all over your bed and wanted to apologize before you found out on your own.”

            “Sweet of you to worry, Genie-pie, but I prefer my bed with a little urine,” Beatrice says, making her way down the short, narrow hall to her bedroom at the end.  She stops at the door and smiles at her younger sister.  “Keeps my sheets clean that way.”

            They enter the room together and it looks very much the same as Geneva’s, though slightly larger and shaped like a box.  Dirty clothes litter the floor and between them, patches of bare carpet.

            “Just because urine is sterile doesn’t mean it’s technically clean, I don’t think.”

            “Pretty sure sterile means clean,” Beatrice says, tossing her purse onto the floor.  “And God, it’s hot out there.  And sticky.”  She removes her shirt.  Her bra follows shortly after.

            “Want me to close your door?”

            “Why bother,” Beatrice asks, bending over half-naked to pick up a shirt.  She sniffs it, gags, and tosses it back onto the floor.  “No one else here.”

            “Someone could be peeking.”

            “They could,” Beatrice says.  “Quick, get undress, too, and we’ll give them a show!”

            Geneva grimaces.  “Just put on a shirt.  I don’t want to see,” she gestures with her hand.  “That.”

            “Oh, come on, it’s not anything you don’t have,” Beatrice says.  She looks Geneva over.  “Okay, well, there might be some things, but I’m sure they’ll grow in eventually,” she says, “Hopefully.”

            “Seriously, Bea, I need to talk to you about something, so hurry up and get comfortable.  Or dressed.  Mostly just dressed.”

            Beatrice lifts an eyebrow.  “You can talk to me while I’m topless, you know.”

            “Bea!”

            “Okay, okay, simmer down,” Beatrice says.  She digs through her closet and pulls out what might have once been a clean shirt, and she pulls it on.  Next, she changes into a pair of shorts.  Then, she pulls her hair out of her shirt and stretches out across her bed.  “Okay, little birdy, sing me a song.”

            “Okay, well, it’s a long story.”

            “Then get to telling, cause I’ve got homework, and I’m willing to bet money, real dollar bills, that you do, too.”

            “It’s big, don’t rush me.”

            “Genie, please.  It’s high school.”

            “What’s that supposed to mean?”

            “It means that while it might seem like a big deal that Timmy the quarterback doesn’t notice you, it’s really not, and by the time you’re my age you’ll have forgotten all about it.”

            “Bea, you’re nineteen.”

            “Exactly,” Beatrice says with a smug smile in accompaniment.

            Geneva sighs, shakes her head.  “And whatever, it’s not about Todd the quarterback.”

            “Wait a minute, Todd?  The quarterback’s name is actually Todd?  Who names their kid Todd?”
            “His parents, obviously,” Geneva says, “Now, can we focus?”

            “I’m waiting on you!”

            Geneva groans, slumps down onto the bed near Beatrice’s feet. “Well—It’s just.” She sighs.

            “Oh no, don’t you sigh.  We haven’t got time for sighs, little missy.”  Beatrice sits up and pinches Geneva’s cheeks.  This leads to a noogie, which leads to Geneva struggling to get free and falling face-first onto the floor.  Smiling, Beatrice rests against the headboard and crosses her legs.  “Okay, now that we’ve gotten that over with, spill.  What’s got you all worked up?”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, rubbing her hurt cheek and nursing her hurt pride.

            “Kit,” Beatrice says.  She scratches her chin.  “Refresh my memory, which one is she?  Your lesbian friend?”

            “My only friend.”

            “Ooooh, that Kit.  Yeah, what about her?”

            “Well, she—She kind of,” Geneva stares off into the distance and squints, as if there is a story she wants to tell but she can’t see the shape of it.  “See, the thing is…”

            “Come on, Genie-bear-buttercup-pudding-cake, we’re on a tight schedule here.  Despite how my essays read, they do not, in fact, write themselves.”

            “Humble much?”

            “The most humble.”

            “Wouldn’t it be humblest?”                                                                       

            “No, now stop stalling.  What’s the dealio, little sister?”

            “No one talks like that.”

            “So, Kit?”

            “Well, she got into trouble today at school.”

            Beatrice waits a few moments, listening, while Geneva fumbles about. “That’s it?”

            “What?”

            “That’s all you had to say?  That’s the big thing you just had to talk about?  I mean, come on, Geneva, you saw the twins!”

            “You made me!”  Geneva groans.  “Anyway, that’s just the start of it.”

            “Then how about you tell me the whole big, bad, scary story, and I reserve my judgment until the end.”

