Some horrific, gut-clenching nightmare was fading as Eiron Vaikyur-Erlenkov opened his eyes, and consciousness returned. In seconds, the blur of his surroundings began to focus into sharpness. It took a second for reality to sink in.
I’m still alive, he thought in profound surprise. Where am I? There was still only a blur of color around him and a terrible ringing noise in his head, but at least his vision was starting to clear.
A few minutes passed. He knew he was lying down, and the bed covering was made of a soft blue material, finer than any lamb’s wool. Gradually, he saw that he was in a small room, fairly well lit but not by any obvious source of illumination. He looked up. The entire ceiling above him was blinding bright, like the reflection of daylight on glass.
Strange, he thought, looking away. His mind processed what he saw functionally. He couldn’t feel much. At least not in the sense of emotions, and the main one was relief. A little curiosity was mixed in there, too. He was content not to move.
The heated bed underneath him seemed to emit a gentle soporific sound not unlike lapping waves. Impossible, he thought. It seemed to be trying to lull him back into sleep—and it was succeeding.
I’ll be damned, he thought and suppressed a yawn. His mind had no explanation for what was happening.
He blinked several times and forced his eyes to stay open.
His range of sight was limited to an arc just in front of him. The far wall was made of a smooth alloy. It was as reflective as glass or some kind of clear metal but was the grey-blue color of a deep sea. In the dark of it there was a lustrous shine, as though rays of light had been permanently captured within the metal itself.
Someone else was in the room, he suddenly realized. His senses were so finely attuned, that he could feel the shadow lingering beyond his range of vision.
The shadow was watching him.
He couldn’t remember how he had gotten here, and couldn’t guess who it was who had saved his life. His last thoughts were of his crashed landing and a searing pain before blackness came and drove him into dark dreams.
Get up, his mind urged him to action, but his aching body denied him movement. He tried to turn around. The effort brought a sharp pain to his neck.
His eyes were growing heavy.
Where am I? In paradise, or in purgatory?
Struggling to overcome his exhaustion was no good. He looked down as though planning to test his legs. He discovered how incredibly weak they felt. But they were not permanently damaged, he hoped. A warm blue covering lay across the bed, pulled up over his chest and under his arms like a living cocoon feeding him back his strength. It almost seemed to vibrate to the touch.
Impossible.
There was no warning when the shadow suddenly stepped from outside his vision and moved up on him from behind. He jerked instinctively up onto his elbows. Knives of pain shot through his abdomen.
He pulled aside the covering with what little strength he had. He discovered he was naked from the waist up. The tattered shreds of his uniform—gone. He was wearing a pair of blue, form-fitting leggings. And on his torso were the traces of two deep puncture wounds. Two jagged, mottled scabs, one long and the other deep but small.
They had healed so well, he knew he had been there for at least several tendays.
“What’s going on?” were the first words out of his mouth. His throat was dry as desert air.
A robed figure dressed in a dark, vivid blue appeared beside him, setting his heart racing. The bed covering reacted like a constricting cocoon—moving on its own to keep him still. He looked down in shock, reacting to one bizarre stimulus after another.
The robe partially hid the face of the person wearing it; the clasp at her throat was beautiful. Meanwhile, Eiron felt a hypnotic warmth creeping into his body from where he lay.
The shadowed person who had saved his life lifted its arm, and gently laid a cold but human hand on his forehead.
The hand was light and small—the gentle hand of a woman.
He had no words. He just lay there, not knowing what to expect.
The hand touching his forehead stroked the side of his face in a soothing gesture. He began to fall asleep.
Every aching muscle in his body cried for release. In one last act of resistance, his mind, attuned to identify potential danger, tried to stir him awake.
“Rest. Save your questions for when you’ve recovered.” Came the melodic voice of a woman. Her voice was low and soft and full of care. “Sleep. It will cure you.”
He was losing the words.
The deep darkness reclaimed him.
The Last Immortal : Book One of Seeds of a Fallen Empire Page 4
