**Warning: Graphic content (or so my beta-readers have said)**
Cita stared around suspiciously. The ground was brown and smooth. Dark stalks poked up at regular intervals. Cita bounced lightly on his toes, frowning when he noticed they were bare. 'Wasn't I wearing my boots?' The surface squished down under him and sprang back to its original level. He spun slowly in place and saw … no one. There was nothing except the stalks and the brown landscape, which sloped off in all directions.
"Hello?"
There was no response.
He picked a random direction and began walking. The texture of the surface remained constant until he spotted a slightly raised area. He altered his course toward the ridge.
The raised area was about as long as he was tall and looked like an angry welt on the terrain. It had a red cast to the raised portion, deepening in color toward the middle.
Cita slowed as he neared the welt and knelt at the edge of the red-tainted surface. He reached down and felt it. It was warm to the touch, and warmer where the red encroached. It pulsated rhythmically and flinched from his hand. He rocked back on his heels to contemplate the situation.
"It's an infected wound," he mused. His voice rang in the stillness and he shivered. "Which makes this the flesh of some great beast." He looked around with interest. "But what type of beast?"
He looked at the wound and fingered his long dagger.
"Well, an infection needs to be drained, right?"
He plunged his dagger into the angry welt. A gush of white, chunky pus oozed out, drenching him in the fetor of decay. A stabbing sensation in his head drove Cita to his knees. He gagged.
"Maybe that wasn't such a good idea."
The chunks started to rock back and forth. Their outer layer split. Hundreds of palm-sized white spiders swarmed out.
Cita's head throbbed harder, immobilizing him.
The spider's carapaces hardened and changed from milky white to orange-red. Long, segmented legs clacked together as they milled about. Then one of them brushed against Cita's bare foot.
An indistinct, taunting voice echoed through the air.
"Who's there?" Cita called.
The arachnids turned on Cita. They crawled up his feet and calves. More came, sweeping across his thighs and stomach. They poured over his head in a wave. Each brought a fresh voice, unintelligible but cruel.
Cita closed his eyes and tried to defend his aching head by wrapping it with his arms. His limbs brought no protection from the voices.
The layer of spiders thickened. The voices were joined by flashing images Cita couldn't place.
**
A leather-skinned woman, rocking. A smiling teenager with a bow. A burning building. A bottle of blue liquid.
**
Cita flailed at the spiders, flinging dozens off and trying to stem the tide of half-memories.
The spiders were persistent. Each one he threw off was replaced twofold. The more they enveloped him, the hotter he felt. The prickly legs soon burned like flaming matches driven into his flesh.
Cita thrashed, trying to throw them off. He wanted to scream, but a new image owing nothing to memory flashed through his mind — the spiders swarming into his mouth. He clenched his lips shut.
His bones felt charred from the heat of the spiders he couldn't escape. Another image flashed through his mind — his flame-seared bones laying on the bronze skin of this strange beast.
"Look what you've done, boy."
The hauntingly familiar voice cut through the clamor surrounding Cita. He froze in the spider's embrace.
"I went to so much trouble after the forest distracted your guardians. I packed away these … nasty things. Tucked away the meddlesome remnants. Made you good as new. And you had to go and destroy my hard work. Again." The voice tsked. "What am I to do with you?"
'I know that phrase. He used that phrase. Constantly.' Cita's mind scrambled through the images offered by the spiders, piecing them together.
**
Cita released the arrow, and it flew unerringly to sink deep in the distant target. Before it landed, he had another nocked and drawn. He let it fly after its predecessor and pulled a successor from his quiver.
"You missed practice today, Akicita," the voice called from the doorway. Cita hesitated as a man entered the shooting range, shaking his head. Flying blond hair caught glimmers of sunlight that fought through the dirty windows high in the walls. "What am I to do with you?"
**
Cita dared to open his eyes, squinting to keep the spider legs out. The suited figure loomed over him. A blank mask of shadow covered the face.
The gaping wound beast heaved, spewing more pus and a larger bundle. The bundle coughed and sputtered. Slowly, fire opal eyes opened to glare at the shadowy figure.
"Untie me!" the youth choked. He fought weakly against the ropes binding his hands and feet.
