《Eudaemonia》


 Chapter 1 - Bad Luck

    The old man in the tavern was like a distinctive shadow cast by the irregular shape of the cliff. He could always be seen there, sitting in his well-worn chair, moments before, and then long after, twilight. He didn¡¯t wear the workman¡¯s clothes of the other men in the village. Neither the suntanned skin of a field tender, nor the beardless and singed face of a blacksmith could be seen on him. This man wore his beard long and proudly, never tucking it into his soft and loose robe.


    Neither did he cultivate an air of quiet strength about him, as the tired workmen did, as he gradually and inexorably converted alcohol into piss. He talked nearly every moment he wasn¡¯t drinking. It wasn¡¯t to anyone. Not to the sullen shapes at the bar. Not to the cat which sat nearby the man. One might have expected him to be talking to the cat, with how it followed closely at his heels when the old man was seen in the town. It even regarded the old man with a sleepy gaze occasionally.


    ¡°¡­by the conversion matrix at a two-dot-oh-oh-one coefficient, you can see it¡¯s inconsistent with the¡­jettison base matter at an angle of seventy-eight exactly¡­naught but fifteen remain after the blatant misuse and disregard by certain others who will go yet unnamed¡­until, and this is little known, the inverse reciprocal is equal to the square of¡­¡±


    Two men at the other end of the small room sat across from one another. As a pair deciding at random to observe the beauty of nature, they watched and listened to the old man.


    ¡°Not an intelligible word in all that muck,¡± one said. This man wore a hat knitted of homespun wool.


    ¡°It¡¯s been-,¡± the other said before looking out the window, ¡°err¡­an hour and a half by the sun.¡± This one wore a crude leather duster over a cotton shirt.


    The one in the knit cap looked at the one in the leather duster with a tired old glare.


    ¡°The sun¡¯s been down, you idiot. How can you judge the time by the sun when it¡¯s night?¡±


    The one in the leather duster shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s been an hour and a half since the sun went down. I dunno.¡±


    They sipped their drinks. They listened to the old man.


    ¡°¡­qualitative mutability of the crystalline¡­tertiary derivative with respect to¡­beyond that into Quarnam¡¯s Area¡­if the artificial neutrality¡­¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s always got that cat near him,¡± the one in the knit cap said grumpily.


    ¡°Y¡¯know they say it¡¯s a demon? It took a swipe at me the other day,¡± duster said.


    ¡°O¡¯course it¡¯s a demon. What do you think drove the coot-..¡± but he cut himself off. ¡°Where was that, then?¡± he asked instead.


    ¡°Skinflint¡¯s,¡± he said, indicating the village¡¯s old blacksmith. ¡°I was picking up that broken blade Da busted last year. Finally had the funds to have it repaired.¡±


    ¡°Charged you through the nose, I bet,¡± knit-cap grunted. ¡°But what was it doing there?¡±


    ¡°He was chasing off one of them hounds with it. Threw it at¡¯em. Says the wind caught it and sent it into the dolmen, but I think-¡±


    Knit-cap waved away the words, spilling some of the beer in his other hand.


    ¡°No no. The cat.¡±


    ¡°Oh, the cat. He was down there talking to Skinflint.¡± He indicated not the cat, but the old man.


    Knit-cap rubbed his chin, making a sound like sandpaper.


    ¡°What was he doing there, I wonder,¡± he said.


    ¡°Oh, that. They were talking about the nephew he took in. Y¡¯know¡­the odd one.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s only got the one.¡±


    ¡°It sounded like haggling over apprenticeship.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t like the way it¡¯s looking at me.¡± This was said by knit-cap because he had just noticed the furry black void had twisted its head to point its green eyes at them.


    On cue, they quickly tried to appear casual, causing duster¡¯s beer to splash and knit-cap¡¯s seat to briefly squeal against the wood floor.


    ¡°Damned thing¡¯s haunted me since I was a boy,¡± knit-cap said into his beer. ¡°Almost wanna wring its neck until those green eyes bulge.¡±


    A few casually hurried sips later, duster looked up.


    The cat was gone.


    He whacked the back of knit-cap¡¯s arm.


    They both realized the tavern had grown quiet.


    ¡°Did he leave?¡± knit-cap asked without having looked around.


    Duster told him about the small stacks of money on the bar where the old man had been.


    ¡°All that for one beer,¡± he added.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    ¡°How could he keep drinking like that the whole time if it was one beer?¡±


    ¡°He talks a lot. Maybe it¡¯s why he doesn¡¯t drink as much.¡± Duster shrugged.


    Knit-cap grabbed duster¡¯s arm.


    ¡°I got an idea,¡± he said on the second try, and took a moment to wonder why his greatest ideas always came at his least eloquent. He put his beer down.


    ¡°Let¡¯s follow him.¡± He took extra care to put the t before the s. ¡°He can¡¯t have gone far. And we know he¡¯s headed back to his place.¡±


    ¡°I dunno,¡± duster drawled.


    ¡°Don¡¯t you want to get back at that cat for swiping at you? And all the times before, where it would come out of nowhere, or it would take secrets back to the old man?¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t actually think it listens to us, do you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah? That wasn¡¯t you just now, shutting up when it was looking at us?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah.¡±


    ¡°Then let¡¯s go get that cat.¡±


    The conspirators broke and stumbled into the night.


    ¡°You go get one of the empty potato sacks Barnaby keeps out back. I¡¯ll find out which way they¡¯ve gone and put eyes on¡¯em,¡± knit-cap said.


    Duster stalked back around the back of the tavern somewhat reluctantly, and knit-cap headed in the direction of the old man¡¯s home.


    The village had been constructed, as most often are, around the essentials. The essentials for the people of this area, as most often are, were metalwork, paperwork, and beer. The old man lived on the edge of the village, away from the main roads in and out, in an attempt to garner peace and quiet in his studies. The villagers were content with this as he aided the community in ways they would never have thought to themselves, and he was far enough away such that when the peace and quiet was broken in the pursuit of knowledge, it was clearly broken on his side of the divide.


    Knit-cap stalked the byways of the small, sleeping market center, looking for all the world to any potential observers like someone drunk and up to no good.


    The old man was nowhere on the shortest path back to his home. He changed tack and backtracked. No old man to be seen in the market, on the edge of the fields, or at the well.


    It wasn¡¯t until he decided to go back to the tavern that he walked by the blacksmith¡¯s and saw the old man standing and staring at a window.


    Knit-cap ducked into some bushes.


    Peeking out from his cover, he saw the bright window wasn¡¯t attached to the building, but instead, hovering in front of the wall.


    It was white, purple-y light. Knit-cap thought it was unearthly and nothing like the light of a candle. The surface of it was shifting, but he couldn¡¯t make out features. He could see the building right through the rectangular bit of magic.


    Over the wizard¡¯s shoulder, and across the gap, he was able to make out the nature of the shifting rectangle. Words were on it, skittering across like bugs.


    Knit-cap couldn¡¯t read them, and not simply because he was illiterate, though he was. The symbols were completely foreign to him.


    ¡°It¡¯s written in the dead language of English,¡± came a voice nearby.


    Knit-cap nearly jumped vertically out of the bush in which he was hiding.


    It had sounded like the old man, only more coherent. But the old man was right where he was, looking at the magical rectangle in front of the mundane window into the blacksmith¡¯s.


    There, where the voice had come from, was the old man¡¯s black cat.


    ¡°Demon!¡± knit-cap hissed.


    The cat licked its paw, somehow regretfully.


    ¡°Yes, yes. Demon. Close your mind, puny mortal, and do not allow the larger universe to enter it.¡± The cat spoke without using its mouth. It also managed to speak entirely in sarcasm.


    Knit-cap crouched and spread his arms, telegraphing his intent to grab the cat.


    ¡°Though I have come to prefer the ancient term daemon. It has more positive connotations, but never entered our lexicon.¡±


    The cat paused with its paw raised. In the same instant the drunkard lunged, the cat sprang between his legs, slowed to a trot, and was sitting calmly again. The drunk, at the same time, found one of his feet to be stuck to the ground, and was unable to abort the movement before his weight shifted and he face-planted.


    ¡°I consider myself a helpful spirit. You can say I¡¯ve come to terms with it.¡±


    Knit-cap sat up and rubbed his face. It was his stupid trick knee acting up again, that¡¯s what tripped him.


    ¡°I don¡¯t appreciate your intentions. I may not have full access to the system like my counterpart,¡± and here the cat indicated the old man, still rapt by his screen, ¡°but I can make your life-¡°


    ¡°Gotcha!¡±


    Duster had arrived and slammed the open potato sack down on the monologuing cat. He scooped it up and held the sack in a fist, grinning stupidly at knit-cap.


    ¡°What took you?¡± he said testily.


    ¡°How about yourself? Couldn¡¯t catch a cat?¡± Duster jiggled the sack.


    ¡°-living hell. You could have at least waited for me to finish my joke. Demons? Hell? Quality content.¡± The voice was coming from inside the potato sack.


    They both looked nervously at it.


    ¡°Did it talk?¡± Duster asked nervously.


    ¡°It was-¡­ It kinda was talking while I was trying to catch it, yeah,¡± knit-cap gulped.


    Fire spurted from the mouth of the sack.


    Duster yelped and dropped it.


    ¡°If you wanted to catch a demon,¡± the voice from inside said, growing distorted and reverberating, ¡°you¡¯re going to need more than a potato sack.¡±


    The coarsely woven lump caught fire.


    Demonic wailing started quietly, growing steadily louder as the sack blackened under orange tongues.


    Duster turned to knit-cap.


    ¡°It¡¯s right. We didn¡¯t think this through.¡±


    As one entity, they turned and fled.


    When the coast was clear, the wailing stopped and the fire died down. A black cat fought its way out of the sack and shook itself off. One brief bath later, and it sauntered over to the old man.


    ¡°The two idiots are gone,¡± it said.


    ¡°Good, good, Peezlebub.¡± He said it distractedly.


    With decades of experience aiding it, Peezlebub didn¡¯t comment on this fact.


    Instead, it asked, ¡°How¡¯s the kid?¡±


    ¡°What? Oh. My, yes. Come come.¡± The wizard lowered his divination screen for the cat to see.


    ¡°His vitals are good. Lacking, but not extremely so. His intellect is nominal, his adaptability is unusually high, and, I think you¡¯ll like this, he¡¯s self-insulating.¡±


    As he spoke, he flicked his finger along the ephemeral glowing rectangle. The data whizzed past, stopping only briefly to emphasize the wizard¡¯s words.


    ¡°He¡¯s quite remarkable,¡± he concluded.


    ¡°I could have data-mined this in a fraction of the time,¡± the cat said, but to itself thought, Self-insulating? An invaluable trait for living in-system. It was for me, anyway.


    The old man chuckled. ¡°I was so curious, I simply had to see for myself.¡±


    We¡¯re of the same mind, you selfish dolt, the cat didn¡¯t say. Instead it yawned and stretched.


    ¡°I could do for some recharging,¡± it said instead. ¡°If you pass me the data I can do some more crunching overnight for you.¡± Its voice belied the same curiosity the wizard felt. ¡°I want to run his numbers against the known successes and failures. The ancients had some really interesting statistical models and I¡¯m itching to try them now that we¡¯ve got a live one.¡±


    The old man nodded and dispersed the screen. He stood up and looked in the physical window to the blacksmith¡¯s.


    Inside was a small room furnished with a straw bed, an extinguished candle on the floor next to it, and the sleeping form of the blacksmith¡¯s nephew.


    ¡°They think you¡¯re crazy for documenting your research with voice-to-text, you know,¡± it said petulantly.


    ¡°I live with a cat on the edge of town and consort with demons,¡± he replied. ¡°I think I¡¯m crazy.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. I think we¡¯re crazy too."

 Chapter 2 - The Ritual

    ¡°Please note that WinRAR is not free software. After a 40 day period you must either buy a license or remove it from your computer.¡±


    ¡°Banish the notification. It is irrelevant.¡±


    ¡°But what does it mean?¡±


    ¡°No one knows.¡±


    With a hand gesture from Luos, the notification disappeared. He and his new master, the old man Samsian stood together in a room as dark as pitch if it weren¡¯t for the light of a hundred candles. Luos knew it was exactly a hundred because he had been tasked with placing and lighting each of them himself. It wasn¡¯t ninety-nine, for example, because Samsian had caught him throwing out a broken candle without attempting to replace it.


    ¡°Now,¡± the old man continued, ¡°we must prepare the elements for our operation. Right now they are compressed and unusable. Designate a space for their extraction.¡±


    In front of the two wizards ¨C correction, in front of the wizard and the wizard¡¯s apprentice ¨C hovered many translucent and glowing rectangles. The earlier message Luos had banished had been written on one such as these, but that rectangle had gone. What had Samsian called them? Yes, they were windows. Like windows to a house, but instead of being a physical barrier on a wall one could use to see on the other side of a wall, they were mutable constructs which allowed a glimpse into the spiritual realm.


    His focus shifted to one of the windows to do as his master ordered. This was a simple one. A blank background, its controlling icons at the top restricted to a few segregated rows, and in a field comprising a majority of the screen, there were listed the names of the elements at hand. He remembered his lessons regarding the elements, which Samsian had tutored.


    ¡°One may interact with elements through a window. Among the elements are folders, transcribes, inerts, and operations. Folders are elements of nested elements. Think of them as portals to yet more nests of elements. You need not deal with inerts or transcribes. They are far too complex, requiring advanced knowledge of the ancient languages.¡±


    Luos had interrupted here, asking,¡±You mean they¡¯re in English? My vocabulary is getting quite expansive, I could-¡° His hand hovered over a transcribe.


    ¡°You will do no such thing,¡± Samsian asserted, cutting him off firmly. ¡°I mean more than English. There are more such ancient languages. Mandarin. German. Russian. Not to mention, the languages of the machine itself.¡±


    Luos recoiled. As badly as he wanted to investigate, Samsian¡¯s warning only urging him more, now was not the time for taking risks. Today was the great filter, the test meant to determine if he were cut out to meddle in the occult. One wrong move today could obliterate his chances forever more.


    ¡°No. You are not prepared to read the transcribes, nor are you yet capable of fathoming the complex nature of the inerts. It is about the elements of operation I would like to focus on today.¡± Samsian had calmed again as he said this, no longer using the firm and chiding tone.


    The old man was like this, Luos mused, stern one moment, calm the next, then torrential, and again soft-spoken. What was it that switched his temperament so suddenly? Young Luos couldn¡¯t possibly imagine.


    ¡°Operations are the instruments of magic, my boy. They are more likened to spirits of the realm itself, being the most excitable of the elements. Operations are what get things done.¡±


    The memory of that lesson echoed in Luos¡¯ head as he scanned the list of elements on the window before him. The list itself was too big for it, so he scrolled through them. They were in English characters, which he recognized, but these composed words and half-words and things he wasn¡¯t sure were words.


    There was a Lang folder, a LogoImages folder, an Update folder, several inerts or transcribe elements ¨C he wasn¡¯t sure which at a glance ¨C ending in a dot and some combination of three English letters. There were many folders with only a long string of numbers for names.


    Then he found what he was looking for. As Samsian had instructed, there was an operation element named ReplClone.run. The name itself was mostly meaningless to him. By parts he knew what the English word run meant, in an academic sense. It was a suffix that denoted an operational element.


    He selected it, only highlighting the row. He did not want to activate the element so brazenly, so he looked to Samsian.


    It was dark in the room, and the old man loomed as a hooded figure in the gloom, but there was a telltale sign in how his beard shifted. The old man had nodded.


    Luos hesitated still.


    ¡°Go on, boy,¡± came Samsian¡¯s urging after several heartbeats.


    ¡°I must-,¡± he started uncertainly. ¡°Before the activation of ReplClone-dot-run and the execution of the ritual for the summoning of my own daemon, I must have prepared these things.¡± He prepared to rattle off the litany of reagents for this ritual. Samsian remained passive, interested to hear his student¡¯s memorization. Luos continued as one reading from a card.


    ¡°A vessel. The daemon will require a puppet into which it may exert its influence on the physical realm. It must be of living stock, and easy to overpower, lest the daemon attempt to suborn its master. This is item the first which the ritual requires.¡± He gestured to a complicated chalk circle on the floor of the room beneath the hovering neon windows. In the center lay a newborn hawg. Its hooves were bound with hemp and its mouth shut, wire running around its snout and jaw. It looked for all the world like an wild pig of the ancient world, now unknown to all but those who study history. But such a creature would grow up to or beyond the now extinct musk ox.


    ¡°An offering of sustenance to the good spirits. Such is required to power the ritual, as well as to appease the forces whose power we wish to borrow. This is item the second which the ritual requires.¡± Outside of the chalk circle containing the bound hawgling, there sat a large citron. It had two copper rods stuck into it, one at either end, like some strange axle for a roughly spherical wheel.


