Content Warning: Violence
There was an old creation story that began with the Sun and the Moon. Sisters Lonoma and Atuli, forever intertwined in duty, but destined to remain separate by day and night. Only the stars and the worlds they contained between them knew of their longing for each other, as each morning the sun’s rays reached and reached for the dark, the shadows, and sent them scattering and scared. Away. And each night, the moon rose searching for her sister in colorful wisps on the horizon, far away and fading to a dusk of her own making.
Why should the light and dark be separate, they wondered. And they schemed. They plotted and bargained with the stars, but the stars needed convincing. What right did day and night have to exist together as one, while much of everything else remained apart? And so, in the depths of dusk and dawn, sisters Lonoma and Atuli created a vision. Two lands balanced in light and dark, the Crescent and the Cradle, and united by divine creatures and people filled with what could only be described as magick. These inhabitants would be called Fay.
Trees would stand tall and lovingly over villages draped in vines and leaves, and tree folk would wear the skins of the earth; bark brown with antlers on their heads and dirt cozy under their fingernails. There would be sparkling beaches home to gulls, fish, and seals, but also water folk and nixies, scales hugging their arms and shark teeth adorning them like fine diamonds. Sprites would emerge from cocoons like lunar moths in the night. Heather pixies would dance in the moors in the protective shadow looming mountains. The animals would even graciously share their forms with shifters. And the Fay would share their lands with humans across the sea, so they too could be a part of this balance. Here, the sisters could embrace each other’s light and dark; no longer needing to chase shadows and sunset, but honoring everything in between.
After some great time had passed, the stars became enlightened by the sisters’ vision. They gave Lonoma and Atuli a gift: essence. And with this gift, the Magicklands came to be, though we no longer called the Crescent’s the Cradle’s counterpart.
We called it the Demon Realm.
⇼
Thinking of those stories, I often wondered what the Sun and Moon think of the Magicklands now. In a world plagued by demons, being half of one was a blessing.
I wrenched my dagger from the scaley head of a serpent-like beast, sweat and dirt coating my hair and neck. Keeping low to the ground, I crouched behind the shell of a fallen oak trunk while the brawl continued on around me. The serpent demon had stumbled upon my cover by chance, shifting in the blink of an eye and sending fangs and claws flying my way. The kill was easy, if not a bit stubborn, but it gave me a reprieve from worrying about my squadmates out in the clearing.
Four figures moved in my eyeline across the valley, taking down every demon in their path. It was hardly a battle; these skirmishes had become something my squad and I were well-versed in. Practically a field exercise. Just with more casualties.
From my cover in the trees, I could clearly make out a small mass of bodies. Blood spilled over tall patches of grass, and the stench of death flooded the morning air. A satisfied grin appeared on my lips at the carnage.
Toven Lyris, our giala, rested her bow gracefully atop her knee as she pulled a gold tipped arrow from her quiver, knocking it with masterful speed and firing it straight into the nearest demon’s neck. With a burst of magick and an angry hiss, it collapsed. No time to shift. Toven released a prideful huff and fixed her chest length auburn hair into a scraggly bun before launching back into the fray. Toven was the closest thing I had to a sister in all of the Magicklands.
At least three yards away from her, a blur of movement caught my attention anew. Lance Coghley was surrounded by two demons: one glaring in front of him while the other paced eagerly behind him. I debated calling out to him, but didn’t want to give away my cover.
Lance launched himself into a series of precise attacks, lashing out with his fist and hooking the first demon directly in the jaw. The male hissed, stumbling back and flicking its tongue over bloody fangs. This demon hadn’t shifted into a beast form either, but from the points of his elongated canines and forked tongue, he was just as much a monster.
Lance was already moving again. He turned to the next one and took off at a sprint. As soon as he got close enough to make contact, he dropped swiftly to the ground and slid. His leather boots connected with flesh, swiping the demon’s legs right out from under him.
The demon roared as it crashed to the ground in a flurry of armored limbs. He spat in anger and struggled up off the dirt. Lance took up another fighting stance, his fists at the ready. My gaze flicked to the warm corpse a couple of feet away from me. Blood still oozed from the multiple places I had stabbed the beast. Every muscle in my body urged me to join the fight once more, to help in some way other than watching from a distance.
But that wasn’t my job.
