Chapter Two - The City of Yuhliah

Rowan, armed with only a dagger and a lantern, sets off to travel to the tomb of The First, but they must first enter the city of Yuhliah, which is not as easy as it may sound...

       I trudge on through the streets, nearing the walls to the city. My feet are heavy like bricks, thudding against the icy cobble beneath them. It's cold. Snow falls ever so gracefully to the ground, swirling about like leaves in autumn. And yet the lantern still burns bright as the sun, snow nor wind seeming to effect it. The cold is taking its toll on me, however.

       My breaths are heavy and hot, my fingers red and aching from the bitter cold. My toes have long since fallen numb, and my nose drips. “I cannot... Fall... Asleep...” I try to shake myself awake, but to no avail. My eyelids feel heavy. The cold is, simply put, draining.

       I come to a stop beneath a light post on a corner, sliding down the slick metal. I hit the ground with a soft thump, and let out a small, tired sigh as I give into defeat. My eyes fall shut. Just a small nap couldn't hurt, right?... I tilt my head back against the pole, and soon, I am fast asleep with a lantern at my side and a knife in my lap. The air around me is quiet and still, and the streets lay dormant...

       A massive and deafening roar rips me from my otherwise peaceful sleep. My eyes flutter open to see... Something. It towers above even the lampposts, with skin like stone and a maw the size of a carriage.

       It takes me but a moment to be on my feet, blade in hand. I would think this was one of the withered, but... No, it can't be. It looks all but withered to me... I also come to the realization that I have never wielded such a weapon, nonetheless had to fight anything other than a common cold. But I would rather fight this creature than simply roll over and let it kill me.

       The creature slings some sort of weapon over its shoulder, hammer like in appearance, but large enough to crush a man. And on its head it sports three sets of horns, all of them large and twisted, all decorated with bits of metal and flesh.

       It just stands, and watches, silent now. Was the roar only to get my attention?

       Of course not... It lets the hammer down, and the mallet hits the cobble, cracking the stone beneath. I look to my puny knife, and swallow. This will not end well. It lets out another bellowing growl before it charges toward me, swinging its hammer like a madman. I step back, before I return the gesture, running toward it at full speed. As it pounces, I simply slide beneath it, and on its back I spot a fleshy pink spot. That must be the weakness...

       It takes a moment to turn, and I see this as an opportunity to strike. I jump forward and lodge the knife deep into it's back, at which it howls in pain. I rip my blade from it's tissue.

       The beast is on me again, and it brings the hammer down into the cobble, breaking up the already loose stones. I thrust myself onto the ground, rolling my body out of the way. The hammer catches my shirt, however, and tears it clean off. The air nips at my newly exposed flesh. I don't let this stop me, though. I can't die now.

       I try to get myself behind it again, but it does not give up. It strafes me with the hammer, nearly hitting me almost every time. Finally, to my dismay, the hammer strikes me across the shoulder, and sends me into the cobble. I skid across the ground, before stopping. My nose bleeds and my cheeks burn.

       Just before the demon gives me the mercy of death, I hear it wail and howl, before there's a massive crash. Then, silence.

       “Rowan!” A familiar voice... Emerson?

       I try to pull myself from the ground, but my arm cracks, and I cry out in pain, collapsing to the earth. I soon feel a set of hands gently lifting me from the ground, and a jacket is draped over my shoulders. The fabric is warm, and soft... I look up to see Emerson standing above me. “Damned child, be more careful...”

       I can't help but smile, despite the scrapes on my cheeks and chin and the blood trickling from my nose. He shakes his head, however, and my smile quickly vanishes.

       “Though, I know you could not have avoided him... Daemons can smell you from a kilometer away.” He removes his hat, as well, and places it atop my head. It's wide brim protects my face from the snow. “But you could have easily dodged his hammer.”

       “How did you know I was out here, Emerson?” I tip the hat back to see him. He's looking toward the walls of the city.

       “I did not know you were here. I was, however, on my way to find you.”

