Shadow of Death (Book 2 of Hanthalah)

Chapter 27

"Ibn al-'Aas wishes to go west."

'Amr's face ripples into a visor in my otherwise blurry vision but fades almost immediately along with whatever he was going to say next.

I groan. But the darkness engulfs me.

"I am used to seeing him so strong, so able," Mundhir's words are heard as though I were beneath the surface of water. His features were undiscernible, hazy and muddled beneath a distinct fog of sorts. "I never thought....I never thought I would see him like this."

Was he...was he crying? He was hovering over me. I was vaguely aware of the presence of several others.

I tried reaching up to him, tried chiding some sense into him, but the words would not escape.

I groaned.

And I was shrouded in the darkness again.

I saw Zubayr ibn al-'Awwam, one of the high ranking generals in the Muslim army, sympathetic and silent.

He began reciting Qur'anic verses.

When next I fluttered my eyes open, there was a wizened old man hovering over me in place of brothers. There was something massive looming over him in turn, something dark....or someone. The Nubian?

This time, I could not make out the old man's words. His lips moved but whatever escaped from between them fell on literal deaf ears.

I groaned.

And the black reigned supreme once more. Swaddling me as a mother would her babe in wraps. Washing over me as a wave would on Andronicus' ship in a relatively high tide. There was nothing but the darkness; inevitable and absolute.

The scant moments of respite, the few visions of the true world I was allowed – so vague and distant – lingered no more than a handful of seconds, without my ability to interact, to speak, to move. To think.

I remember one time I managed to form a single coherent thought.

Am I dead?

But then the darkness swept in again. Leaving me isolated. Helpless.

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I groaned.

"He's awake!" someone exclaimed enthusiastically. "He's up! Wiseman, surely this is progress."

Wiseman? Am I sick?

The man was speaking in Greek as well. Where was I?

I tried moving but nothing would budge. I did not feel a single part of my body. I tried speaking again but only the usual moan escaped my lips.

"Let's not get carried away now," a kindlier voice, more calm and ancient, answered in Greek as well. "He requires yet more time to recover."

I managed to flutter my eyes all the way open.

"Hanthalah!" Mundhir screeched, darting to my bedside.

Why was I motionless in a bed? With a wiseman fretting over me no less.

Mundhir wrapped his arms around my head, crushing my skull in his grip.

"Young man, let's not get hasty," the kindly voice spoke again. "Relinquish your grip. Let him recover."

Hesitantly, Mundhir acquiesced, removing his arms from around my head and taking a step backward.

Man the fuck up you soft shit, I wanted to tell him, but the effort only sparked overwhelming pain in my chest, causing me to double over in a ceaseless fit of coughing.