Page 1 of Red Demon (Oria #1)

Everyone Died

W hen everyone in town died, we heard no scream.

We should have, every sound carried up that forest gorge.

Winters in the south bend of Noé carry no birdsong, no rustle of leaves, just the crinkle of my feet rolling over the snow as softly as possible so as not to spook the deer.

My brother Iden tipped his bow in the quiet, as still as the trees staring down.

The deer died in the silence of that winter morning. A village of three thousand did too.

At fourteen, I stood almost to my full height, my lanky frame already capable of lugging back game, wood, or baskets of whatever herbs, berries or mushrooms we could gather from the forest. Iden, a year older, stood just as tall and strong—though the scrubby blond stubble he called a goatee still eluded me.

Each day, we tested our muscles to hunt or gather what we could until we were old enough to do our part in the mineral mines.

I gutted the doe that morning amid trees as wide as I stood tall.

Iden prepped the pole to carry it between our shoulders.

I inhaled earthy blood as we trudged back to the cobble road, eager to get that deer butchered in our shed.

We made it down the road a ways, talking about the venison stew Mom would soon bubble over the fire, adding chives, potatoes, and wild root vegetables to make it perfect.

I dreamed about a good shortgrain bread to go with it, but Iden reminded me we’d have to wait until spring to save up.

Imports were expensive, and money was tight since Dad died last year.

Death wouldn’t be new to me that day, just the scale of it.

We’d all banded together after Dad’s death because we knew all Chaeten had to.

Our ancestors already survived the death of a planet, coming to a new one as refugees, and a war when the native humans on Nara Mnaet couldn’t agree if we were coded human enough to say so.

Through these last few generations, we’d changed everything about our genetic code to live here, to make ourselves belong.

Dad always said Chaeten don’t break, we mod ourselves stronger and move on.

We’d stood tall in that town for three generations, stubborn enough to flourish in a place where our Asri neighbors once slaughtered as many of us as they could.

“It shouldn’t be this quiet,” Iden said as we reached the maple grove.

I shifted the deer on my shoulders. “I’m fine with quiet. The twins just learned to whistle.”

He groaned. “Yeah, they woke me up this morning with a new whistle-song.”

“Yep. Told them you’d love that.” I’d relished my little sisters’ smiles just as much as Iden’s annoyance.

"You shit.” He laughed, but he’d been right about the quiet. There were no work trucks on the road, or rumbles under our feet from the mine. A breeze chimed through the icy trees, then running footsteps. The moment I first saw the Red Demon will be etched in my mind forever—every slow second of it.

I didn’t know what she was then, or what to call her, but I recognized she was something special, powerful, beyond the human I was.

My eyes were sharp enough to see her on the far edge of the field, to make out the maze of scars down her golden arms and the long, wine-red hair streaming behind her.

I hadn’t seen hair that shade before, glowing a little more than it should, hovering with something brilliant on the edge of perception.

Her hair bloomed as all colors do when we’re children, warm and shining bright.

She moved fluid, precise, flawlessly fast. I couldn’t pinpoint the otherness of it, but I couldn’t look away, even when she swerved to charge us.

She came from the village, all lean muscle and grace across the field of white powdered snow. She crossed twin swords in front of her, their blades glinting with blood. I’d dropped the pole from my shoulder, but I still stood there like an idiot, too transfixed to be afraid. Iden drew his bow.

Mid-stride, she wiped one blade in the snow with a flash of sunlight. Another step, she flipped it and cleaned the blood off the other side. Lunge, wipe; lunge, wipe, all without changing pace.

“Get your knife out, Jesse,” Iden said. His voice sounded calm, too calm. All the same, his green eyes flitted with panic when I didn’t jump immediately.

I unsheathed my knife, my heart pounding when only a few paces remained between her and my neck.

She stopped, letting out one slow, frosty breath. Her blades shone clean as she stared at us with vacant yellow-green eyes, meeting our wide-eyes for a moment before her gaze flitted down the road beyond us.

Iden breathed in deep beside me, his bowstring taut, every muscle prepared as we waited for her to speak or take one step forward to meet his arrow.

