The Burden of Memory

by Welcome Cole

  Beam’s confidence wavered with that. He felt small and weak, like he was losing substance, like he was more ethereal than the dead man looking back at him from the other side of the caeyl.

  “Stay with me, Be’ahm. I know the dark acts of your life are not your fault. They’re mine. You’ve lived your life exactly as I’ve planned for you to.”

  “No,” Beam said, slowly shaking his head, “No, that’s not true.”

  “It is absolutely the truth. You’ve never had the gift of free will.”

  “I’ve lived a bad life. I know that. I don’t need you to point it out. But I’ve made my own choices. I’m not… I’m not afra—”

  “You are afraid. You’re afraid right now, right here in this very moment.”

  The words hit like a body-blow. Beam pressed a hand against the crystal to steady himself.

  “You’re more afraid than you’ve ever been in your life. But that fear is an illusion, a false drama played out in your mind to protect you. You are right now in this moment exactly what you were bred to be.”

  Beam was ashamed to realize he was trembling. “No, I can’t believe that,” he whispered into the glass, “You’re saying I’m no better than an ox, bred to be larger or fatter or stronger, but not to be myself. I can’t accept that. I won’t accept it.”

  He pressed his brow against the crystal. The chill, unforgiving surface of the caeyl perfectly matched his pain. There was nowhere to run now, no one to kill or rob, no place to hide. Prave was right. The truth was everywhere, screaming at him from both inside and outside his head, and all he could do was stand there and bleed.

  “Do you remember our trips along the Breos’jiehr River, Be’ahm? Our trips through the Endless Mountains?”

  Beam couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even look up.

  “Do you remember our communion with your ghosts watching you from along that dark and lonely shore? I told you then you couldn’t ask them for forgiveness because they’d already forgiven you. I told you then they only wanted you to forgive yourself.”

  Beam dragged his arm across his eyes. He felt exhausted. So much truth wrapped in so much denial. Now it was unraveling before him, and all he wanted to was to lie down on the floor.

  “Your life to this point has been defined for you, Be’ahm, not by you. It’s now time to move into your own right. You must forgive yourself for what you had no control over, then push your fears aside and step onto the path that awaits.”

  It was the truth, the perfect truth. There was no more escaping it. The time for running away was long past. Prave saw him more clearly than any one else in his life ever had. Prave saw him more clearly than he saw himself. Prave created him.

  “You’ve lived your life precisely as you should have. You needed to embrace your darkness. The new memories I’ve passed on to you come of hope. They are the holy twins to the dark fears that have defined your life for too long.”

  Beam pushed himself back from the glass. “That’s supposed to help me?”

  “Ay’a, Be’ahm, that’s exactly what it’s supposed to do. Prave cannot destroy Goelvar. Prave needs Paex Gael’vra’s help to destroy Goelvar. Use your memories, Be’ahm. Learn from my failures. Rally your darkness toward victory. Save the world and you will save yourself.”

  Beam slapped the crystal wall. “You’ve got the wrong man!”

  “I have exactly the right man.”

  “I’m not strong enough!”

  “You’re not alone. You have her. And when the time comes, she will be your strength. She will be the shield to your sword.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “I’ve long endured your skepticism and stubbornness. Despite your lack of faith, you must trust that I have given you everything you need. She will save you. If you can’t believe me now, after all these years, well… I’ve failed my charge and the world with it.”

  “Who are you talking about? Who will save me?”

  “I’m leaving now, Be’ahm.”

  “No! Prave, please… I’m not ready. I need more time.”

  “There is no more time. You have everything you need. You must trust me now. You must finally learn to trust yourself. Most importantly, you must trust her.”

  “Don’t you leave me!” Beam pounded the crystal hard enough to bloody it. “Don’t you leave me again, Prave!”

  “Use your memory of me as a shield against the darkness,” Prave said as he backed away into the growing haze of the God Caeyl, “You will be victorious. I trust you. You need only to have faith.”

