87

Ash

I wake to find a note to myself on the nightstand, instructing me to check my journal but it’s not necessary. I remember who I am, where I am. “An initiate of Avon Eyre,” I say to the room. And then I frown. There’s more to me than that, but this is a good start.

I go to my desk in the corner of the bunkroom and read a short note.

I live in a dorm hall! It says so right here.

This memory thing is fun. I refer to the whole room as mine because, according to the journal, I’ve yet to share it with anyone. I’m alone, at least when I’m not studying or eating in the common rooms. The space is designed for more occupants, though, with double bunks on each wall, four desks and chairs and plenty of writing materials, quills, inks, and parchments. I wonder, for a moment, if I choose a different desk each morning or if I gravitate to the same one. In any case, I know three days have passed since Radigan put the fear of the old gods in me with his however long it takes speech because I marked it in the journal. “And, because I remember.” Well, bits and pieces of it, anyway.

I also know that Kaylin is gone. Peace be his path.

The thought drains my life away, but it is also something I never want to forget. He deserves to live in my memories, for the rest of this life. No, longer. I vow I will carry his memory with me onto the next path.

I complete today’s journal entry, ready to bookmark the page with a white dove feather I found in one of the aviaries. I remember that, too. Up until now, the longest I held my short-term awareness was about sixteen hours, until I go to sleep and wake up blank. But not today.

Like a handful of dandelion puffs that might blow away in a breeze, I guard my memories, rereading earlier entries of the journal. As I thumb through weeks of notes to myself, I find accounts of my life on Avon Eyre. It’s sketchy and vague in parts. Not my best writing. But the common thread is how I got here and that I lost Kaylin, even though I don’t remember exactly how. The well of sadness opens wide every time I am reminded of him, but I am getting better and better at breathing through it, and then locking it away. For now.

“And in the meantime?” my inner voice asks.

We escape to find Marcus. I need him, and the others, more than ever.

“Don’t record that, in case they snoop.”

Not planning to. I swear my inner self thinks I have a brain the size of a chickpea.

Not today.

I smile. Gaining my memories, no matter how painful, is a step in the right direction along this path because now I can execute my plan.

I’ll need warmer clothes, a reliable map, journal, pen and inks, of course, and some of the more interesting scrolls from the library. I would grab their first whistle bone, too, for Marcus, if they hadn’t already used it to barter for me.

“You remember that, too.” My inner voice is softer now.

I do.

The sadness threatens to drown me, but I keep breathing until it subsides.

“Isn’t Marcus gathering the original whistle bones to save us all from the second sun?” a young boy’s voice rings in my head. “He’ll have to get the Mask of Anon from Atikis, won’t he?”

“Tomik? I thought we weren’t going to listen in on each other without permission. You must knock, please.”

He makes a tapping sound in my head before going on. “I wish you didn’t have to leave. But you’re the only one left, besides me, and I won’t—” He stops abruptly.

“Won’t what?”

Tomik gives a mental shrug. “Say a word...”

I’m sure he was going to say something else entirely, but I don’t push. “Come with me then, when I escape.”

For the longest moment, Tomik doesn’t reply. “I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“I need more training.”

He’s so like Marcus at that age. I sober at the thought of my Bone Gatherer, out there traveling the realms without a translator. Or have I been replaced? I must rejoin the campaign.

The thought keeps me going as I continue to pack, throwing in two strikers, a full water skin, and the map I smuggled out of the library.

“I’ll pilfer food for you,” Tomik says in a way that makes me know he’ll have a good time doing it.

It strikes me as a little strange that he’s so helpful at every turn. What if he’s spying on me? Or maybe I just don’t realize how strong our friendship is, since I’m only starting to remember it. Still, I ask. “Tomik, why are you helping me?”

The question stops him short. Then, after a few false starts, he says, “Because you’re good to me.”

“Meaning they aren’t?” I feel the flush that goes with admitting it, and something else. Something he is trying hard not to think. “What else, Tomik?” I’ve seen scars on his neck and suddenly I sense they run all the way down his back.

“If I can help you help the Bone Gatherer, why wouldn’t I? The fate of Amassia depends on it. Right?”

“That’s what I used to think, but they are celebrating the return here.” I sigh. “Tomik, what would the Brotherhood do if they found out you helped me escape?”

His only response is to mime a knife being drawn across his throat as his tongue sticks out. Then he bursts into laughter.

I trust he’s joking. They wouldn’t harm their only Initiates, would they? Surely not young, bright Tomik who, so he tells me, can raise a phantom?

“A bright young boy covered in scars,” my inner voice whispers.

Chills run through me. From his past, before Anon rescued him. Surely.

“Like they did you?” my inner voice asks.

I wasn’t harmed as a child.

“Would you remember if you were?”

Don’t say such things, I tell myself. Brogal wasn’t a warm guardian, but I have no scars from him.

“That you remember…”

…

The next morning, with memories still intact, I shoulder my supplies. The pack is bulky, hopefully not noticeably so. I let a few scrolls stick out the top to make it look like I’m simply about the business of learning, not attempting to escape the Sanctuary. I scan the room a final time and head for the massive, unguarded doors that lead out of the temple. There is a lovely, enclosed garden with an aviary to pass through. It’s heated, no idea how, and sweat beads my forehead before I’m halfway across the high-ceilinged passage.

