SciFi and Fantasy Stories: Memory's Deeping: Chapter 6

            Kiyralynn opened her eyes groggily for the first time in what felt like days.  Despite that feeling, she noted with displeasure that she still felt weak.  As her eyes came into focus she looked up at something unfamiliar: a ceiling.  Confusion swept over her momentarily.  After scanning what was above her for a few seconds, she finally turned her head to see what else there was to see. 

            The first thing her eyes fell on was Ayrin.

            She glanced around quickly, allowing everything to come into focus.  She was in a bed, somewhere she did not recognize.  Above her, a sheet of early morning sunlight fell into the room from a window over her head.  Her whole body felt unresponsive and her left shoulder was aching with pain.  The priestess looked back at Ayrin.

            He was sitting in a chair but had falling asleep leaning on her bed.  His head was cradled in his crossed arms, a blanket thrown over his shoulders.  It looked as though perhaps someone had draped it over him.  Kiyralynn noticed that her right arm was draped over her middle and was resting close to Ayrin’s.  Had he fallen asleep holding her hand?

            Kiyralynn did not want to even begin to think about where she was or even how she got there, nor why her shoulder hurt so badly; the only thing that mattered to her was that Ayrin was near her.  With a slight smile she lifted her hand and brushed Ayrin’s tousled black hair out of his eyes gently.  He did not waken.  When she did so, she could see the blackened bruise on the side of his face.  She furrowed a brow. 

            To her left, a door opened.  The sound startled Kiyralynn, and she retracted her hand as quickly as she could.  She looked over at the older Elven woman who had entered the room.  When her eyes fell on Kiyralynn, she assumed a surprised expression.  “You’ve returned to the world of the living,” she said with a smile, speaking in the Elven tongue. 

            “Hardly,” Kiyralynn replied, her voice softer than she had expected it to be.

            “Well, it is better than what you had before,” the woman said.  She nodded her head in Ayrin’s direction.  “He said you asked him to stay, so I left you with him over the night.  It looks as though he’ll soon need a caretaker.”

            Kiyralynn did not remember telling Ayrin anything, but she felt too weak to ask about it.  “Please find him a proper place to rest,” she said.  “I don’t want him worrying for my sake.”

            “I’ll see to it,” the woman said with a smile.

            Kiyralynn nodded and leaned her head back, then closed her eyes again.  She would ask questions when she did not feel so weak.

~*~

            When Kiyralynn opened her eyes again, she could tell it was night.  There was no light streaming in from the window over her head.  She pulled in a breath that hurt her chest and she groaned. 

            “Only half awake and you still send me away?” a voice said.

            Kiyralynn turned her head to look at Ayrin.  She tried not to move too much; her shoulder still ached.  A smile crept over her face.  “You looked terrible,” she murmured.  “You don’t look much better now, either.”

            “This coming from the one who has been asleep for two days,” Ayrin said with a grin.  The bruise on his face did not look so bad in the dim light of the room.  He sat down next to Kiyralynn; he had been standing by the fireplace when he saw his friend open her eyes.

            “What happened?” Kiyralynn asked as she looked over at him.

            “How much do you remember?” he asked.  He knew that memory loss was something his friend experienced after particularly taxing ordeals; he assumed it would be the case this time as well.

            He was not wrong.  Kiyralynn shook her head as she thought about it.  “I remember you waking me up…I coughed blood into my hand…we got on the road and you went after an orc.”  The priestess’s memories became hazy after that.

            Ayrin sighed and ran a hand over his face.

            “There was an orc ambush.  They knew were there, I think.  Five of them came at you from under the snow.  I thought that would be the end, Kiyra.  You went down after being wounded in the shoulder.  Right when I thought we’d both die, we were saved by an elf patrol.  We walked with them back to their village…we had hardly arrived when you passed out cold.  You were asleep until early last evening; you woke for perhaps an hour, delirious with fever.”

            “And that was when I told you to stay with me, I presume.”

            Ayrin nodded. 

            “What else?”

            For a moment, she saw Ayrin’s gray eyes cloud over and it looked like he was resisting a frown.  “You kept telling me that I couldn’t let you die before you got to the shrine, because you had to apologize.  You would not tell me what for, though,” he said.  “I had no idea what you were talking about.”

            Kiyralynn rolled her head back and stared up at the ceiling.  She knew exactly what she was talking about, but was not ready to share that fact with her companion.  “I don’t know,” she said.

            “You were raving,” Ayrin reasoned.  He smiled a little.  “You must have been; you also told me you didn’t mind me calling you ‘Kiyra’.” 

