Soul Awakened by Jean Murray

Author:Jean Murray [Murray, Jean]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781937254971
Publisher: Crescent Moon Press
Published: 2015-06-30T22:00:00+00:00

Chapter Thirty-One

In the wake of his new agony, Bakari materialized in Bomani’s office. Despite the sufficient amounts of alcohol in his system, he couldn’t stop his hands from shaking. Not from fear or anxiety of being out of his room, but the overwhelming ache of despair in the pit of his chest. His avenue for escaping his hell had collapsed the minute he held Kendra’s life above all else. The very effort to withdraw himself from her caused him pain. He fell into the closest chair. He didn’t bother to look up when his brother materialized next to him. The scrutiny was palpable enough.

Bomani walked around the desk and sat. “You will not last one day out there.”

“Thanks for the vote of no confidence.”

“I will not show you leniency.”

Bakari glared across the heavy wooden desk. “I do not remember asking for any.” Like he gave a shit anyway. Suffer here, suffer there. Did it really matter? Hell was hell no matter where you found refuge. With significant effort he forced himself to stand. He moved toward the exit with the intent of finding a dark corner and crawling into it.

Bomani’s heavy hand came to rest on the door. He offered the hilt of a long blade for Bakari to grasp. “Shave it.”

Without questioning, Bakari gasped the knife and brought it to his forehead. In several clean sweeps across his scalp, his long black hair floated to the planked floor. His brother returned with a small folded pile of drab gray clothing, a blanket, and leather sandals. Bakari stripped off his soft linen shirt and exchanged it for the rough irritating material. The sleeves of the shirt covertly covered the hieroglyphic markings on his arms.

He looked no different than any other fledgling warrior. His silver eyes and lighter olive skin would be explained away as another variation in the waters of the Underworld. Not that he had any interest in becoming a warrior. He needed a means to subsist and somewhere in his living hell find something called honor.

Stripped of his identity for all intents and purposes, the only token from the palace laid hidden in his hand, a reminder of why he was here and why he needed to stay. Bomani led him to a large building that housed all the warriors in a communal berthing area. Over five thousand men. The closest warrior yelled out a command that triggered the entire room to stand at attention.

In over five thousand years, this was the first time Bakari ever set foot in the warrior camp. He would have considered it beneath him. The irony of it all hit him in the head like a jousting stick. A god among warriors. He should be intimidated on some level if for not his complete and total apathy.

He gripped his token in his hand tighter, as he walked among the rows and rows of cots. At the very end in the darkest corner was one empty mattress, dingy and dirty from centuries of use. No doubt with his name on it.

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