Lee wanted to punch something. He balled his fist, wondering if there was a way for him to surprise them with the effectiveness of his new ability.
“If you think I’ll go down without a fight, you’re sorely mistaken,” he said.
“There’s no need for anything of the sort,” said Shannara. “We aren’t here to kill you, Lee. You’ll simply be one of several students that, rather unfortunately, were unable to continue here as students.”
The Cropping. Lee suddenly found himself wishing that they had forced him into a fight to the death. He understood violence, but losing his memories, losing a portion of his identity without ever knowing how much was gone or that it had even been there to begin with was more unsettling, in a nebulous way.
He snapped his arms forward into a casting stance. Constantine was quicker, and conjuration bindings closed around his wrists, stretching his hands out to either side. He struggled anyway, kicking his legs until Constantine secured those too. He continued to swing his head, even snapping at them with his teeth. Shannara’s laugh was mocking and cruel.
“Lee!” Tess hurled herself forward, holding her arms out in front of Lee’s secured form as though to block his body with her own ethereal one. “No!”
He shouted again, wordless and furious. He kept his eyes on Constantine, who he knew would be doing the real dirty work of dream weaving. He was approaching, circling around to get behind him.
“This will be a lot less fun for you if you keep struggling,” said Shannara. “It is not condescension when I say that you will only hurt yourself.”
“Fuck you,” said Lee. He was too angry, and still reeling by the depth of what had been dropped on him. It felt like his own emotions were staging a coup as he tried, desperately, to calm himself and use dispel.
He managed it, pulling one hand loose from the bindings. He swung out at the target nearest to him, slapping Mattis hard across the face. She took the blow without retaliation, which infuriated him even more, though he couldn’t say why. He reached for the conjuration binding on his other hand, using dispel again as he started to pull it loose.
Shannara’s fist slammed into his stomach, and then Constantine was recasting the bindings, adding a second set around his forearms, and a third that held him firmly by the neck. Tess was crying now, still trying to defend him with her ineffectual blows and invisible body.
“You’re not a fool, Lee,” said Shannara. “You know you aren’t getting out of this room.”
He knew, but he wished he could pretend he didn’t. He would have taken any slim thread of hope. Tess was shouting his name again, screaming it and pulling at his bindings.
“I’ll… I’ll possess one of them!” she cried. “I’ll stop them, Lee. I won’t let them hurt you!”
She could barely stand and swing her arms, exhausted as she was from fueling his spells and touching the enchanted bottle. Attempting to possess Constantine would be near impossible, given his skill in illusion magic. Mattis and Shannara wouldn’t immediately sense Tess’s presence as she entered, but he wasn’t willing to bet on whether they might find a way to hurt her during the struggle over their bodies. Lee shook his head and forced out a few words through his dry, aching throat.
“Don’t,” he said. “Please don’t.”
He’d meant the words for Tess alone. He wasn’t about to beg for his life, or his memories, or whatever it was they interpreted his words to be asking for. Shannara sighed and gave a small shake of her head.
“Lee,” whispered Tess. She’d gone quiet when he’d spoken. Her sobbing had shrunken inward, turned into small, silent shakes that were even harder to watch than her tears.
“It’ll be okay.” He forced himself to smile.
“This isn’t fair,” she said. “I can’t lose you.”
“It’s up to you to remember me, then,” he said. He gave her a real smile and saw the flicker of one back. She threw her arms around him and Lee pulled her into his mystic stream for one final hug, and one final kiss.
CHAPTER 49
Lee couldn’t see much as the dream weaving began. Constantine had moved to stand behind him, and his ability to move his head was limited by the new conjuration bindings. He glimpsed a small flash of light out of the corner of his eye as the process started, and then it was all a matter of sensation, or lack thereof.
Which is to say that it wasn’t painful, more like the opposite or inverse of pain. Not pleasure, but a dull, flattened numbness, like the skin around a deep, but long-healed scar. It began with his most recent memories, each one being stripped of feeling, color, and finally, all presence.