Lance struck his opponent again with practiced technique and steps. His arms and legs moved rhythmically in a lethal dance of death. The crack of a breaking bone filled the clearing. Outside the ring of battle, two figures lurked opposite me, reduced to mere shadows. They were not hiding in the cover of trees, not like I was. They were observing. Calculating. I let them be.
An arrow whistled out of nowhere and planted itself in the earth right by our remaining opponents.
It ruptured into a maelstrom of smoke.
The clearing became draped in it, flowing and spreading in a dark river and masking my sight. Flickers of shadows and the faded glint of metal weaponry slid in and out of the miasma. I fiddled anxiously with my daggers, knowing that I may not get to use them again today. I inched my way out of cover, ignoring the tingling in my toes from staying in the same position for too long. Careful not to inhale any of the smoke, I circled around the plume and sheathed my weapons.
Toven and Lance waited on the other side. Toven lowered her bow upon spotting my movement, and Lance took a seat on the ground next to her, running his hands through his sandy blond hair. Both were covered from head to toe in dirt and blood. I felt two familiar presences emerge behind me. Toven waved them off in silent command to secure the outskirts of our little battlefield.
“Well, I’d say that was quite successful,” Toven called over to me.
I gave her a knowing smile as she appraised my equally disheveled appearance. “I’d have to agree with you there.” Lance huffed in amusement and collapsed onto his back with his head casually propped up by his arms. A pair of thin-wired glasses rested atop the bridge of his nose. He’d had a craftsman in the village attach a reinforced leather band to them that wrapped around the back of his head, so they didn’t fall off in battle. As graceful a fighter as he was, his eyesight was far from perfect.
“Any bad injuries?” I asked.
Toven set her bow and quiver next to her and examined her body, as if only now realizing she might be hurt. I stepped over to her and lifted one of her arms. She winced slightly at the motion, her brow furrowing, but quickly pulled away.
“It's not that bad. Nothing you can’t fix later. Look at Lance, he got scratched pretty badly.”
“Toven.” I glared at her. Being the squad leader she was, giala Lyris never let me heal her wounds first. Not before I made sure everyone else was all right.
Toven only stuck out her tongue and gestured to our combat specialist. I moved over to him as he sat up. Though he tried not to show it, discomfort shadowed his face. He lifted up his tattered gray tunic and braced a delicately muscled arm on the ground next to him. A deep gash raked down his side.
I frowned. “Damn Lance, I haven’t seen you get injured like this in a while.”
“I know. That’s what I get for trying to fight too many at once. Their attacks are getting stronger.”
We startled at a bellowing screech that sounded from within the thicket of smoke in front of us. The dark clouds hung suspended in the air as if frozen in time, distorting the flurry of movement within.
“I’ve got this one,” Toven muttered before running toward the demon.
“How the hell do they keep getting past the Gate?” Lance asked.
The magickal barrier that separated the Crescent from the Demon Realm was the only thing that kept humans and faeries safe from the demons ravaging the Magicklands, or used to. It was utterly shameful to share blood with them, but that was all it was- blood.
The mere thought that our protective Gate was starting to fail us threatened to ignite panic in my veins, right next to the self-loathing of my half bloodline. I sighed and shook my head, feeling the anger carve taut lines on my brow. I resolved to focus on Lance; on the real reason I was here with my squad intercepting these demon invaders.
Healing.
Lance observed as I knelt at his side. I placed a gentle hand over his wound, my essence willing a golden and warm light to life beneath my fingertips. Not just light, though: a vibration of energy like the pricking of little pine needles paired with soft and soothing honey. This was the closest I’d come to describing the sensation of healing over the years. Lance inhaled sharply, watching wisps of light thread into his body.
I closed my eyes and brushed my pale blonde hair over one shoulder with my other hand. My magick allowed me to network my way through a patient’s body, mapping out injuries and determining which ones need to be attended to first. I did just that; making sure he didn’t have any other major wounds internally.
Lance shivered and his body tingled with goosebumps.
“It tickles,” he whined.
A smirk tugged on my lips, but I kept my eyes closed. A tunnel of darkness unfolded under my eyelids, and I floated through it to the claw marks on Lance’s side, siphoning magick into them almost like a salve. Lance could not see any of what I saw right now, but if his specialty was a dance of death, mine was like a breath of life.
