Are you going to help, or are you just going to sit there and watch that person suffer?
She wasn’t powerless anymore. She never had been. She had magic, too, and she could use it to support Jameson and help Amar.
A shiver tingled up her spine and ran into her fingertips, the altma within her begging to be used. A voice in the back of her mind whispered that this was folly, that she didn’t know what she was doing, that she would only make things worse.
She chose to ignore it, instead focusing on the unseen connection between her mind, body, and spirit the way Lucian had once taught her. It was like stretching a long unused muscle, difficult and painful, yet somehow exhilarating. She consciously acknowledged the emotions without trying to snuff them out, placed her hands on either side of Amar’s head, and channeled her altma.
At first, nothing happened. Then, there was a faint prickling in her core that rippled through the rest of her body. She honed that energy to a point and sent it down her arms, through her fingertips, and into Amar’s body.
His convulsions subsided. Not entirely, not all at once, but little by little, he stilled. Lucian hovered next to her, saying nothing, but his silent support gave her a little extra courage in the face of the sheer terror threatening to swallow her up. There were so many ways this could go wrong, so many ways she could hurt Amar more than she was helping him. But that hadn’t happened yet. The healing magic she’d channeled seemed to be working, and Lucian would tell her if she started to do something wrong. This time, she would listen to him. This time, she wouldn’t let Amar die.
After a couple of minutes, he lay completely still, his chest rising and falling in deep, even breaths. The magical energy in the room had died down. Kesari could still feel it, more strongly now that she was reconnected to her own altma, but it wasn’t out of control. When she looked up, all signs of Amar’s memories had vanished from the room. Jameson slumped into one of the chairs against the wall, looking exhausted and more disheveled than usual.
“He’s going to be all right,” Lucian said, drifting down to hover in front of Kesari’s face. “He needs rest now. You can stop.”
She nodded shakily and pulled her fingertips away from Amar’s head. Her hands trembled, and as the connection to her altma receded back into dormancy, terror engulfed her.
What had she done? What could she possibly have been thinking, using her magic like that?
She gently pulled the coat out from beneath Amar’s head and wrapped it tight around herself, but the sensation wasn’t as comforting as she’d hoped it would be.
A gentle hand fell on her shoulder, and she turned to see Mitul smiling at her. His eyes were soft and wet with tears that hadn’t yet fallen. “I don’t know what you did or how you did it, but thank you.”
“You saved him,” Saya said.
“No, I didn’t. I just—”
“You did,” Jameson murmured from his armchair. “You helped him relax enough to let me ease him out of the memories and back to the present. If you hadn’t intervened, I’m not sure I would have been able to bring him back alive and unharmed.”
“Is he?” Mitul asked, gazing back down at Amar. “Unharmed?”
“As far as I can tell,” Jameson said. “He’ll need a good, long rest, I expect, but there shouldn’t be any lasting damage. He’ll wake up as good as new. Better, in fact, because he’ll remember who he was before all this.” The wizard stood up and swept a few stray strands of hair out of his face. “I think I’ll go and take a bit of a rest myself, if you all don’t mind. I haven’t had that much excitement in a long time, and I don’t think I’m particularly well-suited for it.”
He gave a curt nod to all of them, but his piercing green eyes lingered on Kesari. “You really ought to reconsider severing your Bond. You have the potential to become a talented healer with some practice.”
Kesari’s cheeks warmed. Her, a Tarja healer? That was the last thing she wanted.
Wasn’t it?
Something stirred within her that had been silent for a long time—a whisper of the dreams she’d had as a child. Magic was a gift, a tool, something that could be used to make the world better. Once, that was all she’d wanted. Maybe that dream was still within her reach, but…
But she had ruined everything. She had been reckless, and because of her and the power she wielded, people were dead. She didn’t deserve to be a Tarja.
“Give it some thought,” Jameson said as he headed for the stairs. “Nothing has to be decided right away.”
