Simesh was desperate. His homestead, once verdant and plentiful, had begun to wither. It was all that bastard Umlek's fault, when he raised the price of water credits it had started a vicious cycle. Simesh needed water to grow his crops, but had to cut back because he couldn't afford the exorbitant premium his neighbor was charging.

Smaller harvests had led to smaller profits and now he was at risk of being forced off of his land. Umlek was suing for the right to purchase the homestead, at a greatly reduced price of course, by claiming that Simesh could not be entrusted with its care any longer.

Kinter homestead law was very clear on that subject. It didn't matter that six generations had farmed the soil, it didn't matter that the land was a grant for services rendered during the Engressia wars, all that mattered was that it wasn't being used to its full potential for the good of the colony and the Kinter empire.

He rubbed his horns in dismay. Kinter were one of the few herbivores to achieve planetary dominance and join the galactic stage. Having evolved from a gazelle like creature they understood that the good of the herd was more important, that Umlek had bested him and he should just give in. But something his grandfather had told him was nagging at him like a splinter in his hoof.

Hulik the sage had been a village elder, his counsel had been legendary, and the gray patches in his golden fur had given his words a certain gravitas. Simesh could still remember him clicking his teeth together in mirth as he watched the young kids playing Kinters and Demons in the garden. The one pretending to be the demon leaping from concealment to pounce on his siblings.

"You know, I've met our demon before." Hulik had confided in him. "In the winter months when things were quiet we used to play games of Spint and talk long into the night. Very wise creatures, those Demons."

Simesh could still remember his shock and dismay at the revelation. But also curiosity and a strange pride that his grandfather had been brave enough to even talk to one of the flesh eaters. Then again, Hulik had always been one to do things his own way.

At his funeral he had insisted that they leave an empty chair in the back row, something which had seemed odd, but now that Simesh thought back on it there had been a shimmer in the air that day and he had felt like he was being watched. It would explain the single emerald green Spint stone he had found placed on Hulik's grave marker.

The Demons had come with the resettlement parties to help repair the damage the Engressia had done to the planet with their ravenous feeding. Officially the Demons had come to protect the gentle Kinter, but maybe they were here for another reason….

Whenever a kid went missing the rumors would start, but only in hushed whispers of course, to speak of a Demon was to invite them to take an interest in you. He shuddered.

Once on a dare his childhood friend Larim had snuck onto the Demon's homestead. It had been a stupid thing to do, the kind of thing only kids would try. Larim had returned the next morning shaking with fright, unwilling to speak of what happened.

Much later, Larim had said something to himself when he thought Simesh wasn't listening. He had looked up towards the Demon's homestead on the hill, shuddered, and asked for forgiveness. For what, he never said. But when he reached his majority Larim had joined the navy, choosing to get off world and put as much distance between himself and the Demon as possible.

Now Simesh was contemplating paying the Demon a visit. He reached down and let the dry sandy soil run through his fingers, the wind blowing it away over the dead brown fields.

"Very wise creatures, those Demons." Hulik's words echoed in his memory.

***

The Demon's homestead was on a hill overlooking the settlement, much larger than the Kinter homesteads with great fields as a kind of buffer zone surrounding it. Mechanical servitors glinted silver in the noon day sun, stalking the fields to eradicate any invasive weeds or pests.

One turned and walked towards him, stopping at the edge of the field as if unable or unwilling to touch the road.

Simesh waited, his muscles involuntarily tensing as he fought the urge to flee. He forced himself to speak, voice wavering. "I am Simesh, son of Kimesh, Son of Hulik. Is your master home?"

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The servitor opened its mouth revealing rows of sharpened teeth, hooked like barbs. An electronic voice echoed from inside. "Please come up to the house, but don't stray from the road." Then it turned and walked away.

Simesh plodded up the dusty road towards the house at the top of the hill. It was painted dark red with a kind of iron oxide that reminded him of dried blood. Several other buildings dotted the property, painted that same deep red. Out in the distance he thought he heard a Kinter voice calling but it was faint.

He approached the threshold, nervous, not even sure why he was here in the first place besides some desperate and probably misplaced hope that the Demon would be able to help him. An intercom buzzed to life.

