Kalameet

The first thing the man noticed was the darkness. It was a floating, ungrounded feeling that enveloped and surrounded him. The feeling was akin to bobbing in a gentle river, and yet it was so unlike that, so foreign. He couldn’t see, couldn’t feel.  A while after he had become aware of the darkness, a soft ringing reached his ears; it was like a small bell tinkling somewhere far off. There was also quiet laughter. He furrowed his brows in confusion. It was as though he were surrounded by small, jovial voices, yet he could see nothing.  Children?  The man coughed, trying to call out with a gravely voice. “Where are you?” He coughed again, his throat parched from lack of water. The strange sensation of floating wavered and a sharp pain broke through the numbness. His back, shoulder and calf felt as though they were on fire.
       
        The man grimaced but pushed the pain from his mind, instead searching for anything he could recognize in this strange place. That was when he heard it. Beyond the bells, beyond the laughter, there was a voice calling to him. It seemed familiar to him, as though he should know it well. The lyrical voice sounded like a woman’s, soft and gentle like the ever-present darkness he had found himself in. Somehow it seemed a comfort, as though he was coming home. In the pitch black, he tried to move towards it, the voice growing louder with each labored step. As he walked he strained his ears to hear what it was saying. Warnings sounded in his mind and he felt a strange disconcertment as he walked, but he ignored it. Finally, when he thought he might be nearing the source of the beautiful voice, he could make out what it was saying.

“Kalameet,” the voice said. The word drifted over him like a cold draft. As he listened, it began to feel as though the darkness had grown thick. He found himself  struggling to breathe as the voice repeated the word over and over again. He didn’t know what the word she, or perhaps it, was saying meant, but he didn’t want to hear it anymore. A grimace pulled at his weary complexion, and he tried to block out the voice. It was no longer comforting. The cloaked man began backing away, but more he tried to shrink away from the voice, the louder it became. In a panic, he brought his strong, gauze covered hands to his ears in a desperate attempt to block out the now deafening cacophony of sound around him. A strong pressure built up behind the man’s eyes and he feared his head might burst. The voices he had thought were children laughing began growing louder, beginning to sound less childlike and joyful. One voice rang clear above the others. “Kalameet!”

Strong invisible hands latched themselves on to his arms and legs, forcing him to the ground. He struggle and kicked, crying out in fear. No matter how he struggled, the hands held firm, immobilizing him. He reached desperately for his sword at his hip, but found no weapon. Large hands forced him to his stomach, agitating the fiery pain he had tried to forget. Suddenly, the darkness was parted by piercing light and the weightless nothingness gave way to rough, rocky soil. His stomach revolted and he heaved violently on himself, feeling his face press to the now wet, squelching ground. It smelled vile and he struggled all the more to escape. The invisible hands attached themselves to large men in brass armor who were struggling to hold him down as he thrashed. Just as the cloaked warrior’s awareness was drawn back to reality, he saw a booted foot surge towards his head and there was darkness again.

An unknown amount of time passed before he came to again, this time to the sensation of moving. He blinked his heavily lidded eyes slowly, gaining back his vision. His head throbbed and he could feel the distinct sensation of clotted blood at his temple. His hands, he realized, were bound by thick cord that wound the entire way up to his elbows making his arms ache in discomfort. They were secured to a tanned leather saddle. Groaning, he straightened his back and glanced around. He was surrounded by men on horseback. They were riding in formation, four men to a group. As he looked around, he counted ten clusters of riders. They were all dressed in shining brass armor that glinted in the harsh sunlight. He realized he must have been taken prisoner by the same, brass armored knights who he’d woken to before. His incessant shifting caused the horse he was riding to turn its massive head to study him in annoyance. It looked at him with one deep, brown eye before losing interest and carrying on. He couldn’t help but think of his own steed. The one he rode now had an unfamiliar gait, and it was far too large for his liking. It was a battle horse to be sure, but he preferred the small, compact mare whom he had grown quite fond of in his travels. He wondered with a note of sadness that he did not see her among the group he was with now.

“I see you’ve woken. Not going to try attacking again are you? Be a shame to have to… incapacitate you again.” The sudden utterance startled the now bound swordsman, stirring him from his musings. One of the larger knights ahead of him had pulled back to keep pace with his large horse upon noticing his movement. Getting no response from the slightly dazed rider, the knight tried again. “You have a name, stranger?” He was met with silence once again, though he did not miss the way the cloaked man furrowed his brows, struggling to remember.  “Ah, I see. So the Void’s got you already. Not much we can do for you, then.” The knight shrugged as though this was of little consequence to him.

