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  The Moments Between. Text and Cover Art Copyright © 2018 by Christina J. Thompson. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without the prior written authorization of the copyright holder. Unauthorized distribution of a copyrighted work is a violation of Title 17 U.S.C. For information or questions regarding this work, including authorizations, please e-mail the author at [email protected].

  THIS BOOK CONTAINS GRAPHIC DEPICTIONS THAT MAY BE DISTURBING TO SOME READERS.

  DISCRETION IS ADVISED.

  Cover design by Christina J. Thompson

  Copyright © 2018 by Christina J. Thompson

  To Alicia, Alex, and Cassie:

  May we meet again.

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  This story may not have ever existed without the support and encouragement I received from my family at Saved by Grace Fellowship, especially Stephanie P., who was the first person to read the rough draft. I cannot begin to thank you all enough.

  To my sisters: once again, I am eternally grateful for your feedback and support. Carolyn, your passionate love for this story is what pushed me forward even when I felt like giving up. Thank you.

  To my husband and children: you have filled my life to overflowing. Thank you for being mine.

  To all my friends and family: I wish I could name each and every one of you. Thank you, from the bottom of my heart. I love you all.

  And, last but definitely not least, I thank God for giving me a story to write. I hope I’ve honored You with my effort.

  TITLES BY THIS AUTHOR:

  August Shadow

  The Moments Between

  THE MOMENTS BETWEEN

  by

  Christina J. Thompson

  “…not willing that any

  should perish…”

  2 Peter 3:9

  CHAPTER ONE

  Muffled voices tinged with concern filled Laice’s ears, piercing through the darkness and fog in her mind. The unintelligible sounds grew louder as consciousness slowly ebbed over her, then a sudden, white-hot flash of pain wracked her body and she bolted upright, screaming in agony as her eyes flew open.

  “Stop, Laice! Don’t struggle!”

  Strong hands reached out and grabbed hold of her, fighting to keep her still, and her panicked gaze darted about as she tried to make sense of her surroundings. Her shoulder throbbed, each beat of her racing heart sending waves of excruciating pain stabbing through her. She looked down, and this time her scream was filled with horror.

  Ragged tendons and ligaments hung from where her left arm used to be, and blood spurted from her shoulder, drenching the weary, battle-worn group of men that huddled around her.

  “Calm down, Laice! Give it a moment, it’ll be fine!”

  She tried to speak but her mouth wouldn’t work, unable to emit anything other than the ear-piercing shrieks that resonated through the room.

  Then, as she stared at her shredded flesh, the torn pieces began to move, and her eyes grew wide with shock as her voice instantly died in her throat.

  Before her eyes, Laice watched as the frayed strands of ripped muscle began to stretch and grow. The broken shard of bone that protruded from the wound elongated, twisting forth and forming a sheath for the marrow that rushed in to fill its center. The growing bone paused for a moment as the soft cartilage of an elbow joint appeared, then continued to lengthen until the structure of a forearm took shape. A skeletal hand sprouted from the nub of her wrist, and ropes of muscle and vein snaked down, wrapping themselves tightly around the new limb. Finally, pale skin spread over the blood-rich tissue, sealing it up as if the injury had never happened.

  Laice blinked as she flexed her hand, the pain of a moment ago fading from her memory. She couldn’t help wondering if she had imagined it, if her arm had never really been missing, but a quick glance at the blood-streaked faces of the men who were now intently watching her quickly erased any doubt from her mind.

  The men were silent as if waiting for her to speak, their tired eyes searching her face. Each one was dressed in dingy, worn armor and chain mail, and layers of dirt and sweat mingled with the blood that caked their hair and skin. They were filthy, and she looked down to see that she was, too.

  In the corner of the tent, an arm’s length away from the table on which she sat, were the pieces of a smaller suit of armor, and she recognized them as her own. The men must have stripped them off of her before she came to, and she instinctively reached for her hip where her sword should have been.

  “It’s here,” the man standing closest to her said. He leaned down next to the table, and when he straightened she could see her sword in his hand. He held it out, a smile on his face, and Laice quickly took it from him.

  The familiar weight of her blade comforted her, and she clutched it tightly as she stared at the men.

  “Where…where am I?” Laice managed to ask, only to cringe in pain. Her voice was raspy and dry, and her throat ached deep within her neck. She swallowed hard, feeling a tight lump appear right below her chin, and she almost gagged from the knot that seemed lodged in her windpipe.

  “Don’t you remember?” the man asked, furrowing his brow with concern. Laice shook her head.

  “No,” she croaked, clearing her throat and wincing. “Who are you?”

  “It’s me, Laice!” the man exclaimed, pointing at his face as if to prompt recognition. “It’s Seph!”

  “She took a hard blow,” another man said. “Her head was smashed in when I found her.”

  “I don’t care!” Seph answered, shaking his head. “She would never forget me!” He reached for her, pain filling his eyes when she instinctively recoiled from his touch. He hesitated for a moment, then reached out again, this time resting his hand on her cheek.

  “Please try,” he pleaded, staring into her eyes. “I know you remember me!”

