Author's Preface
Merkra: My sister taught me a word.
Solana: Oh?
Merkra: I actually don’t know if it’s a real word, but do you know what a meet-cute is?
Solana: I think that is two words, darling.
Merkra: Nah, definitely one. Anyway, this is uhh…sort of that. It’s not at the same time, but sort of. It’s horrific. Disgusting. And somehow really sweet and weirdly intimate.
Solana: That sounds strangely similar to my life.
Merkra: chokes on boisterous laughter That is mean!
Solana: You are not the only one who can joke.
Merkra: Apparently not. Absolutely savage. So we’ve finally come to the meetup. The comments have been calling for it. What were your initial thoughts?
Solana: Initial impression was confusion. Fletcher’s journal covers the meeting with surprising detail. As you have stated, to the point of being disgusting, which is unlike most of his annotations. Sifting through page after page of song lyrics for what were normally scraps of story was frustrating. This was not that.
Fletcher rolled, doing his best to dodge now stomping hooves as the spooked mounts reacted to what was a completely reasonable reaction on his part.
“Phoenix, forgive me.” Fletcher grunted as he pushed himself up to his feet and looked up at the wrapped stranger. “Y-you startled me.” He stammered, dusting off his tunic in attempt to hide his shaking hands.
“Wa…” the weak, broken voice called—no—begged.
Fletcher moved towards the stranger. He stroked the horse, more an apology than command, and attempted to coax it to kneel. “I want to help. I need to get you down, though. Can you tell me what happened?”
“Wat…Water…” She coughed, a vile stinking cough that smelt of bile and blood.
“Water. Yes, of course.” The horse eventually stooped down enough for him to grab the bundle. Fletcher winced as his fingers on her back drew a pained cry from the woman. “So sorry. So sorry.”
Now a heap on the short, mostly dead grass, Fletcher swallowed hard and grabbed his water skin off the saddle. She tried to grab at it, but let out another pained squeak.
“Hey, it’s alright.” Fletcher sat down in front of her, the smell assaulting his senses to the point of nearly blinding him. With shaky fingers, he pulled the blanket back just under her hair.
Had she not opened her eyes and revealed the deep amber with flecks of jade, he would never have connected her ruined flesh to the woman he’d met. The Gifted from Jinty McGinty’s deep brown skin had turned the color of a bruised plum and pulled so tight across her face it looked like polished, scorched wood. The front of her seemed to be saved from the brunt of the damage.
He pressed his waterskin to her lips and tilted it up, letting a swallow of water run over her cracked, peeling lips. Enormous blisters wept a yellow-white fluid on the backs of her arms and shoulders, but around her neck and elbows those pustules popped, leaving raw, glistening patches. She kept the blanket hugged tight to her. Fletcher hadn’t decided if that was because she didn’t want to expose herself, or if the blanket had fused to her skin.
“Slow,” he whispered, doing his best to keep his face and voice as level as possible. “We should probably get you cleaned up. I’m no healer, but I’ve got clean water and clean clothes we can bandage you with.”
“P-pain..” She gasped out, a bit of the water getting rejected by her stomach.
“Yeah, all I’ve got for that is liquor. Probably not a good idea considering how dehydrated you are,” Fletcher dug a set of his clothing out of his saddlebags and tore them into haphazard strips.
She took a deep, gurgling breath and pulled back on the blanket. Fletcher’s stomach lurched at the sound of squelching flesh and the fresh release of the eye watering scent.
“Okay, okay.” He held a hand out to her to stop any further pulling. “This is obviously going to hurt. I can maybe help… You’ve just gotta go with it?”
“Anyt-thing” struggled from her throat.
Fletcher set the strips aside and grabbed his lute. Hesitated. Then also took a long draw from the bottle of liquor in his bag. It wasn’t going to help her any, but if he was going to get through this…he was going to need it.
Her lungs expelled wet air, which he supposed was supposed to be a laugh. “A lute? G-Gonna bash…me over the h-head with it.”
Fletcher almost laughed. “Yeah, blunt force trauma is the best medicine. Just shut up and listen.” He cleared his throat and stared down at the strings. Whether the sprite was the source of his power or a byproduct didn’t matter now. He needed her. He took a shaky breath and picked at the strings. Panic flooded his mind for only a moment before the bright orange sprite squeezed out of a note and landed on Atania’s cheek.
“I’ve seen the storms that never break
Felt the loss a man can’t fake
But I know the sound of a soul in need
So I’ll sing it out, let it fall on me
Lay it down, let it fall on me
I’ll bear the hurt, let you breathe free
I’ve felt the fire, I’ll face it again
Your pain, my burden
Your healing, my end.”
As her face relaxed, the heat in his limbs and back built. He knew it was her pain, not his, but knowing didn’t dull the pain spidering across his limbs.
“How did you do that? You’re not Deviltouched.” Her hairless brows furrowed, but she didn’t seem to notice the sprite as it perched itself on the tip of her nose, wafting back and forth with her breathing.
“It’s not likely to last very long.” Fletcher winced as he helped her ease the blanket from her back. “Should work fast.”
Other than a few popped blisters, the fabric lifted from her back easily enough. Bits of leather were all but fused into the exposed flesh of her back. Getting her to a healer was top priority.
“This is going to sting, but I’m holding the brunt of it still. Just breathe.” Fletcher took another long drink from the bottle of liquor before switching to the water and slowly drizzling it over her back and down her thighs. She whimpered, but otherwise remained completely still and silent, unlike Fletcher.
As soon as the water touched her skin, intense pain shot up his spine and blurred his vision. He shook like a leaf in a gale, but kept his grip firm on the waterskin. He emptied out what was left onto the burns, took a moment to collect himself, then grabbed the clothing he’d torn up.
