Echoes of Memory, page 2
“Do you think we need to bring her to a physician? She seems to be falling ill quite often,” Aris asked.
“I don’t know,” Corrine replied with an edge of worry in her voice.
“Well, something needs to be done for her. Can you keep me up to date?”
Corrine nodded and the couple made light conversation for the rest of their breakfast then she kissed her husband as he departed for work.
Chapter 2
KESTREL AWOKE TO A crashing noise.
Instantly alert he scanned the dark alleyway. His eyes peered into every nook and cranny of the tight corridor. He didn’t see anything, but one could never be too careful in the streets where cutthroats, thieves, and murderers were the law.
Fiell was well policed, but as in every city everywhere, where there was money to be made there would be a whole world of crime regardless of policing, and more often than not the authorities were in on it.
Kestrel, who still had weeks of dirt caked on him, and whose long brown hair hung from his head, limp and itchy, was extra cautious. One had to be on the streets of Fiell. That caution was the only reason that he had survived so long living on the streets. He could barely remember a time before the streets.
His eyes scanned the darkly shadowed alleyway to find where the noise had come from. Kestrel relaxed his shoulders and stepped out of the fighting stance that he’d assumed when he found the source of the crash, a mangy old dog whose skin hung tight against its bones with madness in its eyes. Kestrel bent and picked up a stone and hurled it at the creature, who bolted away.
The dog was like him. A survivor. It knew when to fight and when to run.
Kestrel wanted to return to sleep, but he was now awake and alert. He knew he wasn’t going to return to sleep anytime soon. It didn’t matter though, they needed to leave anyway. They had stayed in this particular alleyway too long. It was time to find a new place. If you weren’t in one place too long, you survived longer. Kestrel had seen too many of his peers die because they found a nice alley and refused to move on from it long past the time they should have left. He wasn’t like them though. He wasn’t a fool. He knew that he couldn’t stay in one place too long.
“Best to move on, we’ve stayed longer than we should,” Kestrel thought as he grabbed the ratty tattered outer cloak he’d been using as a blanket.
Kestrel was glad for the warming Spring days. Winter at the foot of the mountains was often deadly for street dwellers and if one didn’t know the prime locations, they were likely to freeze to death during blizzards that often came down from the Kearn range and smothered Fiell in white during the harsh winters. Spring, however, brought life and warmth. A warmth he desperately missed.
Kestrel himself had nearly died of hypothermia during his first winter on the streets. To this day, he still wasn’t sure how he’d survived that nightmare.
He’d learned from it though.
Kestrel learned from everything. It was the only reason he was still alive. He didn’t know anyone else who came to the streets as young as he had and survived. To live you had to learn.
“Time to move on,” Kestrel said as he shook his companion, a tiny redheaded whelp of a girl named Cillia, awake.
It had been on one of his forays closer to the city guard's barracks that Kestrel had found her, looking barely five years old, abandoned to the streets and near lifeless.
They’d been together for two years since then. Kestrel figured the girl to be the bastard whelp of some bored infantryman and a random prostitute too strung out to think of anything beyond her next high.
Cillia had looked like a skeleton with a swollen belly when he’d first laid eyes on her sitting on a trash pile, too exhausted to even cry.
He’d been filled with righteous anger at the sight and had sworn profusely under his breath as he’d picked her up and offered her half of the loaf he’d purloined earlier in the day.
She had clung to him the rest of that day. By the time the tiny girl let go, he was bruised from the tightness of her grip. By the end of the day, Kestrel knew that he’d give his life to protect that little girl. He’d shield her from the Hell that had swallowed him on the streets.
Kestrel himself hadn’t been much older than young Cillia when his mother had died penniless on the streets and he didn’t want to see the young girl addicted to sage-weed or worse opiates like his mother had been or whoring herself out on some dirty corner like most of the other girls after they got their first bloods.
The little thing deserved better than that and Kestrel had promised himself he’d do his best to give it to her. Caring for Cillia gave his life the purpose he hadn’t known he’d needed.
He would protect her with his life.
He poked the girl to wake her. Cillia rolled over, away from his prod. “Let me sleep,” she grumbled.
“Nope,” Kestrel grinned as he ruffled her red hair.
She tried to swat his hand away, but Kestrel kept messing with her until she was sitting up and laughing at the game it had turned into and any desire to return to sleep had left the little girl.
“Kes, where are we going?” Cillia asked sleepily as she rubbed her eyes trying to massage out exhaustion from them.
“I dunno yet, but we’ve been here way too long. You remember what happened to Nails when he stayed in one place too long,” he replied.
Nails had been another young street-rat, about ten years old, he’d been found by city officials and had disappeared. Nobody knew what’d happened to him, but there were whispers of the Inquisitors somehow being involved.
Kestrel wasn’t sure if he believed the mythical Inquisitors were real, but he knew something was going on in the streets, and the disappearances couldn’t all be due to the city guards. They could be harsh, and they weren’t above the occasional beating of beggars, but in all his years Kestrel never saw them murdering children.
Regardless of who’d taken Nails, it didn’t matter. Kestrel had stayed in one place too long. They should’ve left their nest days ago.
