The tale continues...
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“No!” he cried. “Not me! Not now!” Panicked, he writhed around, turned to look up and down the steps. There was no sign of a Messor.
“It is not time!” he shouted. “I cannot d-“
A blast of yellow fire spat down from the air. The bush was aflame. Singed leaves made a choking smoke, fanned by the chaotic movement of the bush as its stems and branches vibrated. The air was thick with burning leaves. The Mobilis shrank back as a second blast split its bole in two.
Gasping, Abiuravi looked back. Three steps up stood a tall man armed with a pen and a vial of ink, a trail of documents marking the side of the step from which he must have appeared. [didn't understand that last clause at all. Are there literally papers strewn about? Or writing on the vertical face of the step?] “My hand!” Abiuravi cried. Acid sap bubbled on his skin. He tried to wipe it off, [with what?] but it stuck, and spread. “My arm…”
The man leaped down to where Abiuravi lay. He was a young, bearded, dark. “I’ve got no water,” he said. He stood up, looking back in the direction from which he had come. “There’s a small tavern down the hill, off the Nebula Steps. A flight of stairs takes you there.”
Gasping for breath, Abiuravi rose to his feet and followed the man. His rescuer ran: Abiuravi staggered. At the side of the step he saw a precipitous drop to the houses far below, their tiled rooves fungus-covered, the alleys between them invisible beneath mist. Stone stairs no more than a yard wide led down like a part-folded ribbon. Without a word the man leaped them [suggest you make it clear he's leaping down them rather than over] as would a goat, his boot heels tapping out a fast rhythm [picky, but goats run on what to us would be the ball of the foot, so no heels]. Abiuravi followed as best he could, leaning back and using his right hand to balance his descent, which seemed to extend in time: the steps so high, Morsurbs below like the foothills of a great mountain, every frantic second convincing him he would trip, scream, fall to his death.
“Almost there!” came a voice. [whose, the man's? If so, why not say?]
Abiuravi smelled food. He caught his breath, slowed, then glanced out from the winding stairs to see a tower at eye level. Great mirrors atop it reflected Divinita’s radiance downward. [if Divinita is overhead, then the radiance is already going downwards -- what are the mirrors designed to do?] Then shadow took him, and he felt the young man’s hand reach for his shin. He felt dizzy, nauseous: pain enervated him.
“Careful! There’s grease here. We’re almost there. Slow down!”
Abiuravi did as he was told. Twenty more paces and he was done, swathed in mist at street level, in a quarter of the city that he knew not. [not sure about "he knew not" -- sounds like an out-of-place flourish, but if it really fits the POV voice as far as you're concerned, fine]
The man grabbed his right wrist and dragged him to an illuminated door. The pair stumbled through. Abiuravi smelled smoke, cooked food, mud.
“Water!” the man called. “There’s been an attack!”
From a nearby table a white-haired woman rose, a tankard in her hand. She ran over and doused Abiuravi’s hand and arm in cold water.
Abiuravi relaxed. The pain diminished. A stink of burned flesh rose up, and he coughed, his eyes watering [very minor point: third mention of "water" in short succession] , as the people around him groaned, complained, and muttered. “The thing jumped me on the Nebula Steps,” he explained. “This man-“
But his rescuer had vanished.
Abiuravi held his breath. He looked around. The tavern room was gloomy, lit by soot-stained lanterns, a pall [pall? Bit strong, I'd have thought] of smoke roiling beneath the ceiling, tables and chairs strewn at random around the place. And silence now – except for the drip of water from his arm to the floorboards.
The old woman smiled at him and said, “Of course, a man,” as if he was a child.
“But…”
“Sit down. This is not your place, but we do welcome you here.”
Abiuravi let out his breath, sagged into a chair. Twenty local residents sat in this large common room: cheap clothes, old pipes, dirty tables, battered chairs, a tray of roasted Immobilis organs on a lengthy bar that glittered with pink crystal goblets. Of course he could not touch any of the food here, this not being his community.
“I am Humani,” he said. “I thought I would see my Messor any second…” He sobbed, [the sobbed took me by surprise, as there has been no real hint of any emotion in the previous paragraphs] leaned over and saw tendril marks on his boots. “Look! White leaf mould, acid sap stains. I did not lie.”
There was no reply. The old woman brought him a tankard of water. “It’s safe to drink,” she said. “We’ve got our own well.”
Abiuravi stood up. He had to get away. [you suggest in the next para that this is because he feels uncomfortable being watched, but why not show us this now, when he'd actually feeling it?] “Do you have a room…?”
The old woman pointed to a door. Abiuravi walked through it to enter a small chamber fitted with a bench, on which stood pails of water, cloths, and other cleansing oddments. A cracked, black-stained mirror hung on the wall. He took a cloth and washed his face and his damaged arm and hand, before looking at himself in the mirror. Black-grey crinkled hair at shoulder length, deepset eyes beneath unruly eyebrows, pock-marked skin, white hairs coming out of his ears. His teeth were good though, his breath still sweet. [not clear (to me) what he's looking for, exactly. Change? Might be worth making clearer, otherwise you risk looking like you're just using a hackneyed device to give us a description.]
He sat on the bench. He began to relax. The sensation of being watched by so many strangers had been uncomfortable.
Ten minutes later his breathing was calm, his mind quiet. He returned to the common room.
The old woman stood at the further end of the bar, and he walked over to thank her. “It was a Mobilis like a bush,” he said. “I could draw it for you, if you had any-“
“There’s no need.”
Abiuravi sighed and sat on a bar stool. From this position he could see the further half of the common room, the far end of which was occupied by a large structure, in front of which sat a number of people. He walked over. [the people here don't seem much interested in him or his experiences, and if he felt uncomfortable earlier, why doesn't he just leave? Why offer to draw the Mobilis? (not saying you need to make it all plain now, but I hope you know)]
