The Burden of Memory

by Welcome Cole

  With that, she crawled off through the deep grass, keeping well below the grainy heads. She quickly recovered the spyglass she’d knocked from his hand when she forced him down. As Graen crept up beside her, she sat back on her ankles handed it to him. “Ye master this better than me. Take yeself a wee peek, but mind keep head low, hear me?”

  Graen accepted the spyglass with a nod and wink. “I done this before, me love. I’d be a professional, ye know. Stealth’d be me creed and—”

  “Save it for the chambermaids, Grae!”

  Her brother chuckled softly as he maneuvered up to his knees. “Ye’ll make some luckless fellow’s life pure misery one day, Friss. A holiday I anticipate with gusto.”

  Friss stifled a nervous laugh. In the darkest of times, when all looked hopeless, he could file away the jags of worry with a single well-placed word, and she loved him dearly for it.

  Graen lifted himself up until just his eyes and the brass scope crested the surface of the grass. He cupped the end against the sun to avoid a telltale flare. Friss rose to her knees behind him, leaning into his back with arms around his chest as she peered over his shoulder.

  She watched the oily column snaking its way through the sky in a direct path toward them. The sight gave her a wave of revulsion that startled her. It was the same visceral fear she felt when crossing a serpent’s path unexpectedly. The dark stream flew low over the trees now, just a mile out, a writhing tube of what were clearly solid objects

  “Them ain’t no birds, love,” Graen whispered beside her, “More like bats as ye first observed. Flying about in swimming motion, they be. Stroking they way through air a wee closer than flying.”

  “Bats?”

  The spyglass drifted down from Graen’s eye. “Listen… what sound, that? Do ye hear?”

  Friss listened, her eyes locked with his. At first, she found nothing but the gentle whisper of the surrounding grass teased by the wind. Then she heard it. It was an almost visceral swishing noise, like the distant sound of a thousand sheets snapping at the air.

  As she turned her gaze tentatively toward the source, the smoky column abruptly turned. It snaked northward and away from them. Before she could comment, the dark smear twisted down toward the distant hills, charging earthward like a falling spear. It was heading straight at the Baeldonian army.

  Only the rear end of the infantry line was visible now, the rest already having passed behind that next long hill just beyond the one they now occupied. The last of the army was just now marching out of sight beyond backside of it, like the tail of a tired beast following the body into a cave.

  The head of the army was too far into the hollow. They’d never see the swarm coming at them in time. She wondered what the front line of marchers would think when that twisting cloud descended on them. She wondered how the unnatural sound of so many godless wings would fill them. Would they recover their shock in time to resist? Could they possibly fight such an intangible foe attacking from the last place conceivable to normal men?

  The stream of darkness quickly descended into the silence beyond the crest of that hill. The creatures poured into the hollow until there was nothing left of them. She held her breath and waited. Then she heard the screams.

  The sounds were faint at first, a few startled screeches that might’ve been the cries from a festival drifting up from a nearby village. They sounded playful across the distance separating them. But they quickly swelled in volume and numbers until the sound seem to come from the heavens themselves. The trailing end of the army stopped just outside the hollow, frozen in the trampled grass as the soldiers stared into the divide of the hills before them.

  She felt Graen’s muscle tense beneath her arms. “Me gods! A bloody nightmare, ain’t it?”

  The few rear soldiers still visible before the edge of the hill suddenly turned and fled, retreating so desperately, they knocked each other down, trampling over those unfortunate enough to have seen the attack too late. Horses raced off into the surrounding hills, short of riders.

  The dark swarm streamed out from beyond the hill, flying just yards above the desperately fleeing soldiers. In the matter of a few terrible heartbeats, it’d buried them in a black, frothing layer, consuming them before a chorus of screams more horrifying than anything she’d ever heard.

  Graen stood up for a better look. She heard him release a gasp that sounded like the promise of death.

  “What?” she demanded, grabbing the back of his arm, “What do ye see? Tell me!”

  “Be still,” he urged her as he watched, “Stay down!”

