Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series (45 page)

Ralin’s eyes just flashed with bewilderment.
“Impossible! No one can fight six of them at once, not even our
best warriors.”

“I know,” Arvage said. “And this is the same
logic the royal captain used before he jailed the young man for
being part of the Forest Scourge.”

“And he’d be a fool to do otherwise,” said
Ralin. “It’s obvious the man had thought out the whole discovery
scene.”

“Only for himself.” Arvage frowned mildly.
“There’s no reason why six members would risk their lives to save
just one, unless he was their leader; but, from the royal guard’s
report about his youthful appearance and his northern roots, that
would be utterly ridiculous. It was clear he wasn’t leading
anyone.”

Ralin fought back a laugh. “But nothing else
clears the way. Do you dare to tell me that he was not only holding
his own against all six of them, but actually winning?”

Arvage stopped, and pondered for a second,
before replying with hammer-like sincerity, “No, I do not. Of
course I do not.”

“Then keep me away from this case,” said
Ralin, his lips twisting into a weird smile. “I want no part in it.
I’ve already had quite enough bizarre cases today.”

Grinning, Arvage stood up from his seat. “I
can’t protect you from this, My King.” He walked towards the door.
“They will come for you, and you will have to give a verdict.” As
he opened the door, he spoke once more before leaving, “I pray you
make the right decision.”

The door shut, and Ralin could hear his
advisor’s light footsteps as they passed through the hall. Though
this meeting had gone far better than expected, he still came out
of it with a rather sick feeling. Not only did he have the weight
of the bizarre cases from the day weighing on him, now his advisor
had bothered him with this new case he’d potentially have to
handle. Worse still, his advisor’s parting words seemed to imply
that he’d not handled today’s cases with the clearest judgment and
this just made him feel guilty, which was not an emotion he could
handle right now.

Scowling in frustration, Ralin shuffled
through the piles of paperwork looking for something to ease his
mind. Nothing did. In fact, his mind only grew more unsettled, as
the third unusual case of the day reentered his mind, greatly
disturbing him.

No matter where he looked, or what he looked
at, all he could see was the young fisherman’s sorrowful face and
hear his pitiful screams as he was publicly beaten on his bare back
with a wooden stick, the punishment for lying about serious
matters--for there was no way the young man could have been telling
the truth. Evil spells, dark incantations, wicked summonings, and
vile sorceries were unheard of in every corner of the
world--especially in Sarith.

Sure, the elven Kingdom of Amalon had its
brand of magic, but that was nothing close to the insidious type of
magic that this fisherman was suggesting was occurring here, in his
very kingdom.

Sighing deeply, he stood up from his chair as
his breaths came quicker. No, he did not regret hurting this young
man at all. His only regret was that he didn’t do him more
permanent damage when he’d had the chance. Who knew the poisonous
effect this news could have on his citizens?

Awaking out of his sleep two hours later, the
smell of mildew, mold, and wet dirt filling his nostrils, Jimmy
found himself in a dungeon, his legs and arms bound by iron chains.
Underneath him was a coarse gray rug, but everywhere else was cold,
moist dirt. Slimy earthworms, slithering millipedes, scuttling
beetles, and squirming earwigs, his most hated insect, likely
lurked nearby. But he wouldn’t know. It was so dim he couldn’t see
much of anything. He didn’t even know where the faint light was
coming from, but he hoped it wouldn’t go away.

After taking in his new surroundings,
discouragement rained upon him, then anger. All he’d done was
defend himself against the thieves, yet ironically, he was included
as one of them. This was gross injustice. Without even going to
court or having a trial, he was shackled, drugged to sleep, and
stuck into a disgusting, dirty cell like any common criminal. This
cruel handling deeply cut into his pride, infuriating him. He
didn’t deserve any of this.

Rubbing his grimy hands against one of the
only semi-clean spots on the mud-splattered walls--for he didn’t
want to spoil his clothes which still looked nice in spite of all
he’d been through--he shook his fists in bitterness, a tear even
coming to his eye which he quickly wiped away on the thin sleeve of
his black t-shirt. How had it come to this?

