The Tale of Daemonica

Freedom

When she finally caught her breath, she rolled onto her side and coughed up what was left of the water. After a while her breathing settled. Her fingers touched the damp sand, the sun warm in her back. She looked up at the cloudless sky, then at her hands. They had been cut, and there were bloody wheels on her wrists left by the rope, but there were no handcuffs. Daemonica took another deep breath of damp air.

'...I thought for a moment you wouldn't wake up.' A man's voice came from behind her. She whirled. There stood an old man in a garment that was common among scholars in Andala when she was a child. But here on the beach with a wild jungle in the background, he seemed eccentric, least to say.

He raised his hands in a gesture indicating that she was in no danger from him. Daemonica slowly opened her fist, clutching the sand, which she was ready to throw in the stranger's face should he threaten her. It was a weak but sometimes very effective defense.

'Where am I? And who are you?' She eyed him warily.

'Curious much, aren’t you?' The stranger grinned. 'Well, I consider that trait a virtue, but wouldn't it be better to talk somewhere else?' Daemonica didn't answer, so he went on: 'My palace is not far from here.' Daemonica glared at him. She suspected he was making fun of her. The old man chuckled again and reached out to help her up. She ignored him and stood up alone on her still shaking legs.

'I suppose you normally invite slaves to your 'palace'?' Now Daemonica returned the old man's grin back to him. She had not missed his gaze on her wrists, where the wounds caused by the handcuffs were.

'No, I really don't,' the old man replied simply. 'But if I'm not mistaken, you're just an ex-slave now. Besides, I'm too curious, and you definitely look like someone with a story to tell. Shall we go?' Daemonica looked at him inquisitively once more, but finally gave in to her own curiosity.

'Let's go,' she nodded at last and followed the old man.

'By the way, my name is Vassiles,' Vassiles shouted at her over his shoulder, picking up his pace without waiting for her answer.

They walked silently along the beach for a while. Daemonica realized very slowly that she was free, while her bare feet were washed by warm sea waves. Yes, the sandals left her before she boarded the ship. Still, she was surprised they lasted so long. Daemonica shrugged inwardly. It wasn't important at all.

What mattered was that for the first time since she had embarked on this insane journey, she was back on her own and for herself. She didn't know where she was, but she was free to make her own decisions. She realized it was the first time in her life that she was truly free. For even her decision to join Arnvin's army was bound by a duty to her own family. All this, as well as her past, was gone forever. Even if she managed to return to Andala one day, she would not be able to claim her family name because she would be considered a defector.

Daemonica noticed that Vassiles had turned away from the beach and headed inland. They soon reached a lonely shack at the edge of the jungle.

'Behold my palace!' The old man exclaimed dramatically. He looked really ridiculous in his inappropriate attire. He pretended to be a withered and worn-out man, but Daemonica felt that deep inside he was as solid as a rock, within which the fire was far from extinguished. He reminded her of her childhood teacher.

Daemonica smiled. She did so for the first time in a time she could no longer recall. Vassiles noticed that strangely sad yet encouraging half-smile as he turned to her again to invite her into the hut.

'There's something about her I can't grasp,' he muttered to himself.

Vassiles' hut was disorganized, but not dirty.

'Hmh...,' Vassiles seemed to be thinking as he stroked his clean-shaven chin with his fingers and looked around the hut. 'I think we'd better settle down outside.' Daemonica, who had not yet crossed the threshold, was already turning back when a spry old man thrust a wicker jug and two wooden chalices into her hands.

'Take it outside,' he commanded and disappeared inside the hut. Daemonica stepped outside the shack. She sniffed the scent of the sea air and headed for a new bench overlooking the sea, which she had noticed as they approached the hut.

Vassiles soon joined her, a wooden board in his hands. Pieces of cheese, fruit she didn't know, ham and pancakes were stacked on it. Daemonica couldn't take her eyes off the food. Vassiles grinned.

'Eat,' he said kindly and began opening the wine.

They sat quietly, each in his own thoughts. Daemonica was systematically filling her stomach with a little remorse. Vassiles sipped his wine and watched the sea.

'I'm sorry,' Daemonica apologized as she ate her fill.

Vassiles dismissed her remark nonchalantly and said: 'Will you tell me your name, then? Just as talking to a hungry guest, it bothers me to talk to people I don't know.'

'I’m sorry,' Daemonica repeated herself, her cheeks flushing with shame. She suspected the old man was playing his game with her, but she decided to play it with him.

'My name is Daemonica,' she looked back at the sea with a smile. The sun was already high, but they sat on a surprisingly comfortable bench with their legs stretched out in front of them in the cold shadow of the jungle.

'So Daemonica, to answer your first question,' the old man said with surprising seriousness. 'We are on the island Ennufu.' Vassiles paused. Ennufu was part of the Pirate Islands and of the four islands its location was closest to Kushan. The seat of its leader was called Red Roy. It was as if Vassiles was testing her. She looked sideways at him suspiciously. He ignored her both gaze and her silence. Vassiles reached under the bench and fished out the jug of wine. After refilling them both, he continued.

