Daemon Hunted

The basement would have been dark and foreboding, except it now received a lot of natural light after I’d put in some very unique renovations. No windows lined the basement, and therefore no natural light had reached this level at all, which was probably against some building fire code nowadays because there was no other exit than the doorway I’d just locked. But being as ancient as it was, it got a pass on a lot of the modern requirements and building codes. I probably hadn’t needed to change the layout of the building as drastically as I had, but I’d wanted to for my friend.

New brickwork concealed the fact that I had opened a space from the basement to the rooftop lined with skylights. The opening was concealed on the main floor by new brickwork, making the shop ten feet narrower than it otherwise would have been, and it was the single largest renovation Fren and I had engaged in. As the sun rose high over Boise, bright sunlight spilled in, directly from the roof to a small section of the basement floor next to the far wall. The light currently filled the far end, illuminating the basement to the extent I didn’t turn on any lights.

The reasoning would have baffled a builder, but to anyone seeing the basement, they would immediately know why it had been needed. Along with the brickwork renovations, I’d removed the wooden floorboards on the far side of the basement floor and then taken the time to break and remove a large section of the concrete floor beneath that side, exposing the rich bare earth beneath. In that earthen plot a small garden was thriving, at its middle stood a tree that looked to have been shaped by rough winds with waving irregular bark. It was reminiscent of the Great Bristlecone pine—the oldest tree known to man. But not to wizard men since my friend was even older than that. He had small bright green foliage, a mix between hardy pine needles and small bonsai leaves that I’m sure a botanist would lose their shit to study.

“Frenerieneth. I need your help,” I said, tossing my keys and bag on my nearby work desk. I was careful to avoid crushing a pair of glasses I’d been tinkering with before going on my mission. I pulled them on to see if the spells still held and looked towards the tree.

The tree moved, roots and branches pulling free of others which clung to the wall in the sunlight. The mass of growth slowly twisted to form a humanoid shape. Frenerieneth, or Fren as I called him, was an ancient forest soul. I imagined the tales of wisps, ents, wood nymphs, or any number of living trees stemmed from his kind, but it was hard to know for certain where any story originated. He was guarded about his past, but he did refer to his race as Forest Ancients and they had been around for a very long time.

Fren was an expert at life and earth energies, they were a part of him at an instinctual and foundational level. His body had grown over time allowing him to change into a solid wooden golem-like body when he desired. That transformation finished and Fren stood before me in his human sensible form. His face was expressive, the recesses in the bark and exposed wood grain forming patterns around his mouth and eyes that had once reminded me of Mauri War paint, and I’d never been able to shake that comparison. Perhaps it was where the warriors had originally picked up the markings themselves? Fren stood nearly nine feet tall and if each of the floors of the building hadn’t been as tall as they were he would have had to stoop.

“Greetings,” Fren whispered, “The sun is strong and earth welcoming today.” His voice was deep and always slightly too loud for a given situation, but Fren didn’t have ears like a human so I couldn’t blame him.

“I’m sure it is,” I said, knowing that was Fren’s way of complaining that I had pulled him from basically a nice meal and relaxing time in the sun rays. He didn’t love our arrangement which forced him to live in the basement, but he understood the need. His vine-like tendrils extended everywhere, many covering the lower external walls of the shop outside, he even had branches that exited the top of the building. His roots probably spread into neighboring yards, under the roadway, and all among the plentiful trees in the nearby vicinity.

They allowed him to connect to the nature around the area and sense things at a distance when he was fully listening. Fren had the personal goal of returning people to the forests by helping the ‘constrained forest amidst man thrive’. I didn’t talk to him about it much because he could go on for quite some time about anything he was passionate about.

As it was, the entire neighborhood benefited from his presence—gardens were more beautiful, yards and trees thrived with minimal work, and weeds were less common.

“What disrupts your calm?” Fren asked, stepping from the recessed grass-covered earthen ground to the wooden beams of the basement floor. Surprisingly, he had nothing against wood being used as floorboards the way it was. ‘It is all part of the cycle of life’ Fren had said upon seeing the location when we’d set up shop three years ago. He’d told me the wooden floor was still able to connect humans to the wilds of the world. The human—being me, since I was the only one that ever came down here.