            “You know, I’m starting to regret this.”

            “It’s sad that it took you this long to get to regret.”

            “Fine,” Geneva says, and she takes a deep, preparatory breath.  Then, in the space of one exhale, she says, “Okay, so Kit got in trouble for hitting a girl who said a bad word that she wouldn’t tell me at first but told me later and it was really bad and I had to walk the girl to the nurse’s office and she’s a bad person and when I found out that Kit was going to get in trouble I basically threatened my teacher into talking on her behalf to keep her from getting into too much trouble because that girl is a total, capital B and deserved to get punched in the face and my teacher went back inside and talked to her about it and the girl confessed to saying the aforementioned bad word so Kit got off light though she’s still in trouble and then the teacher told Kit what I did it and…”  Geneva stops to gasp for air.

            Beatrice remains quiet, soaking it all in, and waiting for Geneva to regain her breath.  Afterward, she says, “And that’s all?”

            “Yeah.  Well, no.  Then Kit drove me home.  And kissed me.”

            “Oh,” Beatrice says, nodding, and weighing the information.  “Okay, so I was wrong.”

            “Huh?”

            “That does seem like kind of a big deal.”

            “See!  I told you! I totally told you!”

            “Hey, now, hold on a second. I said kind of a big deal.  I mean, it’s not like end of the world or anything, but it’s worth putting off some homework.”  Beatrice grabs a pillow and hugs it close.  She leans forward.  “So, this kiss.  What was it like?”

            “Awkward?  Yeah, awkward.”

            “Good awkward or bad awkward?”

            “I don’t know, awkward-awkward?”  Geneva picks at her toes to avoid looking at her sister.  “I don’t have much to compare it by.”

            Beatrice sits back, sucks air through her teeth.  “Yeah, that’s true.  Still, did you like it?”

            “I didn’t not like it.”

            “Come on, Genie.  You’re giving me nothing here, girl.”

            “Well, I mean, if I knew how to feel about it, would I be coming to you to talk about it?”

            “I guess not,” Beatrice says, leaning back and stretching her arms.  She thinks for a moment, and then sits forward again and claps her hands together.  “Okay, then let’s sort this out.  First, tell me exactly what happened.  And with details!”

            “What sort of details?”

            “Like, what kind of kiss was it?  Was there tongue? What was it like leading up to it?  How did it end?  Would you suggest the ride to your friends?  You know, pertinent information.”

            Geneva chews her cheek.  “Honestly, I don’t feel like much of anything is really pertinent.”

            “If you want my help, then you’re going to have to open up.”

            “I’m open, I swear.  I just don’t know what to say.  One minute she’s going on and on about what a good friend I am.  Then, wham!  She kisses me.”

            “Okay, then what are you going to do?”

            “That’s why I came to you,” Geneva says, finally meeting her sister’s gaze.  “I was hoping you would tell me.”

            “Sorry, Genie-pear-butterscotch, but I’m not your conscious or anything like that.  I can’t tell you what to do when your best friend kisses you.  My advice is: sleep on it.”

            “Sleep on it,” Geneva says incredulously.

            “Yes, sleep on it.”

            “As in, go to bed.”

            “Yup.”

            “That’s awful advice.”

            “No, it’s not.  Think about it, what good is stressing going to do for you?  I mean, you have classes, and really poor grades, and you clearly have no idea how to process any of this.  And this happened, what, a few hours ago, tops?”

            “Well, yeah.”

            “So, you need time to process it, to figure out how you feel about it in the first place, and I can’t give you the answers.  It’s not a test, you can’t study for it or get it wrong.  So, all I can do is tell you to sleep on it and say that, whatever answer you do come to about this girl and the kiss and all of that, you’re my sister, and I love you unconditionally.”

            “Sappy moment alert,” Geneva says, but she smiles.

            “Sappiest,” Beatrice says, tossing the pillow to the side and tackling Geneva in a bear hug.  “You’re my teeny little baby sister!  Growing up and getting kissed by other girls!”

            “Yeah, yeah,” Geneva wheezes as she tries to wriggle free.  “Maybe you’re right, though.  Maybe I do need to sleep on it.”

            “Told you,” Beatrice says, standing.  “Now, you go on and get.  I’ve essays to write.”

            Geneva stands and hovers beside the door.  She glances at Beatrice, who sighs.

            “Fine, grab your things and bring them in here.  But try to keep it down.  I really do have to focus.”

            “Alright,” Geneva says as she sprints down the hall to her room to grab her things.

