By the time Ilgrin reached the front door, darkness had long since fallen. He slammed his fist several times against the wooden surface.
‘It’s me. Let me in,’ he hissed urgently.
‘Oh, thank Maker.’ Urelie dabbed at puffy eyes as she opened the door and ushered him inside. ‘Did they see you?’
‘What?’
‘Listen to me.’ Urelie put her hands on Ilgrin’s shoulders and stared penetratingly into his eyes. ‘Tell me it’s not true. Tell me they didn’t see you.’
‘No one saw me,’ Ilgrin replied with more certainty than he felt. ‘What’s wrong? Has something happened?’
‘Some creature--they’re calling it a demon--attacked the city,’ Urelie murmured in dismay. ‘I thought . . . ’
‘Urelie,’ Baen addressed her as he entered the room. ‘Calm yourself.’
‘You thought it was me?’ Ilgrin pulled away from his mother, unable to keep the hurt from his voice. ‘I could never have done what that thing did.’
‘I knew it couldn’t be true.’ Urelie threw out her hands. ‘People always exaggerate, but surely it’s not impossible for you to see why I’d fear rumours of a demon swooping about the city. You mustn’t blame me.’
‘You didn’t see it.’ Ilgrin put a hand to his forehead. ‘Whatever it was, it wasn’t a silt. It killed so many people. It must’ve been from a whisp, right?’ he asked. ‘That’s what they do isn’t it? Silts caused this. Maker, it all makes sense now. Some Elglair fellow was sniffing around after it happened. That must be why he’s here.’
‘Slow down,’ Baen ordered. ‘Elglair, you say? How do you know they’re not here for you?’
‘I don’t know.’ Ilgrin paced the room. ‘I don’t know what to think anymore.’
‘You do realise what this means, don’t you?’ Urelie enquired.
‘Not now,’ Baen warned her.
‘You mustn’t leave the farm anymore,’ she continued in a very serious tone.
‘What?’ Ilgrin’s jaw dropped. ‘You can’t be serious.’
‘Ilgrin,’ Baen said sympathetically, ‘they’ll be looking for you now. People don’t see what they don’t expect, but now they’ll be watching for silts. Your disguise won’t work.’
‘I can’t stay here forever!’
‘The Maker-damned Elglair are involved,’ Baen said though gritted teeth. ‘You need to stay here where we can protect you.’
‘I’ll go insane.’ Ilgrin raised his hands and backed away. ‘You can’t take away the only freedom I’ve got.’
‘You’re being a little dramatic, don’t you think?’ Urelie asked patronisingly.
‘I’m tired of being your prisoner.’ Ilgrin narrowed his eyes. ‘I’ve done nothing wrong.’
‘That’s how you see this place, as a prison?’ Urelie cringed defensively. ‘This is your home. And they’ll kill you.’
Ilgrin sighed and looked away. ‘Maybe it’s time I returned to my people. You always said silts are evil, but it seems to me the real evil is right here in Sitnic.’
‘I can’t deal with this,’ Urelie choked through tears and hurried off to the kitchen.
‘Now look what you’ve done. You must be very proud of yourself.’ Baen shook his head disapprovingly and followed after his wife.
Ilgrin took the opportunity to escape to his bedroom. He shut the door and picked up an old leather-bound book. It was at least a hundred years old, having been written at a time when the very existence of silts was in question.
The book was entitled Mythological Creatures, and contained sketches of almost every being that anyone had ever dreamt up. Demons were listed not far before dragons, but there were also elves and trolls and other silly creatures.
Ilgrin flipped through the pages until he found the one he was looking for. Aside from its size, the scaly dragon on the page didn’t much resemble the creature he’d seen earlier. The page allocated to demons fell open on its own, the spine having become accustomed to doing so through wear. The sketch bore hideous fangs covered in green drool. Its eyes glowed red and it had a tail that flared at the end. Its legs were hairy and instead of feet, it boasted hooves. Ilgrin shook his head, freshly astonished by the author’s ignorance.
He closed the book and put it away. The illustration failed to disturb Ilgrin, who instead took great comfort in it. It served as a reminder that he was not really a demon at all. If humans could get their idea of a silt’s appearance so terribly wrong, it made sense that they’d gotten everything else wrong, too.
