Brother Sergeant: J. K. Swift's latest historical adventure thriller by J. K. Swift

Author:J. K. Swift [Swift, J. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UE Publishing Co.
Published: 2024-06-21T00:00:00+00:00

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CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

My eyes were closed but I could see light hiding beyond my eyelids.

“Did you see that? His eye moved.” A female voice speaking Arabic. A young woman.

“I saw nothing,” said a man. “You should get outside. Let the sun hit your skin for a while.”

“There! I told you so. Go get my father. Tell him he is awake!”

“You get him. I am not to leave you alone in here.”

“What do you think is going to happen? Look at him. Now go!”

“All right, all right.” There was some shuffling followed by the flapping of heavy cloth. The man’s voice came to me again, but muted and far away. “Have you seen Addamson? I need to find him. He is waking up.”

“Can you hear me?” the woman said close to my ear. “If you can, move your eyes.” She stopped breathing. “I knew it!”

The enthusiasm in her voice was infectious. It reached down and pulled me up from deep inside myself and made me want to wake. Sometimes, when I look back on that day, I dread to think what may have happened if she had not been there to coax me out of the dark.

I opened my eyes to a white tent made from a patchwork of tanned animal hides. There was no furniture and I was on the floor, or rather the ground. But it was soft and comfortable as it was thickly covered with a combination of carpets and sheep skins. A young woman knelt next to me holding a ladle inches from my mouth.

“Do not try to talk. Drink this. I have been wetting your lips regularly but it would do you good to take down some broth on your own.”

Her head was covered with a soft yellow cloth bound around the crown of her head with a braided black band of woven hair of some kind. But I could still see errant mahogany strands of her own hair sticking out around her ears. Her eyes were pale blue and bright with excitement, as though she could not believe I had woken.

She cradled my head to help me drink. I coughed up the first attempt but she would not let me stop there. When I had emptied two full ladles she laid me back down. Then watched my face intently as I struggled to catch my breath.

“What is your name?” she asked. “Oh, I am Rebekah. This is my tent.”

I tried to speak but coughed instead. But it seemed to loosen up my throat and its workings. “Thomas. Some… call me Thomi.”

Her face lit up. “I will call you Thomi, then. I have not known anyone by that name.”

We were interrupted by an approaching murmur of voices. Someone threw aside the tent flap. I glimpsed two or three men outside but only one entered, drawing the flap closed behind him. He was tall and fit and looked to be in his sixties. He wore a vest the same color as Rebekah’s headdress, perhaps even cut from the same bolt.

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