"Ah. That's all we need," the shadow murmured. "I finally bury you in the pits of hell where you belong and you come back up like vomit."
"Like you have any room to talk!" the youth spat.
'What does he mean?' Cita wondered. His heart raced. He glared at the swarming spiders. Forcing his shaking hands into action, he grabbed one and drew it to his mouth.
"Boy, what are you doing?" the shadow asked.
Cita bit down on the abdomen of the spider. A gush of viscera squirted into his mouth, and he swallowed.
**
"I … don't have the fee for the virtual range this week, Mr. Smith," Cita admitted, lowering his bow.
Mr. Smith sighed and came closer. Cita turned and watched the man's shiny shoes approach.
"I wish you'd told me. An unexcused absence from practice means you can't attend the tournament next weekend."
Cita flinched and hugged his bow. "I know."
"But maybe we can still do something. A make-up session."
A hand held out a blue sports drink.
Cita stared at the dark hairs slicked across the pale knuckles.
"If you're a good boy, that is." Mr. Smith chuckled, "If you're a really good boy, I'll take you to the virtual range this weekend."
"My … my grandmother —" Cita began.
"I'll talk to your grandmother. She's thrilled I'm taking such an interest in you. She goes on and on about your lack of male role models."
Teeth grinned white against the darkly shadowed face as Cita finally looked up.
"Don't worry. I'll take good care of you." Cold fingers caressed his cheek.
**
Flames burst from Cita's body, sending the spiders skittering away.
The shadow of Mr. Smith recoiled.
Cita staggered to his feet. He glowered and sent a slash of fire toward the youth.
The flames darted to the bound figure and danced, consuming the rope and pus alike. They shifted to blue as the youth lurched to his feet. His buckskin pants were torn and stained. His vest hung open, exposing bony ribs.
Cita and the youth both faced down their oppressor.
"Now, boy. You know this isn't what you want," Mr. Smith cautioned as he edged back.
"I don't want anything from you," Cita snarled. "You destroyed me!"
"I made you!" Mr. Smith roared. He leaned forward and waved an angry hand. "You were nothing until I picked you up out of the gutter! I taught you the skills everyone loved, and I paid for the drugs that loosened your uptight little ass enough to use those skills. And when you were too deviant to deal with it — I paid for those drugs, too!"
Cita wavered. He could taste the blue sports drink that carried Mr. Smith's special blend. He could feel the euphoria and disconnection pulsating through his mind. And he could remember the hands that always came after. His red and orange flames flickered as if fighting a gale.
"See? You remember how it was," Mr. Smith cajoled. "I can make it almost as good again. All you have to do is destroy him." He jerked a thumb toward the youth.
The youth stood silent, wreathed in blue flames.
"Well?" Cita demanded. "Aren't you going to say anything? You said you'd have my back!"
The youth sighed, shaking his head. "There are some things I can't do for you. Believe me, I've tried." He sagged back to his knees.
"Not much of a protector, huh?" Mr. Smith sneered. He turned to the youth. "You can't even—"
A massive red and orange fireball knocked Mr. Smith onto his face. His suit began to burn. He screamed and rolled frantically.
"Don't turn your back on me," Cita growled. He threw a smaller fireball. It missed, skipping like a stone.
"You were never any good at baseball," the youth chuckled. "Try something you know."
Cita cocked his head. Then he coaxed familiar shapes from his flames. He nocked an arrow, drew, and let fly.
Mr. Smith's scream arched higher. The arrow pierced his right shoulder to the brown, squishy ground. Another shaft followed. And another. And another.
Cita surveyed his handiwork. Arrows secured the still-screaming shadow that had haunted him for longer than he remembered, piercing both shoulders and legs.
Mr. Smith writhed but could not escape. Slowly, his screams tempered to gasps.
"Well, what are you going to do, boy?"
"Hmm," Cita replied, fingering another arrow. "I think … you know things. Things like … what is your name?" Cita spun on the youth, weapon nocked but not drawn.
"Me? You still haven't figured it out?"
"I'm tired of your games," Cita snarled.
"Fine," the youth sighed and shoved himself to his feet. "You're Cita, right?" His chin rose, and he stepped forward to whisper in Cita's face, "Call me Aki. Got it memorized?" He shoved Cita backward.
