We the Sleeping Ones

The strangest part about waking up the next morning was that I woke up at all. 

It was dark, but in the quiet of the early morning, I could hear the soft droning of a chorus of cicadas. It was a horrible noise, but it was ever so welcome nonetheless.

In a daze, I lifted my hand from my side and watched it move, swaying back and forth in front of my eyes. I flexed my fingers and felt my muscles tense as I opened and closed my fist. A laugh ripped its way out from my throat. The sound was hollow, but it was there. I let my head fall back against the softness of whatever it was that I was lying on, overcome with relief. If I should have been frightened in this unfamiliar place, I wasn't. I was here -alive- and life was happening around me.

I brought my hand to rest over my stomach. Someone had dressed my wound. It ached, pulsating under my touch. I winced and drew my fingers back.

I tried to remain unfazed by the pain as I eased my body upward. It was a slow process and I was sore and clumsy, but I managed. Once finally upright, I let my head loll back against the wooden wall of the unfamiliar shelter. Pieces of softwood and dust flaked off the wall. 

There wasn't much else to the room besides the walls, just a makeshift cot and some boxes stacked neatly in the corner upon the dirt floor. For such a small space, it was practically empty. I sat quietly for a minute, unmoving and breathing slowly as I listened to the world around me. My heart was beating. I really was alive.

After a moment, though, I realized with a start that I wasn't quite as alone in the room as I had thought. Perched in the rafters sat a massive black raven. She stared at me with beady, glazed-over white eyes, unflinching under my gaze. I looked at her, and she looked back at me. Neither of us moved.

"Your name is Maébh," I said after a moment, my tongue forming the words before my mind could register them. I didn't know why the name had come to mind, or why I felt compelled to say it aloud. The name sounded foreign against my lips, but somehow, someway, I knew it was right. The raven continued to stare down at me as I processed this. Like she was expecting something. I continued to speak, my voice hoarse from disuse. "My name is Molly," I said slowly. "It's very nice to meet you, Maébh."

She blinked, breaking her stare. In one fluid motion, she outstretched her massive wings and dove down from the rafters. She moved in such a quick flourish that I had no time to react until we were face to face. I felt my breath catch in my throat as she rested upon my lap. She was larger up close. I could see every detail of my exhausted face reflected in her old eyes. I pressed my back firmly against the wall, trying to distance myself from her as best as I could, worried that up this close, she may try to peck out my eyes. She watched me, her face only a few inches from mine, as I lifted my shaking hand slowly and began to stroke her feathers. She let me. "You mustn't be a regular raven," I informed her, my voice wavering. "Regular ravens don't have names."

She cocked her head at me. Of course, regular ravens had names, none of them had simply introduced themselves to me before. "Are you a nice raven, Maébh?" I asked, her name still feeling strained. "Or are you going to peck at my fingers once you're bored of me?"

The raven didn't answer, she instead hopped from my lap and onto the floor. I watched her as she bounded around the small room, dancing from place to place, intently looking for something as she pecked at the dirt floor. It was hard to keep my eyes focused on her dark silhouette in the dimness of the room, but my eyes followed her as best as I could. I thought she may have lost interest in me entirely and began looking for food, some bugs that had made their way in perhaps, but after a few grueling minutes of searching, she found what she was looking for. She picked up something shiny with her beak, and with a delighted cry, she hopped back over to me and dropped it in my lap.

I picked up the shiny thing carefully, not sure what it was at first. It wasn't even as big as my thumbnail. I examined it carefully, brushing off the dust with my fingertips. The object was small, cylindrical, and metallic but dented and sharp. It looked like it was made of bronze, but it was stained red. 

Blood. My stomach sank. 

Maébh looked at me expectantly. "You were there," I stated, mostly to myself, my voice empty. "You were there when I-" I stopped, unable to finish. I rolled the bullet between my fingers, contemplating what to say next. "Can you really understand me?"

She didn't answer, though; of course, I hadn't expected her to. She just continued to watch me with her ghostly eyes. I reached out to stroke her feathers once more, but this time she shifted away from my touch. I let my hand fall back into my lap and thumbed at my bandages. I wondered as I watched Maébh peck at the ground if it was normal to be this nauseous after you'd been shot. 

I set the bullet down on my pillow.

Perhaps it was foolish to think she could understand me, but there was this overwhelming look of knowing in her eyes. Understanding. Mother used to tell me that ravens were bad omens, but Maébh didn't seem altogether that bad. She was rather pleasant company for a bird. I thought for a minute that I should tell her about the stories that my mother used to tell me about ravens, like how they would steal coins from beggar woman's cups or how they would pull apart your finest clothing string by string if you left it outside to dry overnight, but I decided against it. It would be rude, especially if she really could understand me. The last thing that I wanted to do was offend her.

