Kindled Friendship

“Wait- please!” Blackbird said, reaching out to Yrsa, but she was already struggling to her feet and backing away.

“Stay back!” she said. “Don’ get near me!”

Bird’s fear raced through him. She would run, he’d lose her friendship, be alone again. Could he blame her? He knew what it was she saw. Bones that were charred and dark, without flesh or sinew, alive as it should never have been. A deep red glow within the cranium shone through his eye sockets. An endless grin of ruined filth.

A monster.

Without a proper face, there was no expression he could offer, but the light within his skull flickered with his emotions. He wondered if Yrsa could see them. See that there was no malice there despite his evil look. See him.

Expecting rejection, Blackbird backed away, but to his astonishment, Yrsa stood and merely eyed him with suspicion. Though she was braced to flee, she didn’t. Not yet.

Was there a drop of hope left in this draining sea?

“What are ye?” Yrsa said, shivering from more than just the cold. Snow fell in slow flakes around them.

“I don’t really know,” Blackbird said, looking at the ground and hugging his arms like a scared child might. Where to even begin? “I swear to you I mean you no harm, Yrsa. Ask anything, I’ll answer, just stop being afraid of me. Please?”

Yrsa huffed, her breath escaping as a misty fog, “I can’t promise that… but, I’ll try to listen. But don’ ye get any closer! Got it?”

Blackbird nodded, taking another step back. If that would make her comfortable, he would do nearly anything to protect his hope that, this time, he wouldn’t be feared.

Yrsa studied Blackbird with suspicion. “Yer undead?”

Blackbird nodded again, shame filling him as he clasped his hands in front of him to resist dislocating his fingers out of anxiety. Accidental dismemberment of the digits was unlikely to endear Yrsa to stay and talk.

“I am.”

“How did ye look normal before?”

“My mask.”

“Show meh.”

Blackbird slowly moved forward, his movements deliberate so she would see what he was doing. He retrieved his mask then retreated back to where he was before. He put it on, and the illusion of life reformed in an instant, like flowing water shimmering with light, before dimming and becoming mundane skin and partially tied back auburn hair. The cut on his cheek was gone since the bones beneath weren’t injured.

“It’s enchanted,” Blackbird said. “I don’t know where it came from or who made it, but my mask creates this illusion so I can look normal. It’s my best chance to live a somewhat normal life. It only works on my face though.”

Blackbird removed his glove and rolled up his sleeve. He held it out to show her that it was only charred bone even while his face had the appearance of flesh. When Yrsa looked away, her face tinged green, Blackbird fixed his sleeve in a hurry. As he put his glove back on, he poked a skeletal digit through the new hole caused by the sword he’d extracted from his ribcage before Yrsa arrived. He’d need to patch that later, before it got noticed.

“Ye know, ye never seemed normal,” Yrsa said as Blackbird removed his mask again, letting the illusion fade away.

“You didn’t know I was undead until now though, did you?”

Yrsa opened her mouth, probably to argue, but she hesitated and said something else.

“Ye say ye don’ know a lot about yer situation there, bein’ undead. How can ye not know?”

Blackbird sighed, and there was no fog from his breath in the frigid woodland air. He couldn’t exactly exhale moisture without lungs.

“I say I don’t know because I genuinely don’t know,” Blackbird said, sitting on a nearby fallen tree. The frozen bark crackled beneath him. He leaned back on his hands, pressed against the wood, slouching down with sullen uncertainty. “I woke up on a battlefield like this, and I have no memory of who I was or how I ended up as a… you know. I don’t like saying the word.”

“Skeleton?”

“Don’t call me that.”

Blackbird’s memories flared up in pained memory. Terrified cries. Excuses to treat him as less than human. Anger and insult tensed his posture, his sockets glowering with deeper red within.

Yrsa took a half-step back.

“I didn’t mean any offense,” she said. “I just wanted to be sure that’s what ye meant.”

The venomous glance in Blackbird’s skull softened and regret flowed forth in its place. The thorns of his prickly demeanor lowering. “Sorry. I can get defensive.”

“I can’t blame ye. I doubt many were kind to ye about all this.”

“That would be an understatement.”

Silence grew so only the wind spoke, but soon Yrsa found the spark of conversation.

“So, you were talkin’ bout a battlefield?”

“Right, yeah.” Blackbird pinched his skull above the nasal cavity much like a living person might pinch the bridge of her nose while weary or deep in thought. The memory was unpleasant, but answers he had promised, so answers he would give.

“I think I burned to death,” Blackbird said, “based on the charring of my bones and because of what fire does to me. I have no idea how I got brought back, if this even counts. Am I even who I was without my memories? Anyway, maybe it was whoever I was fighting against, or maybe it was a deity or warlock, I have no idea.”

“What happens with fire?” Yrsa asked.

