EMBRACE OF MEMORY

by Vicki McElfresh

  Mirayla knelt next to him. "No one's going to make you go with him." She touched his shoulder, sending energy to soothe his frayed nerves. "Let's go inside where it's warm. You're shaking, and I'm cold."

  He shook his head. "I'm fine."

  "Fine, eh?" She raised an eyebrow. "I didn't sit at your bedside for five days and listen to you moan and mutter for you to catch pneumonia. We're going inside." She gave him a measuring look. "And I'll have a tray of food sent up. Your cheeks are still hollow. Have you been forgetting to eat as well as sleep?"

  Guiltily, he looked down at the ground and tried to remember when he had last eaten. "Where are we going?"

  "My room. It's closer, and I have a fire waiting for me, so it should be warm as well." She crossed her arms as if waiting for him to protest.

  He grinned. "Lead the way then."

  ~*~

  Mirayla's room was actually a small suite, one room served as a sitting area, and the other a bedroom. She lit all the lamps as soon as she walked inside, bathing the room with warm light. Cree's eyes darted about, absorbing every detail. A couch and chair surrounded the fireplace. Overstuffed bookshelves and a table strewn with papers filled the corner near the window. Stray bits of clothing and more papers were scattered across the floor. He smirked. "Are you always so tidy?"

  She blushed. "I was in a hurry this morning. I didn't have time to clean up. I'm usually a little neater." She shut the door leading to the bedroom. "That room's worse."

  He smiled and sat down, watching as she stoked the fire back to life. He shivered as the flames rose and sent sparks flying.

  Mirayla sat down next to him. "What happened today? I know something happened. You might as well tell me."

  "What makes you think something happened?"

  She moved a little closer and propped her head on her arm. She reached up to touch his forehead. "You get a crease here whenever something's bothering you, and when you try to lie you bite your lip. And--"

  "How long did it take you to make those observations?" He tried to sound annoyed, wanting to turn the conversation to more pleasant subjects.

  "Not long. I'm very good at reading body language, and I'm an empath, too. I could tell something was wrong as soon as I took your hand. So now, won't you talk to me, Cree?"

  He shook his head. "You tricked me."

  "No, I didn't, and you know that. I want to help you, but I can't unless you open up to me." When he said nothing, she sighed. "Did you and Mama have a good chat?"

  He pulled away from her. "You know about that?"

  She nodded. "I wanted her to talk to you."

  His senses told him Mirayla was sincere, yet he inched a little further away from her, uncertain he wanted to trust her. "How much do you really know?"

  She raised an eyebrow but moved no closer. "More than you think I know."

  "If you know so much, why do you want me to tell you?"

  "You need to tell me, my knowing isn't enough. Knowing all that has happened to you does nothing to help you. All it does is frustrate me. If you aren't ready to talk to me, that's fine, I'm patient. I'll wait until you are, but eventually you are going to have to open up."

  He glared at her, and at last sighed, his shoulders slumping in resignation. "What do you want to know?"

  "Did Mama convince you to train your powers?"

  "Yes. I suppose you know--"

  Mirayla nodded. "I suspected you were a healer when I found out about the empathy, and Cali confirmed that suspicion." She moved closer and took his hand. "I'm to take you to her tomorrow."

  He wrenched his hand away. "I'm starting to feel like a pawn in a game of chess. One side wants me dead, and the other--"

  "Wants to see you whole." She finished and took his hand again. "If I'm honest with you, will you be honest with me."

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "All right. I know more than Cali or Mama does, Cree. I know almost the whole story." He tried to take his hand away, but she gripped it tighter. "Dreams are powerful things, Cree, and I've dreamed about you for so long, I think I know you better than I know myself."

  "What? But I--"

  She laid a finger over his lips. "This is the time to listen. I've shared most of your nightmares, walked through your deepest fears, and for eight years, I kept you from destroying yourself in your dreams. You came so close, so often, and you wanted death so badly."

