Chapter 39

Wallace cursed. His shoulder ached despite the wound healing surprisingly well. He hadn’t regained a full range of motion in the arm, but he knew he most likely never would. The fact that he was able to move it at all was astonishing to him. He remembered in the days before, when a wound like the one that he had got at the hands of Dumas’ mercenaries meant near certain death.

Wallace recalled asking Aris what had happened to the rotund slob after his attempt on the General’s life had failed. Aris had kept tight lipped, but Wallace had been able to weasel out the fact that the General had caught the criminal and had jailed him for the attack. It was a strenuous case against the fat man at best, but the information broker had made too many enemies. He’d been thrown into a dark pit without a second thought.

Aris had made sure that his cellmates knew that it was Dumas’ information that had put them in captivity.

Aris could indeed be callous at times.

When his friends or family were attacked, he fought like a vicious pit dog.

Dumas’ trade assured that if he had no money, he had no friends. There would be nobody coming to his rescue, and the massacre of his mercenary squad by the Aris’ men had deterred the fat man from hiring any more muscle.

He had fallen shortly after his ill-fated attempt on Aris life.

Wallace had been impressed with Aris’ actions. He had changed from the earnest recruit that Wallace remembered fighting the Wendig Tribe with in the Mountain Campaigns into a brilliant leader who, with a couple of words, had destroyed Dumas’ criminal enterprise.

Wallace still felt guilty about his broken promise to Aris’ brother Van, but if anyone had a chance of leading a real resistance against the corrupt pretender who paraded around as the savior of the nation, then it was General Ravenscroft. He didn’t have the charisma of his late brother, nor the same warm attitude that made everyone feel welcome, but he would doggedly pursue truth no matter where it led, even if it killed him. That sort of dedication drew people towards him. It demanded loyalty.

Aris might just be able to save them from that monster.

From the Pretender.

Wallace remembered when Emperor Evrain had first come to power. He'd seen hell in the eyes of the Wendig Tribesmen he’d fought and he had seen his comrades torn limb from limb, but that couldn’t come close to comparing to what he had seen done at the Emperor’s command during and after the razing of the coastline.

He could still taste the acrid smell of burned bodies decades later. He could still remember the bodies of Memory Mages that lined the streets. He still felt the pull of that constant fear of his childhood, never knowing who might be the next person to be turned over to the Emperor’s death squads.

Evrain had convinced the masses that its Memory Mages, such as Wallace, were what had destroyed Vealand’s coastal capital city of Brinhold.

He had set the populace against the mages and had come so close to a complete genocide of the mages that the memory of them had been nearly wholly replaced a mere generation later.

Even Aris, who was only about fifteen years younger than he, hadn’t had a clue about the existence of the Memory Mages until he’d stumbled into the world Van had hidden him from.

Why hadn’t he joined the rebellion alongside Van?

Why had he run away when his friend had needed him most?

Wallace had made up excuses about needing to protect the remnant of the Memory Mages. About teaching the next generation of Mages.

Those had been lies.

He had been a coward. It was as simple as that.

Wallace, even all these years later, was still ashamed of his cowardice. What would have happened if he had joined Van’s rebellion? Would he have been able to save Van’s life? Would young Sephira been able to grow up with her true father?

He hated being pulled into the conflict, but there had been something in Kestrel’s earnestness that had broken Wallace from the prison of guilt he’d been living in and had started opening him up again after the death of his friend.

Kestrel’s eagerness to learn the ways that Wallace had told himself would die out soon had slowly peeled back the layers of the old soldier. Now not only had he taken on the former street rat as a student, but Van’s brother Aris, and his dead comrade’s daughter too.

Wallace couldn’t help but wonder what would have happened if Van hadn’t decided to protect his brother from the world of shadows that’d killed him.

Would any of their suffering had happened?

He had known Van’s motivations and had understood them. He’d wanted nothing more than to protect his baby brother Aris —who had faced horrible beatings at the hands of their alcoholic shell of a father— from a dark and terrifying world. He had seen too much darkness already.

Van hadn’t wanted Aris to face the same fate that’d awaited him at the hands of the Emperor when his treachery had been discovered. But the more Wallace watched Aris going about his business, he became more convinced that having his brother as an ally would’ve changed the tides of the secret war.

Despite himself, found that he had come to the decision. If Aris were to rebel against the Emperor, he would do what he’d been too afraid to the first time and he would help lead the charge.

He’d lived in fear for too long.

*****

Wallace breathed in the cool morning air.

He looked out on the city of Fiell. The odd spattering of coastal opaques mixed the earthy mountain aesthetics made a strange but beautiful mixture in the golden dawn light.

Despite having been born in Brinhold and spending his formative years on the coast, there was something about the mountains that spoke to his soul in a way the ocean never had. The mountains had an overwhelming sense of permanence. The world may crumble, but the peaks would still stand no matter the change wrought around them.

Wallace drew strength from their rootedness. The bones of the mountain were thick and strong. When Wallace thought of the ocean though, he pictured tossing waves. The sea never stayed the same, from one day to the next you would see an entirely different world. The lack of stability unnerved him.

