As I Lay Dying
Title: As I lay dying
Rating: R (for dark themes)
Words: 2,780
Pairing: Koyama, Ryo
Summary: In every haunted telling, there is a seed of truth.
Warnings: Character death, human sacrifice, creepiness? This is DARK fic, people.
Notes: *Repost* Posted here for amhrancas for je_squickfic 2010. Orginally posted here. Apparently I hit right on target with her anthropological interest, lucky me. XD Thanks to Brina for the beta. <3
--+--
They had ignored it as long as they could, the unnatural bond between the young man and the jaguar he'd saved as a cub. But it was a kitten no longer and they stalked together through the night, hunting, and more than once their prowess saved families from starvation when food was scarce. As drought fell over the land and strange happenings occurred, people began whispering about how they slept together, ate together, moved together; how they seemed one being, knowing always what the other wanted without words. They began to wonder if the boy hunted like an animal rather than a man. When an epidemic spread through the city like wildfire, killing a third of the population and maiming another third, they didn't need to look for a scapegoat. They already had one.
A sacrifice to the gods, they said, to cleanse the city and regain their favor. They should never have let a mere man bond so closely with a sacred animal. They had thought it a blessing, before, when Koyama had brought the dying kitten in and nursed it back to health. Now they were certain of the curse - he had defiled the animal and angered the gods. Three men held Koyama back as he struggled and screamed, his curses echoing loud and dark as they threw dirt into the hole, burying the big cat. It hissed and spit but could not break its bonds, both man and cat struggling more violently as the hole filled in. They watched and waited for a sign from the gods that the cat was dead, that the unnaturalness had been cleansed from the city and they could prosper again. When Koyama convulsed and shook, scratching his fingers against the air, and finally collapsed to the ground breathing only shallowly, they rejoiced.
That night they celebrated while Koyama lay bound in blankets, burning with a high fever. In the morning he lay still, body flushed with the heat, but roused to no call. The healers worried over clouded eyes and plied him with water until it trickled out the sides of his mouth. No one made much fuss over the earth under his long fingernails or the scratches on his arms.
Each day was much like the last - Koyama would sleep fitfully through the hours, waking only to take a mouthful of water, and the healers sponged away the sweat that stood out on his skin. On the third day, they found the first body, obviously several days gone, buried in the earth, signs of a struggle all over his skin, and hands and feet bound tightly behind him. Looking carefully, they discovered two more bodies, both like the first.
The city muttered worriedly but the healers insisted that Koyama had never left the dwelling. How could he? His fever was high enough to kill. He shouldn't be able to walk, let alone dig a grave and wrestle a man into it. And yet, every day there was another body and fresh marks on Koyama's flesh and sometimes blood on his fingers.
On the seventh day, the healers cleansed and prepared Koyama's fever-ravaged body, wrapping him in loose cloth and offering him to the priests. They had tried to spare him, the priests said, tried to show him mercy, but the gods were displeased and demanded his death. So did the city.
So they bound him and laid him unstruggling on the altar, his eyes glassy, mouth hanging open. And when they slit his throat, nothing at all changed except that his skin slowly paled as the blood flowed hot and fast down the stone to soak into the ground.
His death, however, brought no respite. Every seven days someone would come down with a deadly fever and on the seventh day be found lifeless, surrounded by a pool of blood, hands and feet pulled back as though bound. In droves the people left the dying city and its curse - the city's lifeblood pouring out and away until nothing remained.
--+--
Tradition dictated that a man, on reaching his 20th birthday, would leave his family and journey to find his strength. For many this meant leaving their family homes and relocating elsewhere in the bustling metropolis, or moving to a distant city. Ryo had no interest in that. He abandoned his things, packing lightly and taking off for the thick jungle just a day's brisk walk from the city's edge, despite his mother's insistent pleading. His father, however, had nodded at him and taken his mother away. Ryo knew his father didn't approve of this, but every man had to choose his own path. Tradition dictated.
He'd always been drawn to the jungle, its lush greenery only a shadow of its former glory, he knew, as civilization had encroached on all sides, and still it called him, like the dying wail of a tropical siren. He hoped to save it. He had two years of environmental study under his belt and still he had never been more than a half day's walk into Morya. There were whispered ghost stories and rumors of curses, but only fools and children believed in those tales. He thought they were probably spread by big business, anyway, desperate to gain ownership of the publicly protected land by spreading fear so they could plunder the land and exploit it before rolling it under and making it just another featureless space.
