Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,11
bother me with hunger requests anymore. My ear is flush with the ground so all I hear is that strange humming noise inside the cave, which incidentally, now seems to hum along with the tune repeating in my head. It soothes me in a strange way, and I know it’ll probably be the last sound I ever hear. As if that realization isn’t dreadful enough, my eyes begin playing tricks on me. It’s a cruel hallucination to show me a faint yellowish glow now that I’m knocking on Father Time’s door. My head won’t budge, and looking out the corner of my eye gives me an intense headache. To add insult to injury, the glow grows larger and larger as it descends into my prison, blinding me, finally its metal canister clinking on the rock beside me. Like a moth to a flame, it’s all I can focus on, and I fear the end has come. “Father Time?” I try to ask, but it comes out as a garbled whisper. Has the last grain of sand in my personal hour glass finally fallen?
I feel a rough, pointed nudge in my side and hear the words, “We may have left this one too long. Maybe we should just leave it.”
I know I should care what the voices above me are saying, but I can’t stop admiring the flame before me, tumbling around in its glass lantern, as much a prisoner as I am. I desperately want to reach out and touch it, to free it, and my fingers begin to twitch with anticipation.
A second voice huffs heavily and grunts, “I’m not going back for another. Let’s see if it survives first.”
“Fine.”
Two pairs of hands grab me and lift me off the ground, their mitts so large they practically wrap completely around my arms. Sadly, all I seem to care about is that they’re moving me farther away from the flame. I never appreciated the ability of making fire before I got thrown into this hellhole. I groan with disappointment because I’m too weak to protest any other way. My head hangs low as I feel our ascent up the prison. When I feel my body shift sideways, my heart jumps with excitement. I’m free! Oh, Mother Nature, I’m free!
With the flame’s light I’m now able to see the rocky floor just inches below us. It’s black with a hint of silvery sparkle twinkling at me as we fly over. I find solace in knowing my captors don’t intend on killing me, but I’m still left with zero sense of what’s going on and who they are, and more importantly, where I fit into this equation.
My skin shivers as a refreshing rush of wind tumbles past us through the tunnel, invigorating my sense of touch. I’m able to lift my aching neck for just a moment and spot the entrance to the cave that imprisoned me these past few days: foreboding with rocky peaks dropping down like canines in a wolf’s mouth. I certainly feel like I’ve been in the belly of the beast, but what an odd feeling to be going the opposite way in the maw, like I’m disgusting to taste, and the monster’s spiting me back out. Water showers down the other side and explains the constant hum I heard during my involuntary stay. My captors pause before the entrance and I wonder if they’re inexperienced flyers when it comes to wet wings. Had I the strength to escape their grasps and fly away, I’m sure I could have burst through the water with no problem. But then I remember the condition of my wings and I hang my head in reluctant defeat.
My captor with the gruff voice bellows, “Open up ya’ friggin’ sprig!”
A spriggan? Is that what holds me up? It makes sense. Spriggans are the largest of the faeries, coming in around fourteen inches tall, whereas faeries max out about nine and pixies seven. Barbarians at best, if you find a group of spriggans, they’re typically acting as mercenaries or bodyguards for someone. So this can’t be good.
I hear a thunderous clunk, like wood slapping against wood, and I lift my head enough to see the shower before me turn into a trickling rain. As my captors fly us out of the cave and over a tiny stream, I’m sprinkled with water droplets. I quickly lick the ones on my shoulders and feel the instant gratification, but my body yearns for so much more. I rub my