"Putata."

He was being shaken. His temple throbbed. It must have hit something as they fell. They fell...

He sat up, only to be greeted by a host of sharp pains from both his head and sides.

"Careful. You knocked yourself out when we tripped." Mekeke was leaning against an earth wall, forcing himself to sit up. Their legs were tangled together, over and under like a woven mat. Putata's ankle felt especially sore. It had probably twisted on the way down.

"What...? Where are we?" Putata asked. "We were running..."

"There was a hole in the ground. We stepped in it and now we're here at the bottom," Mekeke explained. He sounded so tired. "I thought you'd broken your neck."

"Are you okay?"

"I hit some sharp edges but nothing's broken. How about you?"

Putata tried to reach his ankle, but found that their space was a lot smaller than he'd expected. He couldn't reach.

"I think I hurt my left ankle," he said. "Can you feel it for me? Tell me if it's broken."

"Not with my hands but..."

Putata stiffened. He didn't want to feel the spider's legs, not in the dark. Gods, is this another labyrinth, but with the added terror of claustrophobia?

"Are you scared?" Mekeke asked. His face was most in shadow. It was still night above them. At least Putata hadn't been out for too long.

"No," Putata lied. "If we're down here, they can't find us, unless they start sticking their pitchforks in the ground. We'll wait until it's safe, then we can climb out and run for it."

"You're a real optimist," Mekeke said.

"Where did you learn that word?"

"You're not the first person to talk to me. You're the first to live."

Putata was having an intense case of deja vu. He could only hear Mekeke's voice, throwing him back to a few days ago – had it really only been a few days? - when the labyrinth was all the near future had to offer and Putata hadn't known he was a monster.

"How's your...uh...?"

"My arms? I try not to think about it, otherwise the pain comes back."

Putata tried to reach out and touch Mekeke, to offer some comfort, but instead his hand found a spider leg. He gasped and withdrew, mentally kicking himself a second later.

"I'm sorry," he said. "I-"

"Are you afraid of spiders?"

"No, not usually. It's just..."

"You don't have to apologize. You're only human. And I'm not."

For a while, the only sound in the hole was their combined breathing. Mekeke sounded terrible, taking sharp, shallow gasps. He was struggling. Putata was trying to keep calm. He could feel the walls pressing in on him.

"When will we know it's safe to come out?"

Putata shrugged. "There isn't really a way to check, unless you want to help me look."

Mekeke shifted. "Maybe if we move around a little, we can get out from under each other. Which ones are your legs?"

"You can't tell?"

"Honestly, it's kind of blurry. Try and shake them a bit. Oh, okay. Those are yours." Putata felt one of his friend's legs slide out from beneath his. He tried to help by pulling the newly freed leg into himself while Mekeke shuffled around.

"The good news is," Mekeke said, "this hole isn't deep. We can probably make it out."

"Back in town," Putata interrupted. "How did you figure out how to break the door?"

"Well, I thought that since we couldn't melt it off, it might get weak enough for me to break it. And it did."

"I had no idea you were that strong," Putata said. "It was impressive."

Mekeke laughed nervously. "It was just force..."

"But you're smart too. You notice things. If you hadn't been in the labyrinth, you could have been... I don't know. Something amazing, I just know it."

"Being strong isn't much of a skill," he argued. "Anyone can do it with enough practice."

"Mekeke. Have you seen me?" Putata laughed. "I'm a twig. I couldn't knock down a cage door unless it was made of wet paper." He was pleased to hear an answering burst of laughter from Mekeke. Putata, feeling a bit more daring, said, "Let me see your arm."

"You can see my arm anytime you want."

"Give me your arm," he amended.

Mekeke obliged. Putata let his hand rest on Mekeke's bicep. He could feel its strength, even when the muscles were relaxed. The poor monster had lost his tattered coat and Putata's palm was in direct contact with his skin. There was a strange kind of thrill in this. He pressed his fingers against Mekeke's arm and felt it go taut.

"See," Putata said, releasing him. "You're built differently." In more ways than one, really.

"I think I can move now," Mekeke said. "It's not too far to the surface. No swimming this time." He let out a sigh of exaggerated relief.

"It wasn't that bad."

"We nearly drowned."

"I'll teach you to swim if you want."

"When am I ever going to use it?"

"A daring escape," Putata suggested. "Or for fun. My mother used to take me to the beach..." He trailed off. Now that was a long time ago. He'd nearly forgotten that his family had any happy memories.

"What's a beach?" Mekeke asked.

Putata reached back into his mind for ways to explain. "Well, do you know what an ocean is?"

"I might have heard of one."

"It's a body of water, like the lake. Except it's so big you can't see the other side. And so deep that monsters the size of mountains can live below the surface. The bank of that is usually called a beach. People go there to fish and swim. It's fun."

"What kind of monsters?" Mekeke asked as he shuffled around their confined space. He hit a shaft of moonlight. The remaining spider limbs twitched. Putata turned his eyes to the ground.