31
Amar
Amar regained awareness slowly and laboriously, one half of his mind still stuck in a dream while the other clawed its way back to the waking world. Lifting his eyelids was a chore that required immense strength, and when he succeeded, he immediately regretted it. Sunlight from an open window pierced straight through his skull and intensified the pounding in his head. The ache of his muscles came into sudden, sharp focus as the rest of his mind caught up with him in full consciousness. A groan passed through his clenched teeth. It felt like he’d been run over by a passing carriage and then thrown down a few flights of stairs.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to the sudden agony that tore through his heart as hundreds of newly recalled memories swirled through his mind. He tucked his arms around himself and rolled onto his side, unable to stop the tears that filled his eyes and ran down his face to wet his pillow.
There were so many faces, each with their own story now erased by time. Friends he’d come to know and love over centuries only to watch them die. Soldiers he’d fought alongside and soldiers he had killed. People he had learned from and people he had taught. He buried his mouth against his pillow to stifle his own sobs, but there was nothing he could do to stifle the pain.
He wept for the friends who’d already left him. He wept for Mitul, Saya, Kesari, and Lucian, who would eventually leave him, too. He wept for Padma and Tarik and Asha, the wife and children he’d loved more than anyone else in the world. And in the depths of his self-pity, he wept for himself—for the man who had suffered loss again and again, who had died and forgotten and started life anew more than fifty times, who now remembered everything in such excruciating detail that it threatened to consume him.
Some might have said his immortality was a gift, and there had been times when Amar wondered if they were right. Now, he saw it fully for the curse it was. The urgent desire to rid himself of it made him want to crawl out of his own skin.
Someone knocked on his door and quietly pushed it open. “Amar? Are you awake?”
Kesari. Sweet, gentle Kesari, who feared her own magic but had selflessly used it to help him at the end. He’d been so lost, overcome by anguish and terror. The soft touch of her hands and the steadying influence of her magic had given him something real to cling to in the overwhelming tumult of all those memories. He wiped a hand across his face as he sat up and turned to face her. Lucian floated in his usual spot over her shoulder.
“How are you feeling?” she asked.
“Terrible,” Amar replied. “Everything hurts.”
Kesari frowned. “Jameson pushed you too hard at the end. I don’t think he meant to, but the magic was so out of control by then.”
“You brought me back,” Amar said. “That was very brave of you.”
“It was,” Lucian agreed.
Her eyes went to the floor. “I didn’t think you’d remember.”
“I remember. I owe you my gratitude, and I think I owe you an apology, too.”
“Oh, you don’t have to—”
He held up a hand. “I’ve been unkind. I resented you for not using your magic to save me before, and that wasn’t fair.”
“It’s all right,” Kesari murmured.
“Saya told me about your brother.”
She stiffened and wrapped her arms around her stomach, clutching the fabric of her coat in her fists.
“It’s not exactly the same,” Amar went on, “but I do know what
it’s like to lose people and to feel like it’s your fault they’re gone.” The heartache deepened as dozens of remembered faces floated through his mind. “I hope you can find healing. I hope we both can.”
She gave him a thin smile and nodded. “Me too.”
“Mitul will want to know you’re awake,” Lucian said. “He sat up with you all night until Saya made him go to bed, but he’ll be furious if he finds out you woke up and no one told him.”
Amar started to rise, but Kesari shook her head. “I’ll go get him. Wait here.”
She left the room with Lucian trailing along behind her.
A few minutes later, there was another knock at the door, and Mitul stepped inside without waiting for an invitation. He grinned when he saw Amar sitting on the edge of the bed and strode over with his arms outstretched.
For a second, he hesitated, then seemed to disregard whatever uncertainty remained and threw his arms around Amar. The gesture felt like a welcome home after a long time away, and Amar’s eyes pricked with new tears, as joyful as they were sorrowful. He blinked them away as he returned his old friend’s embrace.
