The Pleasure of Memory (46 page)

Beam opened his mouth to speak, but immediately changed his mind. Better not to know. Better to forget it, to write it off as something he didn’t understand and didn’t want to. He was sick to death of trying to figure out every throne-room trick the man pulled.

“You should trust me,” Chance said as he wiped his hand on his britches.

“Trust you,” Beam said, forcing a laugh that sounded insincere even to him, “I’ll trust you when I’m standing in the sunlight again.”

“What you crave isn’t always what you need.”

“Now, why in the Nine would you say something like that?”

“Because the sunlight you’ll be standing in will be pouring down over Sken te’Fau.”

Beam snorted at that. “Big deal. It’s a bloody swamp. I’ve been to Boardtown enough times.”

“I imagine you entered Boardtown along the old Fen Highway from the north?”

Beam watched his companion rummaging through their pack. “Yeah, so?”

“So, that road’s built above the bog.
Above
it
. It’s nine miles of boardwalk. You never had to touch the swamp.”

“Do you have a point?”

Chance held up a piece of jerky. Beam remembered the miserable nausea it’d induced the night before and waved it away. Chance shrugged and put it on his lap. “We’ll have to wade north through the swamp to reach Boardtown,” he said, “It could be…unpleasant.”

“I’m not afraid of ghosts, if that’s worrying you, and I’m equally unafraid of getting wet, swamp water or not. One thing I didn’t inherit from the savages is their fear of water.”

“Fear of water? Blood of the gods, do you simply make this stuff up as you go?”

“Of course not. Everyone knows the savages are—”

“It doesn’t matter!” Chance tossed a chunk of cheese over to Beam. “I’ve had enough of your bigotry.”

Beam studied the filthy cheese in his filthier hand and abruptly lost his appetite. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been so dirty. He was about to throw a complaint when he saw the same thing in Chance. The man’s hair had long ago defied the leather strap restraining it. It now draped his smudged face in greasy tresses like the oily tentacles of a squid. Beam wondered if he looked as bad.

“I’ve figured out why Prae rallied the Vaemyn,” Chance said suddenly.

“What?”

“I understand why he’s moving them now. At this time, I mean.”

“I can’t wait.” Beam risked a bite of the dirty cheese.

“Prae knew the Caeyllth Blade was going to resurface. He’s mad as a loon, but Fire Caeyl mages are naturally adept at prophesy.”

“You’re telling me like you think I care.”

“Is there something you’d prefer to be doing? Playing cards, perhaps?”

“Damn me, yes! I’d rather play cards. I’d rather throw dice. I’d rather eat dirt. I’d rather do just about anything than talk about the bloody savages.”

“I see,” Chance said. His gaze dropped to the meal on his lap.

Beam immediately regretted his rant. The man was moody as a midwife and could be pushed into a sulk with a look. Still, he wasn’t sure he had the stamina for suffering another pout right now.

“Gods almighty, go ahead, then!” he said at last, “I’d rather hear you babble than watch you brood.”

“Forget it,” Chance said, waving him off, “I’m too tired to spend the breath.”

“No, really. I want to know. How in the hell would he know about the sword?”

“You’d know if you just bother to listen once in a while.”

Beam ground his teeth, but managed to refrain from throwing oil in the fire.

“I told you he’s prophetic,” Chance continued, “He saw it coming. He’s gambling that combining the energy of the Blood Caeyl with that of his Fire Caeyl will give him more power than the sum of the two.”

“You’re going to give me nightmares with stories like that.”

Chance gave him a scowl. “The Vaemyn were waiting for you when you exited that last crypt, were they not?”

“Sure, so what? They were always chasing me.”

“How many were there?”

Beam shrugged. “I don’t know. A dozen or so, I guess. What difference is it?”

“A dozen warriors? And yet you still managed to escape.”

“You see me, don’t you? There was a corridor leading out of the lower crypt. I followed the tunnel to another crypt a hundred yards or so away.” He took a bite of skanky cheese. “What of it?”

“Don’t you see? Prae’s been following you. You survived because he let you.”

“Bullshit!” Beam said, “I move like the wind.”

Chance shrugged and took another bite of his supper.

Beam sighed. “Look, it doesn’t matter either way. No one’s going to get the stone
or
the sword. They’re mine.”

“He’ll kill you for it if he can.”

“Well, he’d better start leaning into the effort,” Beam snapped back, “And anyway, if I’m dead, why would I care who got either one of them?”

“If he gets them, history will repeat itself.”

“Again, you say that like you think I care.”

“It’s bigger than you, you self-serving little pissant!” Chance barked out, “If he gets them, it’ll mean the end of times! The suffering and despair it’ll bring on will be unprecedented.”

Beam faked a laugh. “Yeah, you told me this story already. Repeating it won’t make me a believer.”

“Why do you ridicule me so?” Chance shouted back, “Why do you consistently mock me? Do you think I’m one of your ravers? Why are you so afraid of the truth? Blood of the gods, what happened to your soul?”

Those last words landed like vinegar on a cut. It seemed every time they had an altercation, the man somehow managed to hit the sore spot.

Chance fell back against the stone and sighed. He smeared the dirty locks back from his face, and said, “Do you want to hear the part of the legend that I think’s most intriguing? Or am I just asking for more aggravation?”

“No, please continue,” Beam said as harshly as he could, “I thought you’d never ask. Please! Tell me the part that you find most interesting. Is it the part about all the demons Prae’s going to hire? Or maybe it’s the part about how that great and powerful mage built all these swords a thousand years ago to destroy the demons the first time? No, wait! I know! It’s the part where the loyal warrior hid the swords after the war so that no one could find them ever, ever again. I mean, not until they’re needed, of course!”