  Guilt welled up in Laice’s heart at the sorrow in his voice.

  “I…I think I’m just tired,” she said, averting her gaze. She glanced back a moment later, expecting to see a hint of relief from the excuse she gave, but now he just looked frustrated.

  “Don’t joke, Laice,” he said, rolling his eyes. “No one gets tired, you know that. That’s just a story from old times.”

  His impatient tone implied that she should know of what he spoke, but the words didn’t make any sense to her.

  “I just…maybe I…” Her voice trailed off, and she thought for a long moment before shrugging in defeat.

  “I don’t know,” she finally said. “I don’t remember you.” She gestured to the other men in the room. “I don’t remember any of you.”

  A collective gasp went up from the group as she spoke, then murmured whispers began to float amongst them. They seemed worried and afraid, and her heart skipped a beat at the sight of their darkening expressions. Seph’s tanned face turned white, and his pale, gray eyes narrowed.

  “What?” she asked, suddenly feeling uncomfortable under the suspicious eyes of the men. “What’s wrong?”

  “It must be the king’s doing,” Seph breathed. “This is his magic, there’s no other explanation! He must have taken your memory!”

  “What king?”

  The men gasped again, stepping back in fearful astonishment. Their armor clanged as they bumped into each other, crowding around the door as all but Seph darted out of the tent. Laice’s mouth dropped open with surprise at their hasty retreat.

  “What did I say?” she asked in confusion. “Why are they all so scared?”

  “They’re scared of what he’s done to you,” Seph told her, shaking his head woefully.
“This has never happened before. Everyone gets injured in battle, but never this. Forgetting our enemy is no small thing, Laice.” He fell silent, staring down at his hands, and his severity was contagious.

  “Help me, Seph,” she said, reaching for his arm as unknown desperation began to build in her heart. “Please help me.”

  “Of course I will,” he answered quickly, taking her hand and giving it a quick squeeze. He smiled at her, but his eyes were filled with worry.

  He helped her down from the table, then gathered up the pieces of her armor and reached for the lamp that hung from a hook on the ceiling.

  “Come, let’s get you home.”

  Seph lifted the flap that covered the door of the tent, gesturing for her to go ahead of him. Hot, acrid air rushed inside to fill her nose and mouth, and Laice coughed as her lungs burned in her chest. She covered her face as she tried to breathe, her sword still clutched tightly in one hand, then stepped over the threshold only to instantly forget her aching lungs as her mouth dropped open with shock.

  A vast, barren wasteland stretched out before her, the maze of burning cracks that were scattered across its dry surface sending wisps of smoke up into the dark sky. A crescent moon hung in the starless heavens far above her, its meager, weak light seeming to do little more than illuminate its presence. From what Laice could see, there were no trees or grasses, just the sharp, shadowy outlines of rocks and boulders that littered the land.

  Seph followed her out of the tent, pausing when he saw her stricken expression.

  “I suppose it seems like you’re seeing it for the first time, doesn’t it?” he remarked, giving her a sideways look. “It’s a horrible sight to behold, but it wasn’t always like this, not until the king took the sun. Come,” he prompted her, gesturing as he stepped forward.

  A tightly-packed group of tents lay to her left, faint lamplight glowing from within each one, and Laice managed to tear her gaze away from the devastated scene as she moved to follow.

  As she walked behind him, an odd feeling suddenly washed over her, and she froze. It felt like a silent voice was calling to her, and she whirled around, her eyes searching the darkness. There was nothing there, but as she turned back to continue following Seph, something caught her attention.

  In the distance, an enormous mound of earth loomed up from the ground, a lone beam of moonlight somehow managing to pierce through the blackened sky and coming to rest on a shadowed opening cut into the massive face. An odd twinge of longing appeared in her heart at the sight of it.

  Seph turned, noticing that she had stopped, and his eyes grew cold as he followed her gaze.

  “Come, Laice,” he prompted, his voice hissing through clenched teeth.

  She caught a tiny flash of movement, and she squinted in the dark.

  “Something’s out there,” she whispered, straining her eyes. She thought she saw a man standing off in the distant shadows, beckoning to her.

  “Someone,” she corrected herself, stepping forward without thinking. She was sure she could see him. “Right there!”

  Seph moved in front of her, blocking her view.

  “You’re imagining things,” he told her, shaking his head. “You can’t trust anything you see out there. It’s dangerous in the dark.”

  “But I see him!”

  Laice leaned to the side, looking again, but the figure had disappeared.

  “It’s dangerous in the dark,” Seph repeated. “Your mind plays tricks on you.”

  “But…but―”

  “Let’s go,” he said, shifting the armor in his grasp. “Come.” He nudged her forward, and Laice silently obeyed.

  “I don’t suppose you remember where you live, do you?” Seph asked, changing the subject.

  “No,” Laice mumbled, her thoughts shifting back to her lost memory. It sounded so impossible; how could this king Seph spoke of steal something from inside of her mind?

  “Maybe seeing your things will trigger something for you,” he said hopefully. “We’re here.” He stopped in front of a small, grimy tent and set her armor on the ground. “Do you want me to come inside with you?”

