I originally posted this under other fiction, but have decided to make it a fantasy. It has been edited and reviewed, as well as added to.

Darkness.

Velvet black, the rich, deep dark of the true absence of light.

Somewhere, one could hear water flowing, dripping, and sometimes, bubbling.

He was aware.

Nothing entered this cave, this haven, without being noticed. Every bug, every worm, every mouse was detected as soon as they came near.

Yet, he knew nothing of himself. Nor did he think, exactly. His body, pale and sickly, had not seen the light of day for years.

Sometimes, while asleep, he dreamed of the sky, the sun, and a girl in red skirts, tears running freely down his face.

The door slammed open.

He drew back from the light, frantically clawing at his face as if the dim lantern burned him. Ribs protruded from his chest, and his arms were bent awkwardly, almost unused.

A man studied him with distaste.

"Useless. Absolutely useless." He spat, his face in darkness.

The whimpering figure half crawled, half scrambled away from the one who had tormented him so long. He opened his mouth in protest, soundless.

"Talk, damn you!" He lashed out with his feet, catching the pitiful creature in the ribs. No sound came from the cowering man, and the looming lantern bearer turned away, shutting him in darkness once more.

****

The sun bore down, warming his face. The teenager enjoyed sitting outside, the air fragrant with the scent of early spring flowers, rich soil and animal manure.

He closed his eyes, feeling the gentle breeze on his cheek. It was cool, yet not chilling.

Lying back, he enjoyed the moment of peace. He opened his eyes, to study the brilliant blue sky. Clouds were swept along by unfelt winds, racing across from horizon to horizon.

"Hey! Tyler! Get up here."

Tyler sighed silently and stood. He knew it had been too good to last. Sandy blond hair fell into his eyes, to be swept irritably away by a hand rough from labor.

A boy of about sixteen, he was tall, with broad shoulders. Some had said he should be apprenticed to the smith, but those few were hushed hurriedly. Instead he was the town handyman, jack-of-all trades, only paid what people could spare. Yet he was pleased with that, and took all requests with a dutiful nod and a smile.

As a small child, he had been the envy of all the young mothers around. So quiet, they said to his mother. Raising him must be a breeze.

But when he reached the age of one, then two, without uttering a sound, the community had become alarmed. What had his parents done, to bear a child robbed of voice? Or worse, had the young Tyler become possessed? Sold to demons for some unholy wish?

Many meetings had been roused, many debates had taken place. Eventually, the village ruled that Tyler be taken from his parents, the father exiled and his mother tried for witchcraft.

She had been found guilty.

But when God hadn't given Tyler the gift of voice, even when his parents had been punished, superstition rose again.

Tyler trudged up the path, wondering what was wanted to be done now. It was the priest, his caregiver of fourteen years, a slow, self-confident man of middling years.

"Tyler. Time for your lessons."

Tyler sighed. The lessons consisted of copying out holy writ from the bible, while the priest snored loudly in the corner. Resigning himself to a hour of laborious writing, he entered his home.

******

The air was warm, too warm for a winter's night. Bodies pressed around him, looming. Hands contained him, and everything was in flames. Faces, faces of simple, kind men and woman, they turned ugly, baying for death. He tried to cry out, yet nothing worked. It never worked for him.

And in imprisoned within the hungry fire, a face. A weeping face, her eyes looking straight at him. He reached out, straining to the safety of the woman, but hands kept him back. The flames cackled, devouring those eyes, her tears no more. Then again they opened, staring blankly at the child. They came, came closer, calling to him. The strained face morphed into something more hideous and reached out, its breath strangely sweet, eyes of hard, glowing coals. Red teeth enclosed on him, golden crimson engulfing him. He struggled, yet it was no use. Slowly, he gave up, and saw only darkness.

Tyler shuddered, his eyes snapping open. Fear clutched at his chest as he took ragged, gulping breaths. The dream again. He rolled off his pallet, little more then straw on wood, onto the cold floor. He lay on the packed earth, shaking all over, fear raising in his throat. As long as his memory could stretch, that dream had visited him, and it had never got any less confusing or frightening. Why? Why does this torment me? The thought flashed across his mind, as it had done hundreds of times before. Closing his eyes tight against the memory, he picked himself up, climbing into his rough tunic and breeches. He knew he needed to clear his head.

Creeping past the snoring priest, wrapped in a blanket across the room, Tyler snorted in disdain. Not once had the priest woken to comfort him, even as a small child.

Stepping out the appropriately modest but stern door that lead from the living quarters attached to the church to the outside wall, Tyler breathed the crisp night air, settling his thoughts on the now. Overhead, stars spread like a glittering blanket, or a minstrel's gaudy cloak. The village, scattered carelessly below the church, was silent. Tyler had always mused that the church was perched upon the small hill like a ward against an imagined evil, a comfort to the small-minded villagers.

As he left the village silently, his sensitive ears picked up the peaceful sounds of the night that many others missed. The gentle breeze whispered through the fields, cattle stirring as he passed to eye him disturbed the earth. Tyler walked down to the nearby stream, the grass brushing against his calves. Insects chirped noisily, and a bird flew off with a warning cry as Tyler disturbed its slumber. Peace settled over him as he inhaled deeply, savoring the crisp smell of the dew laden grass. Gazing into the dark water, he let it carry his dream away, replaced with flowing patterns as the water flowed around rocks which stood smooth and polished.

