EMBRACE OF MEMORY

by Vicki McElfresh

  "Amazing, isn't it?" Mirayla said from behind him. "You could have lightened that load years ago."

  "Load?" He turned towards her, a faint smile still ghosting around his lips.

  "Don't you remember? Or were you asleep the whole time?"

  Memory returned in flashes - Mirayla's voice, her touch, his tears. "You did this?"

  She smiled and her eyes glowed a little brighter, reflecting a mixture of pride and satisfaction. "No, Cree, you did."

  "I did?"

  She nodded. "You made the decision. You chose to trust me. You let the pain go. I did nothing but listen."

  "Am I -- "

  "The pain is still there, and so is the guilt, the anger, the frustration. That is all part of you, but the burden is less. And there are other, darker things you won't share, not yet." She sighed. "You may never be able to share those."

  He kicked a stone from the porch. "I -- " He shook his head. "I don't know what to say."

  "Don't say anything. You still have a long way to go. The guilt from the fire may be gone, but you're still hiding--" She looked up at the sky, stopping herself in mid-sentence. "We should be leaving."

  Cree followed her gaze. "I can't talk about the rest, Mirayla. I think the scars are too deep and too many."

  She moved to stand next to him and took his hand. "Someday, Cree, you will be able to talk about it. There are no wounds so deep that time cannot heal them." She squeezed his hand and stepped back towards the door. "I'll go wake Benjamin. We've a long ride."

  He watched her disappear through the door. Time heals all wounds, he thought. But I doubt that it can heal mine. He stepped off the porch, mentally calling the horses.

  ~*~

  The road widened enough they could now ride two abreast. Cree rode next to Mirayla, unnerved by her frequent glances. "How much farther?"

  "There's a ridge ahead. You'll be able to see Socorrow's Rest from there. If we ride hard, we could be there tonight."

  He frowned. "Is there a good place to stop? I don't really want to ride half the night."

  She arched an eyebrow. "Yes, but we'll be in view of the main road. If you want to stop, we can."

  His scowl deepened. "What do you think, Benjamin? Stop or ride?"

  The blacksmith cleared his throat. "Mac Torol, I'm tired of freezing. I'm tired of tasteless food. If I could have a warm bed tonight, I would do just about anything to get it."

  Cree chuckled. "Anything?"

  "I said just about anything. I vote to ride."

  "All right, we ride then. We'll be there tonight?"

  Mirayla nodded. "Once off the path, we'll be back to the main road, and into open grassland."

  The ground along the path grew bare and rocky. The trees fell away on one side, giving a clear view of the plain below. Small farms dotted the grassy plain, and dark specks lumbered through the grassy. Cree guessed they were cows or perhaps horses, but he was too far away to tell.

  "There. You can see Socorrow's Rest." Mirayla pointed across the plain to a walled city.

  To Cree, the walls seemed forbidding, almost prison-like, and the thought of the people behind them sent shivers down his spine. So many people close together meant an overflow of emotion. He shivered again. So many emotions meant headaches and unwanted dreams.

  "Is something wrong?" Mirayla asked, concerned.

  He shook his head. "No, nothing's wrong." He avoided Mirayla's eyes and instead stared at the pommel of his saddle.

  "He's probably overwhelmed," Benjamin said. "Just think warm bed, good food, and shelter all in the same place."

  Cree managed a thin smile at the blacksmith's attempted joke. "That's it, I'm just overwhelmed. Too much luxury all at once."

  She shook her head. "That's not it at all."

  Benjamin cleared his throat. "I'm just going to ride ahead a bit. See if anyone's waiting for us."

  Cree watched Benjamin's horse disappear with a sinking heart. "People." He gestured in the direction of the city. "All those people. I get a headache just thinking about it."

  "Headache?" She laughed. "Why would that give you a headache?"

  He pursed his lips. "It's the people. Their emotions pressing against my head. The pain is so bad sometimes I think my head will explode."

  She stared at him, puzzlement slowly turning to understanding. "Are you an empath?"