"Did you pull me from the water?" I asked her, tugging at the loose strands of the cloth bandage, watching her peck mindlessly at the dirt. "I can't imagine you did. I would have been far too heavy for you to carry on your own."

Maébh stopped her pecking for a moment and turned to look at me inquisitively as if my words confused her. I rambled on. "Do you have a flock of raven friends who helped you? I asked. "Or are there any people around?"

She shook her entire massive body, her feathers ruffling and puffing out around her neck. I laughed at her exaggerated display. "Is that a no?" I asked. "Or a yes?"

She blinked at me.

"Well," I told her, "I guess I'll go find out for myself, then." 

Frankly, I was tired of hearing my own raspy voice.

I struggled to my feet, standing with ample support from the wall. My legs wobbled as I tried to regain my balance. My stomach churned, and my body ached; every part of me felt tense from disuse. I didn't want to move; I wanted to lay back down and let the pain of my wound and my body subside, but I knew if I stopped, I wouldn't be able to force myself up again. So, I let go of the wall and forced myself to stand tall with determination even though I felt my knees shaking. I wanted to know where I was, and I was going to find out.

I walked past Maébh. She cawed after me. "Are you coming?" I asked weakly.

She extended her wings and beat them gently. A yes if I'd ever seen one. I pushed back the curtain that was draped over the door frame, inhaling the distinct scent of the oncoming morning. Maébh took to the air in an immediate flourish and flew past me in a great gust of wind, which nearly knocked me forward. I shivered, losing sight of her almost immediately. The crisp air went right through me without the warm cover of the cot's blankets, and I wasn't wearing much as it was—just bandages and undergarments. I pulled the warmest blanket off the cot and draped it over my shoulders. I took a deep breath, letting my body adjust to the new, extra weight of my makeshift cloak, and made my way outside, hugging the blanket tightly.

Wherever I was, it was not home. Hanging above the door, attached to two wooden poles was an oversized, woven canopy that served as a shelter for various gardening tools that rested lazily against the home's exterior. Outside of the canopy, lining the left side of the home was a beautiful garden of silvery white flowers whose petals shone in the hazy morning. They shone in an almost ethereal way, seeming to produce their own light like flickering lanterns. The petals of the flowers stretched upward like tulips, soaking in the fading starlight, swaying in a quiet dance with the breeze.

The little shack had been built in a clearing surrounded by a dense forest. The trees which lined it were massive in size, dozens upon dozens of feet tall with looming branches full of golden green leaves the size of dinner plates. I stared upward in awe as I began walking forward towards the edge of the clearing. The grass was cold and wet against my bare feet. A thin layer of fog clung it like a ghostly cloud; ever so delicate. 

My body ached as I shuffled onward. With a weary hand, I clutched the bandages wrapped around my stomach to ground myself. My breathing was becoming laboured, sweat gathering upon my brow. It would be all too easy to collapse against the ridged bark of one of the tall trees. I knew that my body wasn't ready for this much exertion. But there was a clear-cut path beyond the trees, leading further into the fog. Into the unknown of this unfamiliar place but obviously leading somewhere. I looked back toward the house, which stood eerily quiet by its lonesome. I had already made it this far. There was no one here with answers, and Maébh had already flown away.

I picked up a fallen tree branch that lay forgotten in the overgrown grass. The wood was warped and knotted, covered in dirt and grime. Nearly rotted, but sturdy enough to use as a walking stick. I took a cautious step forward with its aid and though it did not make moving entirely easy, it was slightly more bearable. I continued forward.

I didn't know what I was looking for, but I kept walking regardless. Flowers lined each side of the path. They were plentiful in color and size; painted by varying shades of purples, yellows, oranges and reds but none of them were quite as beautiful as silver flowers that had been planted in the garden.

The air was surprisingly quiet. The crickets had quieted down, almost inaudible now, and the birds were so high in the trees that their songs were lost to the fog. Mosquitos buzzed around my ears, landing on the plentiful bits of my exposed skin. I swatted them away, irritated but unable to walk along faster to escape them. I stopped every once and a while to catch my breath, hoping earnestly that someone -anyone- would meet me along the path. But no one came.

Hidden amongst the trees in a cleared-out grove was an abandoned garden plot. Dried up skeletons of plants lay overgrown in the unworked dirt. I passed it as quickly as I could with the hobble I had adopted. Just passing it sent a shiver down my spine. It was eerie in a way only abandoned places could be. Quiet. Unmoving. Unsettling. With so much life growing around it in the forest, it was strange to see something so obviously forgotten and dead and overtaken by time.

