EMBRACE OF MEMORY

by Vicki McElfresh

  Benjamin put one foot in the stirrup and tried a couple of times before successfully mounting. "How do you make this look so easy?"

  Cree patted Windchaser's neck and smiled. "Practice. Lots of practice." He followed the blacksmith out of the cave and back into the pass.

  The snow started falling soon after they started down the pass. The heavy wind blew stinging bits of ice into their faces. Cree put his head down and watched the ground, but the snow still stung his cheeks. By noon, the snow was ankle-deep, and the pass, already riddled with loose stones, grew more treacherous as the horses scrabbled for footing in the snow. Cree finally dismounted and led Windchaser. He had no desire to slide down the pass on his rump. "How much farther?" The wind swallowed his voice, and he couldn't be certain Benjamin had even heard him.

  Benjamin stopped and looked up at the sky, then down the pass. "Depends on the weather! We could get there by mid-afternoon!"

  By mid-afternoon, the snow was calf-deep. Cree's world narrowed to the ground beneath him and the motion of his feet as he guided Windchaser. His mind had gone numb.

  Benjamin cried out and wrenched Cree from his stupor, but he could only watch helplessly as the blacksmith's horse slipped and rose without its rider. He cried out and dropped Windchaser's reins. He stumbled towards the gelding. Benjamin lay only a few steps away, as still as the stones beneath him.

  He dropped to his knees beside the blacksmith. Frantic, he fumbled for a pulse and found a weak heartbeat. Hope flickered inside him until he noticed the snow around the blacksmith's head slowly turning scarlet. He probed for an injury and gasped when his hand touched something sharp and sticky. He laid his head against the blacksmith's chest and listened to the thin beat of the man's heart.

  "Please, whatever god is listening, give me direction," he whispered. He waited, hoping the gods he had forsaken would hear him and answer his prayer. The steady beat of Benjamin's heart and the roar of the wind lulled him into half-awareness. Cree's breathing slowed, and without thinking, he opened his mind. Brief glimpses of Benjamin as a boy and dressed in black armor flashed across his mind. He probed deeper, and saw the wound--jagged-edged and black with congealing blood. He reached out with mental fingers to touch it and felt warmth pulsing beneath his phantom hand. "Magic," he whispered and recoiled. He wanted nothing to do with magic, and yet, he couldn't let Benjamin die. Recklessly, he snatched the power and sent it pouring into the wound, willing the bleeding to stop. The gash inched closed.

  He opened his and blinked away the snowflakes on his eyelashes. Very slowly he sat up and stared at hands that now seemed alien. The magic he'd hated for so long had finally come to his aid, and he wasn't sure how to feel. The only thing he was certain of was the cold and wet seeping through his clothing, and his overwhelming weariness. His head throbbed, and his stomach rolled in nauseous waves. He lay down with his cheek against the snow and closed his eyes.

  A persistent nudge drew Cree from sleep. "Go away," he mumbled and swallowed a mouthful of snow. He raised his aching head just as Windchaser pushed him again. "Windchaser." He pushed the horse's nose away, and the stallion snorted and pawed the ground.

  A brief image of riding flashed into Cree's mind, and he shook his head as much as he could. "I don't want to move. I just want to lie here." The image came again, stronger this time. Cree pushed himself up onto his hands and knees. He swayed for a few moments before nausea overcame him, and he lost the contents of his stomach. He sat back on his heels and studied Benjamin's prone form. They needed shelter. Windchaser pawed the ground and another image of riding flashed into Cree's head. "I know, Windchaser, I know." Using the stallion as an anchor, Cree managed to pull himself to his feet. Benjamin's horse stood only a few paces away.

  Cree held out his hand and clucked softly, emphasizing the sound with a mental call. The gelding moved slowly towards him until it nuzzled his hand. Cree wished he had a treat for the horse, but treats would have to wait. "Lie down." He sent the horse an image of what he wanted, and with a disgusted snort, it complied. "That's good."

  He looped his arms through the blacksmith's and dragged the man onto the gelding's back. Sweat-soaked and exhausted, he knelt in the snow and fought the urge to lie down and sleep. He forced himself to his feet. Benjamin's horse lurched to its feet while Cree held the blacksmith on its back. "Windchaser." The stallion moved to his side, and Cree coiled the reins of both animals in his hands and trudged forward. The inn was somewhere ahead of him.

