"I am Pit, servant of the Goddess of Light! And you. Are. HISTORY!"- Pit, while facing Medusa (the first time)
XxX
Pit woke up.
Though he still couldn't see, he knew that voice was from some kind of enemy. He went on red alert, pulling his Hawkeye Bow out from behind him.
The Woman tittered before him. Her voice, Pit thought, had an odd, musical effect to it, a sort of Latin accent intermingling with her words. She was tall, not big like a god would be, but obviously powerful. By the heavenly weapon's light he could see a little bit of what was going on behind him; the Sea Witch, dark and ghostly before him, her hair a wild mess of black and her skin a deep, murky blue, and the kids; their eyes glazed over, oblivious to the open peril they were in, looking like a bunch of zombie sleepwalkers.
So much for calling Nereus and Lady Palutena for backup, Pit thought, giving a mental sigh.
"Let them go, or I'll shoot!" Pit said, immediately drawing back his bowstring.
The Woman chuckled again. "Don't be ridiculous. Your weapons have no effect here. Go ahead, fire at me. As powerful as I am, I will not come to any damage."
Pit grit his teeth, then fired. The arrow flew straight for her heart, right where it counted, but as soon as it neared her ghostly body, it turned transparent too, and went right through her, no harm done. Pit was dumbfounded.
"See?" The Woman smiled. "My power is too great. And it is just as well, you have brought me new vessels from which to draw my power. You are more useful than you give yourself credit for, child."
Pit frowned. Her voice was soft as if she truly meant no harm to him. He tried to pinpoint it. "Why do you want all of these children?" He asked instead. "Why do you draw your power from them?"
"Because I once lost mine," The Woman replied cryptically, and with a flicker of her fingers, the young girls and boys she had summoned walked towards her automatically.
"No!" Pit yelled, and tried to hold the kids back. He shoved on their shoulders, barreled into their chests, but they kept coming, moving forward with automatically fervor. Into the darkness they walked, deeper and deeper, below the Woman and where she floated, until the dark obscured them from view completely.
Pit had had enough. He whipped out his bow again, firing at her nonstop. Smoothly she deflected the arrows with a simple swipe of her hand, moving with such grace and ease that Pit couldn't believe his eyes. Frustration was gripping him fast, as he couldn't find a way to defeat this elusive, mysterious lady.
"Do you know why you slipped into the spell just as easily as the others, child?" The Woman smiled at him, and Pit lost the will to keep on firing. "Do you know why you cannot identify my weakness? It is because you do not know my history, child. My children, they were taken from me, and killed without mercy. I swore revenge on the killer, but I could never find him. My anger and pain gave me a long life, a ghost to drift in the Abyss where no one dwells. Every night I seek out my children again, so I can mourn their deaths. But they never come. So I use the spirits of the children who do come, because they give me strength, recognize me as their own mothers. Though it took years to manifest, I finally used their power to search for my killer, to grow stronger."
Pit felt exhausted all of a sudden, his eyes heavy. "That still . . . doesn't explain why I can't defeat you. You're not a god, but you're still . . . an enemy. A follower of . . . darkness."
"Silly angel. Can't you see? I am mother to all. No one can resist the sweet lullaby of the one who gave birth to them. And you most of all, who never knew your mother, landed right in my clutches. Oh, silly angel."
Pit tried to speak, but his eyes were closed, and he was slipping into unconsciousness fast. Instantly he slipped into a dream world not of his own creation, and he couldn't imagine a sweeter feeling.
"Sleep, child. Let my dream bring you a peace you never knew while you were awake . . ."
XXX
Like all dreams, Pit could only make out certain bits and pieces of it. Only a small part of it really made sense to him. The sun, bearing down on him through filtered curtains, woke him, and he woke to the scent of warmth and renewal. Warm arms hugged him close, and as he blinked his dreary eyes awake, the one who was hugging him shifted away from him. Pit turned around in confusion—those arms, they felt so familiar—and met a face just as bright and just as good. Though it seemed like she had woken up just moments before Pit, her shining, long honey-colored colored hair fell into a face that was long but soft and glowing. A smile reached her face, a face worn with recognition. Pit couldn't pin-point why in the world how he could sit there for so long and not see the obvious resemblance—the woman's eyes bore the same luminance and clarity as a clear, summer sky—the same color as his.
