Come Armageddon by Anne Perry

Author:Anne Perry [Perry, Anne]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 978-1-4804-0924-8
Publisher: Open Road Media
Published: 2013-02-20T21:22:00+00:00

Chapter XII

SADOKHAR CONTINUED HIS JOURNEY through the wastes of hell because as long as he was moving at least at times he had the illusion that something could change. He might find Tornagrain, though everything within him rejected the idea that he could even look at him except with loathing.

The more he saw of the inhabitants of the endless dust and rubble, the less did he imagine any of them leaving. He watched them digging, cursing, quarrelling with one another in useless fights. Not once did he hear a word that perhaps they had brought this upon themselves, and change within might produce something better, if not escape, then at least a mode of life more bearable, even constructive. Each was consumed with self-pity, justification for all they did, which at the same moment was also self-disgust. Never did he see a minute’s compassion for another, a hand reached out in kindness, or a word of encouragement offered. They were crowded together, sometimes banging into each other clumsily, and yet each was desperately and utterly alone.

Watching their futility, Sadokhar lost his temper.

“Fool!” he shouted at one man who was picking rocks off a pile and throwing them on to another. “Why don’t you build something useful? What’s the point in that? It’s just stupid!”

The man swung around to glare at him, the sweat glistening on his bald head. “Build?” he yelled back, his face red with exertion and rage. “Build what? A house? Do you want to stay here? You’re the fool! Idiot! Cretin! Why should I stay here? It’s hell! Hell!” And he laughed maniacally and started to fling more rocks around, careless of where they landed.

One hit Sadokhar on the leg, drawing blood. Sadokhar stooped and picked the rock up, weighing it in his hand, then hurled it back, striking the man on the shoulder so hard he lost his balance and fell over, letting out a stream of abuse so violent and filthy Sadokhar was startled. In that moment he realised how hell had taken hold of him also and he had become part of it. The desolation he saw on every side was the reflection of what was within.

It had touched him so quickly he had gone from pity to rage in moments.

But then the greater the light in a spirit, the more rapid the descent into darkness can be. He knew that and he had allowed himself to forget it.

He walked over and held out his hand to the man to help him up. “I’m sorry,” he said. He meant it, not so much in compassion for the man as regret for himself. He had behaved badly, and that was an injury to his own soul.

The man stared at him in stupefaction. No one apologises in hell. For some reason it frightened him. He did not take Sadokhar’s outstretched hand but went a step back instead.

Sadokhar shrugged and walked away.

Some time later—there was no manner to tell how long—he reached another cliff. It was perhaps forty or fifty feet high and jagged-edged, as if once eroded by wind.

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