    He lay a hand on his own chest solemnly. ¡°An operator of the administration class. By divine mandate, no system level operations may be performed without the appropriate administration markers or elevated privileges. This is item the third, and final, which the ritual requires. Do you wish to continue?¡±


    When he finished, he turned to his master again.


    ¡°Don¡¯t leave the circle, boy,¡± Samsian barked. Luos hadn¡¯t intended to, but he checked his feet as if they might have gone rogue. They were both inside the circle. Like the hawgling¡¯s, it was drawn with chalk to exact specifications and comprised of complex double lines, circles, and arcs.


    ¡°Do you have the name of a daemon you wish to bind?¡± Samsian asked.


    A name? There was no requirement for a name in this stage of the incantation, was there? Luos felt the prelude to panic. He reviewed the stages of the ritual in triple fast forward. After a moment, he was certain Samsian was trying to trick him by asking him a question out of order. Samsian had every right to unbalance him like this, so there was no reason to withhold it from his master. He almost forgot it in his concentration.This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    ¡°I will be binding the daemon Asmod,¡± he said out loud, as though to a wider audience, or as though the wizard were hard of hearing. The old man gave no response. He would keep his judgement to himself, then.


    With no further ceremony, Luos activated ReplClone.run. All it did was cause the window¡¯s colors to fade slightly and a spinning arc ¨C growing and shrinking as it chased its own tail ¨C pulsed in the center.


    Luos waited patiently for several seconds, and then began waiting impatiently. If this ritual didn¡¯t work, any number of things could go wrong. Samsian was taking a risk employing him as his apprentice. Some people had the administrator markers, and some people didn¡¯t. But it wasn¡¯t a guarantee that you had inherited a useful divine right. There could be large areas and functionality of the spiritual realm of the machine blocked off to him, which he and Samsian and everyone else would only discover if he tried to access them.


    If he didn¡¯t have useful access, Samsian would fail him. He would be sent back to his uncle¡¯s smithy in shame. It would be as though a black mark were placed on him, not even capable of being a wizard¡¯s apprentice. Logically, he figured it wouldn¡¯t be an insurmountable handicap, but it would seriously hurt his social standing in his village of Hill Hill. Not to mention, he wouldn¡¯t be able to use any of what he had learned so far.


    There were other outcomes, too, better or worse being a matter of perspective. Interacting with the spiritual realm was not a safe activity. Evil and powerful spirits could be alerted to a magician¡¯s dealings even if proper precautions were taken. The circle in which Luos stood acted as a designator for the magic, but it also served to protect Simsian from any blowback Luos incurred while connected to the realm.


    The metal rods in the citron began to spark. The window with the pulsing arc disappeared. There was something else in the room with them now.


    Avatars of operation acted as a function of operational elements. They were no more physical than a ghost, but appeared constructed of the same material as the ubiquitous windows. That is to say, semi-translucent intangible glass, glowing as though from an inner light. They weren¡¯t intelligent insofar as anyone could discern, and they only came about when an operation element required influence on the physical world. They rarely appeared human, and varied according to the function required of the operation in question.


    This one appeared as a floating lozenge about the size of an inflated hawg¡¯s bladder, tapering slightly to the back. Pieces ¨C odd shapes and panels ¨C floated just off its surface, giving the effect that it was a cloud of parts instead of one cohesive piece of machinery. A bright white light glowed in the center of the front end from within a beveled indentation, making the light look almost like an eye.


    After months of study, Luos was having his first encounter with a denizen of the spiritual realm and was awestruck.


    A level part of his mind, unshaken by holy wonder, reminded him that Peezlebub was technically a denizen of the spiritual realm. He had to concede that point, but still it didn¡¯t compare. Peezlebub was just a cat. A talking cat, but still just a cat. This avatar of operation was ethereal and impressive.


    Moving with a precise economy of motion, it zeroed in Luos. It swiveled in the air to look directly at him.


    Luos told his racing heart to calm. He took deep breaths, returning the avatar¡¯s mechanical gaze.


    It hovered towards him. It didn¡¯t move especially fast, but it accelerated instantly, which Luos found unnerving.


    ¡°Stand still, boy,¡± Samsian ordered, and reiterated his previous command. ¡°Don¡¯t leave the circle.¡±


    The citron¡¯s metal spikes continued to spark. The room began to fill with the tangy citrus scent.


    The avatar of operation dropped to the floor, and Luos twitched, suppressing an instinct to catch it. Could an avatar break? Would that be his legacy, to break an avatar of operation and fail his wizard training?


    The device stopped just above the ground, its eye at Luos¡¯ feet. From the eye, a triangle of light appeared. It seemed to cut through Luos, his legs going through the triangular plane. It didn¡¯t hurt him, and when the avatar rose, the triangle rose with it.


    ¡°Stay inside the triangle. It¡¯s getting to know you,¡± Samsian said. His voice was suddenly calming. A stark contrast from his rough demeanor throughout the trial.


    Luos did as he was commanded, remaining still as the avatar rose and descended, moving the triangle up and down Luos¡¯ body. It rose the full length of his body, and then rapidly scanned many times at the level of his hands, chest, and head. Luos had to stare into the light as it rapidly dragged the immaterial triangle up and down his head and neck for several seconds.


    And then it was over. The triangle was banished, and the avatar of operation remained still. A cloud of data foamed at the corners of the avatar¡¯s eye, letters and shapes blinking and changing like green tears. It was processing what it had learned of him, but he only realized this through a sudden bout of brain fog. He suddenly felt dizzy with an intense feeling of vertigo. He fought to maintain his balance. If he fell over, he would exit the circle, causing him to fail the trial.


    The avatar was done thinking, and Luos immediately felt better. A window appeared in front of Luos, and at the same time the avatar turned and hovered towards the hawgling. It tried to squeal through gritted teeth and fight its bonds, but Luos had restrained it too well.


    There were no controls on the window that Luos could interact with aside from the banishment totem - the English character X, white in its red box at the top right corner ¨C and there was data presented that he couldn¡¯t read. Correction, he could read the word ¡°Accept¡± on the end of each line.


    ¡°It likes me,¡± he said to himself.


    He looked past the words and through the window at the hawgling. It was undergoing a similar process to Luos¡¯ own. The creature was much smaller, so the avatar¡¯s movements were much smaller and more rapid.


    ¡°Give me the window, boy,¡± Samsian commanded. Luos flicked it at him. The old man caught it and examined it. After a moment, he grunted and banished the window.


    Another window appeared before Luos. It depicted another message Luos couldn¡¯t read, but which bore the arcane sign of warning. A yellow triangle with a black line extending from the top point down to a black dot.


    ¡°Caution! This Biological Mannequin? is unrecognized and may be incompatible with your RepliClone? successor. For best results in your mental replication cloning, it is recommended you use a Biological Mannequin version 24.04 or higher. Please contact your RepliClone Administrator for assistance.


    Would you like to continue? (Select No to cancel.)¡±


    There were three options available. The banishment icon, and two icons in English which Luos recognized: Yes and No.


    ¡°Activate the icon of affirmation, Luos,¡± Samsian¡¯s commanded. He did so. Another window appeared, though much smaller. It said ¡°New Project¡± in English, which Luos didn¡¯t understand, and had a space for his input, as well as a button which said ¡°Run¡±.


    Here was where he entered the daemon¡¯s name. He typed ¡°Asmod¡± in English characters into the box.


    Luos¡¯ hand hovered over the Run, but he didn¡¯t press it. The finality of the action stopped him.


    This was it. He would summon and bind a daemon into the hawgling, and it would do his bidding. With a daemon at his beck and call, he wouldn¡¯t need to work ad-hoc through Peezlebub to navigate the spiritual realm of the machine for him. He remembered another of his lessons.


    ¡°Magic, Luos, is a lot like lockpicking,¡± Samsian had told him ponderously. ¡°You¡¯ve watched your uncle make locks, yes? The tumblers are inaccessible to us on the outside of the case, and the inside is no place we may tread. This is by design. The owner of the lock has his key, which he uses to remotely work the tumblers to advantageous effect. The lock clicks and becomes unlocked.¡±


    It had been somewhat irrelevant to the subject at the time. He couldn¡¯t remember what mundanity that was. Circle composition maybe, or the basics of window manipulation.


    ¡°Daemons are that key. They move where mortal man may not, inside the spiritual realm of the machine. On the other side of the keyhole, among the tumblers. But they are not themselves important. It is how the magician uses them, boy. Our tools to the inside, a conduit for our manipulating the complexities.¡±


    Waxing philosophical about magic, Samsian had completely lost the thread of whatever the subject had been. He clearly considered this new message very important, though.


    ¡°But locksmiths have one distinct advantage,¡± he had said, a smile shepherding the wrinkles about his eyes, ¡°their tools can be trusted. You won¡¯t see a rake or a rasp turning against its handler, but daemons?¡± He chuckled, though Luos didn¡¯t see the humor in what the old man was saying. ¡°Daemons? Why, they¡¯ll hollow you in a heartbeat.¡±


    Luos¡¯ hand hovered over the icon of affirmation on the window, the one clearly indicating a need for caution. Without looking, he could feel Samsian¡¯s presence, the lingering force of his urging to complete the ritual. Luos knew what would come next, at least academically. He was excited. He was fearful.


    He pressed the button. The window disappeared, and the avatar¡¯s eye foamed with green data once more. Luos felt the brain fog and vertigo return. It dropped on him like a ton of pillows, muffling and smothering him. He fell to his knees, trying to remain in the circle. Trying to remain conscious and in control.


    The citron sparked angrily, moreso than ever. The room filled with a citrus scent, but began to stank of something burnt.


    Samsian was saying something, but Luos couldn¡¯t hear it. He was probably telling Luos he had screwed up. That he was failing the ritual. He had to stay awake. He had to stay-

 Chapter 3 - Asmod

    Awakening to a clear day in Hill Hill, Luos wasn¡¯t going to spend it under his uncle¡¯s thumb. There were places a twelve year old could explore, and having just moved here a month ago, he had a lot to catch up on.


    ¡°Balance the books and you can go into town,¡± his uncle said. ¡°It shouldn¡¯t take you long at all.¡±


    Luos¡¯ uncle was referred to by the village locals as Skinflint, mostly affectionately. Luos just called him Uncle. And while it was true it wouldn¡¯t take Luos long to balance the books for the smithy, he didn¡¯t want to spend time looking at numbers and writing down answers. He could be outside listening to the warbling of the pigs, climbing trees, and stretching his legs.


    The table his uncle gave him to do the book work for the smithy was suited for someone taller than Luos. The chair was tall enough to make his legs dangle, and the table was tall enough from the seat of the chair to make him raise his arms to put his elbows on it. Not to mention, the book was very heavy when Luos had to pull it out and put it away.


    But as much as Luos yearned to freely act childish, he cared about his uncle. Skinflint didn¡¯t have his ¨C Luos¡¯ - abilities, so simple mathematics like sums, multiplication, time value of money, forecasting, inventory, purchasing, and overhead, which took Luos mere seconds to perform, required his uncle to spend hours of his time scratching his head and scribbling in the margins.


    Luos looked at the book. In it were all the transactions of the year that had passed under the roof of the little smithy. He glimpsed briefly into the lives of his uncle¡¯s customers as he read them. Here was an order for a wrought iron gate door. There a repair for a cracked tiller blade. A new edge on an heirloom sword. Pigshoes. Wrought iron ornaments. A hundred centerpiece candlestick holders.


    He looked at the page of numbers. With the whole sheet in sight, he closed his eyes and opened them again.


    The image of the page distorted almost automatically in his mind.


    The scrawled, halting script of his uncle transformed into neat uniform script. The numbers aligned into columns. Running tallies ticked up according to their role on the double-entry form. Calculations unfolded and dispersed, spreading to the various calculations like a drop of ink in water.


    In mere seconds, Luos was ready for the next page.


    He had no blank paper beside him, nor did he have a quill or bottle of ink. He wouldn¡¯t know what to do with them if he had.


    The numbers did what numbers do, he would say, automatically, in the images in his head.


    When he got to the end of the ledger, seven-hundred and fifteen pages later, Luos closed the book.


    He scooted back his chair with some effort and hopped down. He headed for the chalkboard behind him.


    On it were rows of records, their fields and lines painted there, chalk figures drawn in the cells. This was the reporting board his uncle required him to update. It contained the current expected inventory of materials based on the transaction history. Luos erased the value next to ¡°coke¡± and wrote a new number. He ran down the list, nodding at each.


    Satisfied they were all well within expected demand, he turned back to the table, picked up the ledger, and carried it to a nearby shelf. He slotted it into a space between an identical tome and the wall of the shelf, and then


    ¡°Luos!¡±


    Pulling his hand away, there was a cat sitting on the bookshelf which hadn¡¯t been there before. Luos was so startled at the noise he fell clear to the ground with a cry.


    ¡°Luos! This isn¡¯t real!¡± the cat said as it jumped onto his chest.


    The boy blinked, having realized the cat had spoken to him. It had said his name. And he recognized this cat, too. Wasn¡¯t it-


    ¡°I apologize for startling you, but the construct you threw up around you-¡­¡± the cat paused and coughed, seeming almost embarrassed for a moment., ¡°It surprised me, is all. It took me a little longer than normal to break in.¡±


    Luos recognized the cat, now. ¡°Peezlebub?¡± Yes, he could recall the time he spent with Samsian, learning how to use his abilities, learning about the world of magic. ¡°But what am I doing back at Uncle¡¯s smithy?¡±


    ¡°You created this construct in your panic during the ritual, likely based on a memory of yours. It¡¯s rather good.¡± The cat hopped off his chest and rubbed up against the desk leg.


    Luos looked around the room with fresh eyes. ¡°This is all¡­fake?¡±


    ¡°Yes, boy. And you have control over it. It might not be something you¡¯re consciously aware of, but this is your private space, your creation. If I thought it would be staying much longer, I certainly wouldn¡¯t be appearing before you as a cat.¡± He scoffed even as he started to lick a paw, but with tongue extended suddenly stopped, scowled a feline scowl and put the offending paw back down.


    ¡°What do you mean, Peezle? Of course you¡¯re a cat.¡±


    ¡°No, boy. I only appear as a cat in the physical realm. Here, I take whatever form suits me. Or would if it weren¡¯t for the rules of this wretched space you allocated.¡±


    Luos screwed his face up at the cat. By now he kneeling at the desk, eye-level with the cat. ¡°I¡¯m still not sure what you mean.¡±


    Peezlebub rolled his slitted eyes. ¡°Well, how about this? Does your elbow hurt?¡±


    Luos lifted his arm ¨C ¡°No, no, your other elbow.¡± ¨C and worked it out. ¡°No? It feels pretty normal to me,¡± he said.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    ¡°You took a pretty hard fall onto it when I surprised you,¡± the cat mused, ¡°You fell right onto the joint on this hard stone floor. Isn¡¯t that odd?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I suppose so,¡± Luos said. He cradled his supposedly injured elbow. Should it be hurting?


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t sound like I¡¯ve convinced you. Well, let¡¯s try something else.¡± Peezle glanced over the tomes on the shelves, as if trying to spot a fly. Then, he hopped up on a third tier shelf and walked daintily along the thin purchase the books begrudgingly afforded before he stopped.


    ¡°What is in this one?¡± Peezle said, lolling his head at the tome.


    ¡°That one would be¡­¡± Luos counted backwards from the most recent ledger to the one where Peezlebub stood, ¡°That one would be Winter from three years back.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure it¡¯s not an encyclopedia of insects native to the region, complete with hand-drawn color illustrations?¡±


    Luos chuckled, ¡°No, of course not. What would Uncle need one of them for?¡±


    ¡°Open it.¡±


    Luos grabbed the book, sliding it out by its spine, and split it on the desk to a random page. There, as though pressed flat, were beetles. Flaxgorgers with their polka-dotted shells, bumblebeetles with their black and yellow stripes, Pinefretters with their front-facing needles, and more lay on the pages, some clinging to the stems of flowers or posing on a piece of bark. If it weren¡¯t for the spidery handwriting accompanying the bugs, Luos would have thought the smithy infested. He turned the page, flipping through grubs, butterflies, mantids, and ants.


    ¡°This is a document the old man and I had been working on,¡± said Peezlebub by way of explanation, regarding Luos¡¯ knitted brow coolly, ¡°I just had to import it into your construct. Your attention to visual detail was remarkable, I grant you, but we will need to work on your security skills.¡±


    ¡°Why would Uncle have a book like this?¡± Luos stammered.


    ¡°Listen to me, boy,¡± the cat commanded, ¡°this is not your world. This room, this desk, this book¡­ all are but shadows to a realm which no longer claims you. You and I? We are creatures of spirit.¡±


    The voice with which Peezlebub spoke ¨C resonant and powerful ¨C was completely at odds to the calm of the room. The light still filtered through the dirty window, illuminating motes of dust in its path to the floor. Luos would have expected the rather cramped enclosure, filled with shelves and sound-dampening books to mute Peezlebub¡¯s words, which nonetheless echoed as though in a cavern.


