Forgotten Shadows

[Nezz]

...hiding from Uncle Trevor and the responsibilities from having achieved manhood—as well as those of being an earl—in the largest pile of hay in the loft...

***

...hiding behind the largest pile of hay in the loft, but for a completely different reason now. And he isn't alone, either...

***

"Derry, you have nothing to apologize for. You did nothing wrong." The Countess Richenda still sits where they'd dined in the small hall in Marbury. He is on his knees before her. Pleading.

"That's what they tell me, but that doesn't stop the guilt," Derry says. It wouldn't be so bad if he could just remember, but his mind still refuses to give up the details of what he'd done. But he does remember manhandling the countess, trying to keep her from...Brendan? Had he hurt the lad?

Derry bites his lip in frustration... "Richenda," he whispers, "Please. Just... forgive me."

***

"I can't see that we've made much progress at all." Amy looked out across the reservoir in exasperation. She didn't feel tired—she didn't feel anything—but a mental weariness had overtaken her and she longed to be finished. "This lake almost looks deeper than when we started."

"We're in a landscape of the mind, you can't let yourself be fooled by things like distance and volume," Trevor told her. "The natural laws of the universe don't apply here. It's simply the way Airich imagines it."

"Does the same hold true for time?" Amy asked, suddenly noticing that Trevor looked like a priest again. "I keep thinking it must be springtime in our physical world, and Grecotha has burned down around us, and only Collos' wards have saved us."

"You may rest assured that it is not springtime," Trevor reassured her. He closed his eyes, concentrating, then opened them again. "We've been here a little more than an hour in the physical. As you can see, time flows differently as well. In fact, it flows differently for Airich as well: as you feel like you've experienced months, he's experienced years, living through the most part of my father's life."

Collos' walked up between them. He held a ceramic bowl full of rose-colored memories that smelled like cheap brandy. He knelt before Airich and set the bowl in his hands. "Drink this one next, Sir Airich," Collos breathed, "You must take this one into yourself before you can be healed." He stood and took a step back, watching.

Airich said nothing, and his eyes stared through Collos as if he weren't there. But after a few moments, the young knight dutifully lifted the bowl to his lips and drained it.

Nothing seemed amiss to Amy. Airich stared silently, as before. She lifted his hand and entwined her fingers through his, to see for herself what this important memory was...

...when he and Morgan had slipped away and returned secretly with His Majesty Liam-Lajos and Duke Mátyás hidden away from unfriendly eyes. Of course, the wedding ceremony itself was of little interest to Derry, although he was pleased that young Rory Haldane had found a bride he adored in the form of Noelie Ramsey. Afterward, he'd escorted then-Princess Araxie back to the castle where they'd joined the rest of the royal party in a grand feast. The drink had flowed freely, and even Derry himself had begun to feel its effects eventually. And that would account for why he and Mátyás had gotten into fisticuffs quite late in the night over some trifling matter. And why Derry, along with many other men, spent much of the next day abed feeling the aftereffects of that vast quantity of spirits. And why Duke Mátyás was ever wary of Derry afterward on the occasions when the two men happened to be in the same room together...

Amy withdrew. She could not determine that this memory was any more special than any others from the earl's life. In fact, it seemed inordinately mundane. She looked up at Collos, still not sure she could trust him, even as his aura radiated concern for Airich and hope for his well-being.

"What's so important about that one?" Amy asked him.

Collos watched Airich for a few moments longer, and then smiled. That one is important because the events of the memory never occurred, he sent to Amy and Trevor only. The memory I gave him covers a complete void in Sean's life. Airich's mind has been prodding at it like a man pokes at a hole in his tooth with his tongue.

I don't understand, Trevor sent. We all forget things. All the time. Why would a forgotten memory of my father give Airich trouble?

