The Fog of Forgetting (20 page)

“Exactly right. Yet, despite this love, the human vessel flourished only briefly before fragmenting. The Weaver despaired of humans ever learning to master their daylights. Have you heard stories of a tribe of immortals, sons of the Weaver, sent to aid the fledgling world?”

The children stared blankly at each other, then back at Rysta. Knox shook his head. The light radiating from the pool suddenly grew blinding. Out of it stepped a ghostly hologram of ten figures, taller than any human beings the children had ever seen. They hovered inches above the water, trailing a spinning nebula of color.

“These beings were the mightiest of all creatures—reflections of the original thought of creation. They were given many names through the ages and walked in many human shapes, but they were not human. They were sent to our world by the Weaver, for they alone knew the nature and the need of the
atar
as none shall or will, and could direct their daylights to shift and change as in the earliest of days. On Ayda, they are called the Watchers.” Rysta was silent for a moment. The figures shimmered above the pool in an unearthly glow.

“When the Watchers walked the Earth, there was a time of wisdom and tranquility. The air was filled with the music of the daylights working as one. There were no stones of power, no Keepers, and no need for them, for the Watchers taught men and women the skills to flourish: farming, healing, writing, metalwork, weaving, carpentry, art, music, storytelling. They helped humans tame the nature of their daylights with intelligence; in doing so, they trusted that humankind would respect the daylights all living vessels share.”

The glimmer coming off the hologram figures intensified, turning the pool a metallic silver. Rysta's voice grew soft, wistful.

“The Weaver entrusted the Earth to the Watchers, and gave it to them to steward for eternity, so that the daylights could work in harmony and all creatures live in peace. But there was a condition to this trust, a vow never to be broken: The Watchers were to guide and protect humans as parents do their children. Romantic love between the two races was forbidden.

“For an age the Watchers abided by their vow, but after several human lifetimes, they could not help but become attached to their lives on Earth and the world in their care. They eventually broke their vow and married human spouses and, to the sorrow of the world, created families of their own—for their offspring were an abomination.” The pool exploded and a bloody red spray flew into the air. The ten ghostly figures disappeared like smoke.

“The children of these forbidden unions grew strong with the blood of their fathers. They lived unnaturally long and powerful lives, but, unlike their fathers, they used their gifts to enslave their human kin and hoard the earth's riches for themselves. Disease, war, and pestilence took over, and once again the lives of your kind were wretched and brief. These cursed children are known on Ayda as the Others: half-Watcher, half-human. They are not immortal, but they do not fade or sicken readily, and have spent the ages in your lands under different disguises. You may find them by the trail of death and human misery they leave in their wake.”

Rysta looked pointedly into the eyes of each of the children. “I know this to be true because I am one of them, as is my brother and sister. Our father was a Watcher. His name was Remiel. Our mother was human. Her name was Rachel. They broke the vow that kept the world in peace.”

The water in the pool begain to roil beside her.

“And when their betrayal was discovered, there are no words to describe the wrath of the Weaver.” An image of a great cliff under a black sky bubbled to the surface of the pool. The same ten tall figures that had risen out of the pool now stood at the edge of the cliff, cowering before a voice that thundered across the enclosure.

“SO I HAVE MADE YOU, SO I SHALL DESTROY YOU!” the voice roared.

Teddy clapped his hands over his ears.

“That day, a choice was given to my father and his kin,” said Rysta. “One last chance: Sacrifice themselves and their families, and the human race would live on without them in peace.” She waved her hand over the pool once more and it grew still.

Teddy lowered his hands.

“It was a cruel choice,” she sighed, “and in the end none save my father leapt from the cliff. None of his brothers would sacrifice their own lives for the sake of all humankind. So it was alone that Remiel and Rachel and their four children jumped into the unknown. We fell for a very long time, longer than the height of the cliff would warrant, anticipating our end the whole way down—but there was no ending, nor slap of earth or water; instead, we landed on the soft back of a winged creature that bore us hence, to Ayda, to the shores of the Voss. We were made to understand that my father's willingness to sacrifice those he held most dear was our salvation. He was forgiven, and Ayda became our home, a place set apart from the rest of the world, where once again the daylights worked together as the Weaver intended.