"All kinds," he said. No one had said anything about specific monsters. He'd never heard of anything like Mekeke.

"I think I can reach. I'll climb up first and pull you out. Okay?"

Putata didn't want to stay in the hole another second. Talking to Mekeke had distracted him for a while, but now he could feel the wall pressing at his back. The slant of moonlight coming in reminded him all too vividly of the crack of light beneath the closet door.

"Be quick," he said.

Mekeke managed to crawl out, his legs dangling for a moment in front of Putata, jerking and swinging as he pulled himself from the tiny pit. Putata found that without Mekeke, he could breathe easier. He moved toward the center and looked up. Mekeke looked back at him.

"Here," he said, extending a hand.

Putata grasped it tightly. He had to brace his feet against the side of the hole to climb. His free hand scrabbled at the dirt, eventually grabbing some long grass. Mekeke's arm hardly trembled as Putata dragged himself out.

He collapsed in the field, relieved to be free from the dark again. Putata lay on his back, staring at the sky. It glittered with thousands of stars. It felt like years since he'd last seen them.

"No one is coming after us," Mekeke said. "I think they gave up."

"We'd better move on just in case." Putata closed his eyes. He wanted to give in to fatigue. The ground was soft here; the air was warm. He felt Mekeke lie down next to him, letting out a long breath as he did so. Putata wanted – so very badly – to roll over and curl himself around Mekeke's arm, just to have something solid to cling to.

"How did you escape?" he asked.

Putata laughed. "Magic."

"Will you show me some of it? Like you promised?"

Putata's eyes reopened. He shifted his gaze to Mekeke, who was staring into the night sky, as though looking for something. "I will. Soon. Not here."

"What are the lights in the sky?"

"Stars." In the grass, lightning bugs winked on and off.

"They look like the crystals," Mekeke murmured. "Do you know how many there are?"

Putata shrugged. "It's impossible to count."

They stayed like that for a little while, until Putata got restless and sprang up. "We need to keep moving," he said, gently plucking at the edge of Mekeke's shirt. "And we need to see your wounds."

Mekeke managed to reach the shelter of some trees before he lost energy and fell, panting. Putata tried to lift him, but he was dead weight now. The artist gave up trying to pull him farther and pulled up Mekeke's shirt to see his injuries.

Some kind soul – at least Putata hoped they were trying to be kind – had cauterized the wounds. They were the lower two. The blood had already congealed around them and was starting to scab over. No doubt it hurt, more than anything Putata could wrap his head around. Mekeke would survive. Just barely.

Putata's magic fluttered within him. The temptation to turn the town to ashes was strong. He could make the whispered rumors of his sorcery true. He could...

He pressed a fist to his forehead. Killing everyone wasn't going to solve anything. It wouldn't bring back Mekeke's arms. It wouldn't make him stop hurting. Putata had to remember these things. His emotions could get away from him sometimes. He felt things in extremes.

"Mekeke?" he said softly, as if speaking to a wild animal or a frightened child. He cleared his throat and changed his tone. "We're going to stay here for now, but as soon as it's morning, I'm taking you to a stream to clean these. Understand?"

Mekeke nodded and slumped to the ground. Putata followed suit. Mekeke was paler than usual, his hands tearing at the grass. Putata wasn't good with sick people, he realized. He had no idea how to lessen Mekeke's suffering.

Eventually, he drifted off into fitful sleep, waking up from time to time to see Mekeke rolling back and forth beside him. Putata tried to hold him down at one point, but gave up when the other man threw him off.

I brought him here. I did this.

It took everything in Putata's power to get Mekeke standing in the morning. The sun had just started to rise, which Putata didn't qualify as a real "morning" but he couldn't sleep any longer. Not with Mekeke tossing and turning next to him.

"I'm tired, Putata," Mekeke groaned.

"I know." He put an arm around Mekeke's middle, between the wounds and the remaining spider legs. "I'm taking you somewhere that will make you feel better."

It was slow going. Neither of them had slept well and Mekeke seemed to bite back screams at every movement. Last night's adrenaline had worn off. Putata kept his eye on the goal: fresh water. He could wash the dirt out of his mouth. Mekeke would improve once his wounds were cleaned. They just had to keep going.

Putata talked to fill the silence. He could always find something to talk about. His mother used to scold him for endlessly chattering on and on without a thought to whomever was listening. But he had to keep Mekeke's head above the water.

"So, on the bright side, we're going to live through this. I thought we were dead back there, but it looks like we're in the clear." He looked at Mekeke to see if he'd reacted in any way. No. "I used to hear stories about escaping from angry mobs. Every kid who figures out he has magical powers hears about them. I haven't had to run away like this before. I wasn't put in prison until..."

He paused for a moment. He thought he'd heard running water. Putata gave Mekeke's back as gentle a pat as he thought could be managed and smiled. "See? We're close. I think it's this way."

