The Pleasure of Memory (66 page)

“Beam!” Chance said behind him, “What the hell did you do?”

“I didn’t
do
anything. I mean…I…I saw things.”

“You saw things?”

Beam nodded.

“What things?”

Beam stared at the warrior resting in Chance’s lap and tried to put sense into his visions.

“Beam! What things?”

“I don’t know!” Beam snapped back, “The truth, I guess.”

“Truth?” Chance said back, “What truth? What are you talking about?”

Beam looked at Chance. “The truth about her lies,” he whispered.

“Lies? What do you mean, lies? What are you talking about?”

Koonta stirred and gasped as if she’d just emerged from a terrible dream. Beam couldn’t make himself look at her.

“What do you mean, she’s lying?” Chance asked harder.

“She’s not going to betray us,” Beam said as his certainty grew, “She’s…she’s going to help us.”

“The Blood Caeyl. You probed her mind.”

“I don’t know,” Beam said as he watched a dead Baeldon watching him back from across the wide corridor. The unnatural eyes were judging him, defining him, warning him.

“What do you mean, you don’t know?”

“She has doubts,” Beam heard himself say, “She fears Prae. She despises the wyrlaerds. Someone she loved died because of them. Another was stolen from her, and I’m pretty sure he’s going to die as well. It’s her brother, I think.”

Chance helped Koonta sit up. She was leaning hard against him. “The Blood Caeyl,” he said again, “What’s it doing to you?”

“I’m not sure.” He absolutely wasn’t.

“Goddamn you, Beam!” Chance yelled suddenly, “Will you be honest with me for once?”

Beam leaned back against the marble. He rolled his face to the side and pressed it into the smooth stone. His equilibrium was coming back, but too slowly to please him. He needed to get out of here. He needed to get away from them. He couldn’t bear their accusing stares.

“Beam, what is it? Blood of the gods! Talk to me!”

He couldn’t answer.

“Are you all right?”

“No,” Beam whispered, “No, I don’t think so.”

“Please! Tell me what’s happening.”

“Nothing. I mean...I’m...I’m remembering. I guess.”

“Remembering what?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. What’s going on?”

Beam pushed himself away from the wall and staggered out into the corridor. He had to get the hell out of here. The memories were unbearable.

“Beam!” Chance called, “What is it?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Beam said as he turned away from them, “It’s done. It’s all in motion now.”

XXXIII

THE SEEDS OF CHANGE

HE SIGHT OF THE ICY CRYSTAL PILLAR SENT BEAM’S MOOD INTO A DEATH SPIRAL.

He threw his head back against the throne and clenched his eyes shut. “Not again!” he said, rolling his head against the chair, “For the love of gods, not again! Not again! Not again!”

But it
was
happening again. He was locked in that goddamned, miserable chair! Again!

He struggled against the ethereal restraints, but the effort was an exercise in perfect futility. It was exactly as the night before, and the night before that. He was trapped in his own bloody head! Again!

The Vaemyn warrior materialized before the dais. He was dressed in a more formal robe now, a smoky gray silken affair that cascaded to the floor with abundance. This dress seemed more in place here in this crystal palace than his armor had. Golden thread danced along the surcoat’s chest and sleeves, and down the seams of his robe, interlaced with blue, yellow, and red gems that swirled through the thread as if they were alive and swimming through the fabric. Golden combs secured his pale hair back from his face, though the length of it still spilled freely over his shoulders.

“Hello, Be’ahm,” he said, smiling sincerely.

“Well, aren’t you all prettied up,” Beam sneered back. He’d slap that infernal grin off the bastard’s face if he could only move his hands.

The Vaemyn’s annoying smile continued, unfettered by the insult. “I’m thrilled to share your company, again, my boy.”

Beam’s dark mood flamed up a notch. “Well, the change in your dress is something,” he said, “At least it throws a little variation into the monotony of this damned dream.”