  “What do ye see? Damn me, Graen Aehod Cole, best ye say something!”

  “Not sure. It… it…”

  “It what? Ye look scared dear to death! Tell me true, what see ye?”

  “I don’t know. It’d be like them stories, I reckon.”

  “Stories?”

  “Them stories told us as children. Stories about night beasts, about dark biters.”

  Her heart was suddenly thumping so hard it nearly knocked the wind from her. “Prodyths? Surely, ye ain’t saying they be prodyths?”

  “I don’t know!”

  “No! Impossible! Them be scary stories only. Fantastic stories short of bloody truth. They ain’t real!”

  She buried her face into his shoulder, but she couldn’t escape the horrible screams echoing up from the distant hollow. All she could do was lock her arms tightly around him and bury her face in his chest. And as she did, she prayed this was just a dark dream that a smell of fresh coffee might mercifully rouse her from.

  An eternity later, she heard Graen whisper, “They be leaving.”

  He attempted to pull free of her, moving to stand up, but Friss dragged him back down. “What the hell be ye doing?”

  Graen grabbed her wrists and twisted them away. “Stop it, Friss,” he said, turning back toward her, “They’d be leaving now. Needs be I go down yonder. Need to know the truth for meself, do I not?”

  “What?”

  “They be heading out now, fleeing back along way bloody delivered. Best I go down for a peek.”

  “Are ye crazy? Ye can’t do that.”

  “Yea, and I can’t do less, neither. Might be some yet draw breath. Might be they need me help.”

  “No! No, ye can’t be—”

  Graen grabbed her arms and shook her so hard she felt her neck crick. “Stop this! Get a grip on, love! Ye’d better than this! Hold yeself together now, hear? For the love of hope, they need help!”

  His strong hands felt like anchors, but even his strength wasn’t enough to liberate her from her fear. And yet she recognized his look. Argument would be futile no matter how desperately she wanted him to stay.

  “All right,” she said, “All right now. But I’d be going down with ye.”

  “Nay! Ye stay put! Keep ye head low. Ye don’t go for horses, and ye don’t follow me, hear?”

  “Ye mustn’t go alone.”

  “Friss, ye lead this blessed Whisper. If them sky devils be as we think, need be one of us get word of yon horror to our blessed Whisper. So ye stay right here. Stay here and stay put. And ye watch. Hear me? Ye see trouble stalking me, ye swing ye mindblades me way and I’ll come a running. Gods willing, I’ll return sooner than ye know.”

  Friss looked at the black cloud reforming above the hills over the castle southeast of them. The darkness swirled over the distant horizon like the birth of a storm, slowly spinning and growing steadily more dense and tangible as thousands of prodes poured back up into it. It was as terrifying a sight as she’d ever seen. When the foul flock eventually reformed, it began moving away toward the southwest.

  Friss looked at her brother. He was right, as always. They couldn’t both enter harm’s way, not until they communicated what they’d seen to Chance. The appearance of the prodes in timing with the Vaemysh uprising was too much coincidence. It meant there were even darker factors at work than they’d feared.

  “Go,” she said, squeezing his arm,
“Be waiting right here when ye return, won’t I? Maybe I’ll take meself a nice picnic and bloody nap.”

  Graen laughed. Then he pulled her in and kissed her full on the lips.

  A moment later he was gone, and she’d never felt more alone in her life.

  XVII

  THE END OF THE BEGINNING

  BEAM FOLLOWED PRAVE UP A PECULIAR SET OF STONE STEPS THAT WOVE ITS WAY UP THE SHOULDER OF THE MOUNTAIN.

  The winding rock steps were smooth and glossy, short but deep, and were the color and hue of raw beef. And they looked perfectly unnatural against the loamy forest floor. They switch-backed up the mountainside through the boulders and towering redwoods like a stream of molten rock that had once coursed its way down the slope, a stream that had somehow cooled into the form of steps. It was the obvious work of a Water Caeyl Mage. He found the first hundred steps most interesting.

  The first hundred.