'The answer to your second question is unusually complicated, but suffice it to know that, like you, I come from Raia, and even more so from Andala, and that I have been all sorts of things in my life – a priest, a sage, a philosopher, a doctor...Well, I've been through a lot indeed.' Vassiles nodded to himself. 'I'm sure you understand, that I don't have, many opportunities to speak to anyone from my hometown, let alone an educated one. And that's the answer to your third question (Daemonica never asked one), which is why I'm hosting you here. The Roy thugs can barely put together a sentence that makes any sense.' There was deep contempt in the tone of his voice.

'Then why are you staying?' Daemonica asked thoughtfully.

'It's a long story,' Vassiles replied. 'But here I devote myself to study and thought. It's quiet here.' Daemonica really doubted that. 'A friend of mine visits from time to time on his ship. He brings me books. Pirates respect me. I miss nothing but a good company,' Vassiles shrugged.

'Um… that's what I find odd, that the pirates leave you alone.' Daemonica looked at Vassiles speculatively. But he grinned mischievously.

'Someone has to treat their haemorrhoids,' he said in all innocence.

'I see… ' Daemonica had to smile again. 'So you probably have an idea of how to get from here to, say… Andala?' The old man's eyes flashed.

'More than that, much more so considering where we are. I know for how much and with whom,' he said triumphantly.

Daemonica didn't sound too surprised when she asked: 'How can I repay you, Vassiles?'

According to what she expected, her direct question flattered him so much that he said, although seemingly annoyed: 'Your flattery needs sharpening.'

'I take note,' Daemonica nodded seriously.

'I don’t need anything at the moment, and you still have nothing to offer except a company on a certain level. That's the only thing I really miss,' Vassiles shrugged. Daemonica did not interrupt him politely. Vassiles told her that the captain's name was Pete, and that he visited the island irregularly, depending on business interests and the weather. The old man assured her that he was the only captain with a ship of his own who was not a pirate and who kept his word. Everyone else would have stripped her of everything and then got rid of her. The cost of transportation was incredible because it included a surcharge for leaving the island. Clearly, such a sum would not be easy to obtain.

'How do I find a job?' Daemonica asked grimly.

'Depends on what you can do,' Vassiles grinned. 'But somehow I think you should go to the blacksmith. It's possible he'll give you a sword in return for some favor.'

'A sword?' Daemonica raised her eyebrows and looked startled.

Vassiles waved his hand impatiently. 'I've seen more than enough people like you in my life. And twice more during my stay here on Ennufu.' His eyes sparkled. 'I'll tell you the details later. Now tell me what's new in Andala. Of course I know about Arnvin the Ripper.' Daemonica didn’t doubt it, Arnvin had been on the throne for more than a decade. Moreover, Vassiles did not try in the slightest to hide the irony in his voice.

So Daemonica talked about everything she could think of. She did so gladly because she missed Andala dearly. Her story was already so crazy that the chances of not only seeing her hometown again at any time from the events in the swamps, but being under a clear sky, with wine and an educated companion, talking about it, were slim. And yet they spent the whole afternoon and evening in a pleasant conversation, emptying the entire pitcher. Then there came a moment of silence between them, each preoccupied with their own thoughts.

'Well,' Vassiles slapped his knees and stood up. 'You'll find Roy if you walk north along the beach in about an hour. The blacksmith's name is Cadmair and he lives outside the palisade not far from the gate. I'd love to hear your story, but we got held up by the Andala news. It's late, and I work best at night. But it’s been my pleasure anyway. There's a basin behind the hut, so you can wash up. There's also a net where you can rest.'

Daemonica listened attentively, and when the old man paused, looking directly into his eyes, she said: "Thank you.'

'Good night,' said Vassiles, heading for the hut. 'And don't try anything. You don't know me.'

'I won’t,' Daemonica replied. She sat for a moment watching the moon, which was almost full again. Her cheeks burned with strong wine, and her eyelids began to drop. So she got up and started for the hut. There, behind it, a sleeping net was strung between two palm trees. There was a small bench table against the wall, and a bucket of water beside it.

Daemonica didn't want to waste Vassiles' water, so she just poured some into the basin and rinsed her face. Lifting her head from the lavatory, she saw an unfamiliar woman’s face in a small mirror she had not noticed before. Her ashen, severed hair fell into a gaunt face full of bruises probably from the barrels that had buried her in the ship. Her eyes were too serious. Beneath her right eye was a thin scar she'd probably picked up fighting the fat man in the desert without noticing. She touched the scar with her fingertips, remembering her delirious dream as she fought underwater for her life. Her fingers slipped unconsciously to her lips and touched them, as if to remember better. Daemonica abruptly turned away from her reflection in the mirror and walked heavily toward the net.

Later that night, just before dawn, Vassiles put down his pen and, as he did every day at this time, set off for the walk that had brought him to Daemonica yesterday. He looked behind the hut, but the net was empty. His guest was already gone. When he returned to the hut some time later, ready to go to sleep, he was caught in the first rays of the morning by a flash of something protruding from beneath a pile of books. Something that he had entirely forgotten about.

Vassiles frowned.