by J. Langland
The entire Doom situation had pretty much gone over the top, sending him back to Tom the demon and the odd juxtaposing feelings he’d had before becoming Edwyrd. Doom, the oath-taking, the battle with the Knights of Chaos and Lilith’s army had felt like he was living in a crazy fantasy movie. But seeing the humans today? That had sort of jolted him out of the movie. Agreeing to lead humans, and orcs and dwarves who lived with a very real risk of dying, was much more intimidating than leading a group of immortals who were nearly impossible to kill.
What it came down to, Tom suddenly realized, was that leading mortals carried a much greater sense of responsibility. It was more real. People could die. People would die; in particular, death would be coming when the Storm Lords attacked the Isle of Doom upon discovery Doom’s return.
And he, Tom Perkinje, would be responsible for their deaths because he had opened the Doomalogue and returned the D’Orcs to Nysegard. It was quite intimidating. Now, add in the fact that he was also in the process of being possessed by the spirit of Orcus or something? It was enough to make him want to curl up in a ball once more.
This whole Orcus possession thing was bad. Where were these memories coming from? How could he stop them? How could he be sure he was not being corrupted by the demon prince? Would he turn evil? Would he lose his own identity in the much older being’s identity? It was terrifying. He needed to find a way to stop these memories from invading his mind.
“Are you going to sit there staring at the coldfire all night?” Boggy’s voice woke him from his speculation. Tizzy and Boggy had come into his suite while he was staring into the coldfire. Antefalken had been scribbling away on his ballad while Reggie, Tamarin and Estrebrius were playing cards. Reggie was teaching them to play poker, Twenty-One, as they did not have four people for whist. Talarius was still in Nysegard. He had ended up getting tied up working out defensive strategies with the military leaders in Krallnomton.
Tom had been more than a little concerned when he had returned to Krallnomton to find Talarius there, free from the Abyss. However, he had been working at training the people of the village and seemed as happy and relaxed as Tom had ever seen him. He did not appear to be an immediate flight risk.
Of course, given that it was Nysegard, and Talarius had no ability, as far as Tom knew, to travel between planes, it was doubtful there was anywhere he could safely flee to. So Tom had said nothing, simply nodded to the knight and continued on. Tom had, however, asked Valg to keep an eye on Talarius. He did not know if the knight could pray for some sort of divine intervention or something now that he was once more on the Planes of Orc, so it would be a good idea to keep an eye on him.
“No. I’m just troubled by a dream I had last night,” Tom replied to Boggy.
Boggy shrugged. “Why would you be bothered by a silly nightmare? Your reality—pissing off the Lords of Chaos, making an eternal enemy of Lilith by stealing her army, being pursued by the forces of Tiernon for stealing mana and kidnapping his knight, and now having triggered a war with the Storm Lords of Nysegard—should be more than enough to make any reasonable nightmare seem quite pleasant.”
Tizzy nodded in agreement at Boggy’s assessment.
Antefalken looked up from his writing and nodded his head thoughtfully. “You know, when you put it like that…” he trailed off.
“Master? Why are you troubled about such good news?” Tamarin asked.
“Good news?” Boggy asked. “Your dream was good news? And that bothers you?”
“Really should not look good news in the mouth,” Tizzy advised. “It usually has rotten teeth.”
“Yeah, well good news is a relative term,” Tom told Tamarin. “Yes, the D’Orcs think it is good news, but it is actually very disturbing news.”
“How is getting your memories back disturbing?” Tamarin asked, puzzled.
“Memories back?” Boggy asked. “From where?”
“Master Tommus dreamt last night of a battle in Nysegard that actually happened. He remembered events that Vargg Agnoth was able to confirm as correct, as well as D’Orcs that perished in Etterdam that no one had told him about.”
Antefalken shook his head. “What? You’ve been to Nysegard before?”
“Not me. Orcus,” Tom said.
Boggy did a double take. “You are remembering things as Orcus? How is that possible? You do know you are not actually Orcus, right?”
“Yes, I know that. I know that they think I am some sort of reincarnated version of Orcus, thanks to that prophecy; however, we all know that’s not true.”
“Do we?” Tizzy said.
Everyone suddenly looked at the octopodal demon.
“What do you mean?” Tom asked, annoyed.
“Well, Boggy and I have known you for less than five weeks. We don’t know what you were doing before that. For all we know, you could be Orcus.” The insane demon shrugged. “Maybe you had amnesia after the battle and have been running around the Abyss all that time and are just now getting your memory back?”
Tom, and for that matter, everyone in the room just stared at the green octopod in shock.
“We found Tom because you smelled butter and dragged me along to find him!” Boggy told Tizzy incredulously. “You may recall he was formerly a sixteen-year-old kid from one of the Earths, yes?”
“A sixteen-year-old newly enslaved demon five weeks ago?” Antefalken stared at Tom in shock. “How is that possible?”
“Have we not been over that enough at this point?” Tom asked the bard in exasperation.
“Well, yes, I know you were, theoretically, newly summoned by Lenamare, yet you never have explained how you have a son. But now I find out that you are only sixteen years old? Clearly not old enough to be Rupert’s father,” Antefalken pointed out.