  By the thousandth step, and nowhere near halfway up the mountain, he wondered why Prave hadn’t simply injected them into the memory of this timescape up at the summit, thus sparing them the tedium of the climb. However, it was a question not worthy of the energy required to ask it, because the answer, if ever found, would lead only to another bout of riddles and exasperation.

  Hours later, they at long last found the terminal end of the stairs. The steps themselves simply fizzled into nothing, fading into the needle-strewn forest humus without drama or fanfare like the remnants of an old snow melting into the dirt under a midday sun.

  The cliff face stood a few hundred feet further ahead just beyond a dense thicket of overripe beggarberries. It towered above the trees like a frozen waterfall, the reddish marble becoming increasingly striated and nervous as it neared the top. The tiny silhouettes of scraggly trees lined the peak like drying bones against the blue sky high above them.

  Beam followed Prave through a nearly imperceptible break in a copse of dense shrubs. The rock here at the base of the wall was, in contrast to the striations at the top, as smooth as still water, polished to a silky sheen much like the steps. In the midst of this aberrant wall rose the square seam of what appeared to be a door that was framed with rich images of deities and angels and elaborate runes. It was large enough and wide enough for a pair Baeldons to march through shoulder to shoulder. Prave placed his open hand against the dark red stone in the middle of the apparent entrance.

  “What is this?” Beam asked as he watched.

  “This is an alchemist’s workshop,” Prave said quietly, “A laboratory, if you will.” He didn’t look at Beam, but kept his attention on the queer door. He seemed tense and on edge. His mood was fading in tandem with his deteriorating visage.

  “A laboratory? Whose laboratory? What kind of laboratory? A few details would be helpful, if it’s not too much trouble.”

  The wall shimmered around Prave’s hand. The rock grew nearly translucent. The surface rippled away from his touch like rings of pond water fleeing a dipped finger. For an instant, Beam thought he could see through it. Then Prave’s arm passed into the stone. Before passing further in, he looked back at Beam and offered him his other hand.

  Beam considered the extended hand. Prave’s flesh was nearly transparent now. He saw the vague suggestions of veins and bones beneath it. The man’s face wasn’t faring much better. “Prave, what the devil is this? What’s happening to you?”

  “Take my hand.”

  “Prave, tell me. Please. What’s going on? What’s happening to you? Why are you—”

  “We haven’t much time, Be’ahm. Take my hand.”

  “Haven’t much time? Seriously? We’re in the bloody caeylsphere, for gods’ sakes. There is no stinking time here.”

  “Don’t be deceived by the illusion of timelessness. Time is indeed failing us, and the minutes left are too precious and too few to waste with argument. So please, Be’ahm. I implore you. Take my hand.”

  Beam suddenly had his fill. He stepped back a pace and crossed his arms. “No. I’ve followed you like a faithful dog these past decades. I’ve gone places with you I wouldn’t wish on a Pendt. I’ve seen things I’ll never get out of my head no matter how much bumbo I drink. But this is the end of it. I won’t follow you any further, I swear I won’t. Not until you tell me what the hell is happening!”

  Prave studied him for a several moments. His darkening eyes were focused and determined. “You waste your precious energy worrying for me, for my health. You needn’t fret over me, you see? I’m your memory. I’m no more than the remnant of lost thoughts. You’ll be returned to your own timescape soon enough. When you do, you’ll remember everything, I promise it. Our time here is quickly running out. You need to remember the events unfolding within this fortress before it’s too late.”

  “Too late? Too late for what?”

  “No more questions, Be’ahm. No more childish stubbornness. You need to find the conviction to trust me. That’s all I’ve ever asked of you. Now, please… take my hand.”

  Despite the sallow face and sinking eyes, an indomitable strength still simmered in that gaze. And in that moment, Beam understood that resistance was an act of futility, an illusion, a study in self-indulgence and nothing more. The truth was that he did trust the man. He trusted him absolutely and unequivocally. Fighting Prave only brought shame down on his own house. The sorry truth was he wasn’t adrift in this dream at all; he was actually engaged in it, even committed to it.

