Nevermor (57 page)

“I didn’t tell
the others, but I’m going to tell you.  Before, when I said that Calico wasn’t
making sense and I couldn’t understand what she was trying to tell us, I lied. 
I
did
know what she was saying, but I didn’t want to say it in front of
Rifter.  I was convinced further by what the elder said.  I’m sure of it now.”

“Why are you
telling me?” she asked.  He had never been so forthcoming with information. 
Why now?  Why this?

“I think you are
the one who will best know what to do with it,” he said.  “Do you not want to
hear it?  I won’t force it on you.”

Even though she
was close to giving up, her curiosity was still unquenchable.

“What did she
say?” Wren relented.

“It was about a
vision their shaman had seen, about Rifter.  It was about a darkness seeping in
and other things, but the thing I wanted to tell you is something that caught
my attention.  I thought you might be interested.  She said ‘
his lost past
was swallowed by a little moon’
.”

He waited for
her to catch on to what he was telling her, but Wren stared at him blankly. 
Was that supposed to mean something to her?  She shrugged helplessly.

“Sly, I’ve had a
very long –”
–day
.  She stopped.  Her eyes widened as it came to her
suddenly, and she knew exactly what he was talking about.

This changes things.

“Thank you for
telling me this,” she said, standing up directly.  She didn’t wait for him to
reply.  There was something she had to do.

She left the
camp and walked down the slope toward the tree line, her feet urging her as if
Sly had spoken some magical incantation, but it wasn’t that at all.  Maybe she
wasn’t going to change her mind about leaving, but there was something that she
had to do before she left, and it was as much for Rifter as it was for her
peace of mind.  If she was right in her guess, she wouldn’t have to go far to
find it.

Wren tried to
make sure that no one else had seen her slip away out into the forest of
pines.  Once she had gone past the edge of the trees and felt that she was out
of earshot, she began her search.

“Whisper?  Are
you out here?”

Wren was still
sure that the fairy had not gone very far from Rifter, even though he had sent
her away.  Where else would she go?  More important than that, how could she
stand to leave him?  She loved him, and if she had not been burned in the fiery
blaze, Wren was sure the wisp had followed them here.

“I know you must
be here,” she went on, even though she’d gotten no answer.  She took a few
steps into the woods.

“Listen to me,
please.  I know you don’t like me, but you don’t have to worry about that
anymore.  I’m leaving.  I won’t be between the two of you any longer.  But
Whisper, he needs his
memories
.”

Wren had
interpreted Sly’s hint just like he’d meant for her to.  Whisper was the little
moon – the glowing orb that had taken Rifter’s memories and bound them in a
secret place within herself.  She was the reason that he couldn’t remember some
of those things that the others did, even though the land itself seemed bent on
absorbing their oldest pains, perhaps because Rifter was the origin.  But the
fairy had done this for the one she loved.  She had taken the memories he’d
been willing to cast away.

If the wisp had
really been clever, she might have pulled the memory of Wren right out of his
head when she’d had the chance.  She still might.

“I know you’ve
been trying to protect him.  You don’t like to see his pain.  I understand
that, but it isn’t fair to him.  He needs those things back – he needs to deal
with them.  If you let him do that, he’ll be fine after a while.  You’ll see.”

Whisper didn’t
show herself, but Wren kept looking nonetheless, going farther out.

“I’m not just
asking for selfish reasons.  I don’t want him to forget me – though yes, it
might be easier on him if he did.  He needs to remember where he came from and
what happened before.  He needs to realize what keeps happening here!  Please,
Whisper.  I know you don’t owe me any favors, but he needs the truth back. 
It’ll be good for him.  He—”

There was a
rustle in the leaves.  Had her pleading worked, or had she drawn in something
else with her voice?  Whatever it was, she would have to face it.  She stood
very still, hoping that she would be left alone if it was not the pixie – and
then a flash of light shot out toward her.  She hadn’t turned quickly enough to
see it before she felt a burning pressure at the side of her face.

Wren fell to the
ground, a tiny white handprint blistered against her temple.

2

Wren was caught
in the darkness, not asleep but unable to wake up.  She was in a strange place
where the ground rose and fell in gentle hills, but there were no trees.  The
sky was gray, and the shadows of the clouds were prominent on the grass as they
rolled by slowly.  There was no sound but the whipping of the wind as it lashed
at her, and yet it didn’t touch her skin.

Where am I? 

She moved
forward because that was all she could do, walking slowly over the hills.  She
seemed to be alone here, but that didn’t make her feel any better about being
lost.  How had she gotten here?  What was the last thing that had happened? 
She couldn’t remember.

She moved along
a winding path between the downs, and in the distance she saw shadowy figures
drifting about.  She wondered if she should hide, but she didn’t think that
they noticed her.  Was she a dreamer again?  Had she reverted to a different
state?  She certainly didn’t seem to be here right now.

She watched the
shadows until finally she laid eyes on the door.

The large black
door was set in space, without a house or building to link to.  It was closed,
but it wanted to be opened.  She could feel that as easily as if it had asked
her to.

Don’t do it,
a voice in the
back of her mind told her
.  Don’t open that door.

But what else
can I do?  It might be the only way out.

Wren knew she
had to do it.  This was why she was here.  She wrapped her fingers around the
knob, and though it was heavy, she managed to pull it open.

She opened that
door, and as soon as she had, a flood of images spilled out into her own mind
like the nightmare sludge had washed up on the beach.