  He nodded and lowered his gaze. His heart yammered with fear, and he wondered what Mirayla would think now that she knew his secret. "It was always a secret. Sarana thought it best no one knew I had a woman's gifts."

  She laughed. "A woman's gifts?"

  He nodded. "He said the empathy was my greatest weakness, that only women had empathy."

  She reached out and grabbed Windchaser's reins, stopping the horse before Cree could ride away. "He lied, Cree. I've a feeling he lied about many things."

  "It's the one thing he didn't lie about. The empathy has been nothing but a curse."

  "The empathy's not a curse or a weakness, Cree."

  "Then what is it?"

  She sighed. "It's a gift, your gift, and your greatest strength."

  He guessed her words were meant to be comforting or inspiring, and he suspected she thought they would sway his mind. Instead, he arched an eyebrow and laughed. "My strength?" He laughed harder. "Mirayla, it's only been trouble. I would trade my soul to be rid of it."

  "Don't say such things!"

  He shrugged and started down the road again. "That's how I feel. Now let's ride. We aren't getting any nearer our goal standing here in plain view."

  ~*~

  The sight of the main road filled him with a sense of dread. He glanced up and down the road. The bushes had been trimmed away from both sides, leaving no cover for ambush. The road itself was hard-packed earth, and there were no signs of recent passage. Yet, Cree could not shake the feeling of impending danger.

  "How long from here?"

  "Why do you care, Mac Torol?" Benjamin asked. "Are you that anxious? We'll get there eventually."

  Cree glared at the blacksmith and resisted the need to strangle him. "I have a bad feeling, that's all."

  "A bad feeling?" Mirayla said. "What kind of bad feeling?"

  He shrugged. "I'm not sure. Something's going to happen. My feelings are never wrong."

  Mirayla bit her lip and studied the ground. "If we rode hard, we could be there by nightfall. It's well past noon now."

  "Oh, come now, surely you aren't going to buy his -- -"

  "He was right about the cottage, Benjamin."

  The blacksmith grumbled and cursed, and finally, shook his head. "We ride hard then, and when we get there and nothing happens, I'll have my revenge."

  Cree made no reply. Instead, he wheeled Windchaser in the direction of Socorrow's Rest and spurred him down the road. The stallion's hooves kicked up clouds of dust, and Cree's eyes watered. He peeked over his shoulder to see Mirayla and Benjamin riding hard after him. He relaxed with the rhythms of the horse's stride, and for a moment, the sense of lurking doom left him. He forgot everything but the shift of the horse beneath him.

  The forest gave way to open prairie, and the road cut a line through the waving brown grass, like a huge snake slithering forward into the unknown. He could see the walls of Socorrow's Rest and breathed a little easier. He reined Windchaser to a halt and waited for his companions.

  The blacksmith's brow knitted in confusion. "Why'd you stop? I thought you were consumed by feelings of dread."

  "I thought I'd let you catch up. There doesn't seem--" Movement caught his eye. He watched the heavy gates swing open, and a group of riders shuffled through in formation. Cree's heart sank. "We need to ride."

  "I thought we were resting -- -"

  "Benjamin, look." Cree pointed to the riders. "Reapers."

  "How can you be so sure?"

  Cree shook his head. "I just am. We have to get off this road, now, before they see us."

  "We'll circle around to the back gate. Follow me!" Mi
rayla plunged into the sea of grass and kicked her horse to a gallop.

  Cree crouched low over the stallion's neck. A glance behind showed him only empty grassland. Cree relaxed, certain they would ride safely into Socorrow's Rest, but a sharp cry followed by the pounding of hooves changed his mind.

  "After them!"

  His heart stopped beating. The walls were no closer, and a quick look behind showed a stream of Reapers pouring into the grass, riding fast on fresher horses. He closed his eyes, trusting Windchaser to follow the other horses, and reached for the minds of all three animals. He forced his breathing to slow, forced his body to relax, forced the thought of capture from his mind. Strand by strand, he spun tendrils of his own strength to the horses, refreshing their tired muscles, calming their racing hearts. Mental nudges urged them to greater speed.

