Memory's Wake Omnibus: The Complete Illustrated YA Fantasy Series

by Selina Fenech

  “Once I’d found him, we barely had time to say goodbye before the Brand took Myrddin. He let humans sway his heart and he is forever gone because of it. I made sure Maellans have paid for their treachery over and over again throughout the years and now I will finish the last of them.”

  Will growled, a ferocity in him bringing out his animal side. He had backed Nyneve into a corner, and he was going to kill her, Memory knew it. Part of her wanted him to kill her, to cut her as deeply as possible, to claim vengeance for Shonae and so many others. The rest of her never wanted to see death again.

  Will chanced a glance back at Memory, and the fury and worry in his eyes scared her. He placed the tip of Caliburn against Nyneve’s neck. Memory saw a small bead of blood well up there, dark against her silver flesh. She heard Nyneve’s hiss of pain as the wound sizzled. She transformed right in front of their eyes, becoming Hope.

  “Go on, little boy,” she taunted, looking just like Memory, wearing the black broken-heart t-shirt. “Where’s your guts, you little pet? You animal.”

  The glamour flickered and faded, the strength of the iron in Caliburn too strong for Nyneve to hold onto her magic. She frowned at that, a scowl that twisted her serpentine skin. Her dark hair flew out behind her as she roared.

  Her sword flashed in her hand, moving faster than a normal human could dodge.

  She struck out at Will’s chest, but he was no normal human, Memory knew. Not anymore. His time with the fae had changed him, made him stronger. He jumped backwards, twirling and striking back. Nyneve cried furiously at him, dodging away around the round table, holding her weapon away from Will’s.

  “Beirsinn fair nalldomh!” she yelled, reaching her arm toward Memory. Memory knew those words, but the realization came too late as her own iron knife weakly wriggled free and clattered across the floor toward Nyneve. She scooped it up, angered by the weakness of her magic. She faced Will again, fairy gold sword in one hand and iron blade in the other.

  Will’s next swing was met with iron against iron. Nyneve swept the smaller blade upwards, channeling the motion of Will’s strength away in a smooth movement. Sparks flew.

  Will grunted with effort and Nyneve faded back into her form as Hope, taunting him as he followed her across the floor, their eyes locked on one another’s as the battle between them began in earnest.

  Memory knew that Nyneve was taunting him on purpose, baiting him into anger so he would not think, only react.

  Memory knew that was what she had to do now. She had no time left to think. She was unsteady on her feet, her reflexes were slowing and she could barely see past the thin gray darkness seeping in at the edges of her vision.

  Kneeling there on the floor in the sticky blood, she knew she had to act now, before she fell, and all was lost.

  Chapter Thirty

  Memory’s entire body ached with the strain of raising her magic. She fumbled, trying at first to use the hand that was no longer there, and the pain of that injury and loss almost broke her. Gritting her teeth, she changed her posture, working only with her remaining hand. She pinched the Veil, tearing it the way she had learned from the dragon, then created a larger hole, punching a Veil door that led from right there in Avall back to the rest of the human world. She brought herself to her feet and stepped within it, half in and half out, feeling the magic trickling from the Veil into her, drawn there by the store of magic inside her, like calling to like.

  Memory hesitated. In the periphery of her consciousness she knew that Will was still fighting Nyneve, but she didn’t know where they were. She knew she could not wait for the outcome. The whole world felt like it was tilting on its ear, and she could barely stay on her feet. She had to do this now. If it worked, she might be able to level the battlefield for the humans, and save the fae too. She did believe that they needed saving, they all needed saving, and she was the only one who could do it. She had hoped to sway Nyneve to her side, that if she knew there was another way, she would stop her war and help keep Avall in the Veil, but Memory knew now that wouldn’t happen.

  Memory summoned together all of the magic within her. The vast stores of magic that had been drawn into her through her years within the Veil, that felt like a fire in her chest. She said a silent goodbye to Will, to Eloryn, to Roen, to Avall, and to herself, and then expelled all of that magic out into the world.

