Demon Hunters

Wartime II

Jonah glanced at the roof of the shack he and the soldier he had carried here now occupied. For now, it looked to mostly hold against the rain, which was about all he could ask for. He turned his attention toward the man who was now lying on the sole bed in the room, still unconscious. As Jonah had initially approached him, the man had become scared and started to flail his arms. Afraid that he might hurt himself, Jonah had forced the man to drink a large dose of one of the demon hunter's medicines, which had immediately knocked the soldier out. After carrying him to the first house he had found – one that had thankfully already been abandoned – Jonah had immediately gotten to work determining the man's health. As it had turned out, the only wound the soldier had sustained was a broken leg, which had been easy to treat. By Jonah's estimation, the fracture hadn't even been severe, and the soldier could probably still walk in the future – provided that there even was a future for him.

I must wonder, what has come over me... What is my plan here? Why did I save him? What do I have to gain here?

Jonah stared at the crackling hearth he had lit to dry himself off. He didn't consider himself to be overly emotional – and even if he had been, the years he had worked as a demon hunter would have probably made him detached anyway. After all, a job where each hunt could be your last tended to make people quite reclusive, and most all demon hunters preferred solitude whenever possible. Yet, for whatever reason, Jonah had opted to do something completely irrational in saving this soldier.

I am not becoming soft, am I? That's usually a death sentence... Jonah thought, noticing the soldier stirring.

As the man opened his eyes, he looked very confused. When he saw Jonah, he started frantically speaking in a language Jonah couldn't understand.

"Slow down there, friend. I hope you can understand me?"

The soldier stopped and looked at Jonah nervously.

"I not speak... Your language. But understand!" he manged to stammer.

Oh, thank the Lord, Jonah thought to himself, leaning forward.

"Works for me. Now, then... What's your name, son?"

When the soldier looked unsure, Jonah continued.

"My name is Jonah. What is yours?" he said, first pointing at himself and then at the soldier.

This time, his conversation partner understood.

"I... Jean."

Jonah nodded.

"Good... How are you feeling, Jean?"

It took some time for Jean to understand the question. He then tried to move his leg and grimaced.

"Leg... hurt."

"I can see that... Anything else?"

"No... I think?"

"That is good to hear. I shall fashion you a crutch, so we can get you back to your camp."

Suddenly, Jean looked scared. Though the dirt still obscured his face, Jonah realized that he was barely a man, probably not even eighteen years old. He shook his head and sighed. It was impossible to tell why Jean had found his way to the army: perhaps he had been guided by misguided patriotism, fooled by glorious war stories, or perhaps he had simply been conscripted against his will somehow. Regardless, what the young man had experienced on the battlefield had clearly scarred his mind.

It really is a bleeding shame that youngsters such as yourself end up as cannon fodder, Jonah lamented.

"I understand that you don't want to return, but you really don't have much of an option. Otherwise, you'll be considered a deserter and, well, they don't treat them all too well," he explained.

Jean looked conflicted but finally nodded. His gaze then moved to the large amount of weaponry holstered on Jonah, and his expression became wary.

"Who you? You army?" he asked.

Jonah shook his head.

"Demon hunter. Church."

The young man seemed to understand, though he didn't become any less cautious. Suddenly, his eyes lit up and he started searching for something inside his clothes. Finally, he managed to pull out a cross pendant that was hanging from his neck.

"See? I believe."

Jonah chuckled and shook his head.

"Don't worry, I'm not an inquisitor, so I don't really care about that stuff," he replied. "That said, it is a nice-looking pendant you have there. Who did you get it from?"

Jean looked at the pendant, and his expression twitched.

"Mother give it when I go to war."

"I see."

Jonah shifted uncomfortably. He fully realized that what he was doing was stupid. Once again, getting attached was never a good idea. Still, the look on Jean's face had stirred something inside Jonah he didn't even know he had – a fatherly instinct. Indeed, judging by age, Jonah could have well been Jean's father. Not that Jonah – or any other demon hunter for that matter – could ever really consider having children.

Perhaps I am becoming soft with age... What a vexing notion.

Just as Jonah was about to ask Jean if he washungry, he heard muffled speech from outside the hut, followed by sloshing stepsthat were steadily growing louder.