“It’s not a dream, Be’ahm. It’s a memory.”

Beam threw his head back hard against the crystal chair. “You’re killing me with monotony!” he shouted, “Is that the plan? Keep pushing until it becomes unbearable? Until my mind collapses in on itself and I die of pure tedium?”

The warrior just stood there for a moment staring at Beam as if he were a king considering how best to sentence a common thief. Then he crossed his arms and said, “I seem unable to understand how unbearable it can be to simply listen.”

“Switch places with me,” Beam snapped, “Give me an hour and I’m pretty damned sure I can make you understand.”

The warrior laughed.

“You think that’s funny?”

“Ay’a, I think it’s quite funny, actually.”

“So it amuses you to tie people up? To irritate them in their sleep when they can’t defend themselves?”

“No, of course not,” the Vaemyn said, still grinning, “Don’t be absurd. It’s nothing like that.”

“Then why do you—”

“We don’t have much time, my boy.”

“Time? Time for wh—”

A sharp chill kicked up Beam’s spine, arriving as snappishly as a winter wind sneaking through a light coat. A rush of dizziness seized him. Something was in his head, something thick and tangible like fingers probing at the edge of his thoughts. He tensed and pushed back against the foreign energy, but he couldn’t drive it out. It was the Vaemyn. The bastard’s mind was sifting through his own.

Then a strange calm seized him. It radiated through him like the heat of a welcomed fire, ushering out the cold as expeditiously as it’d arrived. He no longer cared that the man was in his head. There was no threat in his presence anyway, more like curiosity or amusement. He quickly understood that the Vaemyn held him in special regard, as if they were old friends or long lost lovers who hadn’t shared wine in years, and who suddenly rediscovered each other on the street corner of some strange city. The Vaemyn wished him no ill will. The Vaemyn loved him.

“I believe you’re least alive when you’re angry,” someone said.

The words were in his head. He shook them away. He fought to free himself from the invading presence. Still, he felt those blue eyes drilling into him from somewhere in the distance. It felt like they were dissecting him, like they were trying to take him apart layer by layer. He had to drive the man out of his mind before he collapsed in on himself.

“I believe you’re least alive when you’re angry,” the Vaemyn said.

Beam couldn’t open his eyes. “More of your drivel,” he said, though it came out barely a whisper.

“You know that’s not true, Be’ahm,” the man said, “With every visit here, you open one more door.”

“Get the hell out of my head!”

“Your doors are obstacles to your true nature. They separate you from your gifts.”

The man’s mental fingers slinked deeper into Beam’s thoughts. They were crowding him out of his own head. They were so deeply entrenched that he couldn’t tell which thoughts were his and which belonged to the Vaemyn.

“I know you don’t believe me,” the man thought inside him, “In truth, it doesn’t matter that you do. All that matters is that you are here, now. That you are with me at last. The rest will come as naturally as winter’s thaw.”

Beam realized his eyes were open again. The Vaemyn knelt on the dais before him, resting back on his heels with his hands folded placidly on his lap. As he looked up at Beam, their shared gaze became a tunnel, a secret passage between two strong keeps, and the sensation of entering that ethereal tube felt as physical as a hot bath.

The thoughts emanating from the Vaemyn’s mind were colorful and intense, rich with memories and exotic images. Beam found humor and laughed out loud, found friendship and felt comfort, found death and despaired. It was a strange and wonderful place, a place of mysteries and hidden rooms.

But as the memories lured him deeper, he found great and terrible loss here. He remembered wives sailing into old age and infirmity. He remembered generation after generation of children born, maturing, and falling to dust. He saw loved ones passing over as he lived on, as he remained alive, as he defied time and age. The images repeated again and again through countless centuries. The pain was deep and visceral, unrelenting and unbearable!

Beam withdrew on a gasp. His head snapped back hard against the solid chair as his mind recoiled into its own space. He doubled forward and seized his face. The emotional pain he’d found in the Vaemyn’s mind was a terrifying burden. The anguish lodged in this man’s memories was unbearable!

