Where the Wind Goes

Chapter 5 - Delly

The first thing Oliver heard when awoke was, "Is he dead?"

He wasn't. But he sure felt like he was.

His lungs were scratchy, and his skin itched and burned like he'd spent too much time out in the sun. Someone had removed his shirt and coated his skin in a slick balm that gave off a medicinal scent. It was uncomfortable, but at least he was still in the land of the living.

"Oh!" someone exclaimed. "He blinked! It appears humans aren't as fragile as I thought. Send word to Iri that he's awakening."

There was a muffled response, quiet footsteps like someone was walking on soft earth, and then the swish of fabric as they left.

"Water," Oliver croaked, and before he'd even finished the word, a cup appeared in his hand. He tried to lift it, but it spilled everywhere, jolting him awake. Instantly, his head began to swim.

"Careful now," a woman's voice warned.

He squinted into a purple light. "Who are you?" he asked, tasting sand with every word.

"I'm the person who saved your life." Her voice was honey-smooth. "No, no, you can thank me for when you're stronger."

She was a smallish woman, floating over him on a glowing purple cloud. It cast a warm luster to her burnished skin and wispy copper hair. She had wide eyes set into a mature face, and she watched him curiously as he patted around, feeling to make sure the world was stable again. He wondered if someone who could fly knew how to appreciate solid ground.

"I can't find my glasses," he realized aloud.

"I think those used to be them," the woman said, pointing to a clump of metal sitting on the table beside his cot. Oliver's heart sank as he picked up one of the ruined lenses.

"Ironic, isn't it?" the woman asked. "That something made of glass should be scratched up by sand."

She frowned when he didn't respond. He was lost in a foreign world and had almost died, but somehow, what scared him the most was the prospect of being blind.

"Oh, don't look so glum," she said quickly. She plucked the lens out of his grasp, and then folded her hands around the broken glasses. She began whispering in a song-like manner, and light shone between her fingers as if she were holding a star. When she opened her hands, his glasses were in pristine condition.

"There!" she pronounced proudly.

"How did you do that?"

The look she gave him was withering. "Are you new here?"

Oliver reached for his glasses, wincing as a sharp pain shot down his left arm. He noticed blood dripping onto the white linen sheets, seeping out of the bandaged affixed around his bicep.

The woman wrinkled her nose at the sight. "That won't do." She hovered close to his face, and Oliver leaned back, feeling claustrophobic.

"What are you doing?" he asked.

"Shh, I need silence to work." She waved her hand over his arm, as if batting away an annoying fly, and the loose wrapping fell off. The wound beneath was raw and red. She tsked disapprovingly and then produced a fresh roll of gauze out of thin air.

Oliver reached for it, but she slapped his hand away. "You'll just give yourself an infection. Stay still!" Her fingertips danced over his arm, his skin stinging where she touched him, but the blood lifted and evaporated into mist. "I'm going to cast a spell to keep it clean," she murmured, speaking more to herself than him.

She whispered in an unfamiliar language, and his arm glowed beneath her hand. When she let go, the wound was clean and had the pinkish tint of new skin.