The door opened, and Cree locked eyes with his father for the first time in eight years. Words caught in his throat, and the tiny flame of hope he'd held onto sputtered and went out when Reorden's face contorted with anger. Cree lowered his eyes and took a heavy breath. He felt like a stranger, and yet, not that long ago, he'd felt perfectly at home in his father's study.
"Time hasn't changed you much. You just couldn't stay away, could you? You had to come back and dig up unpleasant memories."
Cree met his father's eyes and shivered almost as if he were a child expecting a blow. Reorden had not changed at all. He had grown a beard and kept it neatly trimmed; his clothing was impeccably clean, not a trace of lint or hair on the finely woven wool. A bit of paunch sagged over his belt. Cree sighed. "I'm tired of running," he whispered, glancing at Benjamin. The blacksmith's hands clenched into tight fists and his thick shoulders grew tense.
Reorden paced the length of the room once and stopped only a handsbreadth from Cree's face. "Why did you come here? You aren't wanted or needed, and surely you are much happier now that you can spend all of your time with those damn horses."
Cree crossed his arms over his chest to hide the tremors in his hands. "I want to lay my ghosts to rest."
Reorden stopped just a step away from his son. "Ghosts!" Cree flinched and took a step backwards. "What ghosts could you possibly have here? Maybe you should try the village you destroyed. There are ghosts there, I'm sure!"
"I came from there."
"And you are still alive? Perhaps you aren't the spineless fool I took you for! Unless, of course, you left no one alive who remembered what happened."
Benjamin cleared his throat. "There are many alive who remember. Besides-"
"Who are you?"
"Benjamin, a blacksmith--"
"I don't want to hear it. My quarrel isn't with you. Though what you see in this--" He jerked his thumb in Cree's direction. "What should I do with you, Ellery or Cree Lin or whatever you have chosen to call yourself? I'm tempted to clap you in chains and throw you in prison."
Cree balled his hands into fists. Hot, angry tears welled up in his eyes, and he choked them away. "And what would that accomplish? I've paid my debt."
"Have you?" He scowled and shook his head. "I can't leave you loose. You'd probably destroy everything you touched."
Cree blocked his father's emotions from his mind and stared at point just above Reorden's head, counting slowly to ten. "I forsook my magic eight years ago, Father," he said, anger making his voice quaver. He turned his back to Reorden. "I didn't come for acceptance or forgiveness; I only want to know what happened. I don't remember what happened; I only know what I've been told. I know there's something more, something hidden in my mind." He sighed, and his anger cooled to disappointment. "I thought you could help, but I was wrong." He took a step towards the door.
"I always knew you were a coward."
Cree stopped in mid-stride and faced Reorden. "You know nothing about me. You never wanted to."
"You are no son of mine! Leave! I don't care--"
Benjamin rushed between Cree and Reorden. "I think that's enough!"
Blood rushed to Reorden's face, and a blue vein bulged on his forehead. "This is between my son and me." He shoved Benjamin back a pace. "Move aside."
"Why? So you can tell him he's worthless, a coward not worth the dirt on the bottom of your shoe?" Benjamin pushed at his shirtsleeves. "I don't think so."
Cree smiled, touched by the display. He put a hand on the blacksmith's shoulder. "Benjamin, let's go. I should never have come here."
The blacksmith backed up another step. "Are you going to back down and let him think you a coward?"
Cree scowled at his father. "It wouldn't matter what I said, he wouldn't believe me." He shrugged and pushed his hurt into a dark corner of his heart. "Come on." Reluctantly, the blacksmith followed him towards the door.
"So that's it!" Reorden shook his head. "You interrupt my dinner for nothing. Leave! I never wanted you here. I wish--"
Cree licked his lips. "Careful, Father. You might get your wish." Tears clouded his vision when he met his father's gaze. "I might not--"
"Let go!"
The shriek startled Cree to silence.
"Now what!" Reorden wheeled as the door opened, and a red-faced guard entered, leading a woman by the arm.
