Author's note:
Sorry for the delay in getting this done! I was stuck in editing for a while and had a few things pop up to get in the way. Got the ball rolling now, and hopefully it should keep moving smoothly!
Any comments or questions, send them to beyondanytherapy@gmail.com. And check out my blog for story updates at randyscorner.blogspot.com.
Chapter 1 New Discoveries
I became aware of the world again starting with a dull ache in the back of my skull. The previous day's events came trickling back to me as my consciousness slowly returned. A letter from a frantic nobleman had me running to investigate what had been killing villagers in a nearby lord's country. After some snooping, I found myself tangling with a fiercely protective mother Naga who was bringing food back to her clutch of young. Apparently they take offense to you raiding their nests and trying to kill their babies.
I groaned, rubbing at my forehead and very slowly sitting up to test my range of motion. Even without wounds, it would be hard to drag my sorry ass out of bed at this hour. Gods, I am not a morning person.
Glancing at the window, I saw the sun was well on its way to retreating below the horizon. Ok, so I'm not an evening person. I must have slept longer than I thought for it to be this late in the day. The beast yesterday rang my bell a little better than I realized.
Slowly, I turned to place my feet on the floor beside the bed and carefully pushed myself standing. I felt slightly better than when I fell into bed the day before, but that wasn't saying much. A few notches up from "something the cat chewed up and shit out" probably still won't make it very high on the feel good list.
I turned to look myself over in the mirror hanging nearby, inspecting my wounds and bruises. The snake bitch had beaten me around a good bit, slamming me in to the rock walls of her cave repeatedly and dropping a few boulders on me before she went after me with claws and fangs. Thankfully, none of the cuts I received had damaged anything important, especially the large tattoo on my back.
I twisted more to look at the image of the dragon that stretched from my shoulder blades, down to just below the waistband of my pants. When I first set out on my own, I always wanted someone to watch my back. Once I built up a reputation for my work and got paid well enough, I went out and did just that. Not only did it look cool, it helped me play on the stereotype that only the dangerous had ink. And only the extremely dangerous would bother to sit long enough for a piece as big as mine.
I ran a hand through my short, black hair, grimacing as it came away slightly sticky. That was attractive. Well, it's not like I had anyone around to impress. Good thing, too, because it stuck up every which way from a combination of Naga spit and my usual nightly habit of tossing and turning. Who would have guessed that preternatural creatures didn't sleep well?
Grumbling, I turned and made my way to the modest bathroom. The old stone homestead I call home isn't the most modern thing, but I had been able to repair the water pumps in the kitchen and bathroom. I might not care about a hot bath, but I drew the line at having to haul buckets to and fro whenever I needed water.
I pumped out a tub full of water and set about washing up. Again, I'm not out to impress anyone, just wanted to get the grime out of my hair and off my body. Stripping out of my torn and dirty clothes, I began to scrub myself as clean as I could get. Once I washed my hair to a respectable state, I dried off and pulled on clothes that were at least washed in the last month.
Finally through primping, I made my way slowly out of the hovel that served as my bedroom. The stones of the hall floor were cool against my bare feet, even after the warmth of the day. One good thing could be said for ancient construction - it sure knew how to keep the heat out! Of course in the winter that sucked Satan's left teat. I hate the cold, except when I'm trying to sleep, so suffering through days on end of an impossible to heat house was not my idea of fun. No amount of wood in the fireplace ever truly kept me warm during the long winter months.
Stumbling into the kitchen, I surveyed the room to see what I could find in the way of sustenance. There wasn't much, which reminded me that I needed to take a trip into the nearby town and visit the market. With a pouch full of coins from the last job, that would buy enough food and drink to last a month if I stretched it. I don't eat too much, but I need a lot of meat in my diet, and meat costs money.
I ignored the light gnawing of my stomach for now and pulled down a bottle of wine. Uncorking it, I poured a generous glass. I grabbed the drink from the table and walked back down the hall. My house isn't very big, so the doorway to the library isn't far from the kitchen. It's the only other room in the house that gets much use, though.
Pushing open the door to the library, I stepped in, nodding to the man sitting at the table piled high with texts. "Hey, Doc. How's it going?"
