Prologue: The Silent Man

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He stood facing the sea, gripping his spear tightly. His rough, dry hair, and crude brown burlap cloak, both encrusted with sea salt, flapped violently in the billowing wind. He narrowed his eyes to avoid the stinging whips of his hair, and the showers of white, foamy spray caused by crashing waves sweeping over the rocks to his left. He gazed out into the maelstrom and watched intently as the pounding grey mountains of water fought each other, destroyed each other, and then merged with each other. A bright blue flash of lightening lit up the sky, momentarily illuminating the clouds with an eerie ghost-like glow. The flash was soon accompanied by a deep and resonating boom which hurt his ears and conjured up images of ancient sea creatures, thrashing their tentacles as they sang their song to him.

Where had the Silent Man come from? He could barely remember himself. He remembered fleeing from great pain, and brilliant white fires which would burn you from 100 meters away. He remembered slipping into the mountains, escaping faceless assailants and braving huge and wrathful storms; much like the one he currently faced. He remembered traversing quagmires, deserts, grassy hills, rocky canyons and acrid featureless plains… One thing that he could not for the life of him remember was how he lost the ability to speak.

He sighed and turned his back on the ocean. Defying its rage he sadly wandered back inland, eventually taking shelter between a large grey rock, and a gnarled twisted oak tree. He opened his small sack (made from the same dull burlap as his cloak), and removed a tiny withered apple which he promptly bit into. The sour juice stung his tongue playfully, and the ghost of a smile passed across his scarred features. Used to braving the elements, he managed to drift into a calm and serene sleep despite the pounding rain, but his dreams were plagued with the white hot fire which had blistered his skin so many years ago…

He felt more alone than ever when he awoke the next morning. The storm had dispersed, the sun had come out, and he found himself to be the only human on a vast and mostly featureless grassy plain. Spring was slowly emerging from the harsh and bitter bite of winter, and he breathed in the sweet air lovingly. He was sick with solitude, but glad that sun beams would flood his world once again.

He decided to stick the coast as he resumed his journey. He painstakingly navigated the craggy outcrops and the large curving bays, annoyed at how long it was taking him to travel, but unwilling to loose sight of the ocean and once again succumb to the land. Looking out to sea he could see the great serenity and freedom of clean air. All that waited for him further inland was the choking smog of the cities and whatever evil forces had decimated his home. He felt that if he could leave this place and see what was beyond the horizon, he may be able to accept that he had left his past and started afresh.

‘I’m fascinated by the sea too,’ came a low but gentle voice from somewhere behind him. The Silent Man turned from the ocean, but did not see anyone. He raised his spear defensively.

‘Do not be afraid my friend. I seek company through this wasteland, no matter how pleasant it can be,’ the voice chuckled. ‘Would you care to accompany me?’

There came the bounding of paws, and from behind a nearby rocky outcrop came a lithe, orange furred quadruped. Its body was of the sleek, agile characteristics that a large hunting cat might have, but its head resembled that of a dog, supporting a medium sized snout and two pointed canine ears. The fierce spark of a human intelligence glittered in its emerald green eyes, and its dog-like mouth curved into somewhat of a smile.

The Silent Man had never seen such a beautiful and majestic creature in all his travels. As the long golden hair of its mane blew softly in the gentle breeze, it reflected the light and seemed to glow with crimson flames. He smiled at it, wanting to speak, but not knowing how.

The beast padded over to him and nuzzled his hand.

‘I sense that you cannot speak. Do you have a name?’

The Silent Man pondered the question, and after a time shrugged. The one thing that pained him more than forgetting how to speak, or even forgetting his name, was forgetting that he had ever even had one.

‘I shall name you… Kamayari, in honour of the noble weapon that you bear so earnestly,’ he beast christened.

Kamayari smiled and nodded; a new thread of purpose woven into his life. A new name, a new friend; a new beginning. He realised that he did not need to traverse an ocean in order to seek this enlightenment. He pointed at the animal and grunted, the intonation indicating a question. He knew how to communicate; he just couldn’t find the words. It pleased him to know that he may be able to learn again someday.

‘My name, young Kamayari, is Karrigan.’