The Burden of Memory

by Welcome Cole

  “No Nolands and few towns.” Lucifeus sent his finger across a series of tiny markings. “There’s Dobb’s Outpost, Hobte’s Corner, Second Town, Dreamer’s Hold. There’s the wall of Mendoph. There’s Boardtown in the swamp. None of those places have been around more than five hundred years. So how can this map be an epoch old?”

  Mal told himself to breathe.

  Then Lucifeus’s finger swept to a point in the northernmost Nolands just at the coastline of the Sea of Hope and southwest of the Parhronian border. “My gods above,” he whispered as he tapped a tiny symbol, “That’s the location of the Freehold, but the runes written beneath it identify it as Fark Town.”

  “We only built the Freehold a decade ago.”

  Lucifeus laughed. “I recall, dear brother. I was there.”

  Mal rolled the marbles back and forth between his palms as he watched his brother tapping the map. “It doesn’t make sense,” he said, “How can it be as old as father said if—”

  “Perhaps it’s some queer family joke.”

  Mal looked at him. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

  “Maybe the whole thing’s some kind of ruse, some kind of family trick.”

  “To what cursed end?”

  Lucifeus just looked at him. Then he shook his head and waved a jeweled hand at Mal, saying, “Damn me, just forget it. I’m sorry I said anything. It was stupid.”

  “Excellent, something we can agree on.”

  They studied the map for several minutes in mutually approved silence. Mal understood their banter for the nervous relief it was. It was the way of brothers, and he knew Luce understood it as well. They weren’t men much inclined toward the enjoyment of puzzles; they were rogues and adventurers, men who took natural control of their environments and everyone in it. But this didn’t feel anything like control, and the truth was it scared the devil out of them both.

  “Look at this symbol here,” Lucifeus said, tapping the middle of the map, “What do you make of it?”

  Mal leaned down toward the image. It was the symbol of an eye drawn in red ink. It rested in the pommel of a long sword, a pommel composed of two entwined snakes similar in design to those capping the Drayma except without the morbid human heads. There was no writing there to indicate the meaning, no runes, no other images to offer them any guidance.

  He stood back and nervously rattled the marbles in his cupped hand. “I don’t understand. That’s the location in Na te’Yed near where the blue caeyl mage lives. That’s a small mountain chain running along the border of the valley Farswept Green separating the northern and southern forests.”

  Lucifeus scowled at Mal’s hand. “Must you do that?”

  Mal stopped rolling the spheres. “Sorry,” he said, “Nervous agitation, I expect.”

  “Give them to me,”

  Mal poured them into his brother’s waiting hand, then bent back over the map. He studied the edges of the parchment. Angels and devils drawn in colorful inks twisted their way around the perimeter in some grand and perverse dance. The artwork was exquisite; he was surprised his brother hadn’t commented on it.

  “Eh, Mal... ?”

  “Why is that eye in the middle of the Forbidden Forest?” Mal said as he studied the map, “Is something there? Something waiting for us? It doesn’t make sense.”

  “Mal, look at this.”

  “The eye must be—”

  “Malevolus!”

  Mal stood up. He looked at his brother’s proffered hand. The two marbles resting in his palm now glowed brilliantly. One was the blue of a crisp spring sky and the other as red as blood. They were practically on fire.

  “Put… put them down, Luce. Put them down now.”

  Lucifeus obliged him without hesitation.

  The stones rolled to a stop in the middle of the wavy parchment. Before Mal could comment, they began to change, growing weirdly translucent. Then they moved, slowly rolling opposite one another in a tight little circle. The speed of the rotations gradually increased as they orbited around each other, revolving in ever widening loops until they circled the full diameter of the square map. When they’d nearly exhausted the map’s territory, they abruptly broke their pattern and rolled away in independent directions. An instant later, they came to a stop over a foot apart from each other. The blue caeyl parked at the very point where Fark’s Freehold rested in the real world. The red one sat on the exotic sword’s eye in the low mountains at the southern edge of Na te’Yed, just north of the cliff overlooking Farswept Green.