Birds flutter in the overhead branches and sunlight streams through the skylight. There are tiny finches with red caps and bright green wings chittering in a bud-covered maple tree, and white pigeons roost high up in a spruce. “It’s spring already?” I whisper as I open the top button on my heavy cloak. This won’t be as difficult as I thought, if it doesn’t rain.

Once I step outside, though, I button straight back up. The north wind stings my face, making me shiver head to toe. How close to the pole are we?

“North or South?” my inner voice speaks up.

It better be North. Otherwise, I’ll have to sail back to the mainland.

Try as I might, I have no idea how I got here from Asyleen, save the warm, echoing tunnel lined with massive rib bones. The map details the borders of Avon Eyre, major waterways, mountain ridges, roads and tracks, but it’s blank beyond the borders, almost as if it sits outside of time.

“As myth would have it.”

Yes, like that.

But the weather isn’t mystical. The sun shines overhead, a pale-yellow light with no warmth. The tall pines surrounding the sanctuary are white with snow. The rooftops of the domed buildings are laden as well. They sparkle like diamonds in the milky sunlight. My nose instantly goes cold as I stand in the wind, looking down on the temple square. So this is the fabled Sanctuary of Avon Eyre?

It’s nothing like I imagined, not teeming with phantoms of every kind like the Isle of Aku, or even Baiseen. Here there is a solemn air, as if it were once a bustling town, full of life, but now abandoned. Where is everyone? The square is empty of horses and carriages, though there is plenty of room for them. In the midst of the square is a stone fountain, silent and unmoving, the water frozen solid. A dormant tree marks each corner, the branches reaching in all directions like dark, brittle fingers. I can’t imagine this place in the spring. Does spring even come here?

As I gaze across the buildings with their tall, narrow windows and closed double doors, my body trembles from the cold. I’m not sure my clothes are warm enough to survive a night in this climate, unless I can manage a fire. In Baiseen, we are lucky to get a light frost, even in the dead of winter.

“You’re not in Baiseen,” my inner voice reminds me.

True, but bad weather isn’t going to turn me back.

I’d had one argument with Radigan about leaving, at least, one I recorded in my journal. He’d said it would never happen, that my purpose would live or die here. That doesn’t make me want to stick around to see which. And the purpose he refers to? I don’t know what it is. Tomik doesn’t either—or won’t say. I quizzed him long about it last night and he only shrugged and fidgeted.

“Hurry.” Tomik’s voice filters into my thoughts.

“Is the cart hitched?”

“Yes, that’s why you have to hurry!”

I trot down the many steps and crunch across the snow-covered courtyard, past other, smaller buildings, and on to the stables, trying not to let my teeth chatter. The plan is simple. I’ll hide in the back of the cart that Tomik and his master drive to the training field each day. When surrounded by thick trees, I’ll slip away unnoticed. Of course, with only a few days’ supplies, if I don’t find Marcus or friendly shelter fast, the escape will be short-lived. But I will try.

Tomik stands at the stable entrance where a large chestnut draft horse, thick and shaggy with a long winter coat, is hitched to a flatbed cart. The boy waves me in and grabs my sleeve, pulling me behind the door.

“Master Elwen will be back any moment.” Tomik is bundled in a full-length coat, hood down, gold curls spilling over his shoulders. “Give me your pack,” he says, all business. In moments he replaces the ornamental scrolls on top with a large loaf of bread, a bag of nuts and seeds, and two sticks of dried meat. “I found a compass, too.”

“I’m scared to ask where.”

“Then don’t.”

The thievery raises a memory of Kaylin. His shining eyes and pirate smile.

An apple for my lovely lass. The memory surfaces, and with it the pain. It’s so swift and heart wrenching, I double over, gasping for breath.

“No!” Tomik grabs my shoulders and shakes them. “Stay with me.”

He doesn’t mean physically, but mentally. I drag myself back from the abyss. It’s hard. At least in the void I’m numb and mindless.

“Focus now. We’ve no time.” Tomik buckles my pack. “Keep it on. You’ll only have a moment to disappear.”

I shoulder it, watching his face as I do. He looks too young to wear such a serious expression, but judging by the way they treat him, this boy is well along on the path. I haven’t seen his phantom, at least, not that I remember, but he calls it kitty, so a lynx perhaps, or a small wild cat? A warrior, he says, like Marcus’s and Belair’s. Maybe akin to a sun leopard! I wonder if its fur is as golden as his locks. I hug him quickly and my heart clenches. “I wish—”

“Are you ready?” Tomik cuts in, his eyes on the distance.

“I only need to get past the gates.”

“You need more than that.” He unties the covering over the flatbed cart for me to climb in.

I shoot a glance out the breezeway to the main courtyard. Several savants trot up the steps to the library.

“Don’t breathe a word,” Tomik says and for a moment, his face falls. “Why am I doing this? If I’m caught…”

I hear the boy’s inner thoughts. “Tomik, I wouldn’t betray you,” I say, worming my way under the covering.

“I know. You never have.”

“What?”

“Quick. Stay down.”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve tried to escape?” My heart pushes up to the back of my throat.

“It’s lucky third. Now be quiet.”

I close my eyes as he flips the cover over my head, leaving me alone in the dark.