Chapter 7 The Way of Things
THE WAY OF THINGS
Iwake with half-remembered dreams in my head and a strange taste in my mouth. My head feels like it’s full of the smoke that seems to be ever-present here. As I return to awareness, I feel my body resting against a firm surface. I try to move, but can’t yet make my body obey.
The room I’m in is filled with darkness and smoke. The walls are painted black, and cupboards line one of the walls. There is a cot set along another. The bed I’m in protrudes from the middle of the wall into the room.
The space seems as though it could be hiding beasts or spirits in the dark, shadowed corners. I can see a door along the final wall; it is also dark with a brass knob. There is a tray resting on one of the cupboards. The tray seems to contain several items, including a pitcher and a cup.
Suddenly overwhelmed with thirst, I struggle with the blanket, which seems to be trying to chain me to the bed. I work myself free and manage to push myself more upright, the wall at my back. My vision tries to fade, but I ignore it and push myself forward.
The moment I put a foot on the floor, the pain is back, thrashing in my head. However, the chance for something to drink pulls me to the table more strongly than the pain pulls me back.
I lean against the bed, then the wall, and then the cupboard, and I make it to the tray. When I look into the pitcher, though, it contains nothing but a thin layer of slime at the bottom, which can only be from whatever drugs they’ve been giving me.
I slide down the cupboard to sit on the floor.
Whatever tenuous control I’ve had over my body is gone.
The pain in my leg is no longer something I can ignore, and I fold myself so that I can see what they’ve done.
What I find is a neatly wrapped bandage that nearly covers my leg below my knee.
A quickly spreading black stain shows through the white cloth.
I lie on my side and rest my cheek against the floor. It’s cool. The part of my memory that isn’t my own tells me it feels almost like earth.
I’m not aware of losing consciousness, but when I wake, I’m back on the same bed.
This time, there are no dreams, and the pain is less.
Enough that I am able to push myself up and stand on both legs without other support.
I take a couple of shaky steps to the door.
Nearly there, I hesitate a moment. Part of me knows if I try the knob and it doesn’t open, like a caged animal, my instincts will take over.
I fear what might happen if they do. I shut my eyes for a breath, put my hand on the handle, and push.
The door opens into a wide space, filled with the trunks of trees which seem to rise through the ceiling.
Everywhere I look, I see green. I have never seen anything like this in my short life besides in paintings.
The small forest created by the trees in this massive room is filled with underbrush.
There are small openings that seem to lead into clearings.
As I look at the plants with wonder, a demon emerges from one of the openings in the trees.
I don’t recognize him, but he seems to recognize me as he walks toward me with an urgency to his gait.
He looks young and is not overly tall. He is more slender than Malam.
He has the same dark hair and olive complexion, but with blue eyes instead of green.
His hair is black and horrendously curly.
It looks as though he gave up taming it a long time ago, as it flops into his face, attempting to crawl into his eyes.
Of course, as is the case with demons, wings of shadow emerge from his shoulders.
As I look at him, I try to release the frame of the doorway I am clutching, but I can’t seem to make my fingers work.
I hear him say something to me, but can’t quite make out the words.
However, as I look up at him again, it is as though he’s released me from some sort of spell, and I can suddenly open my fingers.
I move to walk, or limp, to him, but I stumble.
His longer legs close the space between us, and he reaches out and takes my arm, stabilizing me. “You’re not meant to be out of bed yet,” he growls, his voice twisting the words until they are nearly unrecognizable.
Then he directs me by the arm back into the room I just left with a strength I have no chance of resisting. I allow him to help me back onto the bed and watch as he draws some shape in the air above me.
Seeing me watching, he says, “I’m called Chiron.” His voice is rough, and it is clear that he’s not used to speaking in this language.
After a few moments of whatever it is he’s doing in the air above me, his expression grows more worried.
He turns to the cupboard and removes a small wooden box.
Taking something from it, he walks back to the bed and hands me a small tablet.
“Take this,” he says quietly, “the poison still has hold of you.”
Fear strikes me at the thought, and the significance of the pain in my leg begins to make more sense in the memories that aren’t mine. It is those memories, and not my own choice, that cause me to take the tablet from him and put it in my mouth. I lose consciousness shortly after.
When I next wake, there is another demon I don’t recognize sitting beside the bed. As I lay still under his watchful gaze, I register that most of the pain has finally left me.
He finally says, “How are you feeling, little one?” His voice also trips over the words with a similar lack of familiarity to Chiron.
