Natural - Imagine Dragons

The old man ran his tongue over his pink lips: a small, lizard-like flash. "Ah," he said, "But my dear you know it's often best to let trouble find you, rather than the other way around."

"Ah," I replied slowly, struggling to find a balance between poise and the unsettled feeling in my gut. "But he's my kind of trouble."

The peddler's smile was warm, and kind, and reached the corners of his eyes like people say a true smile always does- but nothing about him in that moment felt friendly. I found myself glancing over to Shail, watching the crag cat's expression for signs of someone else coming from behind. When I was in the cart, I'd checked about for some kind of a weapon, but it seemed the only knife he possessed was the one currently in hand as he sawed a piece of white meat from the breastbone of quite probably the Mid's version of chicken. On the same rock as the chicken, lay a satchel, in which I could see the smokey glitter of a filled vial.

"Thought demons don't have to eat," I observed.

"Throughout the course of their development, that is the case, my dear. Some enjoy the novelty, though."

"You're half-starved." His robes were layered but large, his cheekbones strong against thin tan skin and the hand with the knife made the chicken seem an effort to raise to his lips. Yellowed crescent pockets of skin beneath his eyelids deepened the darkness of his gaze. "What are you?"

He chewed his lunch. Every so often the tongue flicked back out, catching flakes of roasted skin and blackened herbs.

"What are you?" I repeated. "Besides a clear and obvious enemy to me, of course."

"You should really eat, my dear Queen Wilson. A child needs its mother's care." He shaved off another slice, held it extended.

Shail's head lifted. I pushed the crag cat's face back down, took the meat, and dropped it into the fire. The cat's jaw chittered and his claws tensed as if readying for launch, but he stayed put. 

"It won't hurt the baby," the peddler continued, regripping his knife for a second cut. Juices pooled down the rock he'd set the cooked meat upon and stained the edge of his sleeves.

"It isn't the baby I'm worried about," I said, but still felt my hand drop protectively against my belly. I wasn't sure how I felt- the thought still made me sick but anything that was mine would stay mine and I wouldn't let it or myself or Shail get taken. "What are you?"

"Why would you care to know? I might be stalling for time."

"I believe you are," I said. The road around was peacefully still. Most of the terrain I didn't know, except for the narrow path I'd taken to arrive at the peddler in the first place. Overhead, the green skies were calm and cloudless. "But I don't think they're close. Maybe they haven't even received whatever signal you've sent. Smoke, I'd guess, while I was in looking for clothes."

The peddler's grin was short on teeth but long on satisfaction. "Warm."

"And you probably haven taken or have something handy so that you can eat just fine, but anything Shail or I consume will knock us for a loop."

"Oooh," he said, leaning forward on his rocky seat, bony knees jiggling. "Warmer, much warmer!"

"And you don't work for It. You're poor, dirty-"

"It has worshippers from all walks of life," he said. "And the after life."

"But you're a peddler, someone who sells to all sides. You're the listener in a crowd, maybe the bargainer of whatever band or troop is coming. You'd catch me and sell me. There's a reward, isn't there?"

His tongue darted between his teeth, rolled over as if about to speak and then his lips closed over the sight- a nonverbal 'yes' if I'd ever seen one.

"And if you need me knocked out, your friends are likely far from call. So it's just you and I."

"Maybe," he said, and chewed the cooling chicken. "You might have time. You might also have been lead down a lie of your own creation. What will you do?"

I had nothing to chew but my lip. "You know things."

He nodded. "I know things."

The road was long. There were places to hide and escape. And a reward, which meant the King at least was not close to capture. I stroked the back of Shail's sun-warmed ear. "What are you?" I asked.

"Demons," the peddler began, "are a single species in the grand wheel of life. And as every other thing is wont to do, they come from something else- and they are better than what came before, stronger, faster, more intelligent and adaptable. Demons are Darwinian. Demons are conquerors. Demons are what they are because someone figure out one of life's many tricks. They haven't always ruled this land, and neither has the Witch."

"Where does the Witch live?"

"Deep within the forest, as all proper witches should."

He needed time. I needed answers. He was smiling and eating chicken. Behind us, one of the sloth bears uprooted a bush. It grunted and grumbled as its partner's long tongue wrapped around a branch. The cart rattled with chimes as the two shouldered one another. Shail's ear flicked toward them, but his eyes were on the chicken.

"As a gesture of goodwill," I said abruptly. "Put the rest of your meal in the fire right now."

"But I'm starving."

"You can't stop me from walking," I said, getting to my feet. "And I won't let you impair my cat."

At once the peddler tore off another strip of meat to eat, and then, making sure to maintain eye contact with me, dropped the remainder on the ground and rolled it into the flames. Shail gave a pouty hiss and turned his head on his paws to watch the bears.

"If you want information, it will cost you." he said with the first sour note I'd heard in his voice. "You are correct, I am a listener. I am also poor and do not act freely. The clothes, I consider I a gift to the recognized Queen, but that is generous enough from a pauper."

"I don't have anything to give you," I told him.

His dark eyes were appraising. "You have a few things. The cat, for one."

"The cat?" I glanced to Shail. He was breathing deeply and watching the bears. "Absolutely not."

"He's worth quite a bit. Very intelligent animal. I could use a better guardian in my old age. Watching the cart with those two is getting to be a bit difficult. For the cat, I might even tell you where your shall we say, lesser, husband might be headed."

I shook my head. "Absolutely not. What else?"

