EMBRACE OF MEMORY

by Vicki McElfresh

  She raised an eyebrow. "No one knew you had left until we went looking for you. It was the Reapers who were the big clue. When a whole group of them tore off down the road, there could only be one answer. I'll give you credit though."

  "For what? Being an idiot?"

  She laughed. "You got further than I thought you would. If you had planned a little better, learned the area a little better, you would have succeeded. We would never have known you were gone."

  "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I just didn't think. I suppose -- -"

  "You needn't be sorry, Cree. I understand."

  Her words only made him guilty, and he finished the last of his meal in silence. "Shall we, then?" He stood and held out his hand.

  She laid her hand in his. "Let's go."

  They walked in silence, still holding hands. Cree's heart quivered. His mouth felt dry, and he could not help smiling. Mirayla opened the door to the garden and took his arm, moving a little closer to him.

  As they entered the maze, she said, "Tell me, do you mean the things you say in your sleep?"

  He tensed, a knot of fear growing in his stomach. "Depends on what I said."

  "About you and me."

  He relaxed. "What did I say?"

  She chuckled. "In summary, that the sun rises and sets at my feet. The moon has not a fairer face." She smiled smugly. "Really, Cree, what have you been reading lately."

  They rounded the last curve of the maze. "Would you believe nothing?"

  "No, I'd find that hard to believe." The path opened to a circular clearing, and at the center laid an ornamental pond. "Here's the end. We could sit if you're tired." She led him to a bench near the pool.

  He sat down and absorbed himself in the study of Mirayla's face, her body, everything about her. Little things appealed to him most - the stray wisps of hair escaping from her braid, a faint scar along her jaw. "I meant none of that."

  "What?" She met his gaze, and her eyes filled with tears of disappointment. "I thought -- -" She started to rise, but he stopped her with a gentle touch.

  "Surely, the sun and moon combined could not match your beauty." A tear slipped down her cheek, and she sank back to the bench. "And no voice could be sweeter. No smile more perfect. No touch more gentle." He caressed her cheek and wiped the tears away.

  She smiled and grasped the hand against her cheek. "Oh, Cree," she whispered.

  He tilted her face upward and leaned a little closer, his own cheeks now wet with tears. "And I love you." The words, now spoken, no longer held any fear, but rather a strange sense of comfort and happiness.

  "I love you, too," she whispered. "I've loved you from the moment you rode into that village in the mountains. I dreamed about you all this time, and when I found you again, I foolishly thought you'd sweep me away. When you didn't, I -- -"

  He laid a finger against her lips. Tears slipped down his cheeks. "I'm sorry. I was afraid. I was afraid loving you would mean destroying you. So I ran, and I'm sorry."

  "You wouldn't have destroyed me, Cree." She pushed his hair out of his eyes.

  "I was afraid of so much, most of all myself." No longer fighting himself, the fear seemed childish and irrational.

  "The fear isn't gone."

  He smiled. "No, but I don't have to face it alone, do I?"

  She smiled and wiped the tears from his cheeks. "Not alone, never that."

  He lost himself in the soft blue of her eyes. He traced the line of her jaw with a finger, then pulled her close and kissed her, mingling their tears.

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  * * *

  Chapter Seventeen

  Cree drifted between sleep and awareness. Vague flashes of dreams danced in front of him, tempting him with promises of knowledge and truth. He shied away. He did not want the truths his dreams might offer. He did not want to face the dark memories those truths hid. He turned over, wishing he had the strength to open his eyes, but he was tired, too tired to do anything more than drift. Somewhere in the distance, he heard knocking. Thinking it only a snippet of his dreams, he buried his head in his pillows and ignored the sound. The knocking came again, louder this time. Cree pulled the pillow off his head and opened his eyes, realizing that someone was at his door.

  He slid off the bed and padded to the door, rubbing his temples to ease the ache behind his eyes. He opened the door, and without bothering to see who was at the door, went back to the bed and lay down.

  "Your manners astound me, Mac Torol." Benjamin stepped into the room and dragged the desk chair to the side of the bed. He straddled it and sat down. "You look like hell."

