Book 6 Chapter 11

Joan’s eyes opened and for a moment she wondered what was wrong. She didn’t hear anything. Why was she--

She had to pee.

She laid there for a moment in her nice, warm bed and just stared at the ceiling. Did she seriously have to crawl out of her bed just to pee? But it was so warrrrrm. It was--

Joan perked up when she heard very light cursing and the sound of wood being pushed along stone. Or maybe that was what woke her up. She glanced over at the other two beds and, sure enough, Zorn and Bauteut were sleeping. Of course they were. Slowly she shoved the blankets off and, quiet as she could, she slipped out of her bed.

Joan barely resisted shrieking when her feet touched cold stone. Why did they not have RUGS? She pulled her feet back up before looking around for her shoes, putting them on grudgingly. They were a little cold, but at least not nearly as shocking.

She made her way to the door and slowly opened it, only to stop when she saw who was in the main hall. One of the ‘divinely appointed messengers of the gods’, it seemed. Judging by the robe they were wearing. They stared at her, their face covered by the hood of the robe.

“What are you doing up?” the robed man asked, his voice gruff and cold.

“I have to pee,” Joan said.

“Oh, well, you know where to go,” he said before quickly turning and limping away.

Joan looked him up and down. He couldn’t be serious. His robe wasn’t fitting right, the back bulged and was obviously hiding weapons of some sort. When he walked she could just make out the boots under the edge of the robe that were definitely NOT the kind they wore here. Not to mention the fact he was quite obviously pretending to be ‘walking’ around and examining things.

She wondered if she was just too used to assassins or if he was really just that bad. If he was going to try and kill the Chosen, couldn’t he put in a bit more effort? She expected better from elves. She sighed and closed the door behind herself before walking towards him. “Mind if I ask you something?”

“Err, yes, my child?” the man asked, keeping his back to her.

“Yeah, you can just knock that right off,” Joan said with a sigh. “You do know if I scream you’re dead, right? Korgron will tear you apart.”

“What?” the man asked before turning to look at her. She hated how dim these candles were, she couldn’t see anything under that hood. “I don’t--”

“Oh, knock it off,” Joan said with a roll of her eyes. “You’re not one of the priests here and we both know it. I’d really expect better from an assassin after the Chosen.”

“Assassin?” he said. This time he sounded alarmed and, Joan couldn’t be sure, but she swore that gruff voice sounded quite a bit more feminine. Wait a second. She’d heard that voice before. She knew she had. Where? When? Ugh, she HATED when that happened. “You’re mistaken, child. I’m--”

“First of all, I’m not a child,” Joan said. “Okay, I am, but not THAT much of a child. Second of all, do you even know my name?”

“Of course I do,” the man said. “Bauteut, the--”

“Not even close,” Joan said. Wait, did Bauteut have a larger reputation than her? That stung more than it should have.

“Uhhhh…”

“That’s it, I’m getting the Chosen,” Joan said before turning towards the door to their little sanctum.

“Wait!” the figure said and there it was again. She knew she’d heard that voice before. And that was DEFINITELY a girl’s voice. “Please, please don’t. Please, I’m not a threat, I swear. I don’t want to hurt anyone.”

There it was again. Joan froze. She knew that voice. She knew those WORDS. There was something there. Something familiar. She turned towards her again.

No.

No no no.

It wasn’t possible. There was no possible way. How could she be here?

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HOW had she ended up here? They’d never even met this time. There was no Hero to have met her. It couldn’t be. It was just familiar. That was all. That had to be it.

“Take… take off your hood,” Joan said.

“What?” the woman asked, once more her voice shifting to that fake, gruff voice. “I can’t. It--”

“Lower it,” Joan said. “Lower it or I’ll get the Chosen.”

The figure went entirely still. “I… can’t. It’ll frighten--”

“You’re a demon, aren’t you?” Joan asked. “If that’s what you’re scared of me seeing, you’re wrong. Do it.”

The figure went entirely still. But, very, very slowly, she lifted her hands up and lowered her hood.