He entered the jungle not at all apprehensive. He'd come well-prepared and the only thing he needed fear was predators and there were few enough of those left here, he thought, frowning. He had no idea what he expected to find here, but he was willing to wait it out. Living mostly off the land, he put his studied skills to the test, honing them by practice as he penetrated ever deeper into the jungle. His progress slowed more every day as he fought with his machete to clear first decades, then, as he went further in, hundreds of years of undisturbed growth from his path. He spent his time studying his surroundings with a critical eye, becoming more and more in tune with the life all around him. Which is why it was all the more startling when he broke through to a clearing that was completely still.
Stone ruins of a once-great city surrounded him and he blinked around in confusion. It felt like he'd been doused in cold water, chills running up and down his spine in the sudden silence. He'd heard of these ruins. They spawned most of the tales and rumors and, standing here, he could half-believe them. It was eerie and unnerving. Squaring his shoulders and adjusting his pack, he set out to explore the city. There was hardly anything left, just crumbling stone being claimed by wild grasses and trees. But not a small creature in sight. Probably not enough food in the city to sustain them, he suspected, and shrugged away his reservations. When the sun began to set, he settled in the corner of a ruined building, starting a fire and going through his nightly ritual. He slept uneasily.
In the morning he continued his exploration but it was cut short by another surprise. Stretched out on a crumbling wall probably only up to Ryo's waist in height was a long, lean youth, sunning himself on his back like a glorified cat, one arm dangling limply against the wall while the other cradled his head. Ryo let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and the young man turned sleepy cat-eyes on him and slid gracefully off the wall to stand and cock his head slightly in puzzlement. The stranger's garments left little to the imagination and Ryo ran his eyes over the tanned skin covering a leanly muscled body. Strange.
"Hello," Ryo said hesitantly.
The man's lips curved up at the corners. "Hello."
"Are you-," Ryo started then paused, flustered. "Where are you from?"
"I was born here," the man said.
"Here?" Ryo looked around.
The man interrupted his thinking. "And you?"
"Oh, from the city. Jidai." He gestured vaguely east and the man followed his hand with his gaze.
"I see."
"I'm Ryo. Nishikido," he blurted out.
The man looked amused. "Koyama," he said.
"How long have you been here?" Ryo asked curiously. Surely the man had been joking when he said he had been born here. There were no people in this forest but the two of them and Koyama looked about his age. He'd probably had the same idea for his transition as Ryo had, but had taken it one step further, by the looks of it. Maybe he'd eaten something bad and gone crazy.
Koyama's gaze unfocused momentarily and he murmured, "It feels like forever."
Ryo raised an eyebrow and Koyama smiled at him. Shifting his feet awkwardly, Ryo wondered what the protocol for a situation like this was. He didn't really have an agenda so he couldn't claim that he had things to do, and he was both intrigued and unnerved by the man. "Are you hungry?" Ryo asked uncomfortably. At least food was something universal, and he was hungry.
But the man surprised him by looking thoughtful for a moment before responding, "I don't know."
Ryo was flummoxed. "Well," he said slowly. "I'm going to eat. You can join me if you'd like."
Koyama did join him but just looked interestedly at the food, knees drawn to his chest as he sat, arms wrapped around them. Ryo found himself talking about classes and the jungle and why he'd chosen it for his transition. Koyama had nodded politely but clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Stranger.
They stood after Ryo had finished, and Koyama silently watched him close up his pack and shoulder it. Ryo fidgeted awkwardly. "Well…"
"I could show you around, if you'd like," Koyama suddenly offered.
Show him… Ryo blinked. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Show him what? Well, he didn't have an agenda. And if the man was a bit crazy, he was peacefully so. Koyama's explanations as the day went on only made Ryo more sure that he was off in his own world. He spoke of corner markets with fresh fruit and meat strung up in stalls, brilliantly colored beads and lively people. Of quiet homes and loud homes, of hunters and farmers and inns where exotic travelers stayed. He spoke as though he'd been there. Ryo couldn't help but be entranced. They spent three days like that, spiraling around the city, ever inward. On the fourth day they came to center and Koyama was silent, staring blindly at the sprawling complex.
"What was this?" Ryo prompted.
"The temple," Koyama whispered and padded silently through to the center, standing at the foot of crumbling stairs to a grassy knoll with a large, crude altar in the middle. He knelt reverently before the altar, touching the earth in front of it and Ryo was suddenly frightened by the intensity surrounding the man, a slight tightening of his muscles that seemed ominous. Ryo shuddered and took a step back.