Thoughts stirred, he wished himself back at
the buffet. Even suffering humiliation in front of the girls was
nothing compared to this. They treated him nicely, respected him,
and even chatted with him. Here in this medieval-type world,
though, people acted superstitious, unjust, and even hateful. If he
ever got back to his own world, he’d have to rethink many things.
Nothing would ever be the same.

He’d read many fairy tales, and they sure
portrayed things differently. Kings, queens, princes, princesses,
all seemed like fabrications of an unrealistic world where people
were benevolent and kind and where good deeds were rewarded with
riches, beauty, and fame. Not so in this world. He likely saved the
blacksmith’s money and perhaps his life by acting as bait so the
guards could catch them, yet all he got was an undisclosed
imprisonment sentence, brutally painful chains that bruised his
ankles and wrists, and a dwelling place swarming with insects and
arachnids. Besides, why had the guard been able to put him to sleep
so easily, when the thieves couldn’t even touch him? Was it because
he hadn’t expected the needle?

Stomping a large bulbous blue spider into the
earth and swatting a noisy mosquito on his hand, he suddenly
stopped caring about how the needle had affected him as he
reflected on his bad situation, his sense of justice flaring within
him.

About to settle into a bitter melancholy, he
was struck with a sudden inspiration that shattered his gloom into
fragments; he’d read enough fairy tales in his life to know that
even though the beginning and the middle of them could be horrible
for the protagonists, they almost always ended well. Cinderella,
the Frog Prince, Rapunzel, the Six Swans all started out badly, yet
look at how they turned out?

“Are you awake?”

Shaken, Jimmy focused his eyes on where the
young female voice came from, and quickly saw her shadowy form--she
was sitting in the cell right across from him, her face peering at
him through the bars. Seeing her was quite frightening as he’d just
been involved in a critical internal monologue with himself, and as
such, it took him awhile to frame his simple response, which likely
wasn’t even news to her anyway as he was obviously moving around in
his cell. “Yes, I am.”

“I’m glad. It’s been so lonely here today,
and to think, I have four more years left to go. I don’t think I
can manage it.” She paused enough to cough and to catapult
something across to the other end of the cell, before resuming, her
tone now laced with frustration and anger. “This place is sick.
There is absolutely no way I should be lodging with rats.”

Jimmy shuddered. At least he hadn’t seen any
of these disease-ridden rodents yet. Still, if they were in her
cell it was only a matter of time before they migrated to his. And
when they did, he’d be prepared.

“Why are you here anyway?” she asked
pointedly after having a heated discussion with her animal
roommates. “You didn’t kill anyone, did you? I’d simply have to
hate you if you did.”

“No, I didn’t do anything of the sort,”
replied Jimmy, finding his rage still near the surface. “I just
happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“Wrong
place
at the wrong
time
,” she repeated to herself slowly, as if she’d never
heard the expression before. “You must really be unlucky. What
happened?”

A frown contorted his face. “I got accused of
being a member of the Forest Scourge.”

She gasped. “That’s serious.”

“I know,” he said bitterly.

After a timid silence, she spoke, “You’re not
one of them, are you?”

“Of course not,” he replied hastily. “I was
actually fighting them right before the guards arrived.”

This quieted her for a few moments before she
asked, “Are you hurt badly?”

“Not at all,” replied Jimmy, dispelling her
obvious concern for his condition.

“You must be really strong then,” she said,
her tone enhanced with awe. “My brother got into a fight with them
once and left with cuts all over his body.”

Jimmy shook his head. “That’s terrible.”

“I’m sorry for sharing this news with you,”
she said suddenly, her voice sounding weak and uncertain. “I was
just trying to make sense of your situation.”

At first very confused, Jimmy’s mind flashed
back to a similar encounter with the guard and then remembered.
This culture did not have the same meanings for gestures as his
did. Making a mental note to be cautious before he ever used
another gesture, he eased her sorrow. “When I shook my head it
wasn’t intended as an insult to you. In my culture it means an
entirely different thing.”

