Double Life - Book 1 of the Vaiya Series (43 page)

“Cool!” Jimmy murmured to himself, astounded,
eyes wide, heart pounding with excitement and astonished wonder.
Unexpected confidence gushed into his heart, replacing the
stronghold of fear that had been there but moments ago.

As the thieves stared at him in stupefied
horror as if gazing at a demi-god, Jimmy turned around and looked
at them, slipping a serious brooding look on his face, taking full
advantage of their fear, not knowing if another one of their
strikes would produce the same uninjured result for him.

“Leave the poor blacksmith alone,” he
demanded, in a deep voice, both rasping and snake-like, one he
borrowed from the Ringwraiths in Lord of the Rings. He strutted
confidently towards the crates meaning to pass through them, but
tumbled on the ground instead, which startled him, shaking his
courage.

Quick to the kill, three thieves skewered him
with their knives, but their weapons again passed harmlessly
through his body as if he were made of air. Demoralized by his
invincibility, Cargamur, the thief leader--a man with a tangled
head of black hair and a juniper-colored cloak--and one of his men
fled off into the night.

Witnessing this with amusement, Jimmy took
full advantage of this cowardice act. “Enough foolishness.” He
stood up, recovering quickly from his fall, and brushed off his
shirt, wiping a spot of mud from his face, concealing the horror he
felt at seeing knives repeatedly stabbed through his body. “Go back
into your dens and hide.”

But the short thief had other ideas. Running
at Jimmy, he wrapped his arms around him and tried to strangle him,
but his arms passed through his neck as if he were a ghost.

“Get back!” shouted Jimmy, as he shoved the
man abnormally hard, causing him to fly six feet backwards and ram
into the wall of a house. Witnessing his sudden strength, as a
twinge of guilt raced through his mind at having injured the man,
Jimmy looked at his glowing blue hands and his eyes grew even
wider. Just what was happening to him? Was he turning into a
monster? a superhero?

One of the thieves broke his thoughts, asking
a question along that train of thought. “Who are you?” he shouted,
voice shaking, keeping a safe distance from him.

Jimmy quickly assumed his new role. “I’m the
ruler of justice,” he replied darkly, stepping slowly towards him,
a grave look on his face.

Backing away from him like fearful cowards,
the thief and two of his friends continued muttering among
themselves in inaudible tones.

But not all were so intimidated. Seeing his
comrades’ fears, one of the thieves only grew bolder. “Ruler of
justice, huh?” spat out a short thief with a brown mustache. “Then
you’re goin’ ta have ta die!” Deftly unscrewing the lid to the jar
he held, the thief then hurled the toxic green contents towards
Jimmy’s face. However, as soon as the liquid should have covered
him, it passed right through him and splashed against the wall of
the house instead, leaving the thieves in a state of shock.

Witnessing his invincibility with awe, Jimmy
grew more courageous and simply glared at them, sick of their
relentless acts. “Enough of this!” he shouted, as he stalked over
to where the thieves were with his fists clenched tightly. If he
didn’t scatter this group soon, they’d likely discover some kind of
loophole that could still kill him, or his invulnerability power
would run out. Either way, he’d be dead in no time so he didn’t
want to take any chances.

As he got within arm’s length of them,
though, the thieves attacked him again and this time from all
angles. Knives passed through his face, daggers sliced at his
feet--possibly looking for some Achilles’ heel--a short sword went
in and out of his chest, and a rope was thrown around his neck and
tightened, but they all just passed through him harmlessly. The
thieves might as well have been throwing feathers at him for all
the damage they were inflicting.

Watching their desperate attempts to
extinguish his life, Jimmy soon grew entirely disgusted by their
bloodlust and their bold arrogance in not knowing when to quit. He
had to put a stop to this--and now!

Standing as still as possible given the fact
that weapons were disappearing and reappearing through his body
every moment, Jimmy clenched his fists even tighter, his arms and
legs tensing, his breaths coming faster.