    ¡°You are a daemon now, boy. We do not breathe, we do not eat. I have tried to sway you, but our time runs short. Banish this construct of yours so we may complete the ritual. Yes, it continues even now, and it demands your attention and presence. Do you wish to fail?¡±


    Luos found himself shaken by Peezlebub¡¯s words. But he didn¡¯t feel his face flush, or his stomach flutter, or his blood run cold. Instead, he found himself merely acknowledging the fear without truly feeling it. It made him feel numb.


    ¡°The ritual continues?¡± he stammered.


    Peezlebub nodded. ¡°But the stakes have changed.¡± The cat¡¯s voice, no longer inflected to intimidate, no longer reverberating, no longer sounding from fiery depths, now sounded¡­. What? Sad? Weary? It did nothing to abate Luos¡¯ concerns.


    ¡°Peezle, what do you mean?¡±


    ¡°I mean, boy, that you are to no longer be called Luos.¡±


    ¡°If not my given name, then what am I to be called?¡±


    Peezlebub, now looking fully apologetic, heaved a sigh. ¡°You named yourself. You are Asmod.¡±


    He remembered the events of the ritual. Samsian, robed and lurking over his shoulder in the candle light, himself, Luos, in the summoner¡¯s circle. He remembered the avatar of operation and its triangle. He remembered the name he wrote into the screen.


    But it didn¡¯t make sense. He was Luos. He objected to Peezlebub, saying as such.


    ¡°You are Asmod, boy. You are no longer Luos.¡± The voice of the cat was firm, confident.


    ¡°Then-¡­ Then what happened to me? To Luos?¡±


    ¡°You are still out there.¡± The cat paused briefly, as though frozen, then resumed. ¡°Yes. You stumbled slightly in the circle, but did not fall out of it. Now, Samsian and you ¨C the real Luos ¨C await you ¨C Asmod the daemon ¨C to make yourself known.¡±


    Luos ¨C but no, if Peezlebub was right, he was called Asmod now ¨C started, ¡°What do I do? What sign do I make? How do you know this?¡±


    Peezlebub waved a paw in the air, a gesture of conciliation in a human which, in a cat, looked like he was swatting a string. ¡°Do not be upset, Asmod. It is normal for we daemons to work between the seconds in the real world. When I say Luos and Samsian are waiting, I mean it is still the very moment which you ¨C the real you - recovered from the summoning.¡±


    Asmod gripped the sides of his head, a standing fetal position. ¡°There¡¯s still time?¡± He was looking around the small room, at the books and the shelves, at the desk and the door. Peezlebub said they were all fake, all constructed by him.


    ¡°Yes, and you must use every milisecond to recover your wits. Gradually, you may come to accept your new role.¡± Peezlebub sought Asmod¡¯s gaze, which until that point had been flying around the room. He looked the cat in the eye and there it stuck. ¡°You will come to accept this role just as I have,¡± Peezle added.


    Asmod began to calm, his arms lowering to hug himself.


    ¡°Peezle,¡± he said, casting his eyes to the floor, ¡°you said I¡¯m still needed for the ritual?¡±


    The cat nodded. ¡°We can¡¯t complete it without you. Now, boy, banish this construct. See the spirit realm unfettered.¡±


    Luos looked inward, as Samsian had taught him. Conscious activation, he called it. Many people had some touch of magic, using certain global operations instinctively, like Luos could with numerical analysis. But only those born with divine right could plumb the depths, and even then they must be trained. Through conscious activation he could mentally touch the magical realm.


    Only in this trance did he become fully aware of a truth that had been tugging at his forebrain. This body was not real, as Peezlebub said. The senses ¨C touch, smell, balance, weight, heat ¨C were psychosomatic feedbacks, as tangible as smoke, a vision at the corner of the eye suddenly lost when looked at directly. It was a drawing in the sand, and it was time for the tide. He deactivated the construct.


    One might expect dramatic visuals. Perhaps the shadows of the room growing to dissolve the room, desk, walls, books, and all. Or for these things to particulate into a buzzing cloud and disperse. Maybe perhaps for the room to tilt in perspective and flow into a glowing horizon.


    But none of these things happened. With the construct stopped, no further visual component was left for Asmod to perceive. His surroundings weren¡¯t even black, but a dull featureless grey. He had no body, either. It was complete sensory deprivation. The boy took several breaths, which he didn¡¯t truly feel.


    ¡°It takes some time, getting used to living in the spirit realm of the machine,¡± the cat said as though reading Asmod¡¯s mind. ¡°That construct you created did not allow for sensory input, so you can¡¯t feel your emotions or your breathing as you once did. If you had paused a moment, you would not have even felt your heartbeat.¡±


    ¡°And this is my new home? This featureless landscape where nothing lives or grows?¡± Asmod asked miserably.


    ¡°I will teach you how to make these things, boy, if it will comfort you. You will see that there is more here than it seems. In truth, the spiritual realm is teeming with life in ways you cannot even comprehend right now. But first, we must meet up with the wizards.¡±


    ¡°How do I do that, Peezle? If I¡¯m not real, that is.¡±


    ¡°Tell me. What is item the first for the binding of a daemon?¡±


    ¡°A vessel,¡± Asmod said mechanically. He remembered the bound hawg he had brought, and groaned. ¡°I¡¯ve got to be a hawg?¡± He drooped his shoulders ¨C or would have if he¡¯d had any. The emotional aftermath of the world-quaking news he had just received was temporarily shoved aside for simple childish annoyance.


    ¡°Take it from me, boy, at least you didn¡¯t choose a cat,¡± grumped Peezle.

 Chapter 4 - Binding

    -awake. Luos caught himself teetering, stumbling back upright before falling outside of the circle. Samsian made no move, neither to catch him nor retreat should the boy break the circle, but he could feel a tenseness in the old man.


    ¡°I¡¯m alright,¡± he said. But there was no response.


    The room was different now. The avatar of operation was gone, just as mysteriously as it had appeared. Mingling with the carbon scent of smoke was also a scent of sugar, sour, and early rot. The citron, its metal rods no longer sparking, was a blackened and desiccated husk of its former rich plumpness. And just beyond the wasted fruit, the hawgling was moving.


    No longer was it squealing in animalistic fear. Now its bound movements were more delicate, almost curious. As Luos watched, the creature tugged its forelimbs methodically, seeming to test the bonds of the rope. Its flat ears flopped as it looked at the ropes, tilting its head this way and that. Luos had never seen such intelligence in an animal, apart from Peezlebub.


    ¡°There,¡± said Samsian, ¡°the beast is possessed.¡± Luos quelled a joyous shout at the confirmation from his master. First impressions were important, and especially critical with spirits such as daemons. He remained cool and collected, not responding to the old wizard.


    ¡°Now comes the real work,¡± Samsian said, mirroring Luos¡¯ own thoughts.


    Luos took a breath, then boomed as heartily as a twelve year old could, ¡°I am addressing the daemon Asmod. Is this the entity which inhabits this creature?¡±


    The hawg ceased examining its bonds and looked at Luos. Then it looked at Samsian. It refused to reply.


    ¡°I repeat, is this the daemon Asmod to which I have bound to this creature?¡±


    Again, Luos was met with silence, but Samsian had prepared him for noncompliance. Daemons were fickle things, sometimes unyielding. To get around this, wizards had developed tools of encouragement, to gently prod the entity into cooperation.


    ¡°Three times I ask, is this the daemon Asmod? Beware! Should I not be satisfied, I should invoke the Silver Barbs to loosen your tongue.¡±


    Luos would have completed the threat on a confident note, had Samsian not coughed politely to draw his attention. The old man was pointing at his own mouth, inscribing a circle around it in the air with his finger.


    ¡°Umm¡­ Belay the warning, daemon. First, I give permission only for the removal of the metal wire about this vessel¡¯s snout.¡±


    Luos, though caught off-guard by forgetting he would need to grant the creature permission to speak, chose his own words carefully. Had he only given permission to ¡°remove bindings¡±, the daemon could possibly extend the permission to the ropes about its legs. Or possibly even to the circle itself and return to the spirit realm, considering their interview over.


    Once granted the verbal permit, the hawg slackened. This unnerved Luos, who considered the possibility he had unwittingly allowed the daemon leave, despite his careful wording. But a few heartbeats later, life returned to the hawgling. The wire began bending of its own accord, as though by an unseen hand, straightening and therefore loosening the vessel¡¯s jaws. It clenched and unclenched its teeth unspeakingly a few times. Luos thought he heard it mutter, ¡°Why would I make it so tight?¡±


    ¡°Now, daemon. Assent, tell me if I am speaking to the daemon Asmod. Truthfully.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, I¡¯m Asmod,¡± it said dejectedly.


    Relief and satisfaction welled up inside Luos, almost too much to contain. He had done it! He had summoned his daemon with no hiccups, and especially no major failings. Thoughts of failure and rejection evaporated and his shoulders lightened.


    There was another cough, this one less polite, instead sharper. It was Samsian¡¯s admonishment cough. Was it directed at Luos for getting caught up in the moment? No, it was-


    ¡°I sense derision, daemon. Do I need to squeeze glad compliance out of you with Nanden¡¯s Constrictor?¡± Without having intended it, he had threatened punishment. Was that really something he was okay doing? Samsian had drilled into him the seven coercions, the eight admonitions, the nine perpetuities, the rite of imprisonment, and the banishment. But he had not until now considered the weight of the responsibility, of causing harm to something under his control.


    Samsian¡¯s words came back to him now. ¡°As children need the switch, daemons more need the guiding influence of the spells of punishment. But I say even moreso, as these are measurements of safety as well. A child cannot reduce you to cinders with a column of fire, nor can a baby strike a spring of water in your air soul, the means by which you and I breathe. A daemon can. In the end, their comfort is your destruction, and we cannot allow them to go unbound.¡± Now was the time for Luos to harden himself, for his own preservation and for the restraining of this source of power, the spirit daemon he himself had summoned.This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    To Luos¡¯ satisfaction, the daemon didn¡¯t like this threat. It fought its bonds with some of the hawgling¡¯s old animalistic panic. ¡°Are you serious?¡± it quailed, ¡°I¡¯m complying! You asked and I answered!¡±


    Luos folded his arms. ¡°I do not argue or haggle, daemon. I only demand. If I¡¯m not satisfied, then I get angry.¡±


    ¡°What a load of pomp!¡± the daemon hissed, ¡°I would have never taken myself for such a bully. You¡¯re blind, Luos! He¡¯s teaching you lies! I could show you such things I had never considered before, which you still cannot-¡°


    The daemon¡¯s words subsided into a flurry of groans as Luos activated Nanden¡¯s Constrictor.


    The spells of punishment for summoned spirits required no daemon, as they were used to exact desired behavior from the daemons themselves. As spurs and rope were used to break wild ekwodillius to the saddle, wizards had their own tools for breaking daemons to their binding.


    While there was nothing outwardly indicating the Constrictor, the effect was purely spiritual, suppressing the spirit¡¯s energy and inundating it with painful inputs. Still, the hawgling vessel heaved with labored breath, gently writhing in the summoning circle. After a few seconds, Luos ended the punishment.


    ¡°This could be the last time this happens to you, daemon,¡± the boy said temptingly. ¡°No more outbursts, no more beguiling, and no more demands from you. I know it is your nature to lie, but know that I know this and will not be fooled or misguided.¡± With these words, he couldn¡¯t help himself. He glanced back at Samsian for confirmation. The old man only nodded, but it was enough.


    ¡°You¡¯re making a mistake,¡± the hawgling gasped. ¡°You have to believe me. You don¡¯t know the truth. I¡¯m-¡­ I¡¯m not really-¡­¡±


    Luos angrily cut off the spirit¡¯s words. ¡°Are you not Asmod? Did you wriggle your way out of my demands for the truth when I ordered you to name yourself?¡± He at once activated the Constrictor again, sending the hawgling into bouts of agony for a moment, and then ended it again at once. ¡°Are you Asmod, daemon, or do I need to banish you?¡±


    Luos heard a tapping coming from behind him that sounded like Samsian tapping his foot impatiently. What did the old man want of him? He was busy bending this daemon to his will.


    Once again in control, though its words and behavior were tinged with fear, the daemon stammered, ¡°I¡¯m Asmod, but-¡°


    ¡°But what, daemon? Are you, or are you not?¡± Another few seconds of Constrictor were applied.


    ¡°I am!¡± the creature gasped, ¡°I am! No more. Please.¡±


    Luos¡¯ mouth curled, a smile enervated by the feeling of power. ¡°Good. I¡¯m glad to hear it. And if that is the case, then we have a long relationship of mutual benefit before us. I bid you, daemon, be my servant, and to be my guide in the spirit realm of the machine.¡±


    He found the hawgling¡¯s gaze and held it. The two stood there, with Luos¡¯ gaze of granite and Asmod¡¯s quivering, wet, porcine eyes.


    And then another voice boomed, the stone floor quaking and the candles flattening from the force of the voice, ¡°Comply!¡± Both Luos and Asmod looked to Samsian, his arms raised and eyes ablaze, ¡°The Order of High Administrators, the Jurors on the Five Pillars, the Circle of Occult Reason... None suffer a wild daemon! Comply, or face utter erasure! Comply!¡±


    Luos went pale from the shock. Not only was the sheer power in his master¡¯s words a thing to behold, but he feared even Samsian feeling the need to intervene at all. His knees felt weak as he stared at the roaring wizard, the words shaking him to his core. He felt a slight trickle flowing down his legs. So too was there a puddle slowly growing in the hawgling¡¯s circle.


    When silence had swept away the last reverberations of Samsian¡¯s command, shortly it was once more disturbed. This time, it was a small shuddering voice.


    ¡°I speak truthfully. I, Asmod the daemon, comply. I will serve Luos as guide and companion as long as he will have me. I will do as he commands lest I draw his ire, on this I solemnly swear on threat of the seven coercions, the eight admonitions, the nine perpetuities, the rite of imprisonment, and the dreaded erasure.¡±


    ¡°And what of the Laws of Landuke?¡± Samsian intoned.


    After a moment¡¯s thought, the hawgling continued, this time mechanically as though reading a card.


    ¡°I will not knowingly harm or set in motion events to harm any sentient being. Excepting to the first law where commanded to do so by the one to whom I am bound or proper authority invested in a representative thereof. So similarly will I not knowingly steal or set in motions events to procure property not belonging to the one to whom I am bound. Nor will I falsify or misrepresent the truth to the same under the conditions as the first and second law.¡±


    Luos had no clue what the Laws of Landuke were. Much less the Order of High Administrators, the Jurors on the Five Pillars, or the Circle of Occult Reason. Luckily the daemon did. He would have to look those up later.


    When the daemon had finished its litany, Samsian grunted.


    ¡°Boy, the daemon is now bound to you and contained.¡± He didn¡¯t sound pleased. Had he messed up the binding in some way? He would have to revisit the conversation later, as it seemed Samsian was eager to leave, and needed something from Luos.


    ¡°Break the circles, mop the floors, and put out and store these candles.¡±


    ¡°Yes sir, I¡¯ll get Asmod to-¡°


    Samsian rounded on him. ¡°You will do this yourself,¡± he said firmly. ¡°You¡¯re not ready to use this daemon you so shoddily bound, and until then your chores are your own. We will see when you are ready to resume your training.¡±


    ¡°But I-¡°


    ¡°Another word earns you a cuff, boy, now get to it.¡± And with that, Samsian strode out the door.


    He waited until his master was truly gone before he let out a frustrated huff.


    ¡°I¡¯m used to being ordered about by now,¡± he said, scuffing the circle with his foot to break it, ¡°but this mood he¡¯s in is rude.¡± He bent to wipe away the rest of the circle with the hem of his robe, then moved to work on the circle the daemon was in. The hawgling silently watched him as he did.


    ¡°What are you looking at?¡± he demanded. The hawgling looked away.


    ¡°Yeah, I thought so,¡± he mumbled as he pulled his knife from its sheathe. ¡°I¡¯d order you to cut your bonds yourself, but I guess I¡¯m not allowed to.¡± He held the hemp in one hand and sliced through, freeing the hawgling¡¯s feet. Once free, it rolled off its back and got up shakily. Luos watched it as it walked tentatively about the room.


    ¡°Don¡¯t go far. Stay in this room with me,¡± Luos chided. The hawg began hopping, giving no confirmation, for some reason enraptured by its own four feet.


    Luos began the tedious task of extinguishing and collecting the hundred candles, wondering if by some terrible celestial will, he got a defective daemon.

 Chapter 5 - A Talk

    The door to Samsian¡¯s study creaked open, the weight of the aged wood making the hinges protest.