Mitul let him go, looking him up and down, then sat next to him. “How are you?”
“I’m not sure,” Amar answered.
“You look better. But of course, having a seizure on the floor and bleeding from your nostrils is a pretty low standard of comparison.” He said it jokingly, but there was a lingering darkness in his eyes. After a few seconds, he asked, “Do you remember everything now?”
“Not everything, I don’t think, but a lot more than I used to. I remember you most of all.” Maybe it was because those memories were more recent, or maybe it was because Mitul had been by his side for so long and had seen him through multiple deaths. The man was nothing if not loyal. It was more than Amar deserved, and his response to that loyalty had been resentment and mistrust.
He looked his friend in the eye. “I’m sorry.”
“There’s nothing to apologize for,” Mitul said, clapping a hand on his shoulder.
He shook his head. “You’ve sacrificed so much to see this through with me, and I haven’t fully appreciated it.”
“I’ve sacrificed nothing that wasn’t worth giving up to help my brother.”
“What about Kamaal?” Amar asked, repeating the question he’d asked so many years before, when they first started this journey together.
A wistful look passed over Mitul’s face, and he twisted the silver and turquoise cuff around his wrist—a gift from Kamaal, Amar now remembered. “That was a long time ago.”
“You were so happy with him.” A fresh wave of guilt rippled through him. It was a familiar feeling, one he’d carried before, but he’d never brought the subject up with Mitul so directly. He’d always told himself he was trying to avoid making the other man uncomfortable, but the truth was, he’d been avoiding his own discomfort. Not talking about it made it easier to ignore some of the guilt. “You only left to help me. You could have stayed in Valmandi and built an entire life with him.”
“And I would have tortured myself wondering whether you were safe out here on your own.” Mitul lifted his gaze to meet Amar’s. “I couldn’t make Kamaal come with me, and I couldn’t bear to stay and speculate on what might happen to you. Leaving was my choice. I regret nothing.”
Despite his words, Amar still felt the need to apologize again. “I’m sorry.”
Don’t be. Tell me what else you remember.”
“People, mostly,” he said with a sigh. “And they’re all dead.”
“I suppose that’s the curse part of immortality, isn’t it? You get to live forever, but no one else does.”
Amar nodded and looked past Mitul to stare out the window, knowing that if he saw his friend’s expression when he told him the next part, his emotions would overcome him again. “I had a wife once, you know. I had two children—Tarik and Asha. The plague took them all, and I didn’t get so much as a fever. I’ve lived dozens of lifetimes, and my children never had a chance to grow up. How is that fair?”
“It’s not,” Mitul said. “But few things in life are. I’m sure you’ve learned that again and again in six hundred years.”
“I have to find a way to break this curse. I’m not saying I want to die today, or tomorrow, or anytime soon. But I want to grow old and know that someday, I’ll die like everyone else. I’ve lived too long already.”
“Do you remember anything about how you were cursed?”
“Not much. Pieces.” He remembered the girl who had cursed him, her eyes brimming with hatred. He remembered the tendrils of red light that had closed around him when she’d used her magic, and he remembered snatches of his childhood before that. He’d lived in a palace somewhere, surrounded by trees and decorated with the symbol of a lotus flower. But there was nothing more solid than that.
“Do you know why it happened or how to get rid of it?” Mitul asked.
He shook his head. “Maybe Jameson can try again.” He knew even as he said it that it was a bad idea.
“I don’t think that’s safe,” Mitul replied. “Things got so out of control the last time. Who knows what could happen to you if you try again?”
Amar sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. They’d come all this way, and he still didn’t have all the answers he needed. How long would he have to chase them?
“There might be another way,” Mitul said. “Jameson still has a few ideas. He’s downstairs poring over his books again and writing notes. We can talk to him whenever you’re ready.”
“I’m ready,” Amar said.
