On Black Wings (11 page)

I kick the chair out from underneath me, retreat back while wrestling free, and hold a finger in his face. "No! No, don't! Get that thing away for me!"

I’m several piece of junk furniture away from him, screaming and retreating, my wings unfurled and angry. I don’t care that I’m knocking half of this garbage over, I just want him to stop.

I feel my anger rising, but the skeletal man isn’t chasing me.

He stands there with the needle and thread, I can't read any emotion, and he hesitates as it seems confused. I feel my lip, and look at my finger. No blood, but it still hurts. "No! You're not doing that to me! Put that thing away!"

Is there even any negotiating?

I raise my black wings slightly to make my point, more junk falling over, and I am not going to hesitate if I have to harden these and slice him in half. The skeleton man hesitates again, holding the needle as if he were going to continue. I point at him again. "No!"

I stare into dead eyes for longer than I ever wished, trying to make sense of him and why. “No! Explain yourself! Who are you?”

As if he could speak back to me.

Still, if a skeleton can walk, it can talk, right?

He turns, and puts the needle away in a small wooden drawer. The skeletal man turns to me and stares, his hollow eyes staring right through me. I’ll probably never find out why he did that to me.

"What you want? Why did you take me here? Why did you try to sew my mouth shut?"

I just stare at him. I just stare at him like he's nothing, like I'm not afraid of him, and I am his equal. I blink. Not his equal, his superior. He is dead, and I am alive. I lower my finger, and just glare. I look back towards the entrance of the cave, and then at him.

"I am leaving."

He raises his bony hand, waves it around the room, and points at all of the junk. He then points his bony finger at me. Then, he just stands there, waiting.

I sigh. "What? You want me to look around? For what? Seriously?"

I look both ways, and peer into the near darkness at the piles of junk. I look back at him and point. "No funny stuff."

He lowers his bony hands and just stands there.

Right, you just stay where you are, buster.

I turn, and start rummaging through the junk. It looks like some sort of Ren Faire cast-off pile, with rotting leather scabbards, random bits of chain mail, leather shoulder pads, belts, and pieces of plate armor all scattered about open trunks and hanging on broken racks. I end up tossing more of the junk to the side and digging through it more than anything else.

"What are you looking for? What do you want me to get you?" I look back at him, and thankfully he's not holding a needle and thread anymore. "What am I looking for?"

He points at me, and then towards the junk.

"You want me to take something? You want me to get dressed? In this?"

The skeleton man folds his fingers over his belt contently.

"Are you serious?" I sigh, looking at some of the castoffs and holding them up. "I'm not even sure there's anything my size here."

I have no idea. From being led around in a graveyard by one man, nearly killed by the sight of another, and now this skeleton trying to sew my mouth shut and offering me garbage to wear has gotten my suspension of disbelief all screwed up. I just have no idea. None of this makes any sense, and the skeleton from an attacker one moment to someone wanting to dress me the next.

Why sew my mouth shut? Well, I guess it's not like he values flesh that much anyways. Maybe he got sick of my questions. Maybe it's something he does to everyone that comes down here. I peer back, he hasn't moved and I'm not letting him do it. I'm just lost a strange world right now, hurting, alone, and too miserable to be afraid.

“Who are you?”

The shine of black leather catches my eye. I recognize the dull glint of rusting chain mail, and pull a black leather corset free. Its edges are trimmed by gold, with fancy gold patterns sewn along the surface of the leather. It looks like something a fancy dominatrix or dark elf would wear, but I like it in a darkly sinister way. There are hundreds of gold studs in decorative patterns along it, and it's so intricately made it looks beautiful, honestly.

I hold the corset against myself, pushing it into place against my pink number seventeen shirt. It feels like it would fit, and I smile. Listen, this is the first smile I've had all day, and in a long time. I turn to the skeleton. "Can I have this?"

He slowly nods his head. I should have known.

I keep looking through the pile, finding a pair of boots, a cloak, gloves, three belts, and strappy leggings to match. Predictably, as with all female clothes created by male fantasies, there is a gold trimmed black leather pair of panties to match.