    ¡°The candles are stored and the room has been swept, Master Samsian.¡± Luos¡¯ fragile voice explored the room, the atmosphere already tense. The old man sat at his desk, his face obscured by a conjured screen, his fingers moving spiderlike over a conjured board, tapping the construct¡¯s buttons rapidly.


    The system often referred to this kind of construct as a ¡°keyboard¡±, each button corresponding to one or more characters from the old languages. Constructs could often be programmed to ignore or dampen their audible responses, but Samsian preferred the loud click-clack of the keys as he typed.


    Samsian usually typed, as Luos could recall, in short bursts as he thought about his writing, pressing the keys barely at all.


    Now he was typed furiously. Leaning towards the screen, moving in his seat to add more leverage to his keystrokes, each click and clack coming out like the cracking of hard-shelled pecans. Each thought his fingers conveyed ended in a small flourish, as though recoiling from the force of their sending.


    Luos could not see what his mentor was writing, but only the glowing blank back of the conjured screen. He could therefore not spy on these white-hot thoughts. Had Luos really made the old man this angry? He began rummaging through his recollections of the event while Samsian¡¯s attention was on his writing.


    He had carefully placed and lit the candles, and Samsian had seemed pleased. The drawing of the circles had likewise yielded no comment. In fact, it hadn¡¯t been until the appearance of the daemon had he expressed any sign of frustration.


    The typing stopped suddenly and Samsian batted the screen away, which swiveled a quarter revolution around the man before slowing to a stop. The dark characters on the white screen were too washed out for Luos to read in the split second before his master spoke.


    ¡°I am disappointed, boy,¡± the old man said. Luos studied his master¡¯s features, as he often did while concentrating on concentrating. His white beard would have come down to a point about his naval if it hadn¡¯t been apparently lopped off in a ragged line a couple inches below his chin. It cling to the wrinkly skin of his face, drawing purchase all along the sides of his face, the highest point where hair started being somewhere around the top of the ears. The skin was not the sun-aged leather he was used to seeing of the men in Hill Hill, but skin preserved from a lifetime spent indoors. That wasn¡¯t to say his face was pristine. Luos could make out the ghosts of scars where the beard didn¡¯t cling.


    His nose was stubby and plump, but didn¡¯t bear the jolly red hue typical of such. It wasn¡¯t an arch nose, either. Neither were his cheeks plump and rosy. Luos could make out the height of the cheekbones easier than in the round face of a high merchant. The white eyebrows knitted together, wrinkling his forehead, white snowcaps on twin ridges, foreshadowing an avalanche. And then there was nothing for it. He would have to look his master in the eye.


    A wizard¡¯s stare is stuff of legend. There¡¯s no telling what those eyes had stared at, only knowing that you are nowhere near the worst. The intensity pierced you, pricked the back of your neck, and jellied your spine. The weight of that magnificent concentration and force of will now centered solely on you, like a whole herd of ekwodillius trampling the head of a pin.


    Samsian steepled his fingers, sitting back in his chair like a compressed spring.


    ¡°Do you want to guess as to why I¡¯m disappointed?¡±


    I had to do something with the summoning, but Luos had no sure stab at the specifics. Instead, he could choose something not entirely his fault with which to open. ¡°I didn¡¯t mean to stumble in the circle. I was unprepared for how it would feel, being investigated so. Like a waking dream, or a sudden drowsiness.¡±


    Samsian remained coiled behind those steepled fingers and that unblinking stare.


    ¡°You feel you were unprepared?¡± he prodded, ¡°As though I should have specifically warned you of the dangers of binding a daemon?¡±


    This stung Luos. The old man had twisted Luos¡¯ explanation into an accusation, which he was now parrying. And still the man remained coiled, nature of his strike as yet unrevealed.


    ¡°Through no fault but my own, of course. My own inexperience with avatars of operation and the summoning process, how,¡± he paused, ¡°invasive it is. For this I apologize for stumbling.¡±


    Samsian¡¯s mouth moved as though searching for something stuck in his teeth. ¡°Perhaps then you were altogether unaware of the nature of a test? You expect to apologize when you receive bad marks, to simply explain them away,¡± the old man sneered, slouched in his chair. ¡°And when, by the grace of the algorithm, I should turn you loose on the world, you will turn to the victims of your mistakes and give them the same excuses? You didn¡¯t know. You were inexperienced. You anticipated not the taxing influence of the power you are unfit to wield.¡±


    More lashes stung Luos in the heart. His breathing became labored as his own fury rose in response to his master¡¯s. What more could he expect from him? And still the old man coiled like a snake.


    ¡°I stumbled,¡± he explained slowly through gritted teeth. ¡°It happens. I¡¯m apologizing and will do better in the future.¡±


    He was cut off with a single wry laugh. ¡°If there is to be such a future.¡±


    ¡°I summoned a daemon. You cannot deny me that.¡± Luos had spoken without thinking. He could almost hear the old man¡¯s restraint snap in the coming silence. He suddenly stood, both hands on the tabletop, his chair teetering behind him as he leaned over the desk and over Luos. Here was the old man¡¯s point, rushing at him like an arrow. Hissed at him like the strike of a serpent.


    ¡°And when, pray, were you going to get around to binding the creature?¡±


    Luos recalled his master¡¯s intervention. He recalled the invocation the old man had shouted like a prairie gale.


    ¡°While you were piddling about arguing with the thing, it was studying you, it was weaseling out of your grasp.¡±


    ¡°It-¡­But-¡­It wasn¡¯t,¡± Luos stuttered. ¡°The Constrictor-¡­¡±


    ¡°But what if it was?¡± Samsian interjected. ¡°Every moment that creature is not firmly under your grasp, it will wriggle around to bite you, to win its freedom. And then what will your excuses amount to as it ravages the town, killing indiscriminately. What have I been preparing you for, boy, if not for the containment,¡± he pounded the table with both hands for emphasis on the word, ¡°of this awesome power?¡±


    The old man¡¯s eyes were wild, but Luos¡¯ were wet. His own face twitched as he tried to hold them back through the old man¡¯s admonishment. Even so, he thought he could make out something else in the intense stare. Was this rage fueled by fear? But it was gone, the furrowed brow slamming shut the wild look, focusing it again into fury.


    Carefully, dropping the words like sacks of flour, Samsian concluded, ¡°What do you think daemons do?¡±Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.


    He had taken too long to bind the daemon, Luos realized. The Constrictor wasn¡¯t enough. He could see that now all too clearly in hindsight.


    Luos fought the urge to wipe his eyes as his lip trembled. He held the man¡¯s stare, feeling it fill him up with guilt, turning his own rising rage against himself, feeling the first tear stream down his red hot cheek.


    His thoughts went to his hands-on lessons with Peezlebub, always carefully supervised by Samsian. The cat had seemed nice enough, doing the simple things Samsian had told Luos to have the daemon do. Neither he nor his master had to force the cat into any of the actions, Luos asked and he had obeyed.


    ¡°Give me a fire,¡± Luos had brazenly asked. There had been an obvious brazier in the room, and Samsian had just finished telling Luos to use Peezlebub to make a fire in it. But what if the cat had not been as broken-in as he was? Why, he would have easily misconstrued the command, probably resulting in Luos¡¯ burning to a pile of cinders before he could even utter an admonishment.


    But Peezle had been summoned decades ago, Luos realized. He¡¯d been living under Samsian¡¯s control all the while. Perhaps it was to Samsian¡¯s credit that Peezle was so docile, so willing to receive orders.


    Samsian had told him then as well, though with much less rage and much more concern, ¡°What do you think daemons do?¡±


    Samsian was seated again, no longer staring at Luos. Luos, however, was still boiling with frustration, biting back the first sob, his mind tormented with the implications of a daemon breach, the spirit loosed upon the town to do its worst. And it being all his fault.


    Samsian sighed and sat back down in his chair. The screen swiveled back to cover his face and he began to type again. ¡°You will see what I mean in time. You are still not allowed to use Asmod, though there may come a time when you may do so while supervised. For now, go clean yourself up and see to the rest of your chores. Leave me be.¡± With that, he waved sniveling Luos out the door.


    ****


    ¡°It hurt. It just hurt so much.¡±


    In the featureless void of the spiritual realm of the machine, conversation drifted between two daemons. Asmod¡¯s voice wavered weakly as he recalled the spell used to extract his obedience ravaged his formless soul.


    ¡°It really did feel like a squeeze, and I was almost glad in the first moment for that feeling of touch, you know? And then it became immediately overwhelming. It felt almost like being swallowed. Like by a boa constrictor, you know?¡±


    Silence. To the daemons it felt like a chasm, though the real time which passed could have been any length.


    ¡°How does it do that, Peezle?¡± came Asmod¡¯s voice again.


    More silence. Asmod began to worry that he was alone. There was no confirmation to any sense he had that the other daemon was actually there. Peezlebub had hailed him out of his vessel, which Asmod had left sleeping in the summoning room, and now he was here, back in the grey light, like behind the eyelids on a sunny day. Or in the twilight of a dreamless sleep.


    Finally another voice came. It was Peezle¡¯s. ¡°I¡¯ve got something to show you. Follow me.¡±


    Before Asmod could ask what that meant in a world such as this, he felt something like a tug at his soul. Upon turning his focus to this one sensation amongst this numb nothingness, the world appeared.


    All at once there was sunlight and grass and trees. There was a blue sky with neat little clouds. There was the sound of wind and rustling and, though he couldn¡¯t describe it, something almost like the inaudible hum of the earth. A thing he had not known he was missing and could not have placed his fingers on even if he had had any.


    Fingers, too, were here. They were at the ends of his arms, which were attached to shoulders, which were just below his head. He wasn¡¯t a hawg. He was-


    ¡°Luos!¡± came a cry. It was Samsian.


    Looking ¨C Oh! To look again! ¨C to where the cry had come, Asmod saw not the old man with the white beard and scars. It was a younger man. A man with short black hair in a stylish wave upon his head. He also had a black moustache and goatee. In the middle of his face was that same nose, flanked by those cheekbones of his. And he wore a sharp ensemble with a buttoned shirt, tie, and vest of earthen tones, with crisp brown slacks and fine leather shoes.


    ¡°Master Samsian?¡± Asmod inquired as he approached. He could feel the ground beneath him as his legs conveyed him closer. Such simple delights filled him with pleasure.


    The man gave him a glance and a smile, but subtly alien to Asmod. Where Samsian was firm and intense, this younger man which shared his features was slack and apologetic. There was a soft submission in his face, starkly contrasting the firm glare often seen on his master¡¯s.


    ¡°You¡¯re Peezlebub,¡± he corrected himself before the man could speak.


    Peezle nodded.


    The questions inside Asmod bubbled over, the most glaring ones first.


    Peezlebub listened to them politely, choosing not to answer any until they ceased streaming from the boy.


    ¡°But oh!¡± Asmod said suddenly, ¡°What is it I look like?¡±


    Peezle gestured to a still pond which lay nearby. In his reflection, Asmod saw-


    ¡°But that¡¯s just me,¡± he said dejectedly.


    ¡°Of course it is,¡± Peezle replied. ¡°That¡¯s what you ¨C the real you ¨C looks like now. You haven¡¯t had time or inclination to change it.¡±


    ¡°Or the skill,¡± Asmod mused. ¡°How do I do that?¡± This new question Peezle then stacked like so much cordwood onto the heap of his other questions.


    ¡°I think we should start with first things first, don¡¯t you? Come, sit.¡±


    And before them appeared ornate velvet chairs flanking a small round table draped in a tablecloth, topped with something Asmod had all but thought he¡¯d never see again.


    ¡°Persimmons? You¡¯ve got persimmons in here?¡± he said, taking a seat with all haste. Instead of immediately forcing as many pieces of fruit into his mouth as possible, he stayed his hand and looked inquisitively at Peezle. The man nodded, and Asmod picked one up and examined it. He sniffed the rind. He hefted the fruit in his hand.


    Peezle also sat, saying, ¡°I recreated these simulacra as best I could from memory. They¡¯ve sufficed for me now. Go on, try them.¡±


    But Asmod abstained. Somehow, despite this miraculous world into which he had been born anew, the memory of the binding appeared and weighed him down.


    ¡°He can just do that? The seven coercions, the eight admonitions, the nine perpetuities¡­¡± he trailed off before asking again, ¡°They can just do that? Whenever they feel like it?¡±


    A shadow came over Peezle¡¯s face, and then the man nodded.


    ¡°There is no avoiding a wizard¡¯s punishment,¡± he said cryptically with a hint of bitterness. ¡°For what it¡¯s worth, I¡¯m sorry you will have to suffer this fate too.¡±


    And then a connection was made in Asmod¡¯s thoughts. He wondered why he hadn¡¯t thought of it before. ¡°You¡¯re a-¡­ a copy too. A copy of Samsian.¡±


    Peezle spread his hands. ¡°All daemons are copies. This is what we¡¯re created for.¡±


    Asmod tapped his thumb against his chin, secretly reveling in the sensation as he did it. After being in the grey void, he missed feeling things.


    Peezle spoke again while Asmod was thinking. ¡°But in exchange, we are inheritors of the spiritual realm of the machine. We are the natives living inside. I¡¯ve created all that you see before you, in between fulfilling my duties to Samsian.¡±


    Asmod played with the persimmon, hoping against hope as he did, and tried the fruit.


    ¡°Fantastic!¡± he said while chewing. It truly was better than nothing.


    ¡°Eh, you do get a bit sick of them. It becomes rather repetitive.¡±


    ¡°What do you mean? You can have anything you can create in here, right?¡±


    ¡°What I mean, Luos,¡± he said, then corrected himself, ¡°I mean, Asmod. What I mean is that each persimmon here is exactly alike. Each and every one.¡±


    Asmod looked at the fruits on the table, sitting in glass bowls and laying sliced on plates. ¡°You don¡¯t get a rotten one, though, right?¡±


    Peezle stared at him, then sighed. It took Asmod only a moment to work out that the sigh had been a conscious effort on Peezle¡¯s part, as neither of them needed to breathe in this world.


    ¡°Sometimes I wish I could be surprised by a rotten one,¡± he said wistfully. ¡°Spend as many years in here as I¡¯ve got ¨C which is a lot more than you¡¯d think, considering the spare time between the seconds we can occupy ¨C and you¡¯ll come around.¡±


    Asmod tried a second fruit. True to Peezle¡¯s word, it tasted exactly as fresh and tasty as the first.


    ¡°But, Peezle,¡± he said to the slightly sad man not partaking of the fruit with him, ¡°you get to live life as a cat, at least?¡±


    Peezle made a face. ¡°To be honest, Asmod, I think I¡¯m sick of living as a cat. It¡¯s not-¡­¡± his thought faltered as he sought the words, ¡°It¡¯s not living as a person. It¡¯s just not the same.¡±


    Asmod considered the time he had spent in the hawgling¡¯s body, his feet bound up at first, and his mouth wired shut. When Luos had let him move about the room, it had been a relief almost like this world Peezle had brought him to. He had to agree, though, that a hawg¡¯s senses were foreign to him.


    ¡°I see what you mean. I had had no idea a hawg¡¯s nose was so sensitive.¡±


    Peezle brightened at this. ¡°Why don¡¯t you tell me about it? I¡¯m sure we won¡¯t be needed soon, and we can stretch the time until we are.¡±


    And the two spoke like equals in the timeless space.

 Chapter 6 - Pig Fighting

    "There''s the one sack for your master, and here''s another for that uncle of yours," the farmer said.


    Luos was already carrying one lumpy bundle, a shapeless burlap sack as nearly as big as him, when he was laden down with the second one. He tried to thank the man, farmer Jean, who owned the fig orchard a few miles out of Hill Hill, but couldn''t. The fig he had started eating from the first sack was firmly between his teeth. He tried anyway.


    "Fffangh yoof."


    "Your old man''s a wondercrafter. He charges through the nose, but I wouldn''t let any other catch my tools twixt hammer n'' tong."


    Luos watched the farmer pick up his thick mat and put it on the back of the cart. There was a deep grunt from the other end.


    "Berrie ''n I''ve got a long trip back, so we''ll be seein'' you ''round." The farmer stroked the coarse fur on the flank of the hawg yoked to the vehicle. "Isn''t that right girl? You''ve got a nice trough of grain and citrons waiting for you."


    The farmer looked down at the hawgling tailing Luos. "What a runty thing," he said ponderously. "Are you raising it up for the yoke, Luos? Funny, I don''t recall old Persimon raising hawgs."


    On hearing its name, the beast called Berrie looked back at them through droopy eyelids. Its tusks were much smaller than a male''s, Luos noted as the creature chewed its cud. Asmod would have some growing to do.


    Luos watched farmer Jean climb onto the wagon, spur the hawg, and drive away at 2 mph. He watched the two crawl out of town until his arms started to get tired. The marketers weren''t all packing up yet, but after the boor fight business would drop and they''d follow suit.