He wondered if his distrust of the sea had been due to his memories of a childhood spent in fear. His youth had promised frequent beatings from his temperamental mother who thought that brutality was the best way to teach her son the Memory Magic that he had been born into.

When he saw the ocean, he saw his mother’s raised fist. He saw her beatings.

He saw the genocide of his people.

The loss of Brinhold had been a tragedy. One bigger than words could describe.

A whole city destroyed to protect a secret for a corrupt leader. A capital razed for the sake of propaganda. Wallace did not mourn the city though. Rather he mourned its former inhabitants. The ones that had been murdered in Emperor Evrain’s power grab.

Evrain had moved his capital here, to Fiell, and Wallace had followed. And now he felt the unrest brewing.

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The same sort unrest that he had seen as a child before the genocide of his fellow mages.

No, he would not let Fiell share the same fate as his birthplace. He wouldn’t let it collapse like Brinhold had, he swore that as he overlooked the city in the crisp winter air.

Wallace had given his trio of students their lesson in magic before dawn had broke and they had separately picked their way down the small foothill that was coming to feel like home to the old soldier.

He had stayed. He bathed in the bright, heavy morning son. It was fast becoming a ritual for him. Feeling the warmth enter his old bones and watching the city soaked in the morning light was a boon to his soul.

It was hard to believe that before he’d been enlisted into the service, he had been a night owl.

Curse these old body. It’s not going to be pleasant walking down this hill. Wallace thought with a sigh as time for his other responsibilities came.

Despite his shoulder injury, he was still in great shape for someone of his age. Still that didn’t stop every scar from stretching and every old broken bone from aching with the changing of the weather though.

Wallace carefully walked down a small game trail and made sure to make his impact minimal. Kestrel and Sephira’s recent run in with the corrupt —and now deceased— city guard, Rel, who had been intent on maiming the two, had shattered any illusion of safety that he’d fallen into during his time spent living on the estate of his former military comrade.

He now insisted that the small group never use the same trail twice in a row, and each had to come to their secret meeting grounds separately. Whoever it had been that had spied on the property for Rel hadn’t yet been caught, so there was no such thing as being too careful.

Wallace shortly made it down to the estate and walked into the barracks housing, where he had been given his own chamber by Aris. He had insisted he would sleep among the men, but Aris had forced him into the ornate chamber that was meant for the head officer.

Wallace got a few respectful nods as he slipped into his room, grabbed his clothes, and went to wash himself.

Wallace would never take a warm bath for granted; he had spent far too many nights covered in mud and viscera freezing in the cold mountain air to ever question the luxury of hot water to wash oneself with.

Wallace sighed as he slipped into the bath. The warm water restored his bones. He had had no idea just how much he had ached in his cramped old shack until he moved to Aris’ estate. Sometimes he wondered what had happened to his old place but he didn’t miss it. It had just been a dwelling. He wouldn’t return though. He knew that both he and Aris’ family were safer with him here.

That old place had only ever been temporary, but it had been temporary for far too many years.

In Aris’ estate Wallace found something he never thought that he would have.

A family.

Wallace soon finished his bathing ritual and dried himself off. He dressed and exited the barracks. He would go to watch the daily training of Aris’ handpicked recruits.

Oftentimes he would jump in and help when a particular recruit was struggling with a concept or move. Wallace was not an easy taskmaster, and he’d shocked more than a few of the young soldiers when they had challenged his skills. After the third recruit to try and beat the injured older man in their sparring was thrown to the ground and given a blackened eye by the crafty old soldier, they had learned to respect his abilities and never uttered a word when he stepped in to correct their form.

Aris had wanted to make Wallace a full-time instructor, but the Memory Mage had refused. He knew it was beyond his abilities to both train warriors and mages full-time.

Had Wallace been fifteen years younger it might have been a different story, but his injured shoulder and aching joints would not allow those doubled responsibilities.

No, Wallace would focus on training Aris, Sephira, and the young man, Kestrel, whom he hoped; in a perfect world, would themselves, come to train the next generation of Memory Mages.

That was a good dream.

It was a good goal.

Wallace had just sat down when he saw Aris’ wife, Corrine approaching him. He cursed. She had been more than accommodating to him, and treated him as an old friend of the family, despite her never having met him.

He cursed because he knew how smart she was. She knew that he knew what was going on and could tell her why her husband had been so silent recently.

The last thing Wallace wanted was to expand his circle and add her to it. Especially when he knew that it may very well cost him his life at Aris’ hands if something befell his bride.

Wallace got up to walk away, but Corrine was much faster than her slight frame indicated and she was standing in front of him with her arms crossed before he’d fully risen from his seat.

I’m getting too old and slow. Wallace thought.

Wallace cursed under his breath then asked. “What can I do for you ma’am?”

He gave her his best smile.

“Don’t smile at me. We both know that you’ve been avoiding me. Every time you catch sight of me, you disappear, and I don’t like that. I want answers,” Corrine stated matter-of-factly.