  "All those dreams of the fire and waking--"

  She nodded. "You'd wake feeling the first edges of burn. Yes I stopped those. Near repeats of what happened in the mountains. You either don't remember, or have blocked, the dreams of us together. There were many of those." She licked her lips. "I shared the others, too, Cree. I know what has been done to you."

  "If you know, then can't you just take the memories away, block them, or--"

  She shook her head. "The pain will only end when you confide them. I can block them, pad the memories so they won't hurt as badly, but I can't take them away. I can't change the past."

  "But--"

  "Only you. It's about trust, Cree. Do you trust me?" When he did not answer, she slid closer. "Mama told you about the bond?"

  He nodded. "How? Why is it there? I didn't ask for it."

  Mirayla laughed. "Destiny, I suppose." She raised his hand to her lips. "Trust that if you won't trust me. I can't hurt you, Cree, and I wouldn't want to. I love you."

  He closed his eyes. Her love and sincerity frightened him more than they comforted him. He wanted to push her away, but alone, only dark memories awaited him. He took a deep breath. "He used me," he whispered, his voice shaking.

  Mirayla tensed. "Who?"

  "Sarana. He used me." Tears started at those words. "H-he had to t-tie me to the fl-floor, to keep me in the circle. And then he--" The words would not come, instead, he sobbed.

  "Shh." She pulled him to her and held him while his tears dampened the sleeve of her shirt. She rocked and stroked his back comforting him like a child. "It's all right," she whispered in his ear.

  Soft and gentle, her mind pushed against his walls, and he dropped them. She touched the aching, empty places and numbed the pain. Memories of summoning circles and wax candles fled before her presence, shrinking back into their prisons. Her touch left behind peace. He reached with his own mental hand and brushed against hers. Mirayla's soul was laid bare, and he marveled at its beauty and vibrance. Her frustrations, her fears, her loves were laid bare before him. She started to withdraw, and he stopped her.

  "Don't." His voice was hollow and distant.

  "This is dangerous, Cree. If I stay too long, I run the risk of losing myself, and I would die." She started to withdraw again, and this time he did not stop her. "But that doesn't mean I can't share my mind with you," she whispered and sent a wordless burst of emotion towards him.

  "Mirayla," he whispered, capturing her lips and letting a trickle of his own emotions flow into her. She returned his kisses with eagerness. Her hands found the buttons of his shirt, and he froze.

  "I'm not afraid of the scars." She kissed him again.

  "But--"

  "I was there," she whispered against his ear. Her hands trailed to his shirt again. "I'm not afraid of what I'll see." She undid the first button, and the second. At the third, he stopped her.

  "Should we do this?"

  "Is there a reason we shouldn't?" A fourth button came undone, and her hands slipped under his shirt. He gasped.

  "I can't think of any." He stroked her cheek and unbound her hair so that it fell in soft waves over her shoulders and past her waist. Slowly, he opened her blouse.

  "I didn't think so." The last button of his shirt came undone, and she slid it over his shoulders. Her hands glided up his arms and over his back. At his delighted shiver, she smiled and nibbled at his ear.

  He tilted her face upward and planted soft kisses on her neck. The blouse fell away followed by the chemise under it. His eyes wandered over the swell of her breasts, the pale curve of her shoulders, the r
ich gold of her hair. He brushed a few strands of gold from her face and smiled, thinking she looked like a goddess in the firelight. "You are so beautiful."

  She moved so their bare chests touched and smiled, her hands resuming their exploration. "So are you."

  He lowered her to the couch, and words were soon replaced with the whisper of flesh against flesh, soft sighs, and gentle moans. Love surrounded them, enfolded them in its embrace, and swept them to the skies.

  Return to Contents

  * * *

  Chapter Eighteen

  Lavender scented sheets and warmth surrounded Cree when he woke. He opened his eyes to a strange room, and his hand brushed against a leg other than his own. Startled, he turned and smiled at Mirayla's sleeping form. Her long hair spilled over the pillows like a blanket, and she smiled in her sleep. He caressed her cheek and with a resigned sigh, slipped from the bed. Scattered clothing littered the floor, but none of it seemed to be his. Frowning, he remembered losing his shirt in the other room. He found his pants just inside the door and slipped them on.