She saw things
she had never intended to see in her life.  There were images of gruesome death
before her eyes – of stabbing, impalement, shootings, complete dismemberment by
monster jaws.  All were boys, ranging in age from twelve to sixteen.  Not only
did she see it, but she felt the connection with each of them.  She knew their
names and their faces, and each time she saw one of them die, she felt that her
heart had been staked.

These things
were not happening before her eyes, but she saw them as if they were scenes
from her past, yet they were not her own memories.  She knew where the door had
led her.  These were Rifter’s memories that he had put away, the ones Whisper
had taken from him.

Just as the
others had told her, she saw every instance in which he had killed his enemy;
everything from throwing the man off a cliff to decapitating him, to seeing him
eaten by beasts.  They had been right.  It had happened so many times, and yet
he always came back.  Rifter never remembered it because all of the memories were
here.

Wren did not
only see death, but other things: loneliness, hatred, confusion.  She felt them
in a way that she never had in her own life, but she pressed through it,
searching for something in particular.

At the end, she
saw the worst of it.  She saw the truth about Rifter and this world.  It all
made sense.  She understood everything.

She couldn’t
describe how painful it was.

3

For a long time
after that, Wren lay against the ground.  Tears ran from her eyes, even though
she thought she had no more to give.  Her head was pounding and her emotions
were cut and tortured.  She had wanted to know Rifter?  To understand him?  She
knew more than she had ever wanted.

So much pain…

She had changed
her mind.  Rifter did not need those things back.  Speaking for herself, she
never wanted to see them again.  The fairy must have taken them away from her
after she had seen them, for Wren could no longer draw them back up, but they
had left a scorched trail through her mind.

Wren tried to
pull herself up from the ground but she felt disoriented.  Even when she had
stood, she kept leaning as if one side of her head was heavier than the other. 
Which way was the camp?  Where had she come from?  The forest was getting dark
around her and everything looked the same.  Had she come this far out?  The
others probably wouldn’t look for her again since she had avoided them before.

I need to get
back.  I just need to sleep.

She urged her
feet to keep her balanced, but she had to fight for it.  She lumbered through
the trees, trying to feel her way back without lurching from the dizzying rush
of the memories.  She looked up to see if she could catch a glimpse of a
campfire flickering through the trees – and stopped at what she saw.

Weaving through
the woods before her was a black trail, barren and charred as if it had been
burned.  Whole sides of the trees were missing, shriveled and dead.  Something
had passed through here.  Where did it go, and where had it come from?  She
felt that she knew, and yet something was drawing her closer to it.

Am I still
dreaming?
 
She couldn’t say.

She walked
toward the trail of darkness with slow footsteps, as if her feet were making no
noise through the dry leaves.  She was no hunter, and whatever she was stalking
must have certainly known she was coming, but she couldn’t stop herself.  She
was drawn to it, whether out of curiosity or for something she couldn’t
explain.  Maybe it was death she was looking for.

She followed the
trail until it widened into a larger area where the ground was dark as a pit. 
Ashes were raining down from the trees like snow, and there in the spot of
cinders, she saw what she thought was a nightmare.

The aberration
was a great black beast, like a large wolf with many red eyes on its face.  It
was standing still, its shadowy hair waving about, even though there was no
wind.  She wanted to run, but felt that she was frozen to the spot by fear –
and when she had blinked, she realized that what she saw was only a man.

She knew who he
was.  She saw him standing there in the dark, in the middle of the forest where
he had killed the ground, but yet she didn’t run away.  He looked at her with
one clear blue eye.  The other was hidden behind a patch which covered part of
a long scar that ran down his face.  She hadn’t seen him so close, but she
recognized him.

“What are you
doing, wandering around out here, alone?” the Scourge asked.  “Don’t you know
it’s dangerous?”

His voice was
smooth and seductive, like the snake in the Garden, but she could not place his
accent.  Wren didn’t speak to him.  She wrapped her arms around herself but
didn’t retreat.  He was alone, but how had he gotten here?  Was he real? Or was
he an illusion created by her confused mind?

“You’re not
really here,” she said finally, her voice weak.  “You can’t be.  You’re dead.”

“I think I know
what I am better than you,” he told her, and she didn’t question that.

The Scourge
stepped toward her.  Now that she was able to see his face, she found that he
was not quite as old as she might have guessed.  He was a head taller than she
was, certainly a man of presence.  His stance exuded power.

She knew she
should scream,
run
, but she couldn’t.  She wasn’t sure what was keeping
her in place.  Could it be true that she wasn’t afraid of him?  He was close,
just a few steps away.  He smelled like fire and ash, like tobacco and smoke. 
The latter was a comfortable, familiar smell.  He was in front of her, within
inches, and she felt that her heart was affected by him.  His wickedness was
alive, encroaching on her.

He reached out
and touched her cheek with a gloved hand, brushing some of her hair back behind
her ear to view her face, but she would not look at his.  She flinched at his
touch.

“I never got
your name,” he purred.

“Wren,” she said
quietly.  She stared at the ground, watching the grass wither beneath his
boots.  Her fists clenched, but she was rooted.

“That’s a pretty
name, little bird,” he said.  “Has he ever told you that?”

Rifter?

“No,” she
admitted.  It was one thing on a long list of important things he had never
said to her.

“That’s a
shame.”

It is a shame. 
And I’m a fool.

“You seem sad,”
he said, tilting his head toward her, studying her expression.