The Memory Wall

by Lev AC Rosen

  He stops when he gets around to the back of the home. His parents are still on the bench, Dad’s hands small explosions while he talks, Mom staring straight ahead, leaning forward, hands clasped in the hammock of her skirt. He can’t make out what Dad is saying, but it’s loud. It sounds like a distant foghorn. Nick is behind them, so they haven’t seen him yet. He thinks of Severkin and creeps forward, his steps carefully placed to muffle sound. He watches his shadow, careful it doesn’t fall into their line of sight.

  “He has to know,” Dad is saying. “He’s so angry, Sophie. It’s not fair to keep all this from him.”

  “I don’t want him to fear what happened to me,” Mom says, her voice quiet as dripping water. “I don’t want him to even imagine what happened to me happening to him.”

  “You prefer he not know anything? I think he doesn’t even realize how sick you are.”

  “Let him live like that, then,” Mom says, straightening up. “It’s better than living how I lived.”

  “Sophie,” Dad says as his hands come down in his lap like lead. “I may just tell him anyway.”

  “No,” Mom says, turning to look at Dad, but as she does so, she sees Nick out of the corner of her eye. Her face goes from carved wood to cotton smiles. But her eyes are sharp. “Nicky,” she says. “Did I show you the painting I’m doing of you?” Nick nods slowly, wondering if this is box 1 or 3, “Memory loss that disrupts daily life” or “Difficulty completing familiar tasks.”

  “You showed him already,” Dad says, putting his hand on her shoulder. “Remember, he modeled for you?”

  “Of course I remember,” Mom says, rolling her eyes. “I’m just making a joke.” Nick forces a laugh. No boxes to check after all.

  “Did you find a nurse, Nick?” Dad asks.

  “They were all busy,” Nick lies. “I wasn’t sure if I should bother them.”

  Dad stands, hands on his thighs, a slow unbending. “I’ll go find one, then. Stay with your mother. Don’t upset her.”

  Nick takes Dad’s place on the bench, and Mom rests her hand on his knee. Nick’s dad pauses, staring at her hand.

  “He won’t upset me,” Mom says. Dad stares a moment longer at Mom’s hand, then nods and walks away.

  “He worries too much,” Nick says.

  “It’s good that he worries,” Mom says, looking out at the grass. “Did I show you the painting I did of you?”

  Nick laughs. “That joke is getting old, Mom.”

  Mom giggles, a strangely young sound, like a baby’s giggle. “Sorry,” she says.

  “So when are we going to get you out of here?” Nick asks. “I know you’re Reunne. I know you’re teaching me about your history through Wellhall. But I don’t know what else you’re trying to tell me—what’s really wrong with you? How do I get you out?”

  Mom is silent, staring at a sparrow that has landed in the grass a few feet away. The grass hides most of it, but when it pecks at the ground, its tail feathers bob up like a prairie dog.

  “I don’t think I’m supposed to leave,” Mom says finally.

  “You can do whatever you want,” Nick says. “It’s your life.”

  “Oh, Nicky,” his mother says, her hand squeezing his leg. “It’s not completely mine. It’s yours, too.”

  “And I want you at home,” Nick says, laying his hand over his mother’s. “Come home.”

  “Look,” Mom says standing, “it’s Lamont.” Dad is coming toward them, Maria alongside him.

  “Did you see this painting of you?” Maria asks Nick as they get closer. Nick nods. “Did you know your mom could paint like that? I had no idea.”

  “She’s good at everything,” Nick says.

  Maria laughs. “Good son,” she says. “Well, why don’t I take the painting into the studio and mark down that it should be hung in your room when it’s dry, Sophie? That sound good?”

  “Thank you,” Mom says, nodding.

  “And it’s about time for your pills, too. You want me to bring them out?”

  “Yes, thank you,” Dad answers. Nick rolls his eyes. Maria takes the painting and goes inside, and Dad hovers, then sits down on the other side of the bench. “It’s a nice place, isn’t it, Sophie?”