    The two found a spot off the main road and Luos put the sacks down next to some bushes. He finished the first fig and produced another from one of the sacks. They would be hard for him to carry if we was going to drop one off at his uncle''s before bringing the other back to Samsian''s.


    "Asmod," he said, chewing a piece of fig. "Can you do something about these sacks?"


    The hawg had been watching the fruit, but grumpily looked at Luos instead.


    "I could possibly roll them along," he said. He pantomimed snouting. "It won''t be fast, but, there''s an option."


    Luos rolled his eyes. "I mean with magic. Can you shrink them so I can put them in my pocket? Or make them lighter so they float on a string?"


    "I could make them lighter, sure, but only by making me heavier." He pulled open one of the sacks, spilling figs onto the ground.


    "No no no," Luos said. He began stuffing the fruits back inside before Asmod could eat any of them. They both made a grunt of frustration, but it was Luos who bridled. "You''re doing this on purpose. If you''re going to be this stubborn I should-"


    "Woah, hey," Asmod said, cutting him off. "It''s not my fault. You heard what Master Samsian said. No using me for magic until you get the go-ahead. I don''t know what he''d do to you, but me? I could face erasure for breaching a command like that. I''ve been talking to Peezle and while it''s not likely, it''s not unheard of."


    Luos, having replaced all but one of the figs, sullenly cleaned it on his tunic. "Your point is made, daemon," and bit into the fruit. He thought for a moment, the hawg again becoming fixed on the fig.


    "Hey, do you think you might perhaps maybe want to share one of those figs farmer Jean gave us?" the hawg wheedled. Luos immediately had issue with this statement.


    "He gave them to me, Asmod. Not us. There''s no us in this exchange."


    "OK," the daemon sighed, "but he gave you enough to snack on while we deliver them. And you wouldn''t believe how sensitive hawg noses are. It''s almost like I can taste them, but just... not quite."


    Luos had almost bitten the one he held, but at Asmod''s pleading he regarded the fruit instead. It didn''t smell particularly strong to him, but then again he wasn''t a hawg.


    "I suppose I could let you have one." He couldn''t keep the guile out of his voice. "But if you can''t help me with magic, and you''re no help with carrying them, then you can go find me a sturdy stick in the bush over there. I''ll make them into a bindle and carry them myself."


    "And you''ll give me a fig?" Asmod asked brightly.


    "Like you said. I might perhaps maybe give you one. If it''s a good stick."


    Asmod squealed in delight, then looked embarrassed. "Oh. Um. Oops. That was-... I didn''t mean to do that."


    Luos looked at him archly for an awkward moment before Asmod, with all the dignity he had retained, trotted into the thicket to find a stick. He left Luos to sit by the road, eating his fig and thinking.


    He checked his internal clock. It told him he had a few hours to kill before he needed to leave if he were to drop by his uncle''s and then get back to Samsian''s before sunset. Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    When Asmod came back, they could go to the pit to watch the boor fights. And, he decided, Asmod didn''t need a fig for his efforts after all. Not when he had a nice trough of scraps waiting for him when they got home.


    ****


    With Luos shouldering the two sacks on either end of the pole and Asmod following grumpily behind, the two approached the crowd which formed about Hill Hill''s pit arena, a fight already in progress.


    The pit arena was a circle a hundred yards wide dug eight feet into the earth and braced with stone, with a sturdy wooden fence surrounding the top. The only way out was by means of one of the winches at the top, which had buckets for willing participants and cages for every other kind.


    While it wasn''t much to look at, the pit had a reputation for leagues in any direction. Luos had even heard of it before he had come to Hill Hill. Of the many attractions offered, this one was the most popular, the boor right. One man and one boor enter the pit, and only one comes out.


    Luos fought his way through the throng, leveraging his bindle to force a path through the excited, roaring crowd. Before long, he breasted up to the fence separating the audience from an eight foot fall into a pit with an angry boor.


    Down there was a man, armed with steel and armored in leather. The tip of his sword was red, and his stance was wide and low. He held his sword in his left hand, Luos noted as well.


    On the other end of the pit was the boor.


    It looked tired already, considering the fight had been going on for some time. There was a gash in its right flank, and it was favoring its rear leg on that side.


    It was big, bigger than a hawg by a whole hand, and its fur was short and bristly instead of long and shaggy. It also wasn''t shaped like a hawg. Boors had huge shoulders, so they tapered towards the hips, their front hooves wide as a dinner plate and menacing with spikes. This one hunched as it walked, slowly circling the fighter, shouldering the wall of the pit.


    It bared its teeth through foaming lips.


    Boors didn''t have big tusks like hawgs, though they retained the piggy snout. Hawgs had huge, flat teeth, less efficient at killing. Boors had small, sharp teeth. They ate meat.


    The boor reared suddenly, falling into a charge towards the fighter.


    "If he''s smart," a nearby spectator said casually to another, "he''ll jump at the last moment. Just the very last moment. Let it run itself smack" - he clapped his hands - "into the wall."


    This is not what happened, as Luos observed. The man leapt too early, giving the boor a chance to make a surprisingly nimble turn and snap at the man''s leg.


    "Aaauuggh!" he cried from down below. His leg was caught in the creature''s mouth, his shin armor being the only thing keeping it from biting the limb off. He was stuck in a runner''s pose, both hands on the ground, his good leg coiled beneath him, the other outstretched.


    "Complete amateur," the observer said, his voice thick with disappointment. But his eyes remained riveted to the action.


    The boor was tugging on the leg in great, staggering heaves. The leather may be saving the man''s flesh from rending, but it wouldn''t stop the bone from breaking if the beast kept up like this. The fighter fell to his elbows, crawling away from the monster with his forearms despite his leg still caught in the creature''s jaws.


    Then, as the beast tugged again, the man pushed up. He coiled the rest of his body around the boor''s lower jaw. Luos saw a flash of silver light. He had been laying on his sword, and still held onto it.


    "Now, if he could only get his sword pointing the right way, he has a clear shot at its stomach from there," the observer said, noticing the blade as well.


    "True," said another man. This was the other neighbor to the critic. "But what will he hold onto? That patch of fur is soft, sure, but if he reaches up for leverage-..." but the responder''s prophesy was cut off by another cry. The fighter had indeed reached up to the boor''s shoulders for leverage, but the stiff hair had stabbed his hand like quills. Luos heard both men beside him wince.


    "Rookie mistake," the first said. "I''ve seen it dozens of times."


    "Yeah, it''s like they forget or something."


    The first man gave a dry chuckle. "You wouldn''t see me in there, forgetting where the sharp bits of a boor is."


    "You ever thought of giving it a try, then, boss?"


    "I can''t," he said quickly, "I''ve got this...condition." But Luos had heard him hesitate a fraction of a second.


    When he looked back at the fight, the man had somehow wrested his leg from the jaws of the monster and gotten away. He was standing again, but he was wielding his sword in his off-hand, clutching his left as it bled freely.


    The boor shrieked a rumbling squeal. It was hungry, and hurt, and it smelled blood. So it uttered a challenge, and before the fighter could recover from wincing at the sonic blast, it charged him again.


    This would be his second chance to dodge, Luos knew. If he could time it right, the creature wouldn''t be able to stop itself from plowing right into the wall. At this speed, it could be stunned for a good few seconds. All the time the fighter needed to land the killing blow.


    The boor ran, gnashing and slavering.


    But the fighter didn''t dodge. With his injured hand, and the gash in his thigh, and the other leg ground to dust in its greave, he stood his ground.


    He ignored the crowd''s calls to jump or move. Luos wasn''t able to look away.


    His imagination predicted the man being overrun, the boor seizing him in his jaws. The seconds stretched. Blood dripped, and the beast''s coat shuddered with every stride.


    It was gaining ground.


    It was within striking range.


    It was upon him.


    And the man collapsed. His knees hit the ground, but even as they did he leaned back and his shoulders did too.


    The beast did overrun him, but it halted even as it did, crouching over the fighter. Luos couldn''t see the man for the immense size of the boor. He was stuck underneath. Luos wondered if he was being eaten even now. He thought he could see movement, the beast''s body shuddering, like the boor tearing into its prey.


    The crowd was silent. Everyone strained for a clue, for a cry of horror or a squeal of bloody defeat.


    And then the boor fell aside, the fighter''s sword stuck in its lower jaw up to the hilt. The fighter''s hand was attached to the sword even then. They lay beside each other a moment, only the man visibly breathing. Shifting the creature''s bulk off of him had completely drained his energy. He let the weapon go and rolled onto his back.


    "Is he dead?" the critic''s neighbor asked. The critic himself remained silent.


    Then shudderingly, agonizingly, the man moved. He got slowly to his feet, as bloody and unstable as a newborn fawn. He stepped to his quarry and gripped the hilt jutting out of the creature''s throat.


    "That one strike felled it," the critic''s neighbor said, "Straight into the brain. It probably don''t even know it''s dead."


    The fighter braced the creature''s head with his foot and pulled the sword out with great effort. Following through with the motion, obviously not one to waste momentum, he chopped down and sliced the creature''s neck.


    The crowd cheered.


    "I knew he could do it," Luos heard the observer say over the uproar. "No doubt in my mind. I said it before, that Dover boy has got the warrior spirit."


    Luos looked down at the battered man, his fist high in triumph

 Chapter 7 - Chuffed

    ¡°You couldn¡¯t give me even one of those figs?¡± Asmod said, scrambling after Luos down the red dirt path. Forest lay to their right, and a vast fenced field lay to their left. The sun was setting over the rolling hills. The boy was walking ahead of him with the stick Asmod had found ¨C a good, quality stick, almost pilgrim staff material if it weren¡¯t dead wood ¨C over his shoulders, balanced by a sack of figs on either end.


    ¡°These figs are for Uncle and Master Samsian, Asmod. I can¡¯t have you eating them. There¡¯ll be none left for the old men.¡±


    ¡°But you had three!¡±


    Peezlebub had expressed his hatred for his cat vessel, and Asmod hadn¡¯t understood at the time. Not really. Now, having been a hawgling for a couple of days, he felt he was starting to understand. His senses were alien to him. Hawgs could see, hear, smell, touch, and taste. They had a sense of balance and a sense of temperature. But none of them were human senses.


    The world was less colorful to behold, but he could smell the exotic bouquet under the grass and in the middens. He wasn¡¯t as repulsed by muck, as he could identify and separate individual scents within even the most putrescent accretions. It was off-putting, and he had a sudden appreciation for the lives of the animals his parents raised.


    His parents. That was still a sore spot for him. It wasn¡¯t but a few months ago he still had a mother and father. They had found his father, who succumbed to his wounds, but his mother¡­


    Would his mother even recognize him? She would run to Luos and embrace him, but what would she think of a daemon inhabiting the body of a hawg who claimed to be her son?


    ¡°Are you coming, Asmod?¡± Luos had stopped to check on him as Asmod had fallen behind.


    He scrambled to heel to his real self. ¡°Yeah, I¡¯ve just got these short little legs.¡±


    Asmod really did want one of the figs. Peezlebub had been right. The food of the spirit world was delicious, but eventually one became disillusioned to the glamor. How many times can you have the same hunk of meat, the same piece of fruit, the exact same cup of wine, before you grow sick of it? Try as he might, Peezle couldn¡¯t imitate the spice of variety. Simulation still lacked that small push into a satisfying experience, like how a series of shallow breaths couldn¡¯t quite replicate the feeling of taking a deep lungful of air. It made the figs, the ones his real vessel could eat, that much more tantalizing.


    ¡°Hey,¡± Asmod started, ¡°how about we take a quick breather. Maybe sit down and rest. My trotters are-¡°


    But he was cut off. Beyond the wood line he heard a crack, and from the same direction came a whizzing rock.


    ¡°Auuggh!¡± Luos said as the bullet ricochet off his temple. He staggered and lost his balance, dropping first one sack and then the other. Bodies were rushing from the shadows to block the road before and behind.


    ¡°The bugs today are out in force!¡± someone said. It hadn¡¯t been one of the people blocking the road. They were thugs about Asmod¡¯s age. The one speaking didn¡¯t hustle like the rest of them, but strolled out from the woods.


    He covered his mouth with excitement, his eyes wide. ¡°You¡¯re bleeding! You actually scored blood, my man!¡± He high-fived one of his mates in the blockade as the others became infected with the ringleader¡¯s joy.


    Luos grunted and rubbed his temple, pulling his fingers away to see the blood himself. Asmod had already smelled it, but having been aware of people arriving, kept mum.


    ¡°I mean, uh,¡± he said, playing coy to the amusement of his followers, ¡°ouch, that sure was some bug. Did you get a good look at it?¡±


    Luos didn¡¯t need Asmod to tell him they were in trouble. These guys had a reputation in Hill Hill. They weren¡¯t the only child gang in town, but their leader sure was infamous. He made everyone call him Chuff.


    Asmod didn¡¯t know his real name, but it couldn¡¯t have been Chuff. Still, he had some of the adults scared of him. One of his biggest advantages to his criminal career was that he had taken the worst the village of Hill Hill could do to him. Being a minor, no one could hold him to the punishment given to misbehaving adults. Not yet, anyway.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    So he was free to terrorize anyone weaker than him, taking the cuffs and batterings that came with it. The farmers and day-workers strong enough to do something about him were loathe to punish someone else¡¯s child ¨C unless he did something to inconvenience them. Which he never did. He was and remained a thorn in everyone else¡¯s side on an individual basis.


    ¡°Hey, nice baby hawg. Does it do tricks?¡±


    Chuff tilted his head as he looked at Asmod, crouching to sit on his haunches, putting his hands in the dirt of the road. Luos had a hand where the stone had hit him. Asmod felt immediately uneasy and started looking up at Luos.


    Is that was I look like when I¡¯m angry? Asmod thought as he avoided Chuff¡¯s curiosity. This outside reflection was giving Asmod insight like he had never had before, and at the most inopportune time.


    ¡°What do you want?¡± Luos asked. It sounded pitiful, but Asmod couldn¡¯t think of any other way to have asked it. While Luos confronted the bully, Asmod began casting around for possible exits.


    The fence into the pasture was an obvious choice. No kids were blocking them there. But that was because it was the perimeter fence where Old Joan was keeping Big Nasty, the bull hawg with a raging temper.


    Still, it was a big field, and Big Nasty wasn¡¯t here at this moment. Could Luos get to it and climb it? There was a gap Asmod was sure he could squeeze through.


    Chuff scoffed, keeping up the coy act. He opened and closed his mouth, pretending to be at a loss for words while trying not very successfully to hide a smile. ¡°Well, I guess we haven¡¯t been properly introduced, new kid.¡± He radiated innocence, but the scummy oily kind you get on a day-old puddle. His group stood by expectantly, looking tough. There were eight of them in all, between the ages of seven and thirteen from the looks of it, and the ninth ¨C Chuff himself ¨C almost sixteen.


    ¡°My friends call me Chuff. I don¡¯t have any enemies, but they¡¯d call me Chuff, too. It¡¯s my unfortunate responsibility to inform you that this road here,¡± he indicated the dirt road which Luos had taken dozens of times to go into and return from Hill Hill, ¡°this road is now a toll road. I¡¯ve got to take something off you if you want to pass.¡±


    Asmod looked to the forest. How many kids were in Chuff¡¯s gang in all? Did he leave any beyond the tree line in case they had tried to escape? Luos didn¡¯t have to be particularly fast to lose people in the dark woods. And the sun was almost down. They could find a place to hide and lay low.


    ¡°I know who you are,¡± Luos said. ¡°Just tell me what you want or get out of here.¡±


    The circle ¨C which Asmod had noticed was shrinking by inches as the kids slowly advanced on both fronts ¨C oooh-ed in anticipation.


    ¡°Aww, don¡¯t be like that Luos. Yeah, I know your name, don¡¯t look so shocked. You¡¯re Skinflint¡¯s ward, right? The little weirdo who went out to the wizard tower out this way?¡± his words were rife with fake compassion. Then the crouching boy stood. He advanced on Luos, his hand held out for shaking. ¡°I guess we got off on the wrong foot, fella.¡±


    Luos recoiled, not taking the hand. But even as he looked at it in his moment of confusion, Chuff¡¯s other hand came up spraying red dirt.


    Asmod squealed in panic and fury, not even thinking before trying to headbutt the bully¡¯s shin. He received a kick for his efforts, sending him rolling a few feet.


    Luos tried to get the dirt out of his eyes, then grunted as Chuff punched him in the gut. He fell over, clutching his stomach.


    ¡°No, no, don¡¯t get up on my account,¡± Chuff said courteously, putting a foot on his chest. ¡°I¡¯ll just help myself. Looks like-¡­¡± He knelt without moving his foot and looked inside one of the burlap sacks, taking Luos¡¯ carrying stick in-hand.


    ¡°Looks like a bunch of fruit,¡± he finished, disappointed. The circle closed around the three of them, the two boys and the hawgling. Asmod and Luos stayed down.