  So instead of continuing his useless defiance, he abandoned his fight and reached for that proffered hand. Together they passed through the stone.

  The room within was enormous, easily twice the size of the grand chamber of the crystal cave where he’d found the Caeyllth Blade. Like the first cave, the surface of this floor was slick and polished, and as deep as black ice. A liquid blue light radiated from that strange matrix, forming a pool of light beneath them that penetrated the darkness with dreamlike efficiency.

  The towering walls, however, were far more primitive. They were composed of a thick, meaty red rock much like the steps outside, and were webbed with dark, irregular veins. As the walls swelled up into the great domed ceiling far above him, he wondered if this were the view he’d see while standing inside the stomach of a great beast. It was not a comforting thought.

  Despite the enormity of the room, he was surprised to find it essentially vacant. He studied the darkness flowing off into the distance and found nothing but more shadow. There were no chairs or tables, no people, no tools. The only break in the vast emptiness was a large fireplace glowing a few hundred yards deeper in against the towering rear wall.

  As Prave led him deeper into the room, Beam realized he was still holding the man’s hand and clumsily pulled free. At first pass, the fireplace appeared small and nondescript, though he soon learned that this was a trick of distance. As they moved closer, he realized the fireplace was actually much larger than he’d originally surmised. It stood several yards in height and was equally wide, with a gaping mouth of fire broad enough to drive a cart through. The tall flames raging in that cavernous hearth were eerily green, much like the torches in Chance’s sanctuary. Metal tools hanged from the heavy mantle above it, divided into congested though orderly clusters on fat metal hooks. There were hammers and tongs, pokers and pliers, bellows and shovels. It seemed an odd place for a blacksmithing shop. He wondered why anyone here would even need such devices in a cave obviously created by a Water Caeyl Mage.

  Beam felt Prave’s hand on his shoulder and stopped. They stood fifty paces back from the hearth yet. He looked back at the man, but Prave only nodded toward the scene before them. It was apparently time for the lesson to begin.

  Three heavy stone-slab tables formed a half-circle before the forge, each grown from the same meaty red stone as the walls. Sooty oil lamps burned from a dozen dark metal lampposts standing at attention around the workspace. Several glass tubes and vials crouched on small burners, each tube bubbling excitedly with eerily glowing fluids of various colors
. The air tasted of an odd mixture of burned lavender and tar. A collection of bowls and pitchers crowded the largest table set directly before the fire. A metal plate of bread and half-eaten food moldered in one corner.

  Piled haphazardly on the two smaller flanking tables sat piles of chains and shackles of varying sizes. A dozen or so tall iron poles grew up from the black floor just on either side of the fireplace. One or two substantial cages hung from the arms of each pole, some large enough for a man, others small enough for a shimlin. The doors of each cage were secured quite enthusiastically with more chains and heavy locks, as if the cages contained dangerous criminals for whom no amount of security could ever be enough.

  The silhouette of a large man crossed before the blazing forge. He walked up to one of the middling cages hanging just at the right of the flanking table set nearest the furnace. He was as large as a Baeldon. And though the detail of his face was lost to the shadows, a maze of black braids poured down over his broad shoulders, shimmering eerily in the light of the roaring green flames.

  The man considered the cage for a moment. He tapped on the metal bar. He checked one of the three locks securing it, then hunched lower and peered into it. As he studied the contents of the cage, he reached over to the flanking table and lifted a slender metallic tube tipped with what appeared to be a long needle. He lifted the device up to the bars, but then paused. He stood that way for some time with the tube leveled strangely between the narrowly spaced bars. Beam was certain he heard the man softly muttering, though he couldn’t make out the details of the sound. Then the man very carefully reached into the cage and seemed to seize something inside. He then shoved the needled tip through the bars before quickly pushing on the tube’s plunger.

  He no sooner withdrew the needle before an iridescent yellow fluid seeped out from between the bars and dribbled over the edges of the cage. It pattered to the dark floor, plinking hollowly like water dripping in the dark recesses of a cave. The man set the device back on the table, then bent low and resumed his study of the cage’s content.