Ilgrin moved over to the window and rested his fingertips on the peeling frame. He stood there for a long time gazing at his reflection. There were no bony ridges along his spine, no evil glowing eyes or scales. He didn’t have claws or a tail. His inspection came to rest on his purple eyes, but movement beyond them quickly caught his attention.
Ilgrin put a hand up to the glass to block out the reflected lantern light so that he could better see. A small band of men argued across the street, their cloaks billowing in the wind. One of them shouted animatedly and pointed at the house. After putting out the lantern, Ilgrin returned to find the group of men staring up at his window. One of them looked familiar. Ilgrin felt a knot in his chest and wondered if it was the man who’d seen him stumble earlier that day. He stepped away with an overwhelming sense of dread. But Ilgrin had been through a lot. Surely his mind was playing tricks on him. He was just being paranoid. Ilgrin sat on his bed, tucked his knees up beneath his chin, wrapped his wings about himself and fell asleep in an upright position as he customarily did when feeling insecure. Perhaps a new day would bring with it fewer concerns.
When the morning arrived, Ilgrin decided that he’d been foolish to worry about the men on the street. He was clearly shaken by the events that’d unfolded earlier and had been worrying about nothing. The men could’ve been there for any number of reasons. He headed for the kitchen and scrounged together some bread and eggs for breakfast.
‘Mother?’ Ilgrin called when he was done, but there was no reply. ‘Father?’ Only silence answered him. They must’ve been working the farm. He picked up an inkwell and pen, scrawled a note explaining that he’d be back sometime after noon and left it on the table.
Ilgrin felt bad so blatantly ignoring his parents’ wishes, but he was old enough to make his own decisions. He needed time to think and after what’d happened yesterday, he couldn’t pass up the opportunity to return to the city and see how things were going.
Unfortunately, when Ilgrin reached the city, he found that there really wasn’t all that much to see. Except for a few spots of dry blood, even the street in which the massacre had taken place had been swept clean. One could say a lot about Abnatians, but they certainly knew how to pull together in a crisis. Not wanting to go home, Ilgrin spent the day wandering. Most of the time he avoided people, but eventually got hungry enough to approach a market stall. He pulled his coat tight and yanked the hood as far forward as it would go.
‘May I have a loaf?’ Ilgrin asked, keeping his face toward the ground.
‘Um . . . certainly.’ The baker’s feet twitched uneasily. ‘My very finest.’ People tended to be intimidated by Ilgrin’s daunting figure.
‘Thank you,’ Ilgrin replied when the bread was placed on the bench and he reached out to pay. A firm hit in the side caused Ilgrin to miss his target and the coins bounced onto the road. ‘Hey!’ Ilgrin cried, spinning to face his aggressor. A brutish looking man stared back with a challenging smirk on his face. ‘Watch what you’re doing,’ Ilgrin grumbled. He was unable to bend over and collect the coins without revealing his wings, so instead he reached into his pocket to retrieve some more. This time the man slapped his hand and yet again the coins were lost. ‘What’s your problem?’ Ilgrin snapped.
‘You’re my problem.’ The man laughed, revealing an odour of alcohol and vomit. Another two thugs grinned from their position behind him.
‘Look.’ Ilgrin raised his hands and backed away. ‘I don’t want any trouble.’
r /> ‘Get back here.’ The aggressor grabbed a handful of Ilgrin’s coat and pulled him close. ‘You see him?’ He pointed at a man standing off to the side. It was the same man from the night before. ‘He’s a crazy old bastard that one,’ the thug laughed. ‘He paid me ten gold pieces just to do this,’ the words abandoned his lips before Ilgrin had the chance to pull away.
The man slapped his hand over Ilgrin’s head and with a sharp jerk yanked back his hood. It was such a simple gesture, requiring so little energy, but nothing would ever be the same again. The moment passed quickly and at the same time seemed to drag on forever.
