Read Online Phoenix Rising by Jason K. Lewis - Free Book Online Page A

head would split.  
    In stark contrast to Wulf, this prisoner often did not even appear to be present in the true sense of the word. He ate; he slept, although very little. He urinated and defecated where he was supposed to, once he had been shown what to do, and he was capable of following simple directions and gestures. Other than that, the image of masculine perfection seemed an empty and barren husk.  
    It was a puzzle to Metrotis. He had always loved solving puzzles. At first, he had believed his uncle Martius’s assertion that the man was a soldier who had received a blow to the head during the battle at Sothlind, but the man showed no obvious signs of trauma.  
    In consternation, Metrotis had consulted the physicians at the healer’s temple: they told him it was not unheard of for a man to lose his memory at times of great trauma or stress, even without a severe head wound. Metrotis considered that a battlefield must be really quite stressful, and so had resolved that this man had suffered a head trauma of sorts, just one that couldn’t be seen, a mental trauma so severe that it rendered him into an almost childlike state.
    Metrotis stood up and began to pace up and down the room. He found this helped him to think and distracted from the bottomless brown eyes that had taken to following him everywhere he walked.  
    He heard a rustle and turned to see the man had stood too, not for the first time mimicking the actions of his gaoler. Metrotis looked down at his arms and saw his hairs were standing on end. It was a reaction he was becoming accustomed to when sharing a room with the strange and perfect man.
    He shivered despite the warmth of the room and looked again at the immaculate man whose eyes were curiously lifeless, but chilling nonetheless.  
    He remembered the first time the man had looked at him. For days, he had shown no sign of life, no sign that he understood or even witnessed events in the world, just staring into space as if locked within his own mind. It was a day like every other, where Metrotis had paced and sat and spoken and observed. He had been frustrated as usual right up until, with no provocation, in a moment of calm and silence, he turned to see those eyes looking back at him. There was something predatory in the gaze that had sparked an ancestral fear within Metrotis, so that his bowels turned to water. There was something in the look, he thought. Such as a lion gives its prey just before it pounces to make the kill.  
    His uncle Martius had put his mind to rest that evening. “Nothing to worry about,” he had said. “This is good news, he must be recovering some of his faculties. Keep trying.”  
    Then Metrotis had asked the obvious question. “Uncle, why, if he is a war hero, is he chained to a wall and locked in a room in your town house?”
    The general had given him a curious look before sighing deeply. “You are right, nephew, you are right. It is not fair to keep a hero in this manner. Truth be told, I was concerned for you… You do not know how to fight, and if he had truly lost his mind… Yes, I know I assured you he was not harmful. I will leave the decision to you. If you wish, you can have the chains removed.”
    Metrotis was left unsure if his uncle meant him harm or was concerned for his safety. From that moment on, two housemen, clearly legionary veterans by their tattoos, stood guard outside the door to the man’s cell at all times.  
    A week later Metrotis had asked the guards to remove the man’s chains.  
    Metrotis had looked into his unfathomable eyes as he was unshackled. “Don’t be afraid,” he had said. “We are not going to hurt you.”  
    Afterwards, Metrotis reflected that whilst the barbarian, Wulf, still wore his chains, he had made the decision to release the man that he felt in his soul was the more dangerous of the two. Despite the oddity of the man, Metrotis had a sense that he was, in some bizarre way, an innocent; there was a quality