It is not a forgotten memory, Collos explained patiently. It was removed. Expertly and precisely. I could find no trace of what it might have contained, or who this skilled surgeon might be. In the normal course of things, this would cause a man no trouble, but in Airich's case... Collos stopped and pondered a moment. You have seen for yourself here how Sir Airich must live through his father's memories to integrate them. In this case, there was simply nothing to live through. Completely emptiness. He could not walk this path when a chasm separated one side from the other. And so I built a bridge in the form of a new memory. Now that he's successfully integrated it, it no longer matters whether or not he knows it to be truth or fabrication. 

As Collos turned to walk back to his own work area, Amy overheard him say aloud, "Let us pray now that the other problems are resolved so easily."

#
Darius hears the church bells strike the hour. The members of the ritual have been in for close to ninety minutes. Airich sleeps and all body functions perform normally. Darius offers a prayer of thanks and asks that things continue in this vein.

[revanne]

Back in the safe house, the same afternoon

Edwin bore Elspeth's brusque ministrations with as good a grace as he could muster. He still felt wretchedly ill, and though fighting with Bede had helped to lance some of his frustration, it had done nothing for his headache or his other aches and pains. The warm water felt good to his battered face but when the begrimed cloth was replaced with one laced with some astringent liquid he could not restrain a yelp, for all his pride. Elspeth stopped for a moment and said in a voice as sharp as her liniment, "I can leave these cuts to fester if you would prefer." 

Then she added more gently, for in his battered state Edwin really did seem to her more like a forlorn child than the arrogant youth he tried to portray, "Hold still a moment longer, then I'll give you a draught for your sore head and something warm for your belly. For once I'm willing to believe you are not the agent of your own misfortune. I might even be prepared to think you showed sense in declining to go haring off with my brave guard here."

Bede might have been ready to dispute this but Elspeth forestalled him by taking coin from her pouch and dispatching him to the nearest cookshop for whatever soup or stew they might have ready. A soldier might never turn away from a fight but still less would he turn his back on a warm meal.

Bede gone from the room, Elspeth turned her back on Edwin and began to pound a mixture of dried herbs in a mortar, which she then steeped in a measure of boiling water. Without turning to look at him she said, "You did not hear me say this but that fight has been a long time brewing and to my mind it will have done you both good to get it over with, misguided though your reasons were." Then she drained the liquid into a cup, brought it to Edwin and stood over him while he drained it to the last bitter dregs. After a while, Edwin's head began to pound less, and when, shortly after, Bede returned with a large bowl of stew which Elspeth divided out between them, even his abused stomach gave a hungry gurgle of anticipation.

All three of them were hungry enough to eat in silence, and as they did so Edwin brooded on what he had heard. His memories were clear, but just as clearly they were false. The archer he took for a man who would lie as soon as look at you, but it took a braver man than he was to accuse Elspeth of falsehood, even in thought. But how could he know? It occurred to him that surely a visit to the Dean's house would confirm whether or not he had been there. In the meantime, he must swallow his pride and ask Bede for all that he could tell him of MacBee.

Trusting that the food had softened the archer's ire as it had his own, and taking a deep breath, Edwin asked in a conciliatory voice, "I ask your pardon. It seems that I can show the same arrogance that I accuse Sir Airich of. If you know anything that can explain the mess inside my head, I'd owe you one. If it's good enough, I'll mebbes even stand still when you pay me back for that punch."

[Marc_du_Temple]

"Ye already apologized, didn't ye?" Bede grumbled. He then tried to laugh through the remainder of the pain. "I am na judge, that I require just desserts for every offense. Just desserts when I can get them, eh?" He swept back his matted straw hair and cleared his throat, remembering to speak plainly instead of natively when relating a lengthy tale. "Well, there's many a true story about MacBee I could tell you, if I wanted to outrage you, but one that comes to my mind now is something that I know he did early last July. It was when Scimmio's Entertainers were marching through Marley, but awhile after we had picked up ole' Macbee near Arranal Canyon, that we had begun touring in the city of Marbury. With the encouragement of our troop, a fairegoing old gardener came up onto the stage to play his part in his 'Hypnotic Confessional.' We all thought it was very amusing as he confessed to stealing seeds like a pauper, a wild night in his garden every now and again, owing some outstanding debts, having an embarrassing given name, and a foul lineage, but nobody expected him to confess to a robbery and battery from the night before. Least of all me, because I knew where he was at that time of the night: chasing me out of his garden with a shovel in one hand and a lantern in the other."