Pit cried out in alarm—then held his breath. After so many years of not knowing who his parents were, his mother was lying not even a foot away from him. For so long he had awaited this moment, but why couldn't he accept it as it was now? The feeling of rejection held him back, the fear that his mother didn't really want him even though had she held her child in her arms the whole night through . . .
"Pit, what's wrong?"
The amount of care, of compassion, that lingered in her voice finally pierced him. He was her child. And a hole that he had never realized was there was finally filled, and Pit broke, reaching for the one who he knew would sooth him and promise that it would be alright.
XXX
And so it went.
Pit soon lost memory of anything beyond what wasn't between him and his mother. Smothering and teasing, Pit's mother seemed perfect in any and every way. It might've been because he'd never had any memory of having a mother before now . . . except for maybe Palutena . . .
Pit blinked. The name remained so familiar to his own mind. But he could not make out a face that belonged to it. Soon he merrily pushed the name out of his head again. It didn't sound more than a type of flower.
After delaying a pillow fight in order to make up the bed, the two raced each other to the kitchen, stomachs growling like crazy. As bacon and sausage sizzled on the skillet, the two sword fought with 2 individual butter knives. Pit was surprised at his mother's skill. Her footing was absolutely perfect. When Pit asked her where she learned to spar, her mother just gave him a confused, funny smile.
"We're only playing, Pit," she replied. "It's not like I've never received training or any such sort as that."
Training, she had said, saying the word so lightly Pit almost dismissed the whole conversation from his mind. But the word brought up so many other images with it that it wouldn't let go. A simple bow, deep blue and curved perfectly to match his size and grip. An open space, crowded with small men wearing hats with wings . . .
It was all so familiar but Pit couldn't place the name to any of them. The memories almost seemed wrong, belonging to another world, another time. Pit declared their match a draw, and went to the washing room to think. Going to the wash bin he splashed some water onto his face. Snap out of it, Pit, he told himself. Clear you mind of all of this nonsense. He blinked the water away, feeling as though he had thoroughly scrubbed away his unwanted thoughts. But when he looked at his reflection in the water, he could swear that beyond his own bewildered look lay a smirk that was not his own, and a pair of violet-gold eyes that did not match his at all.
Pit stumbled back. His reflection was the same now, but would it always be this way? A name filled his mind right then—Dark Pit. Was this a dark manifestation of himself? Was Dark Pit real, and if he was, was he the one giving him all of these false memories? Pit shook his head. No, it couldn't be. But when he thought this, he wasn't so sure.
He made way for the door, passing this mother in the kitchen. Now that he thought of it, their kitchen and the whole house resembled that of another place he's known before—complete with earthen dining table, open windows so that the natural light could pour in, and hanging potted plants at every corner—a lot like the Hanging Gardens. Wait, what? Pit struggled to place where he had gotten that name from.
"Where are you going?" His mother asked him when he had almost reached the door.
"I'm going out, to clear my head," Pit replied. He could hardly keep his eyes trained on her. Was she real, or was she fake, too?
"But breakfast is almost ready. Baby, are you alright?"
"I'm fine," Pit said, his voice thick, because he wished beyond everything that his mother was truly real. He went out the door, where the pre-summer daylight greeted him without an inkling of doubt.
Why am I surrounded with false memories? Pit thought to himself. Everything around me feels so wrong . . . He felt like he should be here for a particular purpose, but he couldn't escape that bare trapped feeling inside of him. But I'm not trapped, Pit said to himself sadly. I have my mother, and I live in this wonderful house . . . Crowded around a wide square a community of houses met Pit with the most enticing of promises. Gathered were stone huts that looked much like Pit's own house; painted in bright colored of green, blue and pink. Rushing across the square was a multitude of children, both akin to his age and younger. Wearing bright clothes that matched the spirit of their homes, they chased each other and laughed with joy. It made Pit want to romp with them as well—tag was a game he hadn't played in years.