I turn to the skeleton holding up the panties. "Are you serious?"

The skeleton stands there, obviously not caring about a little bare flesh.

I look around the pile. "Is anymore to this? Is there anything else to this outfit?"

The skeleton shakes his head, no, obviously not.

Does he keep track of every little piece of junk in here? Well, I suppose he has the time. I look at him again, no movement, no threatening posture, just patience. The dead are endlessly patient.

I put everything on a scratched and ancient table. I look back at him. "Is there anything else, anything else in here for me?"

The skeleton stands there, fingers intertwined and locked together over his belt buckle as if he was still waiting for me. Obviously not, so I keep looking, walking further into the pile of junk and rummaging about.

What am I looking for? Seriously, I am stuck in a cave with a skeleton and he is dressing me up like some sort of fantasy fashion doll. I pick up an ancient battered shield and look at in the light, it's obviously seen one too many mace blows for its day. I toss it to the side, and a weapon rack filled with swords catches my eye. I walk over and start pulling them down one by one, and checking each one out.

I look back at him. "This? You want me to have a weapon? After what you tried to do to me? I would seriously reconsider that you want me to have one of these right now, even though I have no idea how to use it."

No reaction from Mr. Bones, and the next one I pick up feels incredibly light my hand. It has a black leather grip, silver trim, and it almost feels weightless. I grab the black leather scabbard and pull the weapon free. The light catches the rune-covered blade perfectly, the light shining up into my eyes. I pulled the long blade free, and give it a couple swings. It's weightless, and it feels solid and powerful.

I point the blade of the skeleton and focus my eyes upon him. "This? Is this the one?"

The skeleton unlocks his fingers, turns, and starts walking out of the cave.

"I guess so. I think we’re done here." I carefully sheath the sword, and walk back towards the table holding my new armor. I find the loop on the sword's scabbard and thread the belt through it. I watch the skeleton walk into the darkness, and begin climbing out of the cave. I give the cave full of junk one last look, and see a small black chain hanging on a broken rack. I reach over and take the chain, reach into my pocket, pull out my wedding ring, loop it through, and put it around my neck.

Some things I don't want to let go of.

I walk out of the cave a different woman, clad in black leather armor, black wings upon my back, and a sword upon my hip. I step into the light, and run my fingers through my hair.  I reach down and fix the tops of my boots.  I adjust my gloves, pulling them as far up as they will go. I'm still in pain, but I feel different.

I am a warrior, this is what they want me to be. I don't know why, but someone wants me dressing to be a part of something I do not know.

The skeleton is gone, he's nowhere to be seen. Why me? Why prepare me? For what? Something makes me very nervous about all of this, something is wrong when the un-living creatures of death show up and give you weapons.

What are
they
afraid of?

The black horse walks around the mound and whinnies. It lowers its head and nays.

"You like the new me? This isn't like the old me at all." I’m speaking to a horse, I know, I’ve lost my mind a couple of nightmares ago, so forgive me. Still, with my armor and my wings, I feel different, powerful, almost sinister and wicked.

Maybe it’s the wings, the black feathered wings upon my back. The leather panties too, I am so ashamed to be walking around in them, neither me nor my older self would have approved. Still, if I’m going to dress the part, I will go all the way. I loosen the wide band around my neck, the one that plunges down against my chest with the solid gold loop hanging at the tip.

I feel strange, inside I still hurt, my head still pounds from whatever the burning man did to it, but everywhere the leather touches me feels great. No aches, no pains, and I feel strangely invigorated and…powerful. Maybe the clothes do make the girl after all.

I take a long look at my glove, black leather going nearly all the way up my arm, inlaid gold stitching and patterns around solid gold studs. I flex my fingers and slowly make a fist, drops of mist dotting the surface of my hand.

Maybe, just maybe, I’m one of them now.

The horse scuffs his foot in the mud, and tosses its head in the direction of the rain. Water flies from him, I guess it is that wet out here after all. I guess I was too sore to notice.

