The Blackbird And The Ghost: The Boiling Seas by Hûw Steer

Author:Hûw Steer [Steer, Hûw]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2019-06-03T22:00:00+00:00

6

Everything felt sort of… white.

Tal felt his consciousness swimming to the surface of his mind, sound, sight, smell returning in slow swellings of their sensory themes. Awareness came back in gentle waves, lapping on the shores of intellect, lulling him back to the world. But with awareness came caution, and he kept his eyes closed, feigning sleep. His other senses he greeted, shook hands and asked a favour. Carefully, Tal began to listen. He felt cool fabric on his skin, heard the distant song of birds, smelled fresh lavender. Hospital? The deep wound in his shoulder murmured a greeting, its pain now dulled to a tolerable ache. His head was still spinning a little, but if he really focused he could think properly. He dared not risk any magic, for he knew not where he was, and he could hear the soft breathing of another person in the room. Guard? Doctor? He couldn’t tell with eyes shut. Place doesn’t seem unfriendly, though. His wounds were dressed, his hurts soothed and bandaged, and the bed on which he lay was extremely comfortable. Wherever he was, he was valued to some degree. Here goes.

He opened his eyes, blinking against the golden light of day. The room in which he lay was of a decent size, with a tall window overlooking a view he couldn’t quite see at his prone angle. Daylight shone through the panes, glorious and bright, gleaming from the room’s white walls. Tal lay in a bed, its sheets crisp and clean, his earth-stained clothes removed in favour of a simple gown. Turning his eyes, but not his head, Tal glanced to one side, and saw with relief his satchel and jacket, lying clean on a chair. To the other side sat a woman in a green robe, gazing from the window in a wicker chair. Her face he could not see. The door, on the room’s other side, looked sturdy, but bore no obvious lock. Ok. Simple room, gear in reach, one door. Can probably get out if I have to. He was still wary, remembering the men who had pursued him, shot him, tried to kill him. They had wanted him alive. He might still be in great danger… but why treat him quite so nicely after causing him so much hurt? Well, there’s only one way to find out. Kill or cure?

Tal coughed, gently, attempting an attention-grabbing hem but ending up with a weak, rasping noise. His throat was dry as desert-bleached bone. It did the trick, though, for at the sound the green-robed woman snapped her head around, revealing the face of a matronly woman of late middle years, her hair greying, her skin lined. She smiled, warmth filling her otherwise severe features, and Tal felt himself relax a little.

“You slept well, I trust?” Tal nodded weakly, not trusting his throat for words. The woman had already turned to a small table and begun pouring a glass of water.

“You needed it. Severe concussion, heavy bruising to the legs and back, bolt in the shoulder and what looked like oxygen deprivation.

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