Usually, I have heard from others, when one is unconscious the passage of time seems brief. For example, after sitting down one might quite suddenly startle awake to find that while it was light outside when he first sat, it had suddenly become dark. I have indeed experienced similar phenomena, and can understand the feeling of abruptness.
This time in contrast, as I awoke I knew I had been insensible for substantially more than a few minutes. How I knew this, I cannot tell you, for I had no recollection of either dreams or semi-waking periods since falling to the wooden deck of the airship sometime prior. I simply knew I had been asleep for a significant duration.
Even barring my hunch, as it were, my surrounding would have brought me to the same realization momentarily. The dry warmth and gentle movement of the airship were gone, replaced disconcertingly by cold stone and damp, stale air. Even more disturbing was the discovery that my feet were shackled to a very short chain that was in turn secured to a ring set into the floor.
I was jailed. Not only was I alone, in a strange world and imprisoned, awaiting a fate unknown to me, but I had also been divested of my scant belongings. Instead of my uniform and remaining accoutrements, I was garbed in a scratchy, poorly fitting cloth that felt like nothing so much as a burlap sack with holes cut in it for my head and arms. Except for modesty I would have preferred to have been naked, for the coarsely woven fabric offered little in the way of warmth and as I mentioned previously, nothing in the way of comfort.
The cell was dark, so examining my place of confinement by sight would have to wait until another time. From the limited mobility offered by the chains securing my feet I was able to learn little else about the room, other than I could touch all four stone walls, and that a metallic door was set into one of them. If there was any mortar set between the stone walls, I could not feel it, so tight were the gaps. The floor seemed to be smooth and slightly slanted towards a small, barely three inch hole in the center of the room. Of the ceiling, I could tell nothing as it was quite out of my reach.
If it were not for the fact that I was being held within, I might have appreciated the solidness of construction. As it was, I felt over the room twice more to ensure I had missed nothing, then sat on the floor with my back to the wall. I sat and contemplated my experiences thus far.
First I ran through my head all that had happened to me during the brief time since awakening in the hospital. I pondered the strangeness of knowing that I was now in a totally different world. How long I sat in the darkness thinking, I do not know with any degree of accuracy, but it seemed a long time indeed before anything happened to distract me from my contemplation.
I had been alone long enough to grow both thirsty and hungry. That much I am sure of. In a way, I hoped the door would be thrown open to the blinding yet smoky glare of torchlight, and that guards would roughly haul me out to some other venue. It was disappointing to say the least when upon hearing footsteps approach outside the cell door, and seeing the faintest of light seep in around the doorframe and small barred window set out of my reach high on the door, all that happened was that a nearly floor level flap in the door swung outward from its hinged top and a bowl of something was set on the floor and shoved further into the cell using a pushing stick with a V shape on one end.
My mind, active as usual, thought briefly of attempting to grab the stick. But reasonably, I assumed it would get little but a severe beating for my efforts. I was still shackled to the floor, and a brittle stick would prove a pathetic weapon against what I assumed would be armor wearing guards. I quickly desisted from that line of thinking.
Before I even had a chance to adjust to the dim light that came through the small opening, it was slammed shut again. If it were possible, the darkness seemed even deeper than before now that I was reminded of vision, however briefly. The smell which reached me from that bowl was far from appetizing, even given my thirst and hunger, but I rationalized that it must provide at least a modicum of nutrition. Had my captors wanted me dead, simply ignoring me in this dungeon would have been an easier way of disposing of me, or so I thought at the time.
I made my way carefully through the darkness, feeling for the bowl gingerly. It tasted no better than it smelled, but proved to contain mostly liquid in any case. I was glad that I could not see the irregular chunks that floated within that liquid, and after attempting unsuccessfully to stomach one of them, settled on merely drinking the broth.
Eventually, I lost count of how many times I was fed in my cell. Sometime after many such feedings, I heard the telltale footsteps and the port was opened and left open. I could reach just far enough to push my bowl out of the port, as I discerned was the desired action on my part. The meals alternated between the vile soup I had been served first and a chunky porridge made from a conglomeration of grains I could not identify by taste. Of the two, the porridge was slightly more palatable, but clearly not made from grains that one would not even feed to his livestock. Noting an overwhelmingly moldy odor from the porridge on more than one occasion caused me to dump it down the floor opening rather than risk eating it.
