Sky Lord by Rowan Erlking (that summer book .txt) 📕

A Gole’s thoughts are terrible things. Tia heard and saw what he desired most—human flesh. She felt his starvation, trapped inside the fence that surrounded his home on the hill. It wasn’t really his home either. The Gole and his wife had eaten the farmer and his family, moving in to make it easier to stalk the townsfolk. The townspeople had driven them back into the hill by setting off explosives, ones that gave large loud bangs for effect to disturb their sensitive ears. Goles could hear for miles, but one large bang sent them reeling. The villagers had fenced the Goles in with spells written on red paper and strung on golden chains to keep them in. But now she heard his happy thoughts as the storm approached the valley. It boded good news to the Gole.

“Where are ye?” the female Gole called out from inside the house.

Golish Tia glanced at the prone body then ran around the house to hide. She knew that a Gole’s dead weight was heavier than a boulder despite how swift they were on their own feet. It would be very difficult to move him in time.

The female opened the door. “Ye said ye heard a bird. What ye do? Ate it all for ye self?”

She turned to where she saw his prone body. Her coal black eyes grew wide. “Harm and hunger! Ye fainted!” The Gole woman glared down at the village, clenching her serrated teeth tightly. “They will pay dearly, come the storm winds blowin’. Then ye and I may eat our fill.”

Tia-the-Gole kept to the side of the house, listening with her perfect hearing as the Gole woman dragged her mate back inside the shelter. The sky was getting darker, and a rumble filled the air overhead. When the door closed, Tia tromped her huge Gole feet across the damp grass down the hill to the fence. Strangely they made almost no sound, perfect for stalking unsuspecting humans.

What she had seen as a bird was very different than what she saw through Golish eyes. The weather-torn red papers hanging down from gold chains hooked to the makeshift fence were horrific. The spells and curses on the paper filled her with dread that was indescribable and made her stagger back. There was no way she could pass, not as a Gole. Her heart pounded in her chest then filled her ears, so much louder than before. She could feel the Gole’s starvation, desperation, and hate.

As she looked at the village beyond the fence, the Gole’s true desires filled her. Hunger. It was like staring into a sweet shop for a child, but unable to pay for even a small sugar drop. Above on the roofs she saw the doves. She knew what she could do as a Gole, and she also knew how stubborn those birds were. But chance and skill were always to the Gole’s advantage, and she saw in his memory many a dove that had foolishly wandered over the fence to become a meal.

She crooned. “Here pretty bird. Come here white dove.”

A man passed through the village carrying a bushel of corn into the square. He stopped and turned, staring straight at Tia-the-Gole. She could hear his heart jump. She watched him turn, rushing to where she knew from Golish memory was the village patriarch’s house. The Gole hated the patriarch. He was the first man he wanted to eat when the fence came down.

Tia crooned more like honey. “Come pretty bird. Come visit, sweet thing.”

She heard the village patriarch order some firecrackers to be set off to scare away the Gole from the fence. It was strange hearing things so muted coming through walls, but so clear to understand. There was no way they could plan anything without the Gole hearing.

Tia lifted her Gole hand gently, crooning still.

The birds flapped. Two flew to the fence top, yet not beyond. They looked down on her with birdish curiosity that she knew very well from experience. She also saw their cautious reserve. Tia knew she had to wait. The Gole could not touch the fence.

But then she blinked. Maybe she could, but not as the Gole.

Shedding the Golish form, Tia leapt forward with her outstretched arms, grabbing at the dove with both hands. The warm rush of white and soft down covered her. A dove dropped from the sky to the grass below, and up flew two birds back to the roost.

“He’s gone!” the man shouted, pointing at the fence where Tia had once stood. She was now perched on the rooftops with the other doves.

Three other men came out, but Tia did not care. She pecked the seed in the feeding tray, happy to no longer feel so exhaustedly hungry. She felt incredibly glad to shed the Gole’s memories and thoughts. They were more horrific than anything she had ever experienced, including when she had bitten the policeman’s throat out. Back then she had not enjoyed it, but the Gole loved feasting on raw human flesh. He adored the screams of live prey. The memory of it made her shudder.

“Come here.” The doves’ mistress called to them, opening a roof window. “Storm’s coming. You don’t want to be in the rain.”

The flock obeyed, so accustomed to the woman’s voice. Tia flew inside with them, landing on the white speckled rafter tops where the birds undoubtedly spent stormy winter nights. She found a safe roost, watching the calm lady spread seed for them to eat.

