Memory's Wake (12 page)

Roen grunted and stepped forward.

“They’re looking for me, aren’t they?” Eloryn whispered.

Roen clenched his fists, but didn’t move any farther. The wizard hunters lined up the three girls. Kneeling in the mud, the sisters squirmed in confusion and the men pointed, stared and argued. One man ran his hands over the youngest girl’s face, the one closest in age to Eloryn. He pushed her chin up, tilting her face for closer inspection and stroking his hand down her neck. A tangy taste filled Memory’s mouth, and she realized she’d bitten into her tongue. Her feet were backing her away into the corn, but her gaze remained fixed on the farm below.

A man ran through the field toward the girls, their dad, Memory guessed. The hunters drew swords, and the man stopped. He held the hoe he carried up in front of him. The yelling between them echoed in the small valley, their sharp words barking back and forth. The farmer lunged and Memory shrieked. The daughters did the same, covering the sound. Their father slumped. The hunter he attacked stepped backwards, revealing a bloodied sword. The farmer fell face down.

Memory ran. Terror pumped her feet and she bolted back through the crisp dried corn stalks, out of the field, into the forest.

“Mem.” Roen raced up behind her. He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop. Eloryn caught up.

Memory wrenched her arm away, stumbling against a tree. “He just stabbed that man.” Memory’s stomach cramped and she bent forward, sucking in deep breaths. “If they catch us, Lory, what’s going to happen? Are they going to kill us? What are they going to do to me?”

Eloryn winced, looking green. “I don’t know.”

Roen glanced over his shoulder, fists still clenched. “It will be all right. I’ll get you both to the Duke’s safely. It’ll just take longer.”

Eloryn whimpered, tugging at the ends of her hair. “They were looking for me. I have to... I could help the farmer, heal him if he is still...”

Roen grabbed her shoulders, turning her to him, away from the direction of the farm. “It’s not your fault. You didn’t make the farmer challenge the hunters, and you didn’t make the hunter use his sword. But yes, they’re after you, and they’ll catch you too if you go back there.”

“He could die,” said Eloryn.

“And so could we,” said Memory. “We need to get gone. Now.”

“If he’s still alive his family will see to him. Memory’s right, we have to go; we’re already slowed for having to walk,” said Roen.

Eloryn fumbled her words, starting three times before anything made sense. “I can get us some horses. I can ask with a behest and they will come to us here.”

“Come to us? Can’t you just abracadabra and make them appear? Instant horse?” Memory paced, chewing on her nails. She couldn’t stand the idea of waiting.

“Magic can only make requests from what is there, whether it’s horses, the mud on our clothes, or the energies of nature. The farmer left the back field open. I don’t think anyone will see the horses leave from there.”

Roen looked over his shoulder again and nodded. “Bring them, but only if you’re sure there’s no risk. The faster we can be gone, the better.”

Eloryn nodded and spoke another language into the surrounding woods, the lyrical words clipped between panted breaths. She stopped, and a short moment passed in silence. “They’re coming; it won’t be long.”

“So, it’s just pretty please, but in fancy magic words? How did they even hear you?” The whole concept seemed flimsy to Memory. Even having seen magic in use, the idea of relying on something she felt skeptical about when those hunters were so close left her stomach turning.

“The ancient words give the meaning, but it’s the spark of connection that lets us communicate our behests. The internal connection to magic that you feel, in here,” Eloryn put her hand to the centre of her chest. “The Pact has meant all people of Avall have the spark of connection within. Don’t you feel it?”

Memory turned the concept around in her mind, wondering if she could connect to magic in any way. She looked down at her chest, feeling the warmth within her she’d known these last few days. She thought it was just panic-induced heartburn.

Three sleek horses trotted through the thin woods, crunching leaves under their hooves. One horse walked up to each of them, sniffing them in a friendly manner. Memory patted the brown horse beside her with a stiff and timid hand. She wanted to get away from here as fast as possible, but felt tiny next to the huge beast. What was she supposed to do with it?

Eloryn whispered to the dappled horse that nuzzled her. The horse knelt before her, allowing her to climb upon its bare back. “You don’t need to know how to ride. They will look after us.” Eloryn still looked nervous when the horse rose to its feet.

Memory patted her horse on the nose again and mumbled, “You’re not going to do that for me are you? At least don’t let me fall off and add to my bruise collection, OK?”

The horse whinnied. Memory took it as an affirmative, if a mischievous one.

“Quickly now, and keep your voices down,” Roen said, and offered her a boost. She wanted to mount her horse gracefully, but in the end was happy just to drag herself on top of it. She clutched its mane with hesitation, afraid to either fall or annoy her ride.

Roen scanned the forest again and hopped up onto his pale tan steed with ease.
Well, he doesn’t have a dress to contend with. I miss my jeans. I could run faster in jeans.

The desire to run re-ignited the fire that burned in her chest since her first moments of memory when that demon dragon thing attacked them. It must be somewhere, nearby, if the wizard hunters are here. Her skin crawled as vivid flashes of the beast pulsed in her mind. She worried they would need something a lot faster than horses.