"It's on the porch." Said the mechanical voice before the intercom clicked back off. Simesh looked over and saw an old shovel leaning against the railing. Familiarity prickled at the back of his neck as he saw his father's name burned into the handle.

He looked it over. The wood had been oiled and polished, the edge of the shovel expertly sharpened. There was a blackish sheen to the metal like it had been coated with volcanic glass.

"Thank you." He said to the intercom. "Perhaps one of these nights when the work is done we can play some Spint."

"Perhaps." Said the voice. "But not tonight." There was a certain finality in the voice that suggested he had outstayed his welcome, so Simesh bowed politely and began the slow walk back down the road home.

Near the gate a servitor waited holding a large woven basket. Its feet still not daring to touch the road. It bowed deeply and set the basket down before returning to work.

Cautiously he lifted the lid and let out a surprised whistle. It was piled high with fruits and vegetables, all of them a bit too ripe to be taken to market but perfect for immediate consumption. He bowed towards the homestead, said his thanks, then scooped up the basket and continued home.

***

When he was almost back to his homestead a six wheeled cargo hauler painted shimmering green rolled to a stop beside him on the road.

He looked over and saw Umlek appraising him from the passenger seat. He made a point of looking from the shovel to the basket and back again.

His voice wore the same false good natured tones as any other bully or snob. "If I had known things were so bad that you had to resort to working as a day laborer to feed your family I would have had my advocate move the trial forward."

Simesh hefted the shovel. "There is no shame in a day's work. We can't all break oaths and extort our neighbors." He let the insult hang in the air.

The wealthy water merchant clicked his golden teeth in mock laughter. "If you were a peer, I might challenge you. But instead I will educate you. Agreements are not suicide pacts, in the time of our great grandfathers water was plentiful. Now with each passing year my wells draw less, so I must sell it for more."

Unbidden acid words found his tongue as Simesh spoke. For a moment he felt as if the spirit of his grandfather Hulik was acting through him. "Perhaps if you cannot administer your lands properly I should take them from you. After all, if you cannot meet your obligations…"

Snorting in anger, Umlek jumped out of the hauler and crouched low as if to lock horns. His driver also came over to observe.

Simesh laughed, leaning on his shovel. "There is no need to bow, old friend. Fate makes mockeries of us all. It would be a shame if your current misfortune led you to violence." He drove the shovel into the ground to keep it upright and reached into the basket, finding a ripe Drolis fruit, the red seed studded skin almost ready to burst with tangy juice. "Perhaps you are just hungry. My grandfather warned of proud Kinter merchants burping and picking their teeth so none would realize that they had no food. After all, if your wells do run dry… it's not as if you have crops to fall back on."

The merchant was seething now. "How dare you… you dust farmer!"

He let the insult slide. "Perhaps we are both dust farmers. My homestead will dry and blow away, just as the water in your wells will cease to pump. But I would burn both our homesteads to the ground before I let you take a single step's worth of my family's land."

Umlek charged him, horns down and points out. Instinct told him to charge back, locking horns as his people had done since before there were written words. But his Grandfather had taught him differently.

Kinter did not have much use for weapons, it wasn't a part of their culture. They were farmers, not warriors. He could have brought the shovel down on the fool merchant's neck, that would have been satisfying, but it would not have been justice.

Instead he threw the ripe fruit. It splattered over Umlek's eyes, blinding him, stopping his charge. Taking advantage of the confusion, Simesh grabbed for one of his enemy's horns and held it tightly as he kicked out with a hoof, aiming for where the horn met skull.

There was a crack like a dead branch breaking and Umlek bellowed in pain, his horn broken but still attached. He scrambled backwards. "Demon!" He cursed. "You fight in the way of the demons! You and your whole line are demon tainted! I will have it be known from the valley to the mountains that Simesh son of Kimesh is demon tainted!"

Once again, his Grandfather's words found a place in his mouth. "Or will you go home and quietly fix your wound, so that none may know of your weakness and infirmity? Soft horn… one horn..." He clicked his teeth. "I think I remember a joke about a one horned water merchant."

The driver made it as if to attack Simesh, who calmly laid a hand on his shovel. The broad shouldered Kinter thought better of it and helped his boss into the cargo hauler instead.

Hate filled Umlek's eyes as he rode away. He would not forget this insult.