  "That is about how I feel, too." He sat up and tried to look cheerful. "Did you just come to see me to tell me I look bad or did you have another reason?"

  Benjamin shook his head. "You've been up and around for two days now, and you still look like death could find you any moment. I think you looked better two days ago."

  Cree sighed. "I'm not sleeping, at least not very well."

  The blacksmith's expression grew concerned. "Have you told Mirayla?"

  "No." He glared at Benjamin. "And don't you tell her either."

  Benjamin tried to look innocent, but he could not help smiling. "Would I do that?"

  "Yes."

  "What's the problem this time? Are you still dreaming about the fire?"

  Cree shook his head, and his gaze slid to the window. "No, not the fire."

  Benjamin followed Cree's eyes. "Don't worry about them. They aren't going to come in and get you."

  "When will they leave me in peace?"

  Benjamin cleared his throat and looked down at the floor. "When you're dead or when you're no longer an excuse for war."

  Cree glared at him. "Thanks for your optimism."

  "Not optimism, just honesty. The Reapers aren't what's keeping you awake though, are they?"

  "No." Cree pulled his knees to his chest.

  "So what is it then?"

  Cree refused to look at Benjamin. "You don't want --"

  "Ah, we're back to 'I don't want to know.' That's always your excuse, Mac Torol. Talk about what's bothering you, and then you'd be able to sleep at night!"

  Cree shrank from Benjamin's anger. "I...I can't," he whispered.

  "Why not?" Benjamin stood, knocking his chair over. "Are you afraid of trusting me? Or are you afraid of finding out about yourself?"

  "I told you I don't give my trust lightly." Cree's lip curled.

  "Have I given you any reason not to trust me?" Benjamin picked up the chair and sat back down.

  "You lied to me."

  "No more than you've lied to me, Mac Torol. You seem to think you're the only one with a shady past, but you aren't. There are others who've suffered just as much, if not more."

  Cree glared. "You've no idea what you --"

  "I can put the pieces together."

  Cree laughed. "Try it. I want to hear what you think is wrong with me."

  "All right, Mac Torol." Benjamin rubbed his hands together. "Sarana was cruel to you, probably beat you, and --"

  "You are already heading in the wrong direction."

  Benjamin raised an eyebrow. "All that talk of lashes and ropes, and you say I'm headed in the wrong direction."

  The color drained from Cree's face. "I said that?"

  "You mutter about it in your sleep."

  Cree laid his head on his knees. "What else have I said in my sleep?"

  "Something about circles and lines, strange words I've never heard --"

  Cree choked on a sob. "Don't tell me any more."

  "I don't understand." Benjamin laid a hand on Cree's shoulder.

  "You don't want to either." He raised his head. "Can we just change the subject?"

  "Someday I'll figure out your secret."

  Cree chuckled. "And I'll figure out what it is you're hiding about the Reapers."

  Benjamin grinned. "Not likely."

  "Probably about as likely as knowing my secret." Cree's gaze slid to the
window again, and he fell silent.

  Benjamin sighed. "Well, since you can't sleep, and you aren't going to tell me what's bothering you, how about a walk? I found something I know you'll appreciate."

  "Something I'll appreciate? Lead the way."

  Benjamin chuckled. "That got some color in your cheeks anyway. Come on, Mac Torol." Benjamin went to the door and held it open. "You need something to do besides sleep, anyway."

  Cree raised an eyebrow. "I'm not sure I like the sound of that." Benjamin led Cree up a level to a set of double doors. "Are you ready for a surprise?" The blacksmith's eyes twinkled.

  "What are you playing at, Benjamin?" The blacksmith laughed and opened the doors. The room beyond was filled with books, more books than Cree had ever seen. He took a tentative step inside. Chairs and tables were scattered throughout the room, and he spied a large, overstuffed chair that looked particularly comfortable. "Benjamin, what --" He turned back toward the blacksmith, but he was gone. He smiled and wandered the shelves. He found a thin volume of history, battered, dusty, and written in an obscure language. Grinning, he curled up in the plush chair, but he had read only a few pages before the faded writing, combined with his own fatigue, forced his eyes closed, and he fell asleep.