Clearly, while I was not to starve overtly, no great effort was being made to ensure my health in any case. Either unable or unwilling, the food bringers totally ignored my entreaties for conversation. I heard other ports open and shut, but no other conversation ensued at any of them, at least not for some time. I attempted once to engage other inmates in conversation but was harshly reprimanded in whispered tones that I would cost all of us our food for several days at least. Thereafter silence reigned as I had no desire of being responsible for depriving my fellows, such as they anonymously were, of their meager rations.
You may wonder at why I spend so much effort in describing my meals. Quite frankly this was one of the most tedious and drawn out parts of my life. With the exception of when I… No I will not go into that here. Suffice it to say that there was simply nothing else to fill the void of time than the delivery of food.
Yes, I attempted to exercise and to maintain my flexibility as best as I could. I also kept my mind active with drills of imagination, but stopped short of creating conversations in my head with either real or imaginary persons. I felt for some reason that should I go down that path, I might very well exit this cell a gibbering idiot, thoroughly ensconced in my own world and quite insane.
Despite my best efforts, I was unable to trigger the opening of any portals through which I might affect my escape. In any case, as the chains shackled to my ankles proved resistant to my attempts at removing them, I feared what might happen should I be suspended by my legs partially though one of those gateways. Should one snap shut with parts of me on either side, I hypothesized that I would in all likelihood be bisected. I had no desire to test the reach of my healing ability in that manner
I never gave up hope that the door would someday open and I would be freed from this prison. The closest I came to despair was when I thought not of myself but of Layla and her fate. I could only hope that she was not in a similar situation as mine, and unbearably none worse.
Sitting in the dark, I grew to detest the filthiness of the place. My hair, beard and nails grew quite long. While I could do nothing about my hair, which annoyingly hung down to my shoulders in contrast to my preferred shortness, having nothing but time on my hands I took to using the only tool I had at my disposal on my finger and toe nails, the stone of my cell. Each day I checked by feel each of my nails and spent not a short interval carefully scraping them along the floor of my cell to keep them neat. It was not much, but it was something I could do and had control of.
Interestingly, while I lost any extra fat my body carried, I did not waste away as I expected. Clearly it was not the quality or amount of food I was being fed, but as to the cause of my maintained heath I could not guess, other than perhaps that it was somehow related my accelerated healing as my scalp and skull had done in France.
Another way in which this heartiness benefited
me during this captivity was that I developed none of the infected sores as I should have from lying for so long on dank stone. I never, as far as I can tell, developed so much as an abrasion while chained to that floor, even around my ankles. The chains were uncomfortable; nevertheless they did not chafe me as I expected they would after such a long time in contact with my skin.
If I have in some way given you a feeling or idea as to the sheer tediousness of my time in that cell, then here I will cease to describe it. As long and drawn out as that interval seemed, I do not lie when I say that when the door to my cell finally opened, the chain securing me to the floor removed and I was led away from the cell that the entire experience became quite instantly but a single memory in my thoughts and I gave it no further consideration until dwelling on it long enough to write about it here.
I was led, more than a bit unstable on my feet from the long duration of not walking more than two steps, down the shadowy corridor and up a set of stairs into another world, or so it seemed at the time, so great was the difference in my surroundings. Once at the top of the stairs and through another door, this one wooden yet bound by bronze fittings, I stepped into blinding brightness. I was forced to actually close my eyes completely due to the intensity of the light, so long had I been immersed in stygian blackness. I walked for a distance totally blind before I was able to crack my eyes a bit and begin to look around. Luckily, my legs quickly remembered how to walk, and other than their hands grasping me by the arms for direction, my guards ceased to support me. I was thankful for that, for their support had not been gentle.