Before I could answer the glasses, I was wearing had enough time to activate but the last spell I’d wrought on them failed to work the way I wanted. Text flowed across them, easily ignored, but also easily read if I so wished.

Identification Activated:

Mana core: Identified: Monster Core

Quality: Unknown

Power value: Unknown

Fortitude: Unknown

Body: Unknown

Being: Unknown

“Is your crafted item not working?” Fren asked as I took off the glasses, picking up on my frustration.

“No…although that’s not my concern. It’s the Daemon. It found me again last night,” I said without preamble. We’d discussed it before.

“That should not be possible. Hmmm,” he said, going utterly still.

“Are you still with me?” I asked, knowing Fren had the habit of thinking so deeply he forgot I was present. He would outlive me by millenniums and already had several under his belt, so his time frame for urgency was a little different than mine.

“Yes. Daemon should not be able to target you. You have not given them your name or bound your soul to one, have you?”

I shuddered at the thought. But no. I hadn’t. Names were powerful, but it went beyond simply knowing someone’s name. To beings of magic, you could say your name and instill a debt between you. It had to be given, unforced, and willingly, but it imposed that debt upon you by the power of your magic and soul. It was much more than simply saying your name, and I knew I had never given that to anyone or anything. “No. I haven’t given her my name or a portion of my soul,” I said.

I’d had dealings with beings that had wanted my name in exchange for favors. I’d never given in, even if the information could have been helpful. While there were times or reasons to do it, wizards who were trained properly also learned about all the unfortunate events that could come from such a binding. Fren’s servitude came from something similar, but it originated with him to another wizard of old. I’d tried to release him multiple times, but Fren was content and said he must pay the price he vowed. He’d never elaborated on what the original deal had been or for how long it would last. Fren either couldn’t or wouldn’t share. He’d chosen me to be his master and caretaker, and since that time I’d done all I could for him. Honestly, he was a precious friend and helped me in a million more ways than I helped him. When I eventually died, Fren would choose another to serve.

“I don’t know how she’s doing it either, but this time it was worse.” I pulled off my shirt, my wound standing out prominently on my chest.

“You are injured,” Fren said, his voice growing hushed.

“She did this, in a dream.”

Fren hissed, something I had never heard him do. It sounded frightening and feral.

“I know,” I said, prodding the still stinging wound. “We need to stop it. Do you have any ideas?” While I had a significant level of power behind my spells and magic—more than most I’d met—I was still barely on my own. Wizard finesse and control came with age and experience, something I would be working on for literal decades if I wanted to meet my full potential and was lucky enough to live so long. I rubbed the bridge of my nose, a headache coming on.

“Should I contact Clair?” I offered, putting my shirt back on. Clair was the wizard who had found and trained me. Preparing me to have the skills necessary to pass the testing I needed to be recognized as a fully-fledged wizard in my own right by the Tribunal. It’d been four years since I’d passed and nearly a year since Clair and I had had any type of communication.

“No,” Fren said simply. “Other wizards might assume you’ve sold portions of your soul to a daemon for power, and this is the natural consequence. I do not think they will have you’re your best interests at heart.”

“Right,” I grumbled, knowing it was the truth. A few of the Master Magi in the Tribunal had thought as much when I was assessed, due to my strength. Clair was too much of a recluse and held too lowly of a station in the organization to stop the suspicion entirely. Since then, I hadn’t really felt a large desire to ingratiate myself with or fold into the typical wizarding ranks. If my treatment as a new initiate was the norm, they wouldn’t trust me now. Since my ‘graduation’ to full wizard four years ago I’d basically stayed on my own and ignored the tribunal as much as possible.

“You’ve felt my soul. I haven’t sold or bartered myself for power.” I said crossing my arms.

“No, indeed.”

Even if I reached out to Clair, she lived in the rurales of Montana. Off grid and perfectly content to live out her existence on her farm away from everything else. I’d have to send a letter and that could take days or weeks for her to send a response. Still, given the circumstances, it might be worth it.

Fren could be trusted. Honestly, he probably knew more about magic than Clair. He loved to read, enjoying both the act, the knowledge gained, and knowing that trees who had been altered to carry knowledge to the mind were being used. He respected books, as if they were a treasured memory of a lost friend. Add to that the countless wizards he’d been with over the centuries, and he was a veritable trove of knowledge.

This was something we would have to figure out on our own.