“That’s one thing I cannot do. I need to get Marissa back to her family. You sure there isn’t anything else?”
“No.” I said simply. “How about you? Won’t you need money for this trip?”
“You already paid for it,” he smirked.
“What… oh never mind, I don’t want to know,” I said with some exasperation. “Actually, there is one thing you could help me with,” I remembered suddenly.
“Hmm?”
“The other day, when you showed me the ‘First Accord’, the treaty between men and the She’Har, I wasn’t entirely honest with you,” I stated.
“I knew that already,” he said. “You ready to talk?”
“Something awoke that day, inside me,” I told him. “It was as if I had lived another life, one that I had forgotten completely until that moment. It’s as if I have been two different people,” I said, struggling to explain myself.
“So who is this other person?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted.
“What?!”
“Well, I do know… somewhere, but I haven’t let myself look at it yet,” I said.
He sighed, “Why not?”
“There’s something dark there, Marc. Whoever that other person was, whatever he did, whether he is me, or whether he is someone else… he did something terrible, something so awful I can’t bear to look at it directly… not yet at least.” A shiver ran down my spine, as I finally said the words I had been keeping within.
Marc chuckled suddenly. “Something you can’t face Mort? I doubt that. After the things you’ve done, I doubt any amateur could compare.”
“What do you mean?”
“The war with Gododdin.” He was referring to the thirty thousand men I had slain to end that war.
I glared at him. “That was the most terrible crime I have ever committed, murdering those men, and you want to make a joke of it?”
“That’s the point,” he explained. “You did that, and it wasn’t murder, it was necessity… No, I’m not going to argue that point now!” He waved his hands to keep me from interrupting. “My point is that you have already done what you consider the worst thing imaginable. What could this stranger’s memory have to compare to that?”
It was a valid argument, so I took a moment to consider it and then I allowed myself to peek at the emotions that dwelled within that foreign memory. Comparing them with my own, it was easy to see the difference. Swallowing I looked at him, “It’s worse… whatever it is… it’s much worse.”
Marc’s face fell… he had been betting on that argument to cheer me up. “Damn… really? What was it?”
I shook my head, “I don’t know, and I can’t look, not now.”
“Then why are you bothering to discuss any of this?” he said bluntly.
Marc always had a knack for getting to the heart of matters. “I need your advice. I’m trying to approach this logically from the outside, before I delve into what seems to be a morass of painful memories,” I explained.
“The fastest answer would probably come from facing whatever you’ve got collecting dust in the back of your head,” he noted.
“I’m afraid I won’t be me anymore.”
“That’s just stupid. You’re you… nothing will change that. Whatever those memories contain, they’re from someone else,” he said, with a certainty that I wished I could emulate.
“How can you be sure?”
“I grew up with you, if that counts for anything. I happen to know you didn’t commit any horrible atrocities while we were children. Whatever is in your head came from somewhere else… either by magic, or as a side effect of your magic.”
I couldn’t see it as a side effect, but I grasped at the other possibility. “You mean someone may have implanted the memories within me?” It was an attractive idea, especially if it absolved me from the guilt of whatever lurked in the knowledge in the back of my mind. “How and when would that have happened?”
“Perhaps a spell cast upon you by your father?” he suggested.
“I have trouble imagining a father inflicting this upon his child,” I said.
Marc shrugged, “Some people don’t share your conscience.”
“Reincarnation would be easier to accept,” I responded.
“Trying to take the blame anyway?” Marc replied. “If reincarnation were real, there would be more people complaining about their resurfacing memories.”
“Unless memories don’t make the transfer, from one life to another,” I countered.
“Again… then where did these memories come from? And quit trying to find some method to take blame for whatever bad there is in them, they’re not yours,” Marc said.
“Well a spell makes no sense,” I stated, “the memories come from a period of time that has to be at least a couple of thousand years ago… so my father couldn’t have cast the spell.”
“Unless it was passed on to him first,” Marc observed.
“Or perhaps it is some sort of bloodline memory, like an inherited spell… or curse,” I said suddenly, and then I knew. The hair stood up along my arms and neck as a cold chill swept across me. Illeniel’s Doom… no… Illeniel’s Promise… this is part of it.
“You alright, Mort?” Marc’s face carried an expression of concern. “You look as though you’ve seen a ghost.”
Or as though I carry one… “No, I’m fine,” I said slowly. “But I think I have a feel for this now.”
“A feel for what?”
“Illeniel’s Doom… it’s a part of me… a part of these memories. No, that’s not right… it’s somewhere else…,” I answered. Down below, behind the stone door… beneath the house.
“Stop being so cryptic and just spit it out!” Marc’s voice was full of frustration.
I closed my eyes, squeezing them tightly shut. I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t look at it, not yet. “No… I’m sorry Marc. This will have to wait.”
Marc let out an explosive breath, “What the hell?! I can see now why you and Penny fought so much in the beginning. You must have been a real pleasure to deal with.” His comment was riddled with sarcasm.
“If you let me put you in stasis, I’ll be happy to explain it all to you later once I’ve dealt with my internal issues,” I offered with a cynical smile.
“Is that how you proposed to Penelope?” Marc shot back. “I already told you no.”
“Then you may just never find out the answer,” I teased, with a humor that didn’t fully touch my eyes.
“I’ll come back to haunt you,” he retorted.
I’m sure you will.
Chapter 11
After I left Marc, I went to see James. The King had been understandably worried about me after the assassination attempt at the palace; in part because we were family, and in part because without me the foundation of his rule would be considerably more uncertain. That wasn’t fair, I chided myself. The man helped raise you, don’t let politics cloud your opinions.
The palace guard was noticeably more formal. The events of a week past had shaken everyone, and new measures were being taken to ensure that there were no more secret assassins among them. New scrutiny had been placed upon them, especially those who had taken service in the last two years, but so far nothing had come of it.
“I’m glad to see that you’ve recovered,” said James, after I had been ushered in to see him.
I looked down, surveying myself deliberately. “I still seem to have all my fingers and toes, Your Majesty. How have you been?”
James grunted, “Ha! I hurt myself worse than the assassin managed; bruised my leg kicking a chair out of the way.”