The Burden of Memory

by Welcome Cole

  “And there’s more.”

  Mawby waited.

  “There’s something you need to understand before you look inside.”

  “Yes?”

  “Your first impulse will be to think precisely the opposite of what’s true.”

  “Of what’s true?” Mawby said carefully, “What do you mean? You can just tell me straight out.”

  “Keep this thought locked firmly in your mind as you enter this tent,” Chance said as he slipped the blanket back to release the terrifying light, “She’s still alive.”

  XII

  THE BEGINNING

  BEAM WALKED BEHIND PRAVE, FOLLOWING HIM DUTIFULLY DOWN THE WIDE STREET.

  The brown flagstone street passed directly through the middling town. The section they currently passed through was lined on both sides by identical wooden clapboard buildings spaced so closely together that a man could barely ride a horse between them. They were deep, narrow structures with steeply pitched roofs. These buildings ran back from the street forever, ending only where they disappeared into the dense spruce forest more than two hundred feet back from the road. There had to be fifty or more of the peculiar structures lining both sides of the street down three full blocks of the town. It looked like a field military base, except that these buildings appeared much more permanent, and there were no military personnel in sight.

  As he studied the buildings, he realized there were no windows on any of them. The roofs were dressed in diamond-shaped gray tiles like fired sheets of clay, overlapped appropriately and ending in gutterless eaves. There were no belfries or vents or other inconveniences visible on the steep gables.

  This main street before the buildings was quite busy. Vaemysh citizens filled the wide road, milling about in small groups of three or four or five. Some carried large baskets between them, while others pulled small wagons or shouldered packs. One group shepherded a small flock of copper-colored sheep through the complex. This might have been any Vaemysh village on a late summer afternoon, except for the utter silence and the strange characteristics of its inhabitants.

  He watched a small passel of women march past. These weren’t the traditional pale, white-haired Vaemyds of his own timescape outside this caeylsphere. One woman had hair as red as rust and another boasted long brown locks. A man strolling down the other side of the street sported a shock of black hair as thick and curly as wool. A pair of men followed him, each with short hair the color of dark butter. Even their skin tones varied from the expected pallid white to the dark bronze of Watchers.

  Prave stopped them directly before one of the strange buildings sitting nearly at the center of the row on their right. Two massive, solid looking doors hulked before a wide stoop, each equipped with small peep shutters that must slide open from the inside. Beam saw no latches or keyholes on the outside, no signs declaring the building’s business, no touches of anything that might designate its purpose. The huge doors were made of thick, rough timber braced with straps of heavy black iron. They weren’t much different from the few dungeon entrances he’d had the bad fortune to pass through earlier in his life. Nothing about them spoke of hope or flowery promises.

  He was about to ask Prave about it when a horrific scream erupted from inside the building. The nearby citizens collectively stopped and froze in the street, though he noted they avoided looking directly at the building. Their eyes were instead locked on the pavement stones at their feet, or on each other. The scream erupted again, louder and longer and more desperate this time.

  He felt his skin prickle as the wail slowly folded back to silence. Despite being muffled by the heavy fortifications of the buildings, he felt the terror in that voice as clearly as if he endured it himself. As he watched the citizens on the road slowly return to their tasks, he leaned into Prave and whispered, “Just what in the bloody hell was that?”

  Prave offered no response. Instead he watched three men and a woman approaching from further up the street. They were dressed identically in silky red robes, their heads partially covered by flowing hoods. Intricate gold runes in waving, circular designs embellished the seams and cuffs of their deep sleeves. These were the ancient symbols of caeyl healers, though Beam had no idea how he knew this. The two men in the lead were the younger Prave and his dark companion from back at the crater, Paex Gael’vra. The other man and the woman walked deferentially and at a respectable distance behind them.

