Chapter 17

Wallace burst through the door when he heard the cry.

He had made it home at nearly the same time as the young lady had arrived, but when he’d heard the two talking, he decided to stay outside and work on the chores that had gone neglected since taking in the young man.

Wallace had wanted to go inside, but something had held him back. He wanted to see how he interacted with the young woman. He was curious to see her character, especially considering who she was.

Wallace hadn’t seen Sephira in many years, since she was little more than a baby, but he had immediately recognized the young woman the moment his eyes fell on her after Kestrel’s battle with the guards. Why had she been there? What strange fate had brought them together after so many years?

Did she know who he was? Did she even know who she was?

As he went about his chores, basking in the early summer sun, he made sure his work kept him within earshot of the two. Wallace needed to know how much of Sephira remembered. There had been rumors after her father's death and he needed to see if they were true or not.

What had happened to her after her father’s passing? What exactly had happened to the young girl he remembered from all those years ago?

Wallace would find out, but he needed to be careful. He had promised Van to keep his brother Aris out of the picture and he intended on keeping that promise even if the river of time had brought Van’s daughter drifting back into his life.

“What’s wrong!” Wallace cried as barged through the door.

Within a second it was obvious to him, the left over vegetable scraps on the small counter and the bowl laying on the man’s lap told him exactly what had happened.

That and the glazed over look in Kestrels eyes.

It was a look that Wallace knew all too well. Only a handful of people in Vealand knew what it meant and he was one of those few.

He needed to act.

He arrived at the bedside in three long strides. Wallace quickly threw the covers off the young man and stripped off his clothes, his chest was splotched in red where the steaming food had covered his body. He began to clean the leftover soup from Kestrel’s rigid body. Sephira blushed at the sight of so much exposed skin.

“In the pantry there’s a glass bottle, it has an aloe balm in it. It’s the odd green looking one, should be easy to find. Bring it to me.”

Sephira snapped into action and nodded then hurried to the pantry. She found the clear green paste with ease. She hurried back to Wallace and handed him the balm. The moment he took it, she averted her eyes, trying not to take in the site of Kestrel, who was now stripped down just a pair of linen undershorts.

“Now’s not the time to be a prude young lady,” Wallace addressed her without turning from his task of rubbing the balm over the large angry red burns. “The boy’s in a state of shock. Help me lay him down.”

Sephira nodded then grabbed a shoulder with one hand, cradled Kestrel’s head with the other, and laid him down.

“What do you want me to do next?” Sephira asked.

She was terrified. What had happened to Kestrel?

He had been fine one moment, and the next…this.

“Go back to the pantry. There’s a bottle of mint oil in there. Get it, and then apply a smattering to both of his temples and a couple of drops under his nose. Make sure to massage it in,” Wallace’s stern voice commanded her.

Sephira obeyed and moments later was dabbing her fingers into the oil that the brown glass bottled contained. She put some on Kestrel’s philtrum then massaged the rest onto Kestrel’s temples. Wallace had her repeat her actions two more times as he finished caring for Kestrel’s burns.

The glaze didn’t leave his eyes and a patina remained covering them, but Kestrel’s body relaxed and his stiffened muscles nearly melted into Wallace’s small hay mattress that had housed the young man since his near murder at the hands of the two corrupt city guards.

“Thank you Sephira,” Wallace said as the worst passed for Kestrel.

It had been hard to keep from saying her name before she’d given it to him, but he didn’t want the questions a revelation of his knowledge of her might bring, so he had kept his mouth shut. He was glad to be able to talk freely with her now. He just hoped that whatever had happened to her kept him from her memory.

He didn’t want to add any more weight to the bag of failure he had always carried on his shoulders for so long.

“You’re welcome. Is there anything more that I can do?” She asked.

She’d been here long enough. She didn’t need to see what was happening to Kestrel. She didn’t need to relive that. She needed to go.

“It’s getting late, you need to return home before the lights fall. This isn’t a friendly place. Do you still have the metalvine that I gave you?”

Sephira nodded a ‘yes’ in response. She picked it up from the corner she’d stored it in and made her way to the door. She hesitated there with a look of lingering concern for Kestrel, but soon left.

