The Arkanist

Captive

Visir awoke to darkness. Rough rock jabbed at his side and his wrists screamed in pain with bright red rings of dry blood burning as if licking with flames. His back convulsed and pain lanced up his spine like lightning. The agony was unbearable, and as much as he bit his tongue, he released a moaning cry that echoed, it was torment. Salty blood trickled down his mouth, warm and burning as it passed. He coughed heavily, his throat burning as if molten steel oozed against the skin. Visir surrendered to the darkness.

         He woke again to black, a black so dark he felt lost in its vastness. Where am I? Am I dead?  Though still, he could feel the linen cloth shifting against his nose. His hands were still bound as well, the tight, bristly fabric like iron spikes digging deep into his flesh each hour. Although it might have been days. Visir had but the clue. All he knew was that he was captured.

         As he lay there rigidly, the jagged rock gnawing at his side like a dog does a bone, there was a sudden light. Through the black veil of cloth, a great red and orange conflagration sprung into the air, alive and dancing. Visir could hear the crack and pop of fire and he could feel the permeating warmth caress his body. It was nice.

         He inched closer to the warmth, crawling across the rocks, the fingers of flame almost touching him. The heat became mesmerizing and the fire spat fiercely, dragging him closer and closer until Visir suddenly felt a rapid tightening at his throat and felt his body being flung back, away from the fire. He heard footsteps, the rocks beneath growling as they rubbed scratchily. Hands grasped his head and in a flash of light, the darkness of the cloth was undone.

         Towering before him was a ragged man clothed in a tattered black cloak and ripped sable breeches. Cast over his hidden face was a long hood of worn leather. Visir could barely see his mouth move as he squinted from the intense light. “What the bloody hell you thinking?” He rasped harshly. “Could have killed yourself there, wondering into them flames. What happens when you Ashless come into the Outside, the Dark. Should have known...” He stared back into the fire. “Where you from?”

         Visir was dazed and confused, his hands still bound, the fire burning his eyes as they adjusted. “Come again?”

         The man rolled his head. “Where you from?”

         “Jaahon.” Said Visir truthfully. “And you?”

         The man sniggered, “Why, this is my home. This is where I’m from.”

         Visir said nothing.

         “Never heard of a Darkdweller?” Asked the man.

         “I have…” Said Visir.

         “Just never thought you’d meet one.” Said the man. “Well, there’s always a first, eh.”

         Visir nodded and looked around. “How do you live here?” It was rather bleak and dark, compared even with the Outside.

         “You wouldn’t understand even if I told you, Ashless.” Said the man.

         Visir shuddered as he heard the Darkdweller use the word Ashless on him again. He didn’t like it. “My names not Ashless.”

         “Then what is it?” Asked the man. “If you don’t like me calling you your rightful name.”

         Visir paused, he couldn’t give his real name. He knew that. “Tell me yours and I’ll tell you mine.”

         “Why?” Asked the man. “I have no need of your true name. I’m fine with just calling you Ashless.”