by The Awethors
* * *
I waken in twilight. My head rests on the suitcase; my feet dangle from the hatch. The control sphere is a fractured lollipop on a tortured stick, thrusting at a broken angle from the torn padding of the seat back.
“Ah!” A pleased expression on his face, Professor Shinnegal peers down at me. “You brought the tree!” Reaching through the hatch, he plucks the carving — perfect but for purple stains — from my tangled hair, and wipes the ancient wood across his sleeve. “We’ll have you out in a moment.” He disappears.
The craft rocks upright. My heels drum the ground as my body launches forward. I control nothing.
“Wait, lassie!” Burly arms hold me upright then gently draw me from the broken craft. They belong to a man the height of a child, but with a luxurious beard and a merry smile.
A warm hand touches my forehead. “Not as bad as it looks,” murmurs a soft voice. “More blood than injury.” Rosy light forms a nimbus around an ethereal creature, tall and graceful, bending over me. “At last. Welcome, Jaysha Don’Ayghel, to the Hinterland.”
At last? Have I been expected?
My head aches, my body screams, and my eyes burn, but I smile — I think — even as darkness reclaims my vision.