The Weight of Memory

D'veen Prelude Four

Image: Bradley Pelish via Unsplash+

Welcome to D’veen Prelude Four of six.

If you have yet to read The Tomb Where Marigolds Grow, I would recommend checking out that story before reading this one.

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I stood at the opening of the cavern with a restless mind. My thoughts had been consumed with uncertainty as I made way from my home to the base of the Sunspire Mountains.

I looked down at the smooth Chronosphere in my left hand. It was fully charged, ready to be activated at a moment’s notice. I knew what I needed to do, but I struggled with how to do it.

I took a deep breath and stepped into the yawning mouth of the cavern. As I ventured deeper inside, crystals that jutted from the walls illuminated the path with a warm yellow glow. It was those very crystals that gave the Sunspire Mountains their name. The entire range was rich with sunspire crystals.

The underground passage continued to narrow and expand. It was clearly not a tunnel dug by a dwarf. Were they still around, they would have been shocked at the variations in the height and width of the passage I now found myself navigating.

Even so, this tunnel’s uneven sizing meant that I was on the right path. It was created by human hands. And not just any human.

I finally emerged from the winding tunnel and stepped out into a large cavern. A reflective metal bowl of glowing sunspire crystals sat in the middle, casting light outward with its curved shape, illuminating the entire space.

Simple tools and rusted weapons littered the ground. Laying on a bedroll against the back wall was Sir Alistair Wolfguard, the Blackened Knight. Of course, that’s what he would call himself if he still remembered anything about what transpired during the siege of Giant’s Bane.

I stepped forward and cleared my throat loudly enough for the sound to echo across the walls around me. Sir Alistair jolted upright. He frantically reached for one of the nearby weapons as he climbed groggily to his feet. His hands landed on a short sword.

“Who goes there?” he asked.

“I am Finton Merrybrook, the greatest storyteller in all of D’veen.”

“I’ve no business with a bard. Be gone!”

Sir Alistair lurched forward and swung the sword. I stepped back, easily avoiding the attack. His movements were stiff. His form was sloppy. He was a shadow of his former self. Nothing more than a hermit wasting away his years far from the prying eyes of those who still remembered his past.

“Put that down, I’m not here to hurt you,” I said.

The poor excuse for a knight tried once more to attack me, but failed miserably.

“Stop this foolishness. You’re embarrassing yourself, Sir Alistair.”

The knight dropped the weapon in his hand with a loud clang.

“I haven’t heard that name for a long time. Not since I emerged from the Sinking Swamps of Sarkatha,” he said.

“Yes, about that, I’m afraid you made the wrong decision that day.”

Sir Alistair cocked an eyebrow. “What do you mean? Are you saying I somehow chose to have my mind broken?”

A heavy sigh escaped my lips. “That’s exactly what you did, my friend.”

Sir Alistair shook his head. “No, that cannot be right. I have not been the same since I lost those memories. I was once a proud knight, but now I am nothing more than a shell of my former self. Why would I choose this fate?”

I shrugged. “I don’t know, but fortunately for you, I’m here to help you fix your mistake.”

I raised the Chronosphere in my hand. Sir Alistair’s eyes widened as the metal surface cracked and shattered like glass. A haunting blue light escaped from within. I could see the spark of recognition in Sir Alistair’s eyes.

“I know that light,” he whispered.

“Yes, you do. You’ll have the benefit of hindsight this time, but I can only imagine the weight of those memories you carried. Even so, I need the version of you that remembers for what's to come.”

“Stop speaking in riddles! What is this strange magic you possess?” Sir Alistair asked.

I shook my head as the blue light inside the Chronosphere grew in intensity, filling the cavern around us.

“Not magic. Technology. Good luck, my friend.”

A bolt of pure energy shot out like lightning from the sphere. It collided with Sir Alistair, and in the blink of an eye, he was gone.

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When Sir Alistair opened his eyes, he was standing in the middle of a swamp. The air was thick and humid. Magrova trees sprouted from the shallow water all around him. They were composed of thin roots that coalesced into braided trunks that gave way to thick branches, forming the canopy above.

Sir Alistair recognized the location as the Sinking Swamps of Sarkatha. It was a place that few entered and even fewer walked away from.

“Why am I here?” Sir Alistair asked.

Pain radiated through his head. A war of memories waged in his mind. He recalled the strange bard who had entered his cave. He could remember pieces of their conversation, but the rest was a haze in his mind.

Sir Alistair's heart leapt in his chest as the ground beneath his feet began to shake. He recalled the Sinking Swamp’s penchant for sinkholes that led into the gaping maws of an old god that slept beneath the ground. It had over a thousand mouths, each of which could open at any time.

