Etherwalker by Cameron Dayton

Author:Cameron Dayton [Dayton, Cameron]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Fantasy, Science Fiction, Fiction
Publisher: Future House Publishing
Published: 2015-09-22T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 15

“Surely the bitterness of death is past.”

—1 Samuel 15:32 KJV

Enoch burned. That was his first sensation, burning. His fingers felt like red-hot irons. He wondered if they’d burn through his sheets.

Sheets?

And then:

Am I home? This was all a dream!

“Master! Master, are you . . . ?”

Sitting up, Enoch’s hopes were quickly shattered. He was in a bed, but not the humble straw palliasse he had slept on his entire life. No itching, no lumps.

No Master Gershom. That’s right. I don’t need anyone.

He blinked. Smooth white sheets stretched across his body, over the two bumps of his feet, and then beyond for what seemed like forever. A white canopy stretched over his head, supported at four corners by ornate pillars, carved from a rich red-brown wood that Enoch didn’t recognize. His hands were bandaged, and he could smell some sort of bitter ointment.

Where am I? Why is my skin burning? And where is Rictus? Cal . . . ?

Memory rushed back to Enoch in a sickening wave. Rictus being torn apart by trolls. Cal giving his life to save him. The cold. The lights going out, one by one.

His hand moved quickly to his chest.

It’s gone!

The disc from the Unit, the one Master Gershom had risked his life to retrieve, was missing. Enoch’s neck felt naked without the cool weight that had rested there for so long. At least it felt like it had been a long time.

He kicked the sheets clear and rolled to the side of the magnificent bed. It was surprisingly high up off of the floor, almost as tall as Enoch, and he stumbled when his feet hit the tiles. He had been dressed in a tabard of smooth green silk—at least Enoch thought he recognized the material. A trader had brought a small roll of silk to Rewn’s Fork years ago, and everybody in town had lined up to touch the shiny stuff. They’d touched it, sure, but nobody could afford it. The trader left sulking.

The memory seemed so far away, Rewn’s Fork part of another world.

“Your clothes are on the table next to the door, Milord. Your swords are being held by His Majesty. He wanted to speak with you when you awoke.”

Enoch jumped, spinning around to face the voice. It belonged to an old woman who had been quietly sitting on a stool next to the door. Enoch hadn’t seen her in the flickering light from the brazier. She stepped forward and bowed.

Dressed in a simple green frock, the woman had a voice that was hardly a whisper. She was stooped and small, her gray hair tightly wound into a bun. Enoch thought she looked kind. But her words were perplexing.

Milord? His Majesty?

“Thank you,” he said, then remembered his manners. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The woman nodded, keeping her eyes on the floor. Enoch wondered how long she’d been sitting there.

“The burning should ebb as the feeling comes back to your skin, Milord. The cold almost took your fingers. Almost took your ears. Milord is lucky to have been found when he was.

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