“So who was it that knew her?”
I stared at her for a moment, confused.
Penny sighed. “I mean, whose memory were you reliving? Who was it that she kissed?”
It was the obvious question, but unfortunately I didn’t have a good answer. “The problem is that when I’m remembering, I only remember what happened and what they were thinking. Most people don’t think about their own names, or other useful details… like what year it was or where they were located, so I’m left guessing,” I explained.
“But if you followed the memories far enough, you would probably eventually get those details… wouldn’t you?” insisted my lovely wife.
“Most likely,” I agreed. “I just haven’t been able to force myself to do it. Plus there are so many… I can’t be sure, but I get the impression that the memories span thousands of years and hundreds of different people’s lifetimes.”
“Surely it couldn’t all be bad,” said Penny.
“You’re right, it probably isn’t, but there’s something really bad in the middle of it all. Every time I try to recall the reason why I have these memories… and I know that that fact is in there… every time I try to get close to it, I find something else,” I told her.
“What about other things? Like Illeniel’s Promise, or Illeniel’s Doom… you mentioned those before, can you get near those memories?” she asked.
“They’re all linked together,” I said. “I try to stare it in the face, but my inner self instinctively flinches away whenever I get close.”
“Well this woman Lyra, if she really is one of the She’Har, then your memories are at least two thousand years old,” she noted.
I didn’t respond. Closing my eyes I held Penny to me and tried to block out the dark song that seemed to persist around me at all times now. I had begun hearing it shortly after bringing Walter back from the brink of death, but it had only gained in volume since then. It seemed to portend something dark in my future. “I need to find out what these memories mean, but I have a side trip I intend to take first,” I said at last.
“Side trip?”
“I need to explore the ruins of the Gaelyn household, near Agraden.”
“You’ve waited almost a year since Marc’s death, why now?” said Penny rationally.
I didn’t have a good answer though, just a hunch. Whenever I thought about seeking the heart of my memories, or Illeniel’s Doom… the dark song grew stronger. I had an intuitive feeling that whatever I found would lead to my ruin, or perhaps even my immediate demise. “It feels safer,” I admitted, “And if I can find a way to convince Gareth Gaelyn to help us, it will gain us a mighty ally.”
Penny giggled at my choice of words. “A ‘mighty ally’, eh? I think I’ll stick with the one I already have. I’m married to the most powerful archmage in all the world,” she teased, “perhaps in all of history.” She was attempting to distract me from my dark thoughts.
“I don’t think there’s any way we can know that…,” I said modestly.
Penny leaned in close to kiss me before responding, “Of course there is.”
“Oh, really?”
“Definitely,” she said, letting her hands roam.
My breath caught in my throat for a moment. “That isn’t my staff,” I informed her.
“I beg to differ sir,” Penny replied flirtatiously, “… like a mighty oak it grows!”
I snorted with laughter and began to choke, “I can’t believe you just said that! Do you know how corny that sounded?”
“You should be grateful for my witty bedroom banter,” she answered, before kissing me again.
I was still laughing, “You can’t see the forest for the tree.”
She snickered into my neck, “And you say my jokes are bad.”
We told one another bad jokes for several minutes before we were finally unable to continue, having run out of good, or even bad lines. We had better things to occupy ourselves with anyway.
Chapter 37
“Explain to me why we’re here again?” said Dorian.
We stood on a low rise, overlooking the remains of the place that had once been the Gaelyn household. It was a desolate location, dry and rocky. It might have been uninhabitable but for the oasis that was only a few miles distant. The people who had lived there had probably relied upon wells that tapped into the aquifer that rose close to the surface in this region.
“This was the last thing Marc investigated before his death. He thought there might be leftover relics of their magic or even books. The magic protecting this place prevented him from entering before he died. I’m here to find out for certain,” I repeated, since my friend had obviously not paid close enough attention before, and then I added sarcastically, “You’re here because my wife thinks I need looking after.”
Dorian grinned, “You do take a lot of watching.”
“Is that what you were doing last night?” I shot back amicably. “It seemed a lot more like you were trying to see if you could induce a hangover.” The night before, we had visited Marc together, and honored an old promise to share a drink at his grave. It was something we had decided on as young men when we had had our first stolen taste of beer.
It had been a struggle to take the first drink. My treatment at the hands of Dorian’s mother a year before had been brutal, and the memory of that time still made me nauseous. After that I had managed to have a couple more, but I wasn’t able to do more. Besides I had had my hands full keeping Dorian from drinking himself into a blind stupor. The grief he found at our friend’s grave, combined with his natural inclinations, made it almost impossible for him to moderate himself.
He growled, “Are you going to badger me about that?” It was readily apparent that he was still suffering a few lingering after effects.
“It’s what Marc would have wanted,” I pronounced solemnly.
“What, the drink at his grave or harassing me about my overindulgence?” asked Dorian irritably.
“Both.”
He snorted. “Yeah, you’re right about that.” Shading his eyes, he looked down at the scattered collection of broken walls and tumbled stones that hinted at what must have once been a large group of buildings. “What do they call this place again?”
“Drakon Perket,” I answered, “It means ‘Dragon’s Nest’.”
“Not a very inviting name,” he observed.
It probably wasn’t meant to be, I thought. I could sense magic hovering in the air around the place, like a diffuse aura, encouraging visitors to stay away… to forget what they had seen. “It must be an enchantment,” I muttered to myself, “otherwise it would have faded by now.” I started to extend my shield to protect Dorian from its effects before I realized that it probably wouldn’t work on him anyway. His mind was utterly impervious to magic of that sort. “Let’s go down and see if we can find an entrance,” I told him.
“To what?” he asked.
“There’s a network of tunnels and cellars beneath the rock and sand. Some of it I can sense, and other parts seem to be shielded,” I replied. “Whatever is there, I want to know what it is.”
We walked down a gentle slope until we reached the center of what must have once been a large courtyard. Tumbled stone marked places that had once been walls, and a crumbling structure near the center looked as though it might have been a well, although it was full of rubble now. After fifteen minutes of careful searching, we still hadn’t found an entry.
“You’re sure there are tunnels and rooms down there?” said Dorian.
“Yes.”
“Because there’s no entrance,” he added.
“I think you’re right,” I responded, wondering where he was heading with this line of thought.