  The magic flowed out of her like a river, churning smoothly and spreading, rippling like water. She felt it going. It was like letting go of a rope she had been holding for too long, a rope that had a huge weight hanging at the other end.

  She sent some of her magic into every human of the land, re-creating their Sparks of Connection. The rest of the magic went out into Avall, filling it again with the magic that had been drained away, saving the fae who had been starving without it.

  Her expulsion of magic created a movement, a flow through her. It was like creating a siphon, a two-sided funnel which would bring the magic through from the rest of the world into Avall. As the iron in the rest of the world drew magic away, her siphon would draw it back in, never leaving Avall or the fae without magic, as long as she remained the hose through which it could travel.

  The magic throbbed and flowed through her, coming in from the other world and out into Avall. The flow was intense, golden-edged and flaming. It lifted her from her feet, holding her in the air, burning out of her skin.

  The first burst of energy ended and when it went there was blankness. A darkness in her mind came through, burning through her memories, taking them away and her with them. Panic built within her as her identity fled her body. All the moments and memories that made her were so tied and tangled with the magic she cast out, that they all went with it.

  I chose this. I accept this. It’s what had to be done.

  She repeated it over and over, reminding herself while the emptiness built inside her and the fear came with it.

  There was a white static in her head. Sleepiness overtook her even as she was more awake than she had ever been in her life. A man and a strange woman blurred through her vision. Who were they? Why were they fighting?

  Remember who you are. You chose this… She tried to hold onto just one memory, just the one that told her what she was doing, and why she was doing it, but soon it too was gone.

  There was only pain and confusion.

  What’s happening? Where am I?

  Everything hurts.

  She tried to break free, to see, to understand. Her vision was a blur of golden light.

  I can’t move.

  She couldn’t feel the ground, could feel nothing but pain. Nothing made sense.

  She was nowhere. She was nobody. There was nothing to hold onto to. She had nothing left. All she knew was nothingness.

  Who am I?

  She didn’t know. She was stuck, trapped in this vortex of pain and confusion. Trapped forever.

  Magic slammed into Eloryn like a wave. It flowed over her, leaving a small spark behind, warming her, filling the empty place inside.

  She gasped, straightening up from where she bent over tending an injured soldier. She saw the effects of the invisible wave ripple through the chaotic room. Wizards rose from their patients, gasping as she had gasped, clutching their chests.

  Eloryn’s sleeves were rolled up and her hands bloody. There was barely enough floor space to hold the dead and injured being pulled back from the front line. Eloryn had desperately tended one after another, doing whatever she could for them. There hadn’t even been enough time for Eloryn to see whether one of those dead or injured was Roen.

  But now things had changed. Now she had her magic again.

  Eloryn knew that this was Memory’s doing. The magic, it tasted of her, of her consciousness, just as she had known it once before. Somehow, her sister had returned the Spark of Connection to her, and for what she could see and guess, to all humans in Avall.

  Eloryn didn’t know how. But she was determined to use it.

  Getting to her f
eet, she cried, “Briseadh cassahn deannil dom es.”

  In a line from where she stood to the front line of the battle, the floor began to buckle. It split, breaking a pathway between the melee as it went, pushing away standing or fallen bodies. Eloryn strode down it in long steps, drawing her iron button into her hand as she went.

  She could see the heart of the fighting now. Some of the soldiers had also realized their Spark of Connection was returned, and cast minor offensive spells into the fray to blind or stun their enemies. The unseelie fae seemed even more intent on killing the humans now that they had their magic returned to them. The magic their queen had told them was stolen from the fae. They were in the madness of rage and bloodlust and fear, driven by the lies of their hateful queen.

  Eloryn spoke to the iron in her hand, and it shattered, turning into small deadly drops like fine mist. She reached the front line and stopped there.

  Bellowing out her words of behest in a way to make herself known to all around her, she held out her small, white hand, and let those droplets of iron spray out into the oncoming fae.

