Nights of Villjamur

THIRTY-SEVEN

It was the flutter of wings that woke her, a faint sound at the periphery of her senses.

Tuya pressed herself up, pain shooting along her arms, muscles spasming unnaturally. Why did everything suddenly ache so much? She brushed her hair from her eyes, squinted into the light that fell upon her face through the partly open window. Through blurred vision she could make out a blue shape hovering up by the ceiling. A freezing breeze exploded into the room, spiralling leaves and snow over her arcane patterns.

‘Who’s there?’ she asked, her voice alarmingly weak. She was a strong woman and wasn’t used to feeling so helpless.

There was no reply. Street noises drifted up to her window from outside, chants of traders busy in the irens. It was obviously well into the day, but she felt so disconnected from time.

As a blur of blue shot down towards her bed, she instantly recognized one of the images she had painted several weeks ago. The bat-like creature stared at her, the size of a child, and as far as could be judged from its furry features, she saw pity in its glossy, dark eyes. She had no idea it had survived this long, seldom giving much thought to what became of her many creations. She was touched it had returned to her side.

At that moment, as a sudden revelation, her current predicament rushed to the front of her awareness.

Tryst had not only beaten but also drugged her too, the bastard.

Escape was the priority. Tuya stood up, then she immediately collapsed. The muscles in her legs would barely function, and it was as if she needed to re-learn basic movement. The creature waddled down from the bed, holding its arms and wings out wide. After it helped her up, she sat down weakly on the bed.

‘Why have you come to help me? How did you know I needed help?’

It seemed unable to speak. Could it even understand her?

After she composed herself, she limped around her room to pack some belongings. She got changed with a frail caution. When she had taken what she needed, she tried the door to discover it was locked. She couldn’t find her keys anywhere, and struggling with the door proved futile.

Again her strange blue creation came to her side and she backed away as it contemplated the solid wooden door. It extended its wings, and with a down-thrust it rose into the air, hovered and then circled, flooring ornaments and antiques, before hurling itself at the door.

Wood and metal shattered simultaneously into minute blue sparks.

The door and the creature were no longer there. Tuya gaped in disbelief at this strange self-sacrifice by one of her creations. Sadness overwhelmed her. This was, ironically, the most love any creature had ever shown her.

But this was not the time for pathos. A bag of her belongings in one hand, she stepped out to commence her escape.

She needed to clean herself up, to get her head into some sort of order.

Who could she turn to?