Caesaria

II

The sky was a gemstone blue, clear and cloudless. Lucy thought that was all. The afterworld was a sea. But from the corner of her eye, a shadow. It was small, black, yet moved with intention. Around and around, in a perfect circle, her woozy eyes followed it. It took her a moment, but she remembered her death. That weightless sensation, as if her chest was only an empty, flighty cavity, combined with the sheer force of the water pushing her down into darkness. This is death. 

The shape grew. It glided instead of floated, and a sharp, piercing cry broke the sky. A hawk. Or an eagle. She wasn't sure. And then, trees. Firs broke the fathomless sky, and she realized she was moving. She felt a grip on her hands. Strong, calloused hands, big hands. 

She murmured something, before crying softly; even the slightest amount of breath made her see stars.

"Don't speak," a man said. His voice was soft, easy.

She faded. When she awoke, she saw bumpy stone, contoured by the flickering light of a fire. She breathed again, then began gasping. She felt it, the water in her lungs, the choking of the bloody water. She was drowning in her own blood and brains. Dying. She coughed violently, so violently her vision flashed. She saw water, the shafts of morning sun, yet was blinded by the froth and bubbles. She had no control. She was being dragged, her body smashed. She felt her head crack. Yet she still saw it all. Endless, drowning water, dragging her deeper and deeper.

Somebody pulled her eyes open, and she saw a face. His skin was pale, his eyes and hair a shimmering gold. She had never seen a man with such hair; only heard of them. "You're safe now. You're safe. You're alive."

Lucy said nothing, although she began to feel the nightmare fading. The man's face was replacing it, the structure and angles of his face enhanced by the firelight. She saw his features sharpen, his chin strengthen, and his brow soften. She noted his lack of tattoos -- barefaced, she thought, mildly curious. An outlander. His eyes never blinked. Eyes of death. 

She tried to say something. She wasn't sure what. Just a word. Any word that would make her feel like she had some semblance of control. She made another noise, although this time, it didn't hurt as much to make it. She winced, and that was all.

"Stay where you are. And stay awake," he said, rising, and stepping out of view.

She groaned.

She heard some rattling, something unzipping. If she had been coherent, she may have felt scared. But she felt warm; now that she was roused, she felt a blooming feeling in her chest. A soft, relaxed state of mind. Like an afterglow.

"What did... what..." she tried to say, but her zeal for speech didn't last. The pain in her head stabbed right back, silencing her into nothing but a few whines.

"Probably shouldn't talk either," he said. He returned with a skin, and she could hear sloshing inside. Only when she felt the water on her lips, did she realize how parched she was. She almost sprung up from her bedroll, but the man pressed a firm hand to her chest to hold her down. She'd have fought to hold the skin herself, but even that bit of movement was too much. Still, she chugged the water, ignoring the throbbing pain in her skull.

She kept chugging and chugging until he took the water away. She looked at him with an almost childish anger, and struggled to keep her eyes open. "Who are you?" she murmered.

He said nothing at first, and she heard the scuff of his feet as he walked away. He wore the leathers and rags of a traveler. A man covered in dirt and dust, long since on the road, patched jeans and worn hide. He was dragging his feet lazily, ambling. "I'm Axel."

"Axel..." she repeated. "That really your name, or of someone you killed?"

"You Georgians are paranoid," he scoffed. He was rifling around for something. A knife to finish me off, maybe. 

"What are you..." she sighed, unable to finish. Her eyes were closing, rapidly falling victim to a deep sleep.

She felt another layer of weight upon her. A blanket, she supposed, but she was too far gone to open her eyes and check. She felt lulled. The crackling of the fire, the white noise of the cave, the brushy sound of his honeyed voice, all of it bade her farewell into a gentle sleep. 

"Sleep," he said. And so she did.