Mend the Flesh

1 "Where are my blades?" Royal was sitting on a low stool in the yellow sand of this desert hideaway. He rose stiffly to his feet. "Why are you out of bed, girl?" "Don't call me 'girl,' it's demeaning." I approached him. "Where are my blades?" Royal let out a sound of acquiescence. "I put it somewhere safe." We were standing almost toe to toe now, like two bedraggled vultures who were both picked clean. Royal metaphorically and me physically. Okay, and emotionally. "You don't look so good, honey. You need to get back inside. The sun will tear you up with you so raw." "Take me to my blades." "Blade. I found one blade," he grunted. "And it's inside, so you might as well head back in there." I turned on my bony heel and shuffled back into the adobe dwelling. It had been two full days since I'd awoken in this home, raw and burnt down to the bone. How am I still alive, you ask? Well, apparently this what my people do. Every once in a while if we get very, very stressed we burst into flames. Our wings, our flesh, everything, burning down to bone and sinew, culminating in a giant blast of power. And God help whoever happens to be standing close by. I don't know what happened to those people. I was locked in a battle for my life when I started to burn. Mhyr, my boyfriend's crazy ex, had an arm wrapped around my throat and was trying to drain me of my power. Archer, my boyfriend, Mhyr's ex, you get the idea, and about five hundred minions were trying to save me. Unfortunately, Mhyr had surrounded us with an impenetrable dome of power so they couldn't get in. As Mhyr had pulled on my power, my body had started to freak out and this ability to regenerate, burst into flames, that I hadn't known about, took over. It scared the crap out of me. I was sure I was going to die. Archer was sure too. I could see him on the other side of the dome screaming my name, tears running down his face. So I had burst into flames and woken up here, alone. Well, not alone, Royal was here. Royal, another of my kind, not my father, even though he sure tried to act like it, was at my bedside. When I had finally given into the burning, and my power had blasted the dome free and shot out across the land, Royal had heard my call. I had thought I was the only one of my kind, so you can imagine my surprise when I woke up to a grizzled old man with big multi-coloured wings staring down at me. Picture Kris Kristofferson dressed as an angel for Halloween, that pretty much describes Royal. "Where is it?" I demanded. We were now inside, though in this case inside was a relative term. There were no doors in the doorways or glass in the windows; Royal's home was an adobe hut comprised of arched ceiling rooms that connected to each other by breezy passages. Despite the heat of the sun outside, inside was cool and shady. Night got pretty cold though, so the main rooms and sleeping areas had fire pits. "I put it in the kitchen," he said mildly as he crossed to the cooking area, his fading wings dragging ever so slightly on the floor. "Seemed the best place for something that sharp." On the kitchen counter was my untouched bowl of porridge. Royal glanced at it. "You need to eat." "I'm not hungry." "Yes, you are." He bent down to open a cabinet while he talked. "But it hurts your gut; I get it. But if you don't eat, you won't regenerate. And if you don't regenerate you can't go home to whoever gave you this." He placed the blade next to my cold porridge. It was the short sword Archer had given me long before my Banishment, the beautiful blade that had called to me in my weapons room in what seemed like a lifetime ago. I stepped up to the counter and moved to touch the hilt, then hesitated. My raw, sinewy fingers held inches above it. I was pretty sure that if I touched the blade, it would call to Archer. Archer. He was probably losing his mind looking for me. Or he assumed I was dead. And right now he'd be right. Sort of. I looked dead. I looked like I had been rotting in a coffin for months and then changed my mind and started walking around again. I was literally bone, sinew and the odd bit of flesh. I had no hair, no lips, half an eyelid on one eye and, although a thin layer of tissue had grown over my chest cavity, in the light you could see my lungs. I didn't want Archer to see me like this. I didn't want anyone to see me like this. I looked like a walking horror movie. I tolerated Royal's eyes on me because he'd been through this before and as much as it pissed me off, I needed help. My arms were too stiff to wrap myself up in the light sheets I wore; Royal did that. He also cleaned the last of the dead burnt flesh off my exposed spine and changed the damp sponge I'd had to wear over my eyes those first few days. I couldn't get better without him. I gingerly sat on a stool and began eating my cold porridge. "Please put that away." I swallowed. It hurt. I got another spoonful. "Thank you. For everything." A tear rolled from my naked eyeball, the salt stung as it travelled down my cheek. "It's my pleasure," Royal said softly. Then he picked up the sword. "I'll put this in your room." As he walked past, he placed a hand ever so lightly on my shoulder. "You'll get better real soon, honey." And then he left me to my porridge.