That armor of hers, once well-crafted, hung tattered and torn: a studded leather bodice and bracers over a ragged shirt.

Iden could still target a mortal wound to her neck or her eye, but she’d left little else exposed.

She wore black Chaeten leather pants: a thin, alloyed fabric, patched with dyed deer hide.

I could also aim for that patch on the inner thigh if the bow missed.

But by then, I was shaking. I’d seen how fast she could move.

“Who are you?” I smiled, hoping for the best. “I’m Jesse. That’s Iden.”

Iden’s eyes flitted to me in warning, then back to the Red Demon, his bow still trained on her.

I nodded at my brother. “He’s friendlier than he looks.” I hoped I looked calm even as my heart galloped in my chest.

The Red Demon glanced my way, then beyond, emotionless. She sheathed both blades at once with a thud, so fast I could barely track it. Then she veered off with long strides toward the trees, hair flaming behind. We watched every step.

Iden kept his bow trained on her. “Wait until we know the Chaeten-sa isn’t circling back.”

Chaeten-sa. I suppose I should have put it together the instant I saw that hair, but the portraits in my history books of the warriors that won our right to live on this planet painted a different picture.

General Alexander, second in command to our queen, has similar hair and features.

However, our Chaeten-sa general stands immaculate and grinning in his portraits— nonchalant in front of the white stone palace, a bustling capital in the background.

Although “sa” meant “demon” to his Asri enemies, General Alexander co-opted that slur with pride, formally adopting the name for everyone in his genetic spec line.

She shouldn’t be here. Chaeten-sa veterans should be in places of power, not roaming the frontier in ragged armor.

I could no longer hear her footsteps among the trees. “Whose blood do you suppose that was?”

He twitched a frown, lowering the bow half-way. “Let’s find out.” He nodded toward the town, and we crept down the road, leaving our deer behind.

On the first street, a young girl lay face down in the snow, long brown hair under her cap.

Iden and I ran, then flipped over her frigid body, not yet stiff.

It took us a moment to accept what should have been clear from her pallid skin, but no blood stained her clothes, no wounds.

We could see nothing to explain how she died.

I didn’t remember the girl’s name, but knew her parents ran the corner store.

“Help!” I yelled.

“Someone, please help!” Iden called out.

Our voices echoed between the frosted gorges. A dog barked, but no one called back. We started running. By the time we reached the market, the dead lay everywhere.

Do you know what most people do in a crisis, when the right thing to do is act fast?

They fucking stand there. They freeze, until someone tells them what to do or shows them by doing it first. There must be some primitive part of our brains our engineers have yet to mod away, though I’ve since tried to train it out of me.

We stood there, mouths agape, at the dozens of friends and neighbors leaning on the market booths, apples toppled into the street where my old tutor lay slumped by a cart.

Then there was Marc, that little girl’s dad, lying in the street in a puddle of blood, fresh and freezing on his coat.

He lay next to a bright display of flowers, the sign for his corner store streaked with the last of his life.

The two women beside him were unmarked: no blood or wounds, neither bruises nor signs of broken bones.

They just stared up at the sky with frost-glazed eyes.

I made myself forget much of what I saw in that square, but Marc was important: that blood. He lay stabbed while most others were not, and I knew who stabbed him.

“Keep your knife up, little brother,” Iden said, his voice as icy as the wind in his hair.

“What good is that? A knife didn’t do that,” I whispered, gesturing to the woman crumbled by the apple cart without a mark on her. Ms. Carter had lived three houses down. I was breathing hard, struggling to stay calm. “What happened to her?”

Iden opened his mouth and closed it again, his eyes darting as fast as mine. “Home,” he said, his jaw set. “Let’s go home.”

Iden turned into an alley, his bow up in front of him.

I followed, my mind racing, thinking about Mom and my sisters.

I didn’t see a point in his ducking down under windows, or choosing the alley over the street.

The enemy would find us if they wanted. They’d gotten everyone else.

When the alley ended, we jogged in the open, down the road home.