The Fog of Forgetting (19 page)

In the adjoining room, candles had been lit, and a Metrian woman knelt by the low table, which had been set with fruit and a pitcher of water. Her face was hidden by several folds of a scarf she had wrapped around her head. Was this Rysta, come to visit? The boys hung back, not sure what to do.

“I don't have cooties, you know,” the woman said in Evelyn's voice. She stood up and peeled off the scarf. Evelyn's face glowed like new bronze fresh from its scrubbing. Her hair was braided with small seed pearls matching a diadem on her forehead.

“It feels good to be clean, doesn't it?”

“Wow!” said Chase, kneeling across from her. “You look great.”

“Like a printheth,” Teddy agreed.

Evelyn's color deepened. “You don't look so shabby yourselves, and we all probably smell a whole lot better.” She suddenly felt shy in front of them.

“Look at this,” Knox said, twirling around in his tunic. “Do you think we'll have to dress like this from now on?”

“I like it better than that poncho,” Evelyn admitted. She stood up to show off her new lavender-colored silk pants and a matching shirt embroidered in white. Her feet were laced into thin sandals.

“What are we supposed to do now, I wonder?” asked Knox, his eyes roaming around the cushioned room. He threw himself down on one of the mattresses and yawned. “I guess we hang out here until someone comes to get us.”

“Here we are again, waiting,” said Evelyn, catching his yawn.

Teddy popped a strawberry in his mouth and yawned, too.

“So far, Metria is pretty plush, though,” Knox countered. “No fire-spouting Exorians, lots of food, hot baths.” He thumped his fist into a cushion and and closed his eyes.

Chase lowered himself down on a mattress and stared at the flickering shadows cast by the candles set into the wall. His gaze lingered on the yellow tips that burned brightly and added light and comfort to the cavern; yet, at the same time, he knew he could set the whole room on fire with the swipe of his hand. The only difference between the candle flames in Metria and the fire they had escaped in Melor was that here it was contained. Chase lay back, sleepy, wondering how to keep it that way.

L
ouis and Frankie crossed the Broomwash at dusk. The change in their surroundings was immediate, as if they had crossed an invisible line that separated a cool spring evening and a dry summer day. Heat radiated up from the bare ground, which was cracked and devoid of trees or grass as far as they could see. Frankie gazed across the dust-colored plain.

“Is this the desert?” she asked

Louis made a funny face. “It's becoming one. There used to be watering holes and fields here once, but they've all dried up.” He looked around and wiped the sweat off his face with a piece of cloth. “It's always been hot, but it has not always been barren. Your Keeper friends did this.”

“Why would they do that?”

Louis gave her a hard look. “Because they can.”

Frankie shook her head. It didn't add up. From what the Melorians had told her, she didn't believe that Rothermel would purposefully kill living, growing things. There must be another reason, but the look on Louis's face made her keep her mouth shut, and besides, she was too hot to argue. Sweat dripped down her arms and face.

“It's so hot.” She flapped the front of her poncho, trying to cool herself, and whimpered, “I'm boiling.”

“Not the worst fate in Exor I can think of,” said Louis. “Be patient. You'll be cold by nightfall.”

Frankie sulked, dragging her feet. Louis quickened his step and muttered to himself as if he had forgotten she was there.

“There's a bridge a mile or so to the north. We'll cross there. Guards are on watch, and we can send a message ahead. We should be able to get a ride.”

Frankie plodded along behind him, looking mostly at the ground; there wasn't anything else to see. When she looked up a while later, Louis had disappeared.

“Louis!” she yelled. “Where are you?” Her words were swallowed by the silence of the lifeless air. “Louis?”

No answer.

She tried to make out footsteps in the hard, dessicated earth, but there were no tracks of any kind. The sun dipped low to the west, huge and brick-colored, and sank fast. Within moments, darkness descended like a lid on a pan. Frankie froze, afraid to go any farther. Her legs trembled beneath her. Night stretched out across the Broomwash with terrifying quiet. Frankie's heart drummed in her chest, the only sound for miles. She sank to the ground.

“Where are you?” she sobbed. “Louis,
please
come back!”

“Hey, hey, what's all this?” said Louis, his voice penetrating the night. He lifted her up and hugged her awkwardly against his hip. “You're crying like you lost your best friend. I told you to save the moisture in your body—and who's Louis?”

“You are. That's what I named you.” She buried her head in the thick folds of her poncho. “You left me out here all by myself. I don't like the dark.”