Pit stayed where he was. As real as everything seemed, he couldn't remember any past circumstance of it all. No memory . . . Pit reflected. He closed his eyes. Then what am I doing here? He couldn't say how long he stood there, but for some reason he couldn't think of anything. All there was was the here and now . . .
But wait. If there's no memory, then how did I get here? His immediate response was that he had come from his mother, of course, but was his mother the only person he knew here? He thought of the embrace of another, his memory faint and distant, but somehow still there. He remembered the reflection he saw in the washroom, the reflection that smirked. If these are memories, then those must be people I remember somehow. Those are people who are waiting for me.
How do I get out of here?
The high tinkling of laughter made him open his eyes and turn to the left. Two children in particular caught his eye—amusing themselves at the base of a fountain, they led little leaves fashioned into toy boats to coast on the other side of the wide fountain. One of them, a little dark haired girl of about six clapped her hands in amusement. The boy next to her, about eight of nine, smiled down at her fondly. Pit had no doubt that the boy was the other one's brother, and the scene of such familial love was so unique to the angel that he just stood there, head to the side in open curiosity.
A loud voice from the fountain's left jerked Pit put of his daydream at once. The voice, spoken in a very different tongue, was both brusque and tender at the same time. It was a voice that could deceive without trouble. But the children by the pond who heard the voice knew exactly what the tone implied. They looked over their shoulders to the small sky blue house, and out walked their mother; a small but stern looking woman, with light brown skin and sharp eyes like a bird's.
The mother called out again, and the children went out to her, ashamed; their heads down, they followed their mother as she went around the back. Pit followed, not knowing why he felt the need to. The mother led them into a sort of door in the ground, with padlocked doors. Pit paused, waiting a few moments to let them get the head start after unlocking the doors until he was sure they were deep enough under the house that he could peer from above without notice.
When he finally did look down, however, what came to greet him brought a creeping chill up his spine. Why were they brought to a place so dark and isolated?—all he could see were the few declining steps from the place where the doors first began. But he could still hear voices . . . the mother, shouting markedly, poignantly, and the children murmuring their solemn reply . . . cries from the children below, as the thud of flesh sounded dully . . . one of them collapsed on the floor, and Pit could hear it, hear it all, and his eyes blurred with tears. It was terrifying—this noise, the sound of children crying. It left a terrific ringing in his ears. It was worse not being able to see them down there. Mothers aren't like that, Pit thought, stumbling backwards. Mothers aren't like that. . . . or they aren't supposedto be, anyway. But how would he know? It wasn't like he had one . . .
Pit reeled away from the open doors and gasped, the same moment a malicious slap from below ended a child's cry. The boy, Pit thought to himself, blinking rapidly as tears threatened again. It was the boy who just got slapped by his mother. His mother wasn't supposed to hit him—wasn't supposed to hit him or his sister. I need to get help, and wake up from this state of shock, he thought, picking himself from off the ground. He needed to get up and get some help, or help them himself. That's what I'll do, he decided. He would go and help himself, before it became too late—
The girl's voice rose and covered over the outside world. Pit was alone, grieving for the sister within her pitiful and grievous sobbing. "¡Ayudame!" She sobbed raucously, desperately. "Mi hermano—¡Lo mataste! ¡Lo mataste!"
Pit struggled with himself. Too late . . . too late . . .
He thought of his mother. He didn't want to go home now. He couldn't bear to think of comfort as this little girl was crying.
"¿Por qué, mama? ¿Por qué, por qué?"
How do I get out of here? Pit had asked.
"Do you know why you cannot identify my weakness? It is because you do not know my history, child."
XxX
Pit opened his eyes.
But he couldn't see anything.
He wasn't met by the pre-summer morning he had woken up to earlier. He got the feeling that he was floating in a space not controlled by gravity. He didn't like it. He much rather be flying.
Flying? Where did that come from? He was suddenly hit by the sense of freedom that it was; wind coursing through his hair, his clothes, and rippling through his wings—Wings! How cool! Pit laughed to himself. What a wonderful memory! Helaughed and laughed and laughed, until his sides were hurting and his facial muscles ached, because there was no one to hear him in the sky where he flew.
Soon he was crying.
