“Are you ready?” Myraden asked.

Pirin dipped his head. “I am.” He had his mask off, and Göttrur clung to the shoulder of his haversack. He glanced at Gray.

The gnatsnapper gave an excited chirp. I’m good to go.

Myraden had to behave like she would in a regular sparring match, or it wouldn’t be a very good test of Pirin’s new potential foresight technique.

The first time today, she had been stiff and awkward, but it didn’t matter, because the technique didn’t work out. The second time, she had slipped back into her old self and earned a victory—and again, Pirin’s technique didn’t work out.

This was the third attempt today. He was panting from the previous match, but his enhanced body would carry some of the burden. He’d taken off his coat and unbuttoned his shirt halfway, and beads of sweat lingered above his eyebrows.

He was ready.

Myraden attacked first, like usual. Pirin ducked aside, then closed the distance, keeping her on the back-foot.

Then he activated the Memory Chain.

Instead of pinpointing a feeling, he let his Essence flow up into his mind and absorb whichever thoughts and memories he was forming right now. It turned everything to a haze, but he was still in control, and he had enough practice to block her blows.

He flooded the Memory Chain with his Essence, pushing it far back in time, then extracted memories. Like Nomad said, it would take hours to get what he needed, and his mind had no way of parsing it all. He was more likely to split his own head open. But that was only from the constricted point of view of a non-Embercore.

Instability was Pirin’s ally.

His Essence quivered, and without a firm connection to Gray, it began to roil and bubble like a summer storm. He used it. He separated the unstable Essence and used it like the Fracturenet, except as a fortification technique for the soul itself. It also shielded the Memory Chain, bolstering it and making it resistant to the spiritual damage he might incur from pushing it too hard.

“Alright, Gray,” he whispered, “Talk to me. I’ll need your eyes.”

Their mental link could share thoughts, and that extended to how she perceived her surroundings. It wasn’t purely vision, but it was close enough. Through their slightly weakened link, Pirin picked up a hazy, sepia view of himself and Myraden sparring. White wind whistled around them, and their edges were always shifting, like an ink sketch coming to life and redrawing itself every millisecond. Vines crept in from the edge, the mental probes of the wraith Gray had absorbed to form her core, but she resisted them constantly.

One part was working.

You see it? Oh, right! Yes! Of course! I can feel you feeling it. I can sense your thoughts feeling my thoughts and you can probably feel those too—

“Concentrate, Gray,” Pirin whispered.

Right, sorry. I am your eyes.

He needed her eyes, because when the flood of memories poured into his mind, borne by raging-fast and unstable Essence, he immediately clamped his own eyes shut. Visions overtook his own true sight, whirling so fast that they became just a blur of pale blue.

He passed a nudge of pure Essence across to Göttrur as he dodged away from a thrust of Myraden’s spear, signalling the little wraith to activate its abilities.

Göttrur pressed into the curve of Pirin’s neck, parcelling out and sorting the memories as fast as they came in. He clumped them into similar groups for Pirin, then grouped the smaller parcels into even larger parcels. They were digestible.

Some informed him about an enemy like Myraden’s stance, and some informed him about a spear user’s tendencies. He imagined the parcels as little flecks of grey light swirling around the Memory Chain, just waiting to be used.

Göttrur yipped, then behaved as he and Pirin had practiced. The grey flecks condensed into the shape of a person—a statuette with vague similarities to Myraden. A woman with a spear, same height and build. When Myraden swung, so did the mental model of her.

He took everything and let it absorb back into his mind, like he would when recovering memories of Mr. Regos. Then he pushed the mental model faster. It swung before the actual Myraden, but it aimed for the exact same spot. It jabbed right before she did, aiming exactly where she actually thrust her spear.

Pirin opened his eyes.

With a squawk, Gray cheered him on. It’s working! It’s working!

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

In an instant, Pirin knew exactly what he needed to do. He could predict her movements to a near-perfect degree of accuracy. He dipped under a swipe of her spear before she even began to swing, then pinned it to the ground and struck her gently in the chest with the pommel of his sword. She was only wearing her cuirass and chest-wrap.

She stumbled back, and he knew exactly how she would counter-attack. She swiped up desperately, and it might have caught him off-guard before, but not with the memories of thousands of kings before him all fuelling his cognition and predicting her actions.

He sidestepped, then tripped her so she fell onto her back.

But his model wasn’t perfect. His ancestors had never fought a Cursebearer of Ískan who could use Ískan silk. As she fell, she unlocked the silk and wrapped the haft of her spear around his shoulder, dragging him to the ground as well.

He placed one hand down on the deck to stop himself from falling directly on top of her. As she unwound her spear from his arm, he placed his sword at her neck. Her spearhead pointed directly at his throat only a fraction of a second later.

