Displaced (Wingless: Book Two)

6. The Ache

            I started at that. At least, I tried to. The discomfort in my back escalated to a full on nerve-attack, and I hissed on an inhale to hold back the second feminine scream of the day. “I have a name.” I managed to get out between clenched teeth, “It’s Charlie.”

            “Charlie? Strange name.” He was one to talk. “Never mind that name, anyway. They’ll give you a new one if you survive until the Malust.” I was too tired and much too sore to ask him what he meant. “Can you stand?”

            I hadn’t made an earnest attempt and wished to keep it that way. I had a strong feeling that if I stood, I’d pass out from the sheer ow-factor. As if my head wasn’t listening to me, I nodded.

            “Good. We’ve got work today.”

            Work? My bones ached at the thought. I began to push myself to my knees. It was slow going and filled with gasps and groans. After what felt like hours, I made it to a standing position. My shoulders hunched over to accommodate the unfamiliar extra weight. Fith waited patiently in the doorway. I wished that he would stop smiling like I wasn’t in the worst agony of my life.

            When I was finally standing, I could tell that the ceiling wasn’t very high. And the walls looked strange, as if they were made of clay or compacted dirt. The smell was fresh and earthy so I wouldn’t have been surprised if it was just that. I lifted and dropped my hands in a futile gesture, silently telling him to lead the way to wherever it was that we were going.

            He turned and started walking; I attempted to do the same. The first step stunned me. The weight on my back was like the world’s heaviest backpack. I struggled to follow Fith, but it was a sloth-like process. It was like learning how to walk all over again. My knees knocked together and I had to hold my hands out in front of me for balance. Fith started urging me forward with soft encouragements. I was using context clues though, because he wasn’t speaking English. I kept my eyes on him, confident that he wouldn’t look so nonchalant if I was going to die, so I pushed that constant worry out of my head.

            My lips curved into a weak smile; I didn’t know how to tell him in his language that I could do this. Walking was hard enough. I really didn’t want to think about the prospect of work. After I made it safely out of the bedroom—cot-room—I wobbled into what seemed to be the rest of the clay house. It was one medium-sized room with a pit of sticks and a black kettle hanging out over it. On the other side, there was another set of cots. And then there was a door.

            “Is this…your house?” I asked, turning my head from side to side as much as possible.

            I saw Fith nod. “Yes. Standard hut. Except for the dent in the roof. My first flight did not go as smoothly as I hoped for.” I looked up and saw that he was right. The hut was mostly crushed in on one side of the roof. “Come, we have work to do. First ones there are the first who get to go home.”

            I groaned mentally. There was that word again. Work. I shuddered at the idea, but so did my wings. It was more than just an odd sensation. There was an extension of my shoulder-blades. I could feel every tendon, every stretch. I rolled my shoulders back to feel it again. It was just as startling, but actually kind of pleasant. Within the next few steps following the raven-haired wing boy, I found that if I wasn’t moving my wings then they remained in pain.

            Fith just grinned. “Fun, isn’t it?”

            My voice was a drone at best.  “I’m pretty sure I’m going to hate you, kid.” Fith laughed, and it was weird. The laugh itself wasn’t all that bad. It was the fact that he was someone new with a new laugh. A new everything, as a matter of fact. I hadn’t met too many new people in the past, well, four years. The first time I’d made new acquaintances, I’d been dragged, quite literally, into another world. “Why’d they choose you to babysit me?”