  “Oh yes,” she says. “Very peaceful, and everyone is so nice. Lots of old people, though. That’s why I’m always so happy to see you.” She leans her head on Dad’s shoulder and Nick stares at the sparrow in the grass again, which has been joined by another. This place might not be so bad, he thinks, but it’s not for her.

  Maria comes back out, rolling a little cart of cups of pills and water. She plucks one cup of each and walks them over to Mom. Mom downs them without question.

  “She’s been getting tired after her pills,” Maria says to Dad, like Mom isn’t sitting right there.

  “Oh,” Dad says. “Okay, why don’t we take her upstairs, then, and let her rest? We’ll be back Sunday.”

  “I have GamesCon,” Nick says.

  “Oh, right. Sophie, Nick is going to a big convention in the city for that game he likes so much.”

  “How exciting,” Mom says. “That’s the one with the mountain with the two cities in it, right?”

  “Yeah,” Nick says. He looks at Dad. “I never told her that,” he says. “I think she’s playing it from here.”

  “Are you playing Nick’s game here, Sophie?” Dad asks, looking at Maria. Maria shrugs.

  “They have it here,” Nick says. He opens his mouth to say And I know who she’s playing but closes it. He doesn’t have proof yet. But this is a good first step. He’ll have to let Dad in on it slowly so he doesn’t blow up and tell Nick he’s wrong.

  “Oh, the game, right,” Mom says. “The one with the mountain? Beautiful to look at. Strong basis in Nordic and Germanic mythology, I think. It’s amazing what these game makers can do now. I don’t think I’m very good at it, though.” She looks as if she’s trying to figure out what to say to him, but after a moment, winks instead.

  “See?” Nick says. Dad stares at Mom, smiling. Maybe this will be enough.

  Mom yawns loudly without covering her mouth.

  “Okay,” Maria says. “I think we should get her upstairs. Want to go take a nap, Sophie?”

  Mom nods slowly. Nick waits for Dad to stop them, to say But if she’s playing the game, like my son says, maybe she’s not sick. But he doesn’t. Nick takes a deep breath. He’s proved Mom is playing the game. Next he needs to prove that she’s sending him messages in it. But this is a good start. He feels filled up with something warm that expands his chest, giving him strength. A strength potion, maybe.

  He and Dad help Mom upstairs, where Nick gives her a hug. “See you soon,” he says. He and Dad get back into the car and Nick gets out his cell phone as they drive home and texts Nat:

  Ms. Knight plays a redhead priestess. And Mom said today she plays. Reunne must be Mom.

  He waits a minute, but Nat doesn’t text him back.

  C u on the game 2nite

  he texts her.

  “It’s nice that your mom is still playing the game, isn’t it?” Dad asks. He’s smiling. “She’s such a wonderful woman. You know that, right?”

  Nick looks up, not sure whether to be confused or offended.

  “Of course I know that,” he says. I know it better than you, he thinks. Nick knows exactly how amazing she is—fighting through whatever it is in her head that’s keeping her down, and communicating with him the one way she can. But he doesn’t say all that. Dad’s not ready yet.

  When they get home, Dad says he’s going to go grade papers and that Nick should do his homework. They can order a pizza. Dad seems to feel sad when he spots the empty chair and the pizza box still in the recycling from the last time they ordered, but Nick knows that once Mom is home, everything will be better.

  SEVERKIN AND Elkana approach the building with the snake over its door cautiously. Severkin can feel eyes on them—not just the guards in front of the building, but from all around, wat
ching the foreigners step up to the dwarven guardhouse. But this is where they’d been told to go. Elega was going to tell them how to find the Spear.

  They walk up to the guards under the snake, and Severkin clears his throat.

  “We’re, uh—” He stops as the dwarves silently part to let them pass.

  “Anyone can just walk in, then?” Elkana asks.

  “We knew you were coming,” one of the dwarves says. Their helmets cover their faces and make their voices echo, so it’s impossible to tell which dwarf said it. Severkin and Elkana pause, not sure if they should just walk in. “You are Severkin and Elkana,” one of the dwarves says—possibly the same one. “We were told what you look like, we were told you would be arriving, and we were told to allow you passage. Go quickly. Elega is not a patient warrior.”

