K Parker - Memory

Just to be on the safe side, however, Poldarn kept on going till daybreak; not running, because running through a swamp-floored wood in the dark gives the best odds known to man for breaking a leg or spraining an ankle, and suddenly there's all that wonderful new-found freedom gone up in smoke. A sensible brisk walk, avoiding all unnecessary risks, until dawn watered down the darkness like a dishonest barmaid, taking away his best protection and freedom. On the other hand, it had, miraculously, stopped raining.

In the back of his mind, that damned song was spinning slowly round, unbalanced, like a broken wheelTwo crows sitting in a tall thin tree Two crows sitting in a tall thin tree Two crows sitting in a tall thin tree-And he couldn't remember what came after that. He tried not to think about it, for fear it would drive him mad. Instead, he thought They can't still be looking for me, they've got more important things to do; and even if they are, it's a moving needle in a soggy haystack. Even so, it'd be wise to stay out of the light for a day or so. In which case: climb a tree.

The nice thing about dense forest was that there were so many trees to choose from, another beguiling variation on the currently fashionable theme of infinite choice, unfettered opportunity. In the end, Poldarn chose a massive forked oak that couldn't have been easier to climb if it had been specially designed by Galand Dev and Spenno. About thirty feet off the ground, above the first layer of canopy, there was a delightful little platform where the main trunk divided four ways. He was able to lie back with his head pillowed on his hands and his feet crossed, and close his eyes for the best-earned snooze of a lifetime 'Comedy,' said a voice next to him.

He opened his eyes. 'I beg your pardon?'

'Comedy,' the crow repeated. 'Both the low comedy of slapstick and farce-people running about and falling in the mud, the humiliation of dignity and pomposity in a situation intrinsically ludicrous, such as getting stuck in a tight place-and the high comedy of inversion, the world turned topsy-turvy; as in the man who sleeps by day instead of night, up in the air rather than down on the ground, who runs away from his friends to seek sanctuary with his enemy-Actually,' the crow admitted, 'that's stretching it a little; you're the deadly enemy of crowkind, but I'm the individual, not the group, and I don't actually own the tree. Nevertheless, comedy. Also, add the god running away from the priests-that's a good one.'

'Very good,' Poldarn said, yawning; it was broad daylight, and he had cramp in his back and neck. 'I think I'll wake up now.'

'Don't be silly.' The crow pecked at a slight tangle in its wing feathers. 'You aren't asleep, this isn't a dream. You never met a talking crow before?'

Poldarn drew up his knee and massaged it. where it was stiff. 'Not that I remember,' he said. 'Except in dreams. Or hallucinations,' he added in fairness, 'caused by injuries and trauma, like getting bashed on the head. Did I fall out of the tree or something?'

The crow turned its beak toward him. 'Obviously not,' it said, 'since we're thirty feet off the ground.'

'In that case,' Poldarn said, yawning again, 'it's a dream. Is there a point to it, or is it just mental indigestion?'

'I don't understand,' said the crow.

'No reason why you should,' Poldarn replied cheerfully. 'Fact is, I get two kinds of dreams. One kind-well, it's like a series of lectures in remedial memory, so I can catch up with the rest of the class.' He paused. 'Actually,' he said, 'that's more comedy; because the only thing I'm afraid of right now is the rest of the class catching up with me. But they won't, because they're stuck in the mud, like you said. Good joke?'

'Laboured,' the crow replied. 'Go on. The second type of dream.'

'Oh, right. Yes, the second kind is where I'm lying in a river bed or some other place where there's running water, and I hear the two parts of me arguing, like an old married couple: there's the new me, who's trying to run away, and the old me, who keeps on tracking me down. That's about it.'

'I see.' The crow was silent for a long while, so long that Poldarn began to wonder if he'd just imagined that it had talked to him at all. Then it laughed.

'Sorry,' it added. 'I was just thinking of the old song. You know: Two crows sitting in a tall thin tree-'

Poldarn shook his head. 'This is a tall thick tree,' he said. 'And there's only one of you.'

'No,' the crow said, 'two. But it's not important. I suppose I'd better get to the point.'

'Ah,' Poldarn said. 'So it is a dream, after all.'

The crow nodded. 'Actually,' it said, 'you were closer when you described it as a lecture. It's important, you see, to help you decide. Too many choices, and you won't know what to do with yourself.'

'I like having too many choices just fine,' Poldarn muttered, but the crow wasn't listening.

'Now then,' it said, 'I want you to pay attention. Look down there, to your left. Can you see?'

'No,' Poldarn said. 'Oh, just a moment, yes. There's people coming, on horses. Is that what you meant?'

'Look closely,' the crow said. 'Now, I'm going to open up your memory just a little bit-not too far, obviously, so don't worry about things getting out and escaping. Just enough so you'll know-'

At which point, the man on the leading horse glanced up, looked Poldarn in the eye and smiled at him. 'You know who that is?' asked the crow.

'Of course I know him,' Poldarn replied. 'That's Feron Amathy.'

'Watch closely.'

The man rode on, out of sight. Behind him came a troop of cavalry, carrying spears and wearing mail shirts.

'All right so far?' the crow asked. Poldarn nodded.

A moment later, Poldarn saw a column of men on foot, also armed. But they weren't regular soldiers or even irregulars like the Amathy house. They wore old farm clothes, and their only weapons were backsabres.

'And they are?' asked the crow.

'Easy,' Poldarn said. 'My lot. I never did find out what we call ourselves, but in these parts they're called raiders. Or savages,' he added, with a slight frown.

One of them looked up, saw Poldarn, and scowled: Eyvind. Sore loser.

'Still happy?' asked the crow.

'I guess so,' Poldarn said. 'Is there any point to this?'

'Be patient. Now, who's this?'

Prince Tazencius rode under the tree. He didn't look up, though clearly he knew Poldarn was there. Embarrassed; doesn't want to be seen with the likes of me. Fine.

'Nearly there,' the crow said. 'Now, while we're waiting, let's see if you can tell me what the connection is. Well?'

'Too easy,' Poldarn said. 'Evil. These are all bad people.'

The crow shifted an inch or so along the branch. 'Yes. And?'

Poldarn thought for a moment. 'They're all bad people I've been mixed up with over the years.'

'Yes. And?'

Cleapho rode under the tree, lifting one hand off the reins in a gesture of dignified acknowledgement. For some reason, Boarci was walking next to him, holding the horse's bridle. Poldarn frowned. 'They're all people I've betrayed,' he said. 'Or treated badly in some way.'

'Yes. And?'

'And nothing,' Poldarn replied, slightly annoyed. 'They're bad people, and I've treated them badly. Big deal. They had it coming.'

The crow sighed. 'Oh dear,' it said, 'and you were doing so well. Now, then. I want you to look down on your left side.'

Poldarn turned and looked down. 'I know her,' he said. 'That's my wife.'

The crow laughed. 'Which one?'

'First,' Poldarn replied. 'No, second-no, hang on, first. Lysalis. Tazencius's daughter.'

'Very good.' Lysalis smiled up at him and did a little finger-fluttery wave. 'Next.'

Next came Halder, walking, and Elja. 'My second wife,' Poldarn explained. 'Only, I have a bad feeling that she's also my daughter. Who's that boy she's with?'