Sir Alistair leapt to his right and wrapped himself around the trunk of a nearby magrova tree. A rotten and musty smell emerged from the sinkhole to his left. Hot breath cascaded through the air.

He scrambled up the trunk towards the branches and leapt onto another nearby tree as a guttural roar escaped from the ground beneath him.

He peered down and saw rows of teeth and flesh gnashing below him. He looked ahead to the edge of the sinkhole and calculated the distance in his mind.

He could swing from the branch and land on solid ground. As he dangled from one of the branches, swinging his legs back and forth to gain momentum, the tree lurched toward the edge of the growing sinkhole.

It was now or never.

With a final swing of his legs, Sir Alistair rode the momentum he held built up and soared through the air.

He landed hard, laughing in relief as his hands dug into the wet ground. The sinkhole growled behind him as he climbed to his feet and began sprinting further into the swamp.

All around him, the ground shook violently. New sinkholes opened in every direction, spewing out hot noxious breath from below the surface.

They seemed to be following him. To test his theory, he stopped and remained perfectly still. He held his breath as he surveyed the surroundings.

The rumbling. The shaking, the constant sinkholes. They all ceased. The Sinking Swamps of Sarkatha went quiet.

"It's listening to my footsteps," Sir Alistair whispered.

He looked over to one of the nearby trees and slowly, carefully, gingerly climbed onto the roots and wrapped his arms around the trunk. The silence remained.

He surveyed the path forward. The Magrova trees were almost evenly spaced throughout the swamp. He could leap from one to the next, never touching the ground for more than a moment.

Sir Alistair tested his theory, leaping off one tree and landing onto another. His feet slipped on the wet roots, but he managed to stop himself from touching the ground.

The swamp remained silent.

Due to all the sinkholes, he couldn’t go back the way he came. He’d have to venture deeper to find a path out. He moved carefully from one tree to the next, until he spotted a patch of solid ground. Sitting upon a mound of moss in the center was a single flower. Its celestial bud glowed like moonlight.

He slowly lowered his foot into the shallow water, careful not to make any noise. The sight of it captivated him.

“The Memora flower? Is this the reason I came here?” he asked.

Pain shot through Sir Alistair’s head like lightning. He fell to his knees as memories assaulted him. The horrors of the battles he fought at Giant’s Bane flooded his senses.

Invaders from beyond the stars.

Faithful knights, trained warriors.

Reduced to dust.

Forbidden technologies.

Winding circuitry.

Ashes that clung to his skin.

The tale of the Blackened knight.

Alongside the memories of that first battle with invaders from beyond the stars, another memory returned as well.

When he returned from that first battle, Sir Alistair learned that a separate battalion of the Verack Horde had broken through into the barracks while he was away.

They snuck in with cloaking technology that made them invisible to the knights. By the time anyone discovered the intrusion, countless soldiers had been killed, their necks sliced from ear-to-ear while they slept.

Among the casualties were a woman and child. Sir Alistair’s wife and daughter. He had told them to hide in the barracks while he fought. He thought they would be safe there.

He was wrong.

Such a loss would have crushed most men, but it only served to fan the flames of Sir Alistair's hatred for the Verack Horde.

He went on to play a pivotal role in driving back the invaders, but when the battle was over and he was left alone with his own thoughts, the memory of what transpired weighed heavy on his soul.

He contemplated death's embrace on countless nights. He had studied the Verack's technology they'd left behind. He could use one of their weapons to end his suffering. Their weapons were cold, calculating, and efficient. It would be a quick death.

It was on one of those cold, lonely nights in the depths of hopelessness, however, that sir Alistair recalled a tale from his youth. The legend of the Memora flower, nestled deep in the Sinking Swamps of Sarkatha.

It only blooms once every hundred chrona. It was also a plant that could take away his memories, if the legends were true.

As the storms in his mind finally settled, Sir Alistair slowly stood back up.

“I see. So, I’ve come here to forget,” he whispered.

The flower in front of Sir Alistair flashed with a white hot light as the petals slowly unfurled. It was perhaps the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes upon. A moment that very few would ever behold.

Sir Alistair carefully stepped forward, his hand outstretched. His fingers grazed the petals. They were soft like silk. A sweet smell emerged from the center of the flower as well, one that enraptured his senses.

Sir Alistair recalled what the herbalist in Giant’s bane had told him prior to his departure:

Just a few petals should do the trick. Enough to let you forget what you lost. Enough to stop the nightmares.

