The Master of Names

Chapter 18- Bond

  The Master of Names must be returned..." whispered death, departing him from the realm of the dark. But at the moment, responsibility was not the burden that weighed down Keldon's mind.

  "It wasn't my fault."

  "It wasn't my fault."

  "I don't want it to be my fault..."

  Put the guilt away. Tuck it in a corner. Bury it. Or you'll never move forward.

  Keldon felt rumbling beneath him. There were soft snores and he smelt the familiar musk of the prison cart cabin; Salem must have taken him here when he had passed out. He was wrapped in blankets and the chills had subsided, but there was still a numbness at his fingertips and his body felt frost-bitten, pins, and needles poking out from his body.

  But Keldon didn't want to open his eyes, not quite yet. He was too tired for that. He wiped away the salty crust of dried tears from his eyes and rolled over. He could face reality tomorrow, tonight he'd sleep the memories away. Just like always. He was fine. He was always fine. He must be fine.

  He just needed some sleep.

  ...

  But as fate would have it, it didn't seem like he was getting any. He tried counting sheep in his head but after counting a herd big enough to fill up a mineshaft, he begrudgingly opened his eyes. He looked down at his body, noticing a new set of clothes.

  Nearby, Salem was fast asleep, snoring peacefully and surrounded by dirty rags, bandages, and empty bottles of ointment. He was wrapped in bandages, parts of his skin were bright-red and puffy while others were scarred. What happened to him?

  "Did I do that?" thought Keldon.

  As quietly as he could, Keldon started tidying up the empty bottles, putting the dirty rags and bandages to the side to be washed as he gathered up the rest of the trash into a bag. He folded his blankets and tucked them into the corner, taking one to cover the snoring Salem who murmured in his sleep. And then, Keldon snuck out the door, taking his bag with him.

  Fatigue clung to Keldon's bones as Keldon stepped outside and rubbed his arms with a shiver as he was greeted by a cool summer's wind. The moon hung low in the sky, outlining the land in a sharp white glow. He'd been asleep long enough for the willowed forest to shift into hearty mountain terrain, as leafy trees sprouted from windswept crags. The prison cart and the caravans had taken shelter beneath the face of a cliff, shielding the sites from the wind.

  Few things could ever bring him any semblance of comfort during times like these, luckily, a bit of caffeine would sometimes numb the pain. He took a handful of coffee beans and crunched down on them, feeling the bitter grit coat his mouth. But it was soothing, like knowing that you'd feel better after taking bitter medicine. He tucked away the bag and took up a martial stance, practicing the familiar flowing forms Bertram had taught him when he first took up martial training with him.

  He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking a neutral stance. Massage away the fatigue. Follow the forms. That was the way.

  "Slow and deliberate." Keldon thought, "the body frees the mind, and in turn, the mind will free the body."

  He stretched out his body, steadily lowering himself into viper stance. He slowly swept his leg out against the pebbled ground, raising his foot into the air in geyser stance before slowly bringing it down like an axe.