“I did no such thing,” he chided her gently. “You're just slow.”

“I can't walk as fast as you,” she sniffed.

“That is true.” He held her another minute, patting her back until she stopped trembling, then put his hand on her shoulder.

“What's your real name?” asked Frankie.

“None of your business.” He handed her the cloth he had used earlier to wipe his face. She blew her nose and handed it back. He squatted beside her.

“What do you want me to call you, then?” she asked.

“Louis will do.”

Frankie smiled and leaned a little into his shoulder, comforted by the solidness of his presence in the enormous blackness all around them.

“Look up,” he said, nudging her with his shoulder.

Overhead, millions of stars lay thick across the sky, seemingly so near that Frankie reached up to try and touch one. Her eyes adjusted to their low light and she saw Louis's profile, silhouetted against the night. He was biting his lip, lost in thought.

“My sister does that,” she said.

“Does what?”

“Chews her lip when she's thinking.”

Louis touched his finger to his lips, surprised.

“I didn't know I did that.”

Frankie shrugged. “It's okay. It reminds me of her.” She leaned into his shoulder a little more. Louis gently tucked her bangs behind her ears and pulled her hood up.

“Here's what we're going to do,” he said, getting to his feet. “I'm going to carry you the rest of the way and over the bridge. When we get across, you can wait with the guards. I'll go ahead and make my report, then I'll come back for you; that way you won't have to walk so far.”

“What are the guards like?” she asked, eyeing him nervously. “Are they like you, or are they”—she shuddered—“like them?”

“You'll be fine. Just keep to yourself.” He offered her his hand. “Climb aboard.”

Frankie pulled herself up and settled on Louis's back, wrapping her arms tightly around his neck. He adjusted her legs around his waist and began walking. Frankie remembered being carried like this by her father. Out of habit, she dug her chin into the soft spot between his shoulders. Louis gasped and stopped dead in his tracks.

“What?” she asked.

“Nothing. You—you just reminded me of someone.”

He stood still for a long time, lost in thought.

“Louis, what?” she repeated.

“It's nothing,” he answered. “Just a feeling.” He tucked Frankie's legs up tightly around his waist, grabbed her calves more securely, and resumed walking.

The bridge into Exor was a narrow rock structure and only partially visible in the light of the full moon. It was long and studded with peaks of crumbling rock, as if it were spun from sugar or sand. The bridge stretched over a vast pit of blackness between two canyon walls. From Frankie's perspective, it seemed impossible to cross without falling off one side or the other. She shivered in her poncho, trying to see the other side. The temperature of the air had plunged, as Louis had said it would, but this was more than being cold. She was terrified.

Louis picked her up and took a shaky step onto the bridge, then set her down again, not trusting his balance with the extra weight. He poked his finger between her shoulder blades and nudged her forward.

“Don't look down,” he said.

“You're always telling me what to do,” grumbled Frankie. “You should meet my sister. You two would like each other.”

“Plenty of time for that. Walk.”

Frankie edged her way onto the bridge, taking tiny steps and keeping her eyes glued just ahead of her feet. She did not dare lift her head or look to either side into the darkness. Louis followed a step behind, his hand resting lightly against her back. Slowly, carefully, they reached the apex of the bridge and descended. This was trickier; at one point Frankie's ankle rolled over and her weight shifted dangerously to the side. Louis caught her by the scruff of the neck before she fell. When they reached the safety of the other side, her heart was racing.

“Not bad,” whispered Louis.

Two young men appeared, both with shaved heads and spears, but with normal skin, not the hideous scales of the Exorian warriors. They wore long pieces of fabric wrapped several times around their waists and their torsos were bare. Frankie breathed a sigh of relief.

The guards at the bridge spoke with Louis, then looked at her. She quickly lowered her head, avoiding eye contact. After a few minutes, they escorted her to a shallow cave dug into the ridge. A fire burned at the edge, brightly illuminating the brown clay walls, on which hung assorted pieces of clothing and bedding. It reminded her vaguely of Melor, in a reassuring way. Louis had her sit by the fire and gave her a cup of water. She drank greedily. From one of the sacks hanging on the wall he pulled out fruit, a strange-looking cracker, and a hearty meat spread. He prepared the food for her and watched as she began to eat. His eyes were expectant, waiting. Frankie took a bite. She grabbed for the water, eyes streaming.

“It's spicy!” she choked.

Louis nodded, then smiled slightly.