  The party passed before them, then climbed the three deep steps up the wide stoop to the entrance of the building. As they passed, Beam watched Gael’vra closely. The man seemed taller than before, and even wider. He stood well over a foot higher than the younger Prave, though Beam was sure they’d been reasonably close to the same height back at the crater. His black dreadlocks poured down over his shoulders like unearthly snakes, and they sparkled strangely in the sunlight. As he looked closer, Beam realized the cause. The man had dozens of tiny caeyl crystals woven through his braids. Most simmered in the unsavory yellow light of the Fire Caeyl, but gems of other colors were scattered through his hair as well. Beam wondered how much time had passed between this encounter and the one at the crater. Years, he expected.

  Gael’vra stopped at the second step of the stoop. He paused for a moment, then turned and looked directly at Beam. His eyes were different than before, a bit too large, a bit too far apart, and they burned with an intensity that gave Beam a chill. For just an instant, he was certain the man could see him.

  “Prave, we’re outside their timescape, right?” he whispered without taking his eyes from the dark man.

  “Ay’a.”

  “You’re sure about that?”

  “Yes, Be’ahm. I am quite sure.”

  “Excellent. Good to know.”

  Gael’vra finally broke the contact. He shook his head, then craned around to look back at the street. As he did, Beam realized the man had no oteuryns. He thought back to the crater where he was certain he’d seen dark horns. Curious, he again leaned toward Prave and whispered, “I thought you told me Gael’vra was a Vaemyn.”

  “He was.”

  Was. Past tense. He was about to elicit clarification when another scream erupted from a building across the road.

  The younger Prave, Gael’vra, and the third man all turned and looked back toward the other building. Only the female member of the group appeared unfazed by the sound. She pushed past the others with obvious impatience and stopped before the great doors. There, she produced a small wand-like stick with a glowing blue orb braided to the end by leather cords. She bowed her head. Beam heard muttered words. The orb’s blue light flashed brilliantly. The left door grew oddly translucent before swinging slowly inward. The party then passed into the darkness.

  Prave followed them in without a word.

  Beam remained in the street looking up at the gaping door. The interior of the building glowed from within with an eerie orange light like staring into the mouth of a yawning dragon. As he watched it, he realized that for the first time since this epic dream began he was truly and reasonably afraid. He sincerely did not want to go inside that building. He wanted no part of whatever horrors lurked in the belly of that beast, and he was somehow quite certain that there were indeed horrors within.

  Come inside, Be’ahm.

  Beam flinched. It was Prave’s voice inside his head.

  There is nothing to fear. These are only memories. They cannot harm you.

  “I’m not afraid,” Beam muttered as he reluctantly climbed the wide stairs. In truth, he’d never so sincerely wanted to flee from anything in his life.

  The room within was gloomy as death. The biting smell of urine the reek of shit and decay choked the air. The interior was one single room that ran back forever. Oil lamps mounted the long walls at frequent intervals, but still lacked the fortitude to breach the darkness. Dozens of beds lined the walls along both sides of the room, packed together so tightly there was only enough room for one person at a time to stand between them.

&nbs
p; The beds were covered in pale linen sheets and colorless woolen blankets, and each held the shape of a body. Several people dressed in white hovered near a bed at the distant end of the room. The four red-robed figures they’d followed in consulted at the foot.

  “What is this?” he whispered to Prave, “Why are you showing me a ten thousand year old infirmary?”

  A high-pitched shriek erupted from the back of the room. The figures at that distant bed fell into struggle with the bed’s occupant as the red robes watched. The scream was piercing and pervasive. Beam heard the metal clang of chains clacking just beneath the sound as the attendants quickly subdued the patient, or whatever it was. The scream quickly muffled into silence.

  “Damn it, Prave!” Beam said, seizing Prave’s sleeve, “What the bloody hell is this?”

  “Look closely, Be’ahm. Forget the activity deeper in the room. Focus instead on these beds surrounding you.”

  Beam thought about the horrors that must surely reside in this pit, and dropped his face to the floor. “No,” he whispered, shaking his head, “No, damn me, I don’t believe I will.”

  “Look at the beds.”

  Beam kept his eyes locked on the shadowy planks at his feet.

  “Look, Be’ahm.”

  “I won’t.”

  “Look at the beds.”

  “Please, I don’t want—”

  “Look!”