"What were you doing there?" Edwin asked.

"Watering his bushes, but that's another story," Bede waved a hand sheepishly. "The mood was ruined irreparably when a youth in the livery of the Earl of Marley strode forth out of the crowd, boxed the man's ears and loudly reprimanded him, swearing he would never be allowed to garden for the family of Marley again." Bede sighed with pity.

"I don't understand your half-finished suggestions," Edwin responded, becoming mildly bemused.

"I did not understand at first, either," Bede assured him. "Even now I cannot say with certainty when he used a greater Deryni trick on the gardener, only that I'm now convinced he did, and that he very well could have done it in broad daylight on the stage. Later, in the evening, when Macbee was the guest of honor in the Earl's hall and the rest of the troop were left to wander (with a small promise of a reward for the association with the confessor), I washed the paint of my stage persona, 'Spotted John', off, put on a proper shirt and trousers, then visited the gardener in the local jail."

"'Surely,' I insisted to him, 'there must be some detail you are confused on. What reason do you have to confess to so great a crime when I am your alibi?' But he swore he had never seen me before that morning, and became emotional over the memory of the crime he believed he had committed, when I knew he was heroically doing his duty as a gardener and groundskeeper, chasing a mischievous youth out of the Earl's garden. I left believing he was just mad or maybe that I was."

"Now I see that there is a pattern of illusory manipulation that all leads back to Macbee, that perhaps he had some motive to torment this man by framing him for a crime, that perhaps he had committed, inadvertently freeing me from culpability for my petty rebellion. And perhaps he has done something similar today, laying another one of his attacks on an innocent at someone else's feet. Only this time, the innocent is you, as well as the one whose memories he has tampered with. Perhaps he is becoming more skilled at this evil art."

"It's almost beyond belief," Edwin stammered, trembling from the certainty he felt creeping in.

"If only we had Mistress Amy here to testify to the truth of my words," Bede glanced at the door, "But I swear to God I embellish and change nothing of what I tell you now."

[Jerusha]

Still in the safe house, same afternoon

As Bede explained to Edwin what he believed Macbee had done to the student's memories, Elspeth gathered their bowls and her mortar to wash. It wasn't as if she wasn't interested in what Macbee had done, but something was niggling at the back of her mind. It remained just out of reach no matter how hard she tried to latch onto it.¹

With a sigh she set the bowls and mortar aside to dry and returned to the others. Edwin was listening intently, and Elspeth quietly took a seat on the bench near the fire. She tried to follow the conversation, but the comforting warmth of the fire caused her eyelids to droop and her chin soon dropped to rest against her chest.

It was a sunny afternoon, and Little Huw paddled their coracle away from the bank and into the small stream. Most coracles were small, but nothing small would hold Little Huw, and he had custom made this one to comfortably hold him and a passenger as well. 

Huw told her a story from his last voyage that he would not have told her within their father's hearing. Elspeth laughed heartily, and thought it might actually be true.  You could never be completely sure about Huw's stories. Elspeth used her own paddle to steady the boat, which now rocked gently.

The sun was warm, songbirds were singing in the trees and the bees buzzing among the flowers on the bank. She turned her head from watching the bank to look at her brother and gasped. 

Instead of Little Huw sat a man whose face was framed by short brown curls, and a lazy tonsure could just barely be seen. Both eyes were a kind blue, and he didn't seem at all perturbed by the colors of her eyes. He smiled at her, looking quite pleased with himself. What great teeth he had!

