Marked by Pedro Urvi Page A

sensation Komir had been feeling. Komir struggled to open one eye and looked at the visitor. He could not see the figure’s face; the only thing he could make out was a shadow beneath the hood. But he felt no fear in its presence; he instinctively knew the figure did not pose any threat. Though the shape was unfamiliar to him, it was not completely foreign. He was beginning to feel it was even somewhat recognizable.
    The enigmatic figure showed him its hands. They were a woman’s hands—thin, and punished by the difficulties of life and the passage of time. Komir observed them carefully but could not recognize them. Even so, the feeling of familiarity was increasing. The figure turned and moved toward a nearby stream that came down from the forest toward the pastures. When she got to the brook she knelt down, cupped both hands and dipped them in the water. Then she stood and, carrying the water, came closer to Komir without saying a word.
    Komir sat up and looked at the water she was carrying, confused. He strained to look at the face under the hood but it was impossible. He tried to ask the woman what it was she wanted but could not get a single word out; it was as if for some unknown reason he had been robbed of the ability to speak. His lips formed the words that his mind devised but no sounds sprang forth from his mouth. He brought his hand to his throat and, feeling the vibration of his vocal chords, was startled to discover that he was indeed speaking but the sound emitted had been erased by the air itself the moment it left his mouth.
    A fleeting but intense silvery glimmer grabbed his attention. It was coming from the water the mysterious figure was carrying in her hands. The water, completely still, was sparkling with great intensity. After a few seconds, it gleamed again. The liquid surface had been transformed into a small mirror. Komir could see himself reflected with complete clarity. He watched as his face began to disappear and then was replaced by a different, hazier image. The image began to take shape, slowly revealing itself like sunlight at the break of day. As the scene was gradually revealed, it was quite familiar to Komir, yet he could not place it. It appeared to be nighttime and a thick fog covered the landscape, preventing his mind from defining the details.
    Intrigued, he continued watching, trying to make sense of it all. He could make out a forest under the star-filled night; in it, several figures dressed in the skins of some wild animal were moving with silent stealth, like the mist at dawn. Alarmed, he focused even more closely. Covering their faces were masks with fierce teeth, traces of blood coating the jaws. They were dressed all in black with red embellishments. They were wearing... tiger pelts. Their movements were those of agile warriors. An urgent sense of fear overwhelmed Komir; he was suddenly battered by violent feelings of danger and unrest. Carefully peering into the woods they were running through, he quickly knew it was more than familiar to him; this was a place he knew... but still could not divine what it was. The sensation of alarm swelled within him; his trepidation burst forth like an arrow from a powerful bow.
    At the head of the group of masked figures, the leader pushed onward at a crushing pace. The mask that covered his face revealed sinister teeth with atrocious fangs, and on his head and back he wore the pelt of a great white tiger. His tall, muscular body was protected by a reinforced leather suit of armor that had been dyed black. The chest was decorated with red symbols and the shoulder pads and black pants were covered by the same pelt. He marched forward, armed with an extremely sharp black spear, the tip of which was painted red. Suddenly he stopped and signaled to his party; they dispersed in several directions. Seeing them move with such trained synchrony, Komir’s sense of alarm intensified; his heart began pounding so wildly he thought it might beat