They headed downstairs, where the Tarja stood at his table in the center of the room, dark hair shrouding his face as he leaned over a thick tome. Muttering to himself, he flipped through the pages and didn’t seem to notice Amar and Mitul entering the room. Saya and Kesari stood on either side of him, watching him work, and Lucian hovered over one of the open books on the table. They all looked up as Amar approached.
“It’s good to see you up and about,” Saya said with a grin. “Are you feeling all right?”
“Better,” Amar replied, then nodded to Jameson. “What are you looking for?”
The man beckoned him closer with a sweep of his hand. “Let me tell you what we’ve learned while you were asleep.”
Amar approached the table, and when Mitul pulled up a chair for him to sit in, he accepted it gratefully. His body didn’t ache quite as much as when he’d first awakened, but he still felt weak and drained. Just coming down the steps had made him lightheaded.
“Do you recall the lotus symbol that kept appearing in your earliest memories?” Jameson asked.
Amar nodded. “It was in a palace, maybe the emblem of some noble house. It seemed important, but I don’t remember much more than that.”
Jameson flipped through the book in front of him until he came to a page that had the same symbol on it. “I’ve come across that symbol before, in my studies of Erythyr’s ancient history,” he explained. “It seems it was the royal emblem of the kingdom of Shavhalla.”
Shavhalla—the name sounded familiar. It had been his home, he was certain, but he couldn’t remember anything about it. Nothing except what he’d seen with Jameson’s help—riding through a forest, a well-furnished room in the palace, the angry face of the girl who’d cursed him.
“My mother used to tell me stories about Shavhalla,” Kesari said. “I thought it was a legend.”
“So did I,” Mitul agreed.
Saya shook her head. “I’m not familiar with it.”
“Shavhalla was said to be one of the richest and most powerful kingdoms in ancient times,” Mitul explained, “until a great tragedy occurred and it fell into ruin. Some stories say it was destroyed in an earthquake. Others claim the spirits of the forest became angry with the people of Shavhalla, so the trees swallowed it up and hid it away forever with magic.”
“I’m not so sure about any forest spirits,” Jameson said, “but like most legen
ds, there is a grain of truth to these tales. Shavhalla was real, as far as I can tell. There are several reliable ancient sources that mention it, but we don’t know for certain what happened to it. It seems to have disappeared, perhaps because it was destroyed, or perhaps hidden by some enchantment, as the legends claim.” He flipped to a new page in his book, the margins filled with hand-written notes. “In the centuries that have passed, the forest has grown denser all around it, and those who’ve dared to search for it are seldom heard from again. The few who have returned claim the area is heavily guarded by demons and worse. The very land itself seems to be haunted, maybe even cursed.”
Something cold prickled against the back of Amar’s neck. “Cursed. Do you think that has anything to do with my curse?”
“I wouldn’t be surprised,” Jameson replied. “In your memories, we saw you well-dressed, living in luxury and comfort inside the palace. You must have been someone important, maybe even the king of Shavhalla himself. Whatever happened to you would have been important, too. It would have been recorded somewhere, and those records could very well still be inside whatever’s left of that palace.”
“You’re saying we should go there,” Saya replied. “And where is Shavhalla, exactly?”
Jameson pushed a pile of books aside with a wide sweep of his arm and unrolled a map of Erythyr, which he spread out on the table in front of him. “It should be right about here,” he said, pointing. “Deep within the Vihaara Forest at the foothills of the mountains.”
“That’s all the way in northern Kavora,” Saya said, disappointment heavy in her voice. Amar could understand her frustration. She’d come so far trying to find a way to save her people, and for every question that had been answered, two more seemed to spring up. Both of them had yet to find what they were searching for.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to just go back into my memories?” Amar asked.
Jameson shook his head. “I wouldn’t attempt it, even if I thought it would help. The procedure ended up being a little more intense than I could have predicted. It was nearly as dangerous for me as it was for you, and I value my own safety too much to try it again.”
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