“Land of the dead,” whispered Caythis.
They were silent for some time. Both soaking in the scale of the wreckage.
“Why do you suppose he did it?” asked Caythis. “Why would anyone hurt so many people who never wronged him?” He had no mercy for Antares, only unflinching hate.
“That is the greatest mystery of all, isn’t it? Was Antares a fluke? Was he some kind of freak accident? A random chance? Or was he an agent of evolution? Meant to wipe the most destructive race off the face of the planet once and for all? Or was he an agent of nature, like a lightning-driven forest fire? Meant to thin out the species to a better balance? Perhaps he was, truly, an agent of some hateful, wrathful god.”
Caythis shook his head. He couldn’t consider such questions in the face of such destruction. He spoke coldly. “I don’t think so. I see only a young man filled with so much hate. And given much more power than anyone should ever have. A bad person. An evil person. And nothing more.”
“Maybe,” said Emon. “That’s the way most people look at it, because nothing else makes sense to them. But I really doubt things are ever that simple.”
Eventually they approached the settlement of New Andar. It was about a tenth the scale of the original city, and perched on the edge of the destruction near the sea. A haven for fishermen, scavengers, and anyone who wanted to get away from the politics and stress of the more established cities. Small pillars of smoke burned, as the residents cooked on fires. Their faces were grim and dirty, but tough and resilient. It was truly the most depressing place to live that Caythis could think of, to exist in the shadow of the skeleton. But, because of that, these people had a kind of strength, and spirit, he greatly admired.
“They’re squatters,” said Emon. “Some are here because they have no other homes to go to, they are desperate to survive. Others are here to rebuild what was lost. A few ambitious ones are here for profit, trying to unbury lost treasures and artifacts that somehow escaped Antares’ wrath. Someday this land might be valuable again, but not today. It’s worthless. And what a depressing place to live.”
They didn’t seem depressed though, oddly enough, despite Emon’s assessment and Caythis’ prior expectation, these were survivors. Not necessarily happy, but not necessarily sad. They lived, were seemingly industrious with their time, and had families like anywhere else.
“I admire them, actually,” said Caythis. That sentiment grew the farther into the settlement he went. Each person seemed like a diamond lost in a dune of sand. These were people who chose to live in the very ash heap of hopelessness, and perhaps that required them to have the most hope of all.
“Suit yourself. This place depresses the hell out of me,” said Emon.
They passed a small stone archway, barely large enough for two people to pass through abreast. Clearly a tribute to the once-standing, mighty stone archway that had been at the southeast gate of Andar. Welcoming the world. Caythis felt a wave of nostalgia as he imagined it. What a sight it had been.
“They say Antares chose to attack Andar because it was a hotbed of political unrest,” said Emon. “Kind of like Silverwind today. They say Antares knew he could get support here, that the military was ready to turn against its leaders, and the people were angry with no way of venting. It was a powder keg just waiting to blow. But I’m not sure he was thinking that clearly when he came here for the final time.”
“What’s your theory?”
“Andar was his home. His birthplace. I think that’s what pulled him here.”
“But... shouldn’t that make him less likely to burn it to the ground?”
“Not necessarily. I don’t know anything about Antares. But I know that if you have powerful feelings for something, like your home, that doesn’t mean all those feelings are a big basket of fluffy warm butter. Sometimes it’s dirty, rotten hell.”
They turned a corner, following a narrow strait between two half-collapsed buildings. In his mind he saw them as skyscrapers. Glittering glass windows coated them from top to bottom. He felt a lurch in his stomach as he recognized the dusty black remains of what had once been his favorite diner. “The Stormy Sea,” he said to himself.
Instantly he remembered the tables, the paintings of boats on the novelty-wood walls, lobster traps hanging from the ceilings. And the warm scent of hot butter and the salty, mouth-watering taste of the cook’s latest catch from the bay. “I knew this place,” he said more soberly than he realized.
“What was it?” asked Emon.