The first thing I saw, aside from my incongruously bare and dirty feet bracketed by the dark, boot-shod feet of my escorts, was the floor. It was inlaid in a quite complex pattern of what I could only assume was marble in various colors. Gradually I lifted my eyes higher and looked about as we moved down the corridor.
Ornate decorations, sculptures and paintings lined the walls to my left, but more breathtaking were the large windows to my right. Sunlight streamed into them, and through the windows I could see tree covered hills in the distance. What impressed me more however, was the sight of buildings, all lower than the one I was currently in, covering the hilly terrain nearby. I was in a city, and the first one I remember seeing.
The military compound in France had been near a town to be sure, but the wooden houses there, although multi-storied and colorful, were no comparison to the buildings I saw as I walked. The streets ran in a very orderly, straight pattern, like the spokes of a wheel radiating outward, the building I was in quite clearly the center of that hub. I could also see, at discrete distances down the hill, two circular walls completely blocking the streets and adding artificial boundaries to the city, the first perhaps not quite a mile distant. Due to the lessening degree of decline farther down the hill, I was able to see that buildings continued past the first wall at least. I could not be sure of what was beyond the second wall, other than patterns of cultivation on the gently sloping landscape outside of the city.
That there must have been gates of some sort was made obvious by the fact that the streets on one side of the first wall aligned perfectly with the ones on the outside of it. Due to the range of the first wall, I could not make out many features more distant.
The buildings themselves, from what I could see of the closer ones, were of similar design to one another. Three floors seemed to be the rule for the stone or perhaps concrete buildings, and covered balconies extended from both the streetwise and central sides of the buildings. They seemed to be built as a whole-block structure surrounded by adjacent streets with a central courtyard in the middle. Narrow archways from the streets apparently gave direct access to the central courtyards, while arched doorways led into the buildings themselves. Adding complexity to the layout, elevated bridges and archways crossed the road in many places, connecting one building to another and further adding to the interconnectedness of the city.
Plants and trees grew everywhere, from potted ones on the balconies to fully grown deciduous trees within the courtyards and along the streets. Even the flat rooftops sported gardens, some flowery, some obviously more oriented towards crops or vegetables. The thought crossed my mind that for some reason, snowfall was not a concern here. That puzzled me briefly as I remembered the steep roofs in France, and more recently the heavily snow covered frozen environment I had traveled through on beasts clearly acclimated to cold climes.
While the air around me was neither noticeably cold nor warm, apparently outside was at least slightly warmer. People walked around dressed in loose yet colorful clothing clearly designed for warm weather. Single piece tunics, covering from shoulders to almost knee length were most common, but variations leaving bare arms or with shorter leg covering were also present. I even spied an occasional bare-chested workman carrying a heavy load on his shoulders.
Despite these differences I knew that I was still in the same world as I had been, merely in a different location. Even if I had not guessed as much walking through the hallway, my guards and I passed an ‘Exalted One,’ replete with vague, blurred features, wispy clothing, and the faint smell of eucalyptus. It was flanked by the familiar black leather-suited guards with short wicked blades. The guards also wore the curious cylinder bearing pistols in holsters at their waists.
I wondered at the apparent positions of importance that these beings had amongst this otherwise human civilization. While they clearly bore a similarity to humans, they were also obviously not human. The truth of this, secret and protected by eons of tradition and obfuscation would prove much stranger than anything I could conceive at the time. My pondering was cut short by the simple arrival of my guards and I at the end of the hallway.
Two doors, three feet wide each and twice the height of a man stood closed in front of us. They were obviously gilt with polished bronze, and were flanked by two doormen holding spears with the butt ends against the floor. Each man had one arm behind his back with the other, holding the spear extended. The spear points leaned outward, completing the “parade rest” posture.
They wore smooth, highly polished bronze helmets. Nose guards bracketed by the converging sides of the helmet created a pattern similar to ancient Greek hoplite armor. The face openings however, were much wider than the Greek, allowing a clearer view of the face.
Their breastplates were also polished bronze, embossed with muscle patterns. However, both their arms and legs were covered with mere cloth, billowy black sleeves and loose fitting pants completed the outfits. Although the doormen seemed mostly ornamental, I could not help but notice that each wore long, rapier like blades at their waists. I assumed them to be proficient in their use.