  Once again, he lost himself in the simple task of putting one foot in front of the other. He lost all sense of time and direction. He stumbled once and cracked his knee against a rock buried in the snow. Exhausted, he sat in the snow, hardly noticing the wet seeping through his clothes, wanting nothing more than to close his eyes and sleep. Only the thought of the blacksmith dying kept him moving. His vision swam, and he clung to Windchaser's saddle until he stopped trembling.

  The faint scent of wood smoke told Cree he was near the inn. He looked up to see the welcome lights only a hundred paces away. Summoning the last of his strength, he pulled the exhausted horses towards the door of the inn. He pushed the door open and found himself staring into the face of the startled innkeeper. "Please, sir," he said. "A room for my friend and I. He's hurt. We have coin."

  The innkeeper regained his composure. "Here, here let me help you. You look pretty worn out yourself. The room at the top of the stairs has two beds, we'll go there."

  The innkeeper helped Cree pull Benjamin from the horse, and, together, they carried him up the stairs to a warm bed. Cree sat down on the other bed, too tired to do anything more than blink. He jumped when the innkeeper clapped him on the shoulder.

  "Go ahead and rest. I'll see to your horses."

  Cree mumbled his thanks and pried off his wet boots. He managed to pull the covers down and crawl into the bed, and then, he slept.

  ~*~

  Bright sunlight flooded the room when Cree opened his eyes, and he blinked, trying to force his eyes to adjust. The other bed was empty. "Benjamin?" He sat up and winced as stiff muscles protested the movement.

  "Mac Torol?" Cree jumped at the sound of the blacksmith's voice and turned to see Benjamin leaning against the doorframe with one bushy eyebrow raised. "I was wondering if you were ever going to wake up. You've been asleep for two days."

  Cree rubbed his temples, but the ache behind his eyes didn't ease. "Two days?" He couldn't remember how he'd gotten to bed, or how he'd gotten to the inn, and even the memories of riding through the pass were fuzzy.

  "Taig says you showed up at the door leading two horses." Benjamin walked into the room and scrutinized Cree's face. "He said you looked like a ghost. Of course, you don't look much better now."

  Cree ran his hand over his face, wishing he could bathe and shower. He felt grimy and sore, something only a long soak would remedy. "Taig?"

  "The innkeeper." Benjamin pointed to the door. "There's a bath down the hall with good hot water. I had the innkeeper fix it, since I knew you'd be up soon. You might want to find some fresh clothes, too. I don't think you'll want to wear those again." He nodded to the blood staining the leg of Cree's pants and his shirt.

  Cree fingered the hole in the knee of his breeches. Vaguely, he remembered falling and banging in his knee on something. "What happened?"

  Benjamin shrugged. "I thought you could tell me."

  He shook his head and stood. "I don't know. Everything's fuzzy. Maybe it'll be clearer after I clean up and eat something. I'm starved."

  "Good." Benjamin grinned. "Cause they've got the best beer and sausage here you'll ever taste."

  Cree laughed and rummaged for fresh clothing. "I'll meet you downstairs." He hissed when he put weight on his injured leg and waved the blacksmith away when he reached out a steadying hand. "It's okay. Just bruised, I think." He smiled and clapped Benjamin on the shoulder before limping to the bathing room.

  The water was hot, just on the edge of being uncomfortable, and he sank into
the tub with a grateful sigh. The heat soothed his sore muscles, and memory came flooding back when he relaxed: Benjamin lying near death, power flowing from his hands, an exhausted march to the inn.

  The bath no longer felt warm or comforting. Water dripped into his eyes when he sat up, but he hardly noticed. He could only think of one thing. He'd used magic. He reached inside himself and felt for his long ignored powers. The magic uncoiled and reached for him with sickly, yellow fingers. He slammed his shields up tight and shoved thoughts of magic and power to the farthest reaches of his mind. Shivering, he levered himself out of the tub and toweled himself dry. The memory of power pulsing under his hand wouldn't leave him. He'd enjoyed the thrill of that magic, but he knew the promise of power, and the only thing it promised him was pain.

