The Arkanist

Light

Visir saw light. A bright light. So bright he could not see. It was sunlight. Visir squinted his searing eyes and shielded them with the back of his hand. The light parted, his hand rimmed with a gleaming gold. His body sunk into the burning ground, minute granules seeping between his fingers and limbs. He shifted, hiding from the sun, the sand whispering like rain as it churned. His nails collected with it, pressing against his flesh, irritating him. He tried to rise, but his vision blared to a screaming white and he dropped himself back down to the sandy earth.

         His head ached, and so did his limbs. They pulsed like his heart and thumped loudly, as if there was something inside them kicking and punching. He seized his brown hair and yanked, the pain overwhelming him. All he saw still was a pure white blur rimmed with red flame. The light was engulfed by a vast darkness of shadow and his eyes slowly opened. Narrowed, Visir could perceive Arstain’s black tatters weaving through the winds and a yellow glint burning at his sides.

         The Darkdweller looked down at him, his ash stained face dark in the shadow of his body. A balmy wind caressed Visir’s face dryly and the loose grains of sand stumbled speedily along the tan expanse. Arstain kneeled, his shadow lowering so that a mask of light lit across Visir’s forehead. It burned solely.

         “Thought you were dead.” Said Arstain plainly. “You haven’t opened those eyes of yours in three days, nor have you breathed. Strange you are, Visir Ashless, very strange. Must have had a battle with the mists, with the Gods of Shadow.”

         Visir couldn’t answer as he remembered the Divide, the blackness. How had he survived? I thought I was dead. I though I was gone.

         “It still haunts you.” Said Arstain. “I know. I can see it in your eyes. I can feel it in the way you’re breathing. You did well your first time through though, I’ll give you that Ashless. I’m impressed.”

         Visir managed a squeak that burned his throat, “What happened to you?”

         “I didn’t make it through.” Said Arstain. “I was alone, and on the verge of death. I thought I was dead as well, lying on the black mists the fingers wrapping over me, until I was dragged out. I still to this day do not know who that person was, or why they did it. I have asked myself thousands of times why, but never have I found a reason. It makes me think that I wasn’t meant to die that day, that I would live on for a purpose.”

         Visir forced out the words, “I thought I was dead. I saw a light, a white light. I thought I was Taken.”

         “You would have been.” Said Arstain, “If not for me.”

         “You saved me?” Asked Visir. “Why?”

         “Indeed.” Said Arstain gruffly. “I went back through the black mist and pulled you out. I did not know if you were living or dead, but I thought it would be right if I didn’t let you die in that dreaded thing. I had been saved, and so have you.”

         “And now we are through.” Said Visir.

         “We are through, yes,” Said Arstain. “And now in the vast deserts of Hhad, where the dunes go on forever.”

         Visir gulped that down. They were in Hhad, in the south. He had made it. He had done the unthinkable. He heaved himself to his feet jerkily, staggering slightly and rested his hands on his knees. Stretching out before him, an endless sea of tan consumed his vision. The mountains of sand rippled off into the distance until they were eaten by the dark horizon sharply. Visir followed the horizon and glanced upwards into the azure blue sky, velvety and washed with light and dark strokes of blue. In the center of the blue sea overhead, the lurid sun gazed down viscously on the desert, it’s steaming hot gaze consuming everything.