  “No!” Beam yelled as he beat his fist against the crystal, “Don’t you dare go! Don’t you leave me here alone!”

  But his pleads went unheard. Prave was already gone and the crystal had clouded over again.

  “You bastard! I hate you! Do you hear me? I hate you!”

  A warm hand gripped his shoulder. A soft, mortal voice whispered into his ear, “It’s going to be all right.”

  Beam twisted around toward the voice, seizing the shirt of the intruder. But Koonta didn’t back away. Instead, she put her hands over his fists and gently pulled him into her.

  He tried to resist her. He tried to pull away, to recoil back into the cold memory of Prave. But the soothing energy of her touch vanquished the darkness. He fell willingly into her. He held her as tightly as if she were his lifeline to the world and he’d fall into the abyss without her. Her touch crumbled the stone walls of restraint, and every traitorous fear he’d locked away over the length of his miserable life fled into the world on a storm of gut wrenching sobs.

  “It’s all right, Beam,” she whispered as she caressed his head, “You can let it go now. Give me your pain. You’re safe with me.”

  XXXI

  THE SCOUTS

  TREE DRUMMED A CODE INTO THE COLD BOULDER SHIELDING HER.

  Twelve archers instantly rose from the forest floor behind the rock line on either side of her and released their arrows as one. Seven of the eight enemy riders were knocked clean off their horses on impact. The eighth rider was thrown back in his saddle, but still clung tenaciously, though inelegantly to his seat.

  The riderless horses danced frenziedly over the fallen warriors. One of the animals abruptly bolted off into the forest with three others following in short order.

  Tree looked over at Freer, who stood off to her left at the far end of the line of archers. His green eyes sparkled like secret stars against the dusky mantle of his bronze skin and the pre-dawn forest. Anyone who didn’t know he was there could easily walk straight past him without so much as a second look. She couldn’t even hear the taer-cael of his heartbeat. He blended as naturally into the forest as a leaf on a tree.

  He flashed her a signal that he was moving forward. Before she could even respond, he was up over the boulder line and creeping toward the dead. Not one to be the second into combat, she flew after him.

  The four remaining horses huddled nervously at the perimeter of the dead, snorting and pawing the dirt in displeasure. Tree walked up to the horse bearing the only Vaemyn still saddle bound. The beast snuffled and nuzzled her chest as she took the abandoned rein and stroked its cheek. The beast had her affection, but her attention was devoted to the warrior sprawled across its withers. He hung from the saddle with his braids dusting the road, his feet still locked stubbornly in the leather stirrups.

  The dead Vaemyn wore two arrows. One rose up from the leather in the middle of his chest above a swelling ring of blood. The other stuck out from his right eye. She edged around the horse and pulled loose the skullish badge attached to the corpse’s chest. This one was a Grue’fadeer in the Vaemysh army. It was a new rank only recently created by Prae. It meant this one was a member of his personal security force, not as offensively dressed as the skull guard, but much more lethal.

  “Tree!” Freer said, “Take yeself a peek at this, love.”

  Tree took the bridle and led the horse and corpse toward Freer, who knelt before one of the fallen dead
on the other side of the road. He was doing something with the dead man’s oteuryn. There was a sharp snap, then Freer stood up with his hand held out toward her.

  He held a black amulet carved in the image of a demonic skull. The yellow glow it its eyes was unmistakable. They were Fire Caeyls. This was Prae’s sign. She felt a cold rush of apprehension as the realization seized her.

  “Hacks,” she said, looking at him.

  The truth arrived too late. The warrior hanging from the horse twisted forward and threw his arm around her neck. He reeled her back with less effort than seemed reasonable considering he was technically dead. He pressed his cold cheek into hers as he choked the wind from her. The arrow shaft sticking out from his eye danced alongside her face.