"Sir," the guard said. "I'm sorry for the intrusion, but I found her wandering in the hallway. She insisted on seeing you immediately. Something to do with your son."
"I told you to let me pass!" The woman jerked her arm from the man's grasp.
Reorden motioned for the guard to stay. "What is your business, Woman? What is so important you have to speak to me now? I'm already--"
His father's words faded into the background when the woman stepped into the room. Cree saw her clearly now. Long, honey colored hair fell past her waist in a fat braid. Slim and delicate, she held herself with a poise that spoke of great inner strength. He smiled, relieved, a knot of fear uncoiling in his stomach.
Benjamin gasped. "Mirayla?" He turned a glare on Cree. "You knew, didn't you?"
Reorden glared at the blacksmith, then gestured at the guard. "Take him from this room."
The guard looked confused. "Sir?"
"Take him to the kitchen, to a room, anywhere but here. I don't want any more interruptions from him."
The guard saluted and grasped Benjamin's arm. The blacksmith shoved the hand away. "Now wait--"
"Its all right, Benjamin," Cree said. "Just go."
With a last glance towards his friend, Benjamin let himself be led from the room.
"Now," Reorden said and turned to Mirayla. "What is your business?"
Mirayla pursed her lips and nodded towards Cree. "He is my business, not you."
"And just who are you?"
"I am Mirayla, daughter of Clanda, leader of the Cavordiac. But that isn't important. At the moment, I am only a healer, and he is my patient." She pointed to Cree.
Reorden laughed. "What could you possibly want with him? What sort of healing does he need that requires Clanda's daughter to heal? Where were you when he lost control of his powers and destroyed a village? I didn't see any of your meddling society then."
"Where was I?" Her mouth twitched. "I was in that village. I suppose I could have let him die. Would you rather I had done that?" She fell silent and regarded Reorden with a penetrating stare. "I don't really think you do, and further, I think you are glad to see your son back. Even though you won't admit it. Tell me, Reorden, would you rather the fire have consumed him as well?"
Cree's eyes slid from Mirayla to his father, fearing the worst. He closed his eyes, bracing himself for his father's admission that he'd wanted his son to die, to spare him the shame and heartbreak. Cree opened his eyes and bit his lip, but Reorden's shoulders sagged, the fight vanishing from his body.
"I wouldn't have wanted that." He sank into a chair and pinched his nose between two fat fingers.
Shock made Cree's heart beat a little faster. His heart rose from his boots, and he smiled to himself as he found a spark of hope in his private darkness.
"I thought not." Mirayla sat down across from Reorden. "Your son isn't well. He is haunted by guilt he doesn't understand, by nightmares of events he doesn't remember. We, my teacher and I, sent him back to you broken, hoping you would help put him back together. Instead, you shattered what was left."
"Broken? He knew what he was doing. He's a murderer." Reorden slammed his fist against the chair.
Cree flinched. "But, Father-" His voice caught in his throat.
"A murderer?" Mirayla shook her head. "I don't believe that. And neither do you or you would have had him killed eight years ago."
Cree wanted to touch her mind, to know if she believed the words she spoke, but he stopped himself. Their gaze met, and he found himself trapped, unable to turn away from eyes that bored into his soul. Emotions he thought forgotten tickled the back of his mind, an
d he shoved them back to the darkness. He bowed his head and pushed away the gust of sadness and anger sweeping through the room. Needle-like, memories stabbed against the wall he had erected to hold them at bay. He shuddered and fought against them. The visions struck a little harder, and at last, he yielded. The memories came.
Ellery curled tighter in his blankets, trying to ward away the chills that wracked his body. As long as he was awake the dreams could not come. His body ached with the pain of fever; his eyes burned with the need for sleep. He felt himself falling into the blissful void of sleep-and caught himself before he succumbed to the temptation. He shivered again, this time with fear. Close by, something crashed, jolting Cree back to the present.
