Sleeping Player (Project Chrysalis Book 3) John Gold (simple e reader TXT) 📖

on the first Sunday, exactly at noon. Femida looked forward to that time the whole month. They talked about everything, including the work she was putting in on her skills, her crafting, her achievements, and the interesting ideas she had. She could have talked with him forever. Hearing his praise, hearing him talk about himself was wonderful. Hisan knew how to listen—that was one of his many good qualities. And he knew how to speak gracefully, too. He always matched the level of the person he was talking to, expressing himself so they could understand exactly what he meant.

Sometimes, very rarely, Hisan talked about Femida. She was like a holy book, it was like he read the revelations it held about her. The truth is deep, unattractive…and the most tender part of the soul. It’s what you keep even from yourself and cherish like your own children. Hisan saw that part of Femida, and that’s what he talked about. His strong, gentle voice whispered what any girl would want to hear. His words soothed her, penetrated her soul, summoned tears of joy. When they did, however, he turned sad and apologized for making her cry. Hisan never touched her, though he always gave her presents. It was wonderful conversation, and nothing more.

In the five and a half years she’d spent in Valhalla, Hisan played his guitar in front of her twice. He sang for a crowd of prisoners, accompanying himself on an instrument fashioned by one of the local artisans. The girls cried into their hands. The men wiped away curmudgeonly tears and looked away, doing their best to hide red eyes. Nobody understood the words, though endless sorrow filled every sound, every phrase. The song touched the heart, pulling forth light and sad memories, and he sang his way through each of them. So tenderly did his fingers stroke the strings that it was like he was brushing them against the most beautiful of women as he whispered to her the words of love. An itinerant bard playing his last song before his execution might have played that way. The people watching were carried away into a world of love laced with sadness, suffering, and gentle, undying hope. When the song ended, nobody clapped. Everyone was crying, and only Hisan could smile as he led Femida away to console her.

Those were her fondest memories of Hisan, the senior prison supervisor for Alcatraz.

On the second day after she arrived in Valhalla, Femida was assigned a guard and watchman. His name was Isaac, and he was the strangest warden in the whole prison. He wore unique plate armor that he never took off. Sometimes, he went weeks without saying a word, though he could spout off the strangest, smartest phrases out of the blue. His love for simple, one-word answers drove her crazy. It was like there were four different personalities living in one person, and Femida couldn’t stand any of them. There were also legends that went around about what he looked like, including some that said there was nothing whatsoever under his armor. The silver armor grew more complex with each passing year—just recently, a tuft had appeared on his helmet. A torn chainmail skirt hung from his belt, while there was a piece of worn cape on his back. Isaac never spoke about himself or what he wore. That, of course, only poured hot oil on the fire of intrigue.

It was almost immediately that Femida suggested to Hisan that they add a building where the prisoners could satisfy their need to express themselves. It was eventually erected by the inmates themselves not more than a month after the prison opened. Inside, it housed workshops for crafting, and anyone could use them to make goods for sale. The prisoners could make money that way—the deal was that they kept half the price of whatever they made. They also enjoyed the chance to express themselves in the process.

The second floor was used as an area for the prisoners’ social initiatives. One hall was where Criminals Anonymous met. The idea for that initiative was first met with laughter, as everyone knew each other’s name and level. Still, Femida insisted.

The first week, there were eight people in the group, including Femida and Isaac. But by the end of the month, they were already up to twenty. They had to split up into four groups the second month. And why? Why did people start showing up? Humans are social creatures who need communication and recognition. They need to speak their mind, earn the approbation of their peers, and get advice. The prisoners loved the way the meetings gave them the chance to talk and support each other emotionally. The five years had seen rivers of tears shed, thousands of admissions of guilt shared, and even a few saints made. People are always looking for a way to unburden their soul, and Femida gave them the chance to do just that.

Femida and her taciturn guard became part of Valhalla, part of prison life, part of the island culture. She earned the acclaim of those who trusted her, and Hisan had started visiting her once a week over the past six months. He’d also upped her pay and given her a separate room in the creativity building.

The group gave many people a way to understand their lives and actions. Even Femida changed significantly. The killing, the stealing, the dubious clans… In Valhalla, it was with regret that she thought back on her previous life. Fire years had passed, and love still burned hot in her heart. The man, the manager, the supervisor, the picture of the man she wanted to spend her life with, was still the same. Hisan was her ideal both of a man and simply a strong person. For his part, he gave her everything he thought wise, rewarding her initiatives, though he never gave her love. Even though he wanted it too,