“A haven for Andarian food, the best food in the world.”
“Oh,” Emon made a disapproving noise. “Andarian food was garbage, good riddance. Guess Antares did the world a favor after all.” He laughed darkly but Caythis didn’t.
“You didn’t laugh,” said Emon. “That means you’re holding it in. You know I was joking. So why deprive yourself of the chance to laugh? To relax. Life is already hard enough as it is, so take every chance you get to laugh some of it off. Throw something back into the wind. I hate it when people think being edgy and sensitive is somehow respectful or proper or something like that. That’s just more stress you don’t need, so relax. You knew I was joking. Except about the food part, that wasn’t a joke. Andarian food really is garbage.”
Caythis managed a smirk at Emon’s rambling, but he didn’t laugh. He was too moved by this place, the awesome tragedy of it, and distracted by several small memories continuing to unlock in his brain.
They reached a cluster of buildings that were mostly standing. The fire that had once scorched them had caused them to collapse in parts so they looked bombed out.
Caythis was drawn to what he knew had once been an enforcer barracks. It had been three stories tall, comfortable but not elegant, a regular dormitory for young enforcer trainees studying abroad. He remembered it vividly, like he'd been stationed here a dozen times. He slowed his bike.
Not far away was an old games hall. He’d spent some time there too and remembered the billiards tables and the card games. He was never very good at those activities, but he’d spent many lonely afternoons engaged in them. Talking to friends. Complaining about girls or school. He couldn’t remember the name of the building but he could still smell the smoke of the cigar lounge.
Another building stood out. It was the crushed remains of Skylight Tower. A restaurant and resort hotel that had been marked by many young lovers as the most romantic destination in the city, and supreme lookout point. His fellow students and young enforcers had many escapades there, but no such memories filled his head. Only the image of staring out in the darkness, looking down on the bright lights of the city, like jewels, and holding someone’s hand. Her fingers had been narrow, but warm, and held his tightly. He took in a deep breath and smiled.
It was stunning, the wave of nostalgia, it overwhelmed him with conflicting emotions. Teasing an appetite he had suppressed, a hunger to know more, to experience more. To remember everything. But these images, mostly happy and precious, were long forgotten and barely retrievable. Stolen by time. Like childhood. Lost forever. Never to live again. And now, barely skeletons remained, thanks to Antares who had scorched it all into oblivion. Caythis wondered what memories Antares had had here, wondered how they’d been painful enough to cause him to raze them all. To purge their existence from the world. He almost pitied him.
Caythis slowed the bike to a full stop and landed on the ground. He found himself in the most familiar place yet. Compared to the others, they were empty dust.
He stood in the remains of Silvermoon Square. He could see it all around him. The lights. The color. The buildings. He ripped off his helmet and tasted the air without the filter. Every smell was three times stronger. This place was different now, but he remembered how it used to be.
The pleasant atmosphere, the deeply set cobblestone roads, the couples walking closely together with umbrellas over their heads. It was raining this night, in his memory, and the crescent moon was bright over the rooftops. The sound
of music filled the air, soft but pleasant, the notes of the piano and some string instruments sang sadly and beautifully, in a language only the heart could understand. Caythis had been young then.
He stepped forward into the building. Barely aware that he was actually stepping through dust and ashes. All he saw was a decorated dance hall. A doorman took his coat and hat when he entered.
Everyone was dressed in such exquisite clothing, formal and breathtaking. Young men and women of all kinds were paired off over the glossy floor, dancing together, glass chandeliers hung above them. In the corner, a trio of musicians played. Not far away, a group of young men were joking together. He felt suddenly distant, alone. Like he was expecting someone who had never arrived. It was only the echo of a feeling, but the emptiness was profound. And then his eyes glimpsed someone else. A stunning yellow dress and brilliant bright hair. She was elegant and alone. Their eyes met, hers blue as sapphires. A wallflower whose beauty surpassed all the others. She flashed the hint of a smile, gleaming pearly teeth. She’d been neglected by most of the boys, because her beauty was so intimidating. But not to him. He drew closer. Wholly compelled to ask her to dance. She’d been a stranger in this memory, a new acquaintance. And yet, somewhere in his present mind, a name tugged at him. He remembered her. She’d been important.