Tom was glad Rupert was in Ithgar. “I am not actually Rupert’s father. I have no idea who his father is. He simply mistook me for his long-lost demon father, and he was so thrilled and excited and things were moving so fast that I never had the time, nor the heart, to correct him.”
Antefalken was quiet, looking thoughtful for a few moments. “That would be consistent with the way you strenuously avoid talking about the issue when Rupert is around.”
Tom nodded in agreement.
“Yeah, I was wondering about that myself. You didn’t have a kid in Harding,” Reggie said.
Antefalken looked at Reggie. “So you knew Tom before he became a demon?”
“Yeah. We had met a few weeks before when he and his mother moved to Harding, New Jersey,” Reggie said. “We were both at a party hosted by another friend of ours when he was summoned. He died right there on a couch. Caused a shitload of problems for the rest of us.”
“So you can confirm he is sixteen?” Antefalken asked. “I find it quite amazing that a sixteen-year-old, and this is new information, could end up as a greater demon upon summoning,” Antefalken said.
“Yes, that’s about right. He was in the same class as I was,” Reggie said.
“But then he got promoted to demon prince with his own army in just five weeks!” Tizzy interjected.
“Yes, that does seem rather incredible,” Boggy said.
“Never heard of it happening that fast. Usually takes tens of thousands of years from what I’ve heard,” Estrebrius said.
Tom huffed angrily. He wanted to protest that he was not actually a demon prince, he was still a greater demon, but it seemed more important to point out that they were overlooking their own involvement. “You have all been here, yes? Other than Tamarin,” he said, nodding to the djinni. “You guys have seen everything that has happened at every step! How can you argue about this when you were right there with me?”
Boggy nodded. “He’s got a point.”
Antefalken shook his head. “I know, I know. But the level of coincidence and happenstance just strains credulity!”
“You are incredulous?” Tom voiced his frustration. “What do you think I am? I’m the subject of all this craziness! And
now, somehow, Orcus’s memories are sneaking into my dreams. I am searching and searching for any clue as to what is going on. My assumption is that there must be some residual animus belonging to Orcus that is somewhere in Doom or Tartarus that is seeping over the links to the Rod of Tommus and then into me. However, I have not been able to locate it yet.”
“That seems possible,” Tamarin said thoughtfully, “although not particularly probable. However, I have no other explanation to offer at the moment.”
“Nor do I. However, now I am paranoid that I’m about to be possessed by a dead demon prince!” Tom said.
“Yeah. That would not be good,” Estrebrius agreed.
“Paranoia is a definite trait of demon princes, and archdemons for that matter,” Antefalken pointed out.
“Very good point.” Boggy nodded in agreement. “So Tom’s paranoia could be a sign of possession?”
“Yes,” Tamarin said, getting into the argument. “However, I am not sure we cannot rule out other possibilities.”
“Such as?” Reggie asked.
“Well, Tom could be a reincarnation of Orcus, who was simply reincarnated on an Earth. Given that the Earths provide a lot of demons, that would increase the probability of someone summoning him back to the Abyss to resume his destiny,” the djinni explained.
Tom just shook his head at such insanity.
“Or,” Reggie countered excitedly, “maybe Orcus, wounded after the battle, fled to someplace safe, like an Earth, and has been living there with amnesia as a human for the last four thousand years.”
“You are not helping!” Tom glared at Reggie.
“In either of those two cases,” Tamarin continued, “the memories would be a sign of healing, not possession. So, while possession is a worry, it is not the only possibility. I would thus not immediately fear the worst from these memories.”
“Exactly!” Tizzy interjected. “And think of this: these memories will be very helpful when we go to collect back payments from those deadbeat gods!” He clapped his hands enthusiastically.
Boggy grimaced and looked at Tizzy. “What in the Abyss are you talking about?”
Tizzy shrugged. “Orcus has been gone for four thousand years, and according to Arg-nargoloth, no one from Doom has been collecting the containment charges for the prisoners in Tartarus. We are going to have to start collecting them again, with interest of course. So it would be useful if Tom could remember who owed us what.”
“Ugh.” Tom put his head in his hands. He wanted this entire conversation to go away.
“Uhm, who is going to go tell a god that he or she needs to pay up?” Reggie asked.
Tizzy grinned. “You’re an incubus; pretty sure you could convince the goddesses to pay up.” The octopod made leering motions with his eyebrows.
Chapter 128
Mount Doom: DOA + 7, Late First Period
Tom followed the mental map of Doom that he’d constructed from his links towards the Library of Doom. He had been unable to sleep, tossing and turning with worry over the thought of having more dream memories from Orcus if he fell asleep. He had finally decided to get up and walk around.
As a kid—well, up until he had been summoned as a demon—he had always felt great comfort in the company of books. Real books, not e-books. Sure, he read e-books and always looked forward to the gift card for his e-book subscription on his birthday each year; however, while convenient they were not a substitute for the weight of a real book, particularly a hardback. The smell of the paper and ink, the texture of the pages, and the sheer impressive weight of all the knowledge and adventure stored within aisles and aisles of books gave him comfort.
