Sands of Memory

by Melissa McShane

  She looked at the board and saw the spell written out in her own blood. The transform language was the most beautiful of the five, its curves and delicate lines prettier than the most elegant human calligraphy because they bore pent-up power in every stroke. It was the whole spell, dredged up from memory, and as she began reading it she heard the syllables echoing in her deaf ears, the only sound in the world. She knew it was real because she could taste the sweetness of a transform.

  She gripped Alaric’s shoulder and willed the spell to transmute the poison flowing through his veins into something harmless, focusing on the spell and ignoring the same little gibbering voice that wanted her to believe what she was doing was impossible.

  The last golden syllable left her lips. She convulsed, falling to her hands and knees and vomiting up bile that bore no tinge of sweetness. It stank of something dark and bitter, as if she’d swallowed lamp oil. She vomited until she felt her stomach had turned itself inside out. Agony shot through her with every convulsion, and she screamed, wordlessly begging the pain to stop.

  Hands held her up, and she wrenched away from them as every touch felt like a brand on her skin. She took a few crawling steps before collapsing, her body shaking too much to support her. Blind, deaf, unable to move, she screamed again and waited for death to claim her. O Averran, she prayed with her last conscious thought, have mercy on my soul.

  24

  Something soft brushed the back of her neck, easing the pain in her head. I’m not done with you yet, a thunderous voice said.

  It echoed through her skull and set her head aching again, but it was a bearable ache, something that didn’t feel as if someone had cracked the bone and poured boiling oil over her brain. She curled in on herself and sobbed, wishing Averran would just take her home to meet her God already. It would mean leaving her friends, her family, Alaric, but if the pain would stop—

  She realized as she thought this that the pain had diminished, and her bones no longer felt out of joint. She still couldn’t see, but she could hear voices, though they were very faint and faded in and out:

  “…not moving…”

  “It’s not…do this.”

  “Sienne. Can…feel this?”

  Someone’s hand brushed her cheek. With a monumental effort, she raised her hand to touch it and felt hers enveloped in a strong, familiar grip. Alaric was there. Of course he wouldn’t leave her. The spell had worked. Her dazed mind insisted there was something important about this, but she still hurt too badly to understand.

  Someone else laid a hand on her shoulder. This time, the touch didn’t burn. The person rolled her onto her back and gently pressed her eyelids open. Shivering blobs of color moved before her eyes. She was so grateful to be able to see, even blobs, that tears fell once more.

  “…still in pain…”

  “…but what happened?”

  “Need her…up to tell…”

  The voices were growing louder, more distinct, until the volume hurt her ears. She opened her mouth to ask them to stop talking, but nothing came out. Alaric’s hand tightened on hers. She tried again. “Hurts,” she whispered.

  “We know,” Alaric said, and she winced at how his voice rattled her skull. “You acted like you were being torn apart.”

  “Quiet,” she said. “Voice…too loud.”

  “Sorry,” Alaric said in a whisper. His arm went around her, lifting her into a sitting position propped against his chest. She breathed in the unicorn musk of him and felt her aches subside again, withdrawing to an endurable distance. Alaric’s white and tan desert robes were clear to her vision, though nothing else was. Was she permanently blind now, or nearly so?

  A moving blur crouched before her, and swam into focus. Vaishant. “Allow me to try,” he said, and laid his palm against her forehead. His hand was cool and dry, and in the next moment a rush of coolness like dry water swept over her. Instantly, her vision cleared, and the aches and sharp pains vanished. She drew in a deep breath and realized it no longer hurt to do so.

  She put her arms around Alaric and hugged him. “Thank you, Vaishant,” she said as Alaric’s arms tightened on her. He brushed a kiss across her forehead, and she listened to his heart beat, slow and deep as it always was, the comforting pulse she’d so often fallen asleep to.

  “What happened?” Alaric murmured. “It failed, didn’t it?”

  “I guess so,” she said, feeling suddenly weary. “Don’t you feel any different?”