They met and danced. It was a simple dance and they said few words. But the connection between them was palpable. The musicians played a tune with melancholy beauty. Almost dark, almost tragic. Like a whispered warning, strung together with notes of love that were like binding, unbreakable chains. It was a gorgeous melody. And it ran through his mind clearly until the memory faded, the girl along with it.
He was alone again, standing in the ashen remains of what had once been the great dance hall. He’d met that girl here, and she’d been very important to him. Had she been Miriam?
He was so connected to this spot, he felt a few tears warm his eyes. So many emotions, of all flavors, all stabbing into him at once. He trembled, unsure what to think. A light, steady rain had drenched his hair and was washing over his face, making it a sooty, dirty mess. But he gave it little thought. It was raining, just like in his memories. To him, this place would always be raining.
“Are you all right?” asked Emon.
“I was here,” said Caythis emphatically. Clutching to his past with new grip. It felt closer than ever. "I was here!" He repeated, realizing how precious it was, to have found these few broken pieces. The void of what he’d lost stung him like a wound that had reopened. It wasn’t fair. He deserved to know everything!
“Of course you were,” said Emon casually. “This was the best spot to get hooked up. You’d have to be a complete loser to not have memories here.”
Caythis knew Emon couldn’t understand. It had been infinitely more than that. Emon couldn’t see what Caythis saw in his mind, what he felt deep inside his core. Even he could barely understand what it meant. But his connection to these memories was undeniable. And, as he looked ahead, he saw the remains of a narrow lane that led to what, once upon a time, had been elegant urban estates not far away. He saw the girl in his mind again, she was a bit older. They were walking that road together. Laughing. Her smile took his breath away, even just the memory of it. He felt weak. And yet absolutely compelled to follow this lane. To unbury whatever more memories he could. It was the most important thing to him, and it was a journey he wanted to take alone.
“You go ahead, Emon,” said Caythis.
“Are you kidding me? You’re bailing on this meeting too?”
“I don’t know how much use I would be anyway. Besides, I’m too distracted. For the first time I am remembering my past. You have no idea how much I’ve wanted this.” He wished he knew better words to communicate the avalanche of emotions building inside him. “I have to see where it leads me.”
Emon smiled. It was a quirky, toothy smile. “It’s fine. I understand. Meetings are boring as hell. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”
“It isn’t that.”
“Of course not,” he chuckled. “If you find her, tell her hi for me.” He mounted his bike and took off. Clearly thinking Caythis was here to hook up with an old girlfriend, or something. But no, he was here for a much more important purpose. He wanted to reconnect with himself. To recover his identity. Armed with that, knowing what made Caythis Caythis, he’d be much more dangerous to Rigil. Undistracted and purely focused.
When the whine of Emon’s jetbike was far away, Caythis continued down the path. Seeking no cover from the rain. He held out his arms, welcoming it, letting it drench him. And closed his eyes for a moment, just to see the ghosts dancing in his memory one last time, then he continued on. Following the lane of memories just ahead.
21
There she was, just like he'd expected.
Her hair was wet and pulled back, and her clothes were worn and dirty. The bright redness in her cheeks had faded—the past few years hadn’t been kind— and she had radiation scars on her face and arms. But, somehow, she was still beautiful. And kept a certain dignity despite her surroundings of soot and dirt. She was digging with her hands through a pile of debris. A young child stood at her side, looking no more than six years old. He shared her dark blue eyes which grew wide when he spotted Caythis approaching. The boy tugged the woman's pant leg. She looked up curiously.
Caythis absorbed every detail. This had been her house once. With ornately decorated walls, eclectic furnishings, exquisite antiques in every room. He had been here several times, but had never liked it. Had always preferred taking her away from here. And now there she was, a ghost from his past standing before him, flesh and blood. The missing piece… he almost believed she was an illusion.