“So, you can’t just want something and say, “bring me something to ride” unless you know… the… magic…?” Memory’s chest flared hot like coals under bellows. Her mouth tasted of blood and the air around her bent in a way that made her seasick. She blinked, trying to shake the sense of vertigo that hit her, as though being up on the horse were suddenly higher than she could bear.

Eloryn gaped, her face twisted in confusion.

A hideous cry broke through the forest.

Darkness gathered around them. Living patches of ebony formed within snaking mist. A sucking wind and swirls of shadows met in a ball of heaving black.

The noise. The mist. The wind. Memory felt sick.

Something moved within the solid shadows, a shape, folding and emerging.

The huge form writhed and twisted. A jungle of powerful limbs lashed and tangled with smoky vines. Scales like black jewels sparkled dangerously on the flicking tail. With a final, louder cry, it tore from the tormenting mist, pushing itself through, still caught half way within.

It roared again. Angry. Hungry.

The dragon.

Chapter Ten

The dragon thrashed, trying to free itself. It screamed, vicious and guttural like murder and grief combined, clawing at the grey cobwebs of smoke that held it back like chains.

“No.” Memory shuddered. The impossible creature matched her, shaking against the grip of the malformed Veil door. The very same torment she had experienced, the first horrors of her memory, the winds she thought would tear her apart. The magical gale gushed outwards, spinning leaves and dirt into the air. A high pitched hum filled Memory’s ears and her eyes watered.

Closest to the beast, Eloryn cried out. Her horse wheeled on the spot. Its eyes rolled and froth dripped from its mouth.

Eloryn hugged it around the neck, and it steadied, pawing at the ground. She faced the dragon. 

“Cuirdhùnadh fanhl,” she called and waited, as though expecting something. The dragon’s head swung to her words, flesh sliding back from its mouth. It hissed and twisted toward her in confused wrath.

“Princess, tell me you can make it leave.” Roen grunted, pulling his skittish horse toward Eloryn by handfuls of mane. It whinnied and turned him back away.

“Fanhl,” Eloryn cried again, her voice cracking.

“Lory, get away from it,” Memory begged. Empty, wrung out, she sagged over her horse’s neck. She couldn’t think. Her mind had become chaos and body felt burnt out and charred.

Eloryn shot a look at Memory. Terrified, angry confusion twisted her lips back from her teeth. “You did this. How did you do this? How can I make it go?”

I did...?
Memory gaped at the creature, the immense, inconceivable mass of muscle, talon and black diamond scales. Her thoughts split and twirled like a kaleidoscope.
Magic can only make requests from what is there.
She only wanted to run, a faster way to run.
Bring me something to ride.
Did saying the words make the request? A request that brought her the very thing she wanted to run from?
It’s impossible, impossible...

The dragon contorted, as though in pain. An armored claw burst free of the Veil. Eloryn’s horse bucked in panic, throwing her off its bare back. She hit the ground hard and the dragon’s talons lashed out, stripping skin from the horse’s neck.

The horse cried a horrific scream, sounding too human, the scream of a child or woman more than that of a beast. Eloryn matched it. The horse crumpled and fell a fraction away from crushing Eloryn beneath its weight.

“Eloryn!” Roen struggled on his wild horse, close to being thrown off himself.

Memory’s horse remained eerily still beneath her. She was just as petrified, fixated on the stream of blood running from the fallen animal’s torn neck, and its motionless, turned back eyes. Roen yelled at her, trying to tell her something. It came through her ringing ears as crackling static. The dragon flailed, crying through an army of sharp teeth. Its ruby red claws flashed as it slashed away its misty bonds.

Roen’s voice broke through. “Memory, ride, go!”

Memory squeezed her eyes closed. She was going to be ripped apart by this creature that had come for her, called by her. A demon she couldn’t control. She opened her eyes and the nightmarish dragon was still there, glaring with thin slit cat eyes, judging her. It pushed another claw free of the Veil, its bonds dispersing into vapor.

Roen kicked his horse into movement. He tugged it by the mane to where Eloryn wobbled on her feet and scooped her up. Cradling her in his lap, he rode the horse back toward Memory.

“Hya!” he hollered, slapping her horse on the rump, startling it into movement. It jerked into a gallop and he herded it roughly ahead of him. Memory held on finger-achingly tight and they rode hard.

The dragon bellowed behind them. The sound of it thrashing and tearing itself free chased them through the forest.

Held in Roen’s arms, her frightened face splattered with the horse’s blood, Eloryn stared at Memory. Memory turned away, bent down close to her horse’s neck and begged it to run faster.

Roen led them on a zigzagging chase across the landscape, across rocky crests and through sparse copses, out into untended fields, across roadways and back into forests again. Trees swam in Memory’s eyes as they sped through them. On the verge of vomiting or passing out, she breathed deeply to avoid either.

Time blurred and night turned the world blue-grey. At times they stopped, stilled the horses and hid in the dark from the beating of vast wings in the sky above. Everyone kept utterly silent, as though a single word could bring the dragon to them. From their shared horse, Roen and Eloryn peered at Memory in a way that turned her stomach. The dragon could have torn them all open like that horse and they thought she summoned it. Her head and heart both pounded with painful ferocity.
How could I do that? Who am I?