Alarmed at thinking such thoughts about a man who was obviously a priest, she dug her paddle into the stream. The coracle spun around, and around and around....

Elspeth's head snapped up and she looked with dismay at Bede, who was looking quite amused.

"I thought a tale of my days performing might cheer Edwin up, but it looks like it put you to sleep!"

"Oh, beg pardon!" Elspeth said hastily. "I didn't realize I was so tired. We should probably all get some rest as best we can."

"Now that my head is not throbbing so badly, I just might manage that."  Edwin was smiling, too.

Elspeth was mortified, and not only by the fact that her companions looked amused at her expense. She was sure she was blushing, probably all the way down to her toes, which fortunately were still hidden by her almost dry hose. 

Bede stood and distributed the blankets he had found when he had searched the house earlier.  "Given all that has happened," he said, "I am not comfortable, in the role of guard I am so often reminded of, with the idea of us splitting up into separate rooms. If Mistress Elspeth would not be too horrified, I think Edwin and I should bed down near the door, and leave Elspeth with her own space across the room closer to the fire."

"I think that is an excellent idea," Elspeth replied stoutly. "But make sure you both stay out of any drafts."

"I'm more worried about a flood at this point," Edwin said as he opened the door briefly to observe rain pouring down again. "I'm beginning to wonder if we should worry more about Grecotha burning down or washing away." He closed the door and folded one of the blankets into a makeshift pallet. 

Elspeth made herself as comfortable as possible, but as she began to drift off to sleep again, she suddenly sat upright.

"Wait," she said urgently.  "Now I remember what Sir Airich said to me that was so important.  And he was right!" <sup>2


1</sup> Eidetic memory to remember what Airich had urgently told her. Rolled at disadvantage because Elspeth is exhausted.  1d6 = something abysmal.  I forgot to write it down.

² Eidetic memory, standard roll with success on 4, 5, 6.  2d6 5 + 1 = 6.

[Nezz]

((Many thanks to Revanne for the lovely memories of three wee lassies.))

Within Airich's dreamscape...

The two earls talk companionably with each other, both having lost their fathers while mere boys, although for very different reasons. Brendan complains that he wants to play with the practice swords, but Derry makes him balance on the log across the stream and dodge the acorns that he throws at the boy. The young earl doesn't realize the older one is already preparing him for swordplay, training his coordination and balance...

***

Briony had run to him, squealing, "Uncle Seandry!" He'd picked her up and swung her 'round in his arms, exulting in the simple delight in her face. But even as he laughed back at her, he'd wondered if he would ever have children of his own to share such love and fun.

Derry thinks fondly on this old memory as he takes both his younger daughters by the hand. "Shhh, not a word to your madre!" Celsie and Faith are occupied with Trevor, now a fretful toddler, and Faith's musical voice tries to gentle her little brother. Derry and the girls are safe for an hour at least.

Hope and Charity wriggle in the freedom of the jerkin and hose long since outgrown by Seamus, but they are obedient to their Da's command, managing to suppress their delighted giggles. Once safe in the little spinney that grows close to the castle, he laughs with delight as his little lasses swarm like squirrels over the miniature climbing tree he had picked out for them.

***

"I'm sorry, milord... I'm afraid it's another stillbirth," the midwife says.

"No..." His heart breaking, Derry goes to Celsie in their bedroom. The countess puts on a brave face, but he sees the tears behind the smile.

"It was a little boy," Celsie whispers, and her voice breaks. "I'd hoped to give you one more boy."

"Shhhhh, it's all right, Cels. Just so long as you're healthy." He enfolds his distraught wife with his arms and kisses her head.

"His tiny body was perfect." Celsie finally begins weeping. "I just couldn't keep him."

"It's not your fault," he reassures her. His tears drop into her hair.