All of these memories, Pit thought. "Where do they come from?"
He was out of his memory now. His voice sounded small and sad in the wide, airless room he floated in. He decided to go on with what he knew.
He knew that he had a mother. Not one with wings, he didn't think, but if he thought back on it, he wasn't even sure if he had been given wings in his first memory anyway. But in his second memory . . . "Palutena . . ." The name held something of a promise of another mother he had had. But how could he have two mothers?
He decided to move on.
Hanging Gardens. It was place, and that was all he knew. Skyworld was a place, he remembered suddenly, a place where he could fight and train and had protected many times over. And could fly, Pit thought again, because he didn't like it when he talked and there was no one to hear him.
Dark Pit . . . He didn't even know what to make out of that one. He decided to leave it a mystery.
He dug through his first memories, the ones that seemed more real. His mother was pretty and blond, and had blue eyes that matched his. Pit wished she was there right now.
But then things had seemed wrong. Different . . . than they should've been. He had gone outside. He had seen children, and two of them in particular. Pit shook his head. No, he didn't want to think about that right now. But before that he had wished himself away from that place, from the place that didn't seem real. Then had come the memory of the children and their mother. Had the memory somehow had been his key to finding his way out of here?
Pit thought through the memory again, as painful as it was. The words that were spoke were gibberish to him, but some clarity had sprung from his mind after the horrible incident, words that had not been his own. . .
"Do you know why you cannot identify my weakness? It is because you do not know my history, child."
And then suddenly he remembered.
The correct memories fell into place then, stacking one on top of the other like lego toys.
"Your children were never taken from you," Pit said aloud, knowing somehow he wasn't alone. "You killed them yourself. You must have . . . gone crazy or something, and you called your children into the basement where you finally . . . beat them to death." There was no mistaking the woman that he had seen luring the children into the house, with long black hair and eyes like the night, shouting obscenities and cursing at them for things that they hadn't done. Or maybe they had done something? Pit didn't wish to find out. All he knew was that this type of murder was one of the most terrible things any one could do, especially to one of their own blood.
"How dare you say such a thing about me?" The Woman was here, somewhere, he knew, but he could not see where she was. It was still too dark. "I loved my children more than you could ever know!"
"No, you didn't." Pit said the words with struggle. He tugged at a memory that he knew was fake, one that he knew The Woman had fabricated for him to fall deeper and deeper into blissful happiness. "When your children heard your name, they came to you as if they expected what was going to happen. You . . . you must have beat them often. You stole something away from them that was lost when you became their mother."
Something that everyone should have, Pit completed in his mind.
"You don't know anything, you silly angel," The Woman spat at him. "I only wanted the best for my children—I wanted them to be the best they could be. And when they couldn't meet that standard—"
"You hit them?" Pit curiously finished.
"I corrected them," The Woman said instead, but her voice was faltering, as if not believing what she said. And Pit could see why; she was sugarcoating her words, to the point where she could hardly stand to believe them herself. She was so close to the truth.
"And when they messed up another time," Pit countered, "You made sure they never messed up again?"
"No," The Woman said, despair in her tone. "My beautiful children . . . Maia, Jaime . . ."
"Jaime was the first one you killed," Pit said. He didn't know where this courage was coming from, but he spoke with certainty, and he listened as the words tumbled out of his mouth. "I didn't see it, but it was clear enough. How long after that did you end up killing your little girl? Was she afraid of you after that? Could she even talk to you? To anybody?"
"The pain I suffered through," The Woman muttered. "The pain I went through, trying to find them—"
"I bet she trusted you, once. I bet she thought you loved her and comforted her and . . . accepted her. But you ended up losing it, didn't you? You set the bar too high, and grew worse and worse every time they failed to meet it."
"No," The Woman said. Her voice was everywhere at once, echoing around the empty space even though Pit was sure there were any walls. "No!"
"But it's the truth," Pit said with finality. "And now it's time to face the light."
