Blood and Memory (26 page)

“For whatever it’s worth, Wyl, I’m not sure anyone would have believed it.”

“Elspyth would have. Ylena maybe…given time.”

Wyl heard the big man shift, could make out a bulky shadow move out of a small clump of slender trees.

“You cannot undo what is done,” Aremys offered, his voice gentle. He waited for an angry rebuke.

It came. “My sister is dead, Aremys!” Wyl yelled. “And yet she lives. All of my family dead. Plus Alyd, Gueryn, Lothryn…even Koreldy—dead. All because of me.”

The big man grabbed Wyl and pulled him to his feet. He had not counted on Ylena being so light. Faryl’s body had been much weightier. She all but flew up into his arms. He settled Wyl down and knew he was lucky that he could not see the anger he was sure was blazing in her eyes.

Still he pursued it. “There is nothing you can do about what’s done. Nothing! But you can go to this Manwitch fellow and learn about his daughter’s gift. Perhaps it can be reversed, perhaps it can be stopped.”

“Will it ever stop?” Wyl asked, a pleading note in his sister’s voice.

“I don’t know, my friend. But I promise you, here and now, that I will help you in any way I can. You must help yourself, though. None of us understand this magic. The only way forward is to discover its secrets. And the Manwitch is the only lead you have. Go to him.”

“Where do I go?”

“Find the mother, as you had planned. Start there.”

They heard heavy footsteps and looked around to see the Duke approaching, breathing hard.

“Are you all right?” he wheezed, knowing it was an absurd question under the circumstances. He raked a hand through his silvered hair. “I’m sorry.” He shrugged. “We’re all worried about you. Coming to terms with the shock of all that’s happened, especially this foul magic upon you, is more than I can bear. What’s more, my good wife has taken charge of proceedings and can be quite terrifying. It was my chance to escape.”

Wyl stepped forward and took the old man’s hand in the Legion’s way. “This is the hardest one, sir. Giving up my own body was a hundred times easier than taking this one.”

“I’m sorry, son. I…I really am at a loss for words—I must accept this tale because I do trust that this is really you, but I understand none of it.”

Wyl shook his head. “I’ve had more time to get used to the curse.”

The Duke sat down heavily. “Forgive me, this has been a trying couple of days.”

“It is I who seeks your forgiveness,” Wyl said, seating himself next to the Duke. “I know your whole family is suffering, sir. Alyd was the best of men. His loss is a constant pain in my heart.”

The old man nodded in the dark. “We will grieve later, Wyl, for your sister and for my son. The King is my concern right now. May we speak freely?”

Wyl nodded. “Aremys is as much a part of this as I, sir.”

Aremys felt relieved to hear it and joined them, seating himself uncomfortably atop the heather.

“Tell me everything,” the Duke commanded, “from the beginning.”

Later, seated around the scrubbed parlor table, Wyl faced the rest of the family, so shocked still that their faces were devoid of expression. Blank, disbelieving stares had greeted Wyl when he returned with Aremys and the Duke. He could hear the two younger sons in the dining room, cleaning up as best they could.

Elspyth was trembling. She would not permit him to touch her, but her hands instinctively flew to her mouth as he arrived, her eyes betraying all the emotion of these days past. She began to weep and the sound quickly turned to heartfelt sobs, her small frame lurching with each one. She knew she had caused this trauma to Wyl by revealing his secret. She was unable to speak now, though, to offer her apologies. There was a thick silence in the room as everyone felt her grief, and much as Crys would have liked to put his arms around her, Wyl enclosed Elspyth in Ylena’s own embrace, holding her tight and kissing her hair.

“It’s all right, Elspyth,” they heard Ylena say soothingly. “I’ll explain everything.”

Behind them Aremys had bowed in awkward silence to the Duchess and she smiled just as awkwardly back. That was the most either could do without formal introduction. Aremys moved to stand beside Pil.

“I’m Aremys,” he whispered, for want of anything better to say into the uncomfortable atmosphere.

“Pil,” came the reply. “I came with…” He hesitated, not sure if he could still call her Ylena.

The big man nodded. “With the sister?”

Pil nodded, too distressed to say any more.

