EMBRACE OF MEMORY

by Vicki McElfresh

  Benjamin chased after them crying, "What are you doing? You'll be killed!"

  Cree closed his eyes and savored the wind in his hair. The smooth play of the horse's muscles soothed some tortured part of his soul, and he leaned forward, feeling his heart lightened. For a moment, he forgot the nightmares, forgot about magic, forgot his own despair. He felt the stallion gather itself for a jump, and adjusted to stay balanced on the stallion's back. Cree's heart sang when the horse jumped.

  Reluctantly, Cree directed the horse back to the village at a more sedate trot, and the stallion complied. Benjamin waited, scowling. "What do you think you're doing? You could have been killed, and my horse killed with you."

  Cree slid from the stallion's back and grinned at the blacksmith. "I went riding, and a fine ride it was, too." He patted the animal's sweat-soaked neck.

  "I'm sure it was." The bluster left Benjamin's face. "That was still a damn-fool thing to do. That horse is wild."

  Cree shrugged. "He's not wild, just spirited."

  Benjamin chewed his lip. "Well, can you make him manageable for people like me? I don't possess whatever magic you've used to charm him."

  Cree ran his hand along the stallion's nose. "Does he have a name?"

  "A name?"

  Cree nodded. "What do you call him?"

  Benjamin shrugged. "My horse."

  Cree didn't laugh, even though he wanted to. "He needs a name."

  "Well, name the horse if you want, but he's still mine." Benjamin stalked back through the village.

  The stallion sniffed Cree's hair. "What should I call you?" He scratched the stallion's ears as he thought. "How about Windchaser? That certainly suits you better than Horse." The stallion stamped once in approval. Cree smiled. "Good. Now back to your stall." He offered the horse a treat, and with a mental command, Windchaser followed him like a puppy to the stable. The villagers stared open-mouthed as they passed. Benjamin shook his head and opened the stall door. Cree hid a smile.

  "And you're telling me that's not magic."

  Cree picked up Windchaser's curry comb and brush and turned sober eyes to the blacksmith. "It's most definitely not magic. I told you, I don't use magic. All I have is a special gift with horses." He started brushing and hoped the blacksmith would leave him to his work.

  "It's a pity you don't understand people the way you do horses." Benjamin left Cree alone with his work and his thoughts.

  Cree sighed and laid his cheek against Windchaser's side. "Unfortunately, Benjamin, I do. More than you can ever guess."

  ~*~

  Within three days, Cree knew he would find no answers in the villages. Benjamin knew nothing about the fire, except that it had happened, and Cree couldn't bring himself to face any of the other villagers. "The only thing being here has done for me is make my dreams worse," he muttered as he saddled Windchaser. "I remember more of them, and they're clearer." He tightened the cinch. "And they're always the same. Fire and pain, lots of pain." He swung onto the horse's back. "Let's ride." He nudged the stallion out of the stable.

  Once out of the village, Cree let the stallion run. He closed his eyes and basked in the freedom of the ride. On the back of a horse, he forgot his dreams, forgot everything but the moment. That was the way he wished he could stay--on the back of a horse, living for the moment. He brought the run to an end as the footing grew more treacherous, and turned Windchaser back towards the village.

  The previous night's dreams came back in a rush as Cree drew close to the village. The stench of burnt flesh coupled with screams of terror surged back to haunt him. As he lost himself in the memory, the happy little village disappeared behind a haze of flames and smoke.

  Windchaser stumbled and pulled him back to reality. He blinked, confused. "I'm sorry." He patted the horse's neck. "I wasn't watching." He slipped back into his reverie. There had been more to the dream than the bit he remembered. He knew there was. He remembered standing in the town square, remembered opening his eyes to destruction, and then pain so great it obscured all else. He locked himself in that pain, trying to remember what happened next, but he found nothing.