“Those on the cliff saw only a great frothing of waves and a blinding flash of sun. As the seas calmed and the wind retreated, they congratulated themselves and laughed at their fortune until, one by one, the remaining Watchers were struck down where they stood, their daylights unleashed and their human form turned irreparably to ash. Their children, the Others, were spared, but their daylights grew rigid and unyielding and their powers diminished. Their deceit turned one against another and many of their evil deeds reversed upon them—but not all, sadly. Thus, the history of your world is written by their actions. It is indeed sorrowful.”

The room descended into unhappy silence.

“Enough of this talk!” Rysta exclaimed, jumping up and clapping her hands. “I forget you are but children and should not be burdened with the past. Shall we play a game? My attendants are very good at games!” She raised her hands and her bracelets let out a soft, showering trill. Several attendants assembled silently under the canopy. Rysta motioned for a tall, slender woman to step forward.

“Here is my friend Urza. She will assist me.” Rysta removed her outer robe, her bracelets, and her necklace and handed them to Urza. “I do not often play this game with strangers, but I think you will enjoy it.” She smiled mischievously and proceeded to melt in a quick cascade of water. Teddy gasped. Evelyn shrieked. Knox moved quickly to Urza's side and looked down.

“Pick her up and put her in the pool. She cannot breathe unfettered air for long,” said Urza calmly.

Knox bent down and when he stood back up, he held a large rose-scaled fish, gazing at them with a placid blue eye.

“Put her in now, Knox.” Urza gestured toward the pool.

Knox released the fish and it disappeared into the depths of the pool.

“Where did she go?” asked Evelyn, searching the surface with her eyes.

The fish leapt out of the pool with a loud
swoosh
, trailing a column of foamy water. Tiny glittering shards churned with the froth, diffuse at first and then spinning together in a solid beam of light. In another instant, Rysta stood before them again, her blonde hair streaming down her back, her pale arms folded lightly across her dress. She was panting with the exertion of the transformation and collapsed. Urza covered her wet robes with the dry one.

“Thank you, Urza,” she said, quickly replacing her necklace and bracelets. When she recovered fully, she sat up and laughed brightly at the children's stupefied faces.

Teddy was almost levitating with excitement. “Can I do that?”

Rysta smiled indulgently at him.

“No, little one. All creatures on Ayda will feel the potency of their daylights, but only a Keeper of a stone may transform, and then only when we are in our own lands, near to our stones. Without the Fifth Stone, it is dangerous even for Keepers to allow their daylights so much free rein. It disturbs the balance and makes us weak.”

“But—” Teddy insisted. “I want to be a dolphin!” He was hopping up and down, “No, I want to be a turtle! Make me a turtle!”

Chase grabbed Teddy's shoulder. “Shhh,” he chided him.

Rysta laughed again. “No, no, let him be. It gladdens my heart to hear him. I am not often with children.”

“Don't you have any kidth?” Teddy asked.

Rysta's full-lipped mouth tightened. She shook her head.

“Keepers are solitary; we are not meant to marry or mate. Our vow is to our stone of power and to those to whom it calls.”

Evelyn frowned. Rysta leaned over and touched her brow, her fingers sweeping across the skin like mist.

“Do not trouble your heart. One can only miss what one has known. In Metria, we wish only for the return of Ayda as it once was, in the beginning, before the coming of Dankar and the loss of the Fifth Stone. It is this hope that we carry in our hearts.”

“Rysta,” Chase asked, thoughtfully, “you said it was only
your
family who were brought to Ayda?”

She nodded.

“But you also said Dankar was your cousin, so he must be an Other, too, right? One of the ones left behind?”

Rysta looked at him keenly. “Yes, Chase, you are perceptive. He is one of the original Others, son to my father's brother. Many like him lived on in the world beyond the fog. However, many generatons have passed since then. Their lines are scattered.”

“But not Dankar's?”

“No, Dankar came here long ago, even by Ayda's reckoning.”

“If he didn't come with you, then how did he get here?”

Rysta turned away abruptly, unaware that at her feet the pool had conjured an image of a young man peering through a telescope over the prow of a low-slung wooden ship. He had the look of someone who had spent his days at sea, but his gray eyes were wide with anticipation, as if whatever vista that lay in the field of his telescope was the fulfillment of a dream.

“Who is
that?
” demanded Evelyn, taken aback by the sudden vision. “Is that Dankar?”

Rysta looked into the pool. When she saw the man, her eyes hardened; the pool began to boil once more, erasing the image.