“I’ll brew some tea,” Aleda said. “It’s good for shock,” she admitted, but only got as far as the hearth, where she sat down on a small sofa, stupefied by the night’s events.

Elspyth finally pulled away from Wyl to gaze into Ylena’s face. “Is it really you? It happened again?”

He nodded. “She killed Romen as instructed. Little did she know he was cursed.”

“I’m going to insist you prove who you are,” she replied, suddenly cautious.

“He already has, my girl,” the Duke said, standing near to his wife. “Only a Thirsk would know what he told me at the gatehouse and since on the moors.” He scratched his head. “I think what we all need is not tea but a sherlac, my dear,” he said to his wife. “This is all very confusing, and too wild for my old mind.”

The Duchess found a wan smile for her husband. She did not feel like she could ever be happy again, but in looking at him she decided that perhaps love alone would get her through this nightmare of death, deception, and magic. She signaled to Crys to fetch the decanter and glasses.

Wyl looked back at Elspyth. “No, you’re quite right. What can I tell you that only Wyl Thirsk could know?”

She thought a moment. “When we escaped from the mountains…” She had meant to go on, but a smile crossed Ylena’s face.

“…we had no money. Or so I thought,” Wyl continued. “But you had a purse that you had hidden beneath your skirts. We stayed at the Penny Whistle in Deakyn and you bought me a horse with all that was left of your money. I left you to somehow make your way to Rittylworth, your heart bursting for a good man, a brave man we had to leave behind. I am so, so sorry.”

Her smile of elation dissolved to tears. “Oh, Wyl—so much to tell.”

Aleda decided it was time to take hold of the emotionally charged situation once again. “You are most welcome in our home…er, Wyl Thirsk. I hardly understand any of this. It’s too horrific to contemplate but…”

Wyl bowed formally to the Duchess, a woman he had admired since childhood. “I remember my father telling me how generous you were to my mother when they were first married, Duchess. He never forgot how you helped her choose a gown for a summer ball when she was feeling especially young and daunted, having married the man who called our king his closest friend. She knew how the Queen laughed at her. You reminded her that she was the reason Fergys Thirsk never lost a battle. You told her, my lady, that he could not bear the thought of not coming home to the most beautiful and cherished woman in the world.”

Wyl cleared his throat. “I wish we could have met in less confusing circumstances, my lady, so I could thank you for your kindness.”

Now it was Aleda’s turn to feel betrayed by her eyes. She returned a gracious curtsy. “I would like to have met you as yourself, Wyl Thirsk. I think I need to lie down for a bit.” She thought she might weep at her next thought but voiced it anyway. “Our son Alyd worshiped you.”

“He was the best friend anyone could ever have asked for, my lady. I am so much less for losing him,” Wyl replied. “I shall avenge his death,” he added softly, but the coldness in his voice left no one in any doubt.

At the insistence of a fussing Aleda, everyone took to their beds. They would make decisions in the morning. Aleda insisted that they leave Wyl alone with his thoughts and despite his protests she won. His sister’s body climbed back into the bed she had left just hours earlier, but it was now Wyl who agreed to swallow the proffered cup of warmed, sweetened milk.

“What have you put in this?”

“Something to help you sleep,” Aleda said kindly, fluffing a coverlet about him.

It felt similar to how his own mother used to tuck him in at night. “I wish I could wake up and discover it’s all been a nightmare,” he admitted.

She nodded. “So do I.”

He knew she spoke of her adored son. Wyl took her hand. “I’m sorry I could not save him.”

Aleda’s eyes watered, but she did not give in to the sorrow—not yet. “He worshiped both you and Ylena. I know his years at Stoneheart were happy because of the Thirsks and I thank you for that. But listen to me, Wyl.” He noticed she did not hesitate to call him by his real name and he loved her for it. Believers in magic or not, some Morgravians—like these people—put life and duty ahead of superstition. “We cannot bring them back through our tears, but we can make ourselves worthy of them by avenging their early deaths. You may blame this Myrren person for your despair, but there is one true villain here.” She jabbed her finger in the air toward him.

“Celimus,” he breathed, beginning to feel the drowsy effects of Aleda’s drug.

“Let us never forget it,” she said, her defiance infectious.

