Weary Travelers

A sonorous voice resounded and drowned out everything else.

"Once the world was new, the Lady looked down and saw a people who longed for the sky. They were travelers and traders, and they seldom stopped anywhere for long. Their leaders would find the highest point on the horizon as the sun rose, and that is where they went. When they got to that high point, they would camp for a few nights, or sometimes for a few weeks. But in the end, they always moved on, certain there was another place closer to their beloved sky.

"The Lady watched, and the Lady listened. She saw them standing at their high points; arms spread wide as the great condor's wings. She heard them telling stories of the sky, its grandeur, and how they belonged there.

"And if this was all that they did and all they said, she may have been content to leave them to wander, searching for their highest spot and telling their stories. But while they traveled, they spread kindness. The grandfather that needed his home repaired would return to find his walls patched and his roof freshly thatched. The widow struggling to feed her children would find her larder filled with staples. And they loved children. If they came across an abandoned or orphaned child - well, their troupe grew and was all the merrier for it.

"Despite their kindnesses large and small, the people they met distrusted and disliked them. They were viewed as cheats and skinflints. Their dark skin and tightly curled hair made them stand out among the lighter-skinned people, and they were hated even more for this. Their pointed teeth and carnivorous habits caused fear, and people whispered that they devoured the children they stole. They're cursed and evil, they said. The gods and goddesses despised them, else why would they be so dark and have no home to call their own? So it was said, and so it was believed.

"To cheat one of these traders was an achievement to be proud of and to kill one was an honorable sacrifice to the gods. The traders sorrowed and learned to travel always in pairs or larger groups. In the dark of night and without warning, they would depart without a trace. So the people grew more fearful and said that these were ghostly beasts that could only be destroyed with a priestly blessing.

"The Lady saw this and felt compassion for the travelers who loved the sky. Down on her mighty winds, she rode to confront them as they fled from yet more hostility. The Lady offered them a choice. She could change them so that they looked just like the people who hated them. They could find a place to settle and be accepted. Or she could alter them further, so they would never be mistaken for those who hated them. She could give them a land that was hostile and barren, but as close to their beloved sky as they could reach while living. And they would have wings, not like the condors they had admired for so long, but like the Lady's sacred dragons. But they would have to decide - once and for all time and for all their children's children's children - before dawn's light cleared the horizon.

"The travelers were scared. This was what they had longed for. And yet, deep in their hearts lurked a kernel of doubt. What would it be like to be accepted for once? To have the people trust them?

"The travelers talked long into the night, sharing their hopes and fears. In the end, some chose to become like the ones that feared them. But others … they embraced their differences and accepted the Lady's offer to change them to be more different yet. And to each and all, the Lady gave her blessing. Some had the blessing to stay, and some had the blessing to go. But each was blessed by their own choice."

The voice hesitated.

"This is the older version - the one that is only whispered in the secret hours of the night. In the daylight, it is said the Lady cursed those who wanted to blend in, that they would forevermore be less and unworthy. Her blessings were kept for those who would stand out."

Cita looked up from the gurgling stream and stared at Bilal. 'Who wants to stand out? I just want to be left alone and go home.'

"Are you back then?" Bilal asked. He watched Cita, golden eyes searching.

"Back?" Cita echoed. 'Did I go some place?' His brow furrowed, but he could only remember Bilal's voice, telling a story.

Bilal sighed and shook his head. "You seem well enough. Let us continue." He stood and offered a hand to Cita.

Cita looked away, focusing on the straps of his bow sling and quiver as he clambered to his feet.

"Breakfast, right?" Cita asked with a tight smile. His gaze focused past Bilal's right ear. "I'm starving."

"Yes," Bilal answered, pulling his hand back to point. "Eastward, boy. To breakfast."

*****

Dust motes danced in the taproom air. The early autumn day had warmed as mid-afternoon approached, producing a lazy atmosphere. The heat soothed the soreness in Cita's muscles, and he fought against the lassitude it encouraged while watching the locals who jostled around a cluster of tables at the far side of the taproom. They returned the favor, eying him and whispering among themselves while Bilal spoke with the innkeeper.

"Three silver half-weights for two rooms overnight, two evening meals, and access to the community baths," the innkeeper, who had introduced himself as Marcus, announced. "Breakfast is separate, and a copper small-weight each."

