Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,15
but they’ve always allowed us as much fresh water as we’ve needed.”
My tense muscles relax and I step out of the way so Juniper can refresh the bath. Now mostly dirt-free, I can enjoy the refreshing cool water against my smooth skin. As I go to rewash my left arm, I immediately notice something that wasn’t there before. There, on the outside of my left wrist is the number eighty-nine. I rub with my hand but the number stays put. I rub harder, and when it fails to disappear again, I ask, “Juniper? Eighty-nine?”
I hear her moan before she answers. “You’re reading it wrong. It’s sixty-eight.” Her wrist swings to my line of sight and I see the number forty-one. It’s more faded because her skin has stretched and thinned through the years.
“It’s permanent?” I ask fearfully, but I already know the answer. I can’t believe those flippin’ sprigs marked me!
“Yes. It’s some type of permanent ink. I suspect they keep a list of certain things about us, but I really don’t know.”
Juniper returns to cleansing my back. I pay closer attention to my wounds this time, particularly the areas where scabs are forming over dirty particles. My arms and legs, and probably every centimeter I can’t see, is covered with pink scratches. A few are bright red and more sensitive, but the pain from all those infections combined doesn’t rival the pain I’m feeling as Juniper washes the base of my wings. I know she’s doing her best to be careful, working delicately around the steel clamp, but the water stings as she angles my wings. I feel an internal burn travel the length of my spine. I hunch as she washes, and desperately fight the tears by holding my breath and wincing the muscles in my face.
She squeezes my shoulder and whispers, “All done.” Several quick breaths force their way into my lungs. I try to comfort myself, thinking the pain can only lessen here on out. If I can just endure today, tomorrow will be better. Still, I’d kill to have the ingredients to make Healer’s herb and aloe vera salve from home to calm the burn and ease my pain.
I’m a little shaky but I manage to stand myself upright and walk back to the center of the pit. Most of the others are awake and moving about, and those that aren’t are stirring on the ground. Some are able to look me in the eyes, but most seem defeated and stare at the ground instead. I’ll admit, after the past few days, I too feel weak and a bit defeated. But I’m also incredibly angry inside; I’m just too tired to express it. I’m furious that someone ripped me from my sacred home and dumped me in a hole to rot. No, not to rot. To weaken me into submission so I can…so I can… What, exactly?
As Juniper hands me my morning bowl full of berry and seed mash, I ask, “Juniper, you still haven’t told me why I’m here. Why any of us are here.” She sighs and diverts her attention to the mash, which looks to be black wildflower seeds mixed with strawberries. She forces a bite and gums it. I imagine as hungry as she probably is, she no longer craves to eat the same thing day-in day-out anymore. “Juniper?”
She looks to me with those electric golden eyes and sadness overcomes her face. Two pixies standing beside us depart with their heads held a little lower than the moment before. She sighs and then says, “We females are here to powderize hallucinogenic mushrooms. There are also male pixies imprisoned nearby that mine and pulverize diamonds.”
My eyes widen and I gasp, so startled my heart skips a beat. “Pixie dust!” I burst. I’m immediately shushed by several pixies who turn to the sky in terror, expecting my outburst to draw unwanted attention from our captors. I throw my hand over my mouth, but when no spriggans appear, I slowly lower it.
Unbelievable. General pixie dust isn’t that difficult to make, just time-consuming. The crushed diamonds go into every batch and make up the very essence of pixie dust, but the mushrooms are only used in batches that are used in creating illusions. My fellow pixies are guilty of using it on unsuspecting animals, convincing them all sorts of horrible things are happening to them that don’t really exist. “Pixie dust?” I whisper this time. “Is that what the spriggans are making?”