Soulwoven by Jeff Seymour

Author:Jeff Seymour [Seymour, Jeff]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Coming of Age, Fantasy, Dragon, Magic, Epic Fantasy
Publisher: Jeff Seymour
Published: 2014-05-20T14:00:00+00:00

TWENTY-NINE

Litnig faded in and out of consciousness. He caught glimpses of white light and thick darkness, wooden beams and stone pillars. He heard warm voices and his own breathing, but he was never truly in the dream or the real world.

And then one morning, he opened his eyes and saw bright light on the hair of an old Aleani female.

The grayhair was murmuring softly to herself. Her eyes were closed. Clouds of age spots dotted her face, intersected by wrinkles. A pale yellow habit hung from her shoulders.

For a moment, Litnig couldn’t separate reality from dream. He wasn’t sure whether he was human or Sh’ma, whether he’d fought a necromancer or lost a wife. He knew only that his heart was heavy and his body ached.

The Aleani opened her eyes, smiled warmly, straightened, and left.

Litnig looked around. The room he’d awoken in was carved from smooth gray stone and adorned with tapestries covered in brilliant, sharply angled runes. A row of pine cabinets stretched across one wall. Two stained-glass windows dominated the one opposite. Litnig’s bed faced an open-air hallway bathed in bright, natural light.

In one corner of the room was a chair, and in the chair sat a shadow.

It had a shape that Litnig recognized. A white blanket lay over it, tucked beneath its legs like someone had placed it there after the shadow had fallen asleep. Its hair was short and brown. Its face was young. There was a thick scab on its forehead.

Cole.

Litnig managed to sit up. His abdomen felt sore and weak. His legs were as exhausted as they’d been after the march from Nutharion City to Janestown. His left arm was slingless and painless.

He had to catch his breath just from sitting.

A gasp and a crash sounded from the hallway. Litnig flinched. Cole jerked awake and spun toward the noise.

But it was just a girl in loose brown clothes.

Sunlight pooled on the stone behind her. A tray lay at her feet. Next to it, a loaf of bread and the broken remains of a pitcher swam in a puddle of milk.

“Cole,” she said, “he’s awake.”

Litnig’s little brother turned to face him. Cole’s face was taut and sallow. His eyes were red and puffy. His hair was disheveled and unwashed.

Litnig’s throat closed up. His chest constricted. He gasped and sputtered.

A hand cradled his head. Another pressed gently on his chest. “Easy, Lit,” Cole said. “Easy…”

Litnig let himself be laid back down and tried to whisper that he was sorry. He didn’t know for what, or when it had happened. But he was sorry. And he was so, so tired.

Before he knew it, he was asleep again.

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