I pushed thoughts of the grove to the back of my mind. The grass grew longer and thicker on the path as I moved along, full of unkempt weeds. Damp dirt clung to my feet as I dragged one foot after the other, putting more and more weight upon my walking stick. I prayed the rotting wood wouldn't snap. My breathing grew heavy- heavier I suppose, and I considered stopping for what seemed like the hundredth time. I hadn't made it very far from the shed, but my body felt as if it had already walked a thousand miles. I decided that taking a break, despite my own stubbornness, seemed like a good idea. 

As I looked for a spot to sit devoid of prickles or thorns, I heard a familiar sound. It was a little ways off and faint, but it was there. Music. The soft call of a song being played on plucked strings.

My heart raced. There was someone here. I abandoned the idea of rest; my thoughts buzzing with newfound excitement and desperation. The music grew louder, louder, louder and then even louder still with each step I took. It wasn't long before I came to an oversized pond that abruptly cut off the path. The water shone brightly in the early morning light, so clear that I could see every single stone that sat at the bottom and each scale of the colorful fish which swam around each other in a playful, hypnotic rhythm.

In the pond's center stood a huge willow tree planted on a small patch of land. Its leaves were a pinkish gray, hanging on branches that dangled so low they touched the water in a heavy curtain, obscuring everything under the tree from view.

That was where the music was coming from.

There was a trail of raised stones that led across the pond to the willow tree. The stones were too narrow and far apart for me to bring my walking stick across with me, so with a contemplative sigh, I discarded it in the grass along with my makeshift cloak.

I stumbled along the stones with difficulty, my bare feet slipping on the wet path. I outstretched my arms to try and retain my balance, feeling the rough, sharp edges of the rocks cutting the bottoms of my feet as I pushed my way forward. "Hello?" I called out weakly, my voice quiet as I reached the edge of the tiny island, stepping on to the grass. "Is someone there?"

I pulled back the curtain of leaves and the music stopped abruptly. Sitting against the willow's thick tree trunk sat a young man with a beautifully carved lute. He had lovely golden-brown skin and deep coloured freckles sprinkled across the bridge of his nose. His hair was long and dark, and it curled delicately around his ears. He stared at me, lost, his pretty mouth agape.

He hurried to his feet, dropping his lute unceremoniously into the grass and rushed to me, eyes searching mine and hands unsure. "You're awake." He said, his voice bewildered yet barely breaking more than a whisper.

I blinked up at him as he loomed over me. Though I was taken aback by his overall forwardness, I was captivated by the way he looked at me with his eyes brimming with a kind of perplexity I didn't fully understand. It finally hit me; I really wasn't all alone. "I'm awake." I reaffirmed.

His fingers twitched delicately as his hands hovered in the air between us before he harshly brought them back to his sides. "You must be exhausted," he replied, breaking free from his trace. He gestured to the weathered trunk of the willow tree with an open hand. "Would you like to sit down?"

"More than anything." I admitted.

With a nod, he picked up his lute and moved it carefully to the side, allowing me to take its place in the grass. I eased down against the tree trunk with a slight grunt and watched him as he took a seat beside me. He sat close beside me but far enough away to let me breathe.

We sat in an uneasy silence, unsure what to say to each other. I stared up at the willow's sprawling branches and watched as they swayed in the breeze. Patches of pinkish sunlight peeked through the leaves but the light turned back to shadow as quickly as it came. I could feel my eyelids growing heavy.

"How are you feeling?" he inquired, breaking our silence. "Are you in any pain?" Gods above, his voice was so incredibly soft.

I tilted my head back to face him. His face searched mine earnestly, eyes intense, fingers still twitching. His eyes were silver, like pure slivers of moonlight. It was a shade that I had never seen before, and I found it hard not to stare. I'd never seen eyes so beautiful.

"Yes." I answered in the spirit of honesty, far too exhausted to lie. "Who, no…how-?" I paused, pursing my lips as I debated which question I wanted to ask first. "Where am I?" I settled on.

His mouth opened to answer, but promptly closed again before any words came. By the way his eyebrows furrowed, I guessed that he was also having trouble choosing his words. "That is… a harder question to answer than you would expect." he replied after a moment. Ever so gently, he lay his hand down on the lush grass between us. "This is Nerissa. See, we were passing by the Windhollow coast when-"

A fear, primal and raw, seized my chest as the realization set in. "Oh Gods. If we're anywhere near the coast, and he finds out I'm still alive he'll-" I covered my mouth with a shaking hand, afraid of what words would follow. "I have to go."

In a rush of adrenaline, I tried to stand but sharp, undiluted pain soared through my veins from the tips of my toes all the way to my ears. I cried out and clutched at my bandaged abdomen. A pitiful whimper escaped my lips as I threatened to tip over. It sounded almost inhuman.

