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Chapter 7 - Summoned, SC
🕑 Added 2024-05-02 08:19:29 +0000 UTC“That ain’t a demon!” a young girl’s voice stated with indignation.
“It is!” another childish voice responded.
“Demons don’t look like that!” the first protested, followed by an angry stomp of a tiny foot.
“How do you know?”
“I read it in a book!”
“Liar! You can’t read!”
“I ain't! And I can!”
Sunday shook his head and slowly stood up. He was feeling quite well, apart from a dull aching in his head. The emotional rollercoaster had been exhausting, and the long falling hadn’t helped, but other than that he was glad to be alive. Or something close to that. He didn’t understand what being ‘alive’ constituted anymore.
Was this another level of his personal hell, or whatever this game was supposed to be? He was confused but not as much as he assumed he should be. A profound sense of apathy towards his own fate had taken hold of his mind and soul – surely a result of his front seat trip in the washing machine of the universe.
The kids had gone silent now, and he looked around for the scary not-demon demon. Was he supposed to be it?
He met the eyes of two children, a pale boy with rosy cheeks and a snot that threatened to migrate south, and an older girl. The latter gave Sunday a pause. She was a bit taller than the boy, her skin was pale red, and two small cute horns were barely poking out of her forehead. Something inside of him desired to be surprised, or shocked, but other than a bit of curiosity he felt nothing else. He just couldn’t find it in himself after everything.
He was still naked and currently in what appeared to be a shed. At least he thought it was a shed. It was quite small and had no windows. The only light came from a lit lantern sitting on a wooden barrel, and the huge hole he had made on the thatched roof. A rough circle of white chalk that took most of the floor was beneath his feet. It was filled with strange symbols that were either an eldritch script or a child's interpretation of where babies came from.
He stared at the children and they stared back at him. The girl suddenly puffed up and took a step forward.
“What are you?” she demanded.
“You can’t just ask a demon what he is!” the boy protested.
“I can! And this is not a demon!”
Sunday furrowed his brow, feeling the skin move. It brought him great relief that his face was no longer a dried-out mask of flesh.
“I’m not a demon,” he said slowly, tasting the words as they left his mouth. His voice sounded strange. It was close to his original one, but a bit deeper, rougher. It had a strange indescribable quality to it that he guessed came from being dead. It sounded nice.
“See?” the girl smiled triumphantly.
“Demons lie all the time!” the boy countered.
“Everyone lies! Even grown-ups! Doesn’t mean he is.”
Sunday nodded in agreement before he could stop himself. That was a smart devil girl.
“Say,” he began. “Where are we?”
“In Pa and Ma’s shed,” the boy responded. His hand clapped his mouth shut and his eyes widened, filled with fear as if he had given away state secrets.
“Relax, pansy. The circle binds the demon, it’s okay to speak to it. It serves us!” the girl scolded and the boy almost instantly gave the impression of relaxing.
So suddenly I’m a demon to her as well?
“I’m not a demon,” Sunday denied again. He was curious how this would play out. He felt no binding forces, nor did he feel particularly subservient to the child.
“Fae then?” the girl rubbed her chin.
The boy gasped and moved, grabbing something from a nearby shelf and lugging it at Sunday with all the strength his tiny arm could muster. The boy’s aim proved good and the object hit Sunday in the forehead, making him wince. There was pain. Quite a lot.
“Ow. What did you do that for?!” he looked at the object that clattered at his feet. A nail?
“Iron hurts faefolk! You’re fae!” there was pride in the boy's voice as if he had discovered something amazing.
“Iron will hurt anyone if you chuck it at their head like that!” Sunday protested.
“The demon makes sense,” the girl agreed.
That made the boy deflate. Sunday didn’t care as he bent down and picked up the nail. He suddenly became very aware of his nakedness in front of the kids. He had been in more embarrassing situations before, though.
“I’m holding iron, see?”
The girl narrowed her eyes as if judging to see if this counted. Sunday didn’t find her as cute anymore.
“Have you prepared any clothes for the demon you were trying to summon by any chance?” he asked.