Lee almost wanted to laugh. He’d imagined that he’d be asleep for the process, that he’d close his eyes and open them hours later, terrified of the new, sudden gaps in his memory. It simply wasn’t the case.
Losing memories was as straightforward as gaining them in the first place, made scary only by the basic, innate fear of loss. It felt like he was living the last week of his life in reverse, though Constantine’s efforts erased them in an order that, blessedly, began with the least important.
He wasn’t totally helpless. He could still use his mystic abilities, despite not having the use of his arms or legs. He found his breathing gently stirring his dispel into usefulness as the fingers of Constantine’s dream weaving continued to rake over his mind.
It was like a wash cycle, where each memory was a unique stain upon his mind, some simple smudges of dirt, others proud, indicative splotches of paint, or even blood. Constantine was pouring in the bleach, and Lee’s dispel had slapped it out of his hand. He grinned, feeling the dream weaving begin over again, pulling at the memory of him and Eliza in the watchtower. The taste of her lips. The warmth of her body. He held onto it, shielding himself with dispel.
Shinigami. It was what Kei had called him, the closest Japanese word that approximated what he was. He’d found it funny, the way each syllable had seemed to hold a measure of respect when Kei had spoken it aloud. Now, he understood. He was a shinigami. He was a mystic. He was powerful, more powerful than he sometimes gave himself credit for. He wasn’t going to bend to the whims of a second-rate illusionist.
“He’s… very strong-willed,” said Constantine. They were the first words he’d spoken in that room, and it was hard for Lee to place the tension in his voice.
“It doesn’t matter,” said Shannara. “Keep going.”
Constantine chose a different memory. Lee was back in the Frostfire Tavern with Toma, drinking sake bombs and making a scene. He’d barely remembered most of the later part of that night, as it was. He put more will into his dispel. Blood ran in twin lines from his nose, a trickle at first, then a messy stream.
“Stop!” said Mattis. “That isn’t normal. You’re going to kill him.”
“And?” asked Shannara. “That’s what will need to happen if we can’t erase his memories, as distasteful as it might be.”
“Use the other method,” said Mattis. “You don’t have to erase his memories. You can overlay them with static.”
“It makes no difference,” sighed Shannara. “Do what you will, Constantine.”
Lee felt a horrible, distinctive shift in what was going on inside his mind. Constantine had switched to a brute force method, dyeing over the stains of his memories, rather than trying to bleach them out. He strengthened his dispel, but it was an umbrella in a hurricane, futile against the swirling wind and rain.
This time he was scared, though within seconds he forgot why.
“Lee! Please, Lee… don’t go. Stay here! Don’t let them do this to you!”
Who said that? He recognized the voice, but he didn’t. The voice was beautiful and crisp as a bell. It filled him with comfort and love. It broke his heart.
Lee was crying now, or at least, someone was.
***
He woke up in a warm bed with a pounding headache. He winced, pulling back from the idea of opening his eyes and facing the world. It almost felt like he was s
till dreaming, floating aloft in a far-off place that he wasn’t ready to leave, just yet.
“Lee?” said a man’s voice. “Are you awake, Lee?”
He did sit up then, though he still wasn’t sure if he wanted to. He was in a hospital room, white walls, white sheets, an open window that looked out onto a grassy green yard and the city beyond.
“Lee?” asked the man. “Can you hear me?”
He glanced over his shoulder, though he already sensed that it was only him and the man, the doctor, in the room.
“Eldon,” he said.
“Excuse me?”
“My name is… Eldon.”
“Oh, right.” The doctor smiled. He was tall and bald, with a gaunt face and thin build. “Lee must be just a nickname, then. It’s what your, ah, brother put down for you.”
“My… brother?” asked Eldon.
“Perhaps we should start from the beginning?” asked the doctor. “My name is Dr. Constantine. You’re at St. Mary’s Medical Center, in the TBI ward. TBI stands for Traumatic Brain Injury. Do you know what I mean by that?”