A moment later, he let out a shout as he
jumped backwards and suddenly threw his hands forward to try to
intimidate them. Instead of just intimidating them, though, he
unexpectedly sent a wave of energy into the six thieves, causing
them to flatten against the side of the house, leaving them rather
battered and entirely demoralized.

Astonished by his power, Jimmy subconsciously
stooped down and picked up a shiny knife that one of the thieves
had dropped, putting it into his belt, while he just stared at
them, feeling strangely conscientious that he’d hurt them--even
though it was out of self-defense.

As he continued to watch them just lying on
the ground too weary to even get up, he suddenly heard loud
military-type footsteps and clinking armor coming near him. Turning
around, he saw twelve royal guards, carrying shiny spears and
torches, beautifully clad in vivid purple and green cloaks with
steel armor underneath, quickly marching towards the alleyway.

Within a few seconds, they had completely
blocked off all of the main routes of escape. Finally, these
criminals would get what they deserved.

As Jimmy eagerly awaited the outcome, the
commander of the guard force, upon observing the thieves who were
all huddled against the house, spoke sternly to them, his voice
rich and resonant with trumpet-like power. “Forest Scourge!” he
shouted. “The sun has arisen upon your crimes.”

Mad terror in their wild eyes, the thieves,
although injured and weary, still tried to break free, but the
guards easily overpowered them, and, after seizing their weapons,
shackled their arms and legs.

Then they noticed Jimmy, black hair curling
wildly, eyes tame and mellow now, a knife stuck into his brown
belt. The commander marched up to him warily. “What are you doing
here, boy?”

“Defending my life,” he replied solemnly,
gazing at the tall regal-looking man whose freshly polished visored
helmet concealed all but his grim, judicial eyes.

But the royal commander merely squinted, his
eyes reduced to bluish orbs. Then he frowned. “Six deadly assassins
against you? and all you have is a knife?” He cocked an eye. “You
expect me to believe that?”

Jimmy patted down his hair, biting down his
irritation. “Actually there were eight of them; the other two got
away.”

“No, you’re mistaken,” the commander scowled
at him with haughty contempt. “There were nine in total.”

“Nine? But I don’t remember--”

“You complete the circle,” the commander
interrupted sharply, a frightful sneer forged onto his face. “I’ve
seen it too many times.”

Jimmy leaned forward, stunned by his
accusation. “So you’re saying I’m a thief?”

“No, that’s too soft of a title,” he replied,
fists wrapped in black gloves covered with chain mail. “I was
thinking murderer, arsonist, kidnapper.”

At these harsh words, Jimmy could barely
contain himself. “You’re wrong,” he blurted out bluntly, as he
twisted his neck to the side, and pointed to the house behind him.
“See that knife sticking out of the door? That’s from when one of
them tried to kill me.” He continued, “And notice these fallen
crates? I kicked one of the thieves into them. And see these
footprints?”

“It does look like a battle scene,” the
commander finally admitted with a snarl, as two of his guards
scouted out the area. “But it wouldn’t have had you not contrived
it.”

Annoyance swept through him. “Like I had any
time to.” Jimmy frowned in disgust, seriously annoyed by this guy’s
lack of common sense.

“Oh, I know you did.” He sneered. “Nothing
else clears the way.”

But Jimmy just stared at him, both bewildered
and exasperated. “And why do you think these criminals would go
along with it, huh?”

“Possibly you’re their leader,” countered the
royal guard. “You certainly lie like one.”

Now he was getting mad. He knew that asking
about how he could be their leader when he was so much younger
would likely not fly over too well as the man seemed averse to
logic, so he asked another question instead. “And why don’t you
think I was fighting them?”

“You?” said the man, as he raised his
eyebrows and smirked, his comrades looking equally amused. “You
couldn’t hurt a river rat.”

Were such rats weak in this country? He
didn’t care to find out; he had a more pressing inquiry. “Yeah, I’m
really liking your logic.” The commander gave him a dirty look, but
he continued: “First you say I’m the thieves’ leader, then you say
I’m weak.” He paused as he tapped his finger on his chin.
“Something doesn’t add up. I’m not sure how it works in your
country, but in mine, criminal leaders are generally the strongest
of the group.”