The thug’s eyes bored into Ilgrin’s, going from nasty to surprised to fearful. The man stumbled and landed heavily on his backside. His jaw worked up and down but no sound came out. His friends abandoned him, turning to flee. Even the stranger who’d paid for the job now ran for his life. The baker fell back, shaking uncontrollably. Finally someone peddled through their shock and found the word Ilgrin had hoped so very desperately not to hear.
‘Demon!’ a woman screamed from across the street. Even to those who’d never seen a silt before, Ilgrin’s angular features, the colour of his eyes and shock of bluish black hair were unmistakable. ‘Demon!’ Other voices joined the woman’s cry. ‘Silt!’
Ilgrin gazed about his surroundings, looking . . . searching for a way to reverse what’d been done. People dashed in every direction, but a brave few began to brandish makeshift weapons: a farmer with pruning shears here, a hunter with a bow over there. Even peaceful Abnatians would not think twice before slaying a silt. Still, Ilgrin remained fixed to the spot. They’d only seen his face, but that was enough. They knew what he was. All was lost.
In one fluid motion, Ilgrin threw away his coat and flared wings, easily with a span of six strides from wingtip to wingtip. Such a gesture achieved its intended purpose. A disbelieving hush fell over those that’d refused to run. They were paralysed by fear, allowing Ilgrin the opportunity to bend his knees. Rhythmic screams and terrified howls rose up, reaching a feverish pitch as he beat his wings and ascended into the sky.
Something zipped passed Ilgrin’s face and it didn’t take long to realise that he was being shot at. He tore off his shoes and allowed them to fall as a second arrow passed beneath his feet. Ilgrin had a choice to make: he could fly higher than arrows could go and live off the hope that no one had a pistol, or he could fly low over their heads to prevent them from taking the risk of shooting. Even the death of a demon wouldn’t be worth the loss of human life.
Ilgrin pulled in his wings and dove. He caught himself sneering at the site of the scattering humans. Anger born from years of discrimination boiled to the surface and Ilgrin screamed in fury. They wanted a demon? They’d have their demon. He swooped over the terrified people, dragging on clothing and knocking off hats. He snatched up a man’s bag and tossed it into the air, sending papers scattering everywhere. They were all so scared. Ilgrin laughed even as tears ran down his cheeks.
‘Is this what you wanted?’ he cried, swooping over a group of young men, forcing them to dive for cover.
A young woman in a bright yellow dress stumbled as Ilgrin swooped. She glared with such ferocity that one would’ve thought he’d personally wronged her. Flaring his wings, Ilgrin slowed long enough to latch his toes around her arms and drag her into the air. He’d have a better chance of escaping if he had a hostage. At first the woman kicked and fought, but as they ascended higher and higher she began to cling to Ilgrin’s legs, fearful of falling.
‘What do you want from me?’ The girl cried.
‘My freedom,’ Ilgrin called over the wind.
‘Please don’t kill me,’ she begged.
‘I’m not going to kill you,’ Ilgrin said pityingly. ‘I’m no different from anyone else.’
‘You’ve kidnapped me!’ she shouted. ‘I hate you. You’re a demon. I hate you!’
Taken aback by her excessive display of aggression, Ilgrin looked down to make eye contact. ‘You don’t even know me.’
‘Oh, I know you,’ she laughed manically, her eyes becoming glassy. ‘Of course I know you! I have the knowing. I’m Elglair.’
Ilgrin swallowed fearfully. Her ordinary pupils told a different story, but the claim coupled with her strange behaviour made him nervous nevertheless. Having gained sufficient distance from the city Ilgrin banked toward the earth. ‘I’ll put you down,’ he told the woman, his eyes fixed on an empty field.
‘Don’t think you’ve seen the last of me,’ the woman snarled. ‘You’d better remember me. The day will come that I will slay you. All of you.’
‘What is wrong with you?’ Most people would’ve feared and even hated Ilgrin, but nobody behaved this way. It was as though she’d lost her mind. ‘I’m not evil!’ Ilgrin exclaimed, after putting the woman down safely in the middle of the gently sloping field. ‘If I was, I’d have killed you.’
The woman dropped to her knees and put a hand to her forehead. ‘What happened?’ She shook her head in confusion, seemingly having forgotten the whole experience. ‘Who are . . . ?’ She looked at Ilgrin and screamed.