“Uh…” Eldon took a breath. Everything felt strange, but he could at least answer the question. “Yeah. I got hit in the head or something, right?”
“A little more than just a simple hit, but yes,” said Dr. Constantine. “Your injury was unique in that you might not feel any bumps or pains on your skull. It’s what happened inside your head that’s caused the significant amount of memory loss that you’re currently struggling with.”
Eldon nodded slowly. He felt out of sorts, and he didn’t trust the doctor even though he couldn’t bring to mind a specific reason as to why.
“Do you know what year it is?” asked Dr. Constantine.
Eldon shook his head.
“Do you know where you live?”
Eldon hesitated and then felt an answer, more of a guess, come to his lips. “Montana?”
The doctor laughed. “Not bad, but a few years out of sync. You did live in Montana for a time, according to your brother. You live with him here in Seattle, now. Do you remember your mother’s name?”
The questions went on like that, most of them completely beyond Eldon’s capacity to answer. Dr. Constantine instructed him to get dressed once he’d finished. He pulled on a pair of simple hospital slacks, along with a billowing gown, and followed a nurse down the hall.
“Some fresh air will do you good,” she said. “You needn’t worry, Eldon. You can stay at the hospital for as long as you need to, and when you’re ready to go home, we’ll continue to help you reintegrate into society.”
“Thank you,” he said. “Uh, nobody’s told me yet. You know, what happened. The doctor said I had a traumatic brain injury, but…”
“Oh, right,” said the nurse. “There was an incident at your college. I don’t know the full details. You’ll have to speak more with your brother or Dr. Constantine. You weren’t the only one involved, though, in case you were wondering. It might help if you speak with each other.”
The nurse led him over to a girl sitting on a bench in front of a marble fountain of the Virgin Mary. She was tall, with mousey features, brown hair, and glasses. She looked up at Eldon blankly.
“Jenna, this is Eldon,” said the nurse. “The two of you were classmates.”
The nurse stepped back, as though she expected that giving them some room would be the therapeutic approach. Eldon had no idea what he was supposed to say.
“Did I know you?” he asked. Such a stupid question, but it was the only one he currently had in him.
“I… don’t remember,” said Jenna. “I’m sorry, I’ve lost a lot of my memory, and I just have this weird… itch. Like I’m in a dream and I need to find something.”
“Yeah,” said Eldon. “Do you know what it is? What you need to find?”
Again, it felt like a stupid question, but he needed to ask it. He needed to hear her answer.
“Are you my boyfriend?” asked Jenna.
“Uh…” Eldon shrugged.
“I feel like I want to cry,” whispered Jenna. “I know I had a boyfriend. Someone I cared about. But I can’t even picture his face or remember his name. I just wish he’d show up so I could tell him that I’m really sorry.”
She blinked, and time stopped for an instant as her expression turned ugly and the tears began to flow.
“Let’s give Jenna some space, Eldon,” said the nurse. “There! Look, it’s your brother. I’m sure he’ll be glad to see you.”
The nurse waved to someone across the lawn. A ruddy-faced man with red hair and broad shoulders jogged over to them. His eyes lingered on Eldon’s for an instant. There was no sense of recognition or tint of emotion, but the man flashed a white, toothy smile.
“Lee!” said the man. “There you are. I checked your room, but you were—”
“Eldon,” he said.
The man looked confused, but only for a second. “Ah, right. I always called you Lee, but the doctor said that there might be some oddities due to the… severity of your concussion.”
The nurse smiled. “Well, I’ll leave you both to it.”
She walked away, and Eldon stared into his brother’s face, searching for answers. It made him feel anxious, almost panicky, to examine the complete dearth of recollection he had for someone who he’d just been told was his family member.
“You don’t remember anything, do you?” The man sighed. “Lee, or Eldon, if you prefer. I’m Bryan. I’m your brother.”