“You get used to it.” He stood up. “Eat as much as you want. I'll be back by morning. The guards will stay out here. They won't bother you.”

“How do you know?” Frankie asked, trying to peer into the dark beyond the fire.

“They are scribes, not warriors, for one thing. And”—he grinned—“I told them Dankar would be coming for you at daybreak, and if he didn't find you here … .” Louis let his voice trail off. “I left
that
up to their imaginations.”

Frankie watched him leave, trepidation filling her stomach. She pushed the food away, nervous about the morning and missing him. She tried to think about what Louis had said: Dankar wanted to help her. He wanted to reunite her with Evelyn and the boys. She laid her head down on the blanket. It smelled faintly of dried herbs, sweat, and sun—a scent she recognized from that other island, the one where she and Evelyn were born. A log fell into the fire and a plume of sparks rose into the inky sky, melding with the stars.

Maybe Louis was right about Rothermel, thought Frankie. Her father had been killed by moving earth, her island almost swallowed up. Could Keepers do that? She nestled inside her warm poncho, not wanting to believe it—yet Louis was so sure Rothermel was bad. She closed her eyes. Tomorrow she would meet Dankar and find out for herself, but tonight she decided to trust Louis.

T
homeone's coming,” whispered Teddy, shaking Chase awake. Chase was instantly alert. He hadn't forgotten the last time he'd been woken from a deep sleep in Ayda. It took him a moment to orient himself in the new surroundings. The candles had long since burnt out and the room was pitch dark except for a silvery glow filtering in from one of the wall apertures. He had no idea how long they'd been sleeping, but he felt refreshed and calm, all battle aches and soreness gone.

A long shadow flitting against the wall proved to be a solitary Metrian holding a candle. She stood expectantly as Chase and Teddy woke the others, then motioned for them to follow. They retraced their steps back to the great cavern where a pair of skiffs bobbed gently on the shore of the lagoon. Two more robed Metrians stood waiting beside them, holding lanterns, which they hung on the prows of the boats.

Evelyn and the boys were silent as the Metrians rowed them swiftly across the lake. The lanterns cast wavering circles of light in the great darkness of the cave. The gentle splash of oars was soon overpowered by the sound of falling water as the skiffs approached the far end of the lagoon. The rowers nosed the skiffs into the cascade and the water parted neatly around them, ushering them into a smaller lagoon completely open to the night sky. Phosphorescent lights shimmered under the water's surface, like waterbound stars, and clung to the oars.

“Look,” breathed Teddy, dragging his hand through the iridescent water. “We're twinkling.”

The rowers rowed on toward a dense, negative space ahead. In time it revealed itself to be a small island at the center of the lagoon. The skiffs delivered Chase, Knox, Teddy, and Evelyn to a strip of silver beach and retreated. From the shadows came a tall woman, pale and blonde, wearing a purple-and-silver robe. Her head, feet, and arms were bare and her hair shone with small jewels and fell in gentle waves to where her hands rested at her sides. She considered the four newcomers quietly, then, in a smooth movement, sank to her knees and threw her arms wide. A sudden, inexplicable impulse to run to her, like small children to their mother, washed over them. Teddy obeyed the urge. She rewarded him with a small smile and a warm introduction.

“I am Rysta, Keeper of the stone of Metria and sister to Rothermel. I am sorry if I disturbed you, but I could wait no longer to meet you.” Her voice was a low throb that filled every part of their ears. She stood, holding Teddy's hand with one of hers and gestured to Chase, Knox, and Evelyn with the other. When they did not move, she smiled at them again.

“I see you have been long in my brother's country. Trust is a rare gift there—but be assured, I will not hurt you. I know you were once five, now four, and that you have been ill used by the Usurper and his people. I have no wish to add to your distress. I only wish to comfort you and keep you safe so that you may forget your pain. It is the gift of Metria to do so.”

Evelyn stirred. “You know about my sister?”

Rysta's brow furrowed, her eyes darkened. “Yes, but I wish to know more. You must tell me everything.”

She turned and they followed her soft, barely visible footprints to an enclosure in the sand surrounding a black pool of water. Reflections of stars littered the pool, and a small canopy had been erected beside it. A low, cushioned couch and several rugs and pillows were arrayed under the canopy. Rysta lowered herself gracefully onto the couch, guiding Teddy next to her. She beckoned for the older children to seat themselves around her. Chase was uncomfortably reminded of the first time they had met Rothermel, his piercing green eyes now replaced by the blue-eyed gaze of his sister.