Simon Thurlgood is a researcher, and has enough knowledge in his head that it's almost scary. He always says he wanted to be a healer, but couldn't stomach the sight of the injuries, so he began to read instead. When I spoke, Simon looked up from behind the enormous hardbound book that was propped up in front of him. He was a squirrelly little guy, with a balding head and a rather large hawk-like nose. The size of it made his already small glasses that were perched on it seem that much smaller. He blinked at me a few times, probably trying to figure out which blurry shape was me.
"Oh! Good evening, Dominic! I was hoping you would be waking soon. I was concerned you were more badly hurt than I previously suspected."
"Yeah, well, tangling with that snake bitch didn't do much good for me, but I'll make it. Any more info?" I slumped in the overstuffed chair by the fire, enjoying the warmth radiating from the fireplace.
"Nothing terribly exciting, I'm afraid. I do have an idea I want to try once you're fully rested and recovered."
I watched the little man as he returned to his reading, his lips moving as he muttered to himself, fingers tracing words across the page. He would absently shove the tiny round glasses back up his nose now and then, in what seemed like an unconscious habit. I took another pull from my drink, letting my eyes wander around to the bookcases that lined the walls.
While I may not be the most widely read being in existence, I do pride myself on having an extensive library of books. Every one of them is dedicated to the unique aspects of the creatures that I come into contact with. I've spent years crafting myself into a walking dictionary of facts about any supernatural that has ever roamed the world.
At first, it was all because of my work. I wanted to know what kind of beasts were out there to fight so that I could win and bring in more money. But as time went on, I began to grow more curious about what I am. So much so that it became a bit of an obsession. I had no real memories of myself or my life from before Father Liam took me in, so I didn't know where I came from and who, if anyone, created me. Despite my knowledge on the creatures I fought, I ended up no closer to figuring out my own mystery.
When I first met Simon, he was a bit of a fanatic. He had often visited the monastery where I grew up to immerse himself in the libraries that the monks kept, so he not only knew about me, but he had become interested in figuring out my makeup. I was surprised when he found me again years later, but it didn't take long for me to realize that it was a good arrangement for him to help me research.
Granted, having someone tagging along with me on jobs that didn't have any skills in fighting could be pretty annoying. Simon was usually good about keeping out of the way of any danger, but I always had to remember to cover him in case things got bad. But having him there to watch me was how we first learned about the horns that grow on my head when I'm really pissed. Or how my eyes glow when I'm fighting. We figured out that those traits pointed to demon blood, and I've never seen anyone as excited as Simon was that discovery before. After that, Simon insisted on coming along with me all the time in case anything new appeared.
Pulling myself out of my thoughts, I glanced over toward my resident researcher. "Okay, so tell me about this idea."
He regarded me with a concerned look. "Are you certain you're ready for it now? You aren't very rested."
Shrugging, I sipped my wine. "No time like the present, Doc."
Simon fidgeted a moment, fussing with his papers that were strewn over the table he worked at. He had every inch of the wooden surface covered with books and papers scrawled with notes. Inkwells of various levels of black ink sat here and there, quill pens resting nearby in puddles of drying pigment.
"Let me see. Ah, here it is. There is apparently some knowledge of a test for determining demon origin. At first, I believed it was just something that the Clergy were using to falsely accuse anyone they wanted to be rid of, but it appears that it is in fact a true test."
"Really?" I admit I was surprised to hear that. "Why do you think the monks didn't try it on me? "
"Two reasons, I would suppose. One was that they were unwilling to perform the test, because it uses magic. As you know, the monastery you were housed at is one of the few that abhors magic. "
"Yeah, I remember. Wait a second." I looked at him in disbelief. "You can't do magic, Simon."
Simon looked almost apologetic. "I know, and that does put us at a disadvantage in some cases. However, from what I have read, this test does not require a person to be trained in magic. It was created specifically to be able to be performed by any member of the Clergy, whether they had magical training or not. I have studied it enough that I feel confident I can perform it without issue. "
"Sounds reasonable. So, what's the second reason I haven't been tortured with this before now?"
He gave a smile. "Because you were very well guarded when it came to the monks. You had a very vocal and determined protector at the monastery. "
"Father Liam, " I finished for him. I had a feeling that the good Father had protected me more than I realized back then. It extended beyond just taking me for walks when I misbehaved. He shielded me from what could have turned into a very bad ending for me. I wonder how hard it would be to petition for sainthood on his behalf.