"Koyama?" he asked, quiet, afraid to disturb him.
Koyama stood and shook himself, stepping away from the altar and walking backward down the steps. Ryo held himself at the ready in case the man should fall, but he didn't. They walked away from the center, then, until it was dark, and Koyama uttered not a single word.
"Koyama," he finally ventured later that night in front of the fire. "Did… Did something happen to your family?"
"My family?" he asked, dazed, then looked at Ryo. "He died."
His mouth opened in shock. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have pried."
Koyama shrugged and poked at the fire.
"Maybe you could come home with me. Maybe you should leave this place."
Koyama laughed without mirth. "Oh no. I could never leave," he said, voice low and hoarse.
They sat in silent contemplation until Ryo fell asleep.
As they wandered the next day without speaking, the silence heavy and awkward between them, Ryo knew it was time to leave. There was nothing here and he couldn't stay even though he wanted to. His food was low and he had to finish his transition. He had family waiting. As much as Koyama entranced him, he couldn't imagine spending his life in these ruins, too.
"I will leave tomorrow," he said quietly that evening in front of the fire. "It's time to go home." He knew it was true what he said. Whatever he had come to find, he had found.
Koyama turned sad eyes to him, the fire reflecting in them and making Ryo shiver. "All right," he said dispassionately.
In the morning, they walked in intense silence to the edge of the city where the overgrown road was just barely visible.
"The road," Koyama said, gesturing out, voice dull and heavy.
He must be so lonely, Ryo thought. Perhaps just another day… No. He took a step forward, feeling an icy rush down his spine, and turned back.
"Koyama."
"Stay." He took Ryo's face in his hands and leaned down to gently press their lips together.
So cold, Ryo thought, so cold. He was torn between pushing the man away and pulling him closer but Koyama made up his mind for him, stepping back and away. "You don't have to leave, you know," he said.
Ryo was shaking. He was so cold. His teeth began to chatter.
"You'll be safe if you stay." He sounded almost desperate.
Ryo shook his head, confused. "No. No, I have to get back." It felt like Koyama's eyes were burning into his soul. "But I'll come back. Or you can come with me. C-come with m-me." Fuck, why was he so cold?
Koyama shook his head, face blank and took another step back. Ryo looked out into the forest; he wondered if he would even be able to walk all the way back, he was trembling like a leaf. He would stay, he decided. Just until he was warm. What had he caught? "K-Koya- " He looked around but there was no sign of the man. "-ma?" No matter how loudly he called, no one answered. He touched his fingers to his lips and wondered if it had even been real. It had been so light. Maybe this was all a fever dream or something. He walked back in fits and starts, biting his tongue in his insistent tremors often enough that he finally just clamped his teeth together and ignored the pain.
He didn't remember arriving home, or showering, or eating, but clearly he had done these things, his mother's worried voice asking him if he was okay and telling him to go lie down.
He dreamt that he was choking, suffocating, despite the deep breaths he drew and being crushed on all sides, and woke in a cold sweat. For six nights he dreamt of being buried alive and heard Koyama screaming and woke in a panicked daze, burning up. A desperate visit to the doctor after the second day home gave him no relief and no answers. His nights were filled with suffocation and his days with burning fever dreams. Koyama came to him every day, filling the darkness, and ran ephemeral fingers over his skin and sent chills down his spine that did nothing to abate the fever but filled him instead with wracking pain but still he tried to clutch at him. Koyama would stand just out of reach, looking at him with blank, dead eyes, and Ryo would twist and writhe in agony. "Save me," Ryo would beg him piteously and there would be wetness on his tongue and he could hear his mother's voice though he could see nothing but the silent, dark-haired boy. "I tried," he thought Koyama whispered.
The morning after the sixth night he was found in bed on his side with eyes and mouth wide open, hands and feet behind him touched together at wrist and ankle like he'd been bound, and a thin, dark red line across his throat, his blood dried sticky around him.
--+--
Koyama knelt at the foot of the altar, head bowed as though praying, and perhaps he was. His hands clenched against the dirt there - that ancient spot which was the grave of his childhood companion and which had once drank of his life's blood - knuckles white against the black. His lips moved in a silent litany, and if one were to look closely they might make out two words mouthed over and over.
"Save me."
