MalloS

Mallos hit the ground hard and stumbled forward. His knees absorbed most of the shock and he managed to stay on his feet, straightening a moment later to stare at the alien world laid bare before him.

It nagged, but not for any reason he could confidently put his finger on. Mallos knew this world; he’d been here before, thousands of years ago. Even in the cocktail of magical weirdness which formed his immortal lifetime, Sixam was memorable. The rocky terrain underfoot was grassless and riddled with thin but deep cracks. Giant glowing mushrooms the size of trees were among the myriad of crazy plants sprouting directly from the rock, with apparently no need for sun or soil. Lit up by the flora and several bulbous moons, a long canyon traversed in front of him as far as the eye could see. The unsteady glow of the plants made the shadows shift.

Although he knew he’d been here before, Mallos couldn’t shake the unsettling sense of déjà vu. Something about this planet was wrong, close, disturbingly familiar – but he couldn’t remember what. In fact, now that he thought about it, he couldn’t remember much of anything that mattered. His recent memories tumbled over one another in hazy confusion, present but not distinct enough to be able to identify. The last thing he could remember with any clarity was watching Croe vanish from their manor house in Madrid with their children in hand.

Frowning slightly, he reached up to run his hands through his hair but almost immediately pulled them away again. His hair was longer. Slowly, Mallos reached a hand up to his temple, feeling the unfamiliar sensation as his hand rubbed against the stubble there. What the hell? Mallos’ hair didn’t grow. It was fixed with…

He reached up instinctively, grasping for the stylised sun-pendant around his neck which symbolised his identity and magic. It wasn’t there. The cord was, but in the pendant’s place a misshapen pebble with a natural hole had been strung. Mallos studied it briefly, then stared further down at the clothes he was wearing: boots, blue denim jeans and a grey shirt, all of which looked as though they’d seen better days.

Maybe it was a disguise, or some kind of armour. He could certainly pass through a crowd looking like this without being noticed. Why couldn’t he remember?

A few feet in front of him, the a glob of brilliant white light began to worm its way into existence. There was a brief flash and a figure appeared with her back to him, the glowing flora nearby making her dark hair gleam. Mallos could have recognised her with his eyes closed from the stillness she evoked whenever she moved, but his voice still held a questioning note when he spoke, unable to reconcile the sight of her with the muddled story in his head.

“Croe?”