  A light touch woke him. He rubbed his eyes and yawned. He was startled to see Clanda standing next to him. The book fell to the floor.

  "I wondered when you'd end up here." She retrieved the book and glanced through it before handing it to him. "I didn't even know anyone could still speak that language, let alone read it."

  He flipped the pages until he found his place again. "I can."

  She arched an eyebrow. "So I see. Mirayla and Cali swear you are full of surprises. I didn't believe them, but I may have to revise my opinion. Where did you learn?"

  "My brother's teachers. Father had us backwards. Delwyn wanted to be heir. I wanted to be the scholar. I spent more time at his lessons than he ever did."

  Clanda walked to one of the study tables and dragged a chair next to him. She straddled the seat and sat down, meeting his eyes squarely. "Cree, I have some questions to ask, and they aren't going to be comfortable for you."

  He swallowed hard and sat up straighter. "What sort of questions?"

  "About magic."

  He pushed a strand of hair out of his eye and bit his lip. "I'll answer as best I can."

  She smiled. "Tell me about your empathy."

  "The empathy?" He started shaking. "You know --"

  "It's not a secret anymore. Cali told me. Mirayla's told me. Now I want you to tell me." She put her chin on the back of the chair and waited, her eyes not at all judgmental, merely curious.

  "I thought --" He stared at her in confusion, unable to reconcile the questions with Clanda's obvious concern. "What do you want to know?"

  "Anything." When he balked, she sighed. "All right. You can sense emotions. Can you also manipulate them? Could you, say, make someone forget he's angry?"

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "Can you use it as a weapon? Use your own emotions against another person?" Again, he nodded. "Has anyone ever used it against you?" He made no move. "Cree?"

  "Yes," he whispered with downcast eyes. His clenched his hands into tight fists to keep them from shaking.

  Clanda grimaced. "Do you need to stop?" He shook his head. "Can you sense energies?"

  "Energies?"

  "Magic, power. Can you feel power around you?"

  "Yes." His brow furrowed. "Why are you asking?"

  "Mostly curiosity, and I want to understand. I want to help you." She smiled. "Can you manipulate that power?"

  "Obviously."

  Her eyebrows rose into her hair. "Oh? Have you ever moved objects with your mind? Called lightning? Transmuted water to something? Anything like that?"

  "I called fire. Isn't that enough?"

  "No, calling fire is the simplest of magics." She gave him a measured stare. "So simple, in fact, a healer can do it. Have you ever healed anyone, Cree? Felt a wound close? Brought someone back from death?"

  Memories of Benjamin falling and lying in the snow rushed at him. He felt the magic again, felt the wound closing, felt his bewilderment. "Yes."

  "I thought so. I have one more question."

  "What?"

  "Cali said you channeled enough power through your body to kill three men. Have you been used as a channel, Cree? Have you been tied to a circle and power forced through you? Have you been used to summon --"

  He stood abruptly and forced his anger to the back of his mind. "Please, no more." He began pacing. Whispers of buried memories tugged at his mind: darkened rooms, strong with the stench of drying blood and decaying bodies, circles drawn in ground bone, a knife cutting through tender flesh, the kiss of a lash. He shivered.

  "No more. I have my answer." She pointed to the chair. "Come, sit back down."

  He sat down. "Why --"

  "You aren't a mage. I've suspected since I learned of your empathy. Empathy in a mage is rare, and it's a weakness, but in a healer, empathy is an asset. And you are a healer, Cree."

  "A healer? But I --"

  "You were purposefully not trained. Sarana used you to raise power for himself."

  "How is that possible?"

  "A mage can pull power from the air, the earth, the weather. A mage can manipulate those energies. A healer cannot manipulate energy outside himself. A healer can only use the energy within him. Extended uses of that power will result in exhaustion, fever, possibly even death. However, a mage can feed energy to a healer, because most healers are natural channels."