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  Chapter Six

  They left early the next morning with lighter purses, but pouches full of sausage rolls and sticky buns fresh from the oven. As Cree settled into the familiar rhythm of riding, he forgot about Lishal Tor and magic.

  "I thought you'd be shaking in your boots by now."

  Cree rummaged in his pouch and came out with a roll. "Why?" He bit into it, surprised by how hungry he still was.

  "I thought you were terrified of going to Lishal Tor. Yet, you seem . . . relaxed. I find that strange."

  "I was trying not to think about Lishal Tor."

  "I see. So you were trying to forget the whole thing! Were you conveniently going to forget to go, too?"

  He winced at Benjamin's tone. "No, I'm going. I have to go. I told you." He fumbled with his reins and stared at the pommel of the saddle.

  "What is that frightens you so much? You're practically shaking. A man grown, shaking at a name! Is it your father?"

  "I told you he wasn't a bad man, just a blind one." Cree shook his head. "Why do you want to know?"

  "Your mother perhaps?"

  Cree pursed his lips. "She's dead. Benjamin, why is it-"

  "A sibling? Your old teacher? What?"

  "Why is it so important that you know?"

  "I just don't understand, and I want to understand. This fear has nothing to do with the fire or your lost memories. It's deeper than that. I don't think you're going back for your memories in the first place."

  "Oh, and what am I going back for? Please, tell me."

  "It's about disappointment and anger. You disappointed your father, yourself, and you're angry. God, man, listen to your voice. Every time I mention the place, you could freeze water with that voice. Are you afraid your father won't forgive you? Or are you afraid he will forgive you and welcome you home?"

  Cree glared at the blacksmith and fought the urge to ride past him. "It's none of your business, Benjamin."

  "I'm sorry, you're right." Benjamin looked away. "It is none of my business. I only thought . . . never mind what I thought." Silence stretched between them for almost an hour. "I don't suppose you remember what happened in the pass, do you?"

  "You fell and hit your head. I put you back on your horse and took you to the inn. That's all that happened."

  Benjamin chuckled. "Must have hit my head pretty hard then. I woke up in the middle of the night with a pounding headache. My hair was matted with blood, but there wasn't so much as a bump on my head. And then I looked over at you--" He shook his head and sighed.

  "And?"

  "You were whiter than snow, and you looked like you'd been dragged down that pass."

  Cree chewed on his lower lip and shifted in his saddle. "I thought you were dying."

  "So?"

  He swallowed his fear and disgust. "I used magic to save you." The admission came out as a pitiful squeak, and he shut his eyes, waiting for some sort of protest, but Benjamin just chuckled.

  "That's the mystery, then."

  They rode in silence, while Cree gathered his thoughts and tried to find some sort of emotional stability.

  "I thought you didn't use magic," Benjamin said. "You said you'd forsaken it."

  Cree shook his head. "I have. It won't happen again."

  The blacksmith glanced at him and looked away. "Maybe you ought to rethink that decision. I'd be dead if not for your magic."

  Cree shook his head. He understood the argument, but the blacksmith didn't understand, couldn't understand. Magic meant pain, and Cree had lived through enough pain. "I don't want the magic, and it's never wanted me. That I healed you was a fluke, nothing more." Cree fell silent again and remembered, uncomfortably, the strange exhilaration he'd felt as he'd healed Benjamin. The magic had come, without pain, for the first time he could remember. He wrenched his thoughts in another direction. "Tell me about Mirayla."

  "What kind of question is that?"

  "An important one if I end up going to Socorrow's Rest. If Father can't help me, maybe she can. I'd just like to know something about her before I meet her, that's all."

  Benjamin's lip twitched, and he made a strangled noise that suggested he was hiding laughter. "What do you want to know?"

  Cree shrugged. "Whatever you want to tell me."

  "She arrived in our village not long before you. Her and her teacher, I forget the woman's name. Pretty woman, though. Tall, hair so blonde it was almost white, and her skin was dark. Exotic looking."

  Cree rolled his eyes. "I asked about Mirayla."

