Memory's Wake (7 page)

“Things of value...?”
Like a missing princess?
Memory looked sidelong at Eloryn. Could it be true? And if it was, what would it mean? She had no idea. She didn’t get politics, and didn’t know the first bit of this history.

Roen shrugged and grinned. “Although, most of my stories aren’t nearly as exciting as the time I saved a couple of pretty girls from a thief and got to take them home. That one’s my favorite.”

Chapter Six

They pushed through a thicket of weeds into a small clearing. A neat garden of herbs, lettuce and pumpkins surrounded the cottage, hidden by the overgrown fields. Apart from the smoke that escaped the chimney, the house looked abandoned. Shutters hung off hinges. Windows were closed up with grayed, splintering planks. Grass and daisies grew from the roof. Memory dreaded going inside, in case the rickety structure fell on her.

Roen stepped forward, a small frown denting his forehead. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, then knocked. “Mother, Father, it’s me.”

A heavy bolt slid behind the door which squealed in protest as it swung open.

“I didn’t expect you home ‘til tomorrow.” A graceful white-haired woman met Roen with a loving smile. The elaborate high-necked gown she wore contrasted starkly with the derelict cottage. Her smile fled the moment she saw Roen had brought guests.

“Who are they?”

“They were in need of help, and I offered it.” Roen stepped aside, tilting his head to the girls.

Isabeth looked them over with her lips pursed. She placed her hand over her heart when she saw Eloryn and it rose up to her mouth when she looked at what Memory wore. Memory hated how different she looked to everyone else. They all wore long flowing gowns and there she was in a t-shirt and torn jeans. She felt even dirtier than before, bloody, bruised, and unsteady on her feet. Eloryn wasn’t much more presentable. She folded her arms into herself, and gave a closed-lipped, nervous smile.

Isabeth turned to the side, talking into the house instead of out toward her son. “Well. Well they are here now. I’ll not be known for denying aid.” She moved in, beckoning them after her.

Inside, only thin shafts of the setting sunlight broke through the blocked windows. Memory stepped in after Roen and Eloryn, seeing only gloom while her eyes adjusted to the darkness.

The door slammed behind them like a crack of thunder, shaking the cottage walls. Memory spun around and stepped backwards, running into Eloryn. Shadows shifted near the closed door and a figure loomed toward them.

“Mem, we shouldn’t have come,” Eloryn whispered over her shoulder. She clung to the back of Memory’s shirt as though she stuck there when they bumped together.

Thanks for the told-you-so but we can’t go anywhere now.
Isabeth and Roen stood behind them in the small room. The man blocked the doorway, the dark silhouette of his features starting to clear in Memory’s eyes. He stared down at the girls. Memory tensed. A shiver of terrified nausea crept up her back, and her hand moved itself toward her back pocket.

“What do you think you’re doing?” He strode past them, straight at Roen, anger growling in his voice. He shook Roen by the shoulder with an outstretched arm. His only arm. Memory gasped. His right arm was missing from the elbow down, hidden by a rolled and pinned sleeve. Memory forced her mouth shut, trying to look anywhere but at his missing limb. Her eyes were inevitably drawn back.

Roen spoke calmly and looked the man in the eye. “Father, please, can we talk?”

“Brannon, love, they’re just children,” Isabeth said.

“No, they aren’t. Look at the state of them. They... are trouble.” Brannon kept a grip on Roen as though he would throw him back out of the house. He turned and glared at the girls. Memory cringed.

“We’ll go. Let us go, please?” Eloryn’s clutch on Memory’s shirt tightened and her pitch rose.

“No,” Roen cried, then his volume dropped again. “I mean, please stay, you are welcome here.”

“You know they aren’t. Get rid of them before their trouble follows them here.”

“Father, please, they can’t go. They still need help.”

“Why would you bring them here? You should know better. You’re free to come and go as you please. No one knows who you are. Has that made you forget what it’s like for your mother and me? The danger we’re in? You know what will happen if we’re found.”

Roen’s composure cracked and his volume rose to meet his father’s. “We weren’t followed. They won’t-”

“Do you even know what trouble they are in? Bringing a couple of strays home without any idea of the risk? What have you told them about us?”

Roen frowned, opening his mouth but not speaking.

Memory found words rushing out of her own mouth instead. “He really didn’t tell us much – anything – nothing at all. We just needed some help.”

Brannon scowled at her, the deep wrinkles in his face twisting around a grey-streaked beard. He pushed Roen out of his grasp. “I want them gone.” He stormed across the room to a curtained off doorframe, and disappeared through it. A second later another door slammed.

Roen rolled the shoulder his father had grabbed. He turned to Eloryn and Memory with a strained smile and a shrug. “You don’t have to go anywhere, really. Mother?” He gave Isabeth a pleading look and hurried through the same doorway as his father. The smell of bread wafted out, teasingly, and Memory glimpsed signs of a kitchen before the curtain fell closed again. Her stomach gurgled from the combination of hunger and stress.

Eloryn tugged at Memory’s shirt and whispered, “We should go now.”

Close behind them, Isabeth tutted. “I don’t see the harm in letting you get cleaned up and fed. Don’t mind my husband, he just worries.”

Memory breathed in the scent of fresh bread again and closed her eyes. Whatever Eloryn’s reasons to go, the lure of ‘cleaned up and fed’ overwhelmed Memory. She hoped Roen wouldn’t be in more trouble if they stayed just a little longer.

