Page 32 of Red Demon (Oria #1)

Taam

C ool wind blew from my perch in the highest redwood, but I had a clear view of town.

The silence of the forest pressed in close on my senses, with only the rustle of the leaves and the occasional hoot of a nearby owl.

Several hours after nightfall, I scanned the dark expanse below with the night-vision goggles.

Nunbiren glowed to the south—a constellation of electric torches lit along the walls.

I kept my go-bag clipped to the tree, made of hardy century fabric unlike the leather I’d carried into the forest years ago.

But as I dug out my canteen, my hand brushed a sliver of gold bracelet tied to a loop just inside the first small pocket.

The inscription there, barely visible anymore, was a name—Amelia, my mom.

The memento, warm in my hands, brought me closer to my old life than I’d felt in years.

I wanted so much to have Iden beside me in that tree, the constant shadow of my childhood. His grin was harder to win, but it glowed so much brighter than mine when he shared it. On hunts, he always had a plan. He’d have one now.

The exodus of people heading east or south had slowed to a trickle, having peaked that afternoon with most families choosing to head for the Bend.

Plenty had stayed—more than I thought—guarded by sentries patrolling the outer edges of the village.

I could make out Atalia, then Ruan through the goggles by the gate.

The air crackled as I adjusted the controls to scan the green-tinted forest.

Nothing.

Yet.

I did a full scan in all directions, then settled in for a nap at the long hour, with nineteen extra minutes to give the Nara the same twenty-four hours in their day as the planet the Asri ancestors came from long ago.

Ruan had told me to hold Asher’s blade to my chest when I slept, so that those on guard could find their way into my dreams and rouse me the moment there was a threat.

She’d wake me at the guard change, so I could scan again.

I secured both myself and the blade to the branch with rope and let the sway of the branch and low creak of the trees lull my eyes closed.

I dreamed as I did on so many nights: Iden’s eyes, wide with terror as he begged me to run.

Mal, who I’d now outlived by a year, his bearded face contorted in a silent scream.

Behind his blond head, the usual flash of red hair and a glint of metal, the splash of blood I always felt on my skin, the dread of that never lessening.

I ran the snow-blanketed forest, cold and eerie in a way the land around Nunbiren could never be.

The undergrowth snagged at my clothes as I ran, the sound of my ragged breaths echoing in my ears.

“Asher!” I called, my voice rough with desperation.

My eyes scanned the dense trees, searching for any sign of my brother’s sun-lightened curls, his familiar gait.

I braced myself to find him like the rest, lying motionless and silent in the snow.

Just then, a flicker of red hair caught my eye, a fleeting glimpse through the skeletal branches ahead. My heart galloped. Was it? No.

Adrenaline jolted me awake. The black horizon stared back, painted with the silver strokes of a crescent moon. Asher’s blade pulsed with a faint warmth in my hand, a gentle hum vibrating against my palm. Ruan was checking in.

“I’m okay,” I whispered into the bonded blade, my voice thickened with sleep. “Just a shitty dream.”

A reassuring warmth laced with fiery irritation flowed back through the connection. I smiled as I reached out for the familiar presence of my friends, my taam. They were all safe, for now. And it was official, Asri weapons no longer freaked me out.

Squinting through the goggles, I scanned the forest below in sectors.

The goggles rendered everything in green, gray, and red.

The cool sway of grass and branch, anything cold that moved: green.

The mice that flitted across the clearing: red, any heat enhanced and brought to the forefront.

Anything else, the goggles ignored, the trees black pillars on the view.

The emerald glow revealed a sleeping Nunbiren, patrols intact. Our guards strode with crisp steps along the lit wall. That was Plato on the north watchtower. Crickets thrummed as I checked the road.

Exhaustion gnawed at my mind, but I vowed to check the full perimeter before I let myself sleep again. I allowed my eyelids to drop for a fleeting moment, before a sliver of red caught my peripheral vision, something in the dense foliage to the east.

My heart lurched against my ribs, the frantic beat of a trapped bird. Was it…? It could have been anything in the darkness, a wild animal moving quickly. But it felt like the memory of my dream, the terror of the Red Demon.

Steadying my breath, I scanned the trees to make sure. I tightened my grip on Asher’s blade, and a tremor ran through the metal: a low, unsettling hum. This was something I’d never felt from the blade yet. This was a vibration of raw, primal fear. I sent a bit of that fear right back.

The town fell dark, the electric lights on the wall black as the void.

“Ruan?” I whispered.

The blade stirred, waves of emotions confused and fearful.

Then the unmistakable sound of clashing steel reached me, a scream shattering the silence.

I scanned outside the perimeter of town, seeing no one.

Another yell, sharp and desperate, followed by another, then a chorus of them.

My blood ran cold, and so did the blade in my hand.

Attack. Under attack.

I grabbed supplies and settled my rope on the tree to slide down. As I shuddered against the bark, the sword continued to vibrate in its sheath, riling my terror. I forgot strategy; all I knew was I needed to get back to Taam, to defend my home.

I threw myself down the last few meters, the ground rushing up to meet me in a blur. I rolled with the impact, adrenaline masking the sting of the brush. I scrambled to my feet and plunged out of the undergrowth, the clatter of my boots swallowed by the blur of the path as I tore home.

A blue maze, the mycelium of Oria, glowed under each step as I bit forward. It wasn’t usually awake like this. The ground beneath my feet crackled with magic, a bite strong enough now where even I could sense it: anger, fear, death. Asher’s blade pulsed a frenzied rhythm against my palm.

I felt Plato freeze; his heart stop. My throat tightened, a strangled cry escaping me as I ran on. I imagined him crumpled on the ground, his face locked in fear.

