Dryad-Born(35)

She stared at him, keeping her expression neutral. “Were you an orphan?”

“I assume so. Part of the magic that binds me to the Kishion steals my memories.” He looked at her pointedly. “I think it is Dryad magic, in some way.” He shook his head. “Every kingdom requires men to fulfill its justice. The King of Wayland has several headsmen, paid to execute those who violate his laws. That is what we are. That is what I am. But the toll is heavy for men in my role. The Arch-Rike relieves us of the guilt of our actions by stripping away the memory of the deeds. He takes it upon himself.” The Kishion sighed deeply. “It helps, to be sure. But there is something awful in not being able to remember how vicious you truly must be. To know you have done horrible things that you would not wish to remember. The fact that I can’t means that I must suspect or wonder at what I have done.”

Phae’s stomach revolted at the thought. “You have no past,” she said with a frown. “With the bad memories, you lose the good as well.”

“If there were any,” he replied mockingly.

She could not imagine such an existence. Her entire life was a series of shared memories that had bound her to the Winemillers and all of her adopted brothers and sisters. What would it be like to not remember Trasen? To not savor the memory of trampling the grapes at harvest time? Memories sustained Phae when she was sad or discouraged. Stripping them all away would be a terrible punishment. It was why she had decided to stop stealing memories for the most part, even though she had the power to.

The sun peeked over the mountains at last, sending stabbing rays into her eyes. She saw the tattered shirt hanging over the Kishion’s body. She fumbled with the straps of her pack and dug around inside for a moment, finding a spare shirt she had packed. It would not fit him, so she dared not suggest it. But at the bottom was a spool of black thread and sewing needle set inside. Master Winemiller had always taught her to prepare for things.

“Let me repair your shirt,” she offered, showing him the spool. “I work quickly. It will not take me long.”

“I can get a new shirt in the city.”

“How far it is to Kenatos? I think it will take a week to get there, if I remember correctly. By horse it is faster.”

The Kishion’s mouth twitched. “We will be there in two days at the most.”

She stared at him. “How can that be? It takes two days just to reach…Fowlrox—” She stopped, her insides shriveling.

He nodded. “Fowlrox is the gateway city to Stonehollow. When we reach it, we will be within range of the Arch-Rike’s power. He employs certain devices that enable him to summon people back to his presence. With these devices, we will travel much faster. There are minions in the air that watch for us to approach.”

“I see,” Phae said, swallowing despondently. “Well, let me fix your shirt anyway. We can start walking soon if you wish.”

The Kishion stripped off his shredded tunic. He was in the prime of health, but she saw that the scars that had ravaged his face also inflicted his chest as well, as if some great beast had savaged him years before and he had healed from it.

She pulled out the needle and started on the first gash in the torn garment. She worked quickly and deftly now that there was plenty of light. “You do not remember how you got the scars on your face?”

“No.” His lip curled almost into a snarl. “But I have the suspicion, after last night, that it was inflicted by a bear. Or some other creature with long claws.”

“There are bears in Stonehollow,” Phae said. “We were warned as children not to stray too far and to make noise as we walk after they have finished their winter sleep. Their meat is delicious. Maybe this is your country. Maybe this is why your memories are starting to return?”

The Kishion shrugged. “When the creature attacked me last night, I feared it. I knew it could not hurt me.” He rubbed his forehead angrily. “Yet I feared it. It must have something to do with my past. Something to do with these scars. I had them before becoming a Kishion. That must be true. But I cannot remember anything about it.”

Phae secured the end of the line with heavy stitching and then bit the remaining thread loose before continuing her work on a ripped seam. “Are there other feelings you have had that were also from your past? Places that you recognize visiting? People that you have met?” She tried to make it look as if she was merely seeking conversation. She hoped to learn more about him and hoped it might provide an idea to escape. The looming threat of Kenatos spurred her on.

“The locket,” he answered, fishing it from a pocket. “I think it was the music that attracted the bear last night. My own fault, not yours. Something about the sound haunts me. As if I should know it.” He rested his chin on his muscled forearm. “It is maddening.”