As we approached, both doormen smartly brought the spears back against their bodies. One of the guards escorting me spoke to the doormen, not looking directly at the man, but keeping his gaze level and straight ahead through the doors. “We bring the prisoner as ordered, announce us.”
Without answering, the doorman to our left turned and spoke into a small tube set into the wall behind him. I did not hear his words, but after a slight pause, both doors swung open smoothly, with a waft of warmer air from inside. The chamber inside was large and ornate, but windowless and dimly lit from several shielded lanterns and the glow of brazier fires from throughout the room.
As the guards led me forward, I was reminded strongly of the ambiance held by the compartment on the airship where I had encountered my first Exalted One. Being escorted by the same type of black leather-wearing guards equipped with short blades and pistols as on that prior occasion added to this feeling.
We walked slowly past four sets of smooth circular pillars, each flanked by a guard dressed as were the doormen outside. The pillars tapered slightly as they rose, with somewhat larger, yet still rounded bases and capitals. The tops of the pillars were shadowy in the darkness, but I thought I could detect arches in the ceiling above.
My feeling of d�
�jà vu was completed upon seeing the wispy, vague figure seated upon the large, overly padded chair at the far end of the room. Next to it, in a chair slightly smaller and not quite as padded, sat Layla’s sister. As I was pulled to a halt perhaps fifteen feet away, I noticed disconcertingly that protruding from the chest of the Exalted One were the hilts of two blades.
It was the same one I attacked previously and it had left my thrown blades where they struck, as some sort of macabre souvenirs. More disturbing than the fact it had left the blades in its flesh was that they caused it no apparent discomfort. I must have stared, for Layla’s sister laughed softly at my bepuzzlement.
As in my previous encounter I was forced to the floor, a kneeling posture apparently sufficient. No audible sound accompanied it, but the deep multi-spectral vibration from the other seated figure could have been laughter as well, only more subdued. Then it spoke, “You like my keepsakes? I must thank you for them; they have been the source of much conversation.”
Although its voice still possessed that dry-crackly sound that resonated across the range of my hearing, and possibly beyond, I detected a faint amusement in it this time. That feeling brought me no comfort, as I was reminded of nothing so much as a cat toying with its prey. Seeing Layla’s sister, dressed in a loose fitting, yet sheer fabric, bound with straps in a similar fashion to when I had first seen her, stretch languorously back against her chair did nothing to reduce my feeling.
Quite unconsciously, or so I thought, she ran the fingers of one hand gently down the side of her neck, pausing near the middle of her chest. She looked at me, noticed my attention, and widened her eyes as if surprised. Removing her gaze from me, she looked down at her hand slowly. The smirk on her face as she looked back to me again revealed her behavior as anything but an accident. “Oh, I have missed you strange one.”
She was alluring, in a quite forbidden way. I felt my face go hot in embarrassment at being so easily distracted by her wiles, and was thankful for the dim lighting and my rough beard. I reminded myself that she was without a doubt dangerous and not one to be trusted.
Refocusing my attention, I looked toward the slightly distorted figure in the other chair. As I could not think of an answer to its question, and assuming it to be rhetorical in any case, I attempted to direct the conversation in a way meaningful to me. “Where is Layla?”
My mind was anything but composed. I had been taken quite off guard by the totality of my circumstances, not to mention other distractions. I knew there must be some reason for my being brought here, other than merely to be toyed with, but I could not fathom what it might be. I did not have long to gather my wits when my question was, surprisingly, answered by the Exalted One.
“She is no longer your concern. She has been dealt with.” Before I had time to wonder at what ‘dealt with’ meant, he continued. “It really was most amusing how vehemently she denied having relations with you. I almost believed her, until Laita got her to confess.”
As he uttered the name, ‘Laita,’ he reached over and caressed the hair and cheek of the woman sitting next to him. She reached up and covered his scaly, dry hand with hers. “Yes, she was stubborn, but my sister always has been a bad liar.” There was a game being played here, as before, and I had the disadvantage of not knowing the rules.