“Put some here,” the village patriarch gently ordered her, motioning to a medium sized circle drawn in chalk on the wood floor. There was odd writing all around it in an ancient script.

The woman obeyed, sprinkling seed in mounds where he had indicated. The men that had gone out with him had returned inside, removing their traveling hoods and shaking off the moisture that collected there. Another man remained hooded, watching the doves fly down and eat the seed in the circle. Tia joined them, having eaten all that was left on her perch.

“Blow your whistle,” a familiar voice said to the bird mistress.

Shrugging, the woman obeyed, lifting a shiny brass tube to her lips. The sound was pleasant, calling them out to their roosts again. They had to obey, knowing food and shelter was provided to the obedient. Tia flew to follow, flapping her wings for an upward draft.

It was solid, whatever she hit. She fell back, tumbling tail over wing. Landing hard on the wood flooring, for a moment Tia thought she had broken a wing. Some of her feathers were out of place, bent painfully.

“Clear out the seed. That is the one,” the familiar voice said.

Tia tucked in her wings then tried to roll over onto her bird feet. She peered up at the source of the voice now and hopped back when she saw the hunter grinning at her, sitting in a squatting position near the circle’s edge.

“I told you we could make this easier for the both of us. Now you have to sit tight,” he said.

“Do you actually believe that this bird is the demon you’ve been chasing?” the patriarch of the village said, his voice showing extreme annoyance but not entirely doubt.

The hunter stood up to his full height and nodded. “Of course. It was the only bird that could not exit the demon circle. If it is not the one I am hunting, then it is another one and just as bad.”

“How do you know for sure?” the patriarch asked, still looking at him with severe skepticism.

Smiling, the hunter replied, “We will see for sure in three hours. Apparently she cannot hold that shape any longer than that, not with how she has handled things.”

“She?” the woman murmured, glancing at the dove Tia.

The hunter nodded. “Yes, I have seen her true form. The demon is a woman, as you will see. She is wanted in Calcumum for biting out a policeman’s throat. Do not let her youth and femininity to deceive you. She is dangerous enough.”

The hall filled with villagers that night. They waited for the transformation of the dove that sat peacefully in the center of the demon circle. Children were warned to stay away from the circle as well as from the hunter that watched there. Their mothers stood by to make sure it was obeyed. 

The hunter was a curiosity of his own. The young men gawked at the huge broadsword that he carried strapped to his back. His suit was mostly leather where he wore it hard in his travels: knee pads and elbow pads of leather sewn in his sleeves, plus chaps of leather covering on his legs and thighs with dagger sheaths sewn into them. He had a pair of gloves that he kept tucked under his belt as if he had just taken them off, along with a pair of sunglasses. His quiver and bow were set in a corner with his traveling bag. He had a belt full of shots for his hand pistol that looked suspiciously military issue, and an electric prod also hung from it that he probably had gained in the military. He looked like he had served in the army of Brein Amon at one time. His coat was the last remnant of a lieutenant’s uniform, still with the tags and bars on it as well as a commendation. Whether it was his uniform or from the body of another solder, no one knew for sure. He sat right next to the demon circle, the hood to his travel cloak still up, shading his alien blue eyes that stared at the dove and only the dove in the circle.

Tia felt the first pangs of change stretch in her. Her feathers were already shedding off, making her look like a stripped chicken. She stretched and grew. Her neck elongated and her arms extended out. The circle was no longer large enough to hold her length, and she pulled her knees into her chest. The crowd gasped, staring at the dark skinned, blue-eyed human islander before them wearing a prison uniform.

Tia shuddered, meeting the hunter’s triumphant gaze. She stood to her feet then looked for the patriarch. “Please let me go. I mean you no harm.”

Everyone pulled back, gasping.

“They won’t believe you,” the hunter said, stepping sideways. “And you certainly haven’t shown to them that you are not dangerous. Quite the reverse.”

Pulling her arms in, Tia clenched herself. “Please let me go. I only want to go home, back to where I’m from. Is that so bad?”

She looked up. Seeing the villagers’ faces, she knew her pleas were of no use. Their experience with the Goles had taught them to fear a demon’s words. Tia blinked then tried to step from the circle. An invisible force shoved her back inside, somewhat like hitting a wall. She rubbed her face where a large red mark started for form, closing her eyes. “I just want to get home.”

They stared. Many eyes bore into her with curiosity