Byzantium by Stephen R. Lawhead

Byzantium by Stephen R. Lawhead

Author:Stephen R. Lawhead
Language: eng
Format: mobi, epub
Tags: Fiction
ISBN: 9780061057540
Publisher: HarperCollins
Published: 1996-01-01T08:00:00+00:00


39

In the between-place where waking and sleeping meet, I found myself standing in darkness. The features of the room could not be seen, but it was cool and damp, and I could hear shouts and cries of men echoing, as if at a distance, along stone corridors. The room where I stood was foul with the stink of urine and excrement, and acrid smoke.

I did not know how I came to be there, nor what sort of place it was. Nor could I recall how long I had been in this room — if room it was. But I heard the cries of men all around, and it seemed to me that I was waiting, and perhaps had been waiting a long time for someone to arrive, though why... I could not say.

I became aware of some other presence in the room. I raised my eyes and saw a man standing before me. This man was of the brown-skinned race, and stood glaring at me, his arms folded across his chest, as if offended by the sight of me.

“If you please,” I ventured, “why am I here? What have I done?” As I spoke these words, it came to me that I was a captive in prison.

“Silence,” replied the man. His voice was command itself. Unfolding his arms, I saw that he clutched a book-roll in his hand. He thrust this at me and said, “Read it out.”

Taking the scroll, I unrolled it and began to read–though’ the words felt strange in my mouth, and sounded odd in my ears. I read, spilling these alien words into the darkness of the room, until the brown-skinned man shouted, “Enough!”

He then snatched the book-roll from my hands, saying, “Do you understand what you have read?”

“No, lord,” I replied.

“And do you not realize where you are?” he asked.

“Of that I am far from certain,” I told him. “But it seems a kind of prison. Am I a captive, then?”

The brown-skinned lord laughed at me. “A prison?” he chuckled. “Does this truly appear a prison to you?”

With that, he clapped his hands and I was no longer standing in a damp, stinking room in the dark. Indeed, I was sitting on a gold-brocaded cushion in a room larger than a hall. Ranged before me were trays of food, and I wore robes of finest silk.

“Eat,” directed the man. Again, it was a command, and no kindly invitation. “Take your ease.”

I reached towards the nearest tray to take up some food, for I was suddenly overcome with a powerful hunger. As I stretched my hand towards the tray, I caught sight of my wrist extending from the sleeve of my robe. The flesh of my wrist was red and scarred. I pulled back my hand and looked at it, then examined the other wrist — it was scarred as well, but I had no memory of how those scars could have come there.

I heard the sound of a horse neighing. I turned from my bewildered inspection to see another brown-skinned man sitting upon a white horse.



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