            This brought a smile to her face.  “Well, that was truthful at least,” she said.

            It was greeted by an awkward silence for a moment, but then Ayrin smiled.  “Good,” he said.

~*~

            “Sir, one of the elves in the Rakenmoors is the priestess.”

            Karelon was surprised to see Dhaerow actually sit up.  His one good eye scanned Karelon’s face, which made the man squirm.  His scarred face was alight with near excitement.

            “You’re sure?” he said.

            Karelon nodded.  “They said it was a white-haired elf, a sword-wielder.  She was with another warrior; he was the one who dispatched the four other orcs.”

            “The Captain?” Dhaerow queried. 

            “No, another.”

            The psionicist frowned, unsure who the other could be.  Reaching for his obsidian staff, he pulled himself to his feet.  “Where are they now?” he asked.

            “The priestess was injured, and the one orc left alive said they were aided by three woodland elves.  They were not far from a small village; with any luck they have gone there,” Karelon replied.

            Dhaerow was surprised by this.  “The priestess his skilled,” he said.  “I find it hard to believe she could have been dispatched by orcs alone.”

            “There were five of them.”

            The psionicist shook his clean-shaven head.  “Look at what she did to my face.  I have no doubt she could take on five orcs by herself and walk away victorious any day.”

            “The spy reported that she was caught completely unawares by their ambush.  She even dropped her weapon.”

            “Odd,” Dhaerow said.  “I wonder perhaps if there wasn’t something else at work, distracting her.”

            “Should we make for the village?” Karelon asked.

            Dhaerow ignored him for a moment.  He tapped a long finger against his scarred face.  “Where could she be going?  She seems to have made a hasty escape from Cairndale after all the events last summer.”  It was really a spoken thought more than anything else.  “Yes, send spies toward that Elven village.  Just to see if they may catch a glimpse of her, or her companion.” 

            “Could you not look for her yourself?” Karelon dared to ask.

            “I could, but I do not wish to waste my strength until I know it is truly her, and when I know where she is going.”

            “I will see to it,” Karelon said.

            Dhaerow grinned as his servant left the room.  The scar on his face, the horrid mark from the priestess’s destructive and lucky blow, stretched weirdly.  He knew she did not realize it, but the albino elf had just made his struggle so much easier.

~*~

            By the end of the following week, Kiyralynn was able to walk on her own to a different house; the one Ayrin had been staying in by himself.  This dwelling was more aptly suited for guests, and had two beds available. 

            Kiyralynn’s health had improved swiftly after her one feverish night.  The old healer woman had suggested she catch up on her rest, and would not let her out of bed for several days.  It was an order that the priestess had a hard time agreeing with her, but Ayrin had agreed with the healer.  Her companion had spent some time by her side, lending her company when she was awake.  She had pushed herself to get out of bed as soon as she could, eager to be back on her feet. 

            But she held no illusions that she would be able to depart for the shrine anytime soon.  She resigned herself to holding out until winder had just about run its course. 

            Ayrin had begun to venture out into the woods with Luinil on his patrols.  They had quickly become friends in the week they had been there, and Ayrin enjoyed the time he spent out doing something relatively productive. 

            As the week drew to a close, they began to catch sight of orc scouts just outside the outskirts of the village.  They never met, and in fact only saw each other from an expanse of about fifty feet, the orcs hiding away in the trees at a distance that could almost be considered respectable.  They would always disappear into the distance when they realized the elves had seen them.

            Luinil was distressed by their appearance.  It could no longer be avoided that the orcs were drawing farther and farther from their normal territory and encroaching on the village’s limits, acting more brazen by the day.  Ayrin reported the sightings back to Kiyralynn, who furrowed a brow in consternation as she sat up in her bed and listened to the news.

            “What are they looking for?” she murmured.  “They know the village is here.” 

            Ayrin shook his head.  He was just as confused as his companion.  “They draw closer every day…I wonder if they are trying to see through the defenses of the village, as if to better plan an attack.” 

            Kiyralynn looked at her friend for some time.  The bruise under his chin had faded, but dark circles had formed under his eyes, as if from a lack of sleep.  She wondered for a moment if he had not been sleeping.  Usually by the time the day drew to a close she was weary enough to sleep solidly though the night, but Ayrin was also in bed when she fell asleep and woke again, and she had assumed he too had been sleeping.  “You look weary,” she murmured. 

            Ayrin shrugged.  “I have not been sleeping well the last days,” he said simply. 