“To put it simply,” Blackbird said, “I’m rather flammable. One spark and I light up faster than a forest fire in drought with a raging lightning storm. The best part is the fire won’t go out until it’s put out, and it disables my illusion. It doesn’t do any real damage to me, not sure why not, but it is more painful than a thousand stabs like the one I received today. I bloody hate it.”

“Does anything else mess with yer illusion?”

“No, but it doesn’t work on my reflection, if you’re wondering.

Yrsa nodded, then muttered a curse as she shivered. Realizing she ran after him without a coat, Blackbird unfastened his cloak and held it out to her.

“Cold doesn’t actually bother me,” he said, and would have had a slight smile had his skeletal face been able to produce one. “I just like wearing it to sulk in corners unnoticed. It’s easier than talking to people.”

Yrsa took a few hesitant steps closer and snatched the cloak, wrinkling her nose.

“What’s wrong?” Blackbird asked.

“Nothin,’” she said, wrapping the cloak around herself, and Blackbird was glad to see the shivers slow and stop. “It doesn’ smell too good but I don’ really care. Thanks.”

“Oh,” Blackbird said. “I don’t have a sense of smell, or taste, so I didn’t notice that. I’m sorry.”

“It’s fine, I don’ care,” Yrsa said, grinning, “Now at least I know why ye refused my hospitality.”

Blackbird relaxed a little.

“I wasn’t trying to be rude when you offered, but it’s kind of hard to drink things when liquids literally pass through you- well, through my illusion anyway. It’s only tangible from the outside. I would have made a mess trying to drink or eat, not to mention ruin any hope of appearing normal.”

“Then maybe don’ call yerself Blackbird,” Yrsa said, sitting on the other end of the log. “It’s a strange name in these parts.”

“When I woke up, I didn’t know my name,” Blackbird said. “I still don’t. In those first hours, I found a medic who was looking through the battlefield trying to help any that still lived, though there were very few of those. She asked me who I was. I didn’t know how to answer, so I looked around for an idea, and I saw crows and ravens feeding on the carnage. So, first thing that came to mind was black birds. Blackbird.”

“So ye keep it for sentimental reasons?”

“Aye.”

“What happened with the medic?”

Blackbird held his mask in his lap, turning it over in his hands. Studying it as though it held the answers he needed. For a minute he didn’t speak. The mask, too, said nothing.

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Blackbird said. “Let’s just say she didn’t react to my appearance as well as you. I didn’t know I was undead then either, so imagine my confusion when all I did was remove my mask like she asked…”

“Oh…”

Silence grew while a question burned at Blackbird.

“Are you still scared of me?”

Yrsa adjusted her loaned cloak. “Well, a bit, yea, but not as much as before. Ye don’ seem that bad. Just a bit spooky, if ye follow me.”

“I suppose spooky is better than monster.” Blackbird said.

“Ye get called that a lot?”

Blackbird shrugged. Yrsa frowned.

“Well, that’s just hogwash. Ye ain’t no monster.”

“Even so, I don’t exactly fit in anywhere. I don’t even know if I’m still human.”

“What about yer family?”

Blackbird glanced down. “I don’t know if I have any family. I have no memories of who I used to be, or of anyone in my life back then. Even if I did find my family, I doubt they’d want me back. The undead, even those who are normal mentally and had nothing to do with their condition, aren’t well received.”

“So what?” Yrsa said. “Ye don’ need their approval to live yer own life. I make my own way, and ye can do the same.”

Blackbird glanced up at her. Yrsa’s eyes had abandoned their fear of him, and he saw now only the fierce fire of her will flickering in their gray depths.

“Did ye pick yer first name later then?”

Blackbird nodded. “I put more thought into Rhydian, did some research.”

“Why’s that?”

Blackbird looked out at the snow landing upon the trees, gentle and glittering. “I wanted my name to mean something beyond just death. When I was first traveling north, I found a library and a compendium of local names. I found Rhydian meant ‘dweller by the river crossing’ and I recalled an old legend. I don’t know where I learned it, but I have a lot of old stories in my memories, always impersonal ones. This one reminded me that rivers are divides, said to be liminal spaces between worlds. Our world and the realm of deities, or our world and the veil between material and spirit. River crossings, like a ford, are where those worlds bleed into each other- which is not so different from what I’ve become. A dweller on the ford between life and death.”

“Ye weren’ kiddin’ about puttin’ thought into that one.”

Blackbird smiled. “No.” His expression grew sad.

“Though, since I chose my names, I share them with no one, and probably never will. What family would take something like me back, even if I knew how to ask?”

Yrsa frowned, considering her answer.

“I don’ know, Birdie, but I can offer this; we may not be family, but yer always welcome at the Unicorn.”

