The Fall Of Celene (The Prophecies of Zanufey Book 2) by A. Evermore

Author:A. Evermore [Evermore, A.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Starfire Epic Fantasy
Published: 2015-03-07T19:00:00+00:00

Chapter 27

The Elders

‘URG,’ Marakon swallowed, his head swum and pounded at the same time. He opened his eyes and his stomach heaved as everything blurred and moved. Blinking through bleary eyes he registered shards of light, sunlight, falling through leaves, palm leaves. Leaves like those found in southern Frayon. They were interleaved to form a roof held up by a wall of thin bamboo sticks.

Bamboo, like southern Frayon. I am home, or at least somewhere he recognised. He grinned in relief. Just a terrible nightmare, I must be wounded, delusional. The aches and pains that gripped his whole body reassured him that he wasn’t dead too. His side burned. Hot wet fabric covered it.

‘Leave it,’ a woman’s voice commanded from behind him, her voice was deep and so heavily accented he didn’t immediately understand what she said. He tried to see who spoke, but the world spun again when he moved. He dropped his hand and closed his eyes. A restless sleep descended upon him.

When he came round again he was covered in sweat. His hands and feet were now bound, albeit loosely. His sword was gone and probably all his knives. It was dark save for the light of a candle in a large jar. Voices came from nearby, a man and a woman’s, the same woman who had spoken before. They had a heavy lilting accent and often they spoke words he did not understand. It was too exhausting trying to understand everything they said in their hushed voices and he gave up, studied the ceiling instead. Whoever they were they did not trust him, and why would anyone trust an armed stranger bloodied from battle? His side still hurt like a demon but at least it was bound.

Another candle flared into life nearby and the man and woman came to stand beside him. They had fine delicate features, long black hair and brown skin, as far as he could tell in the dim light. The woman’s hair was curly and bound up at the back; a few shorter strands fell about her pretty round face. The man was a little older, his face was harder and his dark eyes mistrusting. He was tall, maybe as tall as Marakon, and his shoulders were broad and muscular. Marakon wondered if he was a soldier.

Both wore loose fitting cream-coloured shirts and knee-length skirt or trousers to match. They stared down at him as they spoke to each other. Marakon felt like an exotic animal being looked upon in a cage. The only words he recognised were “eyes” and “ears”. He grimaced, his subtly pointy ears and violet-coloured eye had once again betrayed him. They clearly saw past his very human beard.

‘Where am I? Why am I bound?’ he said, his voice croaked alarmingly. He tried to sit up but the man pushed him back down firmly, as easily as if Marakon were a child. He lay there breathing heavily as the world spun again. The man and woman looked at each other and something passed between them.

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