“And what culture would that be?” she asked
warmly, apparently accepting this new turn of events rather
quickly.

“The northern one,” he replied after a brief
hesitation. It didn’t really seem like lying.

She paused. “My teachers taught me that aside
from a unique dialect, the north generally holds to the same
cultural practices as the Sarithian mainland. Are you saying
otherwise?”

“Perhaps I am,” said Jimmy, somewhat
frustrated, “for there are many different gestures around the world
and it only makes sense that they could take on unique meanings
depending on the country or nation that they are being used
in.”

She paused as if embarrassed. Then replied
rather meekly, “Forgive me for not understanding your words, but
I’m only a twig.”

Jimmy gave her a weird look, which she
probably couldn’t catch through the darkness, and then decided that
she must be referring to her age and how young she was. It was the
only logical explanation he could make out of her bizarre
comment.

As if sensing the silence, she spoke again,
“You’re probably wondering what crime a young girl could commit
that would send her to prison?” Not giving him time for a response,
she answered her own question, “I stole an iron sword from a
blacksmith.”

“You’re a thief then?” asked Jimmy, wishing
she’d never told him this, yet finding this information very
interesting, nonetheless.

“No,” she stated emphatically. “Three rich
nobles forced me to do this for them under threat of death.” Her
voice trembled. “Otherwise, there’s no way I would’ve ever stolen
from Blacksmith Garvi, as Sekhad, his daughter, is my dearest
friend.” She broke out into heavy sobbing. “Believe me … I’m
innocent.”

Not knowing the full situation, he chose to
side with her. After all, he was imprisoned falsely, and it wasn’t
too hard to imagine that others would share a similar fate. “I
believe you.”

As if his words had broken a strong spell,
the chains suddenly fell off his legs and arms as a pure bright
light burned into his eyes, causing his head to spin. Body
vibrating rapidly, goose bumps invading his whole body, he fell
down onto his knees, his hands on the soft dirt.

Breathing rapidly, he felt the wet earth
change into smooth ceramic tiles; the dank, earthy smell receded
and a bright, clean antiseptic scent took the stage; the buzzing
mosquitoes faded away, replaced with a somber melody he immediately
recognized as the Dark Eyes, the somber, foreboding song that was
often played and was a favorite among the customers.

He rubbed his temples. For some reason he now
had quite the headache. Now why had he come in here again?
Gathering his thoughts, he recollected it all. He’d come in here to
wash the hot sauce off his hands and to get some temporary relief
from the girls.

Slowly getting off the ground, he staggered
over to the sink, pushed the soap dispenser, stuck his hands next
to the faucet, and began washing his hands, which for some reason
looked abnormally grimy. Odd. Did his hands somehow get dirty from
touching the floor? Then again, why was he on the floor to begin
with? Did he have a seizure? did he faint?

Glimpsing himself in the mirror, feeling
overwhelmed by questions, he suddenly stood in shock. His face was
also grimy. This was too weird. Washing off the dirt from his face
and fixing his hair, he scanned his clothes to make sure they were
presentable. Besides having a little dirt on them, which he quickly
brushed off, they looked fine.

Drying himself off as best as he could with
the hand dryer, he took a deep breath and studied himself in the
mirror again. To think that the girls must have seen him like
this--it was too embarrassing, too awful. Only once he was
completely sure that everything about him was perfect, which took
longer than he thought it would, did he turn to leave.

And as he did so, he noticed an elderly man,
with a full head of cotton hair, staring at him curiously, back
against the wall. When did he come in? And why was he watching him?
Shrugging, swallowing his annoyance, Jimmy murmured, “What, can’t I
wash up? The food’s really messy here.”

But the man smiled wistfully, his eyes half
shut as if reflecting on the past. “Ah, I remember my first
date....”

And that was all Jimmy heard. He left the
bathroom abruptly before the old man could recount a history he
didn’t care to know. Avoiding a headlong collision with a
shy-looking blonde-haired waitress, and then apologizing hastily,
he composed himself and calmly picked up a plate, filling it
heaping full. Who knew food could look so good?