Rating: R (for dark themes)
Words: 2,780
Pairing: Koyama, Ryo
Summary: In every haunted telling, there is a seed of truth.
Warnings: Character death, human sacrifice, creepiness? This is DARK fic, people.
Notes: *Repost* Posted here for amhrancas for je_squickfic 2010. Orginally posted here. Apparently I hit right on target with her anthropological interest, lucky me. XD Thanks to Brina for the beta. <3
--+--
They had ignored it as long as they could, the unnatural bond between the young man and the jaguar he'd saved as a cub. But it was a kitten no longer and they stalked together through the night, hunting, and more than once their prowess saved families from starvation when food was scarce. As drought fell over the land and strange happenings occurred, people began whispering about how they slept together, ate together, moved together; how they seemed one being, knowing always what the other wanted without words. They began to wonder if the boy hunted like an animal rather than a man. When an epidemic spread through the city like wildfire, killing a third of the population and maiming another third, they didn't need to look for a scapegoat. They already had one.
A sacrifice to the gods, they said, to cleanse the city and regain their favor. They should never have let a mere man bond so closely with a sacred animal. They had thought it a blessing, before, when Koyama had brought the dying kitten in and nursed it back to health. Now they were certain of the curse - he had defiled the animal and angered the gods. Three men held Koyama back as he struggled and screamed, his curses echoing loud and dark as they threw dirt into the hole, burying the big cat. It hissed and spit but could not break its bonds, both man and cat struggling more violently as the hole filled in. They watched and waited for a sign from the gods that the cat was dead, that the unnaturalness had been cleansed from the city and they could prosper again. When Koyama convulsed and shook, scratching his fingers against the air, and finally collapsed to the ground breathing only shallowly, they rejoiced.
That night they celebrated while Koyama lay bound in blankets, burning with a high fever. In the morning he lay still, body flushed with the heat, but roused to no call. The healers worried over clouded eyes and plied him with water until it trickled out the sides of his mouth. No one made much fuss over the earth under his long fingernails or the scratches on his arms.
Each day was much like the last - Koyama would sleep fitfully through the hours, waking only to take a mouthful of water, and the healers sponged away the sweat that stood out on his skin. On the third day, they found the first body, obviously several days gone, buried in the earth, signs of a struggle all over his skin, and hands and feet bound tightly behind him. Looking carefully, they discovered two more bodies, both like the first.
The city muttered worriedly but the healers insisted that Koyama had never left the dwelling. How could he? His fever was high enough to kill. He shouldn't be able to walk, let alone dig a grave and wrestle a man into it. And yet, every day there was another body and fresh marks on Koyama's flesh and sometimes blood on his fingers.
On the seventh day, the healers cleansed and prepared Koyama's fever-ravaged body, wrapping him in loose cloth and offering him to the priests. They had tried to spare him, the priests said, tried to show him mercy, but the gods were displeased and demanded his death. So did the city.
So they bound him and laid him unstruggling on the altar, his eyes glassy, mouth hanging open. And when they slit his throat, nothing at all changed except that his skin slowly paled as the blood flowed hot and fast down the stone to soak into the ground.
His death, however, brought no respite. Every seven days someone would come down with a deadly fever and on the seventh day be found lifeless, surrounded by a pool of blood, hands and feet pulled back as though bound. In droves the people left the dying city and its curse - the city's lifeblood pouring out and away until nothing remained.
--+--
Tradition dictated that a man, on reaching his 20th birthday, would leave his family and journey to find his strength. For many this meant leaving their family homes and relocating elsewhere in the bustling metropolis, or moving to a distant city. Ryo had no interest in that. He abandoned his things, packing lightly and taking off for the thick jungle just a day's brisk walk from the city's edge, despite his mother's insistent pleading. His father, however, had nodded at him and taken his mother away. Ryo knew his father didn't approve of this, but every man had to choose his own path. Tradition dictated.
He'd always been drawn to the jungle, its lush greenery only a shadow of its former glory, he knew, as civilization had encroached on all sides, and still it called him, like the dying wail of a tropical siren. He hoped to save it. He had two years of environmental study under his belt and still he had never been more than a half day's walk into Morya. There were whispered ghost stories and rumors of curses, but only fools and children believed in those tales. He thought they were probably spread by big business, anyway, desperate to gain ownership of the publicly protected land by spreading fear so they could plunder the land and exploit it before rolling it under and making it just another featureless space.