  “I don’t. Sienne, what did it do to you?”

  “I don’t know.” Sienne snuggled closer and closed her eyes. “It hurt like nothing I’ve ever felt before. Like I was being taken apart, bone by bone. I was barely able to cast purge. I didn’t realize how close to my limit I was. I…” She sat up and opened her eyes. He looked so worried she kissed him for reassurance. “I don’t feel dizzy.”

  “Vaishant healed you,” Dianthe said. “Of whatever it was you suffered.”

  “Healing can’t replenish my magical reserves,” Sienne said. “And I know I was at my limit. It’s why I threw up. But now…” She stretched, extending both arms, enjoying the feeling of muscles moving smoothly and joints that didn’t crack. “I feel perfectly restored. You’re well, aren’t you?” she asked Alaric, suddenly worried.

  “I feel fine. It hurt for a while, but nothing like what you experienced, or at least that was how it looked. I’m certainly not poisoned, so purge worked.”

  “It used the last of my reserves.” Purge. There was something important about it. She’d been blind, and then she’d remembered—

  Sienne sucked in a breath. She felt as if she’d taken a force bolt between the eyes. Remembered. That was it. Impossible, and yet she’d done it.

  She’d cast a spell from memory.

  She scrambled up and looked wildly around. She had to test this, but on what? “Stand still,” she told Kalanath, whose eyes were entirely clear and looked at her in dismay. She drew on memory, and let the syllables of float roll off her tongue.

  When she was young, she’d been required to memorize poetry for recitation, and she’d learned to picture the page and the words and read them aloud as if looking at the actual book. It felt like that now, only for the first time she saw a spell in its entirety and didn’t feel it squirm away from her. Speaking faster, she recited the spell until she reached the end and Kalanath, startled, floated a few inches off the floor. “Sorry,” she said, not meaning it.

  “You cast a spell without your book,” Alaric said, rising. His voice was neutral, concealing whatever emotion he might have felt.

  Sienne’s hands shook. “I did,” she said. “I don’t know how.”

  “It seems the ritual did work,” Perrin said. “Just not as intended.”

  “Maybe,” Sienne said, “Alaric, have you transformed?”

  “In here? It would be very crowded.”

  “You’ve said the full Sassaven unicorns have great power. Wouldn’t that mean your human self isn’t the one the ritual was for? And I know we did it right.” Sienne brushed aside qualms about this statement. “Please. Let’s try it.”

  Alaric shrugged. “Back away,” he said, and the others all gave him room. Alaric shuddered, and then the unicorn was there, ducking his head even though there was plenty of space. He walked around the room, nosing each of them in turn and butting his face against Sienne’s. She laughed and ran her fingers down his cheek, scarred from a long-ago fight.

  Alaric stepped away from her and walked to the blocked hallway. He ducked his head again, this time to look farther down it to where rubble made it inaccessible. He snorted, raised his head—and a deep rumble shook the building as the pile of fallen debris shifted, rose, and then flew in all directions. The roof groaned and settled again. Sienne went to Alaric’s side. The path was clear.

  Alaric shifted into his human self. “It worked,” he said, sounding awed. “There’s no way I could have done that before.”

  “So what did it do to Sienne?” Dianth
e said. “She’s not a Sassaven.”

  “It must be what Jenani spoke of, and what Scholten was trying to prove,” Perrin said. “Whatever this conduit is, it makes a wizard capable of greater magic.”

  “Capable of remembering spells,” Sienne said. “I wonder…”

  “Wonder what?” Kalanath said when she remained silent for too long.

  Sienne jerked out of her reverie. “Oh…it’s just that the ritual, the way it’s worded…I don’t read Ginatic well, and even with Averran’s help in uncovering the altered ritual the wizard uses, there are nuances I don’t get. But in hindsight, there were hints that the officiator, the one who conducts the ritual, is supposed to have gone through it already. I thought that was just a formality, but suppose it’s literal?”

  “I’m not sure what you’re getting at,” Alaric said.

