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as he lay beneath the counter. Fond images of his family. His father’s smile. His mother’s embrace. His sister’s sass. His brother’s giggles. Each a heartwarming memory. Each, though, crushed and twisted into the horrific sight of his loved ones dangling from their crosses, bloodied and lifeless.
Lev forced his eyes open, trying to banish the morbid memory. But the cramped space beneath the counter blinded him with an unnerving darkness. A sudden panic washed over him and triggered a sharp, claustrophobic gasp. Unable to see, he held his breath and listened, desperate for a source of comfort.
But above him, the shop had fallen quiet. Yudi and Nish must have retreated to their bedrooms for the night. The din outside the shop had faded, too. Apparently, the chaotic crowd had withdrawn from D’Win’s streets.
Only one sound penetrated the troubling silence, a sound which did nothing to ease Lev’s fears. The rapid hammering of his agitated heart.
Desperate to escape but barely able to move, Lev rolled to his side with his back facing the blanketed swords. He wiggled his left hip against the packed earth beneath him, only for something to shift in his right trousers pocket. Surprised, he clutched at the small, rectangular shape—the journal his father had wanted delivered to Yudi.
Lev groaned and flipped onto his back. How had he failed to fulfill his father’s last request? Distraught, he lay straight as an arrow, arms crossed over his chest, and eyes staring into the impenetrable murk of his hiding space.
“Tomorrow,” he whispered. “I’ll give Yudi the journal tomorrow.”
Lev nodded, trying to convince himself that he’d done nothing wrong. That his father wouldn’t be disappointed so long as the journal was delivered. But his guilt lingered and mixed with his despair.
Chest tight, eyes closed, and muscles taut, he soon fantasized about dying. Pictured himself as a skeleton in a grave. Wouldn’t it be better? he wondered. Easier than this torturous wait at least? So much easier ... so much easier ...
Sometime later, a thunderous pounding sent a spike of fear through his heart. Lev bolted upright, slamming his head into the cabinet above him. Dazed from the blow, he slowly recalled where he was. He must have fallen asleep despite the trauma of his day. His conscious thoughts must have morphed into nightmares.
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Again, the pounding, though. Hard enough to rattle the jars on the shop’s shelves. The ominous sound had been real. Someone was outside Yudi’s shop, demanding entrance.
“Coming!” Yudi shouted in the distance. The incessant knocking had wakened him, too. “Coming!” he repeated, this time much closer to Lev’s position. “But by Pashtar’s Whiskers, stop your racket, already! Give me a moment to unbolt the door.”
The noise ceased, and Yudi groaned. After the clank of the door latch and a creak of hinges, he said, “Oh—”
A familiar voice barked back in response. “Move aside, soap maker!”
Lev flinched and the hair on his neck and arms shot up. The scarred Tolian Captain from earlier—Sicarius—had entered Lev’s world yet again.
“Search everything!” Sicarius shouted. “Everything!”
At least a dozen men stomped across the floorboards above Lev. Jars crashed. Wood snapped. Fear and anticipation locked every muscle in his body. He stopped breathing, worried that even the slightest sound would give away his position.
Soon though, the raucous sounds above Lev faded. The banging and breaking shifted toward the back of Yudi’s house.
As the workshop quieted, Yudi spoke up. “What’s this about, sir?” he asked calmly, even though his shop and home were being torn apart.
“Really?” Sicarius snapped. “You’re a well-known acquaintance of the traitor, Arto Datevar. What do you think this is about?”
“I’m no traitor, sir. I was shocked to hear about Arto’s treachery. I only knew him as a baker. A fellow tradesman. Look at me. I’m a simple man. I make perfumes and soaps. Surely, you know I’m no threat to the Empire?”
Sicarius snorted. “Save your stories, Sutasan. I know who you really are.”
Heavy footsteps interrupted the conversation between the two men. “Found what we came for, sir,” a guard reported.
“No!” Yudi shouted, his voice filled with the same anguish Lev had felt earlier in the square. “No!”
Sicarius snickered. “Excellent, most excellent. Straight to the Governor with that. And now, Sutasan, I think you know what this means. You’d better stay loyal. If not, I think you can guess the consequences.”
As suddenly as they had entered, Sicarius and his guard stomped out of the shop. The space above Lev fell silent again. He bit his lip and remained silent, afraid to talk until Yudi said something. But instead, Lev caught a different sound—the sniffs and sobs of someone crying.
What had happened? Lev wondered, trying to picture the destruction the soldiers had left in their wake. Trying to guess what they had taken.
Again, the door creaked, and the latch clanked. A grunt and heavy clunk announced the barring of the shop door. Sandaled footsteps scuffed toward Lev’s hiding space.
“It will be dawn in a couple of hours, Lev,” Yudi whimpered. “You’ll be on your way soon enough.”
“Yudi?” Lev asked. “What happened? What’s wrong?”
But other than a heavy breath and muffled moan, Yudi didn’t answer. Instead, he shuffled away, leaving Lev locked in darkness, silence, and confusion.
Another chapter, and a fresh set of problems. Even the usually cheerful Yudi seems distraught. And it seems like it's just a matter of time before the dreaded Sicarius captures Lev. Can things get any worse ?
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