  “Pray, tell me what’s happening here?” Lucifeus whispered.

  A dark black line emerged from beneath the blue sphere. It snaked its way across the parchment like an ink stroke drawn by an invisible hand. It slithered through the Nolands, cutting a southeasterly route toward Na te’Yed. Its progress was slow and deliberate. There was nothing random about it.

  “That’s the smuggler’s route to the forest,” Lucifeus whispered.

  “I know,” Mal whispered back.

  The line inched its way across the Boiling River and up into the short, craggy mountains lining the southern edge of the forest. It followed the cliff line before finally stopping beneath the red sphere at the symbol of the sword’s eye. When it did, the light in the blue stone unceremoniously died, and it faded back to its original muddy color.

  “This is too bizarre,” Mal said, pointing at the red marble, “There’s nothing at that point in the forest except mountains.”

  “Rough, useless mountains,” Lucifeus added, “It’s barely passable in those parts. Practically totters over the Snake River Canyon and Farswept Green. The rock face there is a mile tall if it’s a foot. The climb up from the valley is steep as hell, if I recall correctly.”

  Mal leaned closer to the glowing red stone. He took the knife from the desk and tapped the tip against the map near the red caeyl. “Strange place for a road to end,” he said, “Is it a destination, you think?” He didn’t see any markings in the area, other than the sketched lines of mountains.

  He was about to use the knife blade to nudge the marble to the side when the red light in the marble flared.

  He staggered back from the desk. The marble flooded the room with the bloody light. His skin felt on fire with pins and needles. A wave of heat washed over him. The room spun giddily. He grabbed for support but found only air. He tried to call out, but couldn’t find a voice. His knees lost their will.

  The earth disappeared beneath him.

  The knife slipped from his hand.

  He was falling!

  ∞

  Mal found himself outside in the sunlight. The plains drifted below him, distant and hazy and indistinct. He floated through the air, a mile high above the world as if Calina herself had dropped him from the heavens. He soared over the earth, gliding beneath the clouds like an eagle on high. Then his direction shifted and he plummeted toward the world. The carpet of green trees surrounding the fort rushed up at him as he dove from the sky, yet he wasn’t afraid.

  He somehow understood that he was safe. In fact, if he’d still had his arms, he would’ve stretched them out like wings to feel the air rushing past. But he had no body. He was a spirit, free from the constraints of the physical universe.

  His fall abruptly leveled over the Sea of Hope just north of the Freehold. He soared out over the green waters, then banked toward the rear of the fort, skating low above the dense treetops. The Freehold was massive from this angle, spreading through the forest like a great fleet of ships buried in the kelp below the waves. The crowns of the compound’s trees looked like the surface of an agitated ocean, swelling and rolling beneath him. He coasted along the crest of the trees, low enough now to brush the leaves with his fingers, if he only had hands. This was a beautiful dream, one of flight and freedom and power.

  The trees parted and he sailed out over a mass of people, more than he’d ever seen in the Freehold, all packed in so tightly that no ground was visible between them. They filled every
inch of the fort, standing on the porches and decks, filling the roads and boardwalks. They were marching, he realized, marching toward the gaping front gates.

  He flew across the ramparts and out over the staging grounds before the fort. There were even more people here on the outside, thousands of them, all marching away from the Freehold in a wide, dense column. Legions of armed men and women, horses and wagons, cannons and machines of war, all advancing across the plains. As he flew over their heads, as their bodies continued on and on and on below him, he realized they were an army, an army of smugglers and thieves and cutthroats all loyal to him and Lucifeus, all pledging allegiance to the smuggler kings.

  He landed back in his body. He sat on his dark horse with Lucifeus riding alongside him. His brother smiled at him and nodded back toward their rear. Mal twisted around in his saddle. They led this army. They rode together at its head with their pirate standards fluttering above them.