"Hey!"
With a bone-shaking thump, Cita crashed into something solid. It grabbed him. The world spun crazily. Startled, he realized that Bilal's scarred arm wrapped tightly around him, and the wind was flinging them up and away from the ground.
The ladder plummeted.
"Hang on!" Bilal shouted over the rushing wind.
Cita grabbed the arm that held him.
"This was a lot easier with two wings," Bilal grunted as he shifted his wing, legs, and left arm. His new glaive was gripped confidently in his left hand.
"Bilal, we're flying!" Cita laughed. The gusting wind ripped his words away. The sky spiraled around them, providing a shifting view of clouds, buildings, and the increasingly distant ground.
"Not exactly," Bilal hissed. He twisted and the spiral slowed.
Something warm dripped into Cita's hair and he flinched.
They skewed sideways until Bilal shifted to compensate.
The gust slowed and they drifted lower. They were nearly safe on the ground when the wind howled, thrusting them back into the air. Then it stopped, dropping them a few feet to the ground.
"Ooof," Cita complained as he landed on Bilal. He rolled off quickly.
Two heads — one dark and one red — peered over the edge of the roof; their faces were comical masks of surprise and terror. Jenny ran toward them, bucket forgotten.
'What? I fell off the roof … and … the spiders, Mr. Smith, Aki … it was in my mind?' Cita shook his head dizzily. He turned to Bilal, expecting the warrior to chastise him for being careless.
Bilal lay sprawled on the hard-packed dirt. His left hand still clutched his glaive. Bloody tear tracks traced his cheeks. Blood streamed from his nose and mouth.
"Bilal!" Cita fell at his side. He stretched out his hand but drew back. His breath raced and his hands shook.
"Anasz, dali si bezbeden?" Bilal asked in a raspy, uneven voice.
'Anasz, are you safe?'
Cita's brow furrowed, and he fought to stay grounded, to not drift into the blankness that sheltered his mind when the present was too hard.
"What? Bilal, are you …" Cita trailed off.
"Anasz ... ne not ne se vraḱaj nazad, Anasz," Bilal's bleary gaze raked over Cita. "Tie ... ne gi sakaat skršenite."
'Anasz do not go back, Anasz. They do not want those who are broken.'
Bilal paused, gasping, before continuing, "Tie nema da ve zadržat, bez vašite krilja. Prokolnati sme, a Luǵeto na Božicata ne možat da nè ostavat da se pridržuvame." Panting, he stared at Cita as if willing him to action.
'They will not keep you, without your wings. We are cursed, and the Goddess's People cannot let us abide.'
"Please, Bilal — I don't understand. Come on, we didn't fall that far. Right?" Cita reached a tentative hand toward Bilal's scarred shoulder. He grasped the seam of his own shirt and tore a strip free. He dabbed at the blood streaking Bilal's face. The cloth soaked through, staining Cita's hands.
Bilal mumbled incoherently, shaking his head.
"He just swooped!" Jenny gasped, bending over the fallen warrior. "I've heard stories about the Goddess-sworn Dracaenaekin, but I never imagined! But why is he bleeding?"
"I don't know!" Cita dashed a clammy palm over his watering eyes. Bilal's blood streaked across his face. "Rashida. She's a healer, right? And sworn to his goddess."
"What did you do now?" Rashida ran around the corner as if summoned by her name. Her belted robe was gone, replaced by her customary flowing white dress and staff. "The Lady Staryu is not pleased."
"I fell. Off the roof. And he caught me."
"Idiot," she snarled as she knelt next to Bilal.
Cita flinched.
"Kindness, Healer," Jenny chastised. "It wasn't deliberate."
"Deliberate or not, he chose to command the Lady Staryu's power without asking her blessing." Rashida pulled the cloth from Cita's hand. "She is not pleased," she repeated. "Get the ladder up and get those two off the roof. Then go and fetch a litter or something we can use to move Bilal."
"I don't understand," Cita said. "Why would Staryu … I mean the Lady Staryu … what does that have to do with Bilal …?"
"She's a petty bitch," Rashida shouted. She fell back, swearing and clutching her head.
"You see what Staryu wants you to see," Cita whispered. His eyes grew wide. "You weren't born blind."