The Edge of Darkness by D. K. Holmberg

Author:D. K. Holmberg [Holmberg, D. K.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Amazon: B084LQVYVF
Publisher: ASH Publishing
Published: 2020-03-17T00:00:00+00:00

22

Hevith

Hevith’s mouth remained dry, and it was difficult to open it and move his tongue. Brightness burned down on him, hot and painful. For a moment, he thought he’d passed beyond and stood for his judgment, but if that were the case, why couldn’t he see the gods?

Gradually it sank in that he had survived the attack.

He remembered it. The pain of it came to him all too well, though he wished he could block it from his mind. He’d lain in place throughout the night, and the brightness came from the sun shining down on him where he’d fallen. It was much brighter in the center of the yard than it was on the periphery, where he normally spent his time.

Could he move?

Everything ached. Taking a breath hurt. Moving his arms hurt. Trying to lift his head hurt. Even licking his lips hurt.

The man had damaged him badly.

A distant part of his mind wondered if he could use this pain.

Hadn’t he wanted to escape? The only way out of the yard was through death. At least as far as he had seen. If he were able to feign his own death, he might be dragged away.

But to where?

He didn’t know what they did with the bodies; he could be brought from the yard to someplace worse. If they buried them, Hevith wasn’t sure he was strong enough to dig himself free. If they burned them…

He had to move.

Better to move, get up if he could, and find his way back to his side of the yard where he could collapse against the wall and try to recover. Then begin his plan again.

Hevith lifted his head.

It took everything he had to do so.

Pain coursed through him, but he was able to get up. He tried opening his eyes, but they didn’t work the way they should. There was nothing other than the brightness burning through from sunlight he wasn’t able to fully see, though he knew it had to be there.

Move.

He dragged a leg forward. Starting with that, he tried again, moving a little. His leg scraped against the hard ground. Had his pants been torn? He remembered the ripping sound, remembered the way the man had torn at his shirt while trying to find the blanket, but had he ripped his pants too? If so, Hevith was in worse shape than he had known. No one got another set of clothes, and he doubted he would be the exception. The only way he’d be able to get more clothing would be to take it from someone else, the way his boots had already been taken. He wasn’t strong enough now for that.

Move.

It was like a voice at the back of his mind. Perhaps it was a voice, but he didn’t know whose voice it would be. Not his own, but perhaps the memory of Vard had stayed with him enough to remind him to keep moving. Hevith tried not to think of what had happened to the old soldier.

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