Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series

by Selina Fenech

  Thanks for the told-you-so but we can’t go anywhere now. Isabeth and Roen stood behind them in the small room. The man blocked the doorway, the dark silhouette of his features starting to clear in Memory’s eyes. He stared down at the girls. Memory tensed. A shiver of terrified nausea crept up her back, and her hand moved itself toward her back pocket.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” He strode past them, straight at Roen, anger growling in his voice. He shook Roen by the shoulder with an outstretched arm. His only arm. Memory gasped. His right arm was missing from the elbow down, hidden by a rolled and pinned sleeve. Memory forced her mouth shut, trying to look anywhere but at his missing limb. Her eyes were inevitably drawn back.

  Roen spoke calmly and looked the man in the eye. “Father, please, can we talk?”

  “Brannon, love, they’re just children,” Isabeth said.

  “No, they aren’t. Look at the state of them. They... are trouble.” Brannon kept a grip on Roen as though he would throw him back out of the house. He turned and glared at the girls. Memory cringed.

  “We’ll go. Let us go, please?” Eloryn’s clutch on Memory’s shirt tightened and her pitch rose.

  “No,” Roen cried, then his volume dropped again. “I mean, please stay, you are welcome here.”

  “You know they aren’t. Get rid of them before their trouble follows them here.”

  “Father, please, they can’t go. They still need help.”

  “Why would you bring them here? You should know better. You’re free to come and go as you please. No one knows who you are. Has that made you forget what it’s like for your mother and me? The danger we’re in? You know what will happen if we’re found.”

  Roen’s composure cracked and his volume rose to meet his father’s. “We weren’t followed. They won’t-”

  “Do you even know what trouble they are in? Bringing a couple of strays home without any idea of the risk? What have you told them about us?”

  Roen frowned, opening his mouth but not speaking.

  Memory found words rushing out of her own mouth instead. “He really didn’t tell us much – anything – nothing at all. We just needed some help.”

  Brannon scowled at her, the deep wrinkles in his face twisting around a grey-streaked beard. He pushed Roen out of his grasp. “I want them gone.” He stormed across the room to a curtained off doorframe, and disappeared through it. A second later another door slammed.

  Roen rolled the shoulder his father had grabbed. He turned to Eloryn and Memory with a strained smile and a shrug. “You don’t have to go anywhere, really. Mother?” He gave Isabeth a pleading look and hurried through the same doorway as his father. The smell of bread wafted out, teasingly, and Memory glimpsed signs of a kitchen before the curtain fell closed again. Her stomach gurgled from the combination of hunger and stress.

  Eloryn tugged at Memory’s shirt and whispered, “We should go now.”

  Close behind them, Isabeth tutted. “I don’t see the harm in letting you get cleaned up and fed. Don’t mind my husband, he just worries.”

  Memory breathed in the scent of fresh bread again and closed her eyes. Whatever Eloryn’s reasons to go, the lure of ‘cleaned up and fed’ overwhelmed Memory. She hoped Roen wouldn’t be in more trouble if they stayed just a little longer.

  Memory turned around to face Eloryn, who eyed the front door. “Roen promised we’ll be safe. Let’s just rest a little, then go.”

  Eloryn’s lips pulled thin, but she gave a tiny nod.

  “Take a seat and I’ll see what I can find for you both,” Isabeth muttered. “So dark in here. Àlaich las.” A warm glow magically lit the room. Isabeth walked out to the kitchen without looking back, as though it were the simplest thing to create light with her words. With the gloom cleared, the room suddenly seemed a lot more solid, even pretty. Furniture was sparse, but elegant and well cared for. Memory took a seat at a small dining table of carved dark wood. A thick curtain sectioned off the end of the room. Partly open, it showed behind it a simple single bed and a store of shelved belongings; books, clothing, and tools that she didn’t think she’d know the uses for even if she did have any memories. Two curtains were draped across doorframes leading out, but Memory guessed there couldn’t be much more to the cottage beyond them.