  An awkward silence fell over them as Laice tried to think of how to respond. Part of her didn’t want to be alone, but she didn’t feel entirely comfortable with this man despite how well he seemed to know her.

  “It’s okay, love,” he told her as if reading her mind. “I think I understand. My tent is just there.” He pointed to the tent beside hers. “I’ll be right here if you need anything.”

  “Thank you,” she said, relieved. “I’m sorry.”

  “Don’t be,” Seph replied, reaching out to pinch her cheek. She didn’t pull away this time, and his eyes sparkled. “It’s not your fault. I’ll always be here for you, whether you remember me or not.”

  He handed her the lamp and turned to leave.

  “Don’t forget to clean your armor,” he called over his shoulder.

  Laice sighed as she watched him go, then stepped through the door of her tent.

  CHAPTER TWO

  Laice set her sword down inside the door and hung the lamp on its hook. The dim light illuminated the sparse furnishings in the room: a dresser with three drawers sat against one wall, and a small cot against the other. A chair and a desk had been placed in a corner, and across from them, a full-length mirror was attached to a tall stake that had been driven into the ground for support. Near the door was a large wardrobe, and when she peeked inside she saw a bottle of oil and a handful of filthy rags sitting next to a post that had been fixed in the very center, which she could only assume was where her armor was supposed to hang.

  “Clean your armor,” she muttered to herself as she sat down on the chair and rested her arms on the desk. She sighed, then turned the chair to face the mirror and gazed at her reflection.

  Deep, blue eyes stared back at her from a pale, dirty face. Her long, black hair was a mess of knots and tangles, and the shirt of chain mail she was wearing was stained with blood from her severed arm. On her throat, Laice could see a deep, purple bruise that stretched from ear-to-ear, and she stood up to get a closer look. Tilting her head back, she gingerly touched her neck, wincing as it throbbed, and she realized that this was the source of the constant aching, deep pain she felt.

  Confused, she stepped back and sat down again. Her arm had grown back from nothing more than a nub of bone, leaving not a single trace of the wound, yet her throat still hurt. It didn’t make sense, and she sighed as she pulled the chain mail shirt over her head. Nothing made sense.

  The blood had soaked through to her brown tunic, and she stared down at the pattern it had made on the fabric. She flexed her arm, watching her muscles move beneath her skin, then pulled her sleeve back to look at her shoulder. There wasn’t even a scar.

  Laice pulled her boots and stockings off, leaving them in a heap on the floor, then moved to the cot. She remembered what Seph had said, that being tired was a tale from old times. Chuckling sarcastically, she made a face.

  “What does that even mean?” she muttered to herself. “What’s the point of having a bed, then? Why do I remember being tired, why do I remember sleep, if there’s no such thing?”

  “Because this isn’t real, Laice,” a voice quietly answered, and she leaped to her feet as hot fear flashed through her body.

  The tall figure of a man stood in the center of her tent, his warm, hazel eyes meeting her frightened gaze. His long, dark hair reached down to the shoulders of his tattered, brown robe, and he smiled at her from a kind, bearded face. The pounding of her heart began to fade from her ears the longer she looked at him, almost as if his presence held a strange peace.

  They stared at each other for a long moment, unblinking, then she found her voice.

  “Who are you?”

  “You may call me Eli,” the man answered.

  “How do you know my name?”

  “I have always known you,” he said, his eyes crinkling as he smiled.

  “Anoth
er person who’s known me forever,” Laice replied, rolling her eyes. “That’s exactly what Seph said. Are you going to tell me that you’re my best friend, too?”

  “He is not your friend,” Eli told her, his face creasing with worry. “He is your enemy.”

  “The king is my enemy,” Laice corrected him, echoing what Seph had told her as suspicion darkened her eyes.

  “That may be what he wants you to believe,” Eli warned, shaking his head. “But you must know it isn’t true.”

  “I don’t know what’s true,” she shot back. “I don’t remember anything thanks to this king, whoever he is!”

  “You can remember,” Eli gently reassured her. “Hear me, and you will remember.” He stepped towards her, but Laice quickly backed away as she put up her hand.

  “Don’t come any closer!” she cautioned, eyeing her sword. It was out of reach, and she glanced back at him, her mind racing. “I’ll scream!”

  “You need not be afraid of me, Laice. I mean you no harm.”

  He almost seemed amused by her posturing, and she felt her cheeks grow warm with sudden, inexplicable embarrassment.

  “Are you okay in there?” Seph’s voice called from outside the tent. Laice glanced towards the door, and when she looked back, Eli was gone. She sprinted forward, grabbing her sword.

  “Seph!” she cried, bursting out of the tent. “Someone was here!” He didn’t waste a moment, instantly pushing past her.

  “Who?” he demanded, looking around. “Who was it?”

  She stepped back inside, pointing to the place where Eli had stood.

  “He was right here,” she said. “But then he just…he just disappeared! He told me his name is Eli!” Seph’s face instantly turned crimson with rage.

  “Eli!” he spat, cursing under his breath. “The bastard was here?”

  Laice inhaled sharply, taken aback by the sudden venom in his voice.