The Crux of Eternity: Eternal Dream, Book 1 (The Eternal Dream Saga) by Lane Trompeter

Author:Lane Trompeter [Trompeter, Lane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2021-05-21T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 12

Bastian

A Day.

A Year.

“We cannot let him live,” a voice echoes, elegant, refined, with an accent I can’t place. Female.

“You know we can't let him die,” another answers, male, with a recognizable Khalintari accent, though it is... off somehow.

“He is loathsome. He abuses the blessing he has been gifted. He is an abomination,” the first voice continues.

“Yes, yes, and in your day, he would have been hunted like a dog. We've been over this,” a third voice cuts in, young, spunky, the voice of a girl.

“Elitrea's vision is clear,” the second voice picks up again. “As distasteful as it may be... he is critical.”

“Pah, bullshit,” a fourth voice, deep and aggressively masculine. Though I understand every word, he’s speaking a language foreign to me. “Her damned visions are not infallible. For all we know, she foresaw this time period and began dreaming of just these very futures in order to convince us to spare him. He could very well be the reason we lose.”

“That is far-fetched, even for you,” the Khalintari says, an eye-roll in his voice. “Elitrea is cunning, yes, but we know she lost her sanity long ago.”

“As hesitant as I am to admit it, I agree with the Dedarian,” the first woman again. “To be safe, we should wipe this thing from—”

“Enough,” a girl, her voice cracking like a whip. The command, spoken so powerfully in the voice of a tiny child, is jarring. “We have argued about this long enough. He’s a terrible person, yes. He abuses women, terrifies men, and uses his power for selfish ends. But. He is powerful. We have trusted the Queen's visions for all this time. We will not falter now. He lives.”

“I demand a vote, for posterity,” the first woman declares, miffed to be out maneuvered.

“Very well,” the girl answers with a resigned sigh. “Those in favor of sparing the boy and staying true to the Queen's visions?”

A dozen voices, no, two dozen or more echo suddenly into being, overlapping one another and swirling back and forth like waves before finally subsiding into silence.

“He lives,” the girl says quietly. “Wake up, Bastian.”

The glare of sunlight burns through my eyelids. I send the message to open my eyes, but they refuse. In fact, no muscle responds to my commands, like someone shattered my spine and left me for dead. Slowly, as if from a great distance, the sound of distant children's laughter floats to my ears, along with the creak of wood flexing in the heat of the sun nearby. My skin is hot, clammy, as if I’ve run a long race or languished in a sauna. The air itself moves listlessly across my skin, the gentlest of breezes hardly stirring the hairs on my bare arms. The smells are foreign, wild, yet intoxicating, something of citrus and sunlight.

Finally, my eyes open. They close instantly as I squint against a rising tide of tears. Blast it, that hurt. What I saw isn’t encouraging, either. Slowly, I crack my left eye, enduring a splitting headache as I adjust to even the tiniest bit of light.

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