His peace vanished as a sound tore through the air, and an eerie silence fell, broken only by the water and the wind.

Again the noise came, an inhuman scream, accompanied by a low pounding. Eventually a rider crested the hill, his horse breathing heavily and flecked with foam, eyes rolling with blind panic as it shrieked again. It was a magnificent beast, dark in color, its coat glossy with health. But it was near exhaustion, his gait a slow and stumbling canter. Tyler could not see the rider in detail, but he was slumped in his saddle, obviously fatigued. One arm swung and jolted limply in the time with the steed’s fatigued gait, obviously useless and probably painful. Tyler crouched, alarmed at what the man was doing in his state. What was he so desperate to run from?

Why come here?

His musings were cut short when the horse pitched over, at the end of its energy, spilling the man to the ground. Tyler waited, blood rushing in his ears, waiting for the man to rise.

Neither horse nor rider moved.

Cautiously, Tyler slowly edged closer, his heart in his throat. Eventually he came close enough to distinguish the shape of the man from the shadows. Tyler studied him cautiously. He was face down, motionless. The horse lay panting nearby, and Tyler knew it was spent, and would never get up.

Tyler looked around him, panic flashing across his face. He was just out of sight of the village, and no-one else had came to investigate the sounds of the horse. Tyler turned his attention back on the rider. He was dressed in light mail, and a bare sword lay to the man's right.

Kneeling down, he turned the man over, and pulled his hands back in shock. Blood was everywhere, and a slick coating was dripping from his fingers. Tyler swallowed back a mixture of dread, fear and panic. Who did this? Why? The man's shoulder had a snapped shaft protruding from a crimson wound. Tyler knew little first aid, but could tell he had lost too much blood. The grass was sticky around the wound, and more was slowly hardening on the delicate metal rings of the man’s mail. Bending over, he hoisted the man over his shoulders, almost fell over, and put him down again.

Tyler bit his lip, and bent back over the unconscious man. With some effort, and much manipulation, Tyler removed the mail, took off the heavy boots and the helm. Tossing them aside, he nervously wiped his sticky hands on his breeches.

Bending over, he hoisted the man up yet again, and after deciding he could take the lessened weight, made his way laboriously towards the village.

-----------------------

"He'll live. Now, Tyler, for goodness sake, go get cleaned up!" The priest shooed the young man away, sick of his hovering over the figure sprawled on the priest's pallet. The priest sighed inwardly, wondering whether Tyler was thick as well as dumb.

The priest looked at the symbol on the man's tunic, and muttered to himself. No, this would not do. He must get this man away from the village as soon as possible.

Delicately stitched and small enough to conceal with a plain silver broach, now sitting on the priest’s desk, a golden eye overlaid with a black dagger stared at the holy man. A sign that had made the old priest quiver.

The priest shook his head, wondering what the crown's spies were doing so far out.

He tossed a blanket over the resting man, and left the room.

The darkness closed in.

******

Tyler opened the window, glancing with disgust at the dirty pane. Glass was expensive, yet the priest gave no thought to the state he had let it get. Tyler sighed. I suppose I will do it. He seemed to do everything around here. Turning again, Tyler surveyed the room, determined to find something to distract himself with. He knew he shouldn’t disturb the sleeping man, but his curious nature often had often overridden his common sense, landing him in trouble with already weary villagers.

The room was not large, serving as a sort of living area, but it was adequate for an aging priest and his young charge. This part of the house had wooden floors and a quiet, if dated, elegance. The bedchamber, newer and shabbier, was tacked onto the end of the room. The more sophisticated room had caught fire years ago, and while the rest of the church survived, it had been destroyed. Rumor had gone around that the Devil himself had tried to murder the holy man.

Tyler had merely shrugged and helped erect new walls, removing rocks and smoothing the earth when the priest had decided that proper flooring was too expensive. Even now Tyler was the housekeeper and handyman, keeping the modest home in workable order, for he knew the priest would let it fall down around him in his carelessness.

Grabbing a broom from the corner of the room, Tyler swept the wooden floors, picking up scraps of food his guardian had neglected to tidy up, sighing internally. Soon enough, he had gotten the room back in serviceable order, but had managed to spill half goblet of wine down his front, much to Tyler’s disgust.

Telling himself he would merely get changed, Tyler stepped down onto the bare earth of the bedchamber. Pointedly ignoring the unconscious man, Tyler stripped and pulled clean clothes out of his shabby chest at the foot of his pallet. A groan from the other side of the room made Tyler stiffen, his shirt dangling from his hand, naked as the day he entered the world.

The man’s hands twitched, and his square jaw tightened as he took a sharp breath through his teeth, his lean and wiry body shuddering as he regained consciousness, and regained the sense of pain. Tyler stood, slack-jawed and trembling, unable to move. Panic raced through his mind, scrambling any intelligible thought before it was truly formed. Fear pounded through his body in time with his heartbeat, reminding Tyler vaguely of his nightmares.

Slowly, the man’s eyes opened, his mouth opening in an involuntary cry of pain, sweat sticking his long black hair in wisps across his unshaven face. Panting heavily, the man regained his wits and glanced around the dimly lit room, before landing on Tyler’s naked form.

Tyler tried to shrink back from the harsh, cold gaze, but found his feet rooted to the spot.

The stranger slowly licked his lips, and spoke, almost mocking in spite of obvious pain.

“Tell me who you are. And why you stand naked before me.”