"That's four! I don't know if I'll be able to carry another. Trevor's already seven—"

"Nay, Celsie!" He holds her away from him so he can see her face and she his. "You have given me five healthy bairns. What man could ask for more? If your arms ache to hold a child, wait but a few years, then Seamus and Faith will give you all the grandchildren you could want. Weep for the little ones we have lost, but not for me. My family is beautiful and my happiness is complete."

And together they mourn the babe they never had the chance to hold.

***

"It seems as if you've had a good life," Iain said to Sean. "Airich seems quite calm for a man who's downing decades of another man's life."

Iain had finished going through the governmental and political memories, had turned two of his amphorae over to Collos, and had now joined the others in bringing bowls to Airich. Airich himself had significantly slowed his intake of memories, much as a man grown full from too much feasting. The young knight had changed his clothes again, and now wore a simple white shirt over indigo trousers without ornament.

Most of the people gathered here for the ritual had changed their gear at least once since they'd met in Airich's mindscape. Iain himself now wore unobtrusive grays and browns, all the better to keep from being noticed. Amy looked more like a barmaid rather than a fine lady, her skirts tucked up in her belt to keep them out of the way and her hair pinned back in a messy pile on her head that still made her as stunning as ever. Trevor looked like he could have been mucking out the horse stalls. Only Collos still wore the part of a noble knight, although his sword remained sheathed and he wore his shield on his back.

"I can't say that I've had much to complain about," Sean said to Iain, swirling the memories in his bowl to inspect for impurities. "I've had troubles, of course, the same as any man. But overall, I've always been surrounded by people I love. My King and my liege have always been good to me. I couldn't ask for better children—this troublemaker notwithstanding—" he nodded towards Trevor without breaking the rhythm of his swirl, "and I even have grandchildren—well, the Earl has grandchildren. I have nieces and nephews. What more could a man possibly ask for?"

"Airich has certainly benefited from your comfortable life," Trevor said, "and I don't hold it against him, even if it means he knows about the incident with the donkey and Lavinia Udaut."

"You might be a man grown and a priest to boot, but don't think I won't take the strap to your backside if you ever try something like that again." Sean said, handing the bowl to Amy, who decided she would ask Airich about Lavinia Udaut after this was all over.

Collos appeared among them once again, carrying a ceramic bowl, larger than the others, and painted with garish colors. As he passed her, Amy caught a cloying, fermented smell from the bowl that made her eyes water. Unnatural colors glimmered within, and Collos wore an expression as grim as death. Once again he knelt before Airich and set the bowl in his hands. Once again, Airich began to drink.

Riding through the Llyndruth Plain, it was becoming clear to Derry that he was coming down with some fever, for he felt light-headed and—

Airich choked on the water from the bowl, gagged, and began coughing violently. He would have dropped the bowl had Amy not been there to catch it. He kept on coughing and gagging, his psychic body expelling the memories that Collos had given him, until he collapsed in a heap. Amy, Trevor, and Sean sought to help him while Iain gave Collos a questioning look. Collos himself released a melancholy sigh as he retrieved the large bowl.¹

"Was that the result you expected?" Iain asked, eyebrows arched.

"It was the result I'd feared. I'd hoped for better, and I had to try, for Sir Airich's sake," Collos said.

"What was that?" Airich weakly asked as he rolled to his back to look up at Collus.

"Certain memories I tried to disguise, to make them more palatable," Collos answered, sitting down next to Airich. He opened his hand over the bowl and drew out the colors and scent, leaving behind a bowl of gray, brackish water that smelled of old marsh and decay. Airich rose to his elbows and made a face at the unholy mess within.

Sean was on his feet in an instant. "No! You said you could erase those memories! Or hide them!"

Collos shook his head sadly. "I have done what I could. Many memories are buried and hidden forever. Others have been removed, and many more will yet be removed. But these..." Collos shook his head and motioned toward the bowl, an obvious gesture of futility. "They're an integral part of who his father is, and they've been with Sir Airich for many years. They're rooted too firmly. I cannot erase them without doing permanent mental damage."

"Let me drink it, instead," Sean said.

