Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,14
in our skin, but quite a few are shades of green and some even blue, which I didn’t even know existed. And off to the far end of the pit is a pixie similar to a powder-blue hydrangea with the most alluring violet-shaded hair. Luckily she has her back to me because I couldn’t withdraw my gaze. Her colors are so mesmerizing, and as inappropriate as it is considering our situation, a twinge of envy stirs in my stomach.
But there’s one thing all the pixies do have in common. There’s no magic left in any of their wings. No shimmer. No luminescence. And I have this awful feeling that my wings look no different.
“Come,” she says, pulling me gently to my feet to avoid hurting my sore muscles. “I know you have questions and I promise we’ll answer them, but we need to cleanse your skin before the sun rises.”
“Why before the sun rises?”
“Because we work sunrise to sunset, no exceptions.”
I rise and follow her, noting her attire. Unlike the two pieces of fabric covering my body, Juniper’s clothing is a one-piece that’s been tied together by random strips of worn-out, faded fabrics of all colors. She’s done her best to cover up but there are gaping holes regardless. Juniper leads me to the far end of what I think is a pit, which seems to be no more than a couple hundred inches in diameter. I realize pixies are pretty short, but still, there has to be at least twenty to thirty residing in this pit. And even though most of their bodies are pretty well spaced apart, it still seems a little crowded.
We stop at a hole in the ground, no more than one foot square. As I lean over, I catch a glimpse of myself in the water it contains. A steady drip creates concentric rings in the pool and makes it difficult to focus, but I can tell something dark is on my forehead. I reach up to touch the spot in question. It feels dry and crusty, and tiny dark flakes break off and float aimlessly towards the ground. How I desperately wish I was light enough for the wind to take me…not that it’s flowing at this very moment in time.
“Here,” Juniper says. “Let me refresh the water so we can clean you up.” She grunts as she tugs on a rope with both hands. Above us a slab of wood lifts upward and the steady drip turns into a heavy flow that rushes over the pit’s edge and into the hole. The flow hits with enough force to expel the pooled water in one large wave. The wasted water rages along the edge of the pit, where the ground slopes downward, and disappears over the horizon. I begin to wonder if our so-called pit was once part of the river where the water pooled and produced a waterfall.
“Jump in, but be mindful of your wings. Those sprig jerks make it habit to keep them broken and you don’t want them to get infected.” With the excruciating pain from day one fresh on my mind, I do as she suggests and sit in the water as gently as possible. The clamp angles my wings downward, so their tips are forced to submerge. The water laps against the wings, applying pressure to the outer, broken structure at the base of my spine, and I hold my breath until the stinging fades.
The fresh clear water clouds and turns a sickening shade of brown. Together we rub down my skin and wash four days worth of cave grime off my wounds. It’s odd having someone else wash me, but I can’t deny there are places my stiff muscles just can’t reach right now, and I welcome the extra set of hands. When she asks me to stand and reaches for the rope again, I panic and reach to stop her. Remembering the food shortage last night and how that one pixie was vehemently vocal against sharing, I immediately worry about water usage.
“Is there enough water for me?” I ask, my hand shaking as it lightly grabs her arm. “I don’t want to upset anyone.”
Sensing the source of my true fear, a soft smile spreads across Juniper’s face. For a moment her cheeks appear healthy and full. “Don’t you worry about Willow. You’re not the one she’s really mad at. And as for the water, yes, there’s enough. They do restrict the amount of food they give us,