Luminous

73 - Reunion ❣️

Every last vestige of drowsiness blown into oblivion, Meya scrambled over to her chest of clothes and snatched the belt with her money-pouch sitting on the lid. She unhooked the bag then emptied it onto her mattress. Coins—mostly bronze, with a few coppers and silver, and even a lone gold—lay gleaming on the white cloth, flashing like pebbles lining the bed of rapids.

Meya picked up a bronze one-latt coin and folded her fingers over it. The metal seared against her palm, having absorbed the cold of the desert night, but soon warmed to match her temperature, allowing her to examine its aura without distraction. The glowing, mellow warmth of copper was marred by the sour tang and bitter bite of lesser metals. It wasn't entirely pleasant, but Meya knew from instinct that it would make for a stronger protective armor than copper alone.

Meya clasped her other hand over the coin, pressing it into the pit of her palm with the heel of her hand. She filled her lungs with air, then emptied it. Like a siphon, as air flowed out of her, a stream of white-hot metal rushed into her veins, spreading its heat across her hands. Her palms rubbed against each other, now skin on skin. She opened her eyes and parted her hands—the coin had disintegrated without trace.

The heat from the devoured coin rose to her eyes. As the sight of her bare hands shifted in and out of focus, Meya trembled in relief and elation. A scream swelled and obstructed her throat, as her limbs rattled with the stifled urge to attempt a few cartwheels around the too-tidy tent and kick up some chaos.

To deplete some of her pent-up energy, Meya darted to the tent wall and busied herself tugging up the carpet by its tasseled hem. She was greeted by a sliver of blue-gray soil, strewn with sharp, angled blue-black pebbles, ranging from the size of half a pinkie nail to a thumb joint. She swept an armful onto the carpet, then sunk her hands into the pile.

Echoes of a dozen voices called to her, and Meya let the nutrients flow into her unhindered. Once the stream had trickled to a stop, she scooped up fresh soil and started anew, again and again. The effect was immediate and addictive. She felt refreshed, alert, energized and strong like never before in her seventeen years. Deep-seated aches, borne of a decade of hard labor, seeped out through her pores. Blemishes, lines and warts melted into mellow skin, with a radiant glow not unlike the blessing of the morning after. Her hair, once brittle and frazzled, fell heavy and lush down her back.

It was as if an empty, insatiable well had opened up inside her. Meya would have gone on drinking the desert dry to fill the pit—if not for the muffled yells blowing in from afar, lambasting the tent walls. The voices were male and young—and familiar.

Coris? Zier?

Meya bolted up and hurtled through the tent flaps, only to pitch face-first onto the gravel—a gust of wind had swooped in from behind, batting the tent's skin against its wobbling skeleton. A solid lump collided soundly with her head then continued its upward trajectory. Meya threw her head back and followed the boot as it soared, attached to a swinging leg that was in turn attached to a young man wrapped in shackles of silvery claws. Above him was the distinctive silhouette of a reptilian creature with gigantic bat-like wings.

The boy kicked out. His foot connected with the dragon's naked belly with sickening speed and force. The dragon plummeted two feet in thin air—winded—then regained height with a single beat of its wings, narrowly missing a row of mounted torches. A torn strip dangling off the boy's cloak glowed blood red as it fluttered before the flames, then was snatched away. Strewn across the clearing were listless forms of guards, maids and servants, fast asleep amid scattered belongings.

"Zier!"

Coris's scream pierced the roaring silence of howling night gale. Meya heard faint scrabbling footsteps as he scaled the hill. He'd never catch up with Persephia. But she can.