  Severkin nods and pushes open the huge doors behind them. They’re heavier than they look and he has to use both arms.

  The inside is remarkably similar to the guard hall of the gray elves, but darker. There’s no pomp here, no carpets and carved columns. Instead the columns are made of chipped onyx, and the floor is bare granite tile.

  Reunne waits inside, leaning against one of the columns.

  “That was fast,” she says. “Follow me.”

  She walks down the hall, but at the end of it there is no throne, only a table and chairs, all empty. She turns down a side hallway and leads them downstairs and through narrow metal doors. Eventually they come to a large room lit with covered torches but still dark because the walls and floor are nearly black. At one end of the room is a huge desk, and behind it is a dwarven woman, her head covered with a black skullcap, her iron-colored hair pulled back in a braid. She has a large nose that turns down slightly and eyes that seem to reflect what little light is in the room like mirrors. She stares at them as they enter, expectant.

  “Come, sit,” she says. She motions to the chairs in front of her desk, four of them, one already occupied, though the occupant doesn’t turn to look at them. Reunne does as the woman—Elega, Severkin assumes—asks, and Severkin and Elkana do the same. Elega does not stand, but she lays her hand on her desk, her fingers curled as if she’s clutching a sphere. “Reunne says you’ve proven useful, so we accept you into these hallowed halls,” Elega says. She speaks quickly and with a voice like an old man clearing his throat. “But you must understand that this information we have acquired is secret. If you reveal what we are about to tell you, we will hunt you down and kill you, ally or no.”

  “I think Rorth would raise some objections to that, yeah?” Elkana says.

  “Rorth doesn’t care about you, troll.” The words fly out with a little spittle, and Elega laughs. “And besides, the way we’d do it, he wouldn’t know it was us. You’d just disappear.”

  “We understand,” Severkin says.

  “You too, Reunne,” Elega says, and nods at her.

  “Of course,” Reunne says. Elega stares at her for a beat, her eyes moving up and down Reunne’s face like she’s doing a math problem.

  “Good. This is Efem,” she says, nodding her head at the occupant of the fourth chair, and Severkin glances over at him. He’s a clean-shaven dwarf, which is unusual, and his hairline is high. He has a long, thin frown like a bridge, and the wrinkles on his face and around his turtle eyes suggest the frown is his default expression. But despite all that, he is strangely forgettable.

  “I am in charge of the Sword and the Shield,” he says in a low voice that carries. There’s a cold silence. “This is one of the secrets you are not allowed to tell.”

  Reunne nods, and Severkin imitates her. After a moment, even Elkana nods slightly.

  “One of the things we do is run a prison,” Efem says. “For provocateurs who spoke out against our war with the overworld, back when such a war was happening, of course. We believe one of our prisoners knows where the Spear is. We will take you to her, and you may question her yourself.”

  “Why is she still in prison?” Elkana asks. “The war with the overworld is over. Shouldn’t she be set free?”

  “Technically,” Efem says, “Sindry did more than just speak out. She led an entire colony in revolt, trying to escape to the overworld and begin a town there.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Elkana says. “Dwarves go ta the overworld all the time now.”

  “She broke the law,” Elega interrupts. “The fact that the law she broke has since been repealed is irrelevant. Her sentence stands.”

  “That doesnae seem right,” Elkana says.

  “Our laws are our laws,” Elega says, her hand inching toward Elkana like a spider. “You are here to help stop the giants. We don’t want your opinion on anything else.”

  “Also,” Efem says, “as we mentioned, the existence of this prison is secret. Who is in it is secret. If we just started letting them go, then it wouldn’t be secret anymore.” His hands, which have been immobile and folded in his lap, raise slightly, like they’re inhaling.

  “So no one knows that the prisoners are in prison?” Severkin asks.

  Efem nods.

  “They just disappeared,” Reunne says softly. Severkin looks over at her, but her expression is unreadable, empty. Severkin knows she’s thinking of her father. He wonders if she might explode at them, demand to know where he is, but she stays quiet. Becomes quieter, even, as though her body is perfectly still.

  “Precisely,” Efem says.

  “But why bring us to this prisoner at all?” Reunne asks. “Surely you could get all the information you want from her?”