  "What has that to do with --"

  She held up her hand to silence him. "There is a way to pervert that natural ability. Power is forced through the healer, using him as a focus, a holding tank for energy. To do this, the healer has to be bonded to a mage by blood, or by soul."

  "By soul?" He thought of the empty places within him, the dark memories that would consume him if he let them loose. "Have I...was I --?"

  "No. Your soul isn't marred by such a mark, but it is bonded."

  "It is?"

  She nodded. "To Mirayla."

  He smiled. "I love her." The admission startled him.

  Clanda nodded and smiled. "I know, and because you love her, I have to ask one more question."

  His stomach knotted. "We haven't --"

  "That's good to know." Clanda chuckled. "But not what I want to ask."

  "Then what?"

  "Will you let me train your powers, or more specifically, would you let Cali?"

  The screams, the pain, the torture surged at him all at once. He shook. Tears welled up in his eyes and threatened to fall. He wanted to say no, but Clanda said he was a healer, that meant a different kind of training, a different teacher, a new chance. Before his resolve could leave him, he whispered, "Yes."

  "I'm not going to force you, but --"

  "It's all right. I'm ready, I think."

  Clanda stood and replaced her chair. "One other thing, Cree."

  He stood and fingered the worn edge of his book. "What?"

  "Love my daughter well."

  His smile needed no coaxing. "I will."

  Cree wanted to talk to Mirayla. At the infirmary, a woman loaded with fresh linens informed him she was 'on rounds' and would not return until dark. Disappointed, he fled to the garden and let the cold soothe away the ache of old memories. He wandered to the center of the maze and sat down at the edge of the pool. The water was coated with skim of ice, but the pool was perfectly clear.

  "Somehow, I knew you'd be here. There are other, warmer places to hide."

  Cree smiled and stood, holding out his hand to Mirayla as she approached. "It was close, and I was looking for you."

  She took his hand. "I know. Celia told me as soon as I walked through the door."

  "Celia?"

  "She helps Cali sometimes. Does the laundry, the cleaning. Although mostly they sit in Cali's office and drink tea, but don't tell anyon
e I said that."

  He laughed. "I really didn't picture Cali as the tea-drinking type."

  "Oh, believe me, Cali's full of surprises." She stood on tiptoe to kiss him. "Sort of like you."

  He blushed. "Don't overestimate me."

  "I wouldn't dream of it. Did you enjoy the library?"

  He raised an eyebrow. "Benjamin told me he found it."

  "Did he now?" She chuckled. "Only because I told him to take you there. I was guessing you were getting restless and bored. You didn't answer my question."

  "Did I enjoy it?" At her nod, he shook his head. "Not really, no."

  "I would have thought--"

  He laughed. "I fell asleep. I seem to be doing that a lot lately."

  She stepped away from him and scrutinized his face. "You aren't sleeping?"

  "Not very well, no. I drift, rather than sleep." He scowled. "Drifting isn't good. I dream then, and I remember the dreams." Brief flashes of old memories rose out of the darkness: leather bindings on his wrists, cold stone beneath him. A cry forced its way to his throat, and with an effort he swallowed it. He ran a nervous hand through his hair. "My nap was restful, though, even if I didn't get any reading done." He tried to sound cheerful, but the words sounded bitter.

  Mirayla's brow furrowed. "Is something wrong? You seem distracted."

  "No," he lied and hoped Mirayla would not notice. He tried to smile, but the effort resulted in a grimace. "I'm just tired, that's all. I think--"

  "You aren't tired." Her eyes narrowed. "You're hiding something. Did Mama say something to you? Did you find out about the Council Meeting? Tell me, Cree."

  "Council Meeting?"

  "You didn't know? Benjamin must be slipping. I thought sure he'd tell you."

  "Benjamin and I--" He stopped. "Tell me what?"

  "Sarana's been sent to petition for your immediate extradition to Lishal Tor. The Council convenes in a week."

  The color drained from his face, and he started shaking. "Don't make me go with him!" He staggered backwards, but his knees buckled. He fell, cracking his knee on the stone beneath him. He never felt the pain. "Don't make me go with him," he repeated, the words hardly more than a whisper.