It was dangerous to stay in one place too long. Survivors didn’t do that. Survivors were always on the move.
Chapter 3
THE SUN HAD REACHED its peak, shining brightly down on the marketplace, sharing life-giving warmth with those who lived below its heavenly abode.
“It’s such a beautiful day, I’m so glad this miserable winter is finally over, I’ve been stuck inside for far too long.” Sephira mused as she turned her face upwards towards the bright afternoon sky and basked in the welcoming sunshine.
The sunny weather was a welcome change from the gloom of winter that hung so tightly over Fiell nearly every winter.
Her nightmares had made the cold seem even more claustrophobic.
Sephira had jumped on the chance to finally get outside when she was offered the opportunity to go to the nearby markets to gather ingredients for the night’s supper.
She had decided she’d take her time and go to the big ones closer to the city center today. It would be a shameful waste of good weather to go to the small vendors nearer her uncle’s estate. Today was a day that demanded it be enjoyed and so she had heeded its call.
Though there was plenty of staff at her Uncle Aris’ estate, she still went on near-daily errands. Her uncle Aris was always stressing the importance of self-reliance, and though Sephira tired of the regurgitated speech he gave her all the time, she actually agreed with him.
Life could always change in the blink of an eye, only a fool wouldn’t want to be self-sufficient and Sephira was no fool.
Besides, Sephira was now at a marriageable age, and with any luck, she could be managing her own household soon. She didn’t want to be useless, stuck at home with nothing to do like the spidery wives of Aris’ companions in the Imperial government. That life sounded utterly intolerable to her. If she were to have her household, she would run it herself. Not put it in the hands of someone else.
“How much are these potatoes?” Sephira asked Welsha, a young shopkeeper near her age. She had just had her own wedding the previous week.
Sephira loved to stop by Welsha’s stall whenever she could make her way to the city center and hear the colorful stories she was always sharing. Why the plump, but beautiful young woman was a shopkeeper and not a bard was beyond Sephira. Welsha had a knack for storytelling that rivaled the best.
“They’re three coppers for a dozen,” the blonde girl answered. She had a twinkle in her eye. Sephira knew that meant she had some gossip she was dying to share. “Hey, Sephira have you heard the rumors about the rebels?”
“No, what of it?” Sephira replied. To be honest, she wasn’t sure she wanted to hear Welsha’s answer. Talk of the rebels always brought back painful memories of her father.
“Well there’s been whisperings of a plot against the Lord Emperor himself, they say he’s a monster and not our savior. They’re convinced he’s somehow deceiving everyone,” Welsha said in a conspiratorial tone. “Whattaya think about that?”
“I honestly don’t know. I don’t really want to think about it,” Sephira replied. There it was. That familiar, uncomfortable itch that came whenever mention of the rebels came up. She shook her head to clear it. It did nothing to rid her of the feeling of something lost though. That was always there. Just waiting under the surface, no matter how she tried to ignore it.
Welsha tried to push the subject more, but Sephira shot down the gossip. She wanted to talk about other things.
The small talk soon died down with Welsha and Sephira made her way to the other vendors to gather the rest of the ingredients. Far too soon the raven-haired young woman had finished with her shopping and turned to head home. There was no excuse for her left to dawdle her time away.
But the weather was so nice that it demanded Sephira take her time on her return.
She deviated from her usual route and took a new road home to extend her journey. She needed the warmth of the beautiful spring day to distract her from the memories Welsha’s gossip had served up.
If Sephira had thought that the sun would distract her from that all too familiar itch in the back of her mind, she was wrong. The thoughts only came on stronger for it.
What did she think of it? What did she think of what it would be like if the rebellion’s propaganda were actually true?
She didn’t know.
But she should have.
The itching in her mind increased. It was like a mosquito bite she couldn’t reach.
Sephira’s mind drifted back to her father, “I wish I could remember more about dad. It’s so muddled, but I know he was a good man no matter what anyone says about him. That much is true. They can’t ever take that away from me.” Sephira thought as she absentmindedly navigated the narrow roads.
Sephira was so lost in her thoughts that she hadn’t noticed the young girl weaving her way through the crowded path and she stepped right in front of the girl. The collision knocked Sephira’s bag out of her hands and caused the child to fall back onto her rear.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Sephira said as she retrieved her bag and held out her hand to help the child up.
“It’s OK, I should’ve been more careful. Kes is always telling me that I don’t pay enough attention anyways,” the young girl replied as she shied away from the outstretched hand.
As the child gathered herself, Sephira noticed her little body was caked in a layer of dirt, and her dark red hair was tangled and oily. It was imminently apparent the youngling had spent her life in squalor.
“Poor child, what kind of parents would allow her to run around the streets like that?” Sephira thought as she observed the young girl. “She looks like she hasn’t eaten in days.”
“Here you go little one,” Sephira said as handed a loaf of bread to the child who snatched it from her hands and ran off. It was no good to let a little thing like that go hungry when you could do something about it. She just prayed that her charity didn’t backfire for the tiny thing.