Gravity kicked in. Pit was falling, falling through the empty expanse and nothingness that he had found himself trapped in. The Woman's voice echoed off of walls, showering the room with a noise that seemed to have no end. The wings of his feathers whistled below his spread arms uselessly, small white feathers floating above him as they detached themselves. He zoomed downward, lightning fast, but he didn't feel afraid. Somehow he knew that the memories The Sea Witch had gifted him with were dreams, and that he was now in the space between spaces that separated dreams from reality.
He had been here for a purpose. And his mother wasn't real.
Pit prepared himself to wake up. He realized that he wouldn't remember his mother when he woke up. He had never felt especially connected to his dreams when sleeping normally; whenever he woke up, he could never remember them, no matter how deep they had been. But he could try.
My mother isn't real . . .
The Woman's voice grew fainter and fainter and Pit kept on falling through the empty space. Vaguely he noticed that the empty space was getting lighter, dispelling the shadows one ray at a time. The light felt like the sun, the best sort of light there was. He couldn't see The Woman in the fast dispersing darkness.
He felt older somehow. He thought he was living a life that was real; figuring out that all he had known was a fake felt like someone had pulled the rug out from under him. He wanted to think that The Woman had given some type of hope to hold on too; that the fake memory of his mother reflected some part of her that had actually been real. All lies are based off of some truth, he told himself. He wanted to tell himself that the mother from his dream really was his. What if his mother had hair like sweet summer honey? What if he had gotten his eyes from his mother? There had been so much hope in them, Pit thought. So much hope and wanting and love.
Closing his eyes again, he fell peacefully, letting the sun's rays warm him and wrap him, like a soft, warm hand. He tried to think of his mother as hard and as long as possible before he knew he had to wake up.
XxX
Pit was no longer underwater.
The Atlantic Army had found him the next morning in the Abyss, where Pit had first met The Sea Witch. He, as well as the other children that The Woman had lured into her clutches, had been there too. Like him, they were all found to be fast asleep, snoring and dreaming as if nothing had happened. The Woman was nowhere to be found.
It was a relief that he had been found before the power of the pearls had run out. Actually, according to Palutena, there had been another 48 hours on it, but she had decided that enough was enough, and to cut their short trip even shorter.
Palutena didn't tell him all of this until Pit woke up a couple of nights after. Blinking his eyes in the moonlit dark, he found himself sitting in his room in the dormitories of Palutena's Temple. He was no longer underwater, and something about that made him feel as though a larger affect should've been had on him, but it never came. He didn't think one would, actually . . . the whole adventure was still trying to impose itself upon him, and Pit didn't want to forget a single part of it. The friendly Sea God, Nereus, and the chilling sea enchantress that was The Woman. But there was a gap in his memory, he knew; the journey to Abyss, for instance, or the very reason they had gone to the Seafloor Palace in the first place. Was The Woman defeated? Pit sure hoped so.
"That still . . . doesn't explain why I can't defeat you. You're not a god, but you're still . . . an enemy. A follower of . . . darkness."
"Silly angel. Can't you see? I am mother to all. No one can resist the sweet lullaby of the one who gave birth to them. And you most of all, who never knew your mother, landed right in my clutches. Oh, silly angel."
"Sleep, child. Let my dream bring you a peace you never knew while you were awake . . ."
The Sea Witch' words echoed in Pit's consciousness tauntingly, bidding and goading him to remember. Pit clutched his pillow. He tried-he tried to remember so hard that it hurt. The Woman was defeated—why else would he be here? Even so, Pit didn't feel satisfied. He barely even felt accomplished. He wanted to know how he had defeated her, but instead he felt burdened with dead weight, the emotion of guilt and terrifying loss clawing away at his heart.
But guilt for what? Oh, gods, he couldn't remember. And what have I lost? He knew he had lost something dreadfully important, but the memory just wouldn't come to him . . .
The rest of the night Pit cried, and he wouldn't have been able to tell you why if you had asked him.
XxX
A/N: Hm . . . powerful Sea God, evil Sea Enchantress, trying to gain her power from the main child of the story . . . I feel as though I've just created The Little Mermaid all over again.
Ooh! And La Llorona!
Anyway, I still haven't mentioned this, and I thought it past time that I did: That you to those who've reviewed so far! Your anticipation for the story matches my excitement for you to read what I've got planned! I won't let you down :D