 

            Travel in the Realm of Beasts has become infrequent.  Long ago, before the fall, the realm was united under the rule of one demon, one great leader.  He had seventy-two children who, after his death, began warring for his throne and title.  Since, the lands have been separated, caught in a state of constant war.

            As time went on the wars lingered and decayed into on-going stalemates.  It was an uncomfortable peace.  Demons lived everyday with the constant threat of death, and even the nobles, inside of their castles and keeps, weren’t truly safe.  So, no one called it peace, because every demon city was still, ultimately, at war, and the world was their enemy.

            Viscount Salamand Seere was never traditional, however, and never put much stock in the opinions of his peers.  He always cared more about results than methods, even from childhood.  So, when the Gate Tree opened on the lands of Count Andromalius, he demanded a visit.

            He travels with a light entourage.  Twelve soldiers march alongside his carriage, outfitted in patchwork iron plate, polished to a flat shine.  They carry pikes and sheathed short swords and stomp along the muddy, overgrown roads.

            Riding with him inside of the carriage is Ruka, who sits closest to the door and wears a scowl.  He made his displeasure known before they left and has been determined to keep it known through the trip.  Seere ignores him, keeping busy with a book since Ruka won’t allow him to lift the blinds and watch the landscape.

            Still, when Ruka isn’t looking, Seere steals peeks from under the curtain.

            The carriage rocks and jolts with the dips in the road.  Ruka keeps his hands firmly set on his blade, which he has unsheathed and laid out on his lap.  While flipping pages, Seere catches him staring.

            “Yes?”

            “Nothing, my lord.”

            “This is the third nothing so far, Ruka.”  Seere closes the book over one of his fingers and looks at Ruka.  “How exactly may I help you?”

            “My Lord,” Ruka says slowly, deliberately.  “It is just that, the way you’re conducting yourself, I don’t—I don’t approve.”

            “And I don’t approve of your conduct, either, but you carry on.”  Seere returns to his book, setting it open again on his lap.  “It seems both of us are fated to be unhappy today.”

            “Lord, be reasonable!  We’re in the deepest part of the enemy forest.”

            “We’re keeping to the road.  That should be safe enough.”

            “There is no road.  There hasn’t been for years, and the count surely has scouts.”

            “Surely.  And were they threats to us, they would have made themselves known by now.”

            “Maybe, or maybe they’re waiting for us to let our guard down.”

            “Sir Ruka, as you said yourself, we’re in the depths of enemy territory with only a handful of guards and an untested nobleman.  Even were our guard up they could have killed us swiftly.”  Seere flips a page.  “I think we can safely assume that there is no attack coming.”

            “Regardless, it is still dangerous.”

            “And I am not disagreeing with you.  Since the fall, travel and trade between our cities has become something of a myth, remembered only fondly and, perhaps somewhat inaccurately, by the oldest among us.  The sad truth is that we never leave our lands, save to make war.”  Flip.  “I intend to change that.”

            “I don’t see the good in any of this.”

            “And you don’t need to.  You simply need to keep me safe.”  Seere licks his finger, turns another page.

            “Yes, my lord,” Ruka says, and he peers out the window.  Outside, the landscape rolls by, large, thick-trunked trees with black bark and white fog between them.  The forest is silent and damp.  The only sound is that of the cart groaning as it rolls along.  “That demoness, Yima.”

            “What of her?”

            “She makes the guard nervous.”

            “Then perhaps I need new guards.”

            “My lord.”  Ruka looks away from the doorway, toward Seere, and seems hurt.

            “That was a joke, Sir.  You have always been and will continue to be the finest guard.  Still, you needn’t mind Yima.  She is hardly a trouble for you or yours, and she is no trouble to me at all.”

            “Of course, my lord.  I apologize.”

            “Don’t.” Seere looks up long enough to smile.  “Your paranoia is what will keep me alive in the days to come, of that, I am sure.”

 

            Geneva spends the evening in Beatrice’s room, doing homework and being made fun of.  After supper, she spends some time alone, contemplating the school year.  So far, she has seen Martians, saw the end results of a fist fight, argued with her teacher, and been kissed by a girl.  She wonders if these things happen to everyone.

            The next morning, she wakes up feeling haggard and anxious.  She goes through the motions, showering, stuffing dry toast into her mouth and narrowly making it to the bus on time.  An hour later, she arrives at school and plans to be in her history class in only minutes.  Instead, she finds Kit waiting at her locker with a bright-eyed smile.

            “Well, well, good morning there, Genny.”