Revealing an all too familiar demonic face. She was older now, quite a few years older than Joan. Her horns, once cut, had grown out slightly. Joan would have bet anything that the robe wasn’t just bulky, it was hiding her wings.

Joan stared at her. She couldn’t help it. She took a step closer. “You’re… you’re okay.”

“What?” the demon asked, taking a step back. “Why are you looking at me like that?”

Joan couldn’t believe it. This had to be the Three Sister’s doing. There was no other reason she’d be here. She’d been a mere child when she met the Hero. Weak. Helpless. Frightened. But those frightened, confused eyes were too familiar. The first demon she’d ever met in most of her lives. The one the Three Sister’s had set on a course to meet the Hero first. To help him see that not all demons were terrible monsters. That not all of them wanted him dead.

It had just been a split second meeting. A few minutes in the end. Such a tiny, insignificant thing. Yet the echoes of that meeting had reverberated through so many of her lives. She’d never found out what happened to the girl. Never discovered if she had been okay. If she’d found safety. Escaped somewhere.

“Why… why are you here? Why are YOU here?” Joan asked, struggling to keep her voice calm.

“If… if I tell you, will you promise not to tell the Chosen?” the woman asked.

“Yes!” Joan said while she struggled to keep her voice steady.

“I… I’ve come for Neia. Please, she doesn’t deserve any of this,” she said. “It’s my fault, everything. She was just trying to protect me. Please. I just want to know where she is.”

Joan stared at her. It wasn’t possible. Why would she be here for Neia? It didn’t… how?

------

“Hush my little Imp,” Neia said softly. Even as the woman cried and knelt before her, arms around the elf’s waist, Neia barely moved. All she did was sit there on the edge of her bed, her arms over the demon’s head as best they could with her wrists bound together as they were. The smile on her face was far from happy, however. It was cold, tired, bitter. “Did I not tell you to stay where you were safest?”

“I-I heard about what happened,” the demon said softly. “That the Chosen came and--”

“A deal had been made,” Neia said. “This isn’t… must you always make things more difficult for me, my little Imp?” She didn’t sound angry, though. She sounded exhausted and sad. “Did you really believe you could take on the Chosen alone?”

“If I--”

“Sacrifice yourself then what was the point?” Neia asked. “Please, stop crying, my little Imp. I’ll take care of this. I’ll take care of you. I promised, did I not?”

“But the Chosen--” When the demon lifted her head up she was silenced when Neia gently leaned down and pressed her forehead against the other girl’s, despite the horns.

“I will deal with this,” Neia said before her gaze turned towards Joan. “Why are you staring at us like that?”

Joan looked between the two of them. There were so many more questions she desperately wanted to ask. Only one came to mind.

“What is her name?” Joan asked.

Neia gave a small shrug. “I don’t know and neither does she. I merely call her Imp.”

Joan nodded, slowly glancing back to Imp. The poor demon shaking, her arms around her waist. Finally, she spoke up. “Nobody will hurt Imp.”

“Of course they won’t,” Neia said before rolling her eyes. “You can’t hurt a demon, now can you? After all, they--”

“Nobody will lay a finger on her,” Joan said with a fierce anger she didn’t even know she had and that seemed to actually startle both of them. “I’m getting the Chosen.”

“No!” Imp said before turning towards her. “You promised! You said--”

“They won’t hurt you,” Joan said. “Nobody will ever hurt you again.” She turn turned and stormed out of the room, slamming it shut behind herself before almost collapsing against it.

A flurry of emotions rose up within her chest, but she didn’t even know who’s anymore. Hers? The Hero’s? It wasn’t that big a deal, was it? She shouldn’t feel this protective of a demon she just met once, should she? They had spoken only a few minutes across hundreds of lifetimes.

Yet she could still remember those frightened eyes. The hunger. The way she had timidly reached out for what was offered. How she’d ran away into the forest. In many ways, in many lives, she had been the first person to ask her for help. The first person to need her help. The first person she saved.

No matter how small of an impact it should have been, it didn’t feel like that now. She’d protect her. She’d keep Imp safe, somehow.

But first she REALLY had to pee.