After a few seconds of staring into each other’s eyes, they lowered their weapons. Pirin released his mental model of Myraden and vented the unstable Essence off to the side as a Shattered Palm. He couldn’t hold all of the gathered memories at once—he just didn’t have the mental faculties for that yet—so he’d have to create a new model for someone when they fought.

After a few more seconds, Pirin asked, “Are you alright?” He blushed, realizing that he was still looming overtop her, and backed away. He offered her a hand as he stood up.

“I am alright.” She took the hand.

Nomad started clapping. Pirin sighed, and his face heated up a little more. He hadn’t realized the man was watching or even nearby, but he supposed it didn’t really matter. Nomad could sense anything aboard the ship.

Gray hopped into the center of the arena and nudged him with her head. Göttrur scampered off Pirin’s shoulder and climbed up onto the gnatsnapper’s saddle, and Kythen matched into the arena to stand behind Myraden.

“Very good, Pirin,” Nomad said. He jumped over to the arena on the cargo elevator. “I wasn’t expecting you to pull it off.”

“It still needs some work,” Pirin said. “And Myraden was easy, but—”

She flicked his ear and scowled.

“No! Sorry!” he exclaimed. “I didn’t mean it like that. Just…I know how you fight. I know you better than…” He scrunched his lips. “Well, nowadays? Better than anyone else except maybe Gray.”

Nomad pouted a little.

“Sorry, but you don’t even have a foot in this race,” Pirin said to the man.

“Expected,” Nomad said. “If we ever survive this, we will have to go to a tavern and have a few drinks together. We shall remedy that easily enough!”

“Alcohol is illegal in Dominion territory…” Myraden pointed out.

“I reckon we could find a speakeasy,” Nomad said. “But that’s a concern for another day. You two should both rest your channels. I’m sensing a spiritual presence to the southwest, a few miles beyond our range of sight. Once you’re ready, Pirin, we’ll need you to scout it out.”

He dipped his head. “That, I can do.”

~ ~ ~

Pirin scampered around the crew quarters, gathering all his equipment. He buttoned up his shirt and put his coat back on, then secured his haversack overtop it all. He tucked his eyeglasses safely away in the haversack.

After the advancement, he didn’t need them anymore, but they were the last reminder of his old home and old life—of the memories he’d given up.

Myraden stood beside him, armour off. She pulled her sleeveless gambeson on over her head. When she emerged, Pirin asked, “What’s your history with the Red Hand, then? I’ve…seen you mention him in memories, but if you don’t mind, I’d like to hear it from your mouth.”

“I ran a mission for Kalénier,” Myraden said bitterly. “I did not form my Reyad in Sirdia. I snuck into Dominion territory and took the ichor in one of their ceremonies—if it could be called that. My job was to infiltrate the Red Hand’s ring of disciples and observe. So, for a few months, I trained under him. The mission went sour, and I had to escape before they caught me.”

“What happened to the other disciples?”

“There were four others. Two died over the years, but Khara and Nael survived up until now.”

“Khara’s still alive,” Pirin said. “Right?”

“She is hunting me. She…tried to be friends with me, during the months we spent together, despite me being a sprite. Eventually, I had no choice but to take her friendship and throw it back at her.”

“She seems a little…much,” Pirin said.

“She is a zealot of the Dominion. I wish there was a way, but if she continues down this path, she will die before she can be saved.”

Pirin nodded somberly. He patted his haversack and stepped back as she fastened her armour on.

“Pirin,” Myraden said, “you have become a very skilled warrior. But every day, we are stepping closer and closer to danger.” She pulled on the leather strap of her single pauldron as hard as she could. “There is a chance that we do not…succeed.”

He nodded. “There’s always a chance. I won’t let that dictate what I do anymore.”

“I do not want to be without you again,” she said. “Every day we spend together, I regret running away even more. If I had just stayed with you…would your memories still be intact?”

Pirin shut his eyes, then turned and placed his hands on her shoulders. “Myra, you won’t be alone. I’m not abandoning you again, and I don’t blame you for what you did. I can’t even remember what you did, and you had your reasons regardless. Blaming yourself will get us nowhere, and…” He trailed off. “Look, you’ve said it before. I’ve changed. But that’s a good thing. If you hadn’t left, I might not have gotten here. I’m not going to stand by and watch the world burn down around me.”

She nodded slowly.

“Want a promise?” he asked.

“Always.”

He leaned forward and caught her in a hug. “I promise, we’ll see it to whatever end there is for us. I’ll find that ship, and I’ll report back, and we’ll get the dagger.”

She smiled, then planted a light kiss on his cheek. “Come back soon.”