Tell Me My Name (10 page)

The practical thing to do would be to
get up and accept the food Darien has brought me without a word,
but I can’t muster the will. What’s the point? Eating and drinking
are things a person does to stay alive for tomorrow, but I’m not
living right now. I’m just existing – without purpose, without
hope, without even a name.

Meanwhile, I hear Darien placing
something on the icy ledge of the cell’s window, and instinctively
turn to the sound. It’s another brown sack, like the one he brought
me before. I try to summon a smile to say “thank you,” but even my
lips feel heavy, and I only manage a slight twitch. So I give a
small nod instead, doing my best to hold my head high and appear
all right. Not out of pride – I don’t think I’ve had that since I
awoke in this cell – but in hopes of convincing him that it’s true.
Any concern he has for me would only bring us both more trouble
from the Sorci master.

But it’s not working. His eyebrows
gather with worry, and he leans in, closer to the window. “What’s
wrong? Are you cold?”

I shake my head. Since he doesn’t seem
to realize what my silence meant, I whisper, “Please, you can’t
speak to me.” My voice is so soft, it barely reaches my own
ears.

His expression darkens. “My master may
be wise, but even he isn’t all-knowing.” He glances to the side,
pressing his mouth into a harsh line. After a moment, he shakes his
head. “I know he forbade me from talking to you, but you don’t have
to worry about what would happen if he hears me now. It’s my
concern.”

I turn my gaze to the floor. He
doesn’t know what his master did to punish me for bewitching him,
even when I was innocent of the crime. And I can’t tell him – I’d
have to speak again to do so, and if the master catches me, he’ll
torture me again. Each time he’s cursed me, I’ve felt as if a
monster latched onto my soul and sucked the energy from it, and
that the magician released me just in time to save the last drop I
needed to regain my strength. What if next time he doesn’t, and his
curse leaves me in a state too feeble to recover from? How could I
ever escape if I’m too weak to stand?

And what’s more, I won’t be the only
subject of his wrath, since the master said that the spell he cast
on Darien the last time he spoke to me, the curse painful enough to
take him to the floor, was a mere warning. Even if I had the
fortitude to bear the magician’s cruelty, I couldn’t allow another
to suffer like that.

“
I’m not going to hurt
you.” Darien’s voice from the window is almost a whisper. “I know
this won’t mean much to you when you’re trapped like this, but
we’re not trying to be cruel. Our work … it has a very important
purpose, and someday the fate of the world could depend on it. The
smallest misstep might cause us to fail, and that would lead to
disaster.”

He sounds like he’s trying to convince
himself more than me. I hear the echo of his master’s words in his;
I suppose the magician must have finally instilled his lessons into
his apprentice’s head. After the brutality I witnessed – the
slamming into walls, the curse of pain – I don’t care to imagine
what else might have happened to Darien, away from here, that I
didn’t see. Hearing him talk about the Sorci as if he’s one of them
makes my heart sink. I guess as an apprentice, that’s what he’s
working toward, but the thought of him becoming just like the
stone-faced figures – or worse, the cruel master – fills me with
sorrow.

My head tells me to say something, or
at least ask for a hint as to what this greater purpose could be,
but the idea feels so dull that it can’t be called a desire. My
very mind has grown numb, and my thoughts drift in a dull cloud of
“what’s the point?” Everything I’ve tried has been in vain, and the
one viable suggestion I came up with – manipulating Darien to save
myself – is too abhorrent, even in my desperate state. Though I
yearn to hold onto hope, I can’t stop the voice in my head telling
me that it’s just a false promise for something that can never
come.

So I just give another nod and keep my
eyes on the ground, hoping he’ll go away. At the same time, part of
me wishes he could stay. His is the only company I have, despite
the danger his voice brings me, and I can’t help feeling a small
measure of comfort in his presence. Once he leaves, I’ll be alone
again.

Alone with my hopelessness.

A great swelling presses against my
heart, and sharp tingling rises toward my eyes. I squeeze them
shut, determined to keep the tears back. But for some reason,
thinking about my impending return to total solitude brings an
upwelling of despair, and the thoughts crash into me from all sides
at once.

I don’t know who I
am.

I have no
purpose.

I have no hope.

I don’t want to surrender to these
helpless thoughts, but they beat against my consciousness like
stormy waves upon a stone that, no matter how sturdy, can’t escape
the wearing down under such repeated, merciless thrashing. Tears
threaten to escape my eyes, and I squeeze my lids tighter to hold
them back. But it’s no use – they stream down my cheeks anyway. I
quickly wipe them, then turn my face toward the back wall. I’ve
lost any chance of maintaining the pretense that I’m all right, and
I’m ashamed that someone has to see me like this.

I hear footsteps ringing against the
stone floor outside my cell and know that it must be Darien
leaving. I’m glad he’s going; I wouldn’t know what to do if he’d
stayed. Still, the air suddenly seems hollow and empty in the
absence of the one person I can remember ever being kind to
me.

I inhale, drawing a gust of cold air
into my lungs, but it does nothing to steady my head or push back
the desolation that’s conquered my mind. I know I should be
stronger, should continue searching for a way to escape and focus
on my survival, yet I can’t bring myself to keep fighting when I
don’t even know what I’m fighting for.

Opening my eyes, I glance back toward
the window, almost hoping he’s still there. Of course, he isn’t.
The small sack of food sits on the ledge where he left it, but
despite the hollow hunger in my stomach, I have no wish to retrieve
it.

I have no wish for anything
anymore.

The despairing thoughts hammer against
my mind, and I gaze dully into nothingness.

No chance, no purpose, no
hope.

Time rolls by, but I remain still, as
frozen and blank as the walls of ice trapping me. Maybe if I sit
here like this long enough, I’ll turn to ice as well, and never
have to feel pain or sorrow or anguish again.