“I will kill him, Duchess.” His words in Ylena’s voice sounded as cold as the snow that fell on the moors in winter.

“You do that, and may you feel the weight of my hand behind the blade you wield…and Alyd’s, and Ylena’s, and all those other people you have spoken of…even that woman Faryl.”

It was his turn to feel his eyes brim and Aleda was well aware these tears welled for Ylena Thirsk alone.

“She was a brave young woman, son, although I’m not sure whether she would ever have come back to being the person you remembered. She had been hurt too much. Ylena was filled with hate and need for revenge. And, frankly, who could blame her? She showed courage and tenacity in just escaping Rittylworth and getting herself here on foot. She was every bit a Thirsk and a sister to be proud of. I shall mourn her as the daughter I lost. Even in the short time we knew each other, we shared enough to have formed a special bond.”

Wyl did not want to cry. He looked away. “Do you believe in life after death, Aleda?”

She smiled bravely. “I do. And they’re together now, Wyl, with Shar. We’ll continue the fight.”

“Thank you for all your kindness,” he said, slipping away toward sleep. “What about Faryl’s body?” he murmured.

“We’ll take care of it,” she assured. “Dream peacefully, Wyl Thirsk,” she added, and kissed him softly.

Wyl’s dreams were anything but peaceful.

He saw a barn. Its doors were closed. And from behind those doors came the fearful noise of a man screaming. His demented shrieks sounded as though they were filled with gut-wrenching pain.

Then the thought
Help me
came crashing into Wyl’s mind.

Wyl did not know how to cast a message back. He tried, begging the man to tell him who he was, where he was. But try though he might, he could not respond in the same manner. The terrible wail continued, and the more Wyl tried to escape it, the louder it became, until it filled every recess of his head, every ounce of his being. He ran—or thought he did—but it followed. When he stopped and tried to face it, he found he had run nowhere and was still looking at the barn and the dark magics he now realized must be at practice behind those barred doors.

A new voice urged at him. A mellow, kind voice. It sounded to be coming from far away.
Turn toward me, son
.

I can’t
, Wyl thought he might have said, straining against the first man’s screams.

Be strong. Turn away from it and look toward me.

It took all of his will and courage to do so, but as soon as he tore his eyes away from the barn doors, the shrieking ceased.

He felt his body go limp with relief, realized he was breathing hard.
Who are you
?

I am whom you seek
, the voice said gently.

Myrren ‘s father ?

Yes.

Where are you?

Come to me.

How? I don
Y
know where you are
.

You will find me
. There was a pause. He heard the man mutter something unintelligible, then:
I am where no one else dare go
.

Why can’t you tell me?

Trust the dog
, Elysius said, his voice fading.

Come back
! Wyl cried, but the speaker had gone. Wyl had wanted to ask who had been screaming, but it was too late. He had not even asked Myrren’s father for his name.

His dreams continued.

Now a new vision swirled before him. He saw Valentyna. She was approaching him and his heart leapt. She looked as exquisite as ever in a bloodred gown and yet her expression was haunted. He tried to smile, wanted to reach out his hands toward her, but he could not.

Forgive me
, she whispered, and then he screamed but could not remember why when he woke with a start, his mind blank. What had frightened him? His nightshirt was damp and his eyelids were sticky. He pulled his legs from beneath the sheets and felt the touch of the rug beneath his feet. Looking down, he saw Ylena’s shapely feet. The night’s events came back to him and he felt a wave of dizziness and disappointment.

Shivering, he moved unsteadily toward the basin of water left on the sideboard and splashed his face, taking care to gently rub his eyes. Ylena’s face felt completely unlike Faryl’s had. Ylena’s cheekbones were rounder, her forehead narrower. Wyl moved the nearby softly burning candle to the mirror, where he stood and stared at the illuminated reflection that looked back at him. He noticed how similar her mouth was to his own. He could not understand how he had missed this previously. It reassured him.

“I failed you,” he whispered. “Forgive me,” he added, echoing his words from the dream he only now recalled. Who had been seeking absolution in that vision? He could not recall now. He thought it might have been a woman…no doubt Ylena.