  Eloryn sat beside her, head tilted, hiding behind her hair. Memory sighed and chipped black polish from her fingernails as her frustration rose. Her second day in the world for all she could remember, and she was left to make all the small talk. At least Eloryn wasn’t making them run any more. It was nice to sit. So nice. Memory thought sitting might be her new favorite pastime.

  Isabeth returned, carrying a tray of food, drink, and some small cloths. A steaming bowl of water balanced in the middle. The clatter of the crockery as she put the tray down on the table didn’t cover the sound of Brannon yelling again from outside.

  Isabeth dipped two cloths together into the water bowl and squeezed them out. She handed the girls one each. “Trouble indeed.”

  “Thank you, for letting us come in. And helping us. And stuff,” Memory said. Her words became progressively more awkward but she kept tacking them onto her failed attempt at being polite. Roen and Brannon’s voices hammering through the thin cottage walls didn’t help her train of thought. She focused on wiping her hands clean.

  The back door slammed again, and Brannon walked in. Roen followed, head low and jaw clenched.

  Isabeth clicked her tongue. “These won’t do.” She picked the already muddied cloths out of the girls’ hands. “Roen, fill the tub.”

  He went back into the kitchen without a word, emerging again a moment later with a large pot of water which he took into the other room. Brannon moved up and sat across from the girls at the table, staring at Eloryn who shyly looked down and away.

  Isabeth lifted the pot of blackened water and rags off the table and took it away. “It may not be much, but please go ahead and eat. No formalities tonight, considering,” she said and left the room again.

  Memory mumbled thanks and looked nervously from the food to Brannon, not sure what formalities would have been anyway. Brannon reached out and tore off some crusty bread. He pushed the rest closer to them without a word. Her smile in return was ignored, so she took a filled ceramic cup and slunk back into her chair. Finding that the cup contained wine surprised her, but no one suggested she shouldn’t drink it. The rich taste made her eyes droop and it added to the warmth that already burned in her chest. Had she been running on nothing but shock and adrenaline since she woke up? She was so tired she couldn’t think straight, and now her body no longer moved, it was giving up any fight to stay awake. Yes. Sitting. Good.

  Brannon fortunately had calmed down and had little to say to her. He tried to start conversations with Eloryn a couple of times. They led nowhere. Memory tried to chew on some food but her mouth refused to function. She watched Roen take pot after pot of water from kitchen to bedroom.

  She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep in her chair until Isabeth came and shook her. “Dear, I hate to be waking you, but the bath is drawn, best to get cleaned up now.”

  Memory looked up and saw Eloryn gone. She couldn’t see Roen or Brannon either. Somewhere deep inside panic burbled, but her body wouldn’t respond. Isabeth steered her like a sleepwalker into the bedroom. A polished brass bath tub stood in a corner, half behind a dressing screen.

  Memory noticed Eloryn lying on a bed canopied with red velvet. She was clean and asleep, a towel tucked under her still damp hair. The undercurrent of anxiety in Memory eased seeing Eloryn safe and still with her. If she knew Roen wasn’t somewhere being bawled out by Brannon again it would be even better.

  Isabeth moved as though to help Memory undress for her bath, looked her up and down and backed away. Memory sighed in relief when Isabeth left the room; she would have felt even more self conscious without privacy. Stepping behind the screen she pulled two t-shirts, worn short over long, off as one piece. She winced when she
lifted her arms over her head, and looked down at a spot that had been hurting her. A multi-colored bruise covered half of her ribcage. Even worse, an old, large and twisted scar marked the middle of her chest. Nasty, she thought, wondering how she got it. Do you even know what trouble they are in? Brannon’s words bothered her. I don’t even know myself. Could whoever did this to me follow me here? Pulling down her pants, she forgot her shoes and wobbled about trying to extract them from the tight jeans. Peeling off a striped sock, she discovered blood around her toes. Well, that could have happened anytime, she thought, considering their chase through forest, cave and tunnel and the many hazards to toes they held.