Suddenly the sound of quick footsteps
patters outside the cell, trying to tug my consciousness out of its
cloud of depression. But though that may have worked in the past,
I’m too numb now to care who approaches. If it’s the Sorci master
coming to curse me again, let him. I can’t stop him anyway. And if
it’s Darien …

He comes into view before I
can finish the thought, striding toward my cell.
What’s he doing back here?
I wonder. My curiosity encourages my mind to sharpen just
enough to keep my gaze on him instead of dropping to the floor
again.

He glances back toward the stairs with
a worried, almost fearful look, then picks up his pace. Stopping
before the window, he holds up his hand, which clutches something
wrapped in a brown cloth made of the same material as the sacks he
uses to bring me food. He meets my gaze with a stare so intense, it
seems to pierce right through me.

“
This belongs to you,” he
says, placing the package on the window ledge.

What?
Surprise jolts me out of my melancholy trance, and I
instinctively stand, my eyes flying to the brown lump.
What is that? How can it belong to me?

Before I can say anything, the Sorci
master’s voice thunders from the distance.

“
Darien!”

The sound sends a dart of terror
through me, and I jump up. At the same time, Darien whirls toward
the staircase, then turns back to me, giving the package a slight
push forward. “Keep it hidden, or they’ll kill us both.” He races
away without another word.

Shocked and intrigued, I rush to the
window and snatch the wad of brown cloth. I back into the corner by
the window, where I’m least likely to be seen from outside, and
stare at the thing in my hand.

This belongs to me.
It must be a relic from my past, some possession
I had with me when I was captured. A tremendous wave of joy and awe
overwhelms me, and my knees buckle. This is it – the link to my
past that could tell me who I am, where I come from, and maybe even
why I’m here.

It could hold the answers my life
depends on.

With this object in my
hands, I can hope again. I can believe once more that there’s
something worth staying strong for, worth fighting for. My eyes
well, but with tears of happiness and relief this time, and one
thought sparkles like starlight in my head:
There is good in this world
. And
it’s not out of my reach – the proof is right here.

Does Darien even know what this means
to me? Did he sense that I was so lost, I was ready to let myself
die?

Does he know that, just by returning
this to me, he saved my life?

After what I’ve witnessed, and from
those last words he spoke, I know he risked his own life to give me
this one possession. A twinge of guilt stings me as I realize I
didn’t thank him. If I ever get out of here, I’ll be sure to repay
his kindness in whatever way I can.

I tighten my grip on the brown cloth
package, almost afraid that it will vanish like an illusion. I
don’t even know what it is, and yet, it already seems to represent
all that I thought I’d lost. Perhaps glimpsing it will bring back
my memories, and I can learn who I am and how I got here. And
perhaps this knowledge could give me something I need to
escape.

My heart pounds with anticipation, and
I move to unwrap the package and see what lies within the cloth.
Suddenly, I hesitate. What if it’s not everything I hope it will
be? What if it’s another false promise that tells me nothing? What
if the ensuing disappointment sends me into an even deeper sense of
despair than the one that nearly consumed me?

Even if that’s the case, I have
nothing to lose. I can’t possibly sink lower than where I was just
now. So I tentatively remove the brown cloth, and a flash of silver
catches my eye. Then a soft noise, barely audible even in the
silence, floats up from the object. I recognize it instantly: It’s
the sound of a clock ticking.

I push the rest of the wrapping away
and find myself staring down at a timepiece small enough to fit in
the palm of my hand. A tiny ring holds a chain as fine as thread,
and silver metal, engraved with intricate drawings of flowers, rims
an iridescent white face. Black numbers that look like they were
lovingly drawn by an expert calligrapher encircle the edge: I, II,
III, IV … The hour and minute hands, which appear to be slivers of
lustrous onyx, point to seven o’clock.

But there’s something off
about this timepiece – the second hand moves counterclockwise.
What’s more, when it passes the number twelve, the hand that should
have indicated minutes barely moves the width of a hair.
That’s so strange. What does it mean?

Searching for a hint, I turn the clock
over in my hand, and my eyes widen at what I see. The clock’s
silver back, like the rim around the front, is meticulously
decorated with beautiful outlines of blossoms and vines that
intertwine like ribbons. But lovely as they are, I barely notice
them, for they form a ring pattern around an engraving that causes
my breath to catch in my throat.

Two words: Kiriall Amdyth.

It’s my name. I know it – as certainly
as I know that the ground I stand on exists. Just seeing those
words is enough to make the memory blaze like the midday sun,
pushing back any darkness or doubt that might surround
it.

I have a name. And it’s Kiriall
Amdyth.

Suddenly, an image pops into my mind:
A girl in a flowing, apple green dress. I see her as clearly as if
she’s standing before me. She’s about my height and probably my
age, but otherwise looks nothing like me. Whereas the lines of my
body are as straight as a wooden board, this girl’s curve into full
hips and a well-matured bust. Her brilliant emerald eyes, framed by
long, dark lashes, dance with joy against a glowing bronze
complexion, and her plump, poppy red lips spread into a wide grin.
She’s beautiful in a way I could never be, and her melodious
laughter rings in my head.

“
Kiri!” she cries, reaching
a hand toward me. Her hair, which fades from deep auburn near her
scalp to strawberry blond at the tips, whips around her shoulders,
and –

Blazing heat explodes through my head,
hitting me with such ferocity that I scream in shock. The image of
the girl starts to vanish, blotted out by swaths of
darkness.

No, I have to
remember.
I shut my eyes, clinging to the
image with everything I have and refusing to let the searing pain
defeat me. The girl called me “Kiri” – that must be what I went by.
So she must know me … But who is she? And what else can the memory
of her tell me?