“Better, I think,” I say quietly, my voice scratchy with too little use.
He nods and then, with a serious expression, says, “My name is Elling. Malam sent me to keep watch over you and to tell you more about us when you woke. He didn’t expect you to find your way here, but now that you have, he feels you should know more about our people.”
After examining my face as though to check my understanding, the demon continues.
“The trees, plants, and earth outside of this room are what we are here to care for. All of this green, all of this life. The angels try, decade after decade, to erase this by building, by development. They try to bury us under concrete and stone and metal. They try to fill our air with smog, smoke, and sickness, and yet somehow, they have won over the humans. They have all of the power because they hold all of the humans’ hearts in their hands. ”
The demon’s voice is passionate, and as he speaks, he stands and begins to pace in the small room.
“Yet in front of the humans’ willingly blind eyes and deaf ears, they are becoming sick and forgetting where they come from.
They are choosing this for convenience. For the freedom of quick transportation and easy heat and the ability to communicate with people they will never meet, they give up all that matters. ”
I feel an agony in my chest that is both mine and not. There is also an awareness that, while this is compelling, it isn’t the only side to the story.
Elling continues, “Between the support of the humans and some mistakes we made thousands of years ago, the angels outnumber us significantly. They hold all of the power. We are weak, and with our weakness, nature is near to fully failing. Our kind and our magic grow ever weaker, and soon, if nothing changes, we will cease to exist.”
“All of our kind are needed to farm these spaces and produce food to satisfy the world’s needs. With no time to do anything else, it is difficult to devise a solution to the impasse we find ourselves in.”
The demon is looking at me, but when I meet his gaze, he quickly turns away.
“I am sorry, small one, that you were given no choice in your creation. Serving the side of shadows as any but a demon will not be an easy path. Those who find out will judge you and seek to eliminate the threat of your existence without trying to understand.”
I expect to feel fear. Instead, the paths on the map just clear slightly, confirming the words of the demon without the weight of emotion.
“Come,” he says then, holding his hand to me. His face is kind as he looks at me.
I take his hand, and he supports me off the bed and out of the small room.
He begins to lead me parallel to a wall, but as I look toward the center of the room, I see a clearing through the trees that seems somehow familiar to me.
A memory that is not mine pulls me toward it even as I feel Elling pulling me in a different direction.
Subconsciously, my body changes the steps of the dance suddenly and twists away.
I move, as of yet unaware of my body’s plans, towards the clearing. I hear Elling call behind me, but it is not of importance to me at this moment.
I make my way through the undergrowth, navigating this as I navigated the fight with the angel.
Suddenly, I break through into the clearing I somehow recognize.
As I look around, a few demons step through the trees in front of me, and as one, they turn and focus upon me.
One of them has a large black crow perched on his shoulder.
I recognize another as the demon who introduced himself as Chiron.
As I stare at them, Elling, who is now behind me, grabs my shoulder and begins to direct me back in the direction we just came from.
Chiron is looking at me, at my bandaged leg specifically, and he opens his mouth as though to say something.
Before anyone can do anything else, Malam himself emerges from the middle of the group and says something to Elling in their guttural language. My legs shake while the conversation happens above my head.
Eventually, although still speaking, Elling releases his hold on my arm, and I am left to stand unaided. Finally, the conversation ceases, and he leaves. Malam holds out a hand. I take it and allow myself to be pulled behind him through the center of the group, which parts for us.
He brings me to a different clearing with a bench.
We are alone here. Pressing me to sit, he then settles himself on the bench next to me.
Kindly, but with the sound of violence behind the words he says, “Why did you have angel blood on your skirt, and why is there a wound from an Angelforged blade on your leg?”
Unsure what exactly his meaning is, somehow, the memories he placed in my head have a response. “An angel attacked me and I killed him,” I say even as my vision starts to grey out at the edges. “I must not have fought as well as I should.”
“You fought with swords?” he asks, his guttural voice sounding tight.
“Yes, I found one on the back of a carriage.”
Malam hesitates. Glancing briefly at me and seeing something that worries him, he stands.
Drawing me up with him by my hand, he begins to lead me somewhere.
I’m aware of being pulled after him for a couple of steps, and then I feel my knees hit a firm surface.
Moments later, the blackness pulls me toward unconsciousness.
Even as it overtakes me, I have the sudden feeling of shadowed flight before I’m pulled completely under.