  Cree dropped his reins and laid his head against Windchaser's neck. He no longer had the strength to sit up. The stallion faltered, and he sent the horse running again with a mental shove. The Reapers' shouts seemed distant, too far away to be of any danger. Awareness slid away, and he hoped they would reach the gate before he lost complete consciousness.

  "Cree!"

  Mirayla's voice cut through his weakness enough that he kept himself from falling. He wrapped his arms around the stallion's neck. "Please," he whispered to the horse. "Run. Don't let them catch me." He opened his eyes to see the ground rushing past, and quickly shut them again, instead listening for the sound of safety. The soft swish of the grass against Windchaser's belly was replaced with a dull thud. The stallion slowed and eventually stopped.

  "Mirayla! What are you-"

  "Shut the gate!"

  He smiled. They had made it. His tenuous grasp on consciousness slipped. His hands went limp, and he felt himself falling. He remembered to take his feet from the stirrups before the ground rushed towards him, and he fell into darkness.

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  * * *

  Chapter Thirteen

  Cree woke in a soft bed with a cool cloth across his forehead. He opened his eyes, expecting to be surrounded by Reapers. Instead, he was in a dark room that smelled faintly of medicine. Someone sat down next to him, and he looked up into an unfamiliar face. "Where am I?" His throat was raw, and his voice only a whisper.

  "You're in Socorrow's Rest."

  The stranger took the cloth from his head, and he could see her features a little clearer. Her face was thin and fine-boned with large, wide-set eyes. A long, pale braid fell over her shoulder. She pushed it away with a scowl. "How are you feeling?"

  "Tired. Thirsty. My head hurts."

  She smiled. "I can remedy all three." She helped him sit, then pushed a mug into his hands. "Drink this. It will quench your thirst and dull your headache, and then you can rest some more."

  He took a tentative sip. It was cool and sweet, and he swallowed the rest in a single gulp. He lay down again and closed his eyes. But before sleep could claim him, he remembered he had not been alone. "Mirayla? Benjamin?"

  The woman pulled a blanket over his shoulders and pushed a lock of hair out of his eyes. "They're safe. Sleep now." Comforted, he slept.

  ~*~

  He woke shivering, and opened his eyes to stark, white walls. Rows of narrow beds lined both sides of the long room. Light streamed in from six windows. No curtains, no pictures, no mementos decorated the room. Tile, scrubbed so clean he could have eaten off it, covered the floor. A single door led out of the room, and it stood ajar.

  Cree pushed his covers aside and took careful stock of himself. His head ached, but he felt well-rested, better than he had in months. His stomach growled. He was hungry, almost ravenous. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, and stood, his body shaking with weakness.

  "Sit back down!"

  The voice startled him so much that he collapsed. He craned his neck around to see who had spoken. A woman stood in a doorway at the opposite end of the room, wiping her hands on a rag. He could not resist staring--slim, delicate build, dark skin, hair so blonde, it was nearly white. He had not seen anyone like her since he had left the Southland, and he had not expected anyone like her here. "You're--" He tried to think of something to say, but his tongue felt thick and his mouth dry.

  She moved towards him and sat down on the next bed, a smile playing about her lips. "I'm what? Evil? Barbaric? What?"

  He shook his head. "You're from the Southland," he managed finally, feeling an idiot for stating the obvious.

  "Yes, I am." She laughed "That wasn't quite the reaction I'd expected."

  "I'm sorry. I couldn't think of anything better."

  "The usual reaction is a shriek and a sudden dash for the door."

  Cree laughed. "Not from me."

  "And why is that?"

  "I lived there for almost seven years."

  Her brow arched, and her eyes grew wide. "Really? I must say, I hadn't expected to hear that. You've been the cause of quite a little stir, young man."

  "I have?"

  She nodded. "Yes, you have. Mirayla led you here on horses that should have dropped dead. You should have been caught by the Reapers of Ka-shal Tiroth, yet somehow you eluded them. You even managed to stay on your horse until you were behind the gate. A truly daunting task, if you ask me. And yet, the only thing I know about you is that your name is Cree, and you talk incessantly in your sleep."