  Benjamin did laugh then. "That's right, you did. Nice looking girl--short, delicate looking, at least back then. Don't know what she'd look like now, though. She kept to herself. The only time we saw much of her was when she was working. She was there to gain some practical healing experience. After the fire, she and her teacher helped put the village back together. They treated most of the injured, saved a lot of lives. They stayed for a little over a year, and then left, heading back to Socorrow's Rest."

  "And then you heard nothing else from her?"

  Benjamin grinned. "I didn't expect to, her being the daughter of Clanda, leader of the Cavordiac. I always figured she had other responsibilities. Her teacher though--"

  "Just because her mother was the Cavordiac's leader, doesn't mean--"

  "No, she'd taken the pledge, or was about to. It's been eight years, Cree. I'm sure she's a full member by now, perhaps even with rank." He sighed. "I remember her being sweet, almost insecure. She once said she'd disappointed her mother when she took the healer's path. But then she'd smile and say she didn't care."

  "Why not?"

  "She liked who she was. She said she liked putting people back together instead of blowing them apart."

  Cree chuckled. The memory of the dream Mirayla had stayed with him, and he could see her saying those very words and laughing as she said them.

  "Do you think she'll be in Lishal Tor?"

  "I don't know. I was only curious." Secretly, he hoped he would arrive at the gates to find Mirayla waiting for him with the truth a shining beacon in her hand.

  "Curious, eh?"

  Cree grinned and lost himself in the rhythm of the road, hardly noticing the darkening sky, until he saw the outline of walls ahead. He smothered a groan.

  "There is still time to turn around. If you don't want to go-"

  "I have to go, Benjamin. I have to stop the dreams."

  Night had fallen by the time they reached the gates. Cree patted Windchaser's neck, and the horse snuffled. "I'm tired, too," he whispered in the stallion's ear. The gate was closed.

  "The city is closed for the night!" a woman's voice announced from above them. "Come back in the morning."

  Benjamin cleared his throat. "Please, Ma'am, we've rode all day. If you will-"

  "Are you deaf?" A shadowy form appeared at the top of the gate. "The gate is closed. No one comes in after dark."

  Cree fingered Windchaser's mane. His stomach fluttered in nervous anticipation. He was too hot, then too cold. Sweat trickled down his back. "Benjamin-"

  "Come on. We'll just have to find someplace to camp." He started to wheel his horse away, but Cree's tou
ch stopped him.

  "No, Benjamin. I'll get us in."

  "What are you-"

  Cree looked up at the woman on the gate. "Please, Ma'am. I must be in the city tonight."

  "You heard what I told your friend. No one is allowed through the gate at night."

  He sighed and shoved his fear to a dark corner of his mind. "But Ma'am, I am not just anyone. I am Ellery mac Torol, and I have come home."

  For a moment, Cree thought the gate would remain shut, but it swung open with a sickening crack. The guard stood in the opening with a torch in her hand. She stepped towards him and scrutinized his face.

  "You could be him." She paused. "Both of you off your horses. Leave them here. Follow me. I will take you to Torol house." She turned on her heel and marched through the gate.

  "See." Cree smiled smugly. "I told you I would get us in."

  "They don't seem to happy to see you."

  His smile faded. "I didn't expect them to be."

  They started after the guard.

  "Are you sure you're up to this?"

  "As ready as I'll ever be."

  The woman led them through the streets to the base of a dark stone building. "Wait here." She disappeared inside.

  "Where are we?"

  Cree looked up at the building and wiped sweaty palms on his breeches. "Torol House." His stomach lurched and some of his courage melted. "Father will be in a rage."

  "Why's that?"

  "We're just in time for dinner."

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  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Left alone in his father's study, Cree's eyes darted about looking for some sign of change, but the walls were paneled in the same drab walnut. Moldy books lined the shelves on either side of the room's sole window. Mismatched chairs sat in a semi-circle around a table battered by scuff marks and water stains. Reorden's enormous oak desk--cluttered with papers, ledgers, and more books--occupied one whole corner of the room. Nothing, not even the dirt, had changed. Cree paced the length of the room, glancing at Benjamin occasionally and ignoring the man's questioning looks. He couldn't answer questions now. Heavy footsteps sounded in the hallway. Cree stopped pacing and stared at the doorway, heart pounding, mouth gone dry. Tremors coursed over his body, and Cree clenched his hands into fists in a vain attempt to hide his fear.