  Distantly, he knew he'd just entered the village. He heard voices. He heard a gruff voice ask, "Are you all right?" Windchaser's reins were pulled from his hands, but locked in the maelstrom of his own mind, he couldn't respond. Strong hands grasped his arms and eased him from the saddle. He struggled to swim back to reality, but he lacked the strength. The memories were too strong. He felt himself half-carried, half-dragged. He heard a door open, and tensed as warm air touched his chilled body. As he was eased onto a pile of warm blankets, he relaxed and let himself fall away from the memories and closer to sleep.

  "What am I going to do with you?" said the gruff voice closer to his ear. "I can't keep you here."

  The voice seemed familiar. Cree tried to claw his way back to awareness. He wanted to know who the voice belonged to, but the next words sent him hurtling back into the peaceful darkness of sleep.

  "I suppose I should send you home to your father. That's where you belong."

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Three

  Cree woke in the dim firelight of Benjamin's house and blinked away the last of his dreams. This time he'd dreamed of the woman with her honey-colored hair and bright blue eyes. The gentle touch of her hands lingered in his memory, and Cree raised his fingertips to his cheek, wondering if he could still feel her touch lingering on his skin. She had only been a dream though, even though dreams of the mysterious, silent woman were almost worse than the ones of fire. He ran a hand through his tangled hair and sat up.

  "Dreaming?" Benjamin drawled from the other side of the cottage. He got up and retrieved a steaming mug of tea from the hearth. "From the looks of your face, I can guess what you were dreaming about, too." He pressed the mug into Cree's hands.

  Cree wrapped his trembling fingers around the mug, savoring its warmth. "You've been watching me?" His throat hurt, and he sipped the tea, trying to ease the ache. "Why were you watching me?"

  Benjamin shrugged. "I thought it best. You collapsed earlier. I thought you were ill. There's a healer in the village if you aren't feeling well."

  Cree scowled. "I don't think the healer could help me." The blacksmith's concern startled him, and he tried to paste a reassuring smile on his face. "You don't need to worry. I was trying to remember and --" He took a sip of his tea. It was stronger than he liked, but it was hot and soothing. "Nothing's wrong." The words were more of a whisper, and Cree scarcely believed them.

  Benjamin shook his head. "I don't believe that. What's bothering you?"

  Cree clenched the mug a little tighter and closed his eyes. He didn't want to talk, especially to the blacksmith. "You don't want to know, Benjamin."

  Benjamin poured himself a mug of tea and took a sip. "I'm not a healer, and I don't know much about healing, but if that's what you were hoping to find here, you aren't going to." He set the mug aside and caught Cree's gaze. "I think coming here was a very bad idea. Being here has only rekindled memories of pain, and those aren't the sort of memories you're looking for, are they?"

  Cree shook his head. "No, but memories of pain were all I had before." He put his mug on the floor and pulled his knees to his chest so he could rest his chin on them. "Pain and darkness. Fire and pain. Fire and--" He stopped before he told Benjamin about the woman. Those dreams were too private to share.

  "I thought so. I don't think there's anyone here who can help you find the memories you're looking for."

  Cree stiffened, suddenly afraid of what the blacksmith would say. "What are you saying?"

  Benjamin took another drink of tea. "I think you should leave. You need someone to help you, someone who knows the truth." The blacksmith grinned. "Someone like Mirayla."

  "Mirayla?" He'd heard that name before, many times, but he couldn't put a face with it. "Who is that?"

  Benjamin raised a brow. "You don't remember?"

  Cr
ee shook his head. "Should I?"

  Benjamin laughed. "Don't you remember anything from your time here? There were two healers visiting the village when you were here the first time. Mirayla and her teacher. They'd come so Mirayla could get some practical healing experience without being in danger, but they returned home to Socorrow's Rest. Mirayla would have answers for you, but she's a long way from here."

  The breath felt like it had been knocked from Cree's chest. "Socorrow's Rest! It would take two weeks or more to get there."

  Benjamin nodded. "Winter is only a few weeks away, and I don't think you want to be stuck here." He laid a hand on Cree's shoulder. "You're welcome to stay. I misjudged you badly, but I think leaving would be much better for you. What would happen if history were to repeat itself?"