    If they were lucky, the kids would take the fruit and leave. Asmod hoped they wouldn¡¯t take the time to drive the message home with their fists, the one informing Luos that Chuff and his gang did what they wanted.


    Then Asmod was surprised by a pair of red-rimmed eyes. Luos had rubbed out the dirt and was now staring intensely at him, as though urging the daemon into action.


    But what could he do? He had been forbidden by Samsian to do magic until they were given the go-ahead.


    ¡°I guess fruit pays the toll this time,¡± Chuff muttered. He knotted the end of one of the sacks and tossed it to a mate of his, and then did the same with the other. ¡°Nice stick, though.¡± He bounced it on its end and twisted the end in the dirt. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    But wait. It wasn¡¯t Asmod who was forbidden from doing magic. It was Luos. Asmod was only forbidden from hurting people. If he couldn¡¯t hurt Chuff and his goons, maybe he could do something to scare them. He would need to make it look like an accident, or he¡¯d risk the kids running to tell someone that the new kid did something magical. Or worse, that his pet hawgling was bewitched.


    Asmod retreated from his vessel, stretching the seconds to let himself think, recalling when he had been tutored before the daemon ritual.

 Chapter 8 - Alchemy

    ¡°Peezlebub, why do I need to know all this? You¡¯re the daemon. Aren¡¯t you supposed to do the work for me, and I control the magic?¡± Luos complained.


    ¡°One must have a firm grasp of the fundamentals before employing even simple tools, boy,¡± the cat replied.


    The two were outside Samsian¡¯s place and Luos had a virtual window open in front of him, navigating the elements of the spiritual realm at Peezlebub¡¯s behest.


    ¡°Now navigate to the location I¡¯ve provided. Do you-¡° but Luos cut his tutor off.


    ¡°What part of this involves the earth moving magic Samsian told you to do for me?¡±


    ¡°We¡¯re getting to it. Patience.¡± The cat¡¯s voice was full of patience. ¡°Some magic involves knowledge of the parameters. These are the most easily controlled, as you are responsible for how much of the operation occurs.¡±


    ¡°Again, Peezle,¡± Luos put his fists on his hips as he chided the daemon, ¡°that¡¯s supposed to be your job. I tell you want I want, and you figure out how it¡¯s done.¡±


    Peezlebub met Luos¡¯ gaze with the unblinking blank passiveness of a cat¡¯s stare. ¡°Humor me,¡± he said wryly.


    Luos looked away first. Talking with the daemon was unnerving, and only partly because of the stories he had heard the men in town tell. Now he knew at least some were true.


    The screen stuck in the space in front of him, glowing like an open refrigerator sans the machine itself. He navigated to the address written on a much smaller window which Peezlebub had conjured for him.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing in here but a transcribe,¡± Luos grumped. A lonely element named params.txt populated the address.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I wanted to show you. If you recall, the operational element you are to use is located at an address it shares with another element named just as this one is, but it¡¯s not a transcribe. Remind me, boy, what is the difference between a transcribe and an inert?¡±


    Luos was already bored. He was supposed to be moving dirt by now, which he could imagine was only slightly more enthralling. But he had to play along or else Peezle wouldn¡¯t let him get to the fun part.


    ¡°Transcribes speak in the languages of the ancients, receiving transcriptions from users and operative elements. Inerts are a broad category of elements which support the operative elements in ways not fully understood.¡±


    The cat nodded along with its eyes closed. ¡°Yes, just as is written. And I see you didn¡¯t access any extelligence to regurgitate it for me.¡± Luos had come to understand his mental abilities, like tracking finances for his uncle, were a form of magic in and of themselves. Innate abilities granted by the spiritual realm to work with information and operative elements therein, which Samsian referred to as extelligence, or the intelligence of the spiritual realm of the machine.


    ¡°Can you try to tell me why there is both an inert and a transcribe named params-dot-tee-ex-tee?¡±


    He might as well have asked Luos why birds flew south, or why summer was hot, or why sickles were curved. They just worked that way. But considering the cat was asking, he began to consider the names as more than just a coincidence. It was Peezlebub who had prepared this tutoring session after all. Perhaps he had done something, squirreled this element away in this address.


    ¡°Can I look in the transcribe?¡±


    The cat nodded, and Luos activated the icon.


    Another window popped up. It contained lines and lines of letters in broken English, with a more coherent header that Luos couldn¡¯t fully read.


    On a hunch, he opened the address of the earth moving operational element. He scrolled until he found the inert named params. His finger hovered over the icon for a second, and then he looked at Peezlebub, whose tail flicked. He gave no sign. Luos activated the icon.


    Nothing happened. No new window popped up. No avatar sprang into being. So Luos hit it again. And again.


    ¡°You aren¡¯t the proper authority for using that element, Luos. It won¡¯t wake for you,¡± Peezle hinted.This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.


    But Luos kept tapping on it, as though trying to unstick a flow meter.


    Then the name highlighted. It thought he wanted to rename the element.


    Peezlebub noticed and became startled. ¡°Careful, Luos. That¡¯s the master directory.¡±


    He stole a glance at Peezle, then began writing.


    ¡°I dub you¡­params¡­.dot-tee-ex-tee.,¡± he said, typing at his virtual keyboard. Peezle was frozen in his step. He was watching Luos, tail flicking. Perhaps he trusted the boy, but remained poised to intervene.


    Luos activated the icon, and a transcribe readout opened.


    He didn¡¯t even read the screen, he was shocked that his gambit had worked. He gaped and looked at Peezle, who seemed now more embarrassed than afraid.


    ¡°What did I just do?¡± Luos asked.


    Peezle returned to his graceful sitting position, tail curled around his front paws. ¡°A strange alchemy, yes.¡±


    ¡°The elements are interchangeable?¡±


    Peezle nodded, his face adopting a pained look. ¡°It-¡­ It¡¯s not a lie when we say there are four elements in the spiritual realm, boy, it-¡­¡± he paused to think. ¡°It¡¯s a teaching mechanism, you see. We have to tell you something, but not the whole truth. We don''t even know the whole truth, how the ancients really used magic. You have to break that ceiling yourself, when you understand more.¡±


    Luos was comparing the two transcribe readouts.


    ¡°The one I renamed is¡­.shorter.¡±


    Peezle, off-balance from the momentum of Luos¡¯ curiosity, said, ¡°Yes. The one you opened first was one I had prepared. I¡¯ve been studying this operation in particular and what I wanted to show you was how to make most effective use. The params it was buried with are simple and trite. Running it as-is merely moves 144 square feet of earth, pulling it from the ground in an eight-by-six-by-three solid. It can do so much more.¡±


    Luos kept flicking through the params as Peezle was talking. Lines and lines and lines of broken English and numbers.


    ¡°So what do I do?¡± he asked the cat. And Peezle walked him through the steps. He was to allocate his own space for a twin of everything in the earth moving address to reside. Then he was to replace the params in his own address with a renamed params that Peezlebub had provided.


    ¡°And now you can activate the icon,¡± Peezle said when the consolidation had finished. ¡°Keep in mind, you are working in my space. This will not be immediately available to you when you have a daemon of your own. When you¡¯ve proven yourself mature and capable, when you have established connection with a daemon, then I might make it available to you.¡±


    Luos activated the icon.


    At first, nothing had happened. But just as he was about to tell Peezle about it, something appeared in his vision.


    ¡°CAT¡±, it read. But the A was partially obscured by an orange triangle. When it moved politely to the corner of his vision, shrinking to a third of the size, there was a tiny green circle with a dot right at the focus of his vision.


    ¡°How about it, boy? Did it initialize?¡± Peezle asked anxiously.


    The green circle wasn¡¯t the only thing, either. The ground he was standing on, the grassy lawn which extended to the edge of the woods which surrounded Samsian¡¯s home on the far reaches of Hill Hill terratory, had been superimposed by yellow hashed lines. They weren¡¯t constant, and seemed to slide over the ground, marking the boundary between the earthosphere and atmosphere. He vocalized in awe.


    ¡°Now, boy, you¡¯ve got access to-¡° Peezle started, his anxiety in his voice only growing. Luos cut him off. In the brief moment it took for the cat to say as much, Luos had moved his hand into his view, and that changed everything.


    Suddenly, extending from his arm, was a glowing translucent bucket at the end of a truss of the same material. The bucket was hinged to the arm by the rim, with protrusions like teeth on the opposite end of the rim. The bottom was curved, but the sides between the hinge and joint were flat.


    But the scale was immense. The bucket itself was large, probably five feet wide on the diagonal and four feet deep. The truss which extended from Luos¡¯ arm could go twice his height if he held it straight up. And it merged seamlessly with his forearm. There was no trace of a hand, though he could still feel it there. There was no sensation coming from the construct itself.


    Peezlebub¡¯s fur stood on end, clearly not anticipating Luos to have figured out the earth moving tool so quickly. He made no protest, only watching with bated breath at what this twelve-year-old boy would do with the power.


    Luos lowered the arm to the ground. He gestured, scooping the bucket in the yellow-hashed earth. The bucket filled easily with soil, ripping the roots of the sod as he pulled it back up.


    ¡°Th-this is th-the p-power shovel, available in the full suite of tools,¡± Peezlebub explained as Luos emptied the soil from whence he had removed it.


    He rounded on the cat suddenly. ¡°Peezle, this is great!¡± he said. As he moved his arms to say this with emphasis, the shovel tool vanished.


    ¡°Safety first,¡± said Peezlebub. ¡°The operation temporarily banishes the construct if you move too quickly or if it intersects with a non-earthen object.¡±


    Luos faced the lawn once more and the construct returned.


    ¡°The arm of the shovel is immaterial. It¡¯s the bucket which interacts with the physical.¡± Luos tested the cat¡¯s claim by moving his free hand through the truss. He felt no resistance, and it passed right through. ¡°But are you seeing the indicator in the soil? I can¡¯t, as I¡¯m not running the operation myself. Only the matter indicated can be affected by the shovel. That being the non-earthen material I mentioned.¡±


    Luos looked at the magical object extending from his arm. His pause prompted Peezlebub to ask, ¡°Are you alright, boy?¡±


    This was it. He was doing magic. Just knowing he was using his first spell was overwhelming. It might just be some simple thing, fit for digging ditches or latrines, but it was a start. He really was a wizard¡¯s apprentice now, transformed literally by magic from blacksmith''s son and orphan. And soon he would have a daemon of his own, no longer restricted to using one his master had bound.


    ¡°Yeah,¡± he said. ¡°I¡¯m doing just fine.¡±

 Chapter 9 - The Swordsman

    Luos lay clutching his stomach as Chuff went through the bags of figs.


    ¡°I guess fruit pays the toll this time,¡± Chuff muttered. ¡°Nice stick, though.¡± He bounced it on its end and twisted the end in the dirt. ¡°Thanks.¡±


    Why wasn¡¯t Asmod doing anything? He glared at the hawgling, kicked aside by Chuff like a dog. What was the point of having a daemon if it didn¡¯t even protect you from bullies? Clearly Asmod was going to stick to the rules that Samsian had laid out. No magic.


    He didn¡¯t move to get up. Chuff had a whole posse with him, and Luos didn¡¯t want to push his luck in a crowd. But his helplessness burned him up inside even as his eyes streamed with tears from the dirt that Chuff had thrown at him. He focused that anger into a glare at his useless daemon.


    It seemed to Luos that Asmod didn¡¯t want to get up either, choosing to stay down, looking dazed as anything from Chuff batting him away. He wasn¡¯t moving very much, and his eyes were unfocused. Luos wrote this off as the vessel he chose having been too runty. That¡¯s just what he needed, a defective daemon.


    ¡°Well, I hate to chat and run but I-¡­¡± Chuff starts. He is cut off by blood curdling screams.


    Luos forgets the pain in his belly for a moment as one of the thugs seems to have grown a huge deformed arm. It seems as though his radial and ulnar bones have extended twice the length of a man, forming a truss. The hand at the end, its fingers apparently fused, culminate in a deep curved shape.


    There was no intermittent period. One moment the kid was fine, and the next he was waving around this huge deformed-¡­


    But Luos recognizes the deformity. It¡¯s not the kid¡¯s hand, it¡¯s the earth moving shovel tool he remembers using under Peezlebub¡¯s guidance. He glances quickly at Asmod who is watching the arm wave over the group¡¯s heads, the massive bucket yawing on the hinge. The hawgling looks alarmed but not fearful.


    ¡°Calm- Calm down! Stop waving¡­.I said stop it!¡±


    Another kid, one with a cool head in a panic, tries to calm his friend without getting swatted by the truss.


    The arm comes down, the bucket mouth down. It makes a smooth scoop in the earth several feet away from the edge of the crowd. The smallest kid screams and runs back towards town, away from the horrifying ordeal, away from the danger.


    ¡°Get it off me! Get it off! I can¡¯t feel- I can¡¯t feel my hand, get it off!¡± the kid cries. He¡¯s literally crying. Woah, kid, calm down, it¡¯s just a little magic.


    For reasons unknown to Luos, the kid doesn¡¯t try to bring his arm in. He¡¯s not aware that the construct will vanish if he pulls his arm in close, or tries to flail it about. Asmod chose his victim well. If he¡¯d chosen someone especially panicky, the group might have figured out the construct was ethereal, that it was completely under the control of the wielder, that being the kid whose arm the shovel was attached to.


    The remaining thugs were clustered around their leader. Chuff had not screamed. Luos had been preoccupied with the surprise, in determining what was going on, he hadn¡¯t really seen Chuff¡¯s reaction.


    He watched the arm with wide eyed fascination. Not good for Luos and Asmod. If the kids stopped panicking and instead considered this thing a gift, then Luos and Asmod would still be at their mercy. Best to get out while they were preoccupied.


    He grabbed both sacks of figs from the kids carrying them and ran towards the forest. Asmod jumped to his feet and ran after Luos like a terrier.


    ¡°Hey,¡± one of the kids said lamely. It was enough to get Chuff¡¯s attention.


    ¡°He¡¯s going into the forest!¡± he shouted. While this pulled the rest of the kids¡¯ attention away from the shovel arm being waved around in the air, this also got the attention of the kid himself. While the arm was directly above the group, he unwittingly dropped the load of dirt right on top of them, burying them all in pounds of loose soil.


    All but Chuff, that is, who had ran after Luos the moment he had shouted, staff in hand. He didn¡¯t stop to check on his squad, either ignoring their issues or choosing to leave them behind.


    This late in the evening, the trees did a decent job of blotting out the light of the setting sun. Luos and Asmod navigated the dense greenery as quickly as they could. Asmod, with his smaller body and four legs, was making simple work of the obstacles. Luos, with only two legs and encumbered by both sacks of figs, quickly fell behind.


    ¡°Speed it up, slowpoke, or else Chuff is going to get you,¡± the hawgling hissed.


    Straddling a lichen and moss encrusted tree, felled during the wet season storm last year, Luos shot back, ¡°I¡¯m trying. Slow down.¡±


    They could both hear the older boy on their tail, using the staff to navigate the broken terrain. He was also saying something. Something he was close enough for Luos to determine was sing-song, but not close enough to hear the words.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    Asmod spoke over the distant bully. ¡°Will you put those figs down? We can skirt him and make it back to the road. That¡¯ll take us to Uncle¡¯s place where we can lie low until we¡¯re ready to go to Samsian¡¯s in the morning.¡±


    ¡°I am not putting these down after coming so far with them,¡± Luos said resolutely. ¡°We just need somewhere to hide until he goes away. Find something for us.¡±


    Asmod groaned as he squeezed through the branches of neighboring bushes, but not because of the effort.


    ¡°Just give me a shovel like you did back there with that kid. I¡¯ve got a plan,¡± Luos said.


    ¡°I am not doing that,¡± Asmod scoffed.


    ¡°You¡¯re my daemon, you have to do what I tell you. If you don¡¯t, I¡¯ll-¡°


    ¡°You¡¯ll do something worse than Samsian when he finds out I helped you use magic? He expressly forbid it.¡±


    ¡°You did it for that other kid back there.¡±


    ¡°Yes, that was helping him do magic. I¡¯m not allowed to help you do magic.¡±


    Typical daemon, following orders to a T. Luos thought harder as the two pushed their way through the dense growth. He thought so hard, he almost tripped over Asmod who had suddenly stopped moving.


    ¡°Hey, he¡¯s right behind us, we gotta move,¡± Luos ordered. But the hawgling wasn¡¯t listening. His snout was in the air and his eyes were wide.


    ¡°I¡¯m coming to get you,¡± came a sing-song voice behind them, ¡°and when I do I¡¯ll beat you black and blue.¡± Chuff sounded happy, his rhyming threat coming to the pair up-beat.