  The effect was instant and devastating. Unseelie fae fell screaming, twisting in pain from the iron raining upon them, burrowing and burning into their skin. Five or six creatures deep from the front line were hit, falling like wet autumn leaves to the ground. The creatures behind them cowered, unsure.

  “Stop now!” Eloryn yelled. “Stop fighting now. Please do not force me to do that again.”

  She grabbed an iron spearhead from a bloodied soldier beside her. She turned it into deadly droplets as well, letting them float in a threatening cloud above her hands.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Nyneve’s fairy gold sword sliced a shallow streak diagonally from Will’s ribcage to shoulder. Blood spilled out, sticking the fabric of the t-shirt to his skin.

  His arm ached with every thrust of the magical sword he wielded and his mind burned with fury.

  No matter what he was feeling, he knew Memory was suffering more.

  Her hand. His lips curled in a snarl.

  It was too late to save her hand. No healing magic available. Maybe, maybe if he could stop Nyneve soon enough, they could get back to the other world and get to a hospital. If Memory was still conscious, still strong enough to get them there. Either way, he had to stop Nyneve now or there would be no rest of the world to go to. He had to stop Nyneve, and keep Memory safe until then.

  Will struck fast and fiercely at the unseelie queen, driving her around the large circular table and away from where Memory had fallen. His pants were still wet and tugged at his skin, restricting his movement. Strangely, Nyneve in her long shimmering gown seemed to have no such trouble. She feinted and parried, slipping the crystalline sword always out of reach of Caliburn, brushing the iron away with Memory’s small steel knife instead. Will knew if he could only get the angle right, that small knife would also break under the strength of Caliburn, but Nyneve’s movements were fluid, redirecting each blow. She spun her arms and torso like a dancer, always in movement, a blur of dark hair and sparkling blades.

  Will had still managed to land a few blows, small nicks and slashes. The stomach of Nyneve’s gown was sliced open, black blood oozing around the diamond encrusted fabric, smoking slightly.

  But no matter how often he struck, Nyneve didn’t slow. Her dark magic healed her far too quickly. Will started to wonder whether her iron immunity was enough to protect her even from Caliburn.

  Nyneve’s sword swiped right in front of his eyes and he back-flipped to escape the blade. His vision blurred and the muscles of his calves tightened, burned and itched as he fought to keep his footing on the slick, bloodied floor.

  A strong wind filled the room, swirling in the round space like a vortex. In the corner of his eye he saw a flurry of mist spill into the room as Memory opened a Veil door and stepped within it. Was she leaving him? He wished he knew what her plan was, all of it, any of it. All he had now was trust.

  But he knew he could not spare more thought for Memory if he were going to help her. He had to keep Nyneve from getting to her, and to do that he had to concentrate, forget what Memory was doing, might be suffering, or sacrificing.

  The room filled with a golden glow, and Nyneve’s eyes widened.

  Will didn’t miss his chance, and lunged at the distracted fae. He grunted, yelling strength into his swing, and Caliburn struck Nyneve’s shoulder, cutting in the width of the blade itself. For a moment she swayed, her eyes losing some of their dark sparkle.

  Will hesitated. He drew Caliburn back away, and could see strength already returning to Nyneve. He could swing again, and end it now. But he knew that wasn’t what Memory wanted. She was doing something, something that she hoped would end the killing. He just had to buy her more time.

  Will chanced a glance behind him and saw Memory suspended in the air, radiating amber light. He didn’t know what it meant, but the expression on Nyneve’s face suggested she did, as did the renewed vigor in which she turned again on Will, trying to slice through him to get to Memory. He knew then he shouldn’t have hesitated. Everything on Nyneve’s face said that she would not stop, she would never stop.

  Will worked fast to readjust, but Nyneve’s new fury had him on the back-foot. She threw a chair into his path, and when he twisted to dodge it, she kicked him hard in the chest, her gown swirling up past his face in a spray of stars.

  The force of the blow knocked him onto his back, sliding across the room until he hit a column.

  His skull met the marble and pain shot down the length of his body. Caliburn was no longer in his hand.

