K Parker - Memory

'Goodbye,' Poldarn said. 'I'm sorry I couldn't help you.'

'Doesn't matter. Sweet dreams.'

Poldarn turned to face Aciava. 'What's that supposed to mean?' he asked.

Aciava grinned. 'I shared a dormitory with you all those years,' he said. 'You get strange dreams, where you live bits of other people's lives. True stuff, things you couldn't possibly know about, but in your dreams you're there, like you'd found your way into the other guy's memory. Do you still get them?'

'I'm not sure,' Poldarn said. 'I know I get dreams, and they're incredibly vivid, and all sorts of things happen. Sometimes, I think, I even die. But when I wake up, they're all gone, about a second after I open my eyes. All that's left is, I remember that, for that one second, I knew-'

Aciava nodded. 'Sounds right enough. We used to think it was because you were one of them, the island people from across the ocean. They can read minds, for want of a better way of putting it, and we reckoned you saw bits of memories in other people's minds, and explored them in your sleep. To begin with, it was just like you're describing now; you knew there'd been something, but as soon as you woke up, it went away again. Then Tanwar and Xipho found something in a book in the library, about how to make it so you could remember your dreams when you woke up. You tried it, and it worked.'

Poldarn looked at him doubtfully. 'Did it?'

'So you told us,' Aciava replied. 'We only had your word for it, of course. But we trusted you. Anyhow, I suppose you must've forgotten how to do it, along with everything else. It's very simple,' he went on. 'You just think of something, deliberately, when you're awake-a white cat, for instance, or a carthorse, or an old blind man selling buttons. Come to think of it, you decided on a crow, because of it being our group mascot. Anyway, next time you had a dream, there was a crow in it somewhere; and you knew, deep down inside you somewhere, even while the dream was going on, that you were just dreaming and that the crow was you. And ever since then, you could always remember the dream when you woke up. You couldn't help it,' he added, 'after that it always just happened. All your dreams had a crow or two in them, and they didn't melt away as soon as you opened your eyes.'

Poldarn stared at him. 'And these dreams,' he said, 'they were other people's memories?'

'Mostly,' Aciava replied. 'Just occasionally, you told us you saw glimpses of the future. But we were almost sure you were lying.'

A strange chill spread up from Poldarn's fingertips. 'I think,' he said, 'that if you're right-'

'Proof?' Aciava grinned lopsidedly. 'If you find yourself remembering your dreams from now on, you'll know I've been telling the truth? Oh, come on.' He yawned. 'See you around,' he said. 'You have changed, you know-rather a lot. For one thing, the man I used to know-he was a lot of things, but he wasn't a coward.'

Poldarn frowned. 'Should I be mortally offended by that? I'm not.'

'You've changed. And now, if you'll excuse me, I have to go and poke about in rich people's mouths.'

Aciava was almost through the door when Poldarn spoke to him. 'Hey,' he said. 'Have you changed too?'

'Me?' Aciava hesitated, as though it was something he hadn't previously considered. 'Oh, sure. Ever such a lot. Take care of yourself. Don't cast any square bells.'

Of course, the fire had gone out. Poldarn prodded it a few times to make sure, then took the rake to it. There was a fist-sized chunk of clinker jammed in the flue. After he'd dragged that out, he had no trouble getting it lit.

Behind him, the sea was just a huge grey shape; he wasn't concerned with it any more. He trudged across the beach, worried about turning his ankle over in the deep shingle. Well, he thought, here I am. Directly ahead, a seagull got up and dragged itself into the air, shrieking resentfully at him. At some point in its ascent, it turned into a very large, very black crow.

(Like burning wood, only in reverse; white ash to black charcoal. Which means this fire is burning backwards. Which is fine; now I know where I am.)

The contact was waiting for him on the edge of the shingle; a woman, young, not pretty. 'You're him, then,' she said.

He wasn't in the mood for cryptic stuff. 'Depends,' he yawned.

'The spy.'

'Ah yes.' He grinned. 'That'll be me.'

'You're to follow me up to the farm,' she said. She turned and started to walk. He shrugged, and did as he'd been told.

It was a long way, all uphill, and he hadn't had much exercise on the long sea journey. 'Hold on,' he said breathlessly. 'You're going too fast.'

'No,' she replied. 'You're dawdling.'

'Ah. Thanks for explaining.'

It didn't look like a farm, when at last they got there. He knew what farms looked like; this was just a shack, like a storage shed or a small barn. Also, it was made of piled-up stones, not wood. He thought of how much work there'd be, building something out of stones. Didn't they have trees in this rotten country?

'We're here,' she said, unnecessarily. 'You wait here, I'll fetch my dad.'

'Here' was a small cobbled yard. In one corner stood a mounting-block: red sandstone, overgrown with moss and a busy green-leafed weed he hadn't seen before. Opposite was a midden, of great size and antiquity, newly garnished with leek stalks, turnip-tops and half a dozen fresh turds. Behind that was the plank wall of a small lean-to; the timbers were grey, and about a hundred years ago someone had nailed up two stags' heads to cure. For some reason or other they'd never come back for them, and now the bone was smudged with green. Directly in front of him was the house. There was a doorway, but apparently no door. Through it, he could see a stone-flagged floor, and a chicken wandering aimlessly about, pecking.

Charming place, he thought. And this is probably the garden spot of the whole Empire.

A man appeared in the doorway and stared at him. He stared back. It was pretty obvious that neither of them had ever seen a foreigner before.

'You,' said the man. 'You speak-?'

He'd said a word that made no sense; the name of the language, presumably. 'Yes,' Ciartan replied.

'Oh, right. Didn't know if you did or not.'

'Learned it on the boat,' Ciartan lied. 'So you're our contact, then.'

The man shook his head. 'I just do as I'm told,' he said. 'Bloke you want, he's due in the morning. Meanwhile, you're to wait here. There's dinner, if you want any.'

'Thank you,' Ciartan said politely. 'Do I come in, or what?'

The man nodded gloomily, and stood back to let him pass. Inside, the house was even stranger than on the outside. Ciartan found himself in a tiny little room, no more than ten feet square. It was empty, apart from a few pairs of muddy boots and a rusty scythe, and there didn't seem to be any point to it. The man went through a doorway in the far wall; Ciartan followed, and found himself in another small room. This one had a table and six chairs in it. Bizarre, Ciartan thought. Do people really live like this?

'What is this place?' he asked.

'What?'

'This-building,' Ciartan replied. 'Is it some sort of lodge or guest house or something?'

The man looked at him as though he'd just said something offensive. 'It's my house,' he said.

'Oh.' Well, no reason why the man should be lying. 'Isn't it a bit cramped, then?'

'No.' Ciartan got the impression that the man didn't like him much. 'It's plenty big.'

'I see. How many of you live here, then?'

The man gave him a none-of-your-business-but look. 'There's six of us, seven if you count the nipper. Me, the wife, our eldest-Jarla, you met her just now-and the three boys, and Mito, that's the babe.'

'Oh.' Just seven of them; no wonder the house was so tiny. 'It's different, where I come from,' he said, and hoped that'd do for an explanation. The man either accepted it or didn't care. 'You can sit down if you like,' he said.