Sunset of the Wandering Souls

I learned to trust Pili the more he came to check on me. He showed me by bringing me food, water, medicine to keep the pain away that he truly didn’t mean me any harm. I didn’t leave my corner when I ate, I liked feeling the wooden walls by my back, but when he came to change my bandages I didn’t shrink away from him. He was kind, the only other person I could talk to when I could think of words to say.

Pili wanted me to lay when I wasn’t eating, drinking, or having him change my bandages, but I was starting to feel well enough to sit up. So, I did, with the blanket still overtop of my legs, wringing my tail in my hands as I tried to glimpse anything from the doorway. I had noticed there was a window by the end of the raised platform after that first full night I was conscience of. I took to looking out it, that empty square cut in the wall, and I could smell the strong scent of the sea. There was grass and sand and trees I didn’t know could have such a vibrant color. Sometimes there would be women walking with fruit in baskets on their heads, clothed in bright blues, yellows, and greens against their tanned skins.

Those few days of venturing down the platform were short lived. Delirious, shivering and sweating, I woke during the night. I hadn’t realized I’d been calling for Pili until he appeared next to me and assured me that he was there. He placed another cool cloth over my eyes and head that caused me to shake with cold under the once warm blanket. He placed another covering on top of me, held my hand and stroked my head while shushing me, murmured lullabies, and whispered that it was alright to go back to sleep. Still trembling, I fell back asleep in that loving warmth.

Pili was by my side in the morning, his head resting next to my arm. The cloth had lost its ice and had been pulled from my eyes up to my forehead some point in the night. I felt heavy, hotter; Pili started to stir, and I curled up onto my side facing the wall. I didn’t know what face to make, how to act, what to say, when he woke up. I squeezed my tail close to my chest, shutting my eyes and hoped he would wake and let me continue sleeping.

My hoping, wishing, praying, went unanswered when I felt him pick up the cloth from where it had fallen off my forehead. I felt his hand on my arm, my heart thundered, and I tightened my grip on my tail. “Ezollen,” he said softly. I rolled onto my back and pretended I was beginning to rouse. I opened my eyes when he placed a hand on my forehead. “I fear you have a fever from your wound becoming infected.” He placed a new cold cloth on me. “I’ll be back in a second.”

Pili wasn’t gone for long, but in that absence, I felt I was dying once more. My head throbbed and a part of it burned, while my body was engulfed in a cold sweat. He came back carrying another tray, kneeling back by my side. He covered my eyes with the cloth before he messed with my bandages. I cried out in pain at the sharp scraping sensation over the open wound, and he shushed me once more. The pain was necessary, he told me. I breathed heavy, tears soaking into the fabric over my eyes when he finished. The soothing cream he put on relaxed me, soon finishing with my dressing and helped me sit up so I could eat.

I tried eating on my own, but the trembling of my hands made holding the wooden bowl and spoon rather hard. Pili gave a small smile while I wrapped my arms around my middle. He fed me a stew of vegetables in a mildly spicy broth that made my nose run. After I ate, I curled up facing the wall wiping my nose and feeling defeated. Pili asked me to get some rest, I took him up on that request, but not without getting sad about it. I had been getting better. My head hadn’t hurt as much when I thought too hard about things I was sure were important. I had stopped feeling so confused about everything, and I had been eagerly waiting for Pili to give me permission to leave the make-shift bed.

Pili came to check on me sometime later, looking concerned and displeased at my heaving form splayed out. I had kicked off the covers at myself starting to overheat and the clothes I had on were soaked through with sweat and sticking disgustingly to my body. My tail hung loosely off the bed, trying to escape the heat that was now my person. I could barely bring myself to move my head to look at him from the warmth sapping my strength.

I didn’t have the luxury of being embarrassed having him wipe my soaking body down with a frigid cloth. It felt good, immensely so, to have him wash the sweat, the fever, from my body. I closed my eyes against his soft touches, working delicately from my face, down my arms, between my fingers, and even my tail. He took my soaked clothes from me as he went, giving me a change made of something soft and light. Unlike the bright colors the women I saw wear, or the muted ones Pili wore, the clothes he gave me were devoid of them. A beigy-white short sleeved shirt and short pants. I was a little disappointed that they weren’t more colorful, yet I wore them, thankful for something that didn’t seem to collect moisture.

“Pili,” I said, laying on my side. “Am…Am I dying?”

He crouched so he was eye level with me. “No, Ezollen.” He grabbed my hand. “I’m doing everything to keep that from happening.” He placed his other hand on my head by the weird objects he called horns. “Are you hungry?” I nodded and he left, bringing that stew back with him.

I felt better come morning. The fever had broken, and it wasn’t a chore for me to sit myself up. Pili looked excited when he came to check my wound. He told me it was healing nicely, the infection gone. One more day, was his hope, and I’d be healed. I could hold on for one more day, then, maybe I’d be allowed to leave the hut I’d been confined in.

During my lazing about alone, I smelled smoke mixed with the scent of fruit and fish. I heard singing and chanting and the beating of a drum. It made me anxious not knowing what was happening outside, not having Pili come in at the usual times. I tried to glimpse things from the door, switching to the window when that proved futile. I couldn’t see anything from the window either, but I glimpsed the smoke floating on the wind. I sat, antsy and nervous, waiting for the noise to die down, waiting for Pili to come back.

When he did, his tanned face was flush and dripping with water. His light hair tinged with blue he used to tie up had been cut level with his chin. Something had happened to him, and the only thing I could think to ask was, “What happened to your hair?”

He laughed, his hands pushing the wet locks back from his face. “I’ve come of age.” He pulled me to my feet in one swift motion. “If you’re well enough to sit for so long again, then come, come.” He led me outside and my breath caught at what I saw before me.

I grabbed onto the wooden railing in front of me as I took it all in. Swaths of sand, water heading out into the horizon. People dressed in dozens of colors eating, singing, making merry. Children playing in the sand, some diving into the depths of the ocean. I gripped the railing when I saw a glittering fin splash the water in their wake. “You’re…”

“Yes,” he said, putting his hand on my shoulder. “We’re the Aeces, the merfolk of the Southern Isles.” I couldn’t contain my excitement of seeing those sparkling fins. It was something innate in me that made me want to touch it, to make sure it was real. I jumped from that raised porch, gliding some before I tasted sand in my mouth. “Ezollen, are you alright?!”

I rolled to my back, feeling something protruding awkwardly from the edges of my scapula. Pili was already in the process of hurrying to me when I sat up. “I’m alright,” I said, spitting sand from my mouth. Those something on my back blocked the stifling sun and I saw how black and leathery they were. Pili came to my side, dusting sand from me and helping me to my feet. “What are these?” I asked.

“Wings.” He laughed, touching them lightly. “Are you sure you’re alright?” I told him I was certain, and he led me on to meet his friends and family, my wings tucking themselves away as we went.