*****

Kestrel wasn’t sure how long he’d been out, but when he’d come to, Sephira was gone and so was the light from the outside.

Wallace was sitting on a small stool by the side of the bed where the young lady had last been. Just what had happened? The last thing he remembered was talking to the slender girl, then few spoonfuls of the soup she’d made.

The rest was blank.

Kestrel tried recalling what had happened, but when he did, his head exploded in pain.

He sank deeper into bed with an agonized groan.

“You don’t want to do that right now. You’re gonna need time to adjust to what’s happening to you. Taking others memories is never an easy task, most people throw up their first time, and that’s just with absorbing a few. From the look in your eyes, it seems like you’ve taken a lifetime’s worth of them,” Wallace, whom Kestrel had thought to be sleeping, said. “I’ve only seen a similar case once in my life. That person didn’t make it. Don’t worry though. It seems like the worst of it is over. I’m guessing you took them in while you were recovering from the attack. Maybe it was that attack on you that saved your life. Who knows?”

Kestrel raised his eyebrows. What was the crazy old man talking about?

“I’m sure you’ll get sick of experiencing flashbacks, and ‘Deja Vu’ will be an annoyingly constant companion, but you shouldn’t be getting any more tidal waves of memories that knock you out like this one.”

What was going on? What was Wallace saying?

What in the tempest was the man talking about?

“Just as I thought. It’s like I’m speaking another language to you? Isn’t it?”

Kestrel nodded. He had no clue what was happening, but something told him that he would soon learn.

Kestrel’s intuition proved true.

“It’s easy enough. The simple fact is that you’re a mage.”

“A mage? Magic’s only in stories,” Kestrel replied, nearly laughing in spite at the absurdity coming from the old man’s mouth.

Wallace chuckled and it rankled Kestrel. Why was the old man laughing at him?

“You’re right. Magic like you hear in the stories isn’t real at all. Those are all flights of fancy. There are no such things as dragons or fairies, no transmutation, no mysterious portals that will transport you halfway around the globe. No.” Wallace replied. “But magic, for lack of a better name, is quite real. You happen to be one of the few who have it. You just never had the opportunity to learn it. Few do. But I’m not convinced it isn’t better that way.”

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“What ARE you talking about?” Kestrel asked, a lone eyebrow raised itself quizzically.

“What do you think youngling? You think what’s been happening to you is normal?”

How had the old man known? Kestrel had felt strange ever since he had woke. He had tried to blame the strangeness on Cillia’s death and whatever had happened to him at the hands of her murderers, but that didn’t explain the foreign visions that plagued him both awake and asleep.

“Thought so,” Wallace said, seeing the look in Kestrel’s eyes.

“I still don’t understand anything you’re saying,” Kestrel grumbled. He didn’t know why, but he felt angry. What was happening?

“I don’t expect you to get it yet. After all, you’re a homeless gutter boy. Where would one like you learn about magic?”

Kestrel’s frustration was beginning to feel justified. Who was this old man to talk to him like this? Kestrel was smarter than the crotchety old fool would ever know.

“Calm down kid,” Wallace noticed the dark look that had crossed over Kestrel’s face. “I didn’t say you were stupid. Nor did I say you were incapable of learning. I just said that I’d be astonished if you knew what I was talking about.”

Wallace’s words didn’t kill the anger in him, but Kestrel’s frustration lessened and he unclenched the fist he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“Are you gonna tell me about this magic then? Or are you just gonna just waste your breath like a pompous windbag?” Kestrel snapped.

Wallace laughed at him. “I like your spirit kid. Of course I’ll tell you. I knew from the moment that young lady turned you over and found there was breath still in your lungs that the Divine was calling me to help you.”

Kestrel raised his eyebrows at Wallace’s mention of the Divine. The rough old man was the last person he’d expect to buy into religion.

“What, you’re surprised an old soldier like me believes in the Divine?” Wallace mocked the look in his eyes.

Kestrel nodded and Wallace laughed in response.

“You’d be surprised at how many soldiers turn religious. You know the saying ‘there ain’t any atheists when there’s a sword to their necks’ right?”

Kestrel hadn’t heard it before, but it made sense, so he nodded a ‘yes’.