“Ariana?” he asked weakly, the name came to him easily.
The woman’s eyes perked up at the sound of her name but her brow furrowed ever so slightly. “Yes? Do I know you?”
He came closer. “I was going to ask you the same question.” He smiled warmly, ignoring the cold rain, believing that now, finally, everything would come back to him.
“Your voice sounds familiar,” she said.
“I’m Caythis Ceteris.” He came closer, brushing his wet hair from his face and their eyes locked. “Do you remember me?”
Ariana’s face blanched, turning ghost-white. Panic sharpened her eyes and she gasped. Taking two steps back. Shaking her head. “It can’t be,” she said in a hoarse, hostile whisper. “Tell me it isn’t true. You died.”
Not quite the reaction he’d expected. “I’m alive. I thought that would make you happy.”
“Murderer!” she shrieked and hurled the vase in her hands. It shattered against his armor. She grabbed her child’s arm and retreated several steps until her back was pressed against a wall.
What the hell?
“Please, calm down,” he said gingerly, stopping his advance. He raised his hands in a friendly gesture. All the while, his mind raced to understand what was happening.
“You do NOT speak to me,” she said. “How dare you come here. After what you did to Merak…”
That name rang loudly in his head. It was extremely familiar. And carried a mixture of emotions, most of them bitter.
Only then did he spot the simple silver ring on her finger and he was swept away into memory.
He saw this place years before. It was draped in shadow. He was there, glowing sword in his hand, helmet pulled tight over his face. He was searching for something, or someone. And inside him… an agony burned ferociously. With menace. Fires deep inside him begged to be released, calling to him through his deep connection to magic. A sense of betrayal stabbed through his heart. A thirst for vindication possessed him. And he saw her there, cowering in the corner, weeping and screaming. She was afraid of him now and… that shattered his heart—crushing that last tiny fragment of hope he’d held onto. He had no desire to hurt her. Never had. Never could—despite the pain she’d inflicted upon him. He wasn’t here for justice,
or revenge. Only to apologize. To show regret for what he’d done.
But he could not find the words, and never had a chance to explain because something came at him from the shadows. He turned to see the sweeping stroke of a burning blade aimed to carve him in two. He parried. The style was familiar, as was the blue armor of his enemy. Merak. Once his best friend. Now trying to kill him—not understanding why he’d come. He fought back ferociously, releasing all his hate and pent-up anger, venting all the pain he felt because of Merak’s betrayal. He lost control. And, in an instant, ended his former friend. Merak slumped to the ground. Having believed he was defending his small family. And failed.
Ariana exploded with grief. He’d loved her. And now he’d made her a widower. And slain a man who was a much greater person than himself.
In that moment he broke. An infinite storm of negative emotions flared up, torching him, drowning him, consuming the deepest, most desperate places in his soul. It was a rushing wind of regret. Frustration. Sorrow. And, most of all, wrath. He felt pressure inside, crushing him from the inside out, forces no one could possibly understand or hope to bear.
Ariana was at Merak’s side then. Not caring about the radiation pouring into her. She stroked his face as tears streaked down her ruby-worn eyes. Then she looked up. Met his gaze. Showed him her heartbreak and disbelief, the very feelings he’d carried and now had cast upon her. There were words between them, but they were lost. More like a rush of wind, only the emotions and distress were clear. The overwhelming, mind-bending feelings that shattered both rhyme and reason. He couldn’t breathe for a moment, choked with emotion and energy. And a feeling swallowed him. Desperation to survive. To escape. Despite everything. Despite his self-loathing. He looked at her one last time. Felt something inside him twist with anguish and die forever.
The memory faded and he stood there, in the soot and ash, looking upon this woman he’d once loved. Remembering how he’d slain her husband right before her eyes. And he couldn’t believe it. He felt weak.
Secrets of Silverwind Page 20