The two kids looked at each other in dismay. “Is that one of the rules?” the girl questioned with doubt, her confidence cracking like a dropped teapot.
I don’t know anything about demons or their rules. But those kids don’t seem to know anything either.
“Yes?”
“Gods be thrice damned!” she cursed, surprising Sunday. That was quite a saying for such a small girl. Then again it suited her, considering the horns and the reddish skin.
“Some of Pa’s clothes are hanging outside?” the boy offered after a moment of hesitation.
Sunday cheered on the inside and gave a small encouraging smile that only made the boy pale further. “That would be great. Thank you.” He quickly added.
The boy ran off through the door, uncaring about the fact that he was fetching clothes for a supposed demon.
“What’s your true name?” the girl asked.
“Sunday.”
“That’s a short true name.”
“It’s the only one I got.”
She looked him over again, making him wish he wasn’t naked.
“You’re not a demon, are you?”
“Nope.”
“What are you then?”
“Some sort of an undead to the best of my knowledge. I was human before. I’m still ironing out the details myself.”
“I know a few undead. They don’t look like you.”
“Maybe I’m special? Aren’t there different kinds of undead?”
“Hmm. How can you not know what you are?”
Maybe I should’ve just pretended to be a demon, but that ship’s sailed. Being in a shed means there are others around. Adults. Those kids can’t hurt me, and they seem innocent enough, but adults are a different matter. I don’t know where I am, what I’m supposed to do, or how to behave. And I’m pretty sure it’s not the kids that brought me here. Was it that weird chaos thing? The gift?
“Well, sometimes people don’t know certain things. Life is a strange thing. Or undeath… Say, are your parents around?”
“The adults are around working. There was a storm so they’re… Hey! Don’t make me answer your questions, demon!” the girl suddenly grew defensive and took a step back, reaching for a small rake that was leaning on the wall.
“Calm down. I’m the victim here! You’re the one who summoned me out of nowhere. I was in the middle of falling to my destiny, you know,” Sunday said.
The girl’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “What destiny?”
Sunday paused. Navigating this world would prove more difficult than he had hoped.
“Again, not quite sure,” he said. “It all feels like a bad dream.”
A very vivid, detailed, real, and grotesque dream.
“So, you came from the sky?”
“From a place beyond it, at first, but at one point I was in the sky, yes.”
The girl nodded sagely at that, allowing a small smile to stretch her chubby face. “I’ve heard of people falling from the sky.” Then she frowned again and looked around as if afraid to be overheard, “You’re not some… believer, are you?” she whispered.
Believer? What’s that supposed to mean?
“No, I don’t think so. Why did you try and summon a demon anyway? Is that not dangerous?”
Just then the boy returned carrying a bundle of rough linen clothes – pants and a shirt. He hesitated then threw them toward Sunday and pulled back, as if he was feeding a wild beast that could maul him at any time.
“Thanks.”
The clothes were a bit too small, but they fit well enough, leaving half of his calves and forearms bare. They didn’t feel too rough. He couldn’t decide if his skin’s newly regained sensitivity was just weaker, or the material wasn’t as bad as he had thought. The boy and the girl were dressed similarly, although their clothes fit better and there was some dye on them.
“So, why did you do all this?” Sunday tried again.
The kids once again looked at each other, then the girl spoke. “My uncle got lost in the swamp. We wanted to find someone who could help. The adults are saying it’s too dangerous because of the monsters.”
Monsters?!
The boy and the girl looked at him with expectation and hope. He knew that look. He had seen it many times before in the faces of the orphans he helped or told stories to. The thought made his inside clench, but he knew they would be fine. Children like them were made to last. And they had to learn to live with disappointment too.
Sorry kids. I’m not about to rush into a swamp to play a summoned hero to save a stranger. I need to secure my own life first. Still, this is a good opportunity to get some more answers.
“There are monsters in the swamp?”
The kids hesitated. This time it was the boy who spoke first, “Yes.”
Actual monsters? Or those from children’s tales? He threw a look at the girl. She wasn’t a monster by any means and she looked like any regular kid if you added some red paint and glued horns on his head. Well, maybe a bit better than that.