  Feeling cold and exposed in the open room, she quickly stripped off her underwear and stepped into the tub. The warm water came up to her shoulders when she sat down. It smelled of milk and honey, and soap suds made it almost opaque white. Memory breathed the syrupy steam and let the warmth seep into her. Finding a cloth hanging over one side, she washed it over her skin, soaking away the filth. She began seeking and removing clips from her hair. Feeling mud caked on the back of her head, she leaned back and dunked her hair into the water, massaging her fingers through. She closed her eyes and smiled.

  This was the most content she’d ever felt, she thought wryly. She lay back in the warm water, letting the aches and tiredness seep out of her. She felt she could just sit in there for hours, until she remembered she wasn’t alone in the room. She was in a house full of strangers where she wasn’t welcome. She sighed and lifted her head back out of the water.

  Her lazily opening eyes snapped wide with horror. Simple confusion blurred with possible nightmare. The white bath water had turned a sickening black. She screamed, she couldn’t help herself. Eloryn woke with a start. Memory splashed about, trying to pull herself from the tub. She managed to slip over the side and fall onto the floor behind the bath just before Roen, Isabeth and Brannon ran into the room.

  She cowered behind the bath while they stared at the water and then at her. Isabeth rushed across and draped a blanket over her.

  Memory stuttered, “The water, it just turned black. I don’t know what happened.”

  Isabeth wiped some dripping water from Memory’s shoulder and showed her the color. “Your hair has a dye in it, that’s all. It’s washed out in the tub.”

  Memory couldn’t help but feel ashamed at the tone in which Isabeth told her this, as if she was a simple child. Her panic felt laughable. “I didn’t know. I didn’t know it was dyed.”

  “You two, out!” Isabeth snapped at her husband and son. Roen, who had been averting his eyes, moved quickly to hide a spreading grin. Brannon followed along at a slower pace, a war of glances shared between him and his wife.

  Isabeth started drying Memory off, and she was too taken aback to protest. “How could you not know, child? It’s your own hair.”

  Memory started to talk, but Eloryn shook her head at her. This wasn’t missed by Isabeth, who briskly finished drying Memory and dropped a billowing chemise down over Memory’s head, leaving her to find her own way through the expanse of fabric into the arm holes.

  “I know it’s not a noble thing to pry but I got barely a word out of this one,” she said, sticking her chin out toward Eloryn. She rested fists on her thin hips, her voice scolding. “Roen told us who he thinks you are. True or not we could trust you both more and help you more if you would talk to us.”

  Eloryn didn’t lift her eyes to meet Isabeth’s as she asked, “And what do you think of what Roen believes?”

  Isabeth softened a little, the slightest tilt to her head. “I think you are two hurt, frightened girls who need our help. It would be my greatest wish to see a child of Loredanna’s alive and well. I’ve hoped it for the longest time but was never so foolish to imagine the heir would just walk through my door.”

  Eloryn choked on a tiny sob, her eyes still downcast. “I have.”

  Chapter Seven

  Isabeth’s hands rose to her mouth.

  Tears flowed down Eloryn’s cheeks, and she slumped forward where she sat on the edge of the bed. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for sitting here silent while you’ve given us all your help. I couldn’t even give you the honors of your rank. Grand Duchess, I’ve been so rude. You must know that I can’t, I shouldn’t tell anyone. Even my being here is putting you at risk, but I just don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to do on my own.”

  “Oh, child!” Isabeth wrapped her arms around Eloryn and held her as she sobbed.

  The details fell into place in Memory’s head. No joke, Eloryn really was a princess. A real goddamned princess on the run. Daughter of a King and Queen who were killed for their throne by some bad man who makes people poor and cuts their arms off. Blah blah wars, blah blah Thayl, hunters, hiding and terror. Had Eloryn lied to her about why those men chased them? What else had she lied about?

  I don’t know what to do on my own. Eloryn’s words made her face burn. She didn’t matter at all. The girl with no memories and no use to anyone. In competition with a princess, why would any of them help her?

  Isabeth called out to Brannon and Roen. She nodded to them over Eloryn’s head, stroking her hair.

  “Hush child.” Isabeth rocked Eloryn ever so slightly. “You are doing fine. By the fae, you are alive! That’s a greater thing than many even dared hope for.”