“Anyway, you wanted me to answer your question, right?”

Kestrel, who was already beginning to tire from the strain on his broken body, nodded.

Wallace smiled. “As I already told you, you're a mage.”

He stopped to take a sip of coffee as dark as river silt before continuing. The smell was wonderful.

“Us mages don’t have the power to physically change the world, or control plants or anything like that. No our magic is up here,” Wallace pointed a stubby finger to his temple. “We —yes, I’m one too— mages have the ability to manipulate memories. I’ve found four different types of memory manipulation in my research. The first is what you seem to be, and what I am.”

Kestrel shot Wallace an inquisitive look. Could he believe what the old man was saying?

“We’re what I like to call Takers. We can take the memories of others. Us and Givers, who, obviously, can give their memories to others, have the most common types of magic.”

Kestrel sat back and let the information soak into him. So many things were clicking into place. He’d often seen strange flashbacks in crowds when he was younger. He’d been convinced he was crazy.

He’d always known a little too much. He’d been able to survive when others hadn’t.

Still Kestrel wasn’t sure.

“It’s nice knowing that you aren’t insane, isn’t it?” Wallace said as if reading his thoughts.

“Hmm,” Kestrel grumbled. Not ready to admit to himself that he believed the older man.

Wallace smiled. He knew that feeling, he too had questioned it all in his younger days. His much younger days.

Unlike Kestrel though, he remembered the days before…

“So, as I was saying, there are four kinds of mages. You and I are Takers. The Inquisitors belong to the Givers. They can share their memories remotely.”

Kestrel’s eyebrows knitted. “The Inquisitors are real?” He’d heard the stories. It was all he could do to repress a shudder at the thought of them.

“Yeah.”

“What about the two others?” Kestrel asked.

“To be honest, I don’t know much about them. They’re way more rare. I can share what I do know though,” Wallace answered. “The ones that I like to refer to as ‘The Forgotten’ are fascinating. They can take others memories. There was once a king that was one. He let down his guard during a passionate night with his queen and she forgot him. She tried to stab him, thinking he’d attacked her during the night. That wasn’t the case of course but she had forgotten everything. You can imagine the mess it caused…” Wallace’s voice trailed off and the gruff man chuckled.

This man has a twisted sense of humor. Kestrel thought.

“The last one is the rarest of them all. Few even think they’re real. I call them ‘The Manipulators.’”

“That’s a terrible name,” Kestrel said.

“Shut up…Anyway, they have the ability to insert themselves or others into your memories. What’s more terrifying is that they seem to be able to do so from a distance like The Givers. Imagine someone you’ve never met convincing you you’ve known them your whole life.”

Kestrel shuddered at the thought. How many people did he think that he knew whom he’d never actually met? Had they manipulated him to somehow do dirty work for them, convincing him that he was only acting on a favor he had owed? The possibilities were endless and all were terrifying.

“It’s a frightening thing, isn’t it? The others, you can at least guess at. You can understand taking in memories that aren’t your own, or sharing them. You can even sense something when your memories are taken from you. You feel a hole…but how do you know that you don’t know someone? That’s the one that keeps me up at night,” Wallace’s voice took a dark tone.

Kestrel shook his head. The thought of this all being true threatened to overwhelm him.

“Any questions?”

“How can you prove anything you’ve said?” Kestrel asked.

The greying older man let out a loud belly laugh that startled Kestrel. “That’s all you wanna know? Here I was thinking you’d ask me something difficult!”

Kestrel wanted to be angry with the man, but his laugh was infectious. He started grinning in spite of himself.

When Wallace’s gravally laugh had died down he spoke again. “Give me your hand.”

Kestrel obeyed, curious to see what would happen.

Wallace’s eyes glazed over for a split second.

“Your mother was beautiful once,” he said. “Her hair shone like gold before it fell out from the drugs.”

The anger rose in Kestrel again. Who did this man think he was? He could have been talking about any of a number of street whores! Even if he were talking of his mother, it didn’t mean anything. He’d more than likely paid for her services on occasion!

For everything Kestrel knew, this salty soldier could’ve been his father.