            “Kit,” Geneva says, trying to stare in confusion while keeping from being trampled.  She makes her way to her locker and pulls it open.  While unloading her things she asks, “What’re you doing here?”

            “I came early,” Kit says.  “Wanted to see you before classes.”

            “Oh,” Geneva says, her cheeks feeling faintly warm.  She grabs her history book and binder, and she closes her locker.  “Is that allowed?”

            “It that allowed?  It’s I.S.S., Genny, not prison.”

            “So, do you or do you not qualify for early release on good behavior?”

            “You know, I didn’t even think to ask,” Kit says, laughing.  “Come on, I’ll walk with you to class.”

            “You…”

            Kit, already having left, looks back and waves Geneva forward.  “Come on, hurry. I don’t have all day, you know.”

            “Oh, uh, sorry!” Geneva stumbles forward, weaving around bodies to catch Kit.

            “By the way, I was thinking, we’re not going to have much time to hang out in school.  I can’t even eat lunch with you.  So, how about me driving you home from now on?”

            Geneva hugs her book and binder to her chest and stares at her feet as they walk.  “Kit, you don’t have to.”

            “Please, Genny, it’d be doing me a favor, really.  After telling my parents what happened I got in pretty big trouble.  Driving you home after school will be the most I can do for a while.”

            “Wait, they’re okay with you driving me home?”

            “They didn’t say they weren’t,” Kit says.  “Oh, come on!  It’s not like they’ll know.  I can’t believe I have to beg you to let me do this.”

            “You don’t HAVE to beg.”

            Kit huffs.  “Sometimes, you’re a big, old stubborn…”

            “Kit, language,” Geneva says, “I mean, you of all people should know how much words hurt.”

            Kit blows a raspberry as they arrive at the class.  Students enter around them while they linger beside the door.  “So,” Kit says after a few seconds.

            “So—Fine, you can drive me home.”

            Kit adopts a broad, beaming smile.  “Great!  Then meet me at my car after class,” she says, and she turns on heel and hurries away, with a skip in her step.

            Geneva watches her leave, still hugging her things tightly.  “Okay,” she says, “Now, I’m even more confused than before.”  She sighs and slouches her way into the classroom. 

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            So far, Nina’s morning has been fairly straight forward.  No fights and no interruptions have pulled her from class, and she has yet to need the assistance of another teacher.  Those facts alone give her a good feeling about the day.  Teaching may be a cover for her, but like all things in her life, she wishes to excel at it.

            At lunch she walks the grounds.  She checks the exterior of the school and the sports fields beyond it before heading toward the Gate Tree.  Her job is to be the watcher.  She is to infiltrate the school, the nearest human building to the tree, and to keep watch where other elves can’t.  She is the first step in the defensive line in the Realm of Man.

            Watches are normally light during school hours and bolstered at night.  Recently, however, the elves have tightened security.  For thousands of years the demons have been sealed away, their gate frozen over by some strange occurrence.  Their return is not only a surprise, but it changes everything.

            Nina finds Erak overseeing a group of elves in the woods.  There are three of them, all dressed in human civilian clothing.  Save for their ears, they look nearly human.  Erak tugs on his clothes and makes his dislike for them known.

            “Sir,” she says, saluting when he turns to her.

            “At ease,” he says.  He has a cigarette in his mouth, an elven blend.  It is made from mixes of elven and foreign plants and lacks the addictive, chemical additives of human cigarettes.  He pulls it from his mouth and cranes his head back to release a serpentine trail of smoke into the air.  “What are you doing down here, Lieutenant?  Shouldn’t you be shepherding the natives?”

            “All teachers are allowed an hour break for lunch,” Nina says.

            “Then shouldn’t you be eating?”

            “I’m not hungry,” she says, “And I think it’s more prudent to use the time for patrol.  Sir, I didn’t expect to find you here.”

            “Well, we are here.  So, you can return.”

            “I would like to stay, if I could.  There’s not much to do at the school.”

            He gives her a long stare, and then flicks the cigarette onto the ground.  “I see,” he says in a haze of smoke.  He stomps on the cigarette absently and turns his attention to a clipboard in his hands.  “Suit yourself.  Just don’t get in the way.”

            “I won’t,” she says.  She walks past him, toward the Gate Tree, and stares up at it.  From a distance it looks different, larger than the other trees.  Up close, it appears infinite.  The bark is a soft gray color and seems to bleed together into a skin if she stares long enough.  The light around it flickers slightly.  “One of my students, the girl who first saw the demons, she described the tree as glowing.”

            “All the gate trees do,” Erak says while making notes.  “It’s all of the energy that passes through them daily.  Distorts the light.”