  He wanted to say something to Lucifeus. He wanted to ask how they’d gotten here, but the world shifted before he could push out the words. His vision flickered and faded, and when his focus returned, he was on his feet. He led his horse uphill along a narrow crag. A rock face followed on his left and the world fanned away to the deep valley on his right, the valley called Farswept Green. Lucifeus followed closely. Tree was directly behind him, and Freer behind her.

  But there was someone else here with them. A large, unknown Vaemyn led a horse up ahead of him. The man led them somewhere, directed them to some location beyond this narrow mountain pass.

  The world shifted again. They were farther up into the mountains now, standing on a deep ledge of rock that grew out for a hundred yards from a cliff face. The mouth of a cave yawned down at him from the mountain wall, its surface lined with craggy crystals like dragon’s teeth. This was a battle camp. This was their base.

  Positioned along the edge of the cliff’s face on both sides of them were archers, hundreds of them. They stood shoulder to shoulder in a line stretching away for as far as he could see in both directions. Interspersed between them stood a dozen cannons. This was a defensive posture, a position of resistance.

  He shifted to the precipice. Vaemysh warriors infested the mountainside below them. The savages swarmed up the through the rocks and trees toward their base like a plague of ants. Tens of thousands of them crawled on hands and feet up through the rough terrain, their eyes glowing yellow like a million vile stars cast down from the ethers for crimes unknown.

  As Lucifeus bellowed a command, a cyclone of arrows blew out over the savages. It was more arrows than Mal had ever seen fly in his life. And yet, as he studied the Vaemysh hordes, he knew it’d never be enough.

  Cannons exploded from the wings, their iron shouts echoing out over the valley below. “We can’t let them through, Mal!” Lucifeus yelled over the thunder of war, “He’s depending on us! Don’t let them through!”

  Mal didn’t understand. What was he saying? He wanted to turn, wanted to question his brother, but he couldn’t. Time had stopped. The world began spinning again. He grabbed his head and staggered back from the growing nausea.

  ∞

  The knife struck the floor with a defining thunk.

  Mal opened his eyes.

  He was back in the room, in Lucifeus’s office. He was surprised to find himself still standing beside his brother’s desk. His heart beat hard enough to hurt. The knife was on the floor, stuck in the wood an inch from his boot. He’d undergone a vision of sorts, a vision that had lasted only as long as it took the blade to drop.

  Lucifeus leaned heavily into the other side of the desk. Pale and sweating, he gripped his chest like he was having a heart seizure.

  “Did you see that?” Mal whispered, “Luce, did you see it?”

  “Aye. I was flying. There was an army, our army.”

  “Look at that,” Mal said, tapping the map before the caeyl marble. The red glow was gone. It was now dead as a stone, colorless and devoid of any spark of life.

  “What does it mean?” Lucifeus whispered.

  “I’m not sure. I think it may have been… instructions? Marching orders, perhaps?”

  “Marching orders? To what end?”

  “I’m not sure,” Mal said carefully, “I think it means we’re supposed to take an army there, to that place on the map.”

  “An army? We don’t have a bloody army. And even if we did, why in the Nine would we take it there?”

  “How the devil would I know? It’s your cursed Drayma!”

  “If that’s true, why did you see it?

  “What?” Mal asked, though he’d already considered the same.

  “The vision. Why did you see it? Why not just me?”

  “I... I don’t know. Maybe it affects anyone close enough. Or maybe I’m supposed to see it so I don’t resist your efforts.”

  Lucifeus picked up one of the now dead marbles. He bullied it around his damp palm with an index finger.

  “That was a caeyl,” Mal whispered, “They were both caeyls, weren’t they? One was a Water Caeyl, the other a Blood Caeyl.”

  “Aye. And it’s telling us to send an army into Na te’Yed. But why? Sink me, it makes no sense. To what end would we commit such a preposterous act?”

  “I don’t know. To invade, maybe?”

  “Invade? Invade what? There’s nothing there. The place is uninhabited, save for the blue caeyl mage. If he’s the target, we could take him out by ourselves. An army would be overkill.”

  Mal scowled at him. “Now, just why in the hell would we take out the mage?”

  Lucifeus shrugged. “I didn’t say we should. I’m just thinking aloud, reasoning it out in my head.”