“This doesn’t make sense,” said Eldon.
“I know,” said Bryan. “Trust me, I know. It’s unfair, it really is. I wish this hadn’t happened to you, and I can’t imagine how much you must be struggling right now. But it’s going to be okay. I’m going to help you every step of the way during your recovery.”
“The doctor didn’t say when, or I guess, if, my memory was going to… you know… come back.”
“Let’s not worry about that,” said Bryan. “You don’t have to worry, Eldon. I’ll be here to look out for you. To keep you from getting into trouble.”
He set a hand on Eldon’s shoulder. It should have been a comforting gesture, but he still felt that anxious, nagging sense of unease. He looked over at Jenna and could completely understand her tears.
“If I don’t remember, then how am I going to…?”
How was he going to what? How was that sentence supposed to end? He needed to get back, back to… her? Who was she?
“If you don’t get your memories back, you’ll just make new ones,” said Bryan. “Think of it like the end of your old life, and the start of a new one. A full reset. A lot of people wish they could have something like that.”
“I guess…” muttered Eldon. He licked his lips. “Do you know Jenna?”
Bryan furrowed his brow. “She was another student you knew, right?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Say, what college did we both go to? I can’t even remember the name of it.”
Primhaven. Primhaven University.
“You were both freshmen at Washington State,” said Bryan. “Don’t worry, this is totally normal.”
Eldon nodded slowly. It was late in the afternoon, and the intensity of the sun’s light was rubber-banding back and forth as several dense clouds shifted overhead. He put his hands in the tiny pockets of the hospital slacks, watching Jenna out of the corner of his eye as he half-listened to Bryan describing his treatment schedule.
A new beginning. A full reset. If only.
THE END
A wild cliffhanger ending has appeared! I know, it’s a bit cruel for me to do this as an author, but trust me, it’s all going to work out in the end (and I promise I won’t make a habit of it).
Arcane Dropout 4 will be out on September 20th. To get in touch with me directly, send an email to [email protected]. For updates and occasional freebies, sign up for my newsletter.
Edmund
OTHER BOOKS BY EDMUND HUGHES
Wind Runner
Heartgem Homestead
Blood Mage
Sword Sirens
Sword Sirens
CHAPTER 1
Aristial Stoneblood adhered to a single, hard rule when it came to sparring in the dueling cavern. He always took his shoes off, regardless of how unstylish it looked. He could feel the cold stone underneath his feet in all its gritty, damp glory, along with the spots where moss or mud had made the floor unexpectedly treacherous.
Jarvis circled around Ari on the other side of the ring, which currently had more than a dozen other boys near their same age packed against the outer rope, shouting encouragement and jeers. It was distracting, ebbing and flowing in waves as the noise echoed throughout the massive chamber.
The glowmoss had been carefully seeded across the ceiling of the cavern to ensure that it was one of the more adequately illuminated locations within Golias Hollow. The cave was well enough lit that Ari could see the expression on Jarvis’ face, though it was of little help. He’d fought most of the similarly aged boys in the community, and Jarvis was, outside of himself, the most unpredictable of the bunch.
Ari took a step back, shifting his bare foot off a stone that was slick with condensation. Jarvis rushed forward, seizing the opening. He was tall, with the heavily muscled physique of a digger and a naturally bulky frame. Ari’s only physical advantages were his broad shoulders and lanky arms, but he was agile, and spun out of the way of the other boy’s tackle.
There was no point in throwing a punch, given his current angle, but he managed to get hold of one of Jarvis’ wrists and lever his arm in a way that threw him off balance. Jarvis tumbled to the ground, one of his shoes fighting for purchase against the same slippery stone Ari had been wary of before.
He hurried to press the advantage before Jarvis could get up. He’d taken two steps forward when a small, jagged rock clipped the side of his forehead, forcing him to hesitate. He looked in the direction the thrown stone had come from and saw Harris, the Hollow Lord’s son, smirking at him.
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