Libraries were thus a place of solace; a place to learn and take comfort. The quiet, contemplative atmosphere soothed the nervous anxiety engendered by the frantic modern world. Cellphones were silenced, voices were whispers and an air of quiet respect pervaded the rooms. Sure, students searching frantically through piles of books and taking notes on multiple pads of paper had begun to give way to students peering into glowing screens, but the towering shelves of knowledge still guarded the treasures of thought and reason.
He needed reason. He needed objectivity. He was getting too panicked. Not only by the invading memories, but also the never-ending onslaught of insanity mixed with responsibility that was now coming his way. As fast as he made new friends and allies, he was acquiring new enemies with vast resources and far, far greater experience.
He was not trying to make these enemies; it was simply that at every turn, he was apparently stepping on someone else’s toes and somehow forcing them to act irrationally. He was starting to realize that it was not just the wacky wizards of Astlan, like Lenamare, Jehenna and Exador, but everyone. Every single individual he encountered was paranoid and guilty of making crazy assumptions based on very little empirical evidence.
And now, as if that was not bad enough, he was starting to become paranoid himself. Was it contagious? The invading memories, the way events seemed to be driving him in an unknown direction to some unknown end? It seemed like some giant conspiratorial plot. If that type of thinking wasn’t paranoia, then what was? He was searching for explanations that most likely did not exist. Shit happens; that was a fact. However, he was guilty of chiding those around him for looking for connections that did not exist, and at the same time feeling the allure of assuming there was some sort of conspiracy of events—destiny, if you will—that was driving things.
Tom did not believe in destiny. Destiny only existed in storybooks. When real people talked about destiny, they were trying to find meaning in random events, and the choices that the people involved in those events made were based on numerous factors, many of which were likely suspect.
Whatever the case, though, he needed to chill, and since Doom had some sort of library, that seemed like a good place to go for some calm rational thought. He was not really sure what he would find there. He knew it was a very large room and sealed from the outside by numerous runes and spells. Of course, the DoomNet covered it, but there were also thousands of other runes that were lower-powered that held spells that were independent of Doom’s mana generators.
Tom knew very little about wizardry, but he could tell that there was a vast number of low-level spells in place within the library. Presumably, from what people had said, they were preservation spells. The Abyss was not particularly friendly to organic matter; nor was time.
Tom reached the main entrance to the Library of Doom and twisted the handle of the large wooden double doors. He had to trigger a rune that was locking the door, but that was no problem. A small blast of much cooler air puffed through the doorway as Tom stepped into the large room. Entering the room, magical glass lanterns turned on to light the large chamber. Actually, make that a vast chamber, Tom thought as he took in the sight. He could sense that the lighting was powered by Doom, and preservation spells were on the shelves and even the books and scrolls themselves, of which there were enough to take his breath away.
This was a library of yore, Tom thought to himself, gazing in awe at the large four-story room with ornately carved wooden walkways and shelves. Each floor was probably fifteen feet tall, comfortable for someone of his own height. The closest thing to it that Tom could remember ever seeing was the Council of Wizardry’s library in Freehold. However, this was even more impressive than that; certainly larger.
He was at the base of a giant study room, with what appeared to be a large mapping table near the front, similar to the 3D map table in the DCC. The sides of the main room were the end points of long aisles stretching off for who knew how far. Looking down the closest one, it seemed to go a long distance before opening into another large chamber.
There had to be at least thirty aisles along each of the three walls to his right, left and ahead. The wall behind him was solid, with bookshelves lining the first story. On each of the three additional stories, a walkway circled the main room, and thirty aisles led off from each of the four walls.
“By the beard of the First Grand Calyphos!” Tom heard Tamarin exclaim in shock and wonder behind him. He twisted to see the djinni transfixed in the doorway behind him. He had not realized she had followed him.
Tamarin’s eyes roved the walls and aisles with an expression of—something—awe, reverence, lust? Tom was not quite sure. After a few moments she continued into the library, her head shaking in disbelief and awe. “I have, of course, heard of the Library of Doom, and I knew it to be magnificent, but this transcends anything I had envisioned,” she whispered, clearly daunted by the library's grandeur. “It is one of the ten greatest libraries in the multiverse. It is only fifty thousand years old, but has treasures spanning nearly a million years of written knowledge.” She laughed ruefully. “While, in theory, the Library of Djinnistan is larger, being amorphous, it is not nearly as intimidating nor as glorious as a physical library of this size.”
“Not exactly what one expects to find in the Abyss, I suppose.” Tom grinned at her.
Tamarin smiled at him. “Demons as a rule are not known for their scholarship, and orcs have a bad habit of burning books, but the demon princes and archdemons are different. They understand that knowledge is power. As do the gods. Orcus’s library has been closed to the multiverse since his death; however, during the height of the Doompire, scholars from all over the multiverse, those who knew of it, sought answers here. It was no small part of Orcus’s power structure. Access to this library was extremely valuable.”
Tom shook his head. “Orcus was obviously far more complex than most give him credit for.”
“He certainly was. He had to be in order to take on both heaven and hell and survive,” Tamarin said. “Or so I have learned from my studies. He is far before my time, or that of any living djinni.”