            It was the truth, though he refrained from explaining why.  In reality he did not know himself; but he had been waking repeatedly in the middle of the night with a feeling that something was following him.  It was not preceded by dreaming—he had not dreamt in twenty years—just an uneasy feeling that pervaded his sleep and woke him in a cold sweat.  It had been happening more often over the last week; since Kiyralynn and he had begun sharing the guest quarters. 

            “It is nothing, I am sure,” he added with an encouraging smile. 

            Kiyralynn was not so sure, but she let it pass.

~*~

            It was very late in the night, perhaps early morning even, when the priestess sat up in her bed and looked across the dark room.  She had been startled awake by the heavy breathing that was coming from the other side of the room.  Kiyralynn watched her companion for a little while, furrowing her brow and waiting.  It was clear that he was having a dream, but the way he was reacting made her think of it rather as a very frightening nightmare.  She continued to watch, hoping he would come out of it on his own.  She hated to let him suffer through it. 

            Finally, she said, loud enough for him to hear, “Ayrin.” 

            The elf’s grey eyes flew open and he jumped up, leaning to the side as the dream faded away.  He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Kiyralynn staring at him almost worriedly.  He realized that he was breathing heavily, still startled from the vivid, and familiar, nightmare.  Quickly, as reality washed over him once more, his whole body started to tremble, and he pushed himself up with his elbow and turned away.  He rose out of his bed and moved over to the water basin, simply to conceal his trembling from Kiyralynn.  He dipped his hands in the cool water and rubbed them over his face, pulling in a breath. 

            “Nightmare?” Kiyralynn asked quietly.  She brought up her hand to her healing shoulder and kneaded it with her fingers; the wound was growing sore.

            Ayrin exhaled, attempting to calm himself.  “Yes,” he murmured. 

            The vivid dream had been one of great familiarity to Ayrin; he had suffered the recurrent nightmare for many months directly after the death of his wife and son, after his departure from Evinmoore.  It was a reliving of finding their bodies again, as he had so often upon finding sleep when the memories had been fresher and still bitingly painful.  The nightmare reminded him of the look of terror that had been in his wife’s eyes as she died, blood spattered over her pale skin; the still-warm body of Laeryid, collapsed in the sand.  Even as he stood there he had to look down at his hands, pale in the moonlight coming through the window, expecting to see them reddened with their spilt blood.  The only wetness upon them was the water he had just splashed on his face.  Still they felt sticky. 

The nightmare had not come to him in almost twenty years, and its reappearance within his subconscious was perhaps what startled him the most. 

            “It sounded god-awful,” Kiyralynn remarked.  She noted the way he had looked down at his hands compulsively, and knew without asking what the motion had been for.  It made her stomach churn simply thinking about it.   

            Ayrin wiped his face and turned, putting his back up against the wall and leaning his head back.  Even in the dim light Kiyralynn could see the sweat on his forehead, and could tell from his pale skin that the nightmare had, indeed, been horrific.  Seeing his upset reaction made Kiyralynn want to go to him in comfort, but she could not bring herself to. 

            “May I ask?” she said.

            Ayrin wiped his face again, closing his eyes as his hand passed over them.  He found, however, that when he closed his eyes, he could see his long-lost Illuvia’s face there, too clearly for comfort.  The visions of the dream were still very vivid in his head, much as they had been so long ago.  He pulled his eyes open again and cleared his throat, hesitating. 

            “My wife,” he whispered finally.  “The coup, her death…my son’s death.  It is a nightmare that has not come to me in many years, and yet it is as vivid as if it had happened yesterday.” 

            He met Kiyralynn’s gaze.  It was compassioned, an emotion that had seldom chanced across her face, if ever.  He looked away quickly.  His breathing was still erratic and his fingers were shaking, not to mention his heart doing its disquieting rattle against his ribcage.  He found, as he stood there against the wall, that he was battling tears that had not come to him in a very long time.  Unable to stand any longer, Ayrin slid down the wall and sat on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chest and covering his face with his hands. 

            For many minutes he sat there, fighting hard to keep his emotions under control.  When he finally lifted his head once more, Kiyralynn was sitting next to him.  When he looked up, she was looking at the floor, instead of him, as if giving him privacy while still being there beside him to comfort him, but she turned her head to him when she saw him lift his head.  He gave her a look that told her he was grateful for her company, but could not bring himself to say anything.  Compulsively running a hand over his face once more, Ayrin sighed and crossed his arms over his chest, then leaned back against the wall.

            He noted with a twinge of guilt that Kiyralynn’s presence beside him made him feel calmer. 