  “It’s just a guess, but I’m certain we did everything right, so…suppose the ritual works on both participants at once? It wouldn’t do anything to someone who’d already experienced it—had their conduit opened—but if they hadn’t…”

  “I don’t know how you could prove that,” Dianthe said. “Well, that’s not true. But I have no interest in undergoing that ritual. Besides, I’m not a wizard.”

  “Neither is Alaric.”

  “Yes, but he’s a creature of magic. And it didn’t affect his human self. I don’t know that it would do anything to someone who’s not a wizard except maybe kill them.”

  “It was only that painful to me because I didn’t drink the sedative.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” Alaric said, “because I doubt anyone else wants to go through that. Sienne, are you sure you’re all right?”

  “I feel fine. Better than fine. I feel as if I haven’t cast any spells at all.”

  “Then I’d like to try an experiment,” Alaric said.

  Sienne ferried everyone back to Chirantan without feeling any ill effects. Whatever the ritual had done to her—and she had a feeling she hadn’t discovered the extent of the change—it had increased her reserves substantially. By the time she took Alaric’s hand to return them to the Chirantan temple, she didn’t even have to read the spell off her memories; she knew in her bones how it worked, and even the lacerations the spell left in her mouth couldn’t dampen her enthusiasm.

  “Don’t tell anyone about Sienne,” Alaric had said before she’d begun transporting people. “A wizard who doesn’t need a spellbook…maybe it doesn’t matter in Omeira, where you don’t have wizards, but everywhere else, she’d either be a target or a threat.”

  “We will not speak of it,” Vaishant had said, and Ghrita had nodded. Sienne felt a pang of sadness that Ghrita looked at her with fear once more. She didn’t hate the woman the way she once had, but this looked like it might put an end to any chance of them becoming friends.

  She tried not to feel afraid of herself. When she thought about it rationally, about how glorious it felt to encompass a spell so completely, fear was the farthest thing from her mind. But when she held her spellbook and pretended to read from it for the sake of the divines watching her ferry her friends back, she couldn’t help picturing her new ability through their eyes.

  The limitation of a spellbook comforted most people, particularly the ones who were afraid of the small magics of lighting a fire or moving small things with the mind. Sienne was sure, though she hadn’t timed herself, that her spellcasting was faster without the book, too. She had so many questions. How would she ever be able to reveal what had happened to her? More to the point, should she help others go through the ritual and open conduits for them as well? It was too much to worry about after everything else that had happened that day. She pushed those thoughts aside and concentrated on ferry.

  “I can’t believe you’re still conscious,” Alaric said as she prepared to cast one last spell. “Ten times you’ve cast ferry and you’re not even breathing heavily.”

  “It’s amazing. I hope nobody at the temple realizes this should be beyond me.”

  “They don’t know anything about wizardry. Your secret is safe.”

  “For now.”

  Alaric examined her closely. “You think someone will talk?”

  “No. But I doubt I can keep up the pretense that I’m reading from my spellbook forever. I’ll slip up, and then…actually, I don’t know what then.”

  “Let’s not worry about it.” He wrapped his arms around her waist and kissed her gently. “Back to Chirantan, and then start for Beneddo in the morning.”

  Sienne cast ferry one last time, and they appeared in the temple courtyard. The others all stood there waiting for them. “You could have gone on,” Alaric said.

  “It was unanimous that we wished to present ourselves as a team to Chakhran,” Perrin said. “Most of the divines are gone, in any case, into the city to help care for the wounded. And to retrieve the carpets.” He smiled. “What are we to do with them now? We covered the distance between Ma’tzehar and Chirantan in hours—think how quickly they could take us to Beneddo.”

  “My sense of time is askew after today. It feels like forever ago we fought Jenani,” Dianthe said. “Isn’t it awful that a few hours’ destruction will take weeks or even months to repair? I wish we could have forced it to fix the damage it did.”

  “It has much to learn in the place to which it was sent,” Perrin said, “or so Averran gave me to believe. It may not be able to make restitution for this attack, but someday, who knows what it may accomplish?”