“He is of no concern to you,” she said, raising her voice. Her hair lay flat and streaming against her robes and her necklace shone dully in the dim light. She was, in an instant, something entirely other, something cold and bloodless and removed, as ghostly as the shadows of the Watchers that had climbed from her pool. A lonely, high-pitched chord seemed to rise up from the water, gaining pitch and vibration until it filled the enclosure. Misery washed over the children, sudden and deep, as if a great hole had opened inside them and swallowed every hope they had ever had. The chord screeched louder.

“Stop!” cried Evelyn, plugging her fingers into her ears. “
Please!
”

Teddy began to scream. Chase and Knox sprang up in alarm.

The chord faded. Rysta's cold voice lingered over it.

“The pool sings of my loss,” she lamented. “As do the tides and the currents and the streams that search endlessly for its resolution. The rivers bleed with it, and the rain cries it to every corner of the Earth. You outliers think you have met with great misfortune—but not until you have lived with loss as long as I have will you know it for what it truly is. Go now and consider all that I have told you. If you are to be at home on Ayda, you must accustom yourself to grief.”

L
ouis kept his promise and returned at sunrise the next day. He wore a scowl but his manner was kind.

“Let's go. Dankar wants to see you.” He disappeared for a moment and came back with a long, white cotton tunic, leather sandals, and a piece of orange fabric.

“Put these on—leave the rest.” He turned on his heel and descended the small ledge to wait for her.

Frankie did as she was told, carefully folding her Melorian pants and poncho in a neat pile and pulling the thin tunic over her head. It felt delightfully cool. She wrapped the orange fabric around her head, tucking in any loose strands of hair, and tied the ends in a tight knot at the nape of her neck. She then removed her—now well-worn—pink Converse sneakers and laid them on top of the pile of discarded clothes. She put on the sandals and wiggled her free toes, then stretched her arms up and yawned, feeling remarkably happy considering the circumstances. Glancing over the last remnants of her life in Melor, Frankie felt a pang for Evelyn, Calla, and Mara. She was sad to part with the clothing she had worn for so long, but she had to admit, these new clothes were far more comfortable in the heat. She left the cave to join Louis at the foot of the bridge, where he was flanked by two tall, saddled camels.

Frankie pointed to them and laughed. “Are we riding those?”

“Of course,” Louis replied easily. “I'm glad to get you out of that Melorian sweatsuit—you smelled like a cow.”

With an easy swoop, he picked her up and placed her atop the wooden saddle fastened just behind the camel's hump. The camel's back was broad, so her skinny legs stuck out almost straight from beneath her tunic. She grabbed the semicircular handle to steady herself. The camel arched its neck and bared its teeth, but it suffered her weight without further complaint. Louis swung up gracefully onto the other camel. He nudged its ear with a small reed. It raised its head and lurched forward in a long, loping stride. Frankie's camel followed behind on its own accord.

“I'm afraid your breakfast will have to wait until we reach the Dwellings,” he called to her. “It's an hour's ride from here.”

Frankie shrugged. Who cared about breakfast when she was riding a camel? She wished Evelyn or her grandmother could see her now! A funny feeling stabbed at her with the thought of her grandmother, but she ignored it and leaned over the handle to sniff the camel's flank. It smelled like mud and hay. The ground below seemed very far away. She clung on tightly and settled her body into the saddle, swaying back and forth with the camel's rhythmic stride. The air felt clean and dry on her skin. Exor wasn't half as bad as she'd expected. Dusty and flat, yes, but not ugly. On the horizon, large domes of sand-colored rock resembling mudcastles broke the otherwise empty plain. If Frankie turned her head to the right, she could just make out the jagged outline of a mountain ridge and what might be ice glinting in the sunlight.

Louis veered toward the cluster of rock humps, urging his camel into a jog. Frankie's followed instinctively. Her weight slipped back and accustomed itself to the new side-to-side movement of the camel's run. The saddle was reasonably comfortable, and she lost any fear of falling and began enjoying the ride, whooping in excitement as the camel's hooves pounded the ground. In minutes, they were in the shadow between the rock pilings. This close up, Frankie could see striations of color and glitter in the rock. The camels slowed.

Louis stopped at the far edge of the rock pilings and indicated that she should do the same. They had reached the edge of the plateau, and below them was a wide canyon and, at the bottom of it, a small, running stream. Frankie's eyes automatically skipped to the patches of green and verdant earth along the banks of the stream—so striking after the dullness of the Broomwash.