            “They’re amazing things, the gate trees.  Uniting disparate worlds, connecting all manner of life, much of it intelligent.”

            “Don’t know if I agree with you on the intelligent part,” Erak says.  He looks up from his clipboard, fixes his gaze on her.  “What do you want here, Lieutenant?”

            “I apologize, sir,” she says, turning to him.  “I was just thinking, but if you could, may I have a status update.”

            “Not much to update,” Erak says.  “We’re still piecing things together and looking for our guests.  I’m going to start posting guards to the tree, day and night.  Two shifts, twelve-hours each, switching at nine and nine.  Four soldiers per watch.  If anything else comes through, we’ll catch them.”

            “And orders are to kill?”

            “Orders are to do what is necessary to keep this world safe.  That’s our job here, remember?”

            “Yes,” Nina says.  “But, we don’t know what they want.”

            Erak scoffs.  “They want to kill, Lieutenant.  That’s what they’ve always wanted.  If you need a reminder, pick up a history book.”

            “Of course, sir.  And has there been any contact since?”

            “Does it look like we have fresh, green corpses on our hands?”

            “I simply wish to ascertain the safety of my students, sir.”

            “Of course you do,” Erak says.  He smiles, disdainfully, for a brief second, and then shakes his head.  “Listen, you keep the kids away from the tree.  That’s the best way to keep them safe.  No new threats will come through, and it’ll limit contact like that fiasco with the little girl, and we’ll do the real work.”

            “Sir.”

            “Keep your phone on,” Erak says, returning his attention to the clipboard.  “I’ll contact you for anything else.”

            “Yes, sir,” Nina says.  She checks her watch.  “And I might take my lunch at the school after all.”

            “You did promise not to get in the way.”

            “Farewell, sir,” she says, saluting one last time.  He gives a stiff nod in return, and she leaves.

 

-The Knights of Sheba-

 

            By lunch Geneva reaches a harsh realization.  As much as she misses Kit’s distraction, she does find it easier to focus on her schoolwork.  Rather than squabbling or joking, Geneva spends her morning taking notes and doing work as it’s assigned.  She still has homework, but she has significantly less than usual.

            This leaves her feeling good as she moves through the lunch line. She starts planning her evening, considering what games to play and what shows to watch.  Once she has her tray, her feelings change.  She steps out of line and stares at the tables, full of people and life, and then finds a lonely corner to sink into.

            Without Kit, Geneva feels like she lacks an identity.  Whatever Lana did to Kit’s reputation, she still had a reputation.  Geneva, on the other hand, is just Kit’s friend.  She casts no light herself, draws no attention, save for what Kit gives her.

            Geneva sits in a melancholy and picks at her food.  Suddenly, she doesn’t feel so hungry.

            By fifth period Geneva’s loneliness is at apex.  She dresses out alone and waits in the back, hugging her knees and staring at the floor.  To pass the time, she imagines Kit in the I.S.S. room, which she likes to think has windows with bars over them and a jailer with a nightstick.

            Ms. Olivia takes roll and then starts stretches.  She paces between the students, adjusting them, offering advice.  She stops by Geneva and widens her stance.

            “Hey, Ms. O,” Geneva says as Ms. Olivia turns to leave.

            Ms. Olivia stops, watches her stretch.  Her face is impassive, but Geneva still gets the feeling that she is being scrutinized.  “Yes, Ms. Oaks?”

            “I just wanted to say thanks.  For, well, for Kit.”

            “You said it yourself.  One bad decision is not worth ruining her life.”

            “Yeah, well, still, it’s lucky you feel that way.”

            Ms. Olivia nods.  “Maybe, though I can’t imagine my testimony did much to sway the principal’s opinion.  It was most likely the words of that girl, Lana.  You told me how horrible she is, but she was quick to forgive.”

            “Forgive,” Geneva says, standing straight.  “No, Lana doesn’t forgive.  Or forget.  She’s got something planned.”

            “You speak as if she is evil.”

            “That’s because she is.”

            “You know, you’re rather casual with your instructors, Ms. Oaks.”

            “I’m casual with most people,” Geneva says, and she glances at Ms. Olivia’s blank face.  “Or should I be more respectful?  I mean, I’m sorry, I…”

            “You are fine, Ms. Oaks.”  Ms. Olivia drifts away and blows her whistle, drawing her students’ attention.  She gathers the class around her.  Geneva joins the group and loses herself among them.  Even within the crowd, she feels invisible.

 

Knights of Sheba 102 A…End