  He had her neck locked too tightly to resist. She could already see blood spots dancing before her eyes. She pounded her head back against his face, crushing his nose, but his grip didn’t waver. She slammed her head back harder and felt another crunch of flesh against her skull, but again got no reaction. His arm was an iron band around her neck.

  As she struggled, she saw the other hacks slowly rise to their feet like zombies climbing from a mass grave. Arrows flew and swords sliced manically around her, but there was nothing she could do. She couldn’t break his grip and couldn’t pull him from his horse. She was going down.

  Before she lost consciousness, something hot sprayed her face and the arm’s grip eased. In the same instance, something hard and heavy bounced against her shoulder and rolled off into the dirt below. Her knees buckled. She fell to the dirt. Goezh ran past her with a salute from her bloodied sword. “You’re welcome!” she yelled as she dove into the combat.

  As Tree struggled for air, she spied the severed head of the hack. It stared up at her from the dirt, its mouth still struggling to speak despite having no body beneath to give it wind.

  Tree gave it a furious kick, then turned to join the fray.

  A Vaemyn with an arrow through his neck was on her before she could take a step. The hack swept the tip of his sword about so closely that she felt the metal scrape the steel woven into her leather shirt. The sword came again, but this time Tree parried it and drove her blade deep into the warrior’s gut.

  Instead of falling, he grabbed Tree’s wrist where she held the hilt. As they struggled for the sword still buried in the hack’s stomach, three arrows pelted his chest. He staggered back under the force of the assault, pulling free of Tree’s blade with the motion. Still, he didn’t fall. In the matter of a mortal breath he was moving for Tree again. But this time Tree was ready. With one efficient blow she sliced cleanly through the hack’s neck, sending his head flipping off into the brush.

  “Their heads!” Tree yelled, wheeling toward the others, “Take their heads!”

  Even as she issued the command, she threw herself back into the murder. The body of the nearest hack staggered back from her as its head hit the dirt with a sickening thud.

  “Save me one!” she called over the fracas, “We take one alive!”

  “Alive?” Freer called back, laughing, “I fear ye’d be a quick kiss too late, love!”

  When the forest finally settled back into quiet, all the fouled warriors were headless except one. Three of her warriors had the survivor down on its knees, its arms bound behind it as they efficiently tied its legs at the knees and ankles.

  A moment later, they dragged it upright. The hack’s face was hollow and drawn, his lips dried and cracked. He was dirty to the point of sin, his hair greasy and disheveled. A tiny yellow skull dangled from its right oteuryn. But it was the Vaemyn’s eyes that most worried Tree. The irises were dull and cloudy. These eyes lacked free will. This wasn’t even a true hack. This was a vessel, some kind of zombie, a possessed corpse that housed the soul of a demon.

  She looked at the four arrows stuck into its shoulder, chest and thigh. The bastard didn’t even seem aware of them.

  “What’s your name, boy?” she asked.

  The hack bristled. Its lifeless eyes probed the space before it like it was blind, like it was relying on another sense in its attempt to find her.

  “I asked your name! If you want to keep your head you’ll think hard about answering me.”

  She expected the words to have no effect and was rewarded for it. The hack or zombie or whatever it was made no attempt to speak. It looked as sick and foul as anything she’d ever seen in her life. It took all her willpower to resist taking its head right then and there. Instead she reached out and jerked Prae’s token free from its oteuryn.

  The act of removing the token finally educed a response. The creature recoiled, shuddering violently. It spit out a guttural complaint as it thrashed against its restrainers.

  The response gave Tree a good deal of satisfaction.

  She considered the miserable amulet for a moment, then tossed it to Goezh, who tucked it into a pocket as quickly as if afraid it might pass her an infection.

  Freer materialized beside Tree, nearly startling her out of her skin.

  “Goddamn you, Freer! You might throw me a grunt or a cough before sneaking up like that. I didn’t even hear your taer-cael.” The son of a bitch could be as irritating as a boot burr.

  “Be that truth?” he said, grinning.