“Gonna need your help…wrapping you up.” He spoke through a clenched jaw.
“You’re the bard.” She said, looking up at him with sudden clarity. “From the tavern.”
“Fletcher.” He nodded and started to wrap his clothing around her thighs.
“Atania…” she said, lifting her legs slightly as he wrapped them. “What kind of magic is this? I hardly feel anything.”
“Call it the power of music..” When the sentence popped into his head, it sounded suave, confident. The pain and awkwardness of wrapping her basically skinless butt squelched any hope of him sounding even slightly charming.
“Uhuh..” She grunted. The damage may have made her face impossible to read, but it didn’t take a genius to know she thought he was full of shit.
Putting the stinking fabric he’d peeled off of her seemed counterproductive, so, after getting her bandaged to the best of his ability, Fletcher wrapped her up in his blanket and helped her up onto the horse again.
“We should get you to an actual healer. Cleaning you up helped, but it’s a mess back there.” Fletcher rolled his neck, the pain in his back and legs beginning to dull. “How’s the pain?” He asked packing up his saddlebags and climbing up onto his horse with minimal struggle.
“Starting to come back.” She said, blinking hard. “Any chance you’ve got any more of that magic music?”
Fletcher shook his head. “Don’t think it will work a second time, sorry.” It definitely would work. He was just getting nervous about digging around in people’s heads. Especially this one. Even if it was to help, the quiet oppression of Etos’ people made him even more nervous about sharing what he could do.
“Well, try not to let me go into shock, huh?” She said, closing her eyes and resting her head against the horse. “Suck to die out here, after everything.”
“Get some rest. I’ll get you back to Raven’s Crest.”
He didn’t need to tell her twice. Within moments, she’d collapsed against the horse, ghastly breaths tearing through her airways. The Capitol was at least another day’s ride away, but despite his own exhaustion, Fletcher remained awake to watch over her. It was dusk when she woke again with a grumble.
“Fuuuck.” Her shoulders twisted.
“Easy.” Fletcher reached over to keep the blanket hoisted up on her shoulders. “I’m out of fresh clothes.”
“Pain’s back…” She peeked out of one eye at him. “Can you do the thing?”
Avoiding eye contact, Fletcher shook his head. “Too dangerous.”
She didn’t respond right away, but he could feel her staring at him. “You’re not going to tell me how you did it? You’re not Deviltouched. Your lute some kind of artifact?”
He let out a slight chuckle. “In the sense that it’s old, maybe, no magic though.” Purple and orange streaks decorated the sky in front of them, and he’d even almost gotten used to the smell of her sickening flesh. He was feeling lucky. “Tell you what. You tell me how you barbequed yourself, I’ll tell you how I took your pain away.”
“Campfire.” She said after a beat.
“Campfire? You get extra cold and decide to sit in it for a while?”
She let out a sharp breath that, if he didn’t know any better, would have sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I’ll kick your ass.”
“How did you know threats of violence were my preferred way to receive affection?” Fletcher quipped, holding his hand to his heart. He could still feel the echoes of her pain, so he knew it hadn’t returned completely, but her ability to take and deliver verbal jabs was a good sign. Or maybe she was just too tough for her own good.
“Well, if you’re not going to do the mysterious magic, at least talk to me.” She mumbled. “Maybe the boredom will render me comatose.”
Fletch continued to banter with her, doing his best to keep her mind off the pain. While she was not in good shape, it seemed like she’d passed the most dangerous time. Even with the extent of the damage, a Gifted healer would have her on her feet within a few days. There would probably be some severe scarring, but Fletcher had seen the Gifted do genuine miracles.
He’d forced himself to stay awake through the night and pushing into the next day. When she fell asleep, he’d take the reins of her horse to keep it on course and make sure the blanket stayed up over her shoulders. As his eyelids started to fail him, the buildings of Raven’s Crest sprang up on the horizon, giving him a jolt of energy. He let her sleep the remainder of the journey, only reaching over to wake her when they arrived at the stables outside the city.
“We’re here.”
For a moment, a smile crept across her face. Something inside him stirred that sent his stomach into a spiral he hadn’t felt in a very long time. Fletcher helped her down as best he could, and they left the horses at the stable. Letting her use him as a crutch, he lead her toward the port.
It was well into the evening, but the streets were still bustling with life. They garnered some curious looks from the citizens, and he could swear they were being followed by at least one. He wondered if they’d ever seen a Gifted show any kind of emotion, let alone be physically unable to walk without assistance. They were untouchables to the common folk.
“Thank you…” Her voice was low as they approached the docks, barely perceptible over the crowded market square behind them. The moment of vulnerability was fleeting, but enough to stick with him. “I probably could have made it on my own, but thanks.”
“I have no doubt.” He let go of her, keeping close as she took her first few steps before stepping back. “The pleasure was mine.” He bowed his head, fist to his gut.
“I’ll uhh…” She stuttered, adjusting the blanket on her shoulders. “Yeah, thanks.” She didn’t give him time to respond, turning and fumbling her way to the nearest ship. He watched as she batted at the hands of other Gifted that attempted to help her up the plank, and a sudden sinking feeling hit him in the pit of his stomach. A feeling like he might not ever see her again. The strange ache of letting her go took him by surprise.
Not as surprising as the sudden, sharp pain at the base of his skull.
Fletcher’s vision blurred, barely registering the cobblestones rushing for his face as the world tilted. Strong hands caught his arms and hauled him upright. Darkness swallowed the docks as heavy cloth covered his head and tightened around his neck.