  “Well, if that’s the best you can do, just give it up. I’ll do the thinking.”

  They stood in tense silence for several moments, each watching Lucifeus play the dead marble about his palm. Mal understood they’d been ordered afield, but to what purpose? To invade an empty forest? It made no sense.

  “How can we do this, Mal?” Lucifeus asked, “We’re already preparing for a possible invasion. Putting an army as big as what the vision demanded will fairly deplete us. Damn me, there’ll be no one left to guard the Freehold.”

  Mal had never seen his brother look so vulnerable. His cloak of pretension was gone. There was no arrogance, no roguish deviltry, no pride. His eyes were red, his normally perfectly coifed black hair now disheveled and worried. Even his moustache boasted a clutch of renegade hairs. There was nothing left in that face now except his brother and the unreasonable duty that’d been forced on him. And for the first time in his life, there was nothing Mal could say to help him.

  Mal looked down at the map again. He ran a finger across the symbol in the forest. A small burn mark scarred the leather map where the caeyl had rested.

  “Maybe it doesn’t matter, Luce,” he said at last, “Maybe it’s the hand of Calina. Maybe it’s the kick of the devil. Either way, I don’t see where we have a choice. There must be something waiting in those mountains, something you and the others like you have been waiting an epoch to destroy. Maybe that’s where the battle takes place, the one that matters. Maybe this is where it all finally ends.”

  He sensed more than saw the change overtake his brother. Lucifeus stood upright. He brushed his hair back from his face and smoothed out his moustache. His gaze was fixed and determined, and he stared at Mal like he’d just seen the faces of the gods.

  “What is it?” Mal asked him.

  “You’re wrong.”

  “Wrong? What do you mean?”

  “I mean... you’re wrong.”

  “How so?”

  “There’s nothing there to destroy.”

  Mal just looked at him.

  “There’s nothing to destroy,” Lucifeus said again, “There’s nothing to attack. There’s no pivotal battle. What’s waiting for us there is what we’ve been charged to protect, not destroy.”

  “Protect? What’re we supposed to protect?�
��

  Lucifeus tapped the burnt eye on the map. “I don’t know,” he said, “I saw a cave in the vision, though I don’t know what it signifies. Those Vaemyn crawling up that mountainside were all hacks, hacks attacking that cave, though to what end I don’t know.”

  “What do you know?”

  Lucifeus’s eyes snapped up at him.

  Mal felt the energy of his brother’s gaze burn clear through to his marrow. The man was a believer now. Somewhere in these icy moments after their encounter with that red caeyl, he’d changed. He was awake now. He was possessed with a brutal clarity. This is what he’d been born to do. This was his purpose, and for the first time in his life, he understood.

  “Doesn’t matter what we know or don’t know,” Lucifeus said, “It only matters what we do. We’re going to that mountain and we’re taking every man, woman, and child able to shoot a bow or hold a pitchfork. We’re going to that mountain and we’re going to stay there until we fulfill our destiny or the Wyr floods clean. We’re going to guard that cave against anything the Wyr throws at us.”

  Mal realized this was the first time he’d ever truly seen his brother. It was as if the man had finally stepped out of the shadows. He was at last standing exactly where he was born to be, and Mal could commit wholly and willfully to being his second.

  IX

  THE BEGINNING AND THE END

  BEAM SAT ALONE IN THE BOW OF THE SHALLOW SKIFF.

  He faced the rear of the boat with his back to their destination. They drifted slowly down a narrow, lightless canal. An ancient oil lamp dangled and swayed from a thin pole arcing up over the bow behind him, though it barely emitted enough light to part the immediate darkness.

  This was an enclosed waterway following a channel through the deepest bowels of the mountain. It was yet another endless tunnel with no apparent start or end. However, unlike the Baeldonian tunnels beneath Na te’Yed, the one back in his mortal life, this one was rough, rocky, and irregular in design, and it made frequent turns and jags. Unlike the carefully constructed war tunnels, this one was completely natural in its creation.