“Please, join me. Let us have some refreshments.”

From some undisclosed location behind the canopy, several Metrians emerged. They carried pitchers and dishes of steaming food, which they set on a long, low table at the side of the canopy. It looked tempting, but none of the children could bring themselves to move. A laziness had come over them—not fatigue, exactly, but an unwillingness to exert themselves. It all felt so much like a dream. No one spoke for many minutes.

“Eldest girl,” Rysta began, “Evelyn … Sit, speak. Tell me about your sister.”

“I don't … I don't know where to begin,” stammered Evelyn. “So much has happened.”

Rysta leaned toward her encouragingly; as she did, a brief flash of silver revealed a necklace or chain around her neck.

“I find it is easiest to begin with the nearest memory and work backward. Tell me, what was your journey like from Melor to my home; how did you fare against the Exorians?”

Evelyn began to describe the long, frightening night and their flight from Melor. Both Knox and Teddy interrupted her at points to add in their own stories. Rysta proved to be an appreciative audience. She clapped and laughed and sighed at the right moments. When it came to the injury and death of Tinator, only Chase, who had been silent up to then, had the heart to speak. After a respectful pause, Rysta prompted them once more, taking them back in time to relive the awakening in the fog, their first encounter with the cliffs of Ayda, and the glowing rocks that lit the path to Seaborne's cabin. Rysta was particularly gratified by what she heard of Seaborne.

“So he has flourished in Melor, as his daylights indicated he would. I am glad to hear it.”

“Rothermel told us that you saved Seaborne when he first came here. Dankar had kidnapped him, just like Frankie, but you rescued him.” Evelyn could not hide the sense of expectation in her voice.

Rysta dipped her hand in the pool.

“It is true. He was a small boy then, caught in a terrible war, as so many are in the lands beyond the fog.” The pool at Rysta's feet began to flicker and glow. An image swam to the surface: a small boy and a limping, bleeding man crossing a desolate beach. The man was wearing a long, blue military coat and a blood-stained shirt. His steel sword hung limply in his hand.

“I know that coat!” hooted Teddy. He pointed to the little boy. “Ith that Theaborne?”

Rysta nodded.

Chase leaned in for a closer look. He recognized the sword. It was the one Seaborne wore strapped to his back.

“He was fortunate—as you have been,” Rysta continued. “He came through the fog to Metria and lived with me until the call of his daylights could be ignored no longer. He is a creature of the earth, though his heart, I believe, is still moved by the sea. We have not seen one another for a very long time.” The image in the pool faded.

“Can't he jutht come vithit?” asked Teddy.

Rysta shook her head. “Travel in Ayda is dangerous, as you well know. Of the many things that were lost with the disappearance of the Fifth Stone, the division of our lands and the eternal separation from my brother and sister are most bitter to me.” She leaned forward. “And what of my brother? How does he fare? I am most anxious to hear.”

It was Knox's turn to answer. Rysta's smooth brow furrowed and her mouth turned down at the corners when she was told the details of Frankie's capture. Her agitation grew as the children repeated Rothermel's words—his concern for Frankie, and his fear that Dankar's power had grown. When they described Rothermel's weariness, Rysta stood abruptly and paced the edges of the pool. A heavy silence descended. The pool lay smooth and undisturbed, like a mirror of the sky above it. When Rysta looked up, a strange tremor passed over the surface of the water.

“I am distressed to hear this news, and of my brother's failure to try and recover the girl or seek her captors, for in matters such as these, timing is crucial, and the opportune moments have passed. Her captors have had three full moonrises to travel to their lands unmolested. It is my belief that the attack on your camp was a distraction. I agree that the raiding party did not anticipate the presence of a Keeper and therefore came unprepared for the power he called upon. They were vanquished, but not necessarily to the detriment of Dankar's plan. His intent was always to waylay the Melorians in battle and spirit the captive away.”

“But why?” asked Evelyn. “What does Dankar want with Frankie?”

Again the pool at Rysta's feet rippled with an unseen breeze.

“It is a mistake to think of Dankar as you would yourself, to attribute to him the same desires or needs that you have,” said Rysta. “Dankar is kin to an ancient race, as I am. We have seen the cycling of daylights pass through generations of men and women, and rarely concern ourselves with the fate of just one.” Her fingers traveled to the chain at her neck.

