“You’re one of the murdering scum that attacked my caravan. You’re one of Exador’s men! What are you doing in here?”
“I failed, your caravan won, thanks to that... that... demon thing of yours. Exador’s annoyed, now he’s going to punish me. Kill me; turn me into a toadstool; torture me; I don’t know. It is all your fault though.” Gastropé said, getting slightly angry towards the end.
Jenn was taken aback. “My fault! You attacked me? And it’s my fault you got your butt kicked?”
“Well, if you’d just surrendered, we would have taken you back here, and you’d be in the same place you are now, but I’d be in good standing. So, yes, it’s your fault.” Gastropé said, seeming to perk up a little as he thought about it. They did capture her, thanks to his information; maybe Exador would be lenient.
“You have plenty of nerve. You and your buddies killed people I knew and cared for, and you have the nerve to blame me?” Jenn was mad again, mad enough to feel mean. “You’re absolutely crazy! You talk tough now, but you weren’t looking too mean last time I saw you. If I get my hands free, I’ll summon my demon and see if you don’t feel like being more reasonable.” Gastropé blanched when Jenn said this. She immediately regretted having said it. Goddess knew how much the demon frightened her, and this kid had even more reason to fear Tom than she did. Not that she’d ever be stupid enough to summon the demon, but even so, the threat wasn’t very nice. She couldn’t take it back though. He had been asking for it, hadn’t he?
They both sat in silence. There wasn’t much to say. All they could really do was sit and wait for the return of Exador. Jenn, of course, decided to use the time to figure out how to escape. If only she could teleport. Of course, she’d still need to get the book back first. But if she could teleport, things would be a lot better. At the moment things didn’t look too good.
Chapter 37
This is not my day; or rather, not my current incarnation, thought Tom. He wasn’t exactly sure what to call it, but this current trip to Astlan just wasn’t working out that well. He was sitting around bored in his cave, and this Jehenna Cut’n Run calls wanting help. So what’s he do, he comes to Astlan, of his own free will even. The next thing he knows, he’s knee deep in the dead; doing things no human being should ever be able to do. First of all, no one should be powerful enough to take out a whole band of soldiers with his own bare hands. Second, no decent human should be able to so blithely murder so many people so quickly, and feel so little about it.
That was part of what was bothering him. He really should feel more remorse over killing all those men. Why didn’t he? He’d gone in and ripped men apart with his own hands without even thinking about it. What sort of person could do that? As far as he could figure, the only people who should be able to do that sort of thing and feel so little were serial killers. Did even they feel so little?
Even now, he was more upset about not feeling bad about killing them, then he did about killing them. Sure, he’d heard of a kill or be killed instinct taking over people in times of war or battle. But was that sort of attitude really justified in his case? There really was no kill or be killed. Those soldiers couldn’t have killed him. At worst they could have damaged him enough to send him back to the Abyss, and it was extremely doubtful that those guys could even do that.
Following that — for who knows what reason, boredom? Something — he decides to play hired gun for a girl that hated him and a little kid making puppy dog eyes. So ok, maybe it was the right thing to do, despite the girl’s cynicism. Even if it was the right principle, he had screwed that one up too. Demons come along and kidnap her, and he doesn’t stop them. Demons that he knows the girl and the kid don’t stand a chance against, but which he knows he can take on without running out of breath. He blew it. Now the girl, who he’d agreed to make his responsibility was gone. Kidnapped by vile creatures of hell.
Well, actually, they were really men like himself, but that was part of what worried him. He was afraid of the sort of violence he’d seen himself commit without thinking. He knew what he was capable of. What about these other demons, who could in fact be bitter after years of slavery and be more than willing to take out their hatred on a young wizard. Consider what Boggy had done to his accursed master!
Here, as a demon, Tom was continually finding himself incapable of controlling his emotions and his actions. He, who had always prided himself on being a calm, cool headed, analytic type, was literally running amuck. How he could trust someone who might not even have the semblance of control that he prided himself on having, someone of obvious criminal intent. Criminal intent? Well wouldn’t purposefully kidnapping someone require criminal intent? Certainly, but killing a few dozen soldiers doesn’t! Hah! Tom almost laughed hysterically at himself.
What was happening to him? Why was he in this situation? why me? Tom wanted to cry out. He didn’t, of course. Rupert was there, running around in circles wanting to know what to do. Tom had to keep a stiff upper lip as the British always said in the movies. He couldn’t show weakness. Rupert was counting on him, him! to solve the problem and get Jenn back. How was he going to do this? How did he get stuck in this farcical hero role? If he were a character in a book he was reading, he’d damn the author to hell. Hmm, well, given the circumstances, at least he could then punch the author in the face because they’d both be in the same place. Tom almost laughed hysterically again.
As it was, there was no one to blame for his situation. Except maybe Lenamare and Jehenna for enslaving him, this Exador guy for warring on Lenamare, his friends Paul and Reggie who gave him the joint, his mother for moving them to Harding, ‘to get away from the old place,’ and forcing him to have to go to a stupid party to make new friends. His stepdad for divorcing his mom. Finally blame the whole stupid party for making him take the damn joint.
Blame himself for taking the joint. That was it, of course. It was his own fault. No one else’s. One lousy joint, and here he was literally damned to hell. A little severe, but maybe those right-wing preacher types weren’t all crazy. They were certainly correct in this case. Oh, sure, it wasn’t exactly what they’d meant, but the idea was there. It was kind of, Tom thought, like believing that you can’t get pregnant by having sex just once without protection. No one ever died from one joint! Not until now. Now he was doomed to being some sort of robotic killing machine going around munching up humans at the beck and call of some two bit wizard. Ok, maybe, thought Tom, an eight bit wizard. Tom almost smiled to himself. If the guy can throw nuclear bomb spells, then he’s definitely worth a buck. The guy was certainly playing with a full byte.
Of course, all of this useless philosophizing wasn’t getting him anywhere. One would think he was the villain, going on for hours on end with a boring monologue of their innermost thoughts, rather than the heroic man of action. Heroic Man of Action! Hah! So what action could he take? How was he going to get the girl back so she could continue hating him.
Of course, if this were a movie, or a book, and he rescued her, then the hero handbook would require her to fall madly in love with him. She’d forget the fact that he was a demon and love him for what was inside instead. She’d realize that he was the good guy and everyone would be happy, they’d marry, the book would end. Then in the sequel they’d set out together to rescue their half human-half demon children from some other evil megalomaniac. What could they do for a trilogy?