Any protest I might have uttered in Layla’s defense was stilled in my throat by the sudden and obvious change in the demeanor or my captor. It stood from its cushions and pointed at me, strangely, with its little finger. As it spoke, it used the forceful effect of its voice which vibrated throughout my body. “What are you?”
It seemed a simple enough question, and I answered without thinking, “A man, like these guards, like the ones outside the door.” Apparently, that was not the answer it wanted, and the shout which boomed from the Exalted One actually rocked me on my feet and hurt my ears. “No! Not like them.” It quieted only slightly as it continued, “You bested several of my guards, including two of my elite Protectors, and moved so quickly that you could barely be seen. You survived on food contaminated enough to poison a sewer gajim and even thrived. No, there has never been a ‘man’ like you, not even in legend.”
Its tone quieted further, until it reached normal levels again, still reverberating, but no longer uncomfortable. “So I ask again, what are you? Answer carefully. You have already committed crimes against me that are punishable by the Death of a Hundred Years, but I may delay, or even commute, imposition should you prove yourself useful to me.”
I had no great desire to aid this one who had ‘dealt with’ Layla. I had not known her long, but she was steadfast in her efforts to aid me during that brief time. That I might have been the reason for harm coming to her was not easy to consider, and for some reason it was causing me more consternation with each passing second.
I looked slightly to my left in an attempt to assess my situation while deliberating on my response, and was rewarded by enough pressure from a blade in the hollow just below my right ear to announce its presence. I felt a knee snug itself against my back as a hand grasped my forehead from behind and held me back against hard leather. “Enough,” came the command from my right, but then the voice whispered, “Please give me a reason to pith you.”
The Exalted One lowered his arm and shrugged in a quite human gesture, only the inhale and exhale of an exasperated sigh missing. “There are also several area weapons, painful and messy, trained on you should you attempt another exhibition of your combat prowess.” Continuing in what I could only assume was meant to be a soothing tone, still crackly, but quieter and the vibration somehow more harmonic, “I am trying to be reasonable. I want your abilities working for me; otherwise you will be eliminated, slowly and in agony.”
Laita stood and stepped forward, “Please say you will work for us, you will be rewarded.” This time she made no mocking smirk. Puzzled, but more resistant to her efforts due to my anger and frustration, I was nonetheless taken aback when the Exalted One continued the suggestion began by Laita, still in his soothing tone. “Yes, Laita has taken quite a liking to you. Is not my offer more pleasant than the alternative?” Laita looked at the Exalted One, smiling, “Oh I do hope he agrees to work for you, husband.”
Despite the obviousness of the presence of some sort of formal relationship between the two during this and at my prior encounter, I had not made the connection. I remembered his references to Layla as his promised one, and realized that she had been intended to be his bride, as apparently Laita already was. Then it struck me what this being had offered me.
I knew immediately that I wanted no part of any such reward. I also knew that declining this offer outright would bring unpleasant results. “Yes, I will help you.” I did my best to smile, and was again thankful for the beard and dim lighting, as it must have been obviously forced to any observant of such matters.
There are those who refuse to be deceitful, even under pain of death, men who hold to the truth in their hearts as a badge of honor for all to see. I hold such men in the highest regard, and respect them for dying honorable, truthful men. I tend to be of a slightly more practical bent and having no desire to die the ‘Death of a Hundred Years,’ either before or after I had determined Layla’s fate. I lied.
While I thought it likely that Layla was dead, I refused to give up hope that she might live. I needed to find out, and if indeed she did live, do whatever it took to ensure her safety. If I were dead, or being tortured to death, I could do neither.
If either of the two saw through my deceit, they gave no sign. The Exalted One nodded, “Good, we will speak later, there is still much I will know about you.” To the guards flanking me, he ordered, “Take him and have him cleaned up, dressed properly, and fed. Have him housed in the training barracks for now, but do not leave his side. I will summon him again. See that no harm comes to him, on my order.”
“Yes, Exalted One.” The guards replied in unison. Hoistin
g me to my feet, not roughly, they turned to lead me out of the door. I noticed they did not release their grips on my arms as we exited the chamber. I still was not trusted, but that was not surprising.
