Fires of Memory

by Washburn, Scott;

  “Idira isn’t any ordinary healer, Kareen,” said Matt. “She’s a magical one.”

  “Magic? But…”

  “Oh yes, we found some sorcerers of our own. Fought fire with fire, so to speak.”

  Kareen just shook her head. This was all too confusing, and she was so tired. “What will happen to me now?”

  “When you are well, you can go home,” said the woman.

  “Home? Where’s home now, big brother?”

  “Wherever you want, sis.”

  She thought about it. Where would she want to go? She was free to make a choice and it felt very, very strange. She’d had a life of her own once. If she tried hard, she could remember it. Well, even then it wasn’t really hers. So many things had held her in a narrow place. The fort… the regiment… Matt… Phell… suddenly she was crying.

  “Kareen, what the matter?” asked Matt.

  “I… oh gods. Matt, I’m sorry.”

  “Sorry? About what?”

  “I… I broke my promise to you. I’m sorry.”

  “What promise?”

  “The one I made the last time I saw you.” She sniffled and tried to wipe her nose on her bandages. Matt looked puzzled.

  “I’m sorry, sis, with all that’s been happening I don’t remember what promise you made. But it’s nothing to cry about.”

  “Yes, it is. I promised you I’d still be a virgin when I went down the aisle. I can’t keep that promise now, Matt. I’m sorry.” She was sobbing again.

  Her brother looked stricken. But his expression wasn’t one of anger or shame. It was guilt. He began to cry, too. Kareen had not seen him cry since father died… He clutched her to him.

  “It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter. Just so long as I have you back!” he hissed. “No one will care about what happened!”

  Kareen held her brother and they both cried. She was so grateful that he still accepted her even after everything. But was he right about no one caring? She remembered how the Kaifeng women had shunned and snubbed Thelena. Would her own kind be any different? Probably not—if they knew…

  “Let’s go somewhere far away, Matt,” she said. “Far, far away. Where no one knows us. Somewhere with lots of trees and near the ocean. I miss the ocean. And somewhere warm.”

  “Well, the wizards are thinking about a school in Ertria,” said Matt, stopping his tears. “That would suit. And maybe they’ll still want a Wizards’ Guard. Probably will, come to think of it.”

  “Ertria would be fine,” whispered Kareen. Suddenly she was very, very tired. The healer was at her side instantly.

  “That’s enough excitement for now,” she soothed. “Time for you to get some more sleep, young lady.”

  She could feel herself fading. But she refused to go just yet. “Matt? Matt? You weren’t lying to me about Thelena, were you? You didn’t find her with the dead, did you? Were there any prisoners? Look for her, Matt, please? I couldn’t bear it if she ended up a slave again.”

  “She wasn’t with the dead, Kareen, I swear. And I’ll look for her with the prisoners, I promise. Now you listen to the healer and go to sleep.”

  “Yes, yes, I need to sleep. You’ll still be here when I wake up again, Matt, won’t you?”

  “I’ll be here, sis. Go to sleep.”

  “Yes…” She started drifting off, but her last thoughts were not of her brother or where they might end up living, they were of Thelena. Where are you, my friend? Will I ever see you again or know what happened to you? I owe you everything. My friend. My very best friend…

  * * * * *

  “All is lost,” said Atark to the floating image of the Ghost. “The army is shattered. The tribes and clans go where they will. They fight and steal from each other. Zarruk is dead, Oliark and Ferache are dead, even Battai is dead. The other kas are discredited and cannot control their men. All the veterans, all the ones who believed in me, are dead. The newcomers flee like frightened sheep and cry that they’ve been betrayed.”

  “Where are we now?” asked the Ghost.

  “South of Gira. A few score of scores have attached themselves to me, but my guard was all but destroyed, and I have no real authority over these men. They cling here, hoping I can work some miracle.”

  “Then you shall have to give them one.”

  “What do you mean?” Atark stared at the Ghost and tried to ignore his throbbing leg. The wound wasn’t serious, but days of riding had left it very sore. He had found a little tent to use, and this was his first chance to consult the Ghost since the disastrous battle was fought.

  “The men have lost hope, but you must show them that all is not lost. This is but a setback. Victory can still be ours.”

  “But how?” demanded Atark. “The enemy have magickers of their own now. The Seekers no longer can destroy their powder. True, they do not seem very strong, but not even my fire magic can win a large battle all on its own. And if their magickers grow stronger or more numerous…”

  “Worry not. From what you say of their actions, these magickers are nothing. I can teach you ways to destroy them. And there are other things I can teach you that will gut their army and restore the advantage to us—all without any warrior even striking a blow.”

  “How can that be?”

