Green Desert - Chapter 8.6.2 - Fírí

“No, seriously. Where am I?” The girl tugged a thread from her filthy dress that was not much fancier than a potato sack. “I’m sorry, but. . .” She couldn’t meet my gaze. “But you’re dead. We all are, here.” Dead. I certainly didn’t feel dead. I stood up, shook out my legs. In fact, I felt really good. I looked up the hill. The haze seemed brighter up there. And the plants greener, as well. I’d never been a mountain climber, but it sure looked nicer up there than down here. Dark shadows, brown-tinged leaves, a funky smell wafting up from further downhill. “You can try, but you won’t make it.” I looked at the girl. “What?” “No one ever manages to go uphill. They always come back down.” She shrugged, her blue eyes sparkling in the dim daylight. “I’ll try anyway.” Just because she said I couldn’t. I walked up the slope, one foot in front of the other, just like climbing stairs. “See? No problem.” A wind whipped out of nowhere, swirling around me, knocking me to my knees. “Told you so!” screamed the girl as she fled. In the center of the maelstrom stood a teenage boy, dark hair and bright eyes. Clothes from a Renaissance fair. Calmly in the cyclone, he held out his hand and said, “Come with me.” I took his hand and the winds swelled. I closed my eyes briefly and the tornado stopped. I cracked open my eyes. Night. A small, bloody knife glinting in the light. Vata. I felt my chest. No wound. She’d healed me.