  He cringed and wondered what he had said. "What did I--"

  "What did you say?"

  He nodded. "I just wondered--"

  "You muttered about fire, pain, other things. How do you feel?"

  "Hungry. A little sick."

  "That's better than I'd hoped." She smiled and held out a hand. "Come on. Let's go find you something to eat. I'm Cali. You can tell me who you are while you eat, and how you got those scars you try so hard to hide."

  Startled, he met her eyes, and guessed she knew more than she was telling. "Where am I?"

  "You don't remember?"

  He shook his head. "I don't remember anything from the time we started across the prairie."

  "You're in Socorrow's Rest. This is the infirmary. You were brought here because you drained your body of energy, using magic to keep your horses running. You've been asleep for three days."

  "Three days?" He tried to remember what he had done. He remembered riding, remembered fear flooding his body, and then nothing. "What about Mirayla? And Benjamin?"

  "Mirayla's been hovering over you for three days. The blacksmith's been in a few times. They'll be happy to know you've joined the living again." She stood and held out her hand again. "Now, come. You'll feel much better with some hot food in your stomach."

  He stood, and when he took her hand, his eyes grew round with shock. He knew her. He took an involuntary step back.

  "I thought you were hungry." Her expression was guileless, and her eyes remained cool.

  Bits of barely remembered images slunk from the darkness of their prison--Cali changing his bandages, soothing his pain, and arguing with his father. He sat down on the bed again. "You were there."

  Cali arched an eyebrow. "So you do remember me. Mirayla wasn't sure you would."

  "I don't really, just bits and pieces." He stood and started for the door. "I'm sorry, let's go. I--"

  She waved him to silence. "There's no need to be sorry. I know who and what you are, Ellery. You've no need to fear me. Although, one thing puzzles me."

  "What's that?"

  "Your name. Cree seems a bit odd." Her eyes sparkled with amusement.

  "It's Cree Lin, and I didn't choose it. It was given to me."

  "Oh? By whom?"

  "The shaman of the Leyloni. He thought Cree Lin suited me."

  Cali's mouth twitched. "Leyloni, eh?" She chuckled. "That was my tribe once, long ago. And yes, the name does suit you."

  "Is your curiosity satisfied?"

  "For now. Let's go eat, and find Mirayla."

  He followed silently behind her, absorbing every detail of Soco
rrow's Rest. Sunlight fell through narrow windows set high into the walls, casting shadows across the tile floors and warming the paneled walls to gold. Colorful tapestries decorated the hallway. Contrasted with the dark, dingy corridors of Torol House, Socorrow's Rest seemed a palace. Double doors opened into a large room filled with trestle tables. The sunlight was weaker here, but the room seemed homier for that. It was empty except for two figures seated at one of the tables. With their backs towards him, Cree could not tell who they were. Cali strode towards them, but he lagged behind.

  "Are you coming?"

  Before he could open his mouth, a flash of green and gold hurtled from the table towards him. He had almost been tackled before he recognized Mirayla.

  "Cree!"

  She wrapped her arms around his waist and laid her head against his shoulder. Stunned, he brought his arms up to embrace her. The motion felt wooden, and he dropped his walls a little and smiled at the flood of happiness gushing from her. He held her a little tighter and savored the scent of lavender clinging to her hair and the subtle arch of her back. Girlish delight radiated from her, and he basked in its glow. With a twinge of regret, he let go.

  "There's someone I want you to meet." She took his hand and led him to the table. "This is my mother, Clanda." She gestured to the woman seated at the table.

  He had not known what to expect. Someone taller, darker, more hardened perhaps. He had not expected a diminutive woman, with graying hair, fine lines circling her eyes and mouth, and piercing gray eyes. Clanda, leader of the Cavordiac, looked not like a hero, but a grandmother.

  "So," Clanda said, her eyes sparkling. "You are Cree Lin. Mirayla has told me nothing about you, except that you were in need of our aid. Though that was quite obvious. The Reapers want you badly, and they'll do just about anything to get you, including attacking here."

  Cree stared at the floor. "Then perhaps I should leave."