  "Going somewhere?"

  He could not help smiling. "I was looking for my clothes." He fumbled with the fastenings on the pants.

  Mirayla slipped from the bed, grinning wickedly. "Here let me help you with that." Nimble fingers undid the fastenings and slid the breeches over his hips. She kissed him.

  "I thought you were going to help me." He pulled her close.

  She laughed. "I did. I helped you out of them." She wrapped her arms around his neck and smiled up at him.

  "You're a wicked woman." He planted a kiss on her lips.

  "No, I'm a hungry woman." She led him back to the bed. "Hungry for you."

  "Don't you have rounds today?"

  "Not today. Today, I'm helping Cali here, and you're coming with me." She sat on the edge of the bed and pulled him towards her.

  "Ah." He pushed her down. "Then we have plenty of time."

  "Plenty."

  ~*~

  Cali looked up from a stack of notes when Cree and Mirayla stepped through the doorway of her office. She raised an eyebrow and glanced out the window at the sun, which was high in the sky. "Did you finally decide to grace me with your presence?"

  Cree paled and took a step backward, uncertain if Cali was angry or simply teasing. "I'm sorry," he whispered. His gaze slid across the long table filling the center of the room. The scattered papers, notes, bits of dried plants, send uneasy quivers through his stomach.

  Cali pushed the notes aside. "You've nothing to be sorry for." She smiled. "Perhaps I'm the one who should apologize." She cleared a stack of papers from two stools. "Come and sit down."

  Mirayla sat without hesitation, but Cree hung back, staring at the stool. He stepped back again and shook his head. "This is a mistake. I shouldn't --"

  "I can already see what our first problem is going to be." Cali stood and walked over to him. "Come on," she took his arm. "Sit down. I'm not going to bite." He stumbled towards the seat and sagged onto it. She sat down across from him. "I can see our first problem is going to be a question of trust. Do you trust me, Cree? You can be honest. I won't be angry if the answer is no, as I suspect it will be."

  Cree met her eyes and swallowed hard. "You can't lie to me, can you?"

  Her eyes widened. "I forgot you lived with Leyloni. No, I cannot, my people are incapable of it. That hasn't changed for me just because I left the plains. Knowing that, do you trust me?"

  He stared at her for a long moment, then glanced sidelong at Mirayla. He shook his head. "No," he whispered and started to rise. "I'm sorry."

  Mirayla laid a hand over his arm. "Sit down, Cree."

  He sat and cast puzzled glances at them both. "But --"

  "I'm going to take things very slowly, Cree. I asked Mirayla to help me because I knew we'd have a trust problem." She smiled. "You do know why you are here?"

  "Yes. But how --" He sighed. "If I've been --"

  "Are you wondering how I'm going to get past what's been done to you?"

  "Yes."

  "You're going to have to break down the walls you've bound your memories with and face them. Mirayla can help you with that more than I."

  He looked down at his hands, pondering the meaning of those words. "I'm not sure I can do that."

  "You can, in time. We only want to help you, Cree," Mirayla said. "You have to believe that."

  Cree picked at a loose nail and sighed. "This is all very strange."

  "I've known you were a healer for a long time, Cree. I've regretted many times not sending you here instead of back with your father after the fire." Cali sighed. "I wasn't sure that you were a vessel though, not until Benjamin brought you in here."

  "Vessel?"

  Cali nodded. "It's the technical term for what Sarana did to you. I wasn't sure the first time I saw you in the mountains. After the fire, you were in too much pain for anything to be read clearly, but when Benjamin carried you in here, I was certain."

  "How?"

  "You're marked."

  His stomach twisted. "What does that mean?"

  "We each have a magical identity that's woven into the fiber of our being. It's like a thread. It has a unique color, texture, even a taste. We call it a signature, and that signature will color every bit of magic any of us do."

  "So?"

  She grimaced. "You have two signatures. The first is yours; bright, golden, smooth."

  He closed his eyes. "And the second?"

  "The second is someone else's. I'm guessing Sarana's. Dark and jagged, it taints everything you do."