Chance studied him for a moment, and then just shook his head. He turned away with his blanket and began making his bed.

Beam mentally slapped himself. He suddenly felt like the bully who beat up the skinny little rich kid who’d never even hurt anyone. He felt a far-too-familiar embarrassment for it, the same shame he’d suffered too many times in his own miserable life. He’d suffered the exact same pain and shame whenever Brother Dael had tried to reconcile him to his heritage. And though he hadn’t wanted to listen to it back then, he’d heard it. He always heard it. He understood it then with Dael just as he understood it now with Chance, that they were only trying to enlighten him, to make his existence easier.

He walked over to where Chance was laying out his blanket. “Look,” he said, “I’m sorry. I’m tired. I didn’t mean anything by it. I just want to sleep.”

Chance threw a second blanket into the dirt at Beam’s feet. “You’re an ass,” he said straight at him, “Your mother should’ve saved us all a lot of trouble by pinching your head off at birth.”

Beam picked up the blanket, but just stood there with it. How could this near stranger so easily send him over the cliffs of guilt with just a well-aimed word? It was getting more than tedious, but it seemed he just didn’t have the weapons to fight it. His only path to peace was through retreat.

“All right,” he said at last, “Tell me. Which part do you find most interesting?”

Chance was picking the stones from his bedding site and chucking them out into the tunnel. He was acting as if he hadn’t heard the question.

“Seriously, Chance,” Beam said, “I’m sorry. I am. Just…just tell me, which part?”

“The part that matters most for you.”

“And that is…?”

Chance stopped making his bed, sat back on his heels, and looked up at him. “It’s written that the Caeyllth Blade would be discovered by a Vaemyn and a Parhronii working together.”

“Well, then the whole legend’s just gone down in flames, hasn’t it?”

“Are you joking?”

“No,” Beam said, taking great care not to incite another argument, “I was the only one there, Brother. Unless you consider me getting chased into that waterfall to be a cooperative effort between a Parhronii and the savages, I don’t—”

“When did you cut off your oteuryns?”

Beam winced at that. “What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked, though he knew exactly what it meant.

“A Vaemyn and Parhronii working as one? It doesn’t take an astronomer to point a finger at you, does it?”

“Are you making fun of me again?”

“You’re a half-breed, Beam. The legend’s talking about you!”

“Bullshit.”

“You seriously don’t see the symbolism?”

“There’s no symbolism! You’re reading into it. And that’s assuming there’s a legend at all and you’re not just making the whole thing up to bait me.”

“In that case, I must restate my thesis. You’re an ass.”

Beam’s unwelcomed guilt washed away with that last insult, while anger swept in on its heels. He dismissed Chance with a wave and turned away.

“I’ve had enough of you!” he said as he crossed to the other side of the corridor, “And I’ve had my fill of this conversation! It’s one thing to spend the minutes before sleep talking about a bunch of superstitious drivel. It’s another altogether to sit here and be insulted. I’m going to bed.”

“Beam, just think about it. It’s—”

“Stop right there!” Beam said with a halting hand, “I don’t want to hear any more of your bloody fairytales, I swear to the gods I don’t!”

“Look, I didn’t mean to—”

“Forget it! Seriously, just go to sleep already. I’ll take the first watch. You’ve got me too irritated to sleep anyway.”

XXIII

THE DREAM MAGE

EAM HAD THE QUEER SENSE THAT HE’D BEEN HERE BEFORE.

He couldn’t see anything through the darkness, nothing tangible anyway, nothing he could ground himself to, only shadows of unsavory things moving in the corners of his eyes, things that disappeared the instant he looked at them.

Still, the location was eerily familiar. Or maybe it was just the situation. How could he have possibly have been here before if this was only a dream? Then again, maybe he could only have been here before because it was a dream.

Brother Dael materialized before him, but the image was askew. This man was too young to be Dael. His long hair was blonde and full, and untarnished by gray, his face smooth and glowing. This was the Dael who lived before Beam was born, the original Dael, the Dael unblemished by age or grief.

Beam sensed the taer-cael of someone walking up behind him. He turned toward the sound. Brother Dael was also standing behind him, only this one was older, this was the Dael at the other end of life, the one closer to the Court of Death.

“Where are we?” Beam asked the older version.

“You needn’t worry about that, Beam,” Dael said from a warm grin, “You’re not alone here.”

“Well, I can see that, can’t I?” Beam said, throwing a glance back at the younger Dael, “You’re standing on both sides of me.”

The older Dael turned slightly and pointed into the darkness behind him. As he did, the darkness changed. It congealed and grew lighter. In the span of a breath, the shadows evolved into a peculiar silver vapor that was slowly twisting around itself. It was like a glowing whirlpool spinning against a vertical black lake. Gradually, the center of the pool opened so that it looked like the mouth of an ethereal cave.

“What is that?” Beam asked him.

“The Other needs you, Be’ahm,” the older Dael said.

“The other?” Beam said, looking at him, “What do you mean? The other you? He’s standing right behind me.”

“The Other needs you,” the younger Dael said from behind him.

“Yeah, I got that,” Beam said, frowning back at him, “You told me that before. Last night, I think.”

“Last night you declined to follow,” the older Dael said.

Beam turned back to the older one. “Hell yes, I did,” he said smartly, “Why wouldn’t I? I didn’t know where you were going, did I?”