  Beam flinched at the power in Prave’s voice. Seeing no hope of retreat, he commanded up his strength and looked over with deep trepidation at the nearest bed. He didn’t let go of Prave’s sleeve.

  The barred brass head of the bed was parked back tightly against the wall. The uneven shape of the pale blanket spoke of a person resting beneath it, though no head was visible. On the surface, it could have been any sick bed in any priory in the world. So why did it fill him with such terror?

  “Look closely,” Prave urged him, “This is a memory you cannot repress.”

  “Well, damn me if I don’t plan to try.”

  “Go to it. Pull back the bedding. Inspect the bed’s occupant.”

  Beam reluctantly released his mentor’s sleeve. The ten pace walk to the indicated bed seemed never ending.

  A small clay oil lamp burned solemnly on the wall high above the brass headboard. As he moved nearer, he noticed the metal framing beneath the bedding. Thick iron bolts secured the bed’s feet to the heavy wooden planks beneath it. Then he saw the chains. They dripped from under the blankets and arced back to the wall, terminating at thick iron plates just above the floor on either side of the headboard.

  The sight of the chains froze him in his steps. “What… what the hell is this? Is this a prison infirmary? An asylum for indwellers?”

  The bedding writhed. Beam nearly jumped out of his skin. A wet, guttural groan poured up from their folds, a sound that wasn’t like anything he’d ever heard a civilized creature emit.

  “Nothing here can harm you,” Prave said, stepping into position directly across the bed from him, “This is only a very sorry moment in a sorrier time. It’s critical that your revisit this memory.”

  Beam glared over at him. “Only a memory, he says.”

  “Your memories make you stronger, Be’ahm.”

  “Stronger? What good is strength when my britches are soaked? Besides, they aren’t my memories, they’re yours.”

  Despite his protestation, he knew that no matter how terrifying the image waiting for him beneath that blanket, this was not the time to resist Prave’s commands. Prave would never let him free of this dream if he didn’t comply. He would stay here in this house of horrors until the hells melted to water until he obeyed. So he steadied himself for what was almost certainly going to send him screaming into the street, then reached carefully for the edge of the blanket. He’d only pulled the slip back a few inches when the teeth lunged for him.

  Beam nearly fell back into the neighboring bed. Dagger-like teeth snapped at him from an unnaturally wide mouth. Tiny, clawed hands thrashed about on rope-like arms. The snaky claws groped at the iron collar shackled around its thick neck in an effort to get free. The wretched creature’s body was only a few feet long. It was pink and wrinkled and perfectly hairless, and absent of genitalia. As it thrashed free of the blankets, Beam realized that the lower half of its body tapered into two thick, squirming, snake-like coils that each ended in a single stub of toe.

  “Damn you, Prave!” Beam yelled as the creature thrashed against its chains, “What in the name of the gods is that?”

  Prave didn’t reply. The monstrosity snapped its dagger-filled mouth at him, straining against the short chain gripping its throat like it might pull down the wall. Its ropey arms flew about like whips, making clicking noises with its tiny claws.

  “Prave!” Beam yelled over the grinding yowl of the wretched beast, “Prave, answer me!”

  Prave looked up at him with deep sorrow in his aging eyes. “It’s a memory, Be’ahm. It cannot harm you. I can’t help you if you won’t listen to me.”

  “Help me? Are you—”

  Something cried out in the bed behind him. Beam wheeled toward the sound. Someone or something cowered behind the blankets. The fingers clutching the cloth and the sad brown eyes peering over the edge of it appeared feminine, and quite normal.

  “Help me.” It was the voice of a young female. “Please, sire! Please help me, my lord.”

  Beam glanced over at the thrashing monster, then carefully eased his way down around the foot of the second bed and along the opposite side. “It’s a girl,” he whispered to Prave, “Just a girl. Why is she bedded so close to this… this monster?”

  “They’ve made a mistake,” the woman cried through the blanket held tightly over her mouth, “Please, sire. I pray thee help me. These tyrants have me imprisoned here against my will.”

