The Exemption Trials (The Dinas Chronicles Book 1)

Chapter Seven

   He was in a room of complete darkness, not a speck of light to be found. When he tried to lift his hand in front of his face to see if he could see at least the outline of it he found he had no feeling in his body, no control over it. No, wait, he didn't even have  a body. He was just...him. In an empty dark room - actually, he had no clue if it was empty or full to the brim with all sorts of things, since it was pitch black and he couldn't see an inch in any direction - with no body to speak of.

~•~

   After a while of sitting there all alone - was he sitting, though? Was he even alone? - he began to hear things, or at least he thought he did. They seemed to be snippets of conversations, jumbled and distorted. The words sounded as if he were hearing them from underwater and half of it sounded like gibberish.

   How am I able to hear and think things with no physical form to speak of? Was the first thing that came to mind as he listened to the warbling voices. Second was, Are the people who belong to the voices coming to help me? Do they know what's wrong with me? Can they fix me? Then, as time dragged on and the voices receeded into nothing and the crushing silence returned, he wondered if there'd actually been any voices at all. Perhaps he was going crazy and they'd been a figment of his imagination.

~•~

   He must've passed out or fallen asleep - if he was even capable of doing such thing anymore - because he snapped to attention when the voices retutned. This time they were a bit clearer and he could make out more of what was being said. One snippet of a conversation stuck out to him more than the others and it kept repeating over and over in his mind:

   "Jericho has gotta wake up sometime soon, right? I mean, it's been ten days. Cassian's nearly returned to full health by now."

   Something about the words just seemed so familiar, especially that first one - Jericho. He couldn't think of why, though, and as he continuously tried and failed to come up with a reason for the word's familiarity, he began to panic. His thought raced frantically, scrambling for some semblance of an explanation. Anything that would justify the jolt he'd felt upon hearing the word. He knew he should know it, but he didn't, and he had no idea why.

   Why can't I remember? He thought as panic gripped him with an impossibly tight hold that promised never to be relinquished until he figured it out.

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