Memory of Dragons

by Michael G. Munz

  “But you didn’t get cash from me.”

  “I never said it was perfect. I wasn’t trying to take the pendant. Normally it’s win-win: I get the thrill of nicking a few quid, they get the thrill of having a story to tell, and they carry on. I assume. Look, I’m aware it’s not the best habit — ”

  “So why do it?”

  “Do you mind if we talk about something else?”

  “Yeah, a little.” The edge in his voice surprised him.

  She rolled her eyes. “It’s just — I don’t know why I do it. It’s impulse. It’s fun — at least it used to be. I meant that apology when I caught up to you in Conwy.” She chuckled with a shake of her head. “First time I get something that isn’t cash or a wallet and look what happens. Suppose the universe is trying to tell me something?”

  “Maybe it is.”

  “Oh come on, Austin, haven’t you ever had an impulse?”

  His meticulous itinerary came to mind, but then he recalled the thief in the park in Cardiff. “We wouldn’t be going to see Fefferman about a gomlen if I didn’t.”

  Corinna appeared satisfied with that. For a few moments they sat in silence.

  “But that’s not the point,” Austin burst again. “I was having a great time until then. Even if you’d only gotten cash, it’s not really a thrilling story to tell until at least after the vacation’s over. At the time it feels pretty damned lousy.”

  “You’re not going to let this go, are you? Fine, it’s a stupid thing to do, I admit it! Please, just . . .” She bit down on whatever request she was going to make and looked up at the clouds. “I’m sorry, Austin, I truly am.”

  “Look, I’m — I’m not mad at you.” He followed her gaze. Was he? “I mean, in a way I’m glad you did it, given how things turned out. I might be alone in this otherwise.”

  A train attendant pushed a snack cart past their seats. Austin kept quiet until the cart had moved on. Suddenly conscious of a need to speak more quietly, he leaned forward and continued.

  “The thing that gets me is things were fine at home. Two and a half years since I met Rhi, and no indication of any of this. Then I come here and at once there’s werespiders, Maeron, and who knows what else? Why now? Why not track me down earlier? He couldn’t get a passport?”

  “Maeron only recently learned where she’d gone is my guess. She left herself a note with some instructions and warnings, tips on how to stay hidden without saying why. You know, that would have spooked the blazes out of me, I expect.”

  “I think it spooked her, too. She mentioned it to me once, but didn’t like to talk about it otherwise.”

  “The note? She didn’t keep it, did she?”

  “It was gone by the time we met.”

  “Good.”

  “Was that part of the note, too? Dispose of all evidence?”

  “Aye. Sounds like Maeron finally just tracked her down. Your being here might be coincidence.”

  Mention of the note brought Austin’s thoughts back to his airplane conversation with the woman going to her father-in-law’s funeral. “Maybe. Except . . .” He paused. Corinna leaned forward herself. “I talked to a woman on the plane about Rhi. But that’s way too much of a coincidence, isn’t it? That I’d happen to be sitting next to someone who knew Maeron and it got back to him through her?”

  “While we shouldn’t underestimate him, I daresay you’re right. How much did you tell her?”

  “Nothing major. The accident, who Rhi was to me, that she couldn’t remember anything. I said I was going to Worm’s Head because she used to visit there, showed her a picture. If I hadn’t mentioned Worm’s Head, I wouldn’t even suspect her at all, but,” he shook his head, “even with that, it seems far-fetched.”

  He didn’t think he had shown the woman the book he made of Rhi’s writings, though in trying to remember for certain, thoughts began clicking into place like clockwork.

  “What is it?”

  “Rhi used to write. Short stuff, mostly prose. She never wanted to try to publish it or share it with many people. When she died, I hated the thought of no one ever seeing it, so I made a book and showed it online. I included her photo.” He could almost feel the guilt wrapping around his throat as he went on. “She hated having her picture taken. Never put a single one online. I thought she was just self-conscious. But Maeron must’ve seen it. Some sort of Web search or something, and traced it right back to me. Can he erase someone’s memory, too? Are there any after-effects?”