Memory turned around to face Eloryn, who eyed the front door. “Roen promised we’ll be safe. Let’s just rest a little, then go.”

Eloryn’s lips pulled thin, but she gave a tiny nod.

“Take a seat and I’ll see what I can find for you both,” Isabeth muttered. “So dark in here. Àlaich las.” A warm glow magically lit the room. Isabeth walked out to the kitchen without looking back, as though it were the simplest thing to create light with her words. With the gloom cleared, the room suddenly seemed a lot more solid, even pretty. Furniture was sparse, but elegant and well cared for. Memory took a seat at a small dining table of carved dark wood. A thick curtain sectioned off the end of the room. Partly open, it showed behind it a simple single bed and a store of shelved belongings; books, clothing, and tools that she didn’t think she’d know the uses for even if she did have any memories. Two curtains were draped across doorframes leading out, but Memory guessed there couldn’t be much more to the cottage beyond them.

Eloryn sat beside her, head tilted, hiding behind her hair. Memory sighed and chipped black polish from her fingernails as her frustration rose. Her second day in the world for all she could remember, and she was left to make all the small talk. At least Eloryn wasn’t making them run any more. It was nice to sit. So nice. Memory thought sitting might be her new favorite pastime.

Isabeth returned, carrying a tray of food, drink, and some small cloths. A steaming bowl of water balanced in the middle. The clatter of the crockery as she put the tray down on the table didn’t cover the sound of Brannon yelling again from outside.

Isabeth dipped two cloths together into the water bowl and squeezed them out. She handed the girls one each. “Trouble indeed.”

“Thank you, for letting us come in. And helping us. And stuff,” Memory said. Her words became progressively more awkward but she kept tacking them onto her failed attempt at being polite. Roen and Brannon’s voices hammering through the thin cottage walls didn’t help her train of thought. She focused on wiping her hands clean.

The back door slammed again, and Brannon walked in. Roen followed, head low and jaw clenched.

Isabeth clicked her tongue. “These won’t do.” She picked the already muddied cloths out of the girls’ hands. “Roen, fill the tub.”

He went back into the kitchen without a word, emerging again a moment later with a large pot of water which he took into the other room. Brannon moved up and sat across from the girls at the table, staring at Eloryn who shyly looked down and away.

Isabeth lifted the pot of blackened water and rags off the table and took it away. “It may not be much, but please go ahead and eat. No formalities tonight, considering,” she said and left the room again.

Memory mumbled thanks and looked nervously from the food to Brannon, not sure what formalities would have been anyway. Brannon reached out and tore off some crusty bread. He pushed the rest closer to them without a word. Her smile in return was ignored, so she took a filled ceramic cup and slunk back into her chair. Finding that the cup contained wine surprised her, but no one suggested she shouldn’t drink it. The rich taste made her eyes droop and it added to the warmth that already burned in her chest. Had she been running on nothing but shock and adrenaline since she woke up? She was so tired she couldn’t think straight, and now her body no longer moved, it was giving up any fight to stay awake.
Yes. Sitting. Good.

Brannon fortunately had calmed down and had little to say to her. He tried to start conversations with Eloryn a couple of times. They led nowhere. Memory tried to chew on some food but her mouth refused to function. She watched Roen take pot after pot of water from kitchen to bedroom.

She didn’t realize she’d fallen asleep in her chair until Isabeth came and shook her.  “Dear, I hate to be waking you, but the bath is drawn, best to get cleaned up now.”

Memory looked up and saw Eloryn gone. She couldn’t see Roen or Brannon either. Somewhere deep inside panic burbled, but her body wouldn’t respond. Isabeth steered her like a sleepwalker into the bedroom. A polished brass bath tub stood in a corner, half behind a dressing screen.

Memory noticed Eloryn lying on a bed canopied with red velvet. She was clean and asleep, a towel tucked under her still damp hair. The undercurrent of anxiety in Memory eased seeing Eloryn safe and still with her. If she knew Roen wasn’t somewhere being bawled out by Brannon again it would be even better.

Isabeth moved as though to help Memory undress for her bath, looked her up and down and backed away. Memory sighed in relief when Isabeth left the room; she would have felt even more self conscious without privacy. Stepping behind the screen she pulled two t-shirts, worn short over long, off as one piece. She winced when she lifted her arms over her head, and looked down at a spot that had been hurting her. A multi-colored bruise covered half of her ribcage. Even worse, an old, large and twisted scar marked the middle of her chest.
Nasty,
she thought, wondering how she got it.
Do you even know what trouble they are in?
Brannon’s words bothered her.
I don’t even know myself. Could whoever did this to me follow me here?
Pulling down her pants, she forgot her shoes and wobbled about trying to extract them from the tight jeans. Peeling off a striped sock, she discovered blood around her toes.
Well, that could have happened anytime,
she thought, considering their chase through forest, cave and tunnel and the many hazards to toes they held.

Feeling cold and exposed in the open room, she quickly stripped off her underwear and stepped into the tub. The warm water came up to her shoulders when she sat down. It smelled of milk and honey, and soap suds made it almost opaque white. Memory breathed the syrupy steam and let the warmth seep into her. Finding a cloth hanging over one side, she washed it over her skin, soaking away the filth. She began seeking and removing clips from her hair. Feeling mud caked on the back of her head, she leaned back and dunked her hair into the water, massaging her fingers through. She closed her eyes and smiled.