He entered the jungle not at all apprehensive. He'd come well-prepared and the only thing he needed fear was predators and there were few enough of those left here, he thought, frowning. He had no idea what he expected to find here, but he was willing to wait it out. Living mostly off the land, he put his studied skills to the test, honing them by practice as he penetrated ever deeper into the jungle. His progress slowed more every day as he fought with his machete to clear first decades, then, as he went further in, hundreds of years of undisturbed growth from his path. He spent his time studying his surroundings with a critical eye, becoming more and more in tune with the life all around him. Which is why it was all the more startling when he broke through to a clearing that was completely still.
Stone ruins of a once-great city surrounded him and he blinked around in confusion. It felt like he'd been doused in cold water, chills running up and down his spine in the sudden silence. He'd heard of these ruins. They spawned most of the tales and rumors and, standing here, he could half-believe them. It was eerie and unnerving. Squaring his shoulders and adjusting his pack, he set out to explore the city. There was hardly anything left, just crumbling stone being claimed by wild grasses and trees. But not a small creature in sight. Probably not enough food in the city to sustain them, he suspected, and shrugged away his reservations. When the sun began to set, he settled in the corner of a ruined building, starting a fire and going through his nightly ritual. He slept uneasily.
In the morning he continued his exploration but it was cut short by another surprise. Stretched out on a crumbling wall probably only up to Ryo's waist in height was a long, lean youth, sunning himself on his back like a glorified cat, one arm dangling limply against the wall while the other cradled his head. Ryo let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and the young man turned sleepy cat-eyes on him and slid gracefully off the wall to stand and cock his head slightly in puzzlement. The stranger's garments left little to the imagination and Ryo ran his eyes over the tanned skin covering a leanly muscled body. Strange.
"Hello," Ryo said hesitantly.
The man's lips curved up at the corners. "Hello."
"Are you-," Ryo started then paused, flustered. "Where are you from?"
"I was born here," the man said.
"Here?" Ryo looked around.
The man interrupted his thinking. "And you?"
"Oh, from the city. Jidai." He gestured vaguely east and the man followed his hand with his gaze.
"I see."
"I'm Ryo. Nishikido," he blurted out.
The man looked amused. "Koyama," he said.
"How long have you been here?" Ryo asked curiously. Surely the man had been joking when he said he had been born here. There were no people in this forest but the two of them and Koyama looked about his age. He'd probably had the same idea for his transition as Ryo had, but had taken it one step further, by the looks of it. Maybe he'd eaten something bad and gone crazy.
Koyama's gaze unfocused momentarily and he murmured, "It feels like forever."
Ryo raised an eyebrow and Koyama smiled at him. Shifting his feet awkwardly, Ryo wondered what the protocol for a situation like this was. He didn't really have an agenda so he couldn't claim that he had things to do, and he was both intrigued and unnerved by the man. "Are you hungry?" Ryo asked uncomfortably. At least food was something universal, and he was hungry.
But the man surprised him by looking thoughtful for a moment before responding, "I don't know."
Ryo was flummoxed. "Well," he said slowly. "I'm going to eat. You can join me if you'd like."
Koyama did join him but just looked interestedly at the food, knees drawn to his chest as he sat, arms wrapped around them. Ryo found himself talking about classes and the jungle and why he'd chosen it for his transition. Koyama had nodded politely but clearly had no idea what he was talking about. Stranger.
They stood after Ryo had finished, and Koyama silently watched him close up his pack and shoulder it. Ryo fidgeted awkwardly. "Well…"
"I could show you around, if you'd like," Koyama suddenly offered.
Show him… Ryo blinked. He wasn't sure how to respond to that. Show him what? Well, he didn't have an agenda. And if the man was a bit crazy, he was peacefully so. Koyama's explanations as the day went on only made Ryo more sure that he was off in his own world. He spoke of corner markets with fresh fruit and meat strung up in stalls, brilliantly colored beads and lively people. Of quiet homes and loud homes, of hunters and farmers and inns where exotic travelers stayed. He spoke as though he'd been there. Ryo couldn't help but be entranced. They spent three days like that, spiraling around the city, ever inward. On the fourth day they came to center and Koyama was silent, staring blindly at the sprawling complex.
"What was this?" Ryo prompted.
"The temple," Koyama whispered and padded silently through to the center, standing at the foot of crumbling stairs to a grassy knoll with a large, crude altar in the middle. He knelt reverently before the altar, touching the earth in front of it and Ryo was suddenly frightened by the intensity surrounding the man, a slight tightening of his muscles that seemed ominous. Ryo shuddered and took a step back.