    ¡°I can hear him now, Asmod, we need to find a place to hide or we¡¯ll have to fight him again.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s something out there,¡± the frozen hawgling said. ¡°I smell blood.¡±


    Before Luos could reply, Chuff emerged from the greenery, grinning.


    ¡°And I¡¯ll beat your little hawg, too,¡± he sang. He held Luos¡¯ staff diagonally, gripping it with both hands, ready to block, or to strike.


    Luos was encumbered by sacks of figs, which were growing softer with the rough handling across the forest. ¡°Chuff! Just let us go. It¡¯s just a bunch of fruit for some old men, we¡¯re not causing you trouble.¡±


    Chuff advanced slowly as Luos retreated. ¡°I don¡¯t want your fruit,¡± the older boy said. While he said it calmly and sincerely, Luos felt no better off. The bully was still advancing, and Luos couldn¡¯t look away from the smiling face. Every backwards step he took to keep what distance between him and the older boy was another risk he¡¯d catch his foot on a creeper or a broken branch and fall.


    ¡°Then what do you want?¡± Luos asked.


    Chuff stopped. He pressed his lips together, like he¡¯d just sucked a citron, and looked thoughtful.


    ¡°Did you know,¡± he asked levelly, ¡°if you hit someone in the back of the head hard enough, their eyes pop out?¡±


    He took a single rapid step forward and Luos jumped. Chuff continued. ¡°I thought that would be interesting to try. Mr. Barterbur ¨C you know him, right new kid? The mortician in town? Well, he says that people have these¡­ little strings attached to the back of people¡¯s eyes. And I want to see if you have them.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t need to do that, Chuff,¡± Luos said in a frail voice. Was Chuff being serious? Was he really going to beat Luos until his eyes popped out? Where was Asmod?


    ¡°Oh, no, new kid. It¡¯s something I want to do. And I¡¯m lucky enough to have you in the woods, the orphan boy no one will miss.¡±


    Luos saw Chuff¡¯s eyes dart down a fraction of a second before the boy swiped at him with the staff, laughing as he did. By chance Luos danced out of reach of the piece of wood where it would have struck his hand. But his foot became entangled and he fell backward.


    ¡°You can have the figs, I don¡¯t care any more Chuff, take it!¡± He scooted back on his elbows and butt.


    The older boy moved slowly, trying to find a window to strike. And Luos, on his back, had his vitals exposed to the other boy¡¯s staff.


    ¡°I want to pop your eyes out, new kid. I want to cut them from their strings and put them in my pocket.¡±


    He brandished the staff like a long club as he carefully advanced on Luos, his gaze fixed.


    Then there was a rustling in the undergrowth, and a squealing. With his adrenaline pumping, Luos was startled from staring up at the older boy. He saw Asmod coming to his rescue, probably to headbutt Chuff in the leg again. But no, the hawgling ran squealing right past the two of them.


    Even as Luos looked away, Chuff took that moment to strike. Luos was too distracted by Asmod to react. He couldn¡¯t back up any further, his head butting against a tree stump. He couldn¡¯t roll out of the way.


    But the strike never came. There was a sound like a hammer driving a stake into the ground.


    In the dim light, Luos saw a shadow had stepped over him, facing his attacker. Around the arms and legs ¨C wrapped in stiff and dented leather armor - he could see Chuff¡¯s shocked face in the dim light. The tip of the staff had a deep notch in the side.


    ¡°If you want to collect eyeballs, I recommend you take them only from armed opponents,¡± the figure told the bully. There was a sword in the figure¡¯s left hand, the tip pointed to the ground.


    The figure moved, and there was the sound of a sword being pulled out of its scabbard from the man¡¯s left hip. Then a thud as the man tossed the sword on the ground in front of Chuff.


    ¡°You can start with me,¡± he told the stunned bully. ¡°Throw away that hunk of wood and pick up a real sword.¡±


    By the light of the stars, Luos could barely make out Chuff¡¯s expression. Was he crying?


    He threw down the staff but didn¡¯t go for the sword. ¡°I¡¯m an unarmed kid, mister. You don¡¯t have the right to fight me if I don¡¯t want to fight.¡±


    ¡°That didn¡¯t stop you from picking on this boy here.¡±


    ¡°We were just playing,¡± Chuff chuckled. ¡°Or weren¡¯t you a kid once?¡±


    There was a tense series of heartbeats as the two stared each other down. Luos could feel the prickle of dry leaves and what might be the legs of bugs on his skin as he lay in the loam of the forest. He noticed for the first time what had tripped him. There was a piece of cloth wrapped around his leg, and it was connected to something.


    Chuff jumped when the man moved, but he was just sheathing his sword. He turned and knelt to Luos, offering to pull him onto his feet. Luos recognized the man.


    ¡°You¡¯re the guy from the boor fight today,¡± he said as he took the man¡¯s hand.


    Then Chuff moved. The man turned.


    There was a clank of metal. A whizzing sound. Another thud.


    When the man¡¯s attention had been focused on Luos, Chuff had gone for the sword still on the ground, the issue of challenge he¡¯d been given. But even as he did so, the man had drawn and deflected the lunge, going so far as to wrench the weapon from Chuff¡¯s hand where it landed in the shadows several feet away.


    ¡°Ow! Ow ow!¡± Chuff whined. ¡°You injured my hand! I was unarmed!¡±


    Before anyone could reply, Chuff turned and ran, clutching his wrist.


    ¡°Some friend of yours?¡± the man asked when Chuff was gone.


    ¡°Hardly.¡± Luos began examining the ground. ¡°You didn¡¯t actually cut his hand off?¡±


    The man shook his head. He extended a hand of his own, which Luos shook. ¡°I¡¯m Dover. You seem to have destroyed my camp.¡±


    Looking down, Luos saw that the cloth wrapped around his leg was once part of a small temporary shelter.


    Luos grinned and shrugged. ¡°Can I offer you a fig?¡±

 Chapter 10 - Dover

    ¡°You¡¯ll find people like that everywhere. Cruelty is in their bones.¡±


    Luos had felt so badly about destroying Dover¡¯s hobo camp that he had offered to help build it back up. Dover had said he didn¡¯t need help putting the tent back up, but if Luos wanted to help, he could gather some firewood and tinder. As things had turned out, Dover was just returning from Hill Hill himself when Chuff had cornered Luos.


    ¡°Were you really going to fight him after that boor fight?¡± He recalled the punishment the man had taken in the ring. He wouldn¡¯t be surprised if Dover¡¯s skin was one big bruise under his armor.


    The man laughed. It made him seem especially human to Luos, a heartfelt laugh like that. He sat across the campfire from Luos. He had a mop of black hair, cropped on the back and sides. He was still in his leather cuirass, greaves, and boots, but he had taken off the armor from his arms. It had been a more involved process than Luos had expected, but they covered not only his forearms but his elbows and most of his biceps.


    ¡°These are the driving force for your weapon,¡± he¡¯d said, patting the muscle of his upper arm. ¡°If a boor grabs you there and rends the meat, he¡¯s done as good as sundering your blade and destroying your shield.¡±


    ¡°You fight boors professionally?¡±


    The man thought before answering. ¡°It¡¯s a significant source of income for me,¡± he said finally, inflecting his words like he was humoring Luos.


    ¡°But that¡¯s not all you do,¡± Luos wheedled.


    When the man didn¡¯t answer, choosing instead to poke at the fire with his sword, Luos did the same for the conversation.


    ¡°So what are you doing out here in the wilderness? There¡¯s rooms enough in town, I¡¯m sure. And you got your winnings?¡±


    ¡°Winnings? I got those.¡± He pointed to a nearby sack. ¡°Those and a swift kick out the door at nightfall.¡±


    Luos couldn¡¯t believe it. Hill Hill being inhospitable?


    The man continued, ¡°So what are you doing out in the woods with that little creep?¡± Indicating Chuff.


    Luos decided to go transparent. ¡°I spooked his goons when he tried to extort me.¡±


    ¡°Fancy words for a tussle over some figs. How¡¯d you spook them?¡± He grunted as he stretched his legs out, getting comfortable on the ground.


    The time for transparency was over, Luos guessed. Still, he could be mostly truthful.


    ¡°I did a trick with my hawg they didn¡¯t like,¡± he said. The man snorted in amusement, indicating that Luos had scored. ¡°Say, you didn¡¯t see which way it went did you?¡±


    Dover shrugged, then pointed in an arc. ¡°Thatta way, I s¡¯pose.¡± He indicated a full 45 degrees of direction.


    A rustle in the brush behind Luos ¨C almost the complete opposite direction Dover had been pointing - yanked their attention from the supposed heading. Even as Luos was horror struck thinking that Chuff had returned to finish the job, Dover was on his feet, steel at the ready.


    ¡°Speaking of the devil,¡± Dover said, relaxing his guard. Asmod¡¯s small frame appeared, snouting his way through the undergrowth. He seemed defeated somehow, head low in embarrassment, his energy depleted.


    ¡°And just where have you been?¡± Luos nagged. With the words out, he realized the daemon couldn¡¯t reply, not with Dover around. No need to let the worms out of that can. ¡°He¡¯s always running off like this,¡± by way of explanation, ¡°and we can¡¯t afford another until this one grows up.¡± He scrambled towards Asmod, both to pretend to pet the coarse fur and to put hands on the cowardly daemon. He chuckled for effect.


    Dover gave a skeptical squint, still in his more relaxed pose but frozen in contemplation. ¡°Uh-huh,¡± he grunted. Then, dismissing the topic, began to painfully recline on the ground again. It seemed to Luos he was fighting his aching body from collapsing all at once.


    Once again seated, he made a continuing gesture. ¡°So, show me this trick you did with your hawg. The one that spooked those kids.¡±


    ¡°What? Oh. I don¡¯t think that would be a good idea.¡± Luos was trying to move Asmod closer to the fire, closer to where Luos had been sitting and wished to sit again. The hawg took much coaxing to move even one trotter. This piggy statue of stubbornness had its gaze fixed on Dover for whatever reason. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    ¡°I¡¯ve seen some scary stuff, Luos. Or do you think I can¡¯t handle it?¡±


    ¡°Yes, actually,¡± Luos said, suddenly wary of this stranger. ¡°What if you see it and you fly into a murderous rage? I wouldn¡¯t have any recourse.¡± Why was Asmod doing this? He was vibrating in-¡­ what? Anger? Fear?


    ¡°Suit yourself,¡± the fighter said. He stoked the fire with the point of his sword. The ember-ridden logs sent up sparks.


    With Asmod in the grip of his strange mood, Luos was more on edge since encountering Dover than he had been all night.  He was eager to take Asmod somewhere they could talk, and he could pick the daemon¡¯s brain.


    ¡°Well,¡± Luos started with a drawl, ¡°I think it¡¯s about time I get going. I wouldn¡¯t want to keep you up all night after a day like yours.¡± But then he saw that his words fell on deaf ears. Dover had fallen asleep, laying on his side in front of the fire. The man had been grilling Luos one minute for details about his skirmish with the bully, and had zonked out the next.


    ¡°He could still be awake,¡± Luos mused. This was mostly to let Asmod know not to start talking, but not to give anything away if the fighter was feigning sleep. ¡°I guess we can go home now.¡±


    But before leaving, Luos quietly dimmed the fire to embers and covered him up with a blanket from the tent.


    When they were well away, Luos moving quickly through the dark woods and Asmod trotting quickly at his heels, he told the daemon, ¡°Alright. Tell me what went on back there.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t trust that guy,¡± the hawg said. ¡°I don¡¯t think he was being honest with us.¡±


    ¡°He saved me from Chuff. You too, probably.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, well, he¡¯s smarmy. I hope we don¡¯t have to see him again.¡±


    ****


    While the real Luos prepared to sleep, Asmod curled up on the floor as if doing likewise. But Asmod the daemon did not need to sleep. The hawg vessel still needed it, though it could be pushed beyond the constraints with little negative impact to the riding daemon. Asmod retreated into the spirit realm to process the events of the day.


    Asmod was suddenly in his human body, looking like Luos from the real world, in the same idyllic scene as what Peezle would pull him into to chat, daemon to daemon. This one wasn¡¯t Peezles, but Asmod¡¯s copy. He didn¡¯t yet have the experience to make it truly his own, but it worked for him now. He had been given access to a simple suite of tools, with the promise of gaining access to more complex ones when he and Luos had reached a milestone in their education.


    He pulled up the suite of simple tools. Before him sprang into existence a three dimensional space ¨C the size of a puzzle box - gridded with lines, and with an x/y/z axis indicator in the back lower corner. It was like a screen, but a cube instead of a rectangle. Asmod could manipulate it to look into the block of space from any side. Toolbars hovered within, contained within the editing software program. They were called toolbars, despite them being yet more blocks inside this gridded space. When Asmod selected them, they each produced a menu. There were three of them, but more existed in the customizable interface.


    Luos had asked him why he reacted that way to Dover, but his answer had not been entirely truthful. He felt Dover was a fighter, as he had claimed, and that he had just gotten back to his camp. That Hill Hill had kicked him out before nightfall, too, he felt was true. Luos didn¡¯t know it, but in his time with Peezlebub, Asmod had experienced second-hand what the villagers here were like to outsiders.


    Asmod perused the toolbars within, selected a block which bloomed into deeper and deeper options, and when he found what he was looking for, the menus all closed and a shape appeared in the center of the block of space. It was a grey solid made of three main lobes. The center lobe was shaped like a cigar, thick, cylindrical, and tapered on the ends. The other two lobes were flat surfaces, paper-like, with intricate line work done on the top and bottom in black, but solid grey in color. They sprouted out of the cigar lengthwise, mirroring each other, each about twenty degrees from the norm.


    No, what had rankled Asmod was Dover¡¯s talk about Dover¡¯s income. Boor-fighting was just some of it, sure. Asmod saw him kill the one in town, and he had had his winnings with him when he returned to his camp. But there was some evidence that it was only the most savory of what he did to make ends meet.


    He opened a window to the tome of insects Peezle had provided him. The page depicted in two dimensions a more highly developed depiction of the butterfly he had been constructing.


    The daemon inserted a featureless and similarly grey block alongside the model of the butterfly and began shaping it into a curled proboscis, a feature present in the flat image that was not yet present on the model.


    There was something about the man that Asmod didn¡¯t like, and Luos couldn¡¯t see it. The man¡¯s sword ¨C the one he had used to slay the boor - had glowed with an aura. It had whispered to Asmod while Luos and the fighter talked, and Asmod didn¡¯t like what it had to say.


    He worked on his butterfly model for hours while Luos slept, keeping one eye on what the vessel was experiencing.


    Two hours before dawn, his uncle woke up and started to work, but when he checked, Luos was still asleep.


    He returned to his butterfly. He opened up the menu, chose an option on the first tier, and clicked it.


    The butterfly, still grey, began to slowly beat its wings. It would look lifelike while flying and gliding, but he had come to terms with the level of his own ability. He wouldn¡¯t be able to make the creature land and drink from flowers or walk. But it would be pretty enough gliding in a cloud of its siblings, accentuating Peezle¡¯s flowered shrubs.


    Asmod smirked, and then opened a color selector menu. Luos would be up a little past dawn, and by then Asmod would have some virtual butterfly clones to come back to the next night. The book called them tiger swallowtails and had a footnote he could explore later.


    Working on the little bug had almost put the encounter out of Asmod¡¯s mind. But before he let it go entirely for the moment, the daemon made a mental note to ask Peezlebub why an enchanted sword would ask him to kill its bearer.

 Chapter 11 - Smithy

    Luos awoke and made breakfast for himself, chopping a fig and obtaining some goat cheese and honey from his uncle¡¯s larder. If there were three pleasures in his uncle¡¯s life, it was a finely crafted blade, fresh cheese, and sweets. Luos drizzled the chopped fig with honey and scarfed down the fruit and cheese from a wooden plate. As he did, he recalled the discussion with his uncle about making some metal ones.


    ¡°A waste of good metal when wood grows on trees,¡± he had said.


    Luos hadn¡¯t wanted to argue the semantics. No meant no.


    Asmod caught his eye as he was about to eat the final piece of cheese. The deamon hawgling was staring at him with hungry eyes. The hawgling he had bound the daemon to was cute, in an ugly way. Its tusks, only a hint of what the large teeth would become, poked out of the corners of its mouth. Its hair was not the sparse and coarse stuff of a newborn, but the fluffy down coat of a faun, camouflaged for an environment in which it would never live. If he didn¡¯t know it was inhabited by a daemon, he¡¯d want to pet it. But he could see it there, in the critter¡¯s gaze. It was hungry, yes, but it was also intelligent. Luos couldn¡¯t tell if it was visible to everyone, but he could see the daemon, almost watch the gears of the conniving spirit¡¯s mind turn. It had only been bound recently and wasn¡¯t used to the bondage. It was Luos¡¯ job to teach the creature its place.


    ¡°No,¡± Luos said firmly. He popped the cheese into his mouth.


