Cita was not surprised when Rashida refused to let him attend dinner with Lord Blah.
Instead, she tucked him into a soft bed, dosed him with three tinctures, and fed him bland porridge and tea. She inspected the wound on his forearm and ankle and smeared both with different pungent pastes before bandaging them.
The contrasting scents worsened Cita's headache. When he complained, she had him chew some bitter leaves. Cita opted to keep any other comments to himself.
Once Rashida was satisfied, she bade him sleep and left. Cita struggled to stay awake but fell into a dreamless slumber.
Despite going to bed early, Cita woke late. Opening his eyes with a yawn, he noticed for the first time the windowless, plastered walls of the spacious room; they were tinted to an ocher color and polished to a glossy finish. A matching set of mirrored sconces flanked the door, thick candles flickering cheerfully. Cita stretched and sat up. 'I feel ... different.'
"You're awake," Rashida observed. She sat at his bedside, working on some sort of handcraft with two sticks and thin yarn. The sticks clicked together in the silence.
'It's like I was drowning in fog and it's starting to clear.' Cita scratched his head.
**You're still drowning.** The youth that had run past the night before sat in the corner. He smirked and dusted off his buckskin pants.
Cita darted a glance from Rashida to the youth. "Do you see—"
The youth leaned forward, shaking his head and chopping his hand near his neck. His open vest flapped with the urgent motion, revealing a slender, muscled torso.
Cita's brow creased.
"I see exactly what the Lady Staryu wants me to see," Rashida snapped. She drew a deep breath and smoothed her face.
The youth sagged back into the corner and watched Rashida.
"You'll be ready for some breakfast. Is your stomach settled this morning?" Rashida didn't pause in her work as she spoke.
Cita's stomach growled in reply.
"One moment, and I'll have some fresh porridge fetched. I need to finish this row, else I'll never get back on track."
"What is that?" Cita asked. It looked repetitive and soothing, and it tickled a faint memory in the back of his mind. An image of a leather-skinned woman feeding skein after skein through gnarled fingers taunted him. He tried to catch it, but the woman and the memory eluded him.
*You don't deserve to remember her.* A cold shadow crept up Cita's back. He jerked, twisting to find the voice.
"This?" Rashida's response drew him back. "It's knitting. It keeps my fingers busy and productive. This piece will be a scarf once I'm done and keep someone warm this winter." With graceful movements, she worked stitches until she reached the end of the row. Once finished, she tucked the piece into her basket — the same basket she'd pulled medicines out of the night before.
**Wait … she drugged you?**
Like a filter dropping over his vision, the room washed deep red.
The youth wrapped his arms around his knees. He rocked back and forth.**You let her drug you? How could you be so stupid?**
Cita's breath came in short pants. He searched the room for a distraction.
Rashida turned toward Cita, cocking her head to the side as if watching a fascinating bug.
The sight of his weapons slowed Cita's racing heart. The red haze paled. The peculiar pack that rode at Bilal's hip leaned against the wall. The glaive stood in a corner, its wide, curved blade reflecting the candlelight.
"Um. Is Bilal staying here?" he asked as Rashida stood.
"He did for most of the night. I chased him off to bed a few hours ago." She slipped over to the open door and spoke to someone outside.
Cita stared at his blanket-clad toes, fighting to keep a bland expression. 'There's only one bed, and it's narrow.' He spread his arms out to touch both edges. 'Does she mean he stayed here or he slept here?' Cita shut off that train of thought with a shudder and tried to steady his breathing.
The youth's frantic rocking had slowed.
"Can she see you, or not?" Cita hissed.
**I don't know! Tobias could, sometimes,** the youth whispered.
"T-tobias?" Cita panted and clutched his throbbing head.
The youth sighed, leaning against the wall. He still gripped his knees. **Nevermind. Don't worry about that for now. I've got your back. I wish you hadn't done it — we didn't need his help. But I've got your back.**
"Wait. That's what you said yesterday. In the market. And then you were just gone!" Cita darted a glance at Rashida, who lingered in the door, head tipped to the side.
**Hey!** The youth lurched forward to crouch on his knees. **I've had your back this whole time! If you can't see that, you're as blind as her!** The youth waved at Rashida.
Cita glared. "I'm not blind! The echo, and that shadow—"
**The shadow is the least of your worries. Now just … don't say anything, okay? At least not so she can hear.**
Cita nodded, his jaw set. 'If he thinks this is the last of it …'
Rashida returned and reached toward Cita's face. Flinching, he allowed her to feel his forehead. She kept her light touch brief and professional.
"Your fever seems to have broken. If it stays that way today, I'll consider letting you out of bed tomorrow. There's not much I can do for your ankle without a familiar. Does your head hurt?"
Cita shook his head before realizing she could not see him. 'Or she says she can't see, anyway.' He sighed.
"It's fine," he said. Then he thought of something. "But Bilal wanted to leave town today."
Dread crawled through Cita's veins before the comforting red haze washed his vision. Red flames licked up the bed frame, and Cita watched them grow with detached interest.
**It doesn't matter if he leaves. You've been abandoned before.** The youth glared at the pack. **What do you need him for, anyway?**
Cita stroked the flames on the bedspread before returning his attention to the blind healer.
"Let it burn," he crooned under his breath.