'What's a silver half-weight? Or a copper small-weight?' Cita patted the empty pouch on the side of his quiver and shifted his threadbare pack. Black arrows clattered.

"One room. I'll make a pallet on the floor," Cita murmured to Bilal.

"Two silver half-weights for one room, with an extra pallet, the meals, and wash water in the room," Bilal countered. "We'll be leaving before dawn, so no breakfast."

'Why leave so early? Does he have some place he needs to be? A … family … to get home to?' Cita surreptitiously eyed his savior. 'I know less about this guy than I know about myself! And now he's… buying me a hotel room?' Cita shuddered and tried to keep his face impassive.

Marcus shook his head. "Two silver half-weights for the room, pallet, and evening meals. It's extra work to bring wash water upstairs. That's a bargain during the harvest festival!"

Bilal's golden eyes narrowed, and the innkeeper caved.

"I'll toss in some stuffed rolls for breakfast. They'll be ready early, and you can take them with you."

"Agreed." Bilal reached out a dark-skinned hand to shake on the price. Marcus clasped hands without hesitation, his pale flesh in stark contrast.

'Well, that was easy enough. Almost like the farmer's market with …' Cita's eyes drifted shut as he tried to pin down that thought. It fluttered away like ashed-paper on the breeze.

"Marcus!"

A slurred shout from the group of tables shook Cita back to the present.

The innkeeper pulled out a crude brass key and beckoned to the thin blonde barmaid

"Heya," she called as she set aside her pitcher and bustled over.

"Marcus! Who've ya got there?" A scrawny man in mud-stained clothes staggered over to leer at Cita.

"Yer a pretty one, even with that shorn hair. Come sit wit' me 'nd I'll treat ya to the finest ale in the townsh—hic!" He leaned in, gusting foul breath in Cita's face.

'He's drunk.' Cita recoiled, taking a step back, but his twisted ankle refused to support his weight. Off-balance, he couldn't avoid the inebriated hand that grabbed his arm.

"No!"

"Such a flirt! This lame beast can't be takin' care of ya. Come wit' me, and I'll show ya how a real man treats a lover."

Cita's mind churned to a halt. Distantly, he felt his head loll to the side like a puppet with dropped strings, and his half-closed eyes assessed the drunk.

"Hmm," a voice drawled.

Cita didn't recognize the lazy, almost sultry tone that emerged from his mouth.

Flames spread. They crawled up the walls and across the floor. They drifted from cheerful red and orange to a sharp blue. They devoured the onlookers, and the drunk, and the innkeeper, and Bilal.

'Let it all burn.' Cita's thoughts straggled as if trapped in muck.

"The lowest of society — always so hands-on," the strange voice said, still using Cita's mouth. "Didn't your parents teach you not to touch things that don't belong to you?"

The drunk stared. "Wha—" His grip tightened on Cita's arm.

The voice continued, "I'll give you the count of three. Then I'm gonna light up your life. One."

Cita's unblinking eyes burned, and his lips curled into a twisted, mocking smile. He fingered his long dagger.

"Step away from him." Bilal's deep voice cut through the standoff.

The unwanted hand vanished, shoved aside by a dark-skinned hand before Bilal's unreadable golden gaze met Cita's. Then he planted his broad, one-winged back in front of Cita.

"Jacob, go sober up or get out. Do you want guards in here? You know they don't hold to drunkenness, especially during the harvest festival." Marcus shooed the drunk away and began apologizing.

Cita raised his head and watched the pretty flames, allowing them to soothe the disquiet that sought to rouse his mind. 'It's fine,' he told himself. Fire is better than… Something tried to crawl back into his awareness — something forgotten. He shuddered with a sudden chill.

"How am I cold? With all this fire," Cita mumbled. The red fog wrapped him tight and distanced him further.

Alarmed golden eyes flashed over a scarred shoulder.

"... tired … go to the room …" Bilal's soothing rumble cut in and out beyond the ringing in Cita's ears, chased by the innkeeper's lighter tones.

"You certain? Dinner … ready soon …"

"No …"

"... understand … tray … later …"

Cita gripped his elbows and squeezed hard, trying to hide the shaking that wracked his body as they started walking toward the stairs.

'You're just cold.' He limped after Bilal and up the flaming stairs. 'Just cold.'