There was, indeed, a stream. Putata had never seen one so beautiful before. Sandy bottom, smooth pebbles, crystal clear water. He didn't wait before plunging straight in. The water reached his hips at its deepest.

Putata propped Mekeke up against the bank. "Stay here. You can sleep now."

Mekeke covered his eyes with an arm. The light was bothering him. His blindfold had been lost. Putata thought of making him another one, but their clothes were already in shreds. Putata's shirt was not only torn, but dirtier than ever.

He stripped out of the old prison clothes and threw them onto the bank. It felt good to immerse himself in the water. The spots where the sun touched the surface were warm. Putata lingered there for a while, scrubbing off all the dirt he'd accumulated.

Once his hands were free of grime, Putata shook Mekeke's leg. "Hey. Are you conscious enough to get in?" He hoped he sounded more playful than he felt. "It'll hurt more the longer we wait."

Mekeke sat up with a groan of pain. Putata helped him get his shirt off. It seemed like it hurt to even move his arms. Mekeke wouldn't even stand. He had to wriggle down the bank into the water.

"It's warm," he said, surprised.

Putata nodded. "Alright, time to clean up."

Mekeke's wounds were looking much better than they had last night. Almost freakishly better. Putata frowned. As he began washing away some of the dried blood and grit, he realized that they had started healing on their own.

Mekeke flinched every time Putata's hands brushed against them. "Sorry, sorry," he repeated every time it happened. He tried to be gentle.

"Putata, I'm tired."

"You can go back to sleep once we're done. They aren't too bad. Actually, they're looking really good considering you got your arms ripped off."

"Really?" Mekeke sounded just as startled as Putata. "They hurt."

"Yeah, but they're scabbing and... not killing you. Is this part of being a whatever you are?"

Mekeke shrugged. "I don't know. I'm the only one."

When they finished in the stream, Putata tried drawing them some new clothes in the mud. It worked, although Putata didn't think it was his best. They all came away with a brown tint. Even the black he'd visualized for Mekeke looked sort of muddy.

"Beggars can't be choosers," Putata said with a shrug.

He tried making some bandages too (also pretty brown) but Mekeke kept shaking his head.

"They'll keep your wounds covered," Putata explained. "Then we won't have to clean them every five seconds. All we have to do is change the bandages." He smiled reassuringly at Mekeke. "I know they're really sensitive right now, but this will make it better."

Mekeke just shook his head again. He seemed too tired for words. Eventually, Putata realized that Mekeke was too tired to do anything, let alone fight him off, so he managed to wrap Mekeke's torso. Putata did it slowly. He didn't usually bandage people; he wasn't a doctor. Were there any side effects of incorrect bandaging?

But in the end, Mekeke looked better for it. He was finally able to relax and sleep. Putata, also feeling a bit exhausted, lay down on a soft, dry spot under one of the trees and closed his eyes. It was nice day. There was no sound, save for the rush of the stream, the rustling leaves and Mekeke's breathing.

Let's just hope we don't get another rude awakening. The artist rolled onto his side and waited for the warmth of the sun to lull him asleep.

There are different kinds of nightmares, an almost infinite amount. Putata had, at some point in his life, gone through all of them: the kind where something is coming for you and you can't move, the kind where you're falling, the kind where you're blind...

In this one, he was back in the pitch dark of the labyrinth, clutching a fading crystal. Just beyond the dimming circle of light, he could hear the scratching of monsters. They were coming to eat him. There was nowhere to run.

"Mekeke?" he whispered. Something crawled across his back. He tried to swat it away, only to contact nothing. They were slithering across his shoes now, climbing up his legs. He was frozen to the spot.

"You can't save him." The voice was familiar. The ghost girl from the labyrinth was hanging back in the shadows, flickering faintly. Putata smelled flowers. Dried husks of petals gathered at her feet. She looked like she might start crying. "No one can save him."

"Putata? Are you awake?"

Putata's eyes opened slowly. For a second, he'd forgotten where he'd gone to sleep, but now that he saw the grass and the roots of the tree... That was a relief. He'd been having a nightmare, though he couldn't remember what it was about. He sat up.

The day had passed into evening. Putata ran his fingers through his hair. His mouth tasted stale. "Wow. We must have been tired," he mumbled.

"Should we move on?" Mekeke asked.

"Yeah. Let's go." Putata stood up. There was something different. Well, we went to sleep during the day and now the sun's setting. That wasn't it. It was something in the air. Putata yawned. He'd figure it out later. One day, he'd snap his fingers and it would come to him like that. For now he would have to let it slide.

"Do you smell that?" Mekeke asked.

"What? It's not your back is it? They didn't look infected when I checked, although I'm not a doctor so..."

Mekeke shook his head. "No, it's sweet. Like the flowers by the road."

"Then it's flowers." Putata shrugged. "Don't scare me like that."

Yes, that was it. The air smelled like wildflowers.