            The two sat there beside each other against the wall for some time in complete silence.  As Ayrin calmed from the horrible nightmare, Kiyralynn sat next to him, offering no words, though she did not have to.  It was her companionship alone that helped him. 

            Finally, without turning to look at her, Ayrin said, “If you had the chance to retrieve your memories from before your attack…would you?” 

            Kiyralynn turned her head towards Ayrin, as if she had not been expecting the question.  He saw her frown.  “I do not know,” she replied quietly.  “Part of me has always wanted to, simply to know what led me to the place I ended up, and why.  To learn who I was before I became Kiyralynn, Priestess of Arvoreen…and yet, I would not.  I think my lack of memories has made me who I am now, and who I was before was most likely a completely different person…I would be compelled to try to be that person, remembering my life before.  They are no doubt two conflicting lives, both ones that I could not live simultaneously.” 

            Ayrin nodded his head.  He could understand her logic.  Kiyralynn looked over at him.  He could feel her opaque eyes on him and he found himself resisting a shiver.  He was almost afraid to look into her glassy eyes.  They were so devoid of color, so pale and empty, yet he saw so much in them, so much that nobody else had ever seen before.  He had to wonder why.

            Kiyralynn regarded him for a moment.  “And would you, Ayrin Harktree, forsake your memories of your life before, in order to move forward?” 

            He cracked a wistful smile and glanced at the floor absently.  He remembered telling Kiyralynn over the previous summer that he would choose his painful memories over her lack of them, but that had been before…before his heart had begun that uneasy fluttering as it breathed once more, awoken from the broken state it had been in for so long.  It was a familiar feeling of want, desire even, but the more it grew, the more he shied away from it.

            He realized that the dream of Illuvia had come to him again perhaps because he was thinking so often of Kiyralynn.  He had also been speaking of his late wife with Luinil, out on their patrols together.  Perhaps it was what he should have expected.  He had stuffed away those feelings for so long, too afraid to listen to them, and now that he was speaking of them again, they had risen to the surface of his mind.  True, he was afraid of those memories, and afraid of remembering them at the same time. 

            But he was yet more afraid that in moving past his wife in order to turn to another, he had chosen another who would not receive him.

            “Only if I knew moving forward would be worth it,” he replied. 

            Kiyralynn did not miss the connotation behind the comment.  She almost opened her mouth and said, “It would be worth it,” but she knew that was her instinct talking over her inhibition, something she was not yet ready to give up.  She honestly did not know how to respond to it.  She had never, since starting her new life sans memory, felt want towards another nor been wanted by another, and now that the feeling was rising in her whenever she looked at Ayrin, she did not know how react to it.  Up until the fateful meeting with Kaelimine in the woods those many years ago, she had often met only one emotion when dealing with others: fear.  It was a fear inspired by the way she looked, she knew, and so in receiving that cold stare she had retreated behind a mask of indifference, a cold sarcasm and aloofness that had suited her needs—up until now. 

            And yet another question of doubt plagued her: in her life as a dutiful priestess of Arvoreen, how much time and heart could she devote to another person?  She had up till now relied on only one person for anything: herself.  There was no disappointment or harshness when the only one there was herself.  It had been a lonely existence, to be sure, but the loneliness was perhaps better than the look of fear or aversion that so often greeted her. 

            But still…

            It was true that the standoffish priestess had grown warmer in the few weeks she had spent around Ayrin, and she wanted to believe that she could come out of her own shell and rely on another, but the fear of rejection was still greater than her want. 

            She had never been so frustrated with herself. 

            Deciding suddenly to take control of her own feelings, she reached down with her wounded arm—the one closest to her friend—and took Ayrin’s hand in her own, clasping her fingers around his and squeezing gently, ignoring the slight pain that was shooting up her arm.  He looked up at her, surprised by her action but not put off by it. 

            “Thank you,” he whispered. 

            “You have looked after me this entire way,” she said.  “It would be awful of me to not return the favor,” she added with a very slight hint of a smile.   

            And then, in a motion that was very much a result of her instinct finally taking over her inhibitions, she reached around Ayrin’s shoulder and pulled him nearer to her, so that his head was resting against her shoulder.  It hurt, but she was able to push away the pain for his sake.  She draped her arm over him. 

            It would be worth it, she thought as she held him near to her, the first motion of affection she had ever doted on anyone in her life.  Her glassy eyes turned upwards toward the ceiling as she blinked away tears that she did not expect would arrive.  It would be worth it. 

            They were words she should have said aloud.