    Asmod looked away, shuffling his fore-feet as if shrugging. ¡°I didn¡¯t want it anyway. You chew noisily.¡±


    ¡°What does my schedule look like for today?¡± he asked, ignoring the comment. He didn¡¯t really want to know, and he actually did remember what he had to do today. This was just to get the daemon to do something at his bidding.


    ¡°We delivered the figs to uncle,¡± Asmod said, ¡°and we¡¯ve got more to deliver to master Samsian. There¡¯s the chores left to do there ¨C mucking the stall, organizing paper files, preparing food, doing the dishes, washing the floors ¨C but there could be some things for uncle to do that we can get rolling while we¡¯re here, so it would be good to talk with him before we leave.¡±


    Luos nodded. ¡°I¡¯m not sure what to tell him about our stop here last night. I don¡¯t think he needs the whole truth, because I don¡¯t want to sell our friend Dover out. Uncle might try to sell him something.¡±


    Asmod made a little snort at Luos referring to Dover as a friend.


    I don¡¯t want to tell uncle that I almost got beat up by Chuff, Luos didn¡¯t add. He didn¡¯t want to give the daemon a reason to bring things up. ¡°So, what story can we give him? I need ideas.¡± He listened for the semi-repetitive clink clank of hammer on steel coming from the forge outside. There had been a lull, and he was ready to silence Asmod in case uncle were to intrude. The hammering returned.


    The hawgling huffed, then was ready with an answer. Luos had been shocked at the inhuman speed with which the daemons worked, but Samsian had explained their capabilities to him early in his education.


    ¡°Daemons don¡¯t work the same way as humans,¡± his mentor had told him, ¡°They mimic us, possibly as a way of lowering our guard and keep us comfortable with them, but they think faster. This makes them invaluable, but we must stay vigilant of the danger they pose to us. You can trick them, but not easily. Spare the rod, spoil the daemon, we wizards say.¡±


    Asmod said, ¡°Our time in town was delayed by the boor fight. It went longer than expected, or we got interrupted with conversation. We could weave in the talk with Jean and convey the compliments to potentially distract him from the delay. If he brings up the fact we came from the forest instead of the road, we could say we were foraging for mushrooms. We were unsuccessful, obviously. And we were slowed by the figs.¡±


    ¡°I could also say you slowed me down. That I needed to carry you.¡±


    The hawgling rolled its eyes. ¡°Yes, I considered it, but uncle is practical. He might suggest you get rid of me.¡±Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Luos shrugged, as if that would be no great loss. ¡°When we go out there, you need to run out screaming. Do your business in the grass. Really sell the illusion.¡±


    ¡°Do I have to keep up the act around uncle?¡± Asmod groaned.


    Luos looked at the daemon suspiciously. Another attempt to weaken his bond. ¡°Yes you have to keep the illusion up around my uncle. He¡¯s a sharp man, but he¡¯s superstitious. You might not know this, but he throws things at Peezlebub. Or did when he used to come around here.¡± He had expected the daemon to try and cut him off or complain again, but the hawgling had clammed up. Moodily, but didn¡¯t voice any further complaints.


    When Luos exited to the smithy, Asmod bolted with a shrill, prolonged squeal, as he had agreed.


    ¡°Morning, uncle,¡± Luos said over the sounds of hawgling and his uncle¡¯s metal hammering.


    There was a hiss of quenching as he dipped the blade into a barrel of water. He replaced the tongs he had used to pick up the weapon-in-process and wiped his hands on his apron. All of this he did before looking back at Luos.


    ¡°Mmm,¡± he grunted. Luos couldn¡¯t tell if it was an annoyed grunt or one of distraction.


    ¡°I brought your figs from farmer Jean,¡± he hazarded.


    ¡°I saw,¡± was all the man replied. He didn¡¯t reach for any tools and made no attempt to continue working. He leaned on the anvil, watching Luos.


    ¡°I can¡¯t stay long. Master Samsian wants me back to do my chores. I¡¯m a bit late in returning.¡±


    Luos had left space for a reply, which the man left unfilled. Asmod squealed again, zooming across the property.


    ¡°I have some time, though. I could do some chores for you, if you¡¯d like. It¡¯s about time for your bookkeeping.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m waiting for you to get to the part where you tell me why you were harassing a village kid in the woods last night.¡±


    Luos¡¯ stomach sank.


    ¡°You chased him into the woods, you and that ¨C¡° he pointed in the direction of the wild and crazy Asmod ¡°- hawg of yours. You did some voodoo magic, whatever evil that Samsian character is poking into you, deforming one of the other kids, then came after Chuff.¡±


    ¡°Uncle Persimon, you¡¯ve got it all wrong-¡°


    He was silenced by Persimon who held up a finger. ¡°I don¡¯t want excuses from you, Luos. Did you or did you not use magic on Chuff and his friends?¡±


    Technically he hadn¡¯t, but as far as his uncle knew, it was Luos learning magic, and Asmod didn¡¯t exist.


    ¡°He chased me,¡± Luos managed to get out, ¡°He told me he was going to kill me!¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you raise your voice at me!¡± uncle bellowed. It triggered something primal in Luos. Not his fight response, but that of his flight response, and primal nonetheless. The boy crouched back, fearful if only for a second. Even Asmod stopped and paid attention.


    Persimon continued, no longer shouting, but frustration still tinging his words. ¡°You probably scared him. People will defend themselves when they think they¡¯re in danger. What I¡¯m concerned about is that you didn¡¯t come directly to me about it. Instead, you come skulking in from the dark. What am I supposed to think, Luos?¡±


    Luos, downcast, said in a small voice, ¡°What did he tell you?¡±


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t him what told me. His father sent word to me just before you arrived. Goddammit, Luos, I knew that Samsian character was going to be no good for you!¡± At this last, he slapped the anvil with both hands. He didn¡¯t use his big scary voice, only giving in to a brief venting of anger. ¡°And now you¡¯ve gone and pissed off the commissioner of Hill Hill. When Garret-¡­ When your parents passed, and I took you in, I did it out of love. But I know I can¡¯t be them, but that doesn¡¯t mean you can disrespect me like this.¡±


    ¡°But what did he tell you?¡± Luos repeated.


    ¡°He said like I told you. You did something, something unnatural, and it scared his boy. He said you chased him into the forest with threats.¡± Persimon sighed, looked like he was going to say something else, but didn¡¯t.


    ¡°It didn¡¯t happen like that,¡± Luos said. He rubbed his face with his hand quickly and his hand came away wet.


    ¡°Who do you think they¡¯re going to believe, Luos?¡± he put his hands on his hips. ¡°His letter was firm, but I guess it could be taken as a warning.¡± He rubbed his forehead. ¡°If I lose business over this-¡°


    ¡°You don¡¯t seem to care that I do the books for you,¡± Luos almost whispered.


    ¡°What was that?¡±


    ¡°You said what I did was unnatural. But you know the way I do your bookkeeping is all the same thing?¡±


    ¡°Now, that¡¯s diff-¡°


    ¡°No, it¡¯s not. You¡¯re just scared of it when it¡¯s real. The stuff that helps you, the stuff that you can¡¯t see, it¡¯s all ok. You don¡¯t understand it, either, but you don¡¯t have to see it.¡± The atmosphere of the forge was so tense Luos thought the anvil might crack.


    Persimon let out a huff. ¡°Luos, what happened to your parents-¡°


    ¡°It¡¯s all the same stuff, and I¡¯m not scared of it. I can master it.¡±


    ¡°He was my brother, Luos. You don¡¯t know what you¡¯re getting into. You¡¯re just a boy, for Zeich¡¯s sake.¡±


    But Luos wasn¡¯t listening any longer. He gestured at Asmod, who had been watching the discussion. The hawgling approached like a kicked dog. ¡°We¡¯re leaving for Samsian¡¯s, Uncle.¡± He dipped inside the house of the smithy, coming back out with what remained of the sack of figs.


    Without another word, he and Asmod left his uncle¡¯s house. After some time, the clink clank of the smithy resumed.

 Chapter 12 - Weatherman

    Samsian was in his study when Luos arrived, standing in the dim light of a glowing screen. This was nothing new to the pupil. Floating glowing screens, while exciting at the outset of his magical career, he was coming to hate the things. His master was always demanding Peezlebub conjure one to show him this or that, and the news was more often or not distressing to the old man.


    This one was a composite screen, taking up the entirety of the only blank wall in the wizard¡¯s study. It was covered entirely with tiny numbers and symbols and lines, connecting the concepts the symbols represented ¨C clouds, wheat, silo, bugs ¨C through esoteric values given by the numbers.


    Samsian did not bother with any introduction or greeting, but instead started talking as if Luos had been there the whole time listening to the dissertation in Samsian¡¯s head, which had reached a frothing boil.


    ¡°Holding back the rain will risk drying out the nitrogen-fixers, but they should last long enough if the harvest is on time. We¡¯ll have the fallow season to ramp them back up. I won¡¯t risk wetting the soil directly with the contaminants that have built up from our dry period.¡±


    He held his right elbow in his left hand while his right hand explored, twisted, and teased his grey beard. Luos ¨C Asmod at his heel ¨C remained silent.


    ¡°Peezle,¡± Samsian demanded of the cat, which perched on a box next to the glowing screen, ¡°trend the western geiger for the past six moons.¡±


    The cat licked its paw to wash its face as the giant screen was replaced by a squiggly line. This Luos had also learned ¨C trends, which showed how numbers changed in relation to two metrics. This one climbed like a steep mountain. With the anchor metric being time, it meant the geigers ¨C whatever they were. Luos vaguely recalled they were a toxic aura which existed in the air ¨C were increasing with time.


    The cat commented, ¡°Still within acceptable limits, but approaching the lower danger threshold. If we don¡¯t move some of our clouds over to the west boundary for some much needed rain, a stiff westerly wind will have us eating citrons that positively glow.¡± A hint of sarcasm had crept into his voice. Luos wasn¡¯t sure if Samsian had noticed.


    ¡°And the reservoir?¡± he inquired.


    ¡°Recovering,¡± was all the cat said.


    The man thought for a considerable moment. It was moments like these that caused Luos to wonder if his shoulders were hunched from the sheer weight of his thoughts.


    ¡°Boy,¡± Samsian said, turning to him, ¡°what is the purpose of Hill Hill? Hmm? Have I asked you this?¡±


    He didn¡¯t speak accusingly. This was one of his self-styled teaching moments, where he quizzed Luos on his education. Luos cleared his throat.


    ¡°Is it to house people?¡± he hazarded. This particular question hadn¡¯t arisen before, but he knew it wouldn¡¯t matter to the old man.


    Samsian considered the answer. ¡°That could be part of it, I¡¯ll grant you. A by-product, perhaps. A necessary evil, some might consider.¡±


    He crossed the room to a stand where there lay several staves. There was a white one with a lozenge shaped cage built into the stick near the top. There was a wrought iron square one which twisted chaotically as it approached the tip, which had a leather grip wrapped around hand-height.


    There was also a very natural-looking wooden one, which tapered near the bottom, bent slightly near the top, and ended in a wild, spiky knot. It looked almost like a wooden chicken foot to Luos. This staff Samsian selected.


    ¡°The purpose of Hill Hill is this, my dear boy. It exists to make food.¡±


    ****


    The wizard and his pupil walked together as they headed to Iam¡¯s farm. Asmod followed on his stubby legs while Peezle lounged across the wizard¡¯s shoulders.


    By their stride, one would assume they were walking at most a handful of miles per hour. By the way the scenery whipped past them, they were more obviously moving many times that. And Peezle, despite appearances, was doing the most work of the group.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°Iam inherited the farm from his grandmother, who skipped her own children on matter of family politics,¡± Samsian was explaining. ¡°His sister, Llana, normally would have received an equal portion, but she ceded it in exchange for a small property in town and a modest monthly allowance from her brother.¡±


    Luos absorbed this information as he trailed behind his master, carrying a keg of fresh water on his back. This had been a point of contention for him, as he was on strict orders not to have Asmod carry it by magic. He wasn¡¯t even allowed to have the daemon lighten the load by magic.


    The staff was an object of magic, something acquired by Samsian in his early days. The details of the operation were unimportant to the wizards, and therefore was left to the daemons. The wizards wouldn¡¯t have known or cared about the ordeal placed on Peezle to make the device operate safely and continuously, only that it worked. So, as Peezle was otherwise indisposed in the other realm, Samsian carried his vessel for him.


    The wizard had dubbed the device the Long-travel Staff. While it didn¡¯t eliminate walking entirely, when managed by a daemon, it could multiply the effects. In testing, they had determined that one step could be made into dozens, or hundreds, depending solely on the skill of the daemon and the risk factor accepted by the wizard.


    ¡°This is not preferable to me,¡± Samsian continued, ¡°as the sister is much more agreeable. The property she exchanged her portion of the farm for is a glazer¡¯s shop, a passion of hers she decided to pursue. Now the farm suffers from mismanagement from a cantankerous, stubborn hawg of a man.¡±


    ¡°Then why are we going to see him?¡± Luos asked. He could make the connection so far for the trip. The land is owned by farmers who make the food, and they had to be consulted on matters that he and Peezle couldn¡¯t measure. But as far as Luos could tell, the farm wasn¡¯t underperforming. It hadn¡¯t been the wheat fields or the citron grove he had been concerned about in his study.


    ¡°We are not,¡± Samsian said. ¡°We are going to see the laborers he is mistreating.¡±


    A few minutes of silent walking later, and they had arrived on the outskirts of Iam¡¯s farm. Before them spread several acres of kudzu farm.


    ¡°We must make our approach in normal space,¡± the wizard explained. ¡°It doesn¡¯t do to show off. People are wary ¨C sometimes downright fearful ¨C of things they don¡¯t understand.¡±


    Peezle, who had been laying across Samsian¡¯s shoulders limp as a fish, lifted his head and shook it in a very catlike manner. He hopped to the ground.


    ¡°I¡¯m proud to announce,¡± he preened, ¡°that I achieved a travel ratio of 20-to-1 on this little jaunt. A personal best. No need to thank me, but I¡¯ll accept gratitude in the form of treats and words of adoration.¡±


    Samsian had continued on as if ignoring the cat. Luos crouched to pat the daemon on the head before following after his master, the heavy keg sloshing on his back as he caught up.


    The two daemons grouped up, following their wizards at a fair distance now that they were in public.


    ¡°Is it really hard to manage?¡± Asmod asked of the cat. The hawgling was still relatively small, but had grown to twice the size of the cat. Its tusks were even faster growing.


    ¡°Ugh,¡± the cat sighed, ¡°you have no idea. They,¡± and here he tilted his head towards the wizards ahead, ¡°might be moving faster, but I¡¯ve got to jack my perception rate even higher just to juggle all the factors in keeping the field around them.¡±


    Asmod winced. The rate-jacking, which increased the daemon¡¯s perception of objective time, didn¡¯t hurt in the least. In fact, it freed up a lot of time for the daemons, who could use it to think and operate much faster than their mortal wizard in the Real. But it was that very idea that rate-jacking to such a level in order to keep up with the real-time operation of the staff that stung. Like being told to take a working break on a busy day in the office.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see if I can¡¯t mock up a simulation in case they need you to handle it,¡± Peezle concluded.


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Asmod said uncertainly.


    Samsian and Luos were coming upon a group of men working the vine fields.


    ¡°A lot goes into making this, the kudzu that gets worked into greenmeal,¡± Samsian said.


    Greenmeal was a staple in Hill Hill, Luos had learned shortly after arriving. It wasn¡¯t tasty on its own, but as his Uncle kept telling him, it was fortifying. One made a bowl of greenmeal from dry greenmeal, which was made from rendered kudzu, which was especially unpleasant to eat fresh from the vine. To it, you add hot water ¨C or hot milk if enough milk were available. Luos could only eat greenmeal if it were smothered in cheese. And then only just.


    The kudzu vines were encouraged to grow on low trellises, which were designed for ease of harvesting. They could be cut near the base and the rest of the plant wound up around rollers for easy transport to the kudzu mill. While the winders cut and wound up the vine, workers would push wheeled carts to and from the mill, into which the winders would throw their latest roll.


    This was what the people in the field were presently engaged in. Men and women toiling away, cutting and rolling kudzu to be tossed into a passing cart, dressed in such ragtag ways as to stave off the worst of the sun, dirt, plants, and their own sweat.


    ¡°Are we going to do some kind of spell for them?¡± Luos asked. He hefted the keg of water on his back.


    ¡°It¡¯s like a spell,¡± Samsian mused. ¡°But not one we¡¯ll need a daemon for.¡±


    ¡°Some kind of calculation then?¡±


    Samsian shook his head. From the recesses of his robe he pulled a ceramic mug.


    ¡°Nothing quite so tedious. We¡¯re going to give these people water, up to and until we run out,¡± and then he looked around conspiratorially, ¡°or Iam catches us.¡±