  In his swaying vision he saw Nyneve standing over him, her sword raised high.

  Her gold weapon flashed in the air, aimed at his vulnerable neck and Will knew, in that tiny split second of time; he knew he was going to die.

  He had let Memory down. He wanted to spend the rest of his life with her, and in a way he had, but it was too short.

  Nyneve’s sword sang a high, thin song made by the air being cut into halves by the razor edge, but just before it came down on his throat it met another weapon.

  A shattering sound filled the room, as though the world had been made of glass and been hit by a sledgehammer.

  Will blinked, sure he was dead, sure his head was bouncing along the bloodied ground somewhere, but instead Mina stood in front of him. Her glittering wings hung like broken cobwebs and her face and hair had gone the color of spoiling milk, white with a greenish tinge.

  Her lips were set in a determined expression as she held Caliburn pointed at the unseelie queen. The hilt was wrapped in a thick layer of fabric, protecting her hands, but she clearly suffered to be that close to the magical iron.

  Nyneve’s fairy gold sword lay all around them, a spread of broken, glittering shards. Her composure also broke. This sprite’s presence clearly wasn’t part of her plans. “What are you doing?”

  Mina hissed. “I won’t let you hurt my boy.”

  The words echoed through Will’s ears. My boy. The fear the sprite could take him away again got him scrambling to his feet, using the column as support.

  “I lost him and it is your fault. You told me to steal him away! You promised if I took him to Tearnan Ogh he would be mine forever and you lied!” The tip of Caliburn sank from where it threatened Nyneve, down to touch the floor, and Mina’s shoulders slumped. She was weakening too fast. The sword dropped from her grip.

  Will acted fast, scooping the sword into his hands.

  Mina cried out as Nyneve sliced her across the cheek with Memory’s knife. She fell to the ground, a crumpled heap of fairy dust and long trailing hair.

  Before Nyneve had even finished swinging at the sprite, Will drove Caliburn up and through the unseelie queen’s rib cage.

  Nyneve looked down at the blade protruding from her chest, dull confusion marring her brow. All of her glamour twitched around her, shifting between Hope, Providence, and her true, midnight-haired form. Memory’s knife fell
from her hand and clinked on the floor.

  Will pushed forward again, driving Caliburn in deep, running the fae through. A thin ooze of blood swelled, crystalizing and crackling across the dress’s fine fabric. Nyneve’s face went still, her mouth open but silent.

  The blood around Caliburn sizzled and dried, crumbling. Dark veins ran from the wound outward across Nyneve’s body. A low grinding sound began, and her chest changed, turning from silver to a mix of dull gray and rust red, hardening and disintegrating at the same time. The rusty tide spread through her, down her legs and along her arms before encasing her face and hair. She stood there still, like a tarnished, powdery statue.

  Will grimaced as he stared at the where the sword he held entered Nyneve’s body.

  He jerked Caliburn back, and the iron ore that had been the unseelie queen crumbled into bits, and blew away in the wind that rushed around the room.

  Will exhaled slowly, letting his sword arm relax. The wind in the room blew his dark hair around his face and smelled of blood. He heard a whimper at his feet.

  Mina lay crumpled there, ill from even the presence of the magical sword clenched in his fist. Adrenaline still rushed through Will. He knew he could kill her so quickly, so easily. Part of him wanted to. She had tried to kill him. She had kept him as a pet for so long, and the fear she could somehow claim him again made his sword arm twitch. He could finish it now and never fear being owned again.

  It’s not what Memory would do.

  The girl he loved believed in second chances, in finding another way, in trusting people to learn and do better. Will knew he had to do the same.

  “Mina,” he said. He knelt beside the sprite where she curled in a tight ball. She shuddered.

  Will placed Caliburn on the ground and pushed it across the room, away from the fae girl. She turned slowly to look up at him, a long gash still sizzling across her cheek.

  She was losing some of the blue tint to her face but she was weak and it showed. He helped her to sit up, his hands lingering on her shoulders.