A lone tear slid down his cheek, and he raised his eyes to meet his father's. "I have to know, Father. I can't remember, and it haunts me in my dreams, follows me everywhere I go. If I don't learn the truth, I will die. You said you did not want me to die." Cree met his father's angry glare, his expression pleading. "Without your help, your forgiveness, I'll simply fade into nothingness, as though I had never existed." Reorden held his son's gaze for a moment, and Cree watched the clash of emotions in his father's eyes. He held a trembling hand out to his father in entreaty, and Reorden's face softened. He thought his father had been moved by his plea, but his face soon grew stern, and he shifted angry eyes between his son and Mirayla.
"I've-"
"You know nothing." Mirayla's voice remained soft and calm, even though Cree sensed her anger. "I will tell you what happened that day. Perhaps you will believe me." She glanced at Cree. "Both of you."
A wan smile touched her lips, but Cree couldn't return it. His stomach rolled, and he thought he would be sick. He stared at a stain on the floor as her words captivated him.
"I arrived in the village two weeks before Ellery. Supposedly, he was only stopping on his way to Tir-Gan-Nor, the capital of Ka-shal Tiroth. I don't know why he was sent there, and that is not important. What I do know is that the leader of Ka-shal Tiroth, Razad Di Muired, wanted the village destroyed because it was the last bit of resistance left in his realm. Its subjects did not like Di Muired, and wanted to be absorbed as part of Ganlai. Di Muired, angered at their resistance, planned to set an example.
"A group of traders arrived the day before Ellery. The villagers were delighted, and bought goods from them. But some of the goods were contaminated with disease, and it spread through the village. Ellery was one of the ones infected." She paused and her expression grew distant. "We thought we had gotten his fever under control; we thought the worse of it was over but . . ."
Cree let Mirayla's words fade into the background, and the wall shrouding his memory crumbled. Alone on the mountain, he saw his death reflected in the face of his tormentor. His only chance was to fight, to call upon the fire, but it raged to another's will, not his own. Fire-there was fire all around him-and it burned with a malevolent heat not of his making. And then there was peace. He was alone on the craggy mountain peak, surrounded by destruction. The fire was gone. He opened his eyes to sunlight, not darkness, and stared at the ruins of the village. In a fit of crazed remorse, he called his fire upon himself, hoping to destroy the evil he had become, hoping to burn away the scorching stigma on his soul. Mirayla's voice sliced through the flames, drawing him back to the present.
"Look at your son, Reorden," she said. "There is no evil about him; only darkness, a darkness born of despair and fear."
"I remember, Father," he whispered. "I remember the dreams, and the pain, and the fire. There was fire all around me. I couldn't stop it. I tried, I tried, but . . ." He felt tears slide down his cheeks and bowed his head to hide them. "Please, Father, I--" He met his father's gaze, not bothering to wipe the tears from his face. "I never wanted to hurt you. And I didn't mean-"
"Leave us." Reorden motioned Mirayla from the room.
Mirayla started, and opened her mouth to protest.
"I said, leave us."
Cree caught Mirayla's pitying glance and hastily wiped the streaks of wetness from his cheeks. He smiled and nodded.
With a last glance toward Cree, she left the room.
"What have you to say that you not already said?" Cree turned away from his father. "You've heard the truth, but when have you ever believed me? You always thought I was a coward. You--"
"I--"
"I don't want to listen to more of your accusations and torments! I listened to them all my life, and they've never done anything more than cause pain." Cree started to walk away, but a touch on his shoulder stopped him.
"I have something I wish to say," Reorden said.
Cree looked closely at his father for the first time and noticed the strands of white streaking his father's hair, and the nest of lines around his eyes and mouth. Even the hand on his shoulder lacked the strength he remembered. Reorden's touch flooded Cree with emotions: anger, disappointment, relief . . . and hope. He shuddered and gently pushed Reorden's hand away. "Please don't," he whispered and turned away again.
"I'm not finished," Reorden said.
Cree flinched at the undertone of anger in the words. "Then say what you have to say. I would not want to strain your hospitality any more than I already have."