“Your life is rich with loss, Be’ahm.”

Beam drew a breath and steadied himself. The pain was finally ebbing. He pushed himself upright, but kept his eyes locked on his lap. He couldn’t bear to look at the Vaemyn for fear the memories would assault him again.

“And because your life is so rich with loss, it is your pain that defines you.”

Beam thought about the pain he’d found in the other’s mind. Or had the pain been his own? Maybe he’d confused the Vaemyn’s suffering with his own memories. He didn’t know. He couldn’t make sense of it.

“Not just in this world,” the Vaemyn whispered into his mind, “But through all your incarnations, through all your lifetimes. That has been the defining essence of your collective existences: Pain and loss, birth and death, few victories and countless defeats.”

Beam realized he’d been weeping. He wiped the shame from his face. “No,” he said back, “That’s not true. You’re confusing us. You’re mistaking my thoughts for yours.”

The warrior seemed to shrink at that. His own eyes were now wet with memory. “Precisely so,” he said so softly Beam barely heard him, “Our thoughts are the same. Our losses are the same. And therein hides our salvation.”

The Vaemyn climbed carefully to his feet. He turned away and stepped down from the dais. Beam stood and followed him, and as he did, a name materialized in his mind. “Prave,” he whispered.

The man stopped, but didn’t turn around.

“Prave,” Beam said again.

“Ay’a.”

“I know you.”

“The pain that’s plagued your life isn’t random or senseless, Be’ahm,” Prave said without turning, “It has purpose. It defines you. It reminds you of who you are, of what you are. It prepares you.”

Beam wanted to move closer to the man, but the Vaemyn threw up his hand.

“I don’t understand,” Beam said.

“Tell me what you don’t understand.”

“I don’t know. I mean, I’m not sure.”

“You don’t know what you don’t understand?”

“No,” Beam whispered as he wrestled with the elusive truth, “At least…I don’t think so. But then, at times, it almost makes sense.”

The Vaemyn looked back at him. “Continue,” he whispered.

“The memories,” Beam said, “They’re so close. It’s like…like they’re hiding at the edge of my thoughts, like they’re so close that I can’t make them out.”

The warrior said nothing.

“What the hell’s happening to me?” Beam said, looking him hard in the eyes, “You obviously know, so just tell me. Why are you doing this to me?”

The Vaemyn offered him another tired smile. “It will all be clear in time, my boy. Some fruits are too large to eat in one bite.”

Beam felt his irritation riding in to the rescue. “More riddles,” he growled, “I’m such an idiot! For a minute, you almost had me believing—”

The Vaemyn turned and seized Beam by the shoulders. “Remember this, Be’ahm. Suffering is the sire of strength. Sometimes pain is necessary. Sometimes pain should not be avoided.”

“What?”

“Great suffering will descend upon you soon, and when that time comes you must accept it. You must embrace it no matter how foreboding or unfair it seems at the time. Only by crawling through the dark tunnel can you ever see the sun again. When you finally emerge back into the life-giving light, you’ll no longer be the man you were. You’ll be every man you ever were.”

Beam felt sick. “I...I want to understand,” he said, “I mean, I think I do. I just—”

“You’ll understand soon enough, Be’ahm. You’ll be complete again soon enough. Until then you have more to learn. No god is born ignorant.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

The Vaemyn squeezed Beam’s shoulders tighter. “No god is born ignorant, Be’ahm.”

Beam found himself back in the throne. The white light was pulsing through the crystal. It flowed up into his legs, through his stomach and chest, and down his arms until it fully engulfed him.

Then he was falling.

∞

The red sun swelled up over the morning horizon, a bloated red disk too engorged to successfully climb the heavens. Beam snatched the sword falling toward him and pulled it down to his lap. He smothered the warm caeyl under his hands. Then he opened his eyes.