  “I’m sure he can. After-effects: not much. A bit of a headache for a little while, perhaps, depending. Why?”

  “Someone broke into my apartment after I left. Harriet — my building manager — said she chased away whoever did it, but she mentioned having some headaches, too. She knew about this trip.”

  “And he followed you here.”

  “It fits. Unless . . .” He had a splitting headache right after finding the crystal. But, no, that wouldn’t make sense. If Maeron had gotten to him at Worm’s Head, why not simply take the crystal? Was the ache from Boden making contact?

  “Austin?”

  “Nothing. I’m getting turned around. He must’ve found out from Harriet.”

  “You told her you were going to Worm’s Head?”

  “No, just generalities. I only told her because I wanted her to know I’d be out of town.”

  The thought of opening up about the details of his love life and loss with a mere acquaintance like Harriet, whom he would continue to run into afterward, had made him uncomfortable. It wasn’t her business. To avoid having to explain why he was going to a place like Worm’s Head, he had only told Harriet he would be seeing places near Swansea.

  “So he sent your ‘thin man’ to track you while he flew back here.” Her face soured. “He’s fond of such tactics.”

  Austin nodded. “And so, basically, this is all my fault, then. No book, then no picture, and he’s still got nothing to go on.”

  “You can’t be sure about that. It’s not your fault.”

  “You’re a bad liar.”

  “Actually, I’m a fantastic liar. But it’s not your fault.”

  “If I’d paid attention to what she wanted instead of sending her picture up like a freaking signal flare, we wouldn’t be in this mess.”

  She grabbed his hand. “Maeron murdered Rhianon’s friends — my friends, I can remember them so well! She hated herself for letting that happen, for not seeing what Maeron was up to sooner, for having to run instead of helping Tragen fight him. She blamed herself for all of it, and you know what? You’re both full of bollocks! It’s Maeron’s fault, not yours, not hers. Mayhaps it takes my unique little perspective to point that out, but it’s true. So you made a mistake with the pictures. You couldn’t possibly know all this would happen.”

  She let go.

  He wanted to say that even if he couldn’t have known all the details, he should have at least known Rhi was worried about someone seeing her picture. Corinna watched him, all but daring him to argue. He frowned and turned to watch the landscape. Yes, it was Maeron’s fault, but he ought to have known better.

  “So, she used to write?” Corinna asked.

  Her voice was gentle. Austin smiled at the memory. “Yeah. Little things. Maybe I’m biased, but she had a knack for capturing a moment.”

  “I don’t guess you have a copy with you anymore?”

  “As a matter of fact . . .”

  He reached for his daypack, where he had carried the book ever since making his hike out to the worm. One corner was dog-eared and the paperback cover no longer laid flat. The damage annoyed him, but he guessed it couldn’t be helped. He handed it to Corinna, but she shook her head with a smile.

  “Read me something. Your favorite.”

  He felt the color rise in his face at the thought of reading something aloud, but nodded and turned the pages. “Okay. This one isn’t quite my favorite, but she called it ‘Dragonfire,’ so it seems fitting. Though it’s only about a met
eor shower.

  “‘White-hot brilliance lances velvet sky, searing a course both random and true, only to vanish in the time of an observer’s gasp. I stand, awed amid the cosmic display, struck with why our ancestors called it dragonfire. Seers of old would behold these mystical lights to foresee grand events or dire warnings.

  “‘The universe’s gift falls silent overhead, and I whisper, “There be dragons.” The dragons of old: noble mages privy to cosmic mysteries who watched over man, until fear and religion remade them into evil beasts to imprison maidens; trophies to be slain by bragging men. Tonight they sling dragonfire, reminding us they are still there, and still watching.’”

  He looked up as Corinna wiped a tear from her eye. “I’m okay,” she answered in the face of his confusion. “Rhianon never used to write. Not creatively. She never had the time, or it didn’t occur to her when she did, so it’s . . . strange. Hearing this, I mean. Knowing it’s something she wrote, in a sense something I wrote. Right before she used the pendant, wiped away all she knew of her life, it tore her apart to think of forgetting all that. Losing it. She mourned for it. When Rhi died, she lost another lifetime. One she won’t ever get back.”

