Phoenix

Gigi

The fly woke her—buzzing about her ear and playing fiddle with her nose hair. She swatted at it with one hand and opened her eyes to find that she was lying on a canvas mat that did nothing to disguise the lumps and bumps of a dirt floor. There was a chamois on her forehead that was probably meant to be damp, but had caked and melded to her brow in the heat.

She pulled it off and looked around. She was in a hut. Golden light twinkled through gaps in the circular mud-brick walls, one side of which was etched in the design of a bird sitting on a branch. The straw roof above her head was so low, she could touch it if she were standing and strings of dried herbs, garlic and chillies dangled from wooden reinforcements between the straw like a child's mobile.

The furnishings were crude. Hammocks gone yellow with age zigzagged the outer walls and a broom made from tufts of tumbleweed lay discarded near the foot of her canvas mat. A waft of voices floated in from outside.

"You're not travelling with fresh stitches." The first voice warbled like that of an old woman.

"I'll be fine." A man's voice, light and springy like a quill scratching paper, answered. "The storm front will hit the South Ridge within days. We should leave now. Let the storm cover our tracks."

"At least wait until the girl's fit to travel," the old woman replied. "She's severely dehydrated. She shouldn't be doing anything, let alone battling a storm with you ruffians."

"We be putting you in too much danger," another, male voice boomed. This one deep and hollow, like a double bass.

"They've probably got hounds on our scent as we speak," a stern female voice piped up. "Who knows what kind of revenge plot they've cooked up. Especially with that Seers woman dead."

The Seers woman? Dead?At that, Ash tried to sit up, but her head swam and she fell back onto the canvas mat with a thud.

"How do you know she's not alive?" the springy voice countered.

"Because her car exploded." The stern woman said in a tone that insinuated she thought this should be obvious.

"That would mean the Director's dead too," the springy voice said.

"No, idiot. He got in the other car."

"But you said—"

"Shhh. She's awake." The old woman's voice was back. She must've heard Ash stirring through the mud brick walls.

The group fell silent.

The whole hut shook as the bark door swung open and the old woman stepped inside, her long silver hair a pendulum down her crooked back and leathery chestnut skin pegged into a toothless smile. "Sorry about them, dear. They didn't mean to wake you." Her voice wobbled just as much as the tray in her hands which she set down on the dirt next to Ash. The aroma of vegetable broth and fresh bread made Ash's stomach growl.

"My name's Giandra, but you can call me Gigi."

Ash watched as Gigi worked a chunk of bread free from the loaf and covered it in so much butter, it seeped through the yeasty air pockets to grease her weathered fingers. After dipping it in the broth, she placed it under Ash's nose. "Eat."

Ash hesitated, eyes flicking towards the door. It was open. She wasn't captive. Still, she didn't want to eat anything until she knew what was at stake. She leaned away.

Gigi's smile sagged in offence. "Nobody's poisoned it. I pulled those vegetables out of their pots this morning."

It was the first time Ash had ever denied food and she didn't know how long she could resist. "Where am I?"

Gigi sighed. "Away from that god-forsaken city."

"H-how?"

Gigi rolled her eyes. "By motorbike, of course."

"What do you want from me?"

Gigi sighed. "What is it with orphans and always thinking the worst of us? Quit your wailing and eat."

Ash's mouth dropped open at the old woman's seamless transition into gutter slang and Gigi took the opportunity to push the bread right into her open mouth. Ash spluttered and choked. Then, despite herself, began chewing. The soup-softened bread was nothing like the unappealing mash they'd had at the orphanage. It was an explosion of flavours that coated her tastebuds and dissolved in her mouth, leaving her salivating for more.

She hadn't realised how hungry she was until then. Suddenly, all those hours since her last meal seemed like days. She leaned forward for more, and Gigi met her with the lip of the bowl and slowly tipped the contents into her mouth. Ash gulped like a dog, forgetting to breathe, and let out an involuntary moan.

"That's the way," Gigi murmured, watching Ash lick the left over salt from her lips. "That was some strong sedative I put in there. Sleep now."

Ash didn't have time to be shocked. Stomach full, tastebuds wrapped in flavour, sedative numbing her senses, she drifted back to sleep. The last thing she felt were the old woman's weathered fingers rubbing ointment into the scabs on her arm.

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