He scratched a patch of hoary stubble. "I'd like my life."

"Are you going to tell the Witch or the King or both where I am?"

"Why else would I ask for my life, My Queen?"

I hesitated. "I f I spare you, you'll tell me where Prince Chiro has gone?"

"Yes."

"What if I just kill you anyway?"

"As you see, I am a listener. I've heard many stories about our queen. Cold hands, warm heart. I trust you to keep your word." He rubbed his greasy palms together and offered one. "So shall we agree?"

"A verbal agreement is enough for me," I said, keeping my hands on my lap. "But I want your knife, too. Wrapped. Not loose."

"Done," the man said. "Allow me to go inside and-"

"Empty your satchel and drop the knife into it. Is there anything I can give to convince you to keep your mouth shut? I did marry into some land and wealth. I could give you somewhere to retire."

"None of that belongs to you, my dear. You're just a girl. You're valuable for what you are, not who."

"Fine," I snapped.

He laughed, reaching into his satchel. A small handful of vials lay inside, each corked and filled with colorful, smokey substance. Very consciously, I changed positions based on the wind. He finished emptying the bag, then set the knife inside and passed it. I made him put it on the ground between us  and walk away before my own fingers got a grip around the coarse cloth.

Shail must've sensed the tonal shift, as he rose onto his haunches. There was no fur to bristle, but his long fangs were bared, and his tail dragged on the ground with an ominous rumble. "You have your life. Where's the Prince?"

"Out killing two birds with one stone," he said and grinned. "He's headed to the place where the world's curtain is thinnest."

"Where?"

His old hands curled around a vial filled with black smoke. "I gave you your answer. Anything else, you will need to bargain again."

"Shail," I said slowly, chest fluttering in alarm. The satchel I slung around my shoulder. I gestured not a little frantically at my cat. "Shail come here right now."

The crag cat's shoulder bumped mine as the vial hit the rock. Glass shattered. Smoke billowed out over the fire, sparked as it passed over, and the road was quickly overtaken by a heavy haze as I scrambled onto the cat's back. Somewhere in the darkness the peddler was laughing- and that laughter seemed warped, twisting, deepening, changing. Maybe he wasn't a demon, but the thing he was changing into felt gigantic.  Across the orange flame a shadow was straightening, twice as high, four or five times as muscular.

"C'mon, Shail," I said, grabbing hold of the cat's neck and squeezing his ribs to make him go. The cat would not move, nostrils flaring, scenting the air.  He dropped into a crouch, rolled his shoulders, like he wanted me off but was too polite to shake me loose (for once). "Let's go," I said more urgently.

"Come here, little girl," came the deep big voice. Shadows moved through the smoke.

Shail hissed, bellied down to the ground and waited.

He was gonna pounce, I realized, and the second I realized that, the moment I loosened my grip to slid off, he launched himself full-force, straight over the flames. Something white-eyed and ape-like stood in the way. But it was too late. With an abrupt bang the cat slammed into the dark mass of the peddler, smashing through the haze.  I expected a tremendous swing from muscled arms, tensed for impact and closed my eyes. When I opened found myself still clinging desperately to the cat. The illusion of a beast stood tall behind us in the haze, while the peddler lay crushed and screaming beneath Shail's weight.

"My life!" the peddler screamed, pushing against the cat's chin, scratching at the arms I'd wrapped tight around his neck. "You promised!"

"He didn't," I said, pressed so tight against Shail I could feel the cat's muscles flex as his jaws widened to deliver the fatal blow. All the tension pulled into my spine. I let out a deep shaky breath, looking from the peddler's twisted face as he struggled to keep the cat at bay, to the spit on the cat's fangs as he ground his claws into the man's shoulder and dug into his throat.  It was over quickly. Shail went first for the throat, then for the skull, and then for the next couple minutes pawed and bit superficially at any twitching limb. I tumbled off into spreading blood, rolled near the fire as wind swept both the illusion and haze away.

"Okay," I said at last, and returned to the cart while Shail was occupied. There were a fair few number of charms, vials and other appealing vessels within, but not knowing what they were I touched not a single one. Instead, I took a fresh shirt from a battered drawer, cleaned the knife with it and then cut the two sloth bears loose. The creatures barely paid me any mind, simply wandered slowly off a few meters into the brush, continuing to pull roots and eat leaves.

I returned to Shail. The crag cat was cleaning one paw, the other draped protectively over the peddler's corpse. It was time to go. There was a bit of spat between the two of us as I tried to get his paw off to drag the body into the fire, but Shail yielded and licked that paw respectively clean, too.

It came to me later, about three miles parallel to the road, that I probably should've thrown Shail into the back of the cart and made off like the peddler, but there were risks to that as well, so hopefully this panic-induced choice to proceed on foot wouldn't make fortoo terrible a mistake.

"Where the world's veil is thinnest . . . Why go there, Shail?" No sooner had it left my mouth than did I realize why. Chiro was going to find my mom- and do what? Stop her? Stop me from killing her? Stop Akta from hunting her on the other side?  "Where even is there?" I asked the cat as we walked through the fading twilight toward the sound of a brook. Shail had an instinctive compass toward water, and the sound made the noises of the night just a little less harsh. It was a good place to camp, and a good place to wash the dried speckles of blood and dust from the day's events.

It was there, down in the mud, with water dripping over my elbows and my palms cupped with cool, cleansing liquid, I caught in the moonlight the shape of a figure on the far bank.