“Why did your uncle go into the swamp?”
“He wanted to find a spell!” the girl responded, her eyes suddenly shining with pride and thirst. The boy seemed eager too at the mention of the word.
“A spell?”
“Yes!” she nodded her little head as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.
“What’s a spell?” Sunday asked. Both sets of eyes grew wide at the question making him feel like he had made a major mistake. “I’m from a different world, your language is hard for me. I don’t know that word.”
A small lie. The language was fine. He didn’t know what it was called but he knew it like he had been speaking it all his life. The words just came out on their own, as if it was English. It was quite nice. However, he wasn’t sure what they meant by ‘spell’.
“A Spell is a Spell! And you speak fine!” the girl stomped her foot and crossed her arms. Was she disappointed in him? Angry that her summon was stupid?
“They are a… a memory of the good gods. Those that died. Ma says so.” The boy explained with reverence, ignoring the girl’s outburst. It was hard to tell if he was quoting a bedtime story or something else.
“Those are children’s stories! There are no good gods!” the girl countered as if she were not a child herself. “Uncle says spells happen when a lot of world magic comes together.”
“They do not!” the boy argued.
“They do!”
The two children started squabbling again and Sunday sighed. This was not going to get him very far into understanding his situation. His confusion was only growing. He looked around for a book or something holding instructions the kids might’ve followed. There was nothing like that.
“Who taught you how to draw the circle?” he asked, his voice low yet overpowering the two children. They stopped their arguing. The boy was once again looking at him with unconcealed fear.
What did I do wrong? Was my tone too imposing?
“Saw it in one of uncle’s books,” the girl said. “He –”
The door behind Sunday opened with a bang. There was a silhouette blocking most of the dim light coming from behind it. Sunday turned at the sound and found himself at the point of a crude spear. It was shaky, but the rusty tip seemed quite dangerous.
“Who are you?!” the newcomer demanded. It was a short man, in similar clothing to the one Sunday had just gotten.
Sunday raised his hands, putting on his most innocent expression. He had used it many times when caught stealing as a child. His face cooperated with enthusiasm, “I mean no harm, sir.”
“Da’!” the boy yelled out and circled Sunday, running to the man.
“Hello, uncle,” the girl greeted. She didn’t move though. She sounded uneasy, but not scared.
The man took in the situation. From the two kids to Sunday, to the circle drawn on the dusty floorboards. A surge of disbelief passed through his features before he steeled himself.
“Kids, get behind me,” the man half-yelled.
The boy instantly obeyed, but the girl stood where she had been the whole time.
“Listen, uncle. We –” she tried.
The man took a step forward, bringing the spear closer to Sunday, who didn’t move out of the way, letting the spear touch his shirt. “Now’s not the time for your games, Pearl! Get behind me!”
“But –”
“You should listen to your uncle, little Pearl,” Sunday said. The man bared his teeth but said nothing as the girl looked at the two men and put her small arms on her waist.
“He’s not a demon, uncle! Put the spear down,” Pearl demanded.
“For sanity’s sake, child, come here!” the man seemed to be growing more and more nervous.
“No!”
This is bad. If he thinks the kid’s in danger he might try and stab me. I don’t know much about my current body, but it feels much better than the one I had while in the weird city. Can the skin stop a spear stab though? What does it take for me to die? Damn, I don’t want to test it.
“Little Pearl, listen to me. Go to join your buddy, so we all know you are safe. Then we can all sit and talk about saving your missing uncle. Please?” Sunday tried again.
Pearl hesitated for a moment, but then relented, “Fine.”
“Thank you.”
The man seemed to exhale in relief as soon as the girl was behind him and the grip on his spear slackened somewhat. Sunday thought about reaching for it. It wouldn’t be hard to take the weapon. However, not having tested his body and not knowing anything about the situation made him hesitate. He decided to try diplomacy first. Having the kids on his side would hopefully tilt the scales in his favor.
Now that I think about it, when have adults listened to children? Silly me.
He gave his best smile. “Can you please not murder me now?”
“Why are you wearing my clothes?” the man growled.
