Michael Foster - She Who Has No Name

The Emperor was a prisoner of the enraged Queen and the Koian woman, pregnant with his child, was in no condition to come to his aid. Was that one of his feverish delusions? Did he really love her? Now, awake and coming to terms with his predicament, he was not very sure of anything.

Realising his throat was crying out from thirst, Samuel stopped down low and licked around the base of the wall for tiny droplets of water. It was hard work, but he could feel the coolness on his tongue and it tempered his thirst to some degree. His stomach was aching for food, but there was simply nothing to eat. He patted around on the floor with his remaining hand for any scraps his captors may have thrown down, but there was nothing but hard stone and grit. Not even bugs ventured around the cell, and even his magician’s sight had failed him, leaving him in such an inky blackness that he had never thought was possible.

It was curious that his rendered arm caused no pain, for he imagined the wound should be worse. The only feeling was a deep throbbing in his bone, but the weeping end gave no sensation at all. Often, he forgot about the injury and thought he could feel his fingers wiggling on the end of his hand in the darkness, but any attempt to clasp his hands together quickly taught him thetruthof the matter. His arm was gone and it would not be returning on its own any time soon.

He slept on the hard stone and awoke whenever he imagined he heard something, but,as he sat perfectly still, cocking one ear towards the trapdoor above, there was nothing to hear. He talked to himself and murmured away in the darkness to pass the time, singing songs and humming tunes. He guessed a few more days might have passed in the meantime and the terrible realisation kept coming home to him that very shortly he would starve to death.

He rememberedthat Balten had survived by enteringintoa catatonic state,and so Samuel began by sitting in a similar position andtrying tocalm his thoughts. It proved difficult, for he felt restless and jittery-an effect of his injury and starvation, he guessed. Many times, he leapt up in a fury and roared out loud, screaming and venting his wrath towards the hatch far above him, but it did no good. He threw himself at the walls and smashed his fist against the hard stones. Hisefforts were futile and he dropped to the floor, weeping in misery. Exhausted and parched, he laid himself out on the floor and peered up through the darkness to where he imagined the exitwas.

‘I’m sorry, Leila,’ he croaked to himself. ‘I thought I would do better for you. I wasn’t strong enough. I was never strong enough. I couldn’t save anyone.’

‘ Don’t worry, Samuel ,’ he almost imagined her saying. ‘ You did your best. She needs you now. Rest yourself a - while and save your strength. I’m sure you will make good of everything. ’

After that, nothing happened, except the dark remained dark and the quiet stayed quiet for what felt like a long, long time.

Perhaps it was his uncanny ability to recover from injury, or perhaps it was merely his inability to admit defeat, but Samuel lived. In fact, he did much more than that-he became stronger.

In his comatose state upon the floor of his cell, his mind had a complete lack of stimuli and so it turned in upon itself and began to soar. The world outside his imagination had become dark, and he could no longer reach the Koian woman beyond the confines of his cell, and so he followed the only light he could find, that which was burrowed away inside his mind. He followed the channels and rivers of energy that ran with his thoughts, carried in all directions by a compound nest of vibrant and shimmering filaments. He explored the endless landscapes inside himself: rivers and mountains and oceans of power. He found his memories and delved himself inside them, exploring the years and moments of his life and reliving all the moments of joy and sadness, love and hate.

He was running with Leila in the meadows of Tindal, marvelling at the wonder of her beauty, as she spun amongst the daisies. He was standing on lonely hilltops, moving through his stances and dancing amidst the lightning. He was in the School of Magic, laughing and joking with the Ericsbesidehim, poking them in the ribs and receiving the same back twofold. He was studying in the Great Library and watching Master Glim dictate the secrets of magic, with the friendly old teacher peering back at him over thick spectacles. He felt a flash of exhilaration as he relived watching Master Ash blasted to ashes and he experienced the moment of triumph as he followed the sword that buried itself into the Emperor’s flesh.

Then he was young again, bound towards Cintar atop the shuddering wagon with Tulan Goodwin, hugging his knees and nervous at what would come. He relived the terror of that night as Master Ash’s witch hunters slew his family, and he saw again that incandescent vision of Ash standing in the doorway, directing the slaughter-but now Ash looked young and thin,as he would have truly been, not at all as frightening as he had been to Samuel, distorted by the memories of a child. He heard his mother’s sobs as she dragged Samuel from the house, and he saw his father’s blank expression as he lay dead upon the floor, staring at Samuelfromunder the table. Night flashed to day and he was in the markets, frolicking with Tom and the village boys, causing mischief and covered in soot from head to foot. Through the trees and valleys around his home he roamed, darting and prancing and waving his stick-sword,runningdown into Bear Valley, dipping his toes into the icy waters. Then he was playing on his mother’s rug,carried in her arms and nestled against her bosom.

Before that, everything was warm and dark and comfortable. He could still hear the voices of his mother and father nearby, along with the steady drumming beat of her heart-always present, always reassuring-a steady,rhythmic pounding that gathered his thoughts and set the rhythm by which he had set his life. Finally, it was dark and quiet again and he was racing towards some boundary, an incredible barrier of energy that required tremendous effort to penetrate. He was not afraid, for he was accompanied by a guiding spirit that would see him through, and there was a flash of light-and he was someone else.

He turned calmly to the woman beside him, for he was suddenly standing in a world that seemed entirely real. The wind was brisk on his skin, and the noise of a discontented crowd surrounded them, placed high on a stage as they were.

He knew that he knew her, but somehow her face was both strangely unknown yet entirely familiar. She was lily white of skin, and utterly beautiful, but it was not her appearance that he remembered well-it was the spirit he could feel inside her.

She was almost a part of him, having accompanied him across time and through so many lives,yet it seemed they were seldom long together. They were always desperately searching for each other, whether they knew it or not, and only on rare occasionsdid they actually reach one another and realise what had been missing all along. In those precious moments, they had lifetimes of separation to atone for.

He looked down and found that their fingers were interlocked, but the hand that poked out from the sleeve of his ruffled shirt was as black as coal.

They were standing on a wooden platform, with ropes slung around their necks.

‘I love you,’ he told her. ‘I have always loved you.’

She smiled back at him and he knew what she would say even before she had said it. ‘I will always love you, too.’ Her voice was pure and wonderful and he longed to hear more of it, yet he knew he would have to wait.

Neither of them was afraid because,in reality, death was nothing to fear. She was his soul-mate, his eternal companion and they were destined to be together. Her name was-