  “Ay’a, that’s right. You might find your own head at your feet if you’re not careful.” She half meant it.

  “Pursue such flatter til night ends day, ye can. Reckon I’ll take that under advisement, short of second bloody thought. I surely will, me flower.” He threw her a wink as he walked on.

  Again she struggled against her urges. Nothing would have given her greater satisfaction in that moment than to knock a few of his teeth out, but there were bigger problems at hand than the Watcher’s impertinence. Besides, though she’d never in a thousand epochs admit it to another living soul, she greatly admired him. For a non-Vaemyn, he was as skilled at tracking and murder as the best of her own breed. And his psychic skills perfectly complimented the taer-cael of her warriors.

  “Seems yon hack’d be bearing ye affection most true,” Freer said, “Me thinks said fool be wanting nary more from ye sweet soul than loving kiss and quick cuddle, short of rolling poke, of course.”

  “Don’t make me slap the shit out of ye before yon Whisper, love,” she growled back.

  “What inclinations might ye entertain regarding such a pitiful soul?” he asked, nodding toward the surviving hack.

  “Take him back to camp,” she said as she watched her warriors pasting mud on the hack’s oteuryns, “Keep him bound and blind. And try not to kill him.”

  “Yea, a reasonable request. And how about ye, dear Tree? What further mischief be ye considering short of calling it good day’s bloody endeavor?”

  “I’m sending half our company south. I’m guessing we’re close to the main army now. Goezh and I and a few others will continue east scouting for more patrols.”

  “By ye will, me love,” Freer said with a sarcastic salute, “I’d bet me virginity them brothers Captain’ll be wanting to see yon hack first hand, jh’ven? Sure to truth, pretty boy lusts for a bloody air dance, ending debt merrily paid by yon hack.”

  Tree didn’t share his humor. She looked at the bound and blinded corpse presented before her. “I think we’ve moved well beyond hacks. Whatever this thing is, it doesn’t have a heartbeat.”

  “And these?” he asked, waving his sword at the bodies and heads of the remaining hacks.

  Tree looked down at the nearest head gaping up at her from the dirt. The eyes had glazed over and it’d finally gone still. Whatever demonic soul had contained it just a few minutes earlier had apparently decided to head for greener pastures.

  “We can’t burn them,” she said.

  “Nay,” he said as he signaled two of his Whisper, “Reckon needs be we bury them, else risk sorry reek upon yon woods like fog of bloody death.”

  ∞

  Mawby reined the Watcher’s horse to a dancing halt. He was on the ground
before it came to a complete stop.

  For all his complaints about the half-breed’s miserable countenance, he had to admit the man had been right about the cave. The statement that ‘a little sleep goes a long way in this place’ hadn’t impressed him a bit at the time, but the man had grossly understated the case. He woke up that morning to find Maeryc’s knife wound practically healed. The pus and inflammation were completely gone, and wound had actually sealed itself during his sleep. And his face was damned near good as new, with only a little red and no hint of blisters or scars.

  In fact, he’d felt so good when he woke up that he’d made the trail hours before dawn. It’d been so long since he could walk the world without the grievances of his wounds harassing every step, it almost felt unnatural to be missing them. He felt like he could move a mountain on a whim. This newfound liberation made him fully appreciate just how sick he’d actually been.

  He lowered his face to the dirt and listened for a bit. As with each of his other surveillances over the past several miles, he sensed no taer-cael. In fact, he was beginning to think it was altogether too quiet hereabouts. There’d been no deer, no foxes, no rabbits, no shimlins, not even a squirrel. It was like everything living on the side of this small mountain had recently and inexplicably abandoned it.

  He rolled back onto his heels and switched to an optical inspection of the surroundings. The final quarter of the trip down the mountain had followed a narrow ledge barely a dozen feet wide that eventually degraded to little more than a single file footpath for a few miles along the bottom. The decline was gradual at first, but quickly dropped several hundred feet over the final half mile.