  “She’s particularly obstinate,” Efem says, his tongue rolling inside his mouth as though trying to rid himself of a bad taste. “We think seeing overworlders may convince her to help.” He nods slightly at Elkana.

  “Ah,” Elkana says. “Now I see why I’ve been invited along. She’s never seen a troll before, eh? It’ll make her believe us when we say you’re at peace with the overworld now and we need her help with the giants.”

  “Exactly so,” Efem says. “Our interrogators told her the truth of the matter flat out, and she laughed at them. Our other usual techniques did nothing. We think you may be able to convince her of the truth.” Severkin frowns, trying not to think about what the “usual techniques” must be.

  “And why do you think she knows where the Spear is?” Severkin asks.

  “Records,” Elega says. “She and her fellow provocateurs were part of an excavation colony. We sent them into a cave where we thought there’d be resources to hollow it out in preparation for a new colony. They did their jobs for a while, but then Sindry found something—something that matches the description of the Spear. Shortly thereafter, they tried to escape—started digging a tunnel to the surface. Assumed no one was monitoring them.”

  “That was incorrect,” Efem says. “A loyal dwarf revealed their plan, and now they all reside in Number Seven.”

  “Seven?” Elkana asks. “So there are six others?”

  Efem stares at her silently until they realize he won’t be answering.

  “But we couldn’t find the Spear,” Elega says. “She hid it somewhere.” Severkin and Elkana stare at each other in the silence. The black walls make Elkana’s skin seem to glow like the algae monsters he and Reunne had fought.

  “Can we…,” Reunne starts. She purses her lips then opens them again. “Can we promise her freedom? In exchange for what she tells us?”

  “You can promise her whatever you want,” Efem says, his hands inhaling again. He pauses, waits for his exact meaning to sink in. “Any other questions?” No one says anything. Severkin shakes his head. “Good, then we’d best be off. We’ll take some tunnels out this way,” he says, standing. He’s not wearing any armor, just black breeches and high-collared jacket. “Number Seven is well hidden, so it may be a long journey.”

  “Bring back the Spear,” Elega says, but she’s staring at papers on her desk.

  Severkin, Elkana, and Reunne stand, and Efem leads them out the way they c
ame, then down another hallway and more stairs. Halfway down the next hall, he presses a brick and the wall swings open. The doorway is low, so they must duck to enter it, and once inside, it’s pitch black. Efem takes out a torch and lights it, then closes the hidden door behind him. They walk, bent over and silent, a few hundred feet before the tunnel opens up and they can stand straight again.

  “This will be a long walk,” Efem says. “I have more torches if you’d like.” He hands out torches to Severkin and the others, who light them and follow him in silence. The road is roughly carved into the underground, the ceiling low and gnarled like natural earth, not the neat stone ceilings of the undercity.

  Severkin hangs back from Efem and waits for him to get a little ahead before whispering to Reunne, “Are you okay with this?”

  Reunne nods slowly, her eyes fixed on Efem’s silhouette. “Let’s get the Spear,” she says. “Then maybe I can learn something about…that.” Her voice is barely a whisper, more like an exhale with notes.

  They walk ahead in silence for a long while, Efem leading them down twists and turns so numerous and dark that Severkin loses all sense of where they are. They’re outside the undercity, that much he knows. But in what direction, or how far, he can’t be sure.

  Finally the tunnel’s roof rises slightly and the ground underfoot becomes more polished. There is a large metal door built into the side of the wall and Efem produces a key from somewhere in his robes and unlocks it. They all follow him inside.

  Here, the air smells not like dirt but like metal, and the room is large enough that Severkin imagines he can feel a breeze. It is lit by a huge chandelier and torches, but it still feels glum, dark. The marbled tiles on the walls have a green tinge. The staircase that dominates the room seems to glow gray. A guard in a uniform Severkin hasn’t seen before is standing in the center of the room. When Efem enters, he nods slightly.

  “The prisoner is already in the interrogation room, sir. Number three,” the guard says. He wears no helmet and his chain mail is black. The same Sword and Shield emblem is at his collar.