caressed the bottom of the tray with my finger, the one that had been affected. Texture registered to my touch like never before. I could feel each line of my fingerprint chaffing over the rusty metal as if they were great planes gliding over sandpaper. The particles of rust were pinpricks of intense quality, radiant as bloody stardust, telling a story like braille. I could see the metal in my mind's eye, once shining, bright as a blade – and the weather that warped it, coated it, saturated it, and the spots of disease that cropped up like the plague. I felt the steadfast soul of the metal buckle and crumble in my hands, until it was choked out completely as if from a weed, wrestled into a pulpy excuse for what it once was. Then, withered, the soul of it left the metal altogether – a crippled, contaminated shell to live out its days in misery. As with all metal souls, the spirit of the tray now blazed in the great sword of the gods, which was a metal of all metals, too bright with the sun's reflection to look at, and so sharp that it could cleave the world in two like a melon.
I blinked away the vision, if it could be called a vision. In truth it was more like an unbidden musing, initiated by something else. A trailing result of my sickness?
I disengaged my finger from the metal regardless, rendered just a little bit uncomfortable, and reminded myself to scrub the digit later – just so there was no question as to there being any deviant remnant of mischief tattooed into my fingerprints.
*
Twilight fell like a beast crouching in the grass. I met its horizon-gray eyes out the window, pausing my work in realization. I clutched the garment I was mending closer for a moment, taking comfort in its texture as the gray hour glazed everything outside, silently sapping it of life. It had bled out as if from the subtle slitting of sunshine wrists, which none of us noticed until the body had gone cold. And now night crouched on its precipice, bloody from the catch, ready to pounce lower and walk among us.
It was time, once again.
“Henry,” I called, but it dispersed more like a croak. He appeared presently in the doorway from the other room. A piece of gnawing grass protruded through his lips, and he brushed his hands off as he looked to me for continuation. “The others, please,” I bade barely above a whisper. How was I going to accomplish this?
His eyes went likewise to the land beyond the window, and he turned in cooperation to rally the other slaves. I made my way outside, not keen on waiting for any greater darkness to ward off the beasts I knew were out there. They'd been spotted recently; we couldn't take chances putting off our defenses. We couldn't leave ourselves vulnerable for an instant.
There was a slight commotion as Tanen caught up to me, seemingly to make sure I didn't go out alone. It was thoughtful of him, I hazarded. That bubble of pride in me went mostly unheard in the light of my condition and the fact that I was insecure with the task at hand. I let go of begrudging him the gesture, frankly glad to have someone at my back.
“What do I do?” he asked.
“Can you sing?” I inquired.
“I have a voice,” he confirmed agreeably enough.
“Then stand shy of the field, and learn from the others. I could do with a voice to fill in for Letta. If my beacon isn't great enough, I'll get lost out there.”
He nodded and slowed, even though it seemed he would rather be more helpful. I heard him shift behind me, trying to settle in. Then I was treading into the first stubble of the grasses, swishing through them like the shallows of the ocean, growing deeper and deeper until I was submerged in the patchy tide up to my shoulders.
The first breaths of mist eddied through, cold whispers on my skin. I shivered, caressed by their ghostly intentions, feeling raw and naked as the chill settled around me. I could almost see it in descending layers, heavy as a shroud on the ground but light as a feather in the air. A feeling at once delicate and brutal.
It was scarcely a ghost – but a restless spirit carries great weight.
Breathing the stuff hurt my lungs. They were clenched into a fist, deep