The youth popped to his feet, whooping. **Yes!**
Cita froze, watching Rashida's blank face. 'Too blank? Does she know he's here, or not?'
Rashida shook her head. "Bilal isn't going anywhere yet," she answered. "Lord Blaah insists that he shall speak with you both before either of you are permitted to leave. And I'll not let him harass you until I say you're ready." She resumed her seat with an authoritative snort, folding her hands neatly in her lap.
'Is it that easy to boss around a lord? What kind of pull does she have?'
Cita embraced the silence and observed the blind healer through the red haze and dancing flames. She looked youthful enough with her unwrinkled brown skin and smooth black hair. Her attitude reminded him of a grey-haired granny, though.
'Did I know my grandmother?' he wondered.
**Don't worry about Gran,** the youth commanded. **We'll get back to her. That's all there is to it.**
Cita stared at the youth. Before he could ask any of the dozens of questions that sprang to mind, a gentle knock came from the door.
The knock heralded the arrival of a young woman in a servant's uniform. She bore a tray with porridge and a teapot.
Cita tucked into the food robotically. As he ate, the red haze ebbed from his vision. His tongue suddenly told him the tea was light and crisp. The porridge was bland in contrast. He sniffed.
'Why doesn't it smell like smoke?' Cita patted the intact bed. 'What? Was the bed on fire or not?' Cita looked at the blind healer, searching for a hint of what was going on.
Rashida had picked up her knitting while Cita was distracted. He set aside his tray and tried not to think.
**Newsflash! It's not working. Idiot.** The youth laughed.
Cita sighed again.
"Not accustomed to being idle, Cita?" Rashida chuckled. "Would you care for a nap?"
Cita shook his head. "No, thanks," he verbalized. "I just feel like …"
Rashida waited, attentive but not trying to steer his words.
"I feel like I should be doing something or going somewhere." Cita held his breath.
"It's possible you should be. Bilal said that you didn't remember much. Perhaps you were journeying somewhere before you two met." Rashida left it as a statement.
Cita let out his held breath and rolled his head to release the tension from his shoulders.
"It's uncommon to find lone travelers with all the Infected nowadays, and doubly so when the Infected seem so interested in you. Were you with someone? Your mistress or master, perhaps?"
Cold sweat beaded on Cita's brow. His breath and heartbeat quickened, and the red haze drowned his vision. Ringing filled his ears, swamping anything else Rashida asked.
*****
"And then the Lady Staryu slammed the base of her staff onto the ground, raising a mighty gust of wind. The wind swept outward from the Lady, knocking the greedy nimbashu trees flat and tumbling them into the far eastern sea."
Bilal's deep voice was soothing, and a rhythmic schwick schwick kept tempo.
Cita blinked his eyes back into focus and saw Bilal seated in the chair that had held Rashida a moment earlier. The dark warrior twisted to keep his wing clear of the seatback as he honed his blade. The candles guttered in their sconces.
"From that day forth, what used to be a choking forest was the pampas, often dry and often dusty, but filled with bountiful plant and animal life. The nimbashu trees never flourished again, and what few remain are twisted still by the wind that answers Lady Staryu's call." This seemed to end whatever tale Bilal had been reciting, as he fell quiet.
"So is this Staryu a legend, or was she real?" Cita rasped. He cleared his throat and rubbed it. 'Why does my throat hurt?'
Golden eyes looked at him from a head cocked sideways. Bilal handed Cita a cup before answering.
Cita sniffed the cup's contents. 'Tea again? Didn't I just drink a potful?'
"Is this …" he stopped, unsure how to continue.
Bilal kept his eyes on the whetstone gliding over his blade again. "Water. From the well. Mint. From Lord Blaah's herb garden."
Cita sipped it. Something niggled like a forgotten assignment at the back of his brain.
"Some say that she walked the lands. Some say that she is a myth, and the stories were created by parents who wanted to stop their children's incessant questions. Others say that the nimbashu were not trees, and the Lady was not the Lady, and they represent another hidden tale." Bilal shrugged. "I do not know where the truth lies." Bilal wiped his blade clean and sheathed it.
'But what do you believe?' Cita stared at his cooling tea and didn't ask.
"Do you want to eat?" Bilal asked.
Cita's automatic reply that he had just finished breakfast was interrupted by a hungry growl from his stomach. He looked at it in consternation. Bilal smiled, flashing sharp, white teeth.
"I will go fetch our supper then. If you would like, you can borrow my blade kit to tend your daggers."
Cita nodded. 'Yes. Blade close to hand, always, and tended.' The 'why' was missing, but he focused on accepting the whetstone, blade oil, and a soft cloth.
Bilal hesitated and handed him a long dagger with a faceted red stone embedded in the hilt.
"That stone." Bilal paused. "It matches your eyes."
Cita blinked. "Uh, yeah. It's a fire opal. It used to be in my earring, but …" He trailed off in confusion. 'But what? What happened?' He stared at the gem as if it held the answers.
"The blades will not tend themselves." Bilal broke the silence.
Cita sucked in a deep breath and fell to work. The long blade felt comfortable in his grip, and tension escaped Cita's shoulders. The stone winked in the lantern light.
**Just sharpen the blades. And keep them near. Don't worry about anything else.** The youth sat at the foot of Cita's bed, swinging his feet.