Page 86 of Wings of Ebony
My hand hurts under the pressure of his squeeze. Fear does that—makes you stronger than you should be. His nails dig into my skin and I hop over a branch I know is coming before I even see it.
“A’ja! A’ja, do’vexi,” he says.
He’s talking to me?! He never talks.
“A’ja! A’ja, do’vexi!” His nails dig into my arm.
“I don’t understand,” I tell him, searching his expression for some indication of where we are and where he’s trying to take me. But I find only panic.
Something cracks and in seconds I’m awake and panting. The thatched roof solidifies in focus and I can breathe again.
Aasim let me be after our exchange and I was thankful for it. My mind had been racing since our conversation about Bri. A moment to rest my eyes is what I thought I needed.
He spoke.
The boy in the dreamspoketo me.
Like he knew I was there. And those trees—jpango, like the ones around here. I swallow to force myself to inhale.
It’s just a dream.
It’s not real.
I exhale and it turns into a yawn and I spot tiny red craters—fingernail wounds—dug into my wrist. They sting like a fresh wound.
I still my shaky hands.A-a dream. Just a dream.
Before I dozed off, the little girl with the colorful beads brought me a tray of refris. Maybe I should eat. Its fragrance washes over me like Ms. Leola’s kitchen on Easter Sunday. Lemony, sugary, and sweet, but one bite in and I can’t stomach anymore of it. Not when so much hangs in the balance. So much pressure.
I slip on the cuffs again and try to feel something.
Nothing.
No whispers, no flicker of feeling, no heat.
Everything’s silent. Cold. So frustrating. I slide them off and set them on the bedside table.
Air. I need air.
And Bri should be here any moment. Matter of fact, it’s taking her much longer than I’d expected.
I step out beneath the speckled sky painted with a strip of crimson. Bendy jpango trees cluster around one another overhead. Their leaves flutter in the wind, starlight twinkling between them. That’s one thing about the nights in Ghizon, they’re beautiful. And out here in the wilderness, even more so. Never seen views like this from my square of concrete back home.
I stick to the stone path, the sound of waves lapping the side of thecliff lulling me toward it. Bet I could see more of the stars from there.
I like staring up at the stars. Something about them feels so far and yet so close. I imagine Moms is up there watching over me, reminding me to make sure I shine.
She took me to the country once, just me and her. Tasha was at her Dad’s grandma’s. It was really odd that Moms had time off work and even more odd that she wanted to spend it in the boonies so far outside Houston you could see more cows than people.
“Where we going, Ma?” I had asked.
“Oh, you know, just felt like driving.”
A lie. Moms ain’t wasting gas money. I gave her side-eyes and noticed a giant bag in the back seat, a bunch of clothes spilling between its busted zipper. I felt weird in that moment. Moms always kept it one hundred with me, or so I thought, but in that moment something told me I didn’t know everything she was thinking—and I wasn’t going to.
“Well, wherever we going, do they have food? I’m hungry.”
She had laughed and pulled out a turkey sandwich and hot chips, my favorite. “With extra mayo, no lettuce, and a thin slice of tomato, just like you like it.” She’d gripped the steering wheel with a heavy sigh. “I just feel so free out here.”