  “You have so much to learn, Atark. The magical arts are deep and strong. There are things I can teach. I can show you how to tear the soul from a man and yet leave his body alive. What remains will be a fearless and obedient assassin who can seek out the enemy magickers, the enemy generals and leaders, and slay them. Imagine a thousand such agents stalking in the enemy ranks! Or you can set loose magical plagues that no ordinary physician can cure. Decimate your enemies before you even enter their lands. There are spells that will drive your foes mad so they will slay themselves. Once you have destroyed their magickers, nothing can stop these spells. There are many possibilities.”

  Atark was simultaneously fascinated and appalled. Such things were possible? Hope began to grow in him that the war might yet be salvaged, that his revenge upon the east might yet be fulfilled.

  “But first, you must secure your leadership of those around you,” said the Ghost. “The first spell I will teach is one that can command unquestioning loyalty and obedience. You can use it on the leaders of the tribes you encounter. Once you have a solid core of followers, you can force the others to…”

  The tent flap was suddenly pulled aside and Atark jumped when he saw his daughter, Thelena, kneeling in the opening. The image of the Ghost faded somewhat in the light, but it did not disappear. “Thelena!” cried Atark. “You should not be here!”

  “Neither should you, Father! This monster has poisoned your mind for too long—but it ends now!”

  Before he could react, Thelena raised something in her fist. It was a small iron mallet they used to hammer tent pegs.

  “Thelena! Don’t!”

  But it was too late. The hammer swept down and smashed the skull to pieces.

  “No!”

  Atark looked at the scattered fragments in despair and dismay. But to his amazement, the Ghost was still floating before him. The image flickered and changed color rapidly. Red, green, blue, purple, but it did not disappear.

  “Bitch! Traitor!” roared the Ghost “Too long you have worked against me, but I will have you now!”

  Thelena reared back in surprise—and then the Ghost flew straight at her. Flew straight into her!

  “Father!” shrieked Thelena. Her hands went to her head. “Father, help me!”

  What was happening? The Ghost was inside his daughter!

  “Thelena!” Atark did not know what to do, but instinctively he reached out and seized Thelena’s head in his hands. Her eyes were wide with terror. He reached for the power and…what? He was not sure what he did, he was acting solely on instinct.

  He could feel the Ghost’s presence close by, there was a trail of sorts leading into his daughter, and he launched his consciousness along it—into Thelena.

>   He was—elsewhere.

  A gray mist surrounded him. It was like being in a dense fog. He could see nothing. Hear nothing. “Thelena!” he cried.

  “Father!” He heard his daughter scream. She was close. Very close. He moved into the fog, deeper and deeper, toward his daughter’s voice.

  There! There she was! A ghostly image of his daughter was forming just ahead.

  But she wasn’t alone.

  Ransurr was there. Not just the image of the disembodied head, but all of the ancient shaman, just as he had first seen him in the mound. Richly dressed and with the miniature skull on the chain around his neck.

  He had Thelena.

  His arms were wrapped around her and he was drawing her closer and closer. She kicked and punched and fought back desperately, but she was slowly being pulled to Ransurr.

  In horror, Atark realized Ransurr was going to rape his daughter. Not some trivial penetration of her flesh, no, he wanted to ravish and defile her very soul. Take it and enslave it!

  “Thelena!”

  Atark rushed to his daughter’s side, and Ransurr looked up in surprise. Atark’s fist seemed as immaterial as everything else, but he struck with every bit of strength he had. He seemed to hit something, and Ransurr cried out in rage.

  “You fool! Don’t interfere! This is the only way!”

  Atark struck again.

  Ransurr snarled and struck back. A shock of pain worse than anything he had ever felt slammed through him. Clearly, the Ghost had managed to husband more of his power than Atark had ever suspected. But that would not stop him!

  “Leave her alone!” he cried and struck again. The blow made Ransurr lose his grip on Thelena. She pulled free and lashed out, hitting Ransurr by surprise.

  “You shall never have me, Drinker of Souls!” she screamed.

  Ransurr fell back. Atark and his daughter attacked, side by side. Blow after blow rained down. The Ghost tried to ward them off but seemed weaker at every stroke.

  “Stop! Stop! You fools! You’re throwing everything away!” Ransurr drew off and held out his hands. “Atark! Atark, my old friend! Stop and think! If I am destroyed, then everything is lost. The war, our revenge, everything! Give me your daughter! She will not be harmed, I swear! You will still have her, but she will have my powers and knowledge! Together we can still conquer!”

  The Ghost was fading. Bits of it seemed to be peeling away and dissolving like mist. Thelena clutched at Atark.

  “Die and be damned, Ransurr!” she snarled.

  “Atark! Please! There is no time left! Give me your daughter!” The Ghost was fading, evaporating.