  Cree shook his head. "That won't happen. I walked away from the magic. It won't happen again." Hot tears stung his eyes, and he turned away, hiding his face and his weakness. As if the mention of the magic had summoned it, his long neglected powers flickered to life. He heard the soft siren call and pushed temptation away. He wasn't a mage, or at least, not a very good one. His teacher had said so.

  Benjamin kept speaking, seemingly oblivious to Cree's distress. "How can you be so sure? I hear you mutter in your sleep. You've kept me awake the past three nights with your muttering, and just before you woke, you were jabbering on about magic." Benjamin locked his eyes with Cree's. "Besides, no matter what you've done or what you believe you've done, you deserve a chance for happiness. You aren't going to find that here. Too many memories, too many ghosts. Even I can see that."

  "I don't deserve happiness," he whispered.

  Benjamin slammed his mug on the table and rose. "If you can't do nothing but feel sorry for yourself, I won't bother helping you. I don't know why I bothered in the first place. I thought you had some sense in your thick head. I was wrong." He flung the door open, and a cold blast of air swept into the cottage. "There's stew in the pot. I've already eaten." The door slammed shut behind him.

  Cree lay back down and pulled his blanket around his shoulders. Too weary to weep, he shut his eyes and wished himself far, far away. He listened to the popping of green wood in the fireplace, the faint murmur of the wind against the windows, and the distant bray of sheep. Finally, he slept and dreamed.

  Bleak, gray, and uninviting, the barren plain stretched before Cree Lin, welcoming him with its silence and beckoning with a whispered promise of oblivion. Before him lay an end to all his torment, an end to memory, to dreams, to emotion, he only had to wait and eventually the shallow earth would claim him.

  "Is there so little hope in your life, Cree Lin, that you wish to end it?"

  The unfamiliar and melodious voice startled him, and when he glanced over his shoulder, the woman stood only a few paces away. She haunted his dreams, taunting him with promises of healing and love, but she had never spoken to him, not in the dreams he remembered. Yet, he could never mistake the honey-colored hair, the schooled grace, or the deep, expressive eyes. He backed away. "Are you a spirit come to torment me?"

  "Hardly a spirit." She took a step towards him. "You know me." Her smile promised him warmth and companionship. She held out her hand. "I've come to take you from this place."

  Cree gazed out at the plain. The barren expanse offered an end to pain and loneliness, and an end to memory. He shook his head. "I don't want to leave."

  She frowned and one delicate brow arched upwards. "I think you do. This is a void, a place of nothingness. There is no anger, no fear, no pain--"

  "No emotion, no pain," he echoed and took a few steps towards the stark plain. "No memory or magic, and no emotion." He turned back to the woman. "That is what I want." He took another step.

  She rushed to his side and grasped his arm, pulling him away from the emptiness before him. "You will die!" Panic danced in her eyes when she locked his gaze. "What are you frightened of? Do you think your life unimportant? Do you think the world would be a better place without Cree Lin?"

  With his eyes downcast, he nodded. "I-I've done horrible things, and nothing will atone for them. I am nothing. And why you would--" He turned back to the plain and hoped she would simply forget about him.

  "I know you," she said. "I know your pain. I was the one who brought it to an end. Don't you know me, Ellery mac Torol? I've walked in your dreams ever since the fire."

  Cree flinched at the sound of his name and stared at the woman, but he only recognized her from his dreams. He shook his head. "I'm sorry."

  She smiled, a warm, sweet smile that thawed some of the ice shrouding Cree's heart. "I am Mirayla." She tried to tug him away from the plain, but he stayed rooted to the spot.

  "But I thought -"

  "That I was in Socorrow's Rest?" She nodded and succeeded in dragging him a few steps back. "I am, but my spirit is here, with you."

  "What is this place? I've never dreamed of this before."

  Mirayla's eyes grew dark, and she gazed out across the plain. "You aren't dreaming. This place is very real. You've sent your spirit here to escape, but you have to go back. You will die if you stay."

