That was all that I saw around me as I opened bleary eyes and propped myself up on one elbow. The world spun dizzyingly and I held in a breath in the hopes it would make my nausea go away. My fingers and clothes were a soft, dusty grey where they had touched the ground. Chalky. There were ashes on my tongue. I spat and wiped my mouth on my previously black sleeve.
Disoriented, I tried to recall exactly what had happened before I landed here, on my butt, in a most undignified sprawl in a world full of nothing but ashes. In the dim light I could barely discern several moving shapes. I opened my mouth to call out then stopped short.
What if they were enemies?
I had always had an obsessive fear of being assassinated although I think being fried by my mother or Felice was a more frightening way to die.
Her name flared in my memory and a dull, ache began at the nape of my neck that slowly spread throughout my spine. Really ironic, I thought to myself. The boy with the fear of assassins had gone out into the underground den of thieves, murderers and unlicensed mages and asking for the help of one.
I clicked my tongue against my teeth and began a sort of half-crawl, half scooting motion which hopefully would go unnoticed. The shapes turned to me. I registered part of its features before they began to howl in an unearthly chorus.
Banshees. Why were there banshees here in the Citadel of Time? I swear I almost saw shock register on their faces as I began to howl along. Oh well, if you can’t beat them, join them right?