The mention of the Void stirred something in the cloaked warrior. It was as though there was something he should remember, but nothing came to mind. The feeling of acute discomfort and anxiety did find him, however, and he found himself reaching with his hands, quite clumsily, for where his sword should have been. Noticing the movement, the knight steered his horse slightly away from the massive black steed that carried the traveler. “Hold, stranger. We had to disarm you. You were nigh impossible to stop once you came to. We feared our lives.”

He thought back to his dream. The hands holding him down must have been a group of the Knights. He realized he must have been becoming violent and so they tried to knock him back into unconsciousness. His head throbbed in agreement. The prisoner shifted to look more closely at the man beside him, the movement causing the wounds in his back to become agitated. It was then that he was reminded of how he ended up in his current predicament. “The battle…” he began, “was it your company who eradicated the archers who wounded me?” Remembering his wounds only served to cause the traveler more discomfort. He could tell they had been dressed, but they still sent shocks of pain through his body.

The knight barked a humorless laugh, brief anger flashing behind his blue eyes. “Eradicated? Stranger, they were consumed by the Void; we barely escaped with our lives. Those beasts feel no pain, no fear. Cut them down as you please, they merely stand again to continue fighting. It’s not as though we were properly armed to defend against such an attack.”
 
“What of my sword?” He asked abruptly. The traveler longed for his blade; he was left feeling naked without its comforting weight.

The knight studied him warily, uncertain as to whether he should humor the prisoner. After a while, he nodded. He turned and began to riffle through his saddle packs, removing a rolled blanket from the supplies. Winding back the cloth, the man revealed a gracefully curving katana. The hilt of the blade was wrapped in black, worn cloth ties in a crisscrossing fashion; the pommel displayed a dragon’s skull wrapped in wisping flames.  Had the weapon been drawn from its lacquered black walnut sheath it would have shone with a finely honed, midnight-black blade. The sword hummed with its own hungry energy, and even holding it as indirectly as he was the knight felt uncomfortable. “Would this be yours?” he asked uncertainly.

The prisoner nodded, examining the blade from a distance for any damage. Finding none filled him with great relief. The traveler’s heart thudded heavily in his chest, aching to feel the companionable presence of his blade. “Aye.”

The knight glanced around to ensure no one was looking. When he saw they had no attention on them, he shifted in his saddle and secured the bundle to the black stallion bearing the traveler. Even as dangerous as the man next to him was, he knew the importance of having a weapon. “Then I have no right to hold on to it.” He glanced at the bound man, noting that he was no threat, even with a sword nearby, immobilized as he was. He also noted with a brief flash of guilt that the bindings were much tighter than normal and must be causing their traveler a considerable amount of discomfort, though he made no complaints. “Unfortunately, I can not undo your binds until my captain allows. You are, after all, quite a dangerous man.”

The prisoner shifted uncertainly. “Surly you can not plan to hold me captive for your journey…” there was hope in the implied question.

The knight looked at him with an arched brow, bringing a hand to the raised visor of his helm. “We can’t very well let you go. You might follow us…”

The cloaked man nodded in understanding, though he was not happy about the answer. An uncomfortable silence stretched on between the two and the cloaked warrior turned his attention to the land around them. The rough brush and shrubbery had given way to coarse sand and barren land. The ash trees were nowhere in sight and the gray clouds were gone, leaving the hot sun to bear down on them with full force. The prisoner was aware he was sweating. Finally, he broke the silence that had fallen over him and the man next to him. “Where is it you are headed?” He felt the distinct pang of thirst now; rest was another thought that came to his mind. Though he may well have been unconscious for days from his wounds, he still did not feel rested. Evaluating the entirety of his body, the strange warrior noted he was also quite famished and in a great deal of pain.

“We are riding east from the ashen trees towards New Carthos. Do you know it?” Slight recognition flashed through the eyes of the prisoner before it vanished just as quickly.
       

“Perhaps I did… at a time.”

The knight decided not to pry. He knew that those afflicted by the Void were likely to lose their memories, and even that simple thought struck him with a fear he could not describe. He decided it would not do well to cause this stranger any undo agitation at trying to remember his past life. With that, he pressed forward to rejoin his companions, trying to shake the thought of the hollow, black eyes that he had been looking into only moments before. The gaze had slowly become unnerving and more that a bit unbearable.

As the knight departed, the cloaked warrior’s attention was drawn back to his blade. Staring down intently at the weapon brought to mind the strange vision he’d woken with earlier. “Kalameet…” he said aloud. The word felt odd on his lips. Familiar perhaps. He contorted himself so he could brush the smooth wood of his sword’s sheath with his bound fingertips. It was then that realization dawned on him. “Your name… your name is Kalameet.” The sword seemed to hum in response.