Wallace dropped back onto the bench with a sigh. She wasn’t going to let him go without answering her questions.

“What do you mean? What answers could I possibly give you?” He replied. He brushed the side of his nose nervously. He hated that he had such an obvious tick. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean.”

Corrine’s eyebrows scrunched together and her piercing green eyes turned to steel. Wallace now realized why Aris had such a hard time keeping secrets from his wife. If he were faced with those eyes every day, he would have cracked ages ago.

Corrine had a near supernatural ability to make one feel guilty for keeping secrets from her.

“Don’t act like you don’t know! You think it was Aris’ choice to house you here? I’m the one allowing you to stay, and I can just as quickly send you back out on the streets if I please,” she threatened him.

Wallace allowed himself the slightest grin. He liked the mettle he saw in the General’s wife. She was no delicate flower. She was like an evergreen, standing beautiful and stately even in the heaviest of blizzards.

“I’m sorry. I really wish I could help you, but I can’t,” Wallace insisted. He looked away from Corrine's piercing eyes. She knew he was lying.

“Look here! I understand that there are things my husband can’t tell me. And I even understand why Sephira is hesitant to reveal what happened to her. But I can’t abide living in this darkness! My husband is avoiding telling me what’s going on, and my Sephira has been caught up in a world that she’s afraid to tell me of! You know what I see as the common thread here?” Corrine’s tone was biting. “You. Before you showed up with that boy Kestrel, everything was fine. But since you’ve arrived, our whole world has changed. You’re pulling my family into your orbit, and until I know what it is that you’re doing, I will not allow it! Do you understand me?”

Wallace grimaced at her words. They were truer than she realized and it bit at his conscious. Had he really drug Aris and his family into the darkness?

“I’m sorry. I just can’t help you,” Wallace stood and tried to step past Aris’ resolute wife but she caught him by the arm.

She began talking but Wallace couldn’t hear a word she said. Visions of her unprotected memories surged into his mind.

*****

“I’m sorry for what I must do to you. But know this. You’ll not suffer anymore. I’ll take those painful memories from you and give you peace,” said a sickly sweet voice. One that Wallace recognized. He’d heard it in Sephira’s memories. “You won’t have to mourn his loss anymore. He was a traitor to the Empire, but we know that you aren’t. We know that you tried to stop him, that none of this is your fault.”

The memory was obscured. It was nebulous, as if he were viewing her memories through long faded milky glass. Everything was distorted and strange, but Wallace still knew it to be true.

“No!” Corrine screamed. She began thrashing, but the tight leather restraints bit into the skin of her wrists and ankles, causing little rivulets of blood to trickle out. “No! You already took him from me once! You will not take the little I have left of him!” she screamed as a hand reached for forehead.

Corrine’s screams were gut-wrenching. Wallace had seen enough people killed, and enough monstrosities to know pure terror when he heard it, and Corrine’s screams were filled with it.

It was as if her soul were being ripped from her body. Wallace fought back a feeling of nausea and continued to watch the memories that were unfolding in front of his eyes.

“He hurt you deeply. He wasn’t worthy of your love. Look at how he left you! He had a good life with you but he threw it away. He couldn’t be content with his loving family. What kind of man would do that to his loved ones?” Corrine thrashed as the words bit into her nearly as deep as the leather restraints had.

“No! He loved me! He loved us! He didn’t abandon us for nothing. You’re proof that his fight wasn’t in vain! It was because of twisted soulless freaks like you that he did what he did!” Corrine hissed, rage seethed from her voice.

The hooded figure didn’t take kindly to her provocation and slapped her hard across the face. Corrine immediately tasted the copper flavor of blood trickling down her mouth and into her throat. She wanted to spit it out, but the hooded freak grabbed her by the chin and held a hand over her mouth.

Corrine bucked in terror. She was going to choke to death on her own blood!

When the man finally let go, she let out a gasping cough that shot flecks of blood everywhere. She wanted to curse the man, but her fear of truly being suffocated the next time she provoked him won out over her anger.

Corrine’s tears flowed freely as she bit back her outrage.

“Now, you will behave, little sow!” the voice sounded twice as warped, for he still retained his sickly sweet tone as he let out a profanity laden string of insults at Corrine. “I’m going to take your precious husband from you. Both he and your daughter will disappear from your mind,” he laughed. “I was told to be gentle with his extraction, but who am I kidding. I love it when they fight. I love taking what is most precious from my enemies. It…Excites me…”

He let out a sickening moan of pleasure.

Corrine wailed. The pain of knowing that the love of her life who had been executed was now being stolen from her memory was too much to bear.

Wallace watched Corrine’s opaque memories in horror.

How was he seeing them?

He was seeing the terror firsthand. Wallace wondered if his eyes were tearing up.

What had they taken from her? Who was it that had been ripped from her memory? A part of Wallace knew the truth, but it couldn’t be him. It had to be someone else. It had to be but he knew it wasn’t.