|Photo by Author S. R. Karfelt|
Saturday, October 26, 2013
Kahtar glanced at the little clock on the monitor, ten minutes had passed, and he sighed. The monotony of the police station seemed to invite the unpleasantness of shades to descend. All the men complained about it. Determined to avoid them, and keep his mind occupied, for some twisted reason he got on Wikipedia and searched 'Longinus.'
For two thousands years the shade had followed him. He knew a legend had sprung up from that day, knew that somehow those there had learned his true name that day, but over the ensuing centuries he'd ignored it. Yet today, on a whim, alone with a computer and no witnesses, he impulsively reached into the past.
He found it. Some of the stories were expectedly convoluted. Still the details of that day survived surprisingly accurate, especially considering the amount of time that had passed. Leaning close to the machine he started to fish around in cyberspace, wondering if there were paintings of Longinus that might even be similar. He felt certain those at the foot of the tree had gotten an eyeful of him that day, and despite his odd repeating existence, he always looked exactly the same.
Gazing down at his big hands on the keyboard he flexed them, had anyone ever been as familiar with a pair of hands as he was? A memory stirred and Kahtar no longer saw the keyboard.
A boy's hand, pink and small appeared engulfed in the black hand of his warrior father.
"Baba, why is my hand the wrong color?" the little boy's voice quavered. His father, wearing the vivid colors of clan leader, knelt in the dust, looking into his eyes. Strong ebony fingers combed through his son's long hair, it slid through his fingers the color and texture of dry savannah grass.
"ilu has his reasons."
The memory came sharp. It had been seconds later when he'd remembered. His past had dropped like it always did, the realization of his endless history roaring through him, like a tornado, a hurricane in his head. When he stopped screaming, when he opened his eyes to gaze into the dark worried faces of his clan, he knew why his hand was the wrong color. I am, again.
Excerpt from Warrior of the Ages by S. R. Karfelt - All rights reserved - Available wherever books are sold! Including here: CLICK ME
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