“Kestrel! Kestrel! Look at what I got! That pretty lady gave me a whole loaf of bread!” The child yelled to her companion as she sprinted towards a shabbily dressed young man with light brown shoulder-length hair and a short scraggly beard.
She hadn’t noticed him. He’d come within a few paces of her without Sephira realizing it.
“Thank you for providing supper for Cillia and me,” The man said as he passed by with the young girl beaming proudly in step behind him.
“He doesn’t sound like a typical beggar.”
“Yeah thanks, pretty lady!” the redheaded girl called back with a friendly grin. “Kes and me thank you!”
“That was strange. He can’t have been her father though. The girl looks nothing like him,” Sephira thought. “What’s he doing with that youngling?”
“Auntie, I’m home!” Sephira called when she stepped through the doorway with her bounty from the markets. “I’m gonna drop off the food in the kitchen!” she called as she made her way to the kitchen.
Sephira heard a quiet grunt of acknowledgment from her aunt. Sephira’s Aunt Corrine would often forget to respond verbally when she was absorbed in a task.
“Hello Lara, how’s your afternoon been so far?” Sephira asked as she dropped off the groceries in the kitchen.
“It’s been alright, I’ve just been waiting on you to get back with the ingredients,” the middle-aged cook said. “You took so long I thought you might’ve finally found yourself a man,” Lara chuckled. “I have a nephew who’s looking for someone you know...”
Sephira rolled her eyes at the household servant. She had a disease common among ladies her age; matchmaking.
They continued their small talk as Sephira joined in with the supper preparation, enjoying her conversation with the cook. It wasn’t long before the food was completed and Sephira bid Lara goodbye to join her family at the table for their evening meal.
“How was your shopping darling?” Corrine asked her niece.
“It was good Aunty, I was able to get a couple of discounts, and I even managed to get a loaf of bread for free,” Sephira replied with a smile.
“So how come we aren’t having it with our supper?” her uncle Aris asked in a manner somewhere between playful and interrogative. Even off duty, he was still a guard at heart. Her uncle was so well disciplined that she wasn’t sure where his work mannerisms ended and he began. “You didn’t eat it all on the way home, did you? We don’t want your future husband to starve,” he teased her.
What was it with all the husband jokes today?
“Uncle, I have no clue what you are talking about. And if it was possible for you to find aunty Corrine, you being such a stiff-back, I could easily find a husband even if I were as fat as one of the Priors,” Sephira retorted. “And no, I didn’t eat it. I accidentally ran into a young orphan girl and knocked her to the ground. She looked so poor and hungry that I felt that I had to give her the loaf, it’s not like we needed it for ourselves anyway,” she said, not making mention of the young man who had accompanied the tiny redhead.
Why had she done that? And what was it about the young man that made him stick out in her mind?
Everything was blurry, she could barely make out muffled shouts, “No! I’m not leaving!”
More shouting. She couldn’t understand what was being said.
A forced whisper. “What about our daughter?”
“This is bigger than just me! This is bigger than a petty rebellion! If we don’t act we’ll all die!”
More arguing. More begging.
“I won’t say it again! Leave now!”
The scene changes.
“Darling, I’ll always love you, I’m so sorry I won’t be able to see you again. But I will ALWAYS love you, no matter what happens, I want you to know that.”
Who had said that? She should know, she should recall that voice. That face. But there was just...hollowness there.
“Please don’t go!” She hears herself saying, trying and failing to hold back the sobs that wrack her small body.
She can tell from the timbre of the man’s voice that she’ll never see him alive again.
Why did it hurt so much?
“Be brave for me baby,” he says with one last embrace before he stands up briskly and strides out of the door.
“NOOOO!”
The scene changes again.
“I can make it all go away. I can save you from the pain you’re feeling,” a saccharine voice croons as the man’s hands run down the side of her face.
She hates his touch. She wants to wash herself.
His soft touch felt like a violation.
Sephira jerked awake, sweat covered her body.
She raised her hands to rub her eyes, they came back wet.
She had been crying in her sleep. She hadn’t done that in years.
Why had the nightmares started up again? Why was she seeing them again? What had been going on these last few weeks to cause their resurgence?
Chapter 4
“SHE WAS REALLY PRETTY and really nice!” Cillia said, recalling the young woman who had given her the large loaf of bread that was still feeding them today. “Usually they’re mean and tell me to leave and take a bath, but she didn’t, she was nice to me and smiled at me. She even apologized. I haven’t seen that before. She was so pretty and so nice!”
Kestrel shook his head. It had been two days, but Cillia was still talking of the onyx-haired girl she had bumped into and received bread from.
“When I grow up, I wanna be a nice pretty lady like her. I wanna wear fancy dresses and nice shoes just like she did! What did you think of her Kes?” she prattled on.
“She was pretty, and seemed nice enough,” Kestrel gruffly replied. He had noted her beauty. Her black hair was different than the blonds and light browns that were prevalent in Fiell. “But I am starting to get sick of you talking about her. Why would you want to grow up and be some stuffy rich person? You’re already more amazing than any other girl. You don’t need skirts to make you nice.”