  Kalanath opened his mouth to speak, then shut it again as Manisha entered the garden. She rushed to Kalanath’s side, embracing him. He put his arms around his mother and lifted her, making her laugh. When he released her, she turned to Vaishant, whose embrace was no less firm, if less enthusiastic. “You see we are unharmed,” he said with a smile.

  “It is good, because I think you not stay away from danger,” Manisha said.

  Kalanath and Vaishant exchanged glances over Manisha’s head. “You should not be afraid,” Kalanath said. “My father kept me safe.”

  Vaishant’s eyes widened. A small smile touched his lips. “And my son has done the same,” he said.

  Manisha hugged Vaishant again. “I think you do not tell me all true.”

  “You will never let us go if we do,” Vaishant teased her.

  Manisha looked up at Kalanath. “And you?” she said. “Will you stay?”

  Kalanath looked at his father again. “I do not know,” he said. “My life is not here anymore.”

  “You have family. Two parents. A destiny.”

  “I also have friends who need me.” Kalanath sighed. “I will think.”

  “Speak to Chakhran,” Manisha said. “He will tell you stay.”

  “We would all like to speak to Chakhran,” Alaric said. “May we see him?”

  Manisha nodded and detached herself from Vaishant only to take his hand. “He is waiting.”

  The little corridors were starting to be familiar to Sienne, though she still couldn’t guarantee she could find her way anywhere. Then they passed a turning, and Sienne almost followed it to the divines’ chamber. It would be interesting to see if theirs was as beautiful as the one in Ma’tzehar.

  This time, no torches burned in Chakhran’s room, and Sienne could see the stained glass window clearly, though the skies outside grew dim as the sun set. It depicted a white tower with a bulbous golden top, surrounded by trees and bushes. Sienne had no idea what it was meant to represent. Chakhran sat cross-legged on a cushion, with other cushions scattered about the room. He lifted his eyeless head at their entrance. “Welcome back,” he said. “Manisha, please leave us.”

  “But—” Manisha’s grip on Vaishant’s hand tightened.

  “This is not for your ears, not yet. Please. Stand at the end of the passage and ensure no one enters.”

  Manisha bowed and, with a final glance at Kalanath, left the room. “Sit,” Chakhran said. “There is no one at present in the temple who would disturb us, but I cannot
predict the behavior of others.”

  “But you knew we were coming,” Alaric said.

  Chakhran nodded. “Before you say anything else,” he said, “I think you should know I have been watching you in vision. From the time you fought the demon to now…and everything in between.”

  Sienne went cold. “You saw…everything?”

  Chakhran nodded again. “Saw, and heard. My visions are rather more complete than most, after thirty-two years of practice. I wish to assure you I will say nothing of what I saw unless you instruct me to. I understand the value of a secret, and the meaning of yours.”

  “My secret is unimportant, as far as it goes,” Alaric said. “I just don’t want to be seen as a monster.”

  “But Sienne’s could be dangerous to her,” Chakhran agreed. “You did not know it would happen, as one result of your ritual?”

  “Not at all,” Sienne said. “I still don’t understand what happened. I’ve made a lot of guesses. All I’m sure of is the ritual changed me and increased my magical abilities, but only in certain ways. I can’t will someone to grow gills, for example; I still have to cast gills. And it still uses magical energy. But I feel as if I could go on doing wizardry for days. That’s probably not true.”

  “I know nothing of magic, so I cannot advise you,” Chakhran said. “But you could do worse than to seek out a trusted friend to help you investigate. If you choose.”

  “Thank you. I might do that.”

  Chakhran nodded. “And you found the phoenix feather. I do not believe that hiding place would have occurred to us.”

  “It occurred to Vaishant, so technically, it did,” Alaric said.

  Vaishant reached into his robe and extracted the feather, leaning forward to hand it to Chakhran. The Hierarch ran his fingers over the cool length of the pinion, tested the point of the nib. “Marvelous,” he said.