I anchored myself to the bloody gash and torn planes of skin, and when I was done, I imagined it stitched in gold, though there was no longer anything to see. Removing my hand from Lance’s side, my fingers hovered over the now completely healed wound. Light haloed my hand, and I sent one last protective blanket over the skin, just to be safe. The whole thing took only a few minutes.
Lance relaxed next to me, lowering his tunic. “Thanks, Brinley.”
Healers were rare on the Crescent. Possibly in the whole world, which was why I technically wasn’t supposed to fight. But my seemingly fate-driven acceptance into Toven’s family had presented me the opportunity to become both a warrior and a healer. This was what I’d told Toven three years ago when both of us became Faylis Elites; legionaries dedicated to protecting the Crescent and the humans and Fay who resided here.
After the death of our previous giala last year, Toven was promoted and agreed to train me in basic combat. Only to defend myself, if need be, she’d said. Now, my skills were much more developed thanks to Lance and the many skirmishes I’d had the accidental privilege of fighting in. I’d been desperate not to fall into the infamy of my demon half-heritage, but another, prouder part of me couldn’t let my squad risk their lives while I sat on the sidelines.
The dust and smoke had settled in a foreboding ring around the clearing, leaving Toven standing over the last remaining demon. All seven of his companions slumped in a pitiful heap around him. He struggled fiercely in the warped ropes she had used to tie him up, gagging as blood dribbling from his mouth. The bindings wouldn’t last long. This one was not in his beast form, either. While we typically fought giant-fanged lizards, bears, and wildcats, the male before us had remained in his demon form, though he still had otherworldly features. Elongated canines, arched ears, yellow eyes. The only distinction he had from a faerie was the pair of dark feathered wings on his back and, of course, the demon mark curling around the shell of his right ear.
“This one was tough, not sure if we’re gonna get much out of him.” Toven warned. “We’ll see about that,” Lance replied.
Toven pulled an arrow from her waistband, held it out towards the dark cloud, and pushed in a tiny notch connected to the shaft. The silver arrowhead clicked apart in two halves, producing a low sizzling sound. The rippling ring of smoke snaked its way back into the arrow. It closed once more with a satisfying blink of blue light.
“How did you get through the Gate, Akian?” Toven questioned the demon. He continued to struggle against his restraints, heavy breaths rumbling in his chest. He kept his eyes on the ground. A leather pouch hung heavily from a clip on his armored waist. Lance strolled forward next to Toven. “You’re going to have to be more persuasive than that,” he gritted out just as his fist connected with the demon’s face.
The Akian’s head cracked to the side with a grunt, and his writhing dislodged the pouch from his side, sending the contents spilling out before us. Lance, Toven, and I exchanged suspicious glances at the small, jagged objects, ivory smooth and haunting in the empty divots of eyes that once held light and life.
Raven skulls.
Once again, I wondered how the Sun and Moon could have gambled everything for their perfect vision. I pitied that their world ended up like this.
About the Author
I have been writing stories for as long as I can remember, from the first time I stapled some lined paper between two pieces of colored construction paper, to when I got my first laptop. Books have always been a sacred part of my life and identity. They take me on adventures, give me strength to fight epic battles, forge me into a hero. Stories have taught me about friendship, pain, and above all, love. They’ve given me something to strive towards, and I long to do for others what books have done for me.
The creative process of writing has always been a fundamental hobby of mine, and Mark of the Demon came to me during COVID-19, one of the scariest, uncertain times of my life. Writing this novel gave me a place to go when I couldn’t leave my house, friends to talk to when I could only see faces over Zoom, and it gave me hope that better days would come as long as we continued to fight and protect each other. Oddly enough, the idea for this story first came from the anime Inuyasha, which I was watching at the time.
The story has since changed drastically into a work I’ve never been prouder of as I pursue a career in creative writing. This chapter introduces the story’s protagonist, Brinley Ashryn, and her squad of Elites as they skirmish against their demon enemies. At its heart, Brinley’s story is a complicated one, full of confusion, heartache, growing pains, and battles within and out, but it is also one of self-discovery and forging one’s own identity against all odds.
Much of the process for this piece was creating engaging characters, and perhaps those that break the typical female protagonist stereotypes we tend to see in YA fantasy. The plot continues to be a work in progress as I edit and revise, so that I can achieve the level of mystery and intensity that follows the overarching war going on throughout the story.
Instagram Account
@haleymakowski
Cover design made using Canva design tools.
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