Wallace recognized cloud of anger that transformed Kestrel’s face and put his hands up in defense. “Whoa! Whoa! Calm down youngling! Talking about family was obviously a dumb move. Especially after your loss.”

The mention of Cillia’s passing felt like a punch to Kestrel’s soul.

“Why don't we try something else. Take my hand one more time and focus on me,” Wallace said as he put a rough calloused hand back on top of Kestrel’s. “Now focus. What do you wanna know about me? Imagine yourself casting a net into my mind, and see what happens.”

Kestrel, overcome with curiosity, followed the old man’s instructions.

At first nothing happened, but he doubled down on his focus and tried again.

Kestrel was immediately hit with an image of Wallace as a younger man. He was in a border town that Kestrel didn’t know and he was terrified. A wall of fog covered everything and all the sounds were muffled. Every once in a while a terrified scream would slowly move through the impenetrable wall of mist and land in his ears. He had no idea how many of his comrades had been lost in the fog.

He assumed he’d been the last surviving one when the screams stopped.

The sudden silence made Wallace want to empty his bladder right there, but just when it had seemed like he would give into the madness of unseen terror, a monstrous hulk appeared in front of him. It looked more bear than man and a necklace of human thumbs hung around its neck.

He had heard stories of these creatures, but he had thought them to be tall tales. Now one was standing right in front of him. The hideous man-creature saw Wallace and let out a gurgling roar that sounded more animal than human. It rushed him with a near supernatural speed and was at his side in the blink of an eye.

The next thing Wallace knew, he was hurtling through the air. He landed on the ground with a dull thud. The monster hit like a mountain. The blow had cracked more than a few ribs. Wallace was sure he was going to die.

Wallace, not knowing what else to do, painfully reached for the dagger at his side and then waited as he heard another guttural scream emanate from the nearly three meter tall wild man.

It stomped over to where its throw had carried Wallace.

The hairy monster was on him in a flash and a gruesome smile split its reddened hairy face. It’s breath smelled like rotten meat and its heat beat at Wallace’s face in defiance of the icy cold that surrounded them.

The man-monster uttered something in it’s guttural tongue and leaned over Wallace, putting one giant hand on his head to steady itself while the other reached for his free arm and began pulling. Wallace felt his shoulder joint pop. The giant had dislocated his shoulder. He needed to act. Now.

Wallace screamed a bestial sound and, with his free hand, jammed his long dagger into the monster’s eye as deep as it would go.

Kestrel snapped back into reality.

“What in all the hells was THAT!?” Kestrel’s eyes black pupils had swallowed the rest of his eyes and his body was covered in a sheen of cold sweat.

Wallace grinned wickedly. “Oh you saw him…”

Kestrel was pale. “What WAS that!?”

“I’m taking it you saw the Wendig,” Wallace said, chuckling. “That’s what the Natives called them. They were an ancient tribe of lesser giants that had a taste for human flesh. They would collect the body parts they didn’t eat and take them as trophies. That one I killed in the memory had a fondness for thumbs.”

“You really fought that beast?” Kestrel had a hard time believing what he'd seen. “You killed one of those things?”

“More than one actually. But that was the first, and the most memorable one,” Wallace chuckled.

Kestrel scrunched his eyebrows in disbelief. How could that be?

Wallace knew the look in his eyes. “You don’t believe me yet, do you?”

Kestrel’s face reddened for the briefest of moments. “You could’ve lied to yourself. Tricked yourself into believing a fancy story. I can’t know for sure.”

“It doesn’t work like that, you can tell fake memories easily,” Wallace told Kestrel. The boy looked more and more exhausted with each breath, but he could tell that he wouldn’t let go until he got answers. “I tell you what. Let’s try one more time. This time focus on my memories of you. Maybe you’ll believe them.”

Kestrel nodded. Why not?

He grasped the old man’s hand. He needed to know for sure if it was true.

Kestrel focused on the fight he’d had with the guards.

Within seconds he was there.

Kestrel turned as he heard himself yell and watched himself rush the guards in a blind fury. Kestrel watched his battle through Wallace’s eyes. He watched the whole thing play out in front of him.

Did he really look like that?

He was so grimy.

Kestrel snapped back into the present. “Well, I can’t not believe it…”

Wallace grinned.