       I nod my head slowly. “I... Think I understand. But why were you coming to find me?... I thought you were...”

       “Dead?” He lets out a bellowing laugh, even going so far as to wipe an imaginary tear from his eye. “You underestimate me. I may be old, yes, but I am still a daemon hunter.”

       “A... Daemon hunter?... I had thought you for a doctor...”

       “Everyone needs a hobby, Rowan. Even daemon hunters. My hobby just happens to be treating the wounded and the sick.”

       I remain silent as he holds out a hand. I take it, and off I'm pulled from the ground.

       “Now... We need to get you some shoes. And a shirt... And pants.” He looks me over. “You can keep the hat, though. Looks good on you.”

       He motions toward the road before us with a hand as I retrieve my lantern. I then stand, and follow after him, not bothering with my dagger, which is wedged beneath the daemon's now dead body. Through the streets we walk, the snow now reduced to what's left on the ground. Despite the lack of snowfall, it's still overwhelmingly cold.

       “Where did you get those trinkets, child?” He asks out of the blue, perhaps in an attempt to break this awkward silence.

       “From a woman... She said her name was Onderi.” I look at the lantern. The metal is green with patina.

       “Onderi, eh?”

       “That is what she said, yes.”

       “Interesting people, where she hails from. Very superstitious. They used to burn any Azariah they could get their hands on. That changed, however, when Father plagued this land. They were driven back to the sewers or whatever filth birthed them.”

       “Father?”

       “Father is... The name given to the unholy one. He who cursed these lands and brought the daemons from the pits of death.”

       “Why Father?... It seems, if anything, his name should be Un-father. He is, after all, killing more than he is creating.”

       This draws a smile from Emerson's lips, and I can't help but feel proud. “If I was the one to name him, I would say something along the lines of “Dratted”.”

       “Damned?”

       “Aye.”

       And so the conversation ends, and we return to walking in silence. Emerson passes me glances every few minutes. Perhaps he is seeing if I am still there... Or maybe he is only making sure I haven't lost his hat. Either way, it is nice to know that he cares about something.

       Now before us stands the soaring walls of the city. “Beautiful Yuhliah...” Emerson mutters beneath is breath. With all of his might, he pushes the creaky gates open. Beyond them stretches the grand city of Yuhliah. The once great white spires now decay and crumble. The mighty buildings, overrun by languished foliage, now perish as the rest of the city does. A mighty palace at the center stands tall above the city, sporting onion domes and grand windows. And above all is a single tower, reaching above the smog and the clouds. All throughout the city streets are signs of the life that used to be; long since destroyed carriages and merchant stalls, statues and fountains... It is a sad sight to be sure.

       “Welcome to Yuhliah... The city of white, now nothing but the ruins of the past.” Emerson beckons me in with a hand. “The city was named after the king's first wife, after she had perished. It was she who inspired him to rule... And soon after her death he took his own life to be with her. Tis a sad tale behind such a glorious kingdom.”

       I look around, only giving Emerson half of my attention. This city is glorious indeed. The spires reach the clouds, seeming to pierce the blackness that clouds the skies...

       “The second king to rule was Azariah, just as you are. He was well loved by the people... Most of the people. Years after his crowning there was a revolt and he was usurped. And thus... Father was born. The king-no-longer was taken over by rage, and he conspired with the daemons to sate his need for revenge. But the death he caused only made him crave more... And so he allowed the daemons into his soul, his body... Now he is a twisted creature, flesh like coal and wings that span the tower that he calls home...” Emerson looks up into the sky.

       “Father was human once?”

       “As human as you, Rowan. He was the first of the dead... And you are the second.” His gaze turns to me, piercing right into my soul. “His soul did not falter, did not decay, just as yours hasn't despite the taint being within you.”

       I stop, my breath catching and my heart dropping. “What... Do you...”

       “You are the only one who can kill Father because you are part of him, Rowan.”

Author's Note

So, how about those daemons? More detail? Less? Let me know!