Borne of Fire

Chapter 17

The watcher held him upright or he would have fallen face first onto the cold, wet ground. He tried to move his feet in what he hoped was a vague running motion but he knew that in reality it was closer to a stumbling-trip than a run. More like the disjointed, jerking motion of a drunken man on his way home from a night spent in revelry at the village tavern than a man running for his life. There was no doubt in the fog of his mind that he was slowing the watcher down and although many things were unclear, the severity of the situation was not. He was completely clear about the grave danger he and his companions were in and his guilt at being a burden made him try even harder to get his feet to move as they should but they just didn't seem to belong to him anymore. They felt disconnected somehow; like the part of his brain which was responsible for transferring messages to his legs had been put on a delay and the thought process required for the simple act of running had to be thought about, and thought about very carefully or it was just too complicated and they ended up lagging behind him. Again.

Yes, he was very grateful to the watcher for helping him. He had even tried to tell him so at one point, but the words didn't sound right in his ears, in fact the sound of the words had actually frightened him even more. So much so that he hadn't tried again.

His vision swam in front of him and that certainly did not make running any easier. It cleared momentarily and then fogged over once more, like a small cloud enveloping his head. He tried to memorise the layout of the path before him in these short windows of clarity, but the path kept changing direction so even this task was harder than it should have been.

He noticed a bowl in the ground ahead. Not deep, like as not made by some small creature and so he could easily jump or even step over it. Only just as he was about to do so the fog rolled into his vision making him misjudge when his feet should be and so down he tumbled. Again.

It was just too difficult for him. It was like he was running along two paths at the same time - one with his eyes and another slightly different path with his feet. Neither of which he was doing very well. But the watcher was there to stop him falling, gripping his arm which was stretched across his strong shoulders, holding him up with his other arm across his back. He tried to apologise and thank him again for helping him, for saving his life, but only the strange sounds came out. The strange growling, belching sounds which he didn't understand but which resonated deep inside him as something to be afraid of. Something.....inhuman.

Maybe the watcher would understand them. The watcher had travelled all over the land and spoke different languages, and he was certain that the watcher wasn't scared. He would ask him. Then realisation hit him and guilt surged up inside him more so even than before - he couldn't remember the watchers name.

The man who was helping him, almost carrying him, for certain he was saving his life and he couldn't even remember his name. He should know it...after all he'd known it before...before everything became so confusing...so jumbled...He must have suffered a bang on the head, probably as they ran, maybe from a fall when the watcher hadn't caught him quite in time to stop him hitting the frozen ground. He'd heard that could cause problems remembering things. It had happened to a boy in the village a couple of seasons ago after he'd being kicked by a horse he'd been trying to shoe. He hadn't been able to remember his own name afterwards.

But that didn't seem right either. He could remember plenty of things, many of which he didn't understand or know much about, but for certain there wasn't a lack of memory. It was more like too much memory. Too much for one person so some things had spilled out. Like a mug being filled and running over the edges and down the sides. It was all still there, just not where it should be exactly. All his memories displaced by other sounds, names and images that made no sense to him but whirled around in the maelstrom of his brain as he searched for the watchers name.