  "I don't want to go back." He turned away from her, determined to end his pain for good. "There is nothing there for me but pain. I've had enough of pain." He clenched his hands into fists and stared into the open plain. It called to him, and he wanted to accept its whispered promise of peace.

  "You have to go back." Mirayla took his hand and squeezed it gently. "You have so much to offer. There is such brightness within you, such power--"

  He wrenched his hand away. "I forswore my powers."

  She shook her head. "You've only stopped using them. The power is still there. It still waits for you, and it calls to you. You use it without knowing."

  "I don't want the magic. And it has obviously not wanted me."

  Mirayla stepped away. "You are wrong, Cree Lin, so very wrong. The magic does want you. But you've blinded yourself with memories and covered your power with lies. You need to learn the truth and yet..." she paused, "...you are too frightened to understand the truth."

  "I want the truth," he whispered. "If I knew the truth, the dreams would stop and the pain would end."

  "Would it? Or would the truth bring you more pain?" Mirayla faced him again. "If you want the truth, meet me in Lishal Tor."

  "Lishal Tor?" The mention of the name sent a tremor of fear down his back. He had given the city a wide berth on his way to the mountains. That was the last place he wanted to go.

  She raised a brow. "Is there such power in a name that you are frightened at the sound of it?"

  He took a deep breath. "I'll go anywhere but Lishal Tor."

  She sighed. "Then I can't help you."

  He bit his lip and gathered the shreds of his courage about him. If going to Lishal Tor meant answers and an end to his dreams, he would go. "I will go," he whispered. "But how do I know you are real and--"

  Mirayla chuckled. "You don't. You'll have to have faith." She moved to stand only inches from him. She laid her fingers on his chest and shoved. "Now it's time for you to go back."

  He was falling. His breath came in short gasps. The world grew frigid. He opened his eyes to Benjamin's cottage. The ground was hard beneath him, the air was stifling, and someone was shaking him. He stared at the bushy beard and buggy eyes of the blacksmith as though he had never seen them.

  Panic filled the blacksmith's eyes. "I thought you were dead!" He mopped beads of sweat from his forehead and busied himself with the fire.

  Cree shivered in the warmth of the cottage. Nearby, Benjamin jabbed at the coals of the fire and tossed more wood into the fireplace, and Cree shuddered when the flames blazed into life. Fascinated, he watched the rhythmic flickers of the fire. They called to him, and he almost opened his mind to touch them. He pushed the silent call from his mind and thought of Mirayla instead. "I'm leaving."

  Benjamin's mouth stretched into a slow grin. "Good."

  "You wanted to be rid of me?"


  "Well, not exactly."

  Cree glared at the blacksmith and rubbed his arms, trying to force warmth into his body. "If you don't want me to leave, why be so cheerful about it?" He wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and buried his nose in its folds.

  "I knew you had some sense in that thick head." Benjamin pulled two packs from under the table. "And I've already packed."

  "You're coming with me?" The blanket fell from Cree's shoulders, and he stared at the packs, dumbfounded. "W-why?"

  The blacksmith shrugged. "I'll only take you through the mountains. I have responsibilities here. Consider it payment for working with my stallion. Where are you headed?"

  "Lishal Tor." The name left a sour taste in Cree's mouth.

  Benjamin raised a brown. "From what you've said in your sleep, I gathered you didn't want to go there."

  "I don't." Cree watched the dancing flames and told himself that Mirayla would be there. Finding Mirayla meant he'd finally know the truth. "Home is the last place I wanted to go, but I think I have to."

  Benjamin nodded. "I think you're right. I'm sure your father can help you."

  "I doubt it."

  Benjamin pursed his lips. "Besides, I need supplies for the winter. And someone will have to keep the stallion in line. I certainly can't ride him."

  Cree's heart skipped. "You're letting me take the stallion?" The idea seemed ridiculous. "Is that your idea of a joke? You've no idea how hard-"

  Benjamin waved him to silence. "I'm sure you can control him, and I'm not letting you have him. I'm only letting you borrow him. He's the only horse I've got, and I can't ride him." The blacksmith grinned. "You're the only one who can do that."