A Dream of the Heaven

Chapter 20 (Part 2 of 2)

Isendrin was used to awakening quickly.  Sleep and wakefulness rarely elided for him.  One would depart as the other arrived. 

This morning, it was not so.  His eyes glimpsed light and his ears caught whispers, but then they were gone.  Sense came crawling back to him as if through tar, collapsing as it at last gained the summit, and he awoke.  The ceiling was low and rough, blotched with damp.  He lay on a filthy rush mat, his spine all but jammed against the earthen floor.  A blanket covered him: he tried to move it but chose the wrong arm, and blistering agony clawed at his skin, his muscle and bone.  He cried out behind sealed lips, but lifted himself up on his left hand.

Morning light dribbled through one of the tiny windows.  He could just make out Temith in the corner of the small room, his hands clasped together, desperately whispering.

“Hope he’s listening,” said Isendrin. 

Temith leapt with fright, clamping a hand over his heart.  “Yes.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“Of course.”

The Erluethan passed a hand through his grey hair, already taking on the greasy nature of the marsh.  He stood up and hurried across the room.

“Menentor said you should take this when you woke,” he said.  “Only a few herbs and such.”

He passed Isendrin a small, chipped cup, thin liquid swilling around inside.  The exile drank immediately.  It was foul, bitter on the throat.

“That’s supposed to help, is it?” he said.

“Presumably.”

Isendrin looked down at his arm.  The wound was bandaged with strips of torn cloth so tightly bound that his hand and fingers had turned ghostly white.  I trail of dried blood ran to the door.

“Was there a lot?” he asked.  “Blood?”

Temith’s face was nearly as white as Isendrin’s hand.  He nodded, sucking in his lips.

“Where are we?  How did we get here?”

“Menentor said it’s the poorest part of the city,” said Temith, taking great rattling breaths.  “All shacks and hovels.  They’re not owned, people just find one and claim it.  We had to drag you in, you were senseless.  Menentor said we would be able to hide in this district, no one likes coming in.”

“Why?”

“Disease.”

“Godswings, worse than the rest of this place?”

“So he said.”

“And where is Menentor?”

“He said he was going to scout the district, check one of the city gates.  I couldn’t stop him, I said he’d be caught.”

“I think he knows Pekderzhun better than the Pekderzhi.”

Temith stared at him.  The look went on for far too long.

“What?” said Isendrin.

“Who was he?” said Temith.  “What happened?  What are we going to do?  Where is Imlonavar?”

“I don’t know,” said Isendrin.  “I can guess, but I don’t know.”

“Wonderful!” said Temith, his voice breaking as he threw wild gestures.  “You are a great soldier.  Menentor’s walked half the world.  You both know about these things.  But what am I doing here?  What am I doing here?  I’m a scholar!  I’m...”