"Precisely, " Simon acknowledged with a nod. "Your adoptive father was very firm in protecting you. He made an arrangement with the Grand Father of the Monastery that as long as you did not do anything that could be considered demonic or evil, that only Liam was allowed to deal with your punishment. Otherwise, there is no telling what kinds of punishments you might have had to endure."
For a moment, I sat in silence, caught between the memories of Father Liam and the idea of what he would think he if had known the truth of what I am. I felt a little pang of sadness. Would he have feared me? Hated me? Did he suspect anything when I was younger? There were so many questions that would never be answered.
Pulling myself back to the present, I set my glass down and stood. "Okay, what do I need to do for this test?"
Simon stood, gathering his book and carrying it over to me. He read over the page. "We must draw a Summoning Circle. You will stand in the center. Then, we will need to draw up blood and let it fall to the floor in the circle while I repeat the words that are written here."
I raised an eyebrow at him skeptically. "That's it?"
"Apparently," Simon answered with a shrug. He looked up at me. "There is a description of how the circle will react to various kinds of demon blood in the subject. By the reaction, we will learn what type of demon traits you are carrying."
It seemed almost too simple. But what did we have to lose? "Let's do it."
Simon set about drawing the elaborate Summoning Circle. I had seen Circles in some of my travels before, but watching someone draw one gave me a weird feeling in the pit of my stomach. I'm not good with magic at the best of times, but I've never been totally weirded out by it before. I chalked it up to excitement.
Once he was finished, Simon directed me to stand in the center of the Circle. He stepped back to check my position, glancing around at everything with a critical eye.
"Very good. Now, you will need to gather a few drops of blood and I will begin to recite. When I give you the signal, you will let the blood fall to the floor in the circle. The lines will begin to glow and we should get our answer."
It seemed too easy. I had a feeling something was either going to hurt like hell, or blow up. Nothing was ever easy.
Regardless, I made a slit in my palm with my knife and waited while Simon began to recite the words written down. After what seemed like ages, he directed me to spill my blood on the floor.
The moment my blood contact the stones, the lines of the circle began to glow bright. They shifted colors, cycling through every imaginable shade. The glow began to creep up my body and I started to get a little uneasy.
"Uh, is it supposed to do that?"
Simon looked confused. "I'm not sure. It doesn't mention that."
That was not reassuring. Before I could question him again, though, the light seemed to explode. I had to shut my eyes tightly and shield my sight before I was permanently blinded. Even with my eyes closed, the bright light stabbed at my eyelids. A low, faint throbbing began to fill me, and a buzzing noise began to grow. I grit my teeth against a rippling sensation that flowed through me. It was uncomfortable, though not especially painful. I can't say I enjoyed it at all, but as long as it didn't do any permanent damage, I was okay.
It remained to be seen what kind of damage there would be.
When the pain of the lights slowly faded, I chanced a look to see what might have been done to me.
Remarkably, I was unharmed. In fact, the cut on my palm was completely healed and the blood on the floor was gone. Where the Circle had been drawn, though, the lines had been erased. In its place was a single word, scrawled in glowing writing as though written with a magic quill pen by a very shaky-handed cleric.
Simon stared at the word, then looked at the book in his hands. His eyes moved between the two several times, as if he didn't want to believe what he was seeing.
"Do we have our answer," I asked, more than a little anxious.
Slowly, Simon nodded. "The answer is Ar'tiran."
I raised an eyebrow. "And what the hell does that mean? "
"Well..." Simon cleared this throat and glancing at his book once more. "According to this, it means that you are either a Fury or... an Incubus. "
I stared at him in disbelief for a long time before I felt laughter burst out of me.
"You're saying that I'm either part rage demon or sex demon?!" I could barely control myself I was laughing so hard.
"Yes, well, " he answered, flustered. "The test is not precise in this area, apparently, so there might be some room for miscalculation..."
I shook my head, trying to stem the laughter. "No, Doc, I'm pretty sure it's right on the money here. That makes . . . a lot of sense to me."
He looked uncomfortable, shutting the book and turning away. I couldn't tell if the guy was easy with any kind of talk of sex or upset that I had laughed. I shrugged. It wasn't my job to make him comfortable or hold his hand.
I just killed things for a living.
And I was damn good at that.