The Magic that Binds

Introduction - 1434

It seemed like I had been walking for a short eternity. It was certainly eternal for me. It was all I could recall doing. The repetitive movement of putting one foot ahead of the other - over and over 'til the ache in my feet and calves dulled to perpetual numbness and the weight of my weary breast, heaving for air, became normal to me - lulled my mind into trance-like thought. I had no notion of where I was headed. I had been walking in this direction on this road since I awoke from, not truly darkness, but a haze - a fog - through which my mind could not travel. That was long before walking had become a burden, hours more had passed before it became pain, and twice that time, through the night and to the next noon, before that pain dulled. For a day and a half, I had been walking. I had stopped only once when the road fell near to a stream of clear, cold water, though, in the autumn air, I could not much appreciate the chill it left with me.

I began to wonder why I continued despite ache, exhaustion, and hunger. Even when I questioned it, I did not stop. It felt like my entire journey was driven by a power both within and outside of myself. Each new step dragged me on further. What else was I to do? Go back? No, I would sooner find an end to the path than retrace my numerous steps.

One more step, one more step, one more step, chanted the voice of Resilience in my mind.

There had only been one step absent of that voice: the very first I had taken. It was the first thing I remembered clearly. My body had halted and I had looked out on the horizon, a point now miles behind me but also miles ahead. I then looked back over my shoulder in hesitation. I had almost expected to see something there, beckoning me to stay: to keep me from such a daunting journey. All there was, however, was a large town, for which I felt no love or antipathy, and the open gates of its stone wall. No, there hadn't been anything to draw me inside. My head was pulled back to look ahead of me and my left foot uprooted itself from the ground only to be firmly planted again a step ahead. So I began.

Another thought that lingered was that of the road itself. Why was it so lonely? Why, in a day and a half on a road as large and clearly well-trodden as this, had I not seen even one other traveler, much less a carriage? Where did it lead? Where was I headed? Why didn't I stop? Why was I alone? And thus my thoughts cycled.

As the sun fell from its climax, a slight, red-orange glow appeared on the horizon that did not grow dimmer, but brighter as the sky grew dark. The light seared hope in my heart and increased what little energy I had left ten fold. The amount of steps I would take to complete my journey  were now limited. Two or three hundred more, maybe, but I found that more agreeable than infinite one-more-steps.

By the time I reached the city, the sun had set and the moon smiled over the skyline. The release of having completed my trek swelled in me - and with it returned my pain, weariness, hunger, and thirst. I felt lightheaded and weak. Upon entering the city gates, all my energy was lost. I had survived as long as I needed to, but could not last a second longer. There was a small crowd gathered around me, looking at the intruding stranger. I was strange to them, I knew as much. My clothes were bright shades of blue, magenta, and pink. My dress was had of a single piece of fabric fading from one color to another, tightly fitted around my starved torso - it had no sleeves, either - and was a little looser around my legs though it did not reach my ankles, and my cloak-like robe was loose and made of a thin fabric of light pink and peach tones that glistened like moving water and could easily have been made of a dozen scarves. What's more, my long, dark brown hair with red-auburn highlights was cut to a medium length and let loose around my face and my eyes shone a vibrant violet. Yes, I was quite strange for how I looked and staggered about, but even more so for collapsing just out of the onlookers' reach into sweet unconsciousness.