“And where is your country?” asked the
commander haughtily, apparently only asking this question because
he had no good comeback. Before Jimmy could reply, though, he made
his own guess. “You’re one of those northerners, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Illinois counted; it was in the
northern half of the United States, after all, so it technically
wasn’t a lie.

The commander merely grunted. “Well, that
settles it; no northerner could’ve stayed alive for even a fraction
of a second.” Shackling Jimmy’s legs with a close-cutting iron band
attached by a short chain, he told him to keep his arms to his
sides and keep quiet. It felt like he was being arrested by a cop,
only his hands weren’t in the air, and the experience was much more
painful and humiliating.

As Jimmy was just about to ask the commander
why the thieves would let such a “pathetic northerner” be their
leader, one of the guards stabbed him in the arm with something
akin to a needle, instantly causing him to become extremely drowsy.
Seconds later, he drifted off into a deep sleep.

Sitting at a sturdy cherry wood table in
Carakoth, Sarith’s capital, King Ralin Taverak pushed aside his
paperwork as he bitterly thought back to the three unusual cases he
was forced to rule in today.

Usually, aside from matters of life and
death, his judgment would not be needed, as the judges from the
minor courts and the royal court would handle all cases. The one
exception, though, was bizarre cases with no precedent. By royal
decree, which his grandfather had written, only a king could decide
on such important matters, as the fate of laws could be determined
in such assemblies.

Though he’d never particularly liked this
law, as it only added to the insurmountable work he had to do each
day, he tried not to gripe about it, at least not in front of his
citizens. Kings weren’t guaranteed an easy life, after all.

Still, though, on a day like today, he truly
wished that his grandfather had never conceived such a law.
Usually, at most, he’d have one of these special cases a month, but
now he’d handled three in one day. He’d just have to hope that this
wouldn’t become an everyday occurrence.

Resting his head in his hands, he tried to
burn away the image of the young girl screaming that he was being
unjust, as she was dragged to the common prison. Though his verdict
was perfectly reasonable given the circumstances, he didn’t like
jailing women, especially one as young as she was. He knew all too
easily how such a punishment could scar someone of her temperament
for life.

Still, the evidence was against her, as three
witnesses proclaimed that they’d seen her steal a blacksmith’s
newly forged iron sword. Though the sword couldn’t be found, he’d
been through cases like this before and knew that it was likely
either hidden away in some secret place or else buried underground.
No, none of this bothered him. His sole source of discomfort came
from her own testimony. She claimed that all three of the witnesses
were conspiring against her and that they were the ones who told
her to steal the weapon for them in the first place.

Of course, such an idea was absurd. All three
of the witnesses were well-respected men in the community, and more
importantly, richer than they’d care to admit. If they wanted to,
they could have bought that sword themselves and it wouldn’t have
even dented their income. It would make no sense for them to force
this girl to do such an evil act when they could more than afford
to pay for it themselves.

Then why was he even troubling himself over
her fate? One reason--he’d seen her eyes, and he knew that look.
They spoke only of truth. Still, for him to accuse all three of the
men would have taken far longer and would have made him lose the
respect of his people. No one wanted a one-trial case to turn into
a three-part conspiracy, at least not anyone he’d care to impress.
Thus, he made his decision. Four years in jail for her. It seemed a
small thing, as the crowd was demanding at least six, but her age
and that look in her eyes made him decrease the sentence. The
populace just had to accept it.

He grimaced. But could he accept it? Turning
his thoughts from such a dark case, he thought over the next one.
This one had been much easier to rule in, and had hardly wasted any
of his time. A middle-aged merchant had been accused of swindling
his customers. The only catch--the merchant had accused his
customers of swindling him.

Never very skilled at the specifics of such a
job, and at how items were priced and such and where the money
went, he simply ruled against the merchant, forcing him to pay a
high sum to his customers, to the happiness of the crowd. At least
this case made him feel stronger about who he was.