As we neared the entry doors, which stood open, the sonorous voice spoke from behind, bringing my guards and thusly me, to a halt. “Wait.” It said, voice devoid of emotion. “Laita believes that he is not being truthful. Take him outside.”
With that the guards noticeably tightened their grips on my arms. Instead of going straight through the hallway I had traveled from my cell, the led me through a series of doors to the left. This hallway had only small windows for lighting near the ceiling and I was afforded no view. I wondered whether this was a legitimate turn of events or if indeed I was still being played with, but I felt the result would be the same in either case and in no way favorable to me.
The gust of wind which struck me as I was led through a final door and outside was comfortable as I had predicted from my brief glimpse of the city through the windows. It was of similar temperature to the pillared chamber I had only recently exited, but was perhaps not as dry. Distracting me from enjoying the view and fresh air, the guards roughly yet efficiently bound my wrists together behind my back with a length of cord.
If I had chosen a moment sooner to resist I might have gained my freedom, temporarily, but they surprised me by moving suddenly to restrain me, one holding my arms firm in a lock despite my struggles, while the other tied them. To make matters worse, they also tied my ankles together, resulting in a more futile struggle from me. I actually managed to land an off balanced knee to the shoulder of one guard as he bent to tie my ankles.
My knee did little damage to the guard, and resulted only in me being thrown bodily to the ground with a thud to complete the wrapping of cord around my ankles. This done they lifted me to my feet and carried me to the very edge of the balcony as it were. Stone rails lined the sides of the elevated platform which protruded from the building we had exited, or more precisely lined two of the three sides. The edge they carried me to was protected in no such manner.
Looking down as much as I was able, I saw that from here the ground looked much farther below than it had to me from the windowed view from the safely of the corridor. In reality, it was the same distance, but I imagine it was exaggerated somewhat by both my awkward position and restricted ability to balance myself.
I am not normally afraid of heights. Being on the exposed deck of the airship at a much higher elevation had brought me no trepidation, however, I freely admit that I was in no way fond of my current position or elevation, and felt no small degree of apprehension. Whatever I felt inside myself, I did everything in my power not to let my fear show to these guards who would undoubtedly feed on it and harass me further. As it turned out, they needed no excuse to drive home the full precariousness of the danger inherent in my situation.
Several seconds passed as they leaned me out over the edge, taunting me with casual sounding questions such as, “How do you like the view?” or comments, “Nice day we’re having,” while they tilted me back and forth as if I were a human pendulum. On one occasion, one of them even missed his grip and I nearly tumbled off the ledge before he regained it.
A crowd began to gather below, and while I could see their features clearly, I had no illusions as to the height being great enough to be lethal, especially bound as I was. Such was my uneasiness that no thoughts of my time dilation or healing abilities came to me. I merely tried to keep my breathing steady as I was pushed back and forth. Seldom do I think that there is no way out of a situation, but this time, I really thought my options limited.
When Laita and the Exalted One came onto the balcony, bracketed by more of the black leathered guards, the crowd below reacted with a cheer. I noted a sort of rigid formality to it. As they said “Hail, Hail, Hail,” repetitiously, all shouted in unison. Their voices were loud, but lacked any vigor. It was a mechanical, required response, not a spontaneous outpouring of enthusiasm.
Oblivious to the unspoken connotation of the cheer, the Exalted One waved at the crowd, bringing a halt to the cheering. While the natural lighting was much brighter than the interior chamber, if the Exalted One experienced any discomfort or malaise from the change I could not detect it. Seemingly, while it preferred the dry, warm darkness, it could function just as readily in other climes.
Walking to me in a staid, ceremonial way he shook his head. “I had not expected the crowd to grow so quickly this late in the day. It is most unfortunate.” For a moment I thought the Exalted One was referring to having to restrain his behavior due to the crowd, but glancing down I saw something I had not noticed upon my last look. The crowd below stood just outside a clearly marked circular area of cobblestones.