“It's beautiful,” she breathed.

“It used to be, before the river dried up, or so I'm told,” said Louis.

“Is this the Dwellings?” she asked.

“The outskirts.” He looked out over the flat plain. “In the days before the fog, there was a big river here. Look—there—you can just see the outline of what it used to be.” Louis pointed across to the broad, stepped wall they were standing on, showing her how it descended into the valley and rose again on the opposite side.

Frankie studied the canyon walls and the shallow stream that snaked through the wide sandbed at the bottom of the valley. It didn't seem possible that this trickle of water could ever have been a river swollen to such a height. Louis watched her closely.

“The water comes from the mountains, from Varuna.” He gestured to the east. “It once flowed from there all the way through Exor, to the sea.” He swept his hand across the plateau in the opposite direction. His voice went hollow and flat. Frankie followed his gaze.

“I'm sorry,” she said, not knowing what else to say.

Louis jerked his head around. “It is not for you to be sorry. But perhaps you may understand why the Exorians are at war. It is a hard thing to be denied such a necessity as water.” He touched the ear of his camel again with the reed. “Follow me.”

The camels plodded down into the valley via a series of switchbacks cut in the canyon wall. Frankie's camel visibly perked up when it smelled the grass growing along the shores of the stream. Louis dismounted and allowed the camels to rest, and eat and drink.

When the camels were finished, they remounted and splashed through the trickling stream, then climbed out of the canyon on the opposite side. The path was smooth and well-traveled. Louis pointed past the far wall of the canyon toward low, dust-colored hills shimmering in the rising heat of the plain, and beyond them, spire-like rock formations that rose high into the sky.

“The Dwellings. The road passes through there,” he said, with a nod.

Frankie saw a long dirt road wind its way directly toward the hills. It was lined by small stone pyramids on both sides and dead-ended into thin air at the lip of the canyon wall. Its terminus was flanked by two large stone pillars.

“What are those?” she asked, indicating the pyramids.

“They're lit when Dankar leaves the Dwellings to come to the canyon's edge. It does not happen often.”

Frankie tried to envision such a spectacle and wanted to ask why anyone would build a road that led nowhere, but the mention of Dankar made her stomach hurt.

“What does Dankar look like?” she said, trying not to sound worried. “Like you?” she asked hopefully.

“Are you asking if he is an Exorian warrior?”

Frankie swallowed. Her throat was parched. “Why do they look like that anyway?”

Louis slowed his camel to walk beside her. “You mean, their skin?”

Frankie nodded her head. “And their eyes. They're so … empty.” She patted the hump of her camel with her free hand. “What happened to them?”

“To become a soldier of Dankar, one must face many trials and undergo great pain and sacrifice. It is an honor. The scales on a warror's skin are a sign of his journey—the thicker the skin, the greater the warrior.” Louis put his hand to his chest, tracing the outline of a design. “I intend to join them.”

“What?” she cried. Her camel's ears twitched; it growled and spat.

Louis looked at her sideways. “Warriors are revered in Exor. All male children aspire to the honor.”

“What about the girls?”

“They are appointed other tasks. No one is idle in Exor.”

“What about the scribes?”

Louis gave her a funny look. “There is no valor in becoming a scribe. Scribes are men who could not tolerate the initiation into warriorhood. Their daylights are too”—he groped for a word—“unstable.”

“What do you have to do to become a warrior?” She couldn't imagine what someone might have to go through to become one of those monsters.

Louis gave her a small smile. “What I am told.
You
are helping me.” He tickled his camel's ear, triggering a swift jog. “Bringing you to Dankar was an important test.”

Frankie swayed helplessly back and forth on her saddle, shocked; the road below passed too quickly under the camel's long strides. In minutes it took them into a wide courtyard surrounded by thick, misshapen mud walls. Several layers of broad stone steps led to a columned pavilion and the entrance to a palatial building dug into the sand-colored hillside. Frankie felt a chill despite the heat and gripped the pommel of her saddle tightly.

Louis maneuvered his camel back to stand beside her. He nodded at the impressive facade.

“Home,” he said, his expression unreadable.

Frankie stared at him, stiff with fear.

He swung off his camel and lifted his arms to help her down.

“C'mon, I won't bite.”

