Page 55 of Dark Shaman: Eternal Hope
"The lord requires your presence, shaman," the guard said.
Eluheed set down his trowel. "Right now?"
"Immediately."
"I need to change first." Eluheed gestured at his soil-stained clothes and lifted his hand to show the guard the dirt caked under his fingernails. "Give me five minutes to clean up."
"There's no time. The lord is waiting, and if you know what's good for you, you won't make him wait a second longer than necessary."
"Right." Eluheed rose to his feet, brushing the worst of the dirt from his pants. His hands were hopeless, though, with soil ground into every crease and embedded under each nail.
Tony shot him a sympathetic look. "I'll finish here."
Eluheed nodded, then followed the guard toward the double fence while trying to clean his hands on his already-dirty pants. That only made things worse.
The guard noticed and seemed amused. "The lord couldn't care less about what you look like, shaman."
"I care," Eluheed murmured under his breath.
The guy shrugged and motioned for him to keep going toward the waiting vehicle beyond the second fence.
The driver of the jeep was an immortal, but he wasn't enhanced.
Music from the radio filled the awkward silence, the island's station broadcasting popular tunes that were occasionally interspersed by praises to the magnificent Lord Navuh.
The ruler of this island certainly lived large and had one hell of a god complex.
Eluheed was just grateful that he and the rest of the harem seemed to be exempt from the constant indoctrination bits.
Absentmindedly, he watched the scenery passing by, the beautiful greenery that covered every unclaimed portion of the island, and the construction crews that were still working on the damaged buildings, but his mind was on what Navuh expected him to do.
One option was that the lord wanted a personal session and a vision concerning his future, and the other was that he wanted Eluheed to touch one of the enhanced ones again.
As the jeep entered the underground military complex, the temperature dropped the further down they descended. The fluorescent lights made the dirt on Eluheed's clothes look even darker, more pronounced, but he forced himself not to think about it.
It was what it was.
Navuh waited inside the detention facility, immaculate as always in his black attire. His eyes took in Eluheed's appearance with one sweep, and his mouth twisted in distaste.
"Forgive my appearance, my lord. The guard said that you wanted to see me urgently."
Navuh waved away the apology. "Your appearance is of no consequence. My time is."
"Of course, my lord." Eluheed bowed his head. "Your time is priceless."
"It is." Navuh turned to look at the long row of detention cells. "I need you to take another look at their shared collective. They are still not talking, but they are twitching less and eating more. I wonder if the withdrawal symptoms have eased."
Wouldn't it have been easier to just ask them?
But Eluheed didn't say that. Instead, he dipped his head again. "As you wish, my lord."
Their small procession passed the communal cell where the regular soldiers were kept. These men played cards and talked quietly, seemingly resigned to their imprisonment. But in the isolation wing, the silence was absolute. It was as if there was no one in those cells.
"I want to monitor what's happening with them," Navuh said, stopping at an interrogation room. "And since they are not communicating with their guards or each other, you are the only one who can tell me whether they're planning something or if they're simply escaping somewhere in their heads that we can't access."
Through the reinforced window, Eluheed could see guards preparing the space—bringing in the reinforced chair, checking restraints. His hands clenched involuntarily, driving dirt deeper under his nails.
"The same precautions as before?" he asked.