Another pulse, another loss. Horeshio. Vann. Their heartbeats slowed and stilled through the Oria-threaded blade.

The moonlight against Nunbiren’s old white walls was the only light at the gate. Tears stung my eyes as I sprinted, my chest burning for air. Ruan, that was Ruan’s blue armor and her braids. She was locked in a fierce duel on the wall with…

With Ola. The bright-faced teenage spitfire who I’d taught to duck like that.

“Ruan! Stop!” I roared. Their steel continued to clash, unhearing.

It was too late. With a final swing, Ruan disarmed Ola. The girl’s surrender died on her lips as Ruan’s blade found its mark up and under the armor on her chest, silencing her forever. A wave of nausea washed over me as I watched Ruan push Ola off her blade, hurling her body off the wall.

“Ruan!” I called again. She ran for the stairs. I ran to meet her by the stairwell door.

Juna, the old woman who sold lentil curry by the forge, stepped outside, armed only with a kitchen knife. I turned to her; yelled for her to get back inside and hide.

I felt Ruan through the sword before she charged past me, a blue blur.

Before Juna could scream, Ruan’s blade danced again, slicing the old woman’s throat with brutal efficiency.

I didn’t know what to do. It was all I could do to hold the shaking weapon in my hand.

Ruan pushed past the woman into the house, and a primal sound escaped my throat as I made to follow, then heard the echoing scream of Juna’s granddaughter.

Asher’s blade pulsed anew as another figure ran past me, a silhouette whose features I redrew in every nightmare—that long red hair, that broken-down armor, her eerie inhuman pace. The Red Demon burned bright against the cold inferno raging in my heart.

I chased after her.

The demon was a blur of moon-shining steel as she vaulted over a body and away, charging fast down the main street of Nunbiren. The embers of rage ignited in my chest.

Atalia was a proficient warrior, but the Red Demon scythed her down without so much as a parry. She sliced, effortless, killing with a shiver.

With a choked roar, I scrambled after the demon, legs churning, lungs burning.

I ran down a smoky dark street as she turned a corner, past the bakery starting to smolder, flames licking the walls.

My boots pounded a frantic rhythm over slick cobblestones—blood from the baker in the street.

The sounds of screams and conflict through every cracked window.

Asher’s blade thrummed in my hand as my people died around me.

Each corner I rounded, each alley I sprinted down, I’d see a flash at most before I lost her somewhere near the center of town.

The demon, despite all that agility, must be hiding like a coward.

Frustration gnawed frantic at my chest, holding back my despair.

But then, as I burst into the market square, I wasn’t alone.

Galen. My taam. He stood hunched over an armored body, his sword, Istaran, slick with crimson in his muscled hand. Relief washed over me in waves. Galen was alive. He’d gotten her.

“Taam!” I bellowed, my voice hoarse with exertion. He turned slowly, his movements stiff and unnatural. And that wasn’t the Red Demon at his feet. It was Tamon, our neighbor who always brought us apples from his trees each fall.

Tears carved glistening tracks through Galen’s once stoic face.

“You?” His voice was a rasp, weak over the roar of flames now licking up the bakery roof.

“Taam,” I said. He was speaking, still with me. That was good. Heart aching, I took a tentative step forward, my hand outstretched. “Taam, I saw the Red Demon. She’s close. You have to help me find her; end this.”

He didn’t respond, his stare smoldering as hot as the smoke in the bakery. He stepped closer. A shiver of unease snaked down my back. His eyes were glazed over—no warmth, none of the familiar twinkle I knew and loved.

“Die, demon!” The words erupted from him, guttural. He attacked, carving a bloody arc through the air as he swung. Silver, only a whisper of blue. Istaran wasn’t glowing for him anymore.

Hot pain lanced through my arm, ripping me from my stupor. I stumbled back. Galen, my taam, was trying to kill me.

“Taam?”

He attacked with a feral intensity, his movements frantic, devoid of his usual controlled precision. I held back, defending. Each clang of our blades shattered my world a little more.

“Taam, it’s me, Jesse!” My throat tore raw in ashen air. “I’m your son. What is wrong with you?”

He lunged again, a snarl twisting his features. I parried the blow, the impact sending tremors through my entire body. I croaked out his name one more useless time. This couldn’t be happening.

With a desperate lunge, I disarmed him. Istaran clattered to the cobblestones.

He froze.

“Taam?” I said.

His fists unclenched, resigned. He looked at me, curious as if just now recognizing me. Just as I lunged forward to embrace him—

The Red Demon. She materialized from between the shadowed market stalls, washed in the silver light of the moon and stars. One of her curved blades sliced through the air, burying itself deep in Galen’s chest. She used her shorter blade to carve him off.

Galen's eyes widened, a flicker of open recognition when he locked eyes with me one last time. At least, that’s what I chose to believe, that I got to say goodbye. His eyes went blank as his spirit left him. My Taam crumpled to the ground at the demon’s feet.

A primal scream tore from my throat, imbued with such unrepentant pain and fury that it seemed to split the night sky. The Red Demon, for the first time, seemed to hesitate. Her yellow-green eyes, chillingly familiar, cocked at mine for a heartbeat before she turned and fled.

“You will face me!” My voice cracked as I charged toward her. She turned the dark corner, and when I followed—nothing, shadows.

I listened for her footsteps: silence.

“Face me, coward!” I screamed, and the words echoed.

“Die Demon!” I called again, then froze, unable to breathe, unable to escape the fact that I’d just repeated the last words my taam ever said to me.

The last words he would ever say.