Page 16 of Runes To Rain
“Come,” they order as they turn and walk away, and again I rush after them.
Moving along more quickly than is comfortable for my injured leg, we soon stand in front of a carriage. This time I climb in of my own accord and settle on the seat. I lean back before thinking and feel a modicum of surprise as the pressure of the seat does nothing to change the pain in my back.
As we travel, I find myself replaying the conversation with the other angel. I look at Bonum, who is once again sitting with a hood over their head, their face hidden in shadow. “Was that your leader?” I ask, my voice higher than I’d like it to be.
Without moving anything else, they nod their head once.
I hesitate, unsure if even talking to them carries a risk of some sort that I can’t yet see or understand.
As I’m grappling with those thoughts, they rasp out, “That was Rex, the High Leader. As the leader of this world, he is also your leader, little bird.” I can feel their eyes on me despite not being able to see their features beneath the shadows of the hood.
Even as I file that away, I find my mouth betraying me. “Rex is kind of an ass,” I say. As the words leave my lips, I wish I could take them back.
I wait for some blow to fall, but instead a single snort sounds from beneath the hood. Thankful I’m still alive, I pinch my mouth shut and look at the wall of the carriage opposite me until its movement grows still.
Once the carriage stops, Bonum moves smoothly out the door and, without turning in my direction, holds out a hand. I exit the carriage without taking it, but my injured leg doesn’t move as smoothly as I’d like. Stumbling forward, I roughly grasp their hand as I descend. I expect some admonishment, but they say nothing; instead, they continue forward towards the mansion. I follow once again as they stride up to the doors. There they pause and, reaching out, grasp my arm as they open the door.
As they bring me into my room and press me back towards my bed, I, for the first time, ignore their orders and remain standing.
They snarl at me, a raspy, dry sound like dead leaves skating over the pavement of the street. Then they press on my chest again. “I won’t have us discovered this way,”they rasp.
As I consider whether to obey, I reflect on the strange feeling, as though I’m playing some part in a large theater production without understanding the plot or my role. While I stand frozen, still not wanting to follow the orders of someone I don’t trust, a knock sounds on the door. They press more firmly, and despite myself, I relent, climbing into bed. I settle back, mostlyunder the sheets, dirtying the bed with feet that have tread bare over city streets.
Bonum turns to the door and, in a voice that is not their own and far too pleasant for my liking, calls, “Please come in.”
As the door opens, they are already re-bandaging my leg, which I notice has bled through its prior wrapping. The blood is thankfully a bright crimson now instead of black.
I note that Fem is in the room with us before I close my eyes and lay my head back on the pillow. I’m not tired, but the room is spinning slightly. I hear Fem talking quietly with Bonum, but can’t, or don’t care to, make out the words they are speaking.
THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM
Iwake and feel a sudden sense of relief as I realize I'm looking at the ceiling of my own room. I’m thrown for a minute, not remembering why I should be relieved to be in my own space. Then I remember the events of the day before.
I push myself up and pull back the blankets to inspect my injured leg. It is again wrapped in a fresh bandage, and there is no trace of blood. Something tells me to remain in bed, but I am quickly becoming restless with the recent lack of free will, so I push myself out from under the covers and onto the floor.
My face contorts with pain as I put weight on my leg. However, after a moment and a breath, I’m capable of moving to the small attached bathroom. I tend to my needs, remove the silky shift I am wearing, and clean myself as well as I can with a cloth and the sink. I pay particular attention to cleaning the dirt from the prior day’s adventures off my feet.
On a small shelf, I find a few nondescript bottles and a brush. I pull the brush through my hair, flinching as I catch on the multitude of tangles in the waves of pink. Once my hair is untangled, I reach up and somehow twist it against the nape of my neck. My hands act without conscious thought, which issomething I’m beginning to become uncomfortably familiar with. I find a couple of silver pins, which I knew were on the shelf from my previous exploration, and pin my hair.
Still looking in the mirror, I sigh at my mismatched eyes and the bright shadow wings now protruding from behind my shoulders. However, there is nothing to be done about either, so I turn back towards the bedroom.
Walking to the closet, I sort through and find a pair of leggings that I pull on. They’re mostly black with a few white and red swirls in a strange pattern down the side of the left leg from hip to knee. I also pull on a loose tunic that is a smoky grey. The back is lower than the front, and the sleeves are long enough to hang over my hands. My body thus hidden, I head towards the door.
As I get there, the knob moves as though of its own accord, and I brace myself, those thoughts of where to find a weapon renewing themselves feverishly in my head.
As I instinctively ready myself to disable whoever walks through the door, instead, I catch sight of Fem. He seems both surprised to see me outside of the bed and surprised to see whatever expression must be on my face. I pull myself back from whatever ledge I was about to leap from and walk forward and past him into the rest of the house.
He’s surprised enough that I get nearly past him before he reaches out to take my arm.
I pull it roughly from his grasp as I say, “What?” in a voice that sounds strangely like a blade being removed from a sheath.
His eyes widen further as he says, “I was just coming to check on you. You shouldn’t be up yet.” His voice is steady, but I can see how off balance he is.
That strange intelligence in me seems to be running figures instead of emotions, and it causes me to hesitate. My voice is softer as I respond, “I just don’t know why you would send an angel healer to me after what happened.”
Fem is frozen for a few breaths, looking at me strangely. “What?” he finally asks, looking surprised.
“Why would you send an angel to care for me after I had just killed one of their kind?” I hear the steel sound back in my voice.