‘Stop it.’ Ilgrin pounced, but the woman fell back, more fearful than before. ‘I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.’ He raised his hands and backed away. What’d he done to her? His parents hadn’t raised him to behave with so little respect for women.
‘There it is. Kill it!’ someone shouted from amidst an angry mob hurrying over a rise across the field.
‘You’ll be safe now.’ Ilgrin turned away. ‘People are coming. They’ll take care of you.’ He looked at the crowd. To them, he was no different from the creature that’d attacked the preceding night, a monster. He leapt into the sky.
After circling the city several times to confuse anyone that might’ve been tracking him, Ilgrin headed north. Once he was far enough away from the city, he flew in a wide semicircle until reaching the southernmost farming district. He landed in the farthest field at the back of the farm.
‘Wish me luck, Mother,’ he whispered at the small grey stone sitting beneath a large oak tree.
Ilgrin crept through the fields, staying low and weary of any movement. The distance to the farmhouse lessened without incident. He pushed open the back door and moved silently toward the front room.
‘Mother,’ he called. ‘Fath--’ The word stuck in his throat.
The smell of blood filled Ilgrin’s nostrils. Baen and Urelie were tied to kitchen chairs. Both had been beaten almost beyond recognition before finally having had their throats cut. A deep sob escaped Ilgrin’s lips as he stared into the dead eyes of the only parents he’d ever known.
‘No,’ he uttered, flexing his fingers. ‘Not like this. It doesn’t have to be this way.’ He marched through sticky red blood and touched his mother’s face. ‘I brought you back once. I can do it again.’
‘Now,’ a voice shouted and a moment later Ilgrin found himself surrounded. The leader dashed forward with a knife, but Ilgrin leapt aside causing the man to miss by a handswidth. He snapped his hand around the man’s neck and tossed him through the wall, which exploded in a shower of wooden debris. The man did not get up.
The other three charged. Ilgrin flared his wings threateningly, but knew he couldn’t defend himself properly in such confines. One of the men swung a sword, but it was wielded clumsily and without confidence. Ilgrin beat his wings once, raised his feet and kicked him in the chest. The man yelped as he sailed across the room. The other two imposters were stunned, allowing Ilgrin to take the opportunity to escape.
He ran for the door, yanked it open and leapt outside. There a fifth man was waiting. Ilgrin was taken so by surprise that he was left without time to react. The man threw back his arm and plunged a blade into Ilgrin’s shoulder, causing him to cry out in pain. He grasped the man’s head and slammed it so hard into the doorframe that it splintered the wood. Ilgrin stumbled away with a hand on his shoulder. He looked at his fingers to find them dripping with dark blue blood.
/>
Fearing loss of consciousness, Ilgrin ran from his attackers. He beat his wings, but his shoulder screamed in protest, keeping him grounded. Something hit the back of his head, sending him sprawling on hands and knees. Ilgrin rolled onto his back, despite the discomfort the position brought his wings and shoulder. A small group of men surrounded him, carrying pitchforks and ancient swords. They looked rather proud of themselves. They’d caught a fearsome demon.
‘Go on then,’ Ilgrin choked out exhaustedly. ‘You’ve taken everything else.’
As spots danced across his vision one of the men lifted a pitchfork above his head, but before he could bring it down a deep rumbling sound stole his attention. The men turned around, their faces filling with terror. Their cries of alarm filled Ilgrin’s ears as they ran down the street. He turned to see what’d so frightened them. The monster from the day before slid its beak through Ilgrin’s trail of blood. It seemed confused, glancing at him once before screeching and continuing after his attackers.
‘Okay,’ Ilgrin whispered. ‘Get up.’ But his body refused, the loss of blood having left him light-headed and weak. ‘Get up,’ he panted, finally rolling over onto hands and knees to crawl away from the road. But to do so had been a mistake. The creature must’ve thought him as good as dead, but now that it had seen him moving it banked sharply in his direction. With what little strength remained, Ilgrin dove behind some dense shrubbery lining a rickety old fence. Spots played across his vision as the creature descended and darkness closed in.