  He swallowed hard. "Can't you take it away?" Mirayla touched his shoulder and moved to embrace him.

  Cali shook her head. "It will mark you forever; not even the death of the mage will erase it."

  Bitterness filled his vision with tears. "If I'm damaged, then why bother with me at all?"

  "I can't erase the mark, but I can erase its effects, or rather you can."

  "How?"

  Mirayla kissed the top of his head and said, "You have to open up and let go of your anger and fear, let us train your powers, and most of all, you have to believe in yourself. You have to believe that you can rise above what was done to you and take that experience and use it for a greater good."

  "What if I can't?"

  "Then you'll fail." Cali smiled. "But I don't think you'll fail, Cree. You're a fighter. You've proven that to me twice now." She stood. "Enough of this. We've work to do and the day's already half gone."

  Cree took a deep breath, told his knotted stomach to relax, and looked up at Cali. "Where do we start?"

  Mirayla and Cali smiled at each other. "You're making it easy." Cali chuckled. "I hadn't expected that."

  "I'm full of surprises, sometimes." He took Mirayla's hand. "Sometimes I surprise myself."

  Cali nodded. "Good surprises, I hope." She tidied the table. "Where to start?" She pursed her lips and drummed her fingers on the tables. "You're going to be difficult."

  He tensed, unsure what she meant. "Unteachable? Sarana --"

  "The first thing I want you to do is forget everything Sarana ever told you. He might have told you some truths, but mostly he lied." Cali's voice rose in volume. "Unteachable? No, you'll be difficult, not impossible. That's why Mirayla's here."

  "Why difficult? If I want to learn, what's --"

  "You'll resist, Cree," Mirayla said. "Even wanting the magic, you'll fight it. You've been taught to resist. Not only do you have to learn to use the talents you really do possess, but you have to unlearn everything you have already learned."

  "In one sense, you are a clean slate," Cali continued. "You don't know anything of healing, so you'll learn quickly. On the other hand, your experience of magic has been perverted and painful." She found a pot buried under some papers, and smiled triumphantly. "Magic should not be painful, Cree. And it has always been painful for you, hasn't it?"

  He nodded. "I get headaches, and sometimes I --" He shuddered. "Painf
ul, yes."

  "That's because the magic you've been taught is a perversion. It follows the wrong path. Instead of you releasing the energy, willingly, it has been pulled from you, against your will. The effect is a little like putting your hand through a glass window. You can get your hand through the window, but not without a price."

  "But even when I want something it hurts." He shook his head. "I don't understand."

  Mirayla cleared her throat. "Have you ever healed anyone?"

  "Once."

  Mirayla grinned. "Did that hurt?"

  He thought back, and realized that the magic had been anything but painful. It had been vibrant and thrilling. "No."

  Cali sat down with the pot and a stack of paper. "Does the empathy pain you?"

  "Sometimes. Especially when I'm tired."

  She crumpled a sheet of paper in the pot. "We can work on that. We're going to try a little experiment, now." She pushed the pot towards him. "I want you to remember discipline and focus are the secrets of magic, and will, perhaps most important of all. You have to want it. Do you want it, Cree?"

  His gaze darted around the room, absorbing every detail. A long table filled the center, surrounded by tall stools. A desk had been tucked into one corner, and bookshelves covered one entire wall, a huge cabinet another. He glanced at Mirayla, and finally, turned his thoughts back to Cali's question. Did he want the magic? He wanted to say no, but it raged within him begging to be let loose. "Yes."

  "Good." She pointed to the pot. "Calling fire is the simplest of magics. I want you to light the paper."

  "What? Why? That has nothing --"

  "It has a great deal to do with healing. It teaches you control, for one, and that is what you need most of all." Cali pushed the pot to Mirayla. "She can light it, and so can you."

  He shook his head and backed away from the table. "I can't."

  "If you can't do this, then you aren't ready to train. This is simple compared to healing magic. The only reason you balk is because of fear."

  "I'm not afraid --"

  Mirayla sighed. "You are. You are so terrified of fire that you won't hardly go near it, let alone start one."