Yearning pulled at Blackbird, hearing the offer of welcome at Yrsa’s tavern and inn, and he let himself imagine a life there. A friendship he could nurture. A hope he could pursue.

But he shook his head.

“No. Thank you, but I can’t go back. Half of Tolm saw me get stabbed. They’ll learn what I am and then I’d likely be tortured as they try to kill me for being some undead monster.”

“I won’ let them.”

“I appreciate that,” Blackbird said, “but I’ve seen fear triumph too often. Even after I’ve helped others, I am never welcome once the truth comes out. Even laying low doesn’t work forever, even if they didn’t see what happened.”

“Ye intimidate bullies often then?”

Blackbird shook his head. “No, that was a one-time thing. I couldn’t stand those snooty idiots any more than you could. Usually, though, I help as a medic.”

“I didn’ know that. Yer a healer?”

“I am, though no magic for it. I took it up some time ago to better conceal what I am, but I’ve found helping those in need to be far more rewarding. Even when they eventually turn against me, it’s a comforting reminder that I can do something good. That I don’t have to be what they see me as.”

Yrsa nodded, studying his face. There was repulsion in her eyes, but the fear had long vanished from them, and she made no mention of her disgust. A comfort to Blackbird, but seeing his face reflected in those stern, gray eyes, doubt gnawed at him.

One friend couldn’t change the world he was trapped in. One friend couldn’t carry his burdens, nor would he shoulder her with them.

Blackbird stood and put on his mask, his expression revealed to be somber as his face rippled into view over his skull.

“Where are ye going?”

“I don’t know, but, I can’t stay here.”

“Do ye need this back?” Yrsa removed his cloak from her shoulders, offering it back to him, but he refused it.

“Keep it, I can get another, and you still have a fair distance to walk home.”

Yrsa bundled it in her arms, “Are ye sure ye won’ stay?”

Blackbird smiled sadly, the illusion on his face restored.

“I can’t, but I might visit from time to time once I’m a bit more forgotten.”

“That might be a time and an age.”

“Maybe, but I’ll come back someday. I don’t have any other friends to speak with after all.”

“Ye don’t?”

Blackbird shook his head. “I’m kind of terrified of making any, though, I wish… except you saw what happened today. It’s better to keep my head down.”

Yrsa stood, a frown upon her face and concern creating a divot in her brow. It was a new feeling, to have someone care enough to form that little crease. At least this could end on friendly terms, even though he wished the story could go on.

This was how it needed to be.

Yrsa thrust out her hand, scrunching the front of the cloak with the other to keep it from slipping off of her shoulders.

“Are ye coming?” she asked, jolting Blackbird out of his thoughts.

“Coming?” Was there some better place to part ways?

“We’re goin’ back.”

Cue utter bewilderment.

“Back? Back to Tolm? Back to your inn and tavern?” Blackbird shook his head, trying to wrap his thoughts around her unexpected offer. “Yrsa, I can’t- they saw me get stabbed, they know what I am, and if they don’t, I’ll be arrested and they’ll find out anyway. I don’t want to be chased out of another town for being an undead, charred skeleton!”

“It ain’t illegal to be undead in Tolm.”

“Necromancy is illegal.”

“Yea, but ye aren’t a necromancer, Blackbird.”

“I don’t know if I am, I have no memories of before.”

“Then ye can’t be one now, not without knowin’ the dark arts. I know a lot of people won’t like ye, or trust ye, but ye can’t give up and run every time yer found out. That’s no way to live.”

Blackbird sat again and pulled his hands into his lap. Fiddling with his gloves.

“You don’t understand, Yrsa. Even if I’m not a mage, they will still hate me for what I am.”

Yrsa did not lower her hand, but her tone shifted from fierce support to gentle comfort.

“I know yer scared, but if I can see ye for who ye are, others can too. We just need to introduce ye right and proper.”

Blackbird looked down at his hands shrouded in leather. Just a thin barrier between the world and what he was. The tear from pushing the sword out of his ribs still sundered the palm of one of them, revealing charred metatarsals beneath its secretive cover. He closed his fist.

“I’m still wanted by the guards thanks to those buffoons. Being what I am will not endear me to any magistrate. What if they sentence me to lockup?”

“I’ll break ye out mi’self. But I wouldn’ be too worried. I know the magistrate, and he’s a fair man. He’d do right by ye.”

Blackbird’s hesitation didn’t fade, but his hope grew until it was a contest of will and fear. He wanted the life Yrsa offered him. A home. A place to belong. A chance to connect and find friends.

“Are ye coming, Birdie?”

Yrsa’s hand was still extended in invitation. In welcoming. In accepting. Never before had someone offered him physical contact after finding out what he was. Was this his chance to stop running? Always, he endured on the fringe of society, the unwanted edges of a tapestry he could never be woven into.

Maybe someone new was at the loom.

He took her hand and let her pull him to his future.