She swung one leg over and dropped into his arms. She wrapped her little legs around his middle and clung to him, like a baby being carried.

Louis felt the weight of the small girl in his arms and instinctively tightened his grip. “Don't worry, Frankie,” he mumbled. “It's not so bad here once you get used to it.”

“How long does that take?”

“Not long,” he said evasively, and set her down.

He led the way up the masses of steps, through the columned pavilion and into the palace. They passed through an archway and into an inner courtyard, verdant and warm, with a trickling fountain at its center. The courtyard was walled on all four sides, with narrow, arched windows and wood balustrades looking down from several stories. At each end pointed archways indicated halls that led in opposing directions.

“Wait here,” Louis ordered.

“Okay,” she said, her eyes climbing the walls of the courtyard nervously, trying to peer through the shade of the archways. For all she knew, Dankar could be watching her right now.

“Louis!” she called out after him.

There was no answer, except for the sound of the fountain. A spongy carpet of small, green tufts grew up between the flat tiles under her feet. Large trees with heart-shaped leaves and yellow and orange fruit grew in the corners. She thought one tree might be a lemon tree, but the fruits were too large. The water splashing into the basin of the fountain made her realize how thirsty she was. She kneeled before it and held out her cupped hands to catch some to drink.

“There is nothing like cool water when one has traveled a great distance,” said a low, silky voice behind her.

Frankie whirled around to face the speaker. A white-robed figure stood next to Louis in one of the archways. He was at least a head taller than Louis and—the most appropriate word Frankie could think of—handsome. Very handsome. His smooth skin glowed in shades of caramel and red as though it had absorbed the sunburnt colors of the Exorian desert. Gold bracelets lined his upper arms and a narrow gold wire encircled his closely shorn head. He crossed the courtyard toward her and she felt a sudden warmth spread across the distance between them, as if the sun were emerging from a cloud. The feeling was so pleasant that she was surprised to find small, hard eyes looking down at her. A trickle of fear, like ice, went down her spine.

“The boy tells me you have been teaching him French,” the man said.

“I did, a little. Is that … umm … allowed?” she mumbled, looking to Louis for reassurance.

The man attempted a smile, baring teeth that were alarmingly white. “Of course; we are always interested in learning new things, shut off as we are—here.” He gestured vaguely around the courtyard. “You must speak French to me, too, child; it has been such a long time since I have heard it.” He pressed his lips into a semblance of a smile again. “Hmm, let me think now, what is that word … the French word …” He tapped a long, elegant finger at his temple. “Ah yes,
amie
. That is it, isn't it?
Friend?
You will be my
amie
, I think? And I will be yours. Ah—what a joy to recall another language. It has been too long.” Again, he waved his hand dismissively. “It is quite boring here. Everyone says things the same way. Not like”—he shot a pointed look at Frankie—“where you are from.”

Frankie shuddered. She was confused. Everything on the surface of this man, with the exception of his eyes, seemed friendly and welcoming, but it felt all wrong. As if he could sense her fear, the man took a few steps away from her, walking back toward Louis; his expression was indistinct in the glare of the open courtyard. His voice, however, continued to seep toward her.

“Now that we are friends, you must tell me your name and I will tell you mine.”

Frankie glanced over at Louis again. He nodded for her to answer.

“My name is Frances Martine Boudreaux, but people call me Frankie,” she whispered, feeling as if she were about to cry. Her emotions were racketing around her chest, and she did not know which was the right one.

“Frankie? That is a harsh name for a pretty girl such as you—such a delightful girl. And very brave, too, from what I hear. No,
amie
, you need a name that suits you better. As you have become accustomed to yours, I guess I shall call you Frances.” The soft syllables of her name slipped through his lips. He came closer again and knelt before her so that their eyes were level. “You know, Frances, I have no children of my own. Your escort, the one you call Louis, has come to look upon me as a sort of uncle, and I hope that someday you, too, will do the same. I have long desired a daughter. A girl of talent and intelligence—and curiosity.” The man laid his hand on Frankie's head. “A girl I can trust with my secrets.”

The man's praise was burning away at her misgivings. Warmth from his hand spread across her scalp, making its way down the back of her head and across her shoulders. His gold bangles sent shards of light across the courtyard. He held her gaze a moment longer and said quietly, “Frances, I am he whom they call Dankar, Lord of Exor and the Exorian people.”