While the cobblestones themselves were a light tannish color, near the center of the circle there was visible a faintly darker stain, almost rust or brown color. It was not regularly shaped, and in places I thought I even saw a splattered pattern emanating from the center.
The purpose of the place was becoming clearer to me now, and as the Exalted one continued speaking, it became quite obvious. “I had hoped merely to use this to threaten you into telling me the truth of your betrayal, so that with your confession in my ears I could enjoy every year of your death, each hundred of them. I have grown far too lenient over the past century or so, lenient and trusting. To think I almost believed you without verifying it.”
At this he paused and waved to the crowd again, this time inciting a new round of cheers. Looking at Laita, he spoke again, “Thank you, my wife, for looking out for me. We will find another plaything for you, I promise.” She looked up at him and nodded, surprisingly, a tear ran down her cheek. Why it was shed, I do not know to this day.
Once again, a wave to the crowd brought them silent; it was as if a switch had been thrown, on then off, then on, then off. The Exalted One took a step closer to me, practically leaning in so I could smell the eucalyptus odor, even with the outside breeze blowing across us. “So instead of my pleasure, I must think of my people first.”
He paused, and not seeing how I could make things worse, I interjected, “How benevolent of you, and here I was thinking of you as a heartless tyrant.” It was not the wittiest thing I could have said, but I was not at my most composed. In my defense, seeing those two knives sticking out of its chest, the heartless comment seemed an appropriate double entendre at the time. Unfortunately, however witty, my career as a vaudeville comedian seemed destined to be a short lived one.
Looking down at its chest and the protruding knives, the Exalted One laughed. Grasping each blade by the hilt, he pulled them out of his chest. There was no blood, only dry holes.
“You are quite correct about one thing, I am heartless, or more correctly my heart is not with me. But you misunderstand me. I cannot take you back inside to enjoy the Death of a Hundred Years, because that my people would not see. They would only see me not sending a condemned man to his death as proscribed. If they see me with that apparent weakness, they will not fear me as much. That, I cannot allow.”
He was more sinister than I had thought, sickeningly so in fact, but as I was about to be thrown off the ledge I did not dwell overly much on it. I spoke again, not really expecting an answer, “Layla, does she live?” The exalted one ignored me, instead looking down at the blades in his hands briefly before raising them up and plunging them into my chest. The agony was intense and immediate, and my shout of pain turned quickly to a gurgle.
To one side, however, Laita stood, and while her expression was unreadable she looked me directly in the eyes and nodded. Layla lived, and in that instant I grinned, despite the pain of my labored breathing, despite the fact that the Exalted One shoved me backwards off of the ledge into the open space beyond. I grinned because I knew that Layla lived, and I grinned because the world began to slow down again. I was reminded of my difference from other men, and knew th
at I would live to find Layla. As I fell backwards from the ledge, I saw in slow motion the expression of surprise on the Exalted One’s face. I knew in that instant that he could not fathom why I was grinning, and in what way I had beaten him.
My fall seemed to take a very long time, and I tumbled fully over once so that I could see the ground coming up to meet me along with the expressions frozen on the faces in the crowd. I even noticed shimmering portals around me as I fell, but none of them intersected my path. I thought briefly that I might fall into one visible against the ground below me, but I missed it by several feet.
Just before I impacted and felt pain throughout my body that made being stabbed seem like a pinprick, I pondered, in my accelerated way, what might happen were I to go through a portal this injured and bound? If I landed in water, would I drown? Would my body merely heal itself when the ropes rotted away and the knives rusted to nothing? Those questions would have to wait, as I hit the ground and felt not only the slow motion impact of my body compressing against the ground and my bones breaking, but also the final indignity of the knives in my chest being driven farther inside me and indeed sticking out from my back.
I will not bore you with the descriptions of fading to blackness again, as I tire of them as much as you do. That I lived is obvious in that I am relating my story at all. How I extracted myself from the predicament in which I found myself in upon awakening and what followed in my quest for Layla will have to wait, as I fear I have carried on for too long this time and my lids are heavy and I am in need of sleep.
Chapter Seven
John Smith, World Jumper Book One: Portal to Adventure Page 7