  “No,” gasped Atark. “No, you may not have her. Die now. Die as you should have so long ago.”

  The Ghost screamed. “My life! My vengeance! No!” His wail trailed away into silence. He grew fainter and fainter.

  Then he was gone.

  Atark turned away and embraced his daughter and…

  …they were back in the little tent. Fragments of bone were scattered about and an iron mallet lay on the ground.

  “Father! Father!” sobbed Thelena. She clutched him and he held her very close. After a long, long time they let go of each other. Atark looked around and felt a strange sense of loss.

  “What have you done, Daughter?”

  “What had to be done. It had gone too far, Father.”

  “But the war… our revenge on the east. I swore to your mother and your brother that the east would pay for their murder. I swore to make them pay for your pain.”

  “And they have paid! How many deaths, Father? How much blood? How much pain? I am avenged! I require nothing more from the east in payment for my pain! And Mother and Ardan, how much do you think they desire? If you could ask them how many deaths, how many widows and orphans would satisfy them, what would they tell you? Ask yourself the question! How many deaths would your wife want?”

  Atark looked down and could not meet his daughter’s eyes.

  “It’s enough, Father. Enough!”

  After a long while, he nodded. He looked up into Thelena’s face. “Enough,” he whispered. She moved closer and put her arms around him and wept. He could feel her tears on his cheek. He returned her embrace and held her as long as he could—until the pain in his leg became unbearable and he had to move. They sat back and looked at each other.

  “What shall we do now?” he asked. “The men will expect me to lead them back to war. And what future can I give you now?”

  “Then we shall go away, Father,” said Thelena. “Far away. Far, far to the west, where we have never been before. Where no one knows us. Where none shall expect miracles from you. As for me, that does not matter. Let us pack up in the night and be far gone by morning. By tomorrow, we shall just be another pair of people returning to the plains.”

  Atark thought about it and nodded. It was a good plan. With his powers, he could protect them if necessary. Once safely away, they could find a new tribe. He had learned enough useful magic that he would be welcomed almost anywhere. And Thelena? She would be his recently widowed daughter. Her husband killed in the Great War. None would question that. She would be welcome where they settled. She could find a husband to love and bear his grandchildren. Yes, yes, it was a very good plan. All the anger and all the pain which had filled him for five years seemed to flow out of him and evaporate just as the Ghost had. Enough.

  “We shall leave this very night, Beloved Daughter,” he said.

  Thelena smiled. “We shall go back to the plains, Dearest Father. Back where we belong. Back home.”

  “Yes. Home. That sounds very nice.” He shifted and then groaned because of his leg. Thelena took his arm and helped him out of the tent.

  He left the little tent and the little wooden box and the shattered fragments of an old, old skull behind. He walked away without a backward glance.

  * * * * *

  Thelena helped her father over to the fire where the few survivors of his guard were preparing dinner. It was going to be difficult to elude them when they fled tonight, but it would have to be done, and somehow she had no doubt that they would succeed. She helped her father sit, and after she saw that he had food, she got up and walked away from the fire.

  A strange energy was filling her. She should have been exhausted from the long retreat and from the terrifying fight with Ransurr, but instead, she could barely sit still. The prospect of seeing the plains again was thrilling. She had hated the mountains and feared the forests, but the plains! Oh, how she longed to ride them again!

  She realized that a whole new life was stretching out before her, just like those plains. Endless opportunity; no boundaries. Free! She thought she had been free when she was rescued from the fort, but now she knew she had been wrong. She had only been returned to an old life—a life that was forever stained with pain and sorrow. But now, her life would be new. She could not wait to start living it.

  She walked farther away and turned to look east. The setting sun made the treetops look like green flame. Kareen was over there somewhere. Miles away, but somewhere. After the mad flight from the battlefield, Hobart had told her that Kareen was dead, but she knew that wasn’t true. She had been holding Kareen’s ankle when she struck her father, and she had felt some of that terrible jolt that had gone through her. Kareen’s spirit had nearly flown then, blown away like a leaf in a gale, but Thelena had seized it and held on tight. Afterward, she was still touching her and she knew that she was still alive—and that she would stay alive. Somehow, she could feel her life even now.

  I hope you are well, my friend. I hope you are with Matt and that you are safe and happy. I shall miss you very much, but I shall keep you forever in my heart. We come from two different worlds, you and I. Our worlds touched and warred for a time and we were thrown together. It was only together that we survived that storm.

  But our worlds are drifting apart again, and we shall go our separate ways; you east and I west. We shall not meet again in this life. But the bonds
that join us cannot be broken by men or gods or death, itself. We won’t meet again in this life, but in the next? Who can know?

  Goodbye, my friend. May the gods watch over you and keep you safe.

  Goodbye, Kareen. Fare thee well.

  The End

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