  “But how?” Brannon moved in closer, crouching on the floor in front of them.

  “Wizard Councilor Alward saved me, raised me.” Eloryn’s sobbing slowed and she worked at wiping her face dry. “He was known before as Pellaine.”

  Isabeth and her husband nodded in comprehension. “We saw… Well, never mind what we saw just now. But we had reason to hope Pellaine had escaped, that Loredanna’s baby had been saved.”

  Memory’s nose wrinkled. She watched Isabeth fussing over the princess. Her heart ached, imagining a mother of her own out there somewhere, worrying about where she was and wanting to hold her while she bawled her eyes out like that. I have to find my way back to my mother, my family, my home.

  No one flocked to help or console her. Why would they with a princess in the room? Whatever, deal with her problems. I’ll be fine on my own. Like a ghost, she drifted out the doorway, through the kitchen, unbolted the small back door and walked out.

  What the hell am I supposed to do now? She breathed deeply through a bout of panic, staring into the night. A forest backed the cottage, dark and imposing as though the house had been built in the open and the forest had marched right up to it like an army. A bitter vanilla fragrance wafted to her from a vine curling up around the back door, its white flowers still open at night.

  A crisp cold settled on her skin. Too cold to be sulking and smelling the flowers. She swore at the pettiness that drove her out there alone, not even knowing where she’d go next. She pulled the chemise back up onto her shoulders where it didn’t like staying, and hugged her arms around her chest. The cold bit at her and she considered going and sulking in the kitchen near the hearth.

  Something moved high in the dark branches of the trees in front of her, catching her eye. Humming stars hovered still then zipped from place to place. She could see no detail, only beautiful, mesmerizing points of light. Each one glowed in vivid hues that shifted through a rainbow of color, blue into green, yellow into orange, red into purple. She took a step closer and they jumped away from her, a startled school of fish shimmering in the trees.

  A voice shocked Memory, jolting her focus away from the lights.

  “There must be something special about you.”

  She turned to see Roen had joined her outside. How long had he been there? She hadn’t heard him come out.

  “Making friends with a Princess and attracting sprites.” He stepped up next to her, pointing into the trees. “They’re so rare to see these days. It’s like they’ve come here for you.”

  Memory snorted. “More like they came for Eloryn. She’s the special one, right?”

  Roen laughed a
n honest, easy laugh. “And you just met her yesterday! Had you ever imagined just stumbling upon the Maellan Princess?”

  Memory sobered up quickly. He caught her mood and his laughing stopped.

  “So nothing’s been said then, about me?”

  Roen frowned and shook his head.

  “Not that I’d expect it, what with everything. I guess my problems aren’t exactly the priority.”

  “No, not really,” Roen said. She was about to tell him where to stick his priorities when he continued. “But you can tell me anyway.”

  Memory gaped, lost on where to start. “I can’t… remember anything.” She felt stupid now saying it out loud. “Before yesterday. Before waking up and meeting Eloryn and just running ever since, I have no memories.”

  Roen said nothing, only stared, his forehead furrowed crookedly. The intensity of his gaze brought an uncomfortable feeling rushing up through her chest. She kept talking to suppress the heat rising in her face. “Eloryn said it might be caused by this weird magic thing that happened. She said she’d help me, so I just went with her, but she never told me who she was...”

  “And now you don’t think she will help you?”

  “Why would she? Why would any of you? I just need to find some way to get my memories back so I can go home.”

  Roen stood silent for a while, then said, “If I were you, right now, I’d stick close to the person who has offered you their help, despite their own troubles, whether they can help you or not.”

  “Are you talking about her, or you?”

  Roen grinned.

  “Thanks for that, by the way. I didn’t realize it would be such a big deal with your parents. I hope you’re not in too much trouble.”

  “Trouble? I just brought home the missing Maellan heir. They’ve got nothing to complain about. Even just to know she’s alive has given them so much hope. If we can get the news to the resistance, it might be what they need to make some real change, get back some of what’s been lost.”