The face looking back at him was sad but beautiful despite the sorrow. She looked too thin, so wan. All that had made Ylena such a sparkling person, jubilant with the joy of life, had been buried. What remained was barely a shade of the young, vibrant woman he had known and loved.

He grasped within himself for anything left of the Ylena he had so loved. Wyl wanted to find what was left of her more than he had wanted this with any of his other victims. It took some time and required his patience, but he finally coaxed her essence free and felt it fill him with its warmth.

“I knew you couldn’t leave me completely.” He spoke to his reflection as memories came roaring back. Childhood memories and great joy in life. Loving him, Magnus, and Gueryn…and then later Alyd. Wyl cherished the moment of feeling her love for him and then locked away the swirling thoughts of Alyd. Those were private and belonged to her alone.

Darker images of death and blood, burning and crucifixion, coalesced too. He felt savaged by their intensity and gripped the dresser in anger for what she had witnessed and endured. Rittylworth was his final punishment; he had brought destruction to the gentle community.

“I shall kill the King for you alone, beloved,” he whispered to what was left of Ylena. “Be at peace now.”

He felt stronger for saying the threat aloud. Tying his now-grubby robe back around himself, feeling awkward in Ylena’s body, he let himself out of the bedroom and crept down the stone stairway.

In the scullery he found a familiar figure hunched over a steaming mug of strong, dark tea.

“Can’t sleep?” he said, startling Aremys.

The big man looked up. “No, no chance of that. Want some?” he asked, eyeing the new Wyl carefully.

“I like honey in it,” Wyl replied, and from somewhere found a thin smile as he sat.

The mercenary nodded and was glad for the activity. He moved around Wyl’s new slim shoulders, pouring another mug.

“Am I that hard to look upon, Aremys?”

“No,” his friend replied, not turning from his task. “I just liked Faryl. I have to get used to you as your sister.” Now he did glance around and a look of sympathy for each other passed between them.

“How are the others taking it?”

Aremys shrugged. “The Duchess is extraordinary. I gather they’ve only today learned about their son’s demise and here she is fretting over you. The Duke is angry, confused. I don’t know about the lads.”

“They do believe me, though.”

“Oh, no doubt,” Aremys assured, handing Wyl a mug. “It takes some getting used to.”

“As if I didn’t know it,” Wyl shot back.

“I mean, understand their position as they come to terms with it. Even witnessing it doesn’t make it any easier to believe or understand. Shar knows I’m struggling.”

Wyl did not answer immediately. Then he rested his chin in the cup of his hands and shook his head slowly. “So how will anyone trust me?”

“Well, your friend Elspyth believes and the mountain man, Lothryn, you said, did. Fynch, the seer.” He was holding fingers up in the air as he listed them. “And you convinced me to follow you and I’m a cynic, Wyl. All of us trust you.”

“Why did you believe me before seeing it happen for yourself?” Wyl persisted.

“Because of the knives. No one throws like Koreldy, to my knowledge. And because of your strange behavior toward the King. There were other things.” He shrugged and then grinned. “The mere fact that you could resist me confirmed you were a man.” Wyl guffawed. As always Aremys’s timing was perfect. “So you’ve just got to believe that they’ll trust you.”

“All right,” Wyl said, blowing on his tea.

“I’m sorry it had to be her, Wyl,” the big man finally found the courage to say.

“Me too,” and a glance to his friend said that he did not wish to talk about it anymore.

They brooded over their drinks in a companionable silence. The soft crackle and spit of the fire Aremys had kindled felt safe and comforting. Wyl warmed Ylena’s elegant fingers around the hot mug, fighting the revulsion he felt at seeing them.

“What now?” Aremys finally asked.

“Like you said, I must find Myrren’s father.”

Aremys sipped and nodded. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Dangerous,” Wyl commented, and returned the relieved grin that played around his friend’s mouth. Perhaps they would survive this.

“You cannot travel alone.”

“Oh no. You don’t want to sleep with Ylena as well!” Wyl said in mock horror.

The bearlike man’s amusement rumbled deep in his throat. It was reassuring to hear mirth after so much ugliness. “Well, I wouldn’t say no, of course, if you’re offering…” He caught Wyl’s glare on the sister’s lovely face. “I think you need a companion, is what I meant.”

“You don’t think I can take care of myself in this guise?”