  She kept referring to Rhi as “she,” but she plainly meant “I” from all that showed in her face.

  “I know. Believe me. I try to remember as much of it as I can, but . . .” He wanted to say he was no pendant, but that sounded stupid. He let the sentence go as remarkably green eyes watched him.

  “So you really went to Worm’s Head just because she used to visit there?”

  “Yes, I told you; I swear I didn’t know a thing about the crystal until I found it.”

  “Oh, I believe you, Austin. That’s not why I asked.” She smiled at him, softly, with a hint of the same fondness he had seen so often in Rhi’s face when he would bring her flowers or catch her watching him. Rhi had never minded when he had caught her. She always kept on watching, smiling wider.

  Corinna looked away with a trace of a blush. Her smile faltered into melancholy for a moment before it returned, if subdued, as she watched out the window.

  Austin thought back to Boden’s warning. How long would Corinna’s mind keep Rhi’s memories alive? He wanted to bring it up again but hated to ruin the moment of Rhi’s presence, and in his hesitation the moment grew awkward.

  Corinna broke it first. “We ought to find a new box for the crystal before much longer.”

  “Yeah,” he said reflexively. “Er, that matters?”

  She nodded and tugged her jacket about her. “I’d feel better if we did. Something to protect it more than your pack. The crystal can survive a few knocks, but if it’s dropped from high enough or hit hard enough, it may shatter and release the dragon.”

  “So what happens then?” Austin asked, stopping short of saying what he expected.

  “I don’t honestly know. Without something to contain it, the spirit might fade away altogether, but even that might hold consequences for Rhyll. If it doesn’t fade, it might be able to possess some other creature: you, me, someone else. It’s even possible it could be drawn back through to Rhyll while incorporeal. If being freed from the crystal alone doesn’t affect the other dragons in Rhyll, that certainly would.”

  “Drawn back through to Rhyll? You mean if Maeron has some way to get back.”

  “Maybe. But even without that, there’s . . .” She paused with a worried smile. “There’s a theory.”

  “Theories are good.”

  “Obviously there’s a connection between here and Rhyll. The rift itself is evidence of that. But beyond that, in Rhyll there are rare places where energy streams up from the ground; always remote, always under some body of water. Anyone who bathes in these places, or drinks the water, gets brief flashes of other lives, strange lands and experiences. The memories are as fleeting as a dream, but definitely real. Memory founts, we call them. No one really knows where they come from, but there’s a theory that their source lies here. Kitrina, she came through with Rhianon’s group, remember? She thought the fountains were memories from the spirits of those who’ve died, and that they might even have a greater influence than Rhyll realizes. There are a lot of cultural similarities between here and there. Too many, she thought, to be coincidence. So if Boden’s released as a spirit, and there’s some sort of flow between here and Rhyll, it’s at least possible he might eventually be drawn back to Rhyll.”

  “Memories,” Austin repeated. “From people’s spirits? I’m not saying my world-view hasn’t altered in the past couple days, but that’s . . . out there.”

  “It’s only a theory — ”

  “Only a hypothesis, you mean.”

  “ — but they’re more than hallucinations, and they come from somewhere, Austin. Anyway, for our purposes, all that assumes the dragon doesn’t find a body to occupy if it gets out.”

  “Boden seemed to think he could only occupy another body if it’s dragon-sized. That’s why I was looking for dragon bones or dinosaur skeletons in Conwy.”

  Corinna considered that. “He might be telling the truth there. I can’t say for sure. I doubt even the dragon can be sure in this case, though I daresay he’s the more expert of the two of us . . .” She trailed off, leaving the words “if he’s telling the truth” hanging unspoken between them. “It’s also possible he might be able possess something smaller, temporarily.”

  “Temporarily. The difference would make it hard for him to stay put, you mean?”

