Ashlasha, the tree of the grand banquet hall. It is the place where anyone may come to feast within its loving trunk or bathe in the sunlight on the canopy treetops. Young or old, impoverished or affluent, everyone climbs its roots to enjoy meals made from nature's wealth. It's where people come to celebrate, and where I go to work.
Today, however, the hall has been reserved. I and the cooks scurry about the kitchens to prepare for the evening meeting. The hall itself is at the base of the nearly 500-foot tree where we work by jumping and weaving through the branches and built-in dens. Silverware and vegetables fly, entering and leaving our hands as we need in a controlled maelstrom.
I feel the mistress's presence above me. She floats down and settles on a nearby branch, crossing her legs. Lady Silam is one of the next in line of her family and a provost in magical services. She has a look between disgust and impatience.
"Human nobles are coming this time and I need you to prepare the meat." She touches her temple. Please don't take this to mean I'm picking on you, but you're the only one who can stomach it."
I smile. I have my knife ready. "Yes ma'am."
. . .
My heart, no, my soul, sparks a new vessel into existence.
I feel like I'm buried. The spaces between them tell me it's something else Do I have a body? I want one.
Just like that, I feel my limbs. They're numb, cold, but I should be able to move them. Arms, legs, and torso twitch against a heavy weight. It ripples, an undulating pile of body parts. Ah yes, flesh. My fingertips can feel it everywhere. Other things too, sand, clumps of dirt, maggots. They're as cold as I am.
Is this all there is in the world? World. World, name, memories, I should have those things. They aren't coming back. I'm hit with an enormous migraine. Focus on something else. My head is capable of things besides remembering. Seeing, tasting, breathing, hearing.
Silver light slivers past the dark limbs. Saliva and stones clog my throat and mouth. My ears hear the throbbing inside my mind. I can't get the things in my mouth out, it's too tight here. I must climb, get to the light.
Wriggle, worm up. I use my arms and move the skin, the scales, and the skull. My fingers grab and dig into something sticky. Yes, even the eyes.
Quicker. Tight spaces are bad. I kick with my legs, swim. I'm trying to get to the surface before I drown. The light gets brighter as I travel upwards.
I reach the top. The light is bright for a moment. It comes from a jewel in the dark sky, surrounded by bright twinkles. The thing I could not remember. It was the moon.
I dig the rest of myself out while staring at the moon, fixating on it. Those rocks are still in my mouth. They're getting annoying.
I regurgitate them. I cough and make disgusting noises as I eject the garbage from my being. The light isn't enough for me to tell where I am or how high this hill is. The air is crisp and tastes of death.
My body still feels numb, annoying. I touch my legs to check that they're there. My legs, they're different. My left leg is smooth, five toes. This foot is normal. My right leg is scaly, and the toes aren't toes, they're claws. They are three claws, two in front one in back. The claws close when I flex my muscle. Not normal.
My are arms aren't the same either. One is thicker, stronger, while the other is bendy and loose. My right-side weighs more than the left. Disgusting.
I want to say that word, disgusting. My mouth should be able to. I feel my cheek muscles moving, tongue curling.
"DDDDDdduuuuuuuuuaaaaaaaaaa."
Wrong, all wrong. The sound should be a word, not a moan. My gums feel dirty from it. Everywhere feels dirty. I must clean myself in water, a river. I know what that is, I can form the image of crystal-clear water.
I coordinate my parts to try to stand steady. I hear my bones creak as they move. I'm standing on one foot. My legs are different heights, the right taller. I lose my balance and fall.
I tumble downward. My face kisses the hands that fail to catch me. Something hard and woody ends my fall. The air changes. Pollen pollutes the air I inhale. I can't move. No, it's just difficult to. The pollen paralyzes me, keeps me sedate. Need to fight and get away.
The roots mistake the corpses for fertile soil. Leaves and twigs hit my face. The way my core leans on the tree tells me I'm on a steep incline.
Something snags my wrist. A root or vine crushes it and scrapes my body against the hard bark. The pain scars my back red and forces me to gargle throat noises as the roots throws me like filth down the hill.
I roll and pick up momentum. I bang against the corpses as they kick me into the air. I skip two, three times, then plummet into a chasm.
I hear wind as the air lashes my sides. Black hair, my hair, floats in the sky and dances while the moon sings with the stars. How lovely. I could get used to this performance, but I hit rock bottom and black out.
The sun opens for act 2 and tries to blind me. I protect my eyes with my arm. Once my eyes adjust the details becomes clear. My right arm has giant veins running through it. It's thick, meaty, and green. I look to my other arm, where I see the rocky floor and people sleeping. The left arm is smaller and entirely a different color, beige to slightly yellow. My wrist is red from the plant. I don't know why but I don't like how my arms look. They are not even.
I appear to have fallen into a deep ravine. Shrubs and short trees grow on outcroppings. Hanging off the sides of the cliff are arms and legs.
I hear moaning behind me and I turn my head and see a person. He's wearing rags, showing pure bone on his legs. The back of his scalp is a tangle of hair and skull. Black insects crawl down his neck. He's moving and shambling around, like me.