I sling a long black cloak over my shoulder, I found it right before I left the cave, hanging on an old wooden rack. It may come in handy to keep me dry, or to conceal my wings. Part of me doesn’t want to hide them anymore.

I am who I became.

"So you know where we are going? Like you took me here? Like you took me to the diner, and away from my house." I rub his nose. "That man, back there at the graveyard, he said you found me? Why me? Why did you look for me? Why did you save me?"

The horse scuffs his foot again, nays, and snorts his nose throwing his head to the side again.

"We have to go don't we?"

The horse nods.

Damn if he understands me. I climb on the horse, and we ride off into the sickly green forest towards the driving rain.

CHAPTER XV:

We’re Not Alone

There’s so much life around me. The deeply green forest goes on and on, moss clinging to wide trunks, ferns carpeting the forest floor, and branches shading us from high above. Rain drips through this teeming mass of life, and I have to pull my cloak over my face for shelter.

The forest hides a sickly green secret. Nearly every tree is hollow with rot, large festering scars marring their trunks, and the branches above sagging as if these majestic trees can’t hold their own weight anymore. The greens are off too, instead of emerald and bright, the colors here are olive and gray, a pallor of death hanging over the forest like a pallbearer’s mournful stare. The splintered trunks and rotting logs of the dead lie everywhere, melting into the canopy of mossy wet death underfoot.

There isn’t anyone out here, not alive at least.

I lean my head back and take a couple drops of water into my open mouth. Who was the skeleton man? Why did he attack, or at least, try to sew my mouth shut? Why? Haven’t I suffered enough?

The thought only hits me too late the rain could be poison, so I spit out as much as I can before I feel like I am acting silly. Still, why is everything so dead out here?

Maybe this is Hell. Maybe I was never a good mother, and I’ve been damned to Hell. Maybe I’m mad and none of this is real. Maybe my life is ending and these are my precious last few thoughts firing away as I slowly descend into death. Maybe I’ll end up face-to-face with the Devil himself.

I close my eyes and pat the horse’s back with my armored leather glove. I shift my wings, and adjust the armor I wear. It looks like I am some character out of a comic-book convention, some sad sorry girl playing dress-up for the boys. I guess I shouldn’t knock them, I’m betting they work hard on their costumes, and it brings them some measure of enjoyment showing off what they have done.

But I bet it is still as uncomfortable as this.

I’d never let my kids ever wear something like this either.

Then it hits me. My babies are dead. I let out several long breaths trying to cope. I don’t know. I don’t know. You got to stop thinking this way. You can go back and save them, I think. Please God, please help me save them.

They are dead. The thought keeps coming back to me like an morbid echo, my babies are dead, my babies are dead. I feel the tears well up and I swallow hard; I can’t, I got to believe I can save them. Whatever I am now, some hellish demon, some creation of my nightmares, I will wake up, I will will myself to save them, and everything will be okay.

Everything will be okay.

I sniff, I am pretty good at lying to myself, aren’t I?

Jesus please, God help me.

I have to keep riding. The rain shows no signs of letting up. We ride through this decaying, dying world full of life - but hardly a sound on one. I focus on listening, but there’s no birds, no calls, and not even the distant sound of an expressway echoing through the hills. Nothing. Just me and this horse, riding alone along a twisting trail.

The trail is mostly overgrown, the horse pushing through the ferns and branches over the path. Deep roots cut across the dead-leaf covered ground, slick with moisture, the leaves brown and slimy looking wet to the touch.

Instead of focusing close, I try far, peering through the gray haze of rain and through the passing trees. Nothing, not one fence, not one house, not one sign of life or civilization out here. Tree after tree in every direction, dead rotting logs stacked one upon the other, giant moss-covered boulders lying dead and cracked from the moisture, and sickly green ferns filling in every place not a tree.

My sword rides heavy on my hip. Even though the weapon is as light as the air which it cuts, the scabbard and belts add more weight to me than the weapon itself. I never even owned a gun, much less a sword. I even banned my kids from playing with the foam plastic swords at other kid’s houses.