Sir Alistair gingerly pulled three of the petals from the flower. Their glow faded slightly as he removed them, but he could still feel the magic residing within them. It made the hair on his arms stand on end.

His hands shook violently as he raised the petals to his lips. His eyes slammed shut as tears began to roll down his cheeks.

“I’m sorry. I can’t live like this. I must forget,” he said.

He opened his mouth and froze as he felt the soft touch of his wife’s hand on his arm. Sir Alistair opened his eyes, and to his utter shock, he beheld his wife and daughter standing before him.

They were nearly transparent. Naught but spirits whose ethereal color matched the glowing white light of the Memora flower behind them.

Sir Alistair choked back sobs as he looked upon their faces for the first time since he had lost them.

“This isn’t possible,” he whispered.

The two stood silently, their eyes fixated on the petals in Sir Alistair’s hand. He looked down at the glowing petals in his palm.

“I understand now. The price of peace means that I must forget everything, including what I’ve lost. I see now that the cost is far too great.”

Sir Alistair opened his hand and let the petals fall to the ground below. He smiled through tears as wife and daughter faded from view.

“So long as I draw breath, I will not forget you,” he whispered.

A blinding flash of blue light filled the air around him. He shielded his eyes as the world faded from sight.

---

Back in the present, the cavern surrounding me shimmered like a mirage. Choices, consequences, and timelines all converged as the Chronosphere brought Sir Alistair back to the present.

The rusted weapons and meager bedroll in the cavern faded away. In their place, the cavern was suddenly populated with all manner of strange technology. Suits of shimmering silver armor flanked either side of the space. A haunting blue light escaped from the spaces between each piece.

Wooden tables and workbenches lined the walls, each of which were covered with shards of metal, snaking wires, and weapons not of this world. It was a menagerie of things left behind from the battle of Giant’s Bane. The technology of the Verack Horde.

I smiled as the Blackened Knight himself reappeared. He was no longer the broken man I had sent into the past. He stood tall beneath the weight of his scars. As he arrived, he spun in place, his eyes wandering across all the strange armor and weapons that decorated his cavern.

“What is this? Who are you?” he asked.

Sir Alistair clutched his head and cried out in pain. His mind was wrestling with multiple timelines. A streak of blood ran down from his nose.

I slid the Chronosphere back into my bag before the Blackened Knight could spot it.

“It’s alright, Sir Alistair, it will pass,” I said.

Sir Alistair took a few deep breaths and nodded. “Yes. I remember now.”

“Good, and do you know who I am?” I asked.

“Yes bard, I recall your arrival. What do you want from me?”

I reached into my leather bag and pulled out a scroll of parchment. “I require the services of D’veen’s one and only Venamancer.”

I handed the scroll to the Blackened Knight. He scoffed. “You’re the first one to call me that. Most flee when they discover my knowledge of the Verack's technology.”

Sir Alistair’s eyes wandered down the contract in his hands. He looked up at me, and I saw the fire of vengeance burning in his eyes.

“I will join your cause, Bard,” Sir Alistair said. He picked up one of the curved blades on the workbench beside him and pricked his finger, signing the contract with a drop of his own blood.

I took the parchment back and raised an eyebrow. “Just like that?”

Sir Alistair nodded. “You claim this Order of the Pawn is meant to protect the realm of D’veen. I can think of no greater cause.”

I nodded. “Very good then! Gather your things and meet us at the main road leading into Titanum Forest approximately one Tymark from now.”

Sir Alistair turned away, picking up a blacksmith’s hammer from one of the nearby work benches.

“I’ll be there,” he said.

I walked back to the entrance of the cavern, admiring the strange technology that now littered the interior.

I smiled as I slid the contract back into my bag. “I knew I liked this version of you better.”

Sir Alistair paused his work behind me. “What was that?”

I chuckled. “Nothing! It was a pleasure doing business with you!”

I followed the tunnels back out into the cool night air and took a deep breath. I pulled the Chronosphere back out and stared at it under the moonlight. It was still warm.

“That was a nice trick. Showing him his family, I mean.”

The sphere didn’t respond, but a short gust of wind swept through the trees around me. I smiled and placed the sphere back into the bag.

“I knew you would come to see things my way. We’re almost there. The Order of the Pawn is nearly complete.”

I walked back home with a pep in my step. For the first time in a long time, I had hope for the future.

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Sir Alistair, The Blackened Knight, Will Return…

Stay tuned for more news on The Order of the Pawn, a new series set in the realm of D’veen, coming soon…

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Thank you for Reading! Here’s Your Musical Pairing

Listen to this after reading, like pairing a glass of wine with dinner.