"Koyama?" he asked, quiet, afraid to disturb him.
Koyama stood and shook himself, stepping away from the altar and walking backward down the steps. Ryo held himself at the ready in case the man should fall, but he didn't. They walked away from the center, then, until it was dark, and Koyama uttered not a single word.
"Koyama," he finally ventured later that night in front of the fire. "Did… Did something happen to your family?"
"My family?" he asked, dazed, then looked at Ryo. "He died."
His mouth opened in shock. "I'm sorry," he said quickly. "I shouldn't have pried."
Koyama shrugged and poked at the fire.
"Maybe you could come home with me. Maybe you should leave this place."
Koyama laughed without mirth. "Oh no. I could never leave," he said, voice low and hoarse.
They sat in silent contemplation until Ryo fell asleep.
As they wandered the next day without speaking, the silence heavy and awkward between them, Ryo knew it was time to leave. There was nothing here and he couldn't stay even though he wanted to. His food was low and he had to finish his transition. He had family waiting. As much as Koyama entranced him, he couldn't imagine spending his life in these ruins, too.
"I will leave tomorrow," he said quietly that evening in front of the fire. "It's time to go home." He knew it was true what he said. Whatever he had come to find, he had found.
Koyama turned sad eyes to him, the fire reflecting in them and making Ryo shiver. "All right," he said dispassionately.
In the morning, they walked in intense silence to the edge of the city where the overgrown road was just barely visible.
"The road," Koyama said, gesturing out, voice dull and heavy.
He must be so lonely, Ryo thought. Perhaps just another day… No. He took a step forward, feeling an icy rush down his spine, and turned back.
"Koyama."
"Stay." He took Ryo's face in his hands and leaned down to gently press their lips together.
So cold, Ryo thought, so cold. He was torn between pushing the man away and pulling him closer but Koyama made up his mind for him, stepping back and away. "You don't have to leave, you know," he said.
Ryo was shaking. He was so cold. His teeth began to chatter.
"You'll be safe if you stay." He sounded almost desperate.
Ryo shook his head, confused. "No. No, I have to get back." It felt like Koyama's eyes were burning into his soul. "But I'll come back. Or you can come with me. C-come with m-me." Fuck, why was he so cold?
Koyama shook his head, face blank and took another step back. Ryo looked out into the forest; he wondered if he would even be able to walk all the way back, he was trembling like a leaf. He would stay, he decided. Just until he was warm. What had he caught? "K-Koya- " He looked around but there was no sign of the man. "-ma?" No matter how loudly he called, no one answered. He touched his fingers to his lips and wondered if it had even been real. It had been so light. Maybe this was all a fever dream or something. He walked back in fits and starts, biting his tongue in his insistent tremors often enough that he finally just clamped his teeth together and ignored the pain.
He didn't remember arriving home, or showering, or eating, but clearly he had done these things, his mother's worried voice asking him if he was okay and telling him to go lie down.
He dreamt that he was choking, suffocating, despite the deep breaths he drew and being crushed on all sides, and woke in a cold sweat. For six nights he dreamt of being buried alive and heard Koyama screaming and woke in a panicked daze, burning up. A desperate visit to the doctor after the second day home gave him no relief and no answers. His nights were filled with suffocation and his days with burning fever dreams. Koyama came to him every day, filling the darkness, and ran ephemeral fingers over his skin and sent chills down his spine that did nothing to abate the fever but filled him instead with wracking pain but still he tried to clutch at him. Koyama would stand just out of reach, looking at him with blank, dead eyes, and Ryo would twist and writhe in agony. "Save me," Ryo would beg him piteously and there would be wetness on his tongue and he could hear his mother's voice though he could see nothing but the silent, dark-haired boy. "I tried," he thought Koyama whispered.
The morning after the sixth night he was found in bed on his side with eyes and mouth wide open, hands and feet behind him touched together at wrist and ankle like he'd been bound, and a thin, dark red line across his throat, his blood dried sticky around him.
--+--
Koyama knelt at the foot of the altar, head bowed as though praying, and perhaps he was. His hands clenched against the dirt there - that ancient spot which was the grave of his childhood companion and which had once drank of his life's blood - knuckles white against the black. His lips moved in a silent litany, and if one were to look closely they might make out two words mouthed over and over.
"Save me."