Reorden flushed. "Ellery -- Cree, I have made some bad choices. I made bad choices when you were a boy, and I am sorry. Maybe if I'd let you be yourself . . ." Reorden stopped and glanced at his son. He sighed. "I don't know what to believe anymore. That girl--"
"I--"
"Just hear me out." Reorden ran a hand through his hair. "I see a different person before me. You aren't a boy anymore, and I was wrong. You aren't a coward, either. It took courage to come here, to face me." He wrung his hands together. "I think I believe that girl, and I think I want to know Cree Lin, who despite his best attempts is still my son." Reorden fell silent, his face red, and his eyes shining with tears.
Cree was stunned. The knot of fear in his stomach began to unwind, and he felt tears slide down his cheeks. "I don't know what to say," he managed finally. "I never dreamed . . ."
"I thought you would be pleased," Reorden replied, catching his son's gaze. "You aren't the only one who's changed. I've missed you, Ellery. I've regretted my harsh words to you, and I always hoped that one day you would return."
"Then why weren't you happy to see me? Why push me away without giving me a chance?"
Reorden sighed and blushed. "I was angry with myself, Ellery. I was angry that somehow you found the courage I couldn't. I hope you'll forgive me." When Cree made no reply, Reorden turned away. "I should have said these words to you years ago; I should have listened to your mother and paid less attention to Sarana."
Cree sensed his father's sadness and disappointment and placed a hand on his arm. "Father, I --" He struggled for something to say but words seemed to have escaped him.
Reorden laughed. "Don't tell me you are speechless. That would be a first."
Cree moved to the window. "I hadn't dared allowed myself to hope. But, Father, I can't be what you want. You've always wanted me to be someone I'm not, and I can't. I won't continue living that way. I want to know what life feels like." Cree laid his head against the window frame.
"I don't want you to be somebody, Cree," Reorden replied. "I want to know the person you are now. We went wrong somewhere, you and I, and I can't change that, but we can change the future. I'm tired, son, I'm tired of thinking I drove you away because I was stubborn and unbending."
Cree sighed. "I don't know what I want, Father. I thought knowing what happened in the fire would erase the emptiness I feel, but it hasn't. I still feel empty, and I feel lost. I don't know where I want to go or what I want to do. And then, this. It's all too sudden."
Reorden moved to stand near his son. "You could stay here. This is your home."
Cree shook his head. "This isn't my home. I don't think it was ever my home. I don't think it was meant to be my home. And what would I do? I can't go back to being your heir. Not only would
that upset Delwyn, but I don't think anyone would really want me."
"So what are you going to do?"
Cree shrugged. "I don't know. I might go back to the south. I might go somewhere else. I'm missing something, Father, but I don't know what."
"I thought it was only your memories you'd lost," Reorden said, concerned.
"I thought so, too, but I think I've really lost myself."
Reorden said nothing. He pursed his lips and laid a hand on his son's shoulder. "Why not stay here a few days?"
With agonizing slowness, Cree turned towards his father. His body tensed at the thought of staying in Torol House. "Do you want me here?"
"I do."
Cree stifled the urge to refuse Reorden's offer of hospitality and pasted a smile on his face. "I'll stay, Father, for a few days only."
Reorden clapped him on the shoulder. "I'd hoped you'd say that."
Cree's eyes slid back to the window. He gazed into the blank darkness and longed to climb on Windchaser's back and ride into its expanse. He dreaded spending even a few moments inside Torol House.
Return to Contents
* * *
Chapter Eight
Cree wandered the bleak gardens behind Torol House, letting the cold numb his thoughts. Four days of restless sleep had left him physically drained. Memories plagued him in his sleep and as he walked the halls, leaving him emotionally exhausted. He spent as much time as possible in his room, avoiding Mirayla, Benjamin, his father, and especially Sarana. He sat down on a stone bench and held his head in his hands. The last dream had been the worst, and even now, it still gripped him.
The stone burned beneath him, and fire raced along every nerve. His head ached so badly he could not see, and the stench of burning blood made him gag. Someone screamed behind him and . . .
EMBRACE OF MEMORY Page 5