  “I mean he might quickly ruin whatever he goes into if it can’t contain him, like squeezing an elephant into my sweater — though I suppose the case of the elephant might be a sight more amusing to see.” She leaned closer again. “The morning Rhianon used the pendant, Maeron had found her again. He couldn’t get to her quickly himself, so he took someone’s hound and overwrote the hound’s memories with a copy of his own. Those memories remade the hound into a shadow of Maeron himself. It knew where she was, why Maeron wanted her, what he wanted it to do to her.”

  “Could he do that to a person? Make a bunch of clones of himself running after us?”

  “Human minds are different. A copy wouldn’t work. He’d need to completely transfer his memory, essentially leaving his own body, and that’s a bit of a process even if his vanity would stand for it.” She gave a small smile. “My point is, Maeron did what he did with the hound by cramming a full copy of a human’s memories in an animal brain. It was too much for it — the poor thing was already dying when it caught up to her. It might have lasted another day before expiring from sheer overload. Boden’s spirit, if it could fit at all inside a less than dragon-sized body — human or otherwise — it wouldn’t be quite the same thing. But it’s close enough. Same bloody result.”

  “I expect it would be a disastrous experience for me as well. I would not care to find out.”

  Briefly startled by the dragon’s return, Austin nonetheless relayed the sentiment to Corinna. She frowned, clearly dubious, but a different question held Austin’s focus.

  “How similar is that to what happened to you with Rhi’s memories? Hers didn’t overwrite yours. You’ve got two sets in a brain designed for one, right?”

  “Aye, I do, but it’s not the same thing as the hound. Human memories in a human brain.”

  “But that’s still more than you’d have otherwise.”

  “Well — ”

  “I just can’t help but think something’s got to give,” he pressed.

  “My head feels alright. My eyes aren’t bloodshot, are they?” She smiled when he shook his head. “Then for the moment, we’re fine. Human minds are more complex. I can take it.”

  “It’s still causing you problems, though, isn’t it? The ‘she’ and ‘I’ issue. You said you had a different perspective now, right? Like you’re her? Or sharing a mind with her?”

  “It’s hard to explain. But yes. Saying ‘I’ feels more natural, but I don’t want to confuse you, or dishonor the pain you went through in losing her.
But I remember Rhyll just as well as I remember Ireland. What she put into the pendant, it was everything she knew. Everything she was. It’s more than having the same memories. I feel how important this is, keeping the crystal safe. That was her design. After the pendant shattered, I drove out to Worm’s Head half in a panic.”

  “So Rhi really is in there.”

  “Aye, as I said.”

  “And what if your brain tries to correct itself? Like a transplant reject? Does that happen?” She seemed to be doing her best to reassure him, but out of honesty or a need to protect him? Or did she doubt his willingness to help if Rhi faded?

  “Austin, you can keep asking, but it doesn’t change the fact that I don’t know. This is uncharted territory for me. I promise, if I start getting headaches, or noticing anything slipping away, I’ll tell you. Alright?”

  He nodded and forced a smile. “Just don’t forget you promised.”

  She chuckled. “Cheeky git, aren’t you?”

  Austin shared in her chuckle, trying to hide his unease.

  FOURTEEN

  It was afternoon by the time their train returned them to Cardiff. Austin and Corinna passed their initial meeting place in the station’s entrance without comment, then continued toward the park where Austin had met Fefferman. The city bustled with people and cars worming through street construction that mangled the traffic between blocks.

  They made it to Cardiff Castle as Austin had done two days before. Turning toward the park entrance, and the two found their way to the bridge under which Fefferman appeared to have made his home. They turned up no sign of the odd fellow.

  “You know, he, ah, never actually said that he lived here,” Austin realized with a sinking feeling.

  “He’ll come back before too long,” Corinna said. She looked up and down the path. “Probably out for a walk.”

  “Is that what thiesms do?”

  “No idea. But it’s worth a shot and less depressing than having lost him, wouldn’t you say? It’s a lovely bridge, but cabin fever’s cabin fever.”

  Austin chuckled through his dismay. “How long does that magic last that keeps Maeron from tracking us?”