He lurched forward to steady me. His hands were warm but calloused, grounding. "Easy, easy, it's alright! I'm sorry, we're not… oh, how can I explain this?" he clicked his tongue anxiously against the roof of his mouth, and sat back on his haunches, letting go of me carefully. He ran his long fingers through his curls. "Whoever it is that you're running from, they will not find you here. You are safe. This...this is not a very common place where people find themselves."

I tried to steady my hands, but the tremors wouldn't cease. "Are you certain?" I asked, my fear surging through my veins like a current..

His face searched mine again. I wondered what he was trying to find. "Yes," he answered. "Completely."

"Swear it then," I begged. "Swear it, please."

He looked taken aback by my sudden demand, but his eyes remained soft. "I swear," he replied gently. "You are safe here."

My breath hitched in my throat. I didn't know if I believed him, but I wanted to. "Who are you?" I asked, realizing that my tone had turned sharp.

If he noticed the hostility in my tone, he didn't take it to heart. His voice remained calm, warm and willing like the sun. "My name is Astraeus," he said with a small smile. "But please, call me Ari."

"Ari." I repeated, trying the name out to see how it would feel on my tongue. It was much easier on my lips than Astraeus would have been.

He laughed a little, his eyes crinkling at the corners in amusement. The sound was pleasant, like windchimes in a summer breeze. As much as I enjoyed the sound, I wasn't entirely sure what was funny. He cleared his throat. "Forgive me," he apologized. "It has been some time since I've heard my name pass over another's lips. I had nearly forgotten the joy of it."

My heartbeat steadied. "Very few others must live on this island then." 

"Unfortunately so," He replied candidly, the delight leaving his eyes as quickly as it had come. "But, no matter. There are worse things in life than a lack of company."

I nodded slowly, not quite sure if I genuinely agreed. "My name is Molly," I offered.

"Molly," he repeated. "That's a lovely name."

"Are you…" I paused. "Are you the one who's been taking care of me?"

He paused in tandem for a moment before nodding. "I am."

"Did you save me? From…" The next words fell from my mouth without tact. "From the water, I mean."

He nodded again. "Yes."

"Thank you," I said earnestly, my relieved words coming out as an almost whisper. I reached out into the space between us and took his hand, squeezing it tightly in my own. "I owe you my life."

He seemed startled by my touch but didn't recoil from it. Instead, he shook his head. Ferociously. "No, no. You owe me nothing."

"That's horrendously modest." 

He smiled at that, just enough that the corners of his mouth twitched upward. "I don't think so."

"I do," I replied, swallowing hard, readying myself to ask my next question. I let go of his hand to tuck a wayward curl behind my ear. "How long was I unconscious?"

"Nearly a week," he answered, his voice hesitant. His hands moved idly to his lute beside him, and he began tracing lazy patterns along its strings with his fingers as if to distract himself from the severity of the answer. Gentle, incomplete notes filled the air.

"Oh," Was all I could manage.

He nodded, sharing in the unspoken sentiment. "I was beginning to worry that you wouldn't wake up at all."

"I'm sorry," The apology breached my lips before I could stop it. 

His fingers paused. The broken melody ceased. "You're sorry?" he asked, his eyebrows raised. "What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"For burdening you with my care." I explained, wringing my hands together. "Please don't misunderstand. You have shown me incredible kindness, and I am very grateful, but I fear I can't repay you. I have no money or prospects and I-"

"Caring for you was no burden and I certainly did not do it to be repaid," he said curtly. "I said you owe me nothing, and I meant it."

"Then why?" I asked curiously.

"Why, what?" He asked in return. Equal in curiosity.

"Why save me at all?"

He looked at me strangely then, eyebrows furrowed and silver eyes sparking with questions. It was like he was trying to see inside of my soul. "Because you deserved to live," he answered after a while. 

"That's lousy reasoning," I scoffed.

"How so?" He asked without pause; the inquiry infuriatingly genuine.

"For all you know, I could be a truly horrible person."

"Well," he started slowly. "Are you?" 

"Everyone's a little terrible, aren't they?" I replied.

"Perhaps," he contemplated drawing out each syllable. "But, it's a balancing act, isn't it? There is a little good and a little bad inside every soul."

I hummed, pressing my weight back against the willow tree. I didn't have enough energy left in me to disagree. "Whatever your reasoning," I said. "Thank you."

He watched me for a moment, his gaze heavy in the silence. "Of course," he answered, his voice light, like the act of saving my life had troubled him no more than a mere favor would have.

I snorted at the absurdity of the conviction in his voice, far too exhausted to let out an actual laugh, but amused nevertheless. The adrenaline in my system was fading. I glanced at him once more, my eyelids growing heavy. He was watching me with far too much sincerity for a stranger.

"You should rest," he said softly, his voice like a song.

"Of course," I repeated, still in disbelief of the words.