  Beam threw a wary eye over at the beast in the next bed. Its morbid legs writhed and twisted around each other like coiling snakes readying their attack. Though still snarling and snapping at him, the chains kept it from moving away from the head of the bed. Confident it couldn’t reach him, he knelt beside the woman.

  “Why are you here?” he asked her.

  She pulled the blanket’s edge up tighter to her face as if afraid he might strike her.

  “I won’t hurt you. Why are you here?”

  “They’re… they’re going to kill me, sire,” she whispered from behind the blanket, “But I did nothing! I swear to Paerntyl’fael. I was… I was tending my sheep. They abducted me from my home! They murdered my family!”

  “It’s all right,” Beam whispered. He reached carefully for the blanket. “Are you ill? What’s wrong with you?”

  The woman recoiled from his hand, pulling the blanket tighter to her face. “Don’t hurt me! I’ve done nothing wrong!”

  “I’m won’t hurt you,” Beam said carefully. He took the edge of the blanket. “It’s all right,” he said as he gently urged the blanket’s edge away from her face, “You can trust me. I’m here to help you.”

  With no little hesitancy, she yielded to his efforts. The blanket slipped downward, revealing her nose and ears and oteuryns. She was Vaemysh, and she was actually quite pretty. As he urged the blanket further, she again gripped it tighter.

  “You can trust me,” he said carefully, “I’m your friend. I’m here to help you.”

  She studied him for a moment with those dark, innocent eyes. Then she fully yielded to him. The blanket slid past her lips and over her chin to reveal her eyes. Her second eyes.

  Beam choked back a cry as he stumbled back from the bed. There was another face, a second face glaring up at him from where her neck should have been, its toothless mouth filled with a pulpy tongue.

  “Please, sire,” the first face cried, “Please help me.”

  To his horror, the second mouth simultaneously formed the same words around its thick tongue, though no sound came out from it. Beam covered his mouth and tried to breathe.

  Prave appeare
d beside him. He seized the bottom of the blanket and roughly yanked it away from her.

  The creature was grotesque and terrifying. The gray flesh of her bloated, shapeless torso was pocked with tuberous growths that housed twisted, deformed oteuryns, half-defined faces, and malformed eyes that collectively tracked him as he backed away.

  Beam took the blanket from Prave’s hands and threw it back over her. “My gods,” he yelled, “What the hell kind of horror is this? You sick bastard! Why are you showing me this?”

  “Because this is the truth,” Prave said, “Because you must remember the beginning if you’re to understand the end.”

  Beam threw his forearm over his mouth and backed away from the wretched sight. The pitiable woman cowered in the bedding, whimpering and begging him to help her. Two bulbous eyes tracked him from what once was her shoulder. Fat, lumpy hands with pocks of lips and mouths groped for him. He grabbed the pommel of his sword, but even the caeyl’s energy couldn’t part his terror. The creature in the first bed had thankfully settled back, and Prave had recovered it, though the snake-like legs still writhed anxiously past the bottom edge of the blanket, twisting about each other in a living helix.

  He felt Prave’s hand on his shoulder, though he couldn’t avert his eyes from the monstrosities suffering before him. “These are your memories, Be’ahm. You must remember if you are to save us.”

  Beam felt utterly and perfectly terrified. “No,” he said into his arm, “No, they are not my memories!”

  “These are indeed your memories, my boy. But that’s all they are, memories. They are only shadows of the past. They are not real.”

  “No.” Beam dragged a trembling hand over his mouth. “No, damn me to hell, that’s bullshit. You’re a liar!”

  Prave took his arm and urged him farther down the ranks. Beam followed with the greatest apprehension. The beds revealed one nightmare after another as they passed. The wretched occupants were all misshapen to some degree, and some were completely unidentifiable. There were tentacles for limbs, twisted spines, bulbous heads, and organs growing on the outsides of their bellies. Some were merely malformed lumps of pale, quivering flesh without apparent faces or appendages of any kind. One creature was the size of a doll and hairless, with oversized eyes and ears, and hands ending in only one thick finger. Another was the size of a Baeldon, but with a sickeningly tiny head and no visible mouth.