Dust (Of Dust and Darkness) - By Devon Ashley Page 0,17

reality is our future.” With a bleak look, she adds, “We’re all going to die here.” Overcome by our dire situation, I feel the need to comfort her, to comfort myself. I reach out and place my hand upon her shoulder and we stand in silence for a moment, both looking at our feet.

I’m not sure what I’m feeling right at this moment. I know I should be angry, and I am. I want to lash out at my captors and inflict the same pain they’ve inflicted on me. I want to snatch and roughly break their wings. I want to throw them away in a dark pit and let them starve to death, spending the days that pass thinking they’re going to die. I want them to desperately try to escape and injure themselves further in the process. But at the same time I feel all this anger, I sort of feel defeated. And I hate myself for that. I don’t want to be defeated. To be stolen and forced into slavery. I want my fellow pixies to realize I didn’t leave at my own volition and come look for me. To come save me and all the others taken against their will. But deep down I know that won’t happen. Because they think I’m flighty and expected me to up and leave one day. And it makes me sad. And makes me wonder about all those pixies that left our Hollow and never came back. Were they stolen too?

I’m about to ask Holly, but her attention is diverted to the sky. I drop my arm as several spriggans fly into the pit and begin plucking pixies, taking them topside. I’ve never seen a spriggan before but I recognize them easily. The largest of the faeries, they’re both taller and bulkier in the muscle department, which is why they’re often used for protection or mercenary-type positions. Their skin is the color of dried mud and rough like sandpaper, with bulbous spade-shaped heads that seem abnormally large, even for their body size. These particular spriggans all have the same black hair, cut an inch long and spiked upward.

“Rosalie, when we reach the work line, go all the way to the end. That’s where you and I are working today, okay?” I nod, silently watching the spriggans snag one pixie after another. “Just stay quiet, don’t fidget when they move you and don’t talk when they’re around. Got it?” I nod again, just as two spriggans return to the pit to collect us. My captor grabs me under my arms from behind and my feet leave the ground. He holds me awkwardly away from his body, as if I’m the one that’s disgusting to touch. His hands are sweaty against my skin and I do my best not to cringe, especially since I could slip out of his grasp so easily. The pit’s walls are about one hundred inches high so it doesn’t take long to ascend to the top. My skin shivers as we exit the pit. He disposes of me next to the other pixies, who quietly hang their heads and fall into line. I do the same, fighting the curiosity to scan my surroundings.

We walk for at least ten minutes, but I don’t mind. After being trapped in a hole for several days, it just feels good to be out stretching my legs, even with my muscles twitching and cramping in protest. It seems our pit is on the outskirts of a forest because we immediately step onto a path and venture inward. The trail we’re following is well worn and I know it’s because these pixies have trampled it for an endless amount of days. Do they stomp on purpose? Maybe hoping some pixie or decent-hearted faerie will follow it out of curiosity and discover this unlawful prison? I stomp a little harder than necessary myself, ignoring the aching in my knees. Our steps fall in sync and the repetitive steps are both rhythmic and hypnotic. It’s almost soothing – at least for me – and it’s possible nature agrees. The forest is eerily silent. I’m not sure if all the living things are quietly watching as we pass by or if they’ve bailed on this area completely.

As we march, I keep my head forward but push my eyes as far outward as possible, sweeping the forest. There’s literally no brush or weeds or flowers or anything around the trunks. The forest appears desolate, almost like a