“As twisted as Dankar has become, we are perhaps not so far apart as I would like to think. I have spent too much time with the misdeeds of Dankar not to recognize some of my own weakness.” Rysta looked over their heads into the depths behind them, as if she might see something, or someone, standing there.

“Tinator told us that Dankar wants all your stones—and the Fifth Stone,” Knox informed her. “But Frankie doesn't have it; she doesn't know anything about the five stones. Neither do we.”

Rysta pulled her necklace out from beneath her robes. At the end of it hung a perfectly round, grey-blue stone, approximately the size of a small egg, wrapped in a cage of thin white metal wire. It looked like a stone anyone might pick up on the beach, but Rysta held it reverently.

“Ith that your magic thtone? The thtone of Metria?” Teddy asked, eyes wide.

Rysta contemplated him for a moment, then answered.

“No, it is not the stone of Metria. It would be foolish to keep a stone of power on my body, if only that it would be too easily found. This stone that I wear is but a child of the stone of Metria, a shard, imbued with some of her power. The real stone is hidden in a place known only to me.”

“It doesn't look like much,” mumbled Knox.

Chase had to agree. He hadn't known what to expect from a stone of power, or a piece of a stone of power, but this seemed pretty anticlimactic.

Rysta caressed the stone between her fingertips. “This stone may not look like much, but it is more precious to me than the finest treasure. This stone connects me to the parent stone of Metria, and to the stones of my brother and sister, but like most truths that matter, it does not reveal itself so easily.” She replaced the stone beneath the folds of her robe and bent down to trail her fingers through the pool, her eyes lazily following the rippling water. She looked up at the children through her long eyelashes.

“When the path ahead is uncertain, one must look where one has been. So we must go back to move forward. It has always been thus. Time circles upon itself.” She withdrew her fingers and shook them, sending small droplets of water raining down onto the pool's surface. Concentric circles spread, moving outward until they overlapped. She fanned her hand over the circles; they continued to grow and spread.

“Your story is like one of these circles. It began as a small drop in the sea of time, but it has grown now to overlap and become one with mine.” Rysta raised her head and gazed at Teddy. “My story is an old story. A sad story. I wonder if it is too sad for ones so young to hear.”

Evelyn shifted in her seat. “We aren't so young.”

Rysta gave Evelyn a sharp, perceptive look.

“Perhaps you are not.”

She settled herself on one hip and gazed deeply into the pool for several minutes, lost in thought. Then, she began to speak.

“My history begins with your history, a very long time ago, when the world was young, forged, barely, from the flint of the
atar
, and the daylights ranged across the Earth, unchecked and untamed, bringing form and purpose to the void, and, also, chaos. As time passed and the daylights were tamed into the four qualities that define our world—earth, fire, water, and air—they took on solid shape and matter and their interdependence grew.”

Rysta waved a hand over the surface of the pool, which responded by rippling as if stirred by a gentle breeze. The thin bracelets on her arm tinkled. Pale streaks of color shimmered up from the depths. An image of a wild and empty land materialized on the surface. Rysta continued, her eyes fixed and unfocused, as if she had forgotten the children were there. As she spoke, the images in the pool began to flicker and change, one flowing into another almost before she said the words.

“The Earth grew warm and light and a garden grew across the lands, seeded by the wind. Great waters formed in the belly and crevasses of the world. The moon followed the sun and the tides of the oceans beat against the shores, dividing day and night. In these early times, there was no constant, and life was slow to take root. No vessel could contain their daylights for long; then, there was little difference between what we know now as a tree and a man, a wolf, a flower, a fish. The daylights would gather and take shape for a short time, only to fragment and gather again in another form.

“Life had no anchor then. Creatures were as insubstantial as ether, never lingering long enough to flourish and populate the Earth. Men and women died easily, and children were barely brought to suckle before the daylights moved beyond them. Other forms, those in which one quality of daylight existed in far greater measure than the other three, had better success. A hillock, a lake, a tree, or a stone became just that: The daylights which were contained therein grew more solid and settled, content to flourish in their one form. But this was not the case for those creatures that contained a more equal measure of all four daylights. The life of all animals ever since has been hard and short.”

Teddy was leaning so far forward over the pool, he almost toppled over. Rysta pulled him back and patted his head.

“And of all the creatures, there was one race who was esteemed most by the great Weaver of life, born out of great love.” Rysta paused dramatically and raised an eyebrow. “Who do you think it might be?”

Teddy pointed at his own chest. Rysta laughed.