"That wouldn't—"

"It wouldn't work? Why not? Don't Airich and I share a mind? I am him, yes? Then why can I not accept this cup in his place?"

"Because you're not supposed to be here," Collos said. "You said so yourself. This is Airich's body, Airich mind; you are simply living here. You cannot integrate these memories, for they enabled your existence. They are you."

"Listen to him, Da," Airich said, sitting up with Trevor's help. "You should not have to go through this again."

Sean looked around futilely, as if trying to think of a new reason to save Airich the pain he knew was coming. Lord Iain laid a hand on his shoulder; he was once again dressed in his finery. "Lord Sean, I observed a herd of wild ponies grazing in a valley just beyond this ridge. Perhaps you might help me identify their breed while Airich is busy." In a lower voice, Iain murmured, "I believe Sir Airich will have an easier time of this if he is not worried about how these memories are affecting you."

"Aye," Sean said, shoulders slumped in defeat, and Iain took the two of them away from this place.

"Mistress Amy, Father Trevor, I would have you remain," Collos said. "Stay with Airich. Encourage him. Comfort him. But for your own sake, do not join him in these memories. Some of them are far worse than anything you can imagine, and he would be troubled to realize that you were living them as well."

"I'm troubled to know that I'll be living them," Airich muttered, getting into position to accept this next batch of memories.

Amy held her breath. She did not care about herself when it came to these tormented experiences, if she could help soften them, then she would live them with Airich. But it was Trevor who backed away first.

"I think I know what's in that bowl," the priest said. "My father never spoke of it. But I've heard old soldiers confess their war trauma. Stories I would never repeat." He looked at Amy. "As I understand it, Alaric Morgan—good lord that he always was—dulled that trauma in our father long ago. But Airich has admitted he has nightmares about it. Lady Amy, you and I have no right to witness my father's pain. I suggest we both do as Collos asks."

Amy looked long at Trevor. How could she help Airich if she did not know what to comfort him from? And what of Collos?  Was it harmful that he knew what the bowl held? What were his motives?

Amy watched Collos's eyes. She saw no guile: if anything, she saw an inner awareness of the pain he was about to inflict and a need to help Airich get through this. She did not like this one bit. But the one thing she did not see was malice. Was this foreign man the same as the cold-hearted captor of a war prisoner she had witnessed four years ago? Or was he more than that. If he only wanted money and information, he would not be looking upon Airich with such concern. What gain could come of this for him?

Amy quickly realized she had to trust Collos, or she had to get out. And getting out would be devastating. Trust then. Trust... here... now, yet stay mindful and aware.

Airich looked worried as Collos held the bowl out to him. Amy released his hand from hers and laid her arm over his shoulders. Airich accepted the bowl and looked at Amy, then flashed her a nervous smile.

"We're here with you," Amy reassured him. "We'll help in any way we can."

Airich nodded and lifted the bowl to his lips. He began to drink.

***

The memories began, as they always did, with the searing pain in his back as they snapped the shaft of the arrow. They sat on his legs and held his arms over his head as the surgeon's knife bit deep. He cried out, but didn't have the strength to fight them. He glimpsed the face of the man giving orders, and despaired; instead of finding safety, he was in the hands of Warin de Grey, Morgan's sworn enemy. He screamed again as they withdrew the barbed arrow from his back and then fell into a swoon, and from here, the dream shifted backward into stomach-clenching terror...

#

Darius is alert as his patient's body tenses and his heart rate rises, gradually at first, but then it suddenly spikes. His breath comes in short, shallow gasps. With the blood loss the boy has suffered, this is life-threatening. Darius massages his heart, not the gift of Healing, but a Deryni gift nonetheless. At length, the heart resumes a more normal rate, but Darius dares not allow himself to be distracted for a moment. Whatever echoes Sir Airich is living through, Darius prays they may end quickly and he pass into more peaceful memories.

¹ Collos failed his roll.