Katie MacAlister: Love in the Time of Dragons

“Well, let me think… it was… um…” I stared at my fingers, trying to sort through my memories to find the one I wanted, but it wasn’t there. “I don’t seem to recall.” “A month ago? Two months ago? A year? Five years?” she asked.

“I don’t… I’m not sure,” I said, feeling as lame as I sounded.

“Let me ask you this, then — what is your earliest memory?” I really stared at her now. “Huh? Why would you want to know something unimportant like that?” She smiled, and I felt suddenly bathed in a warm, golden glow of caring. “Do my questions disturb you, child?” “No, not disturb, I just don’t see what this has to do with anything. I really have to go. My son—” “—will be all right for another few minutes.” She waited, and I glanced around the room. The other three dragons sat watching me silently, evidently quite happy to let Kaawa conduct this strange interview. I gave a mental sigh. “Let’s see… earliest memory. I assume you mean as a child.” “Yes. What is the first thing you remember? Your mother’s voice, perhaps? A favorite toy? Something that frightened you?” Supposing it wouldn’t hurt to humor her, I poked again at the black mass that was my memory. Nothing was forthcoming. “I’m afraid I have a really crappy memory. I can’t remember anything as a child.” She nodded again, just as if she expected that. “Your son is only nine, you said. You must remember the day you gave birth to him.” “Of course I do—” I stopped when, to my horror, I realized I didn’t. I could see his face in my mind’s eye, but it was his face now, not his face as an infant. Panic swamped me. “By the rood! I don’t remember it!” “By the rood?” May asked.

I stared at her in confusion, my skin crawling with the realization that something was seriously wrong with me. “What?” “You said ‘by the rood.’ That’s an archaic term, isn’t it?” “How the hell do I know?” I said, my voice rising. “I’m having a mental breakdown, and you’re worried about some silly phrase? Don’t you understand?” I leaped to my feet, grabbing the collar of May’s shirt and shaking it. “I don’t remember Brom’s first word. I don’t remember the first time he walked, or even what he looked like as a baby. I don’t remember any of it!” “Do you remember marrying your husband?” Kaawa asked as May gently pried my hands from her shirt.

Goose bumps prickled up my arms. I prodded, I poked, I mentally grabbed my memory with both hands and shook it like it was a brainy piñata, but nothing came out. “No,” I said, the word a whisper as fear replaced the panic. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I remember anything?” “It is as I thought,” Kaawa said, taking my chin between the tips of her fingers so she could search my eyes. “Your memory has been expunged.” “Why would someone do that?” I asked, the words a near wail as I fought the desire to race out of the house and onto the first plane to Spain. “Did you do this to me?” “No, child,” she said solemnly, releasing my chin. “I suspect you have been conditioned to forget.” “Conditioned to forget my own son? That doesn’t make any sense! Who would want me to forget him?” “It’s all right, Ysolde. Er… Tully,” May said in a soothing voice, gently guiding me back to the couch. “I know you’re scared by all this, but you talked to your son earlier, remember? You said he was all right.” I clung to that, fighting the rising fear that threatened to overwhelm me. “Yes, he was all right, although I really need to go home. I’m sorry, but I can’t stay here any longer.” I made it all the way to the door before Kaawa’s voice reached me.

“And what will you do if you have another fugue while your son is with you?” I froze at that, turning slowly to face the room of people. “I only have them once a year. I believe I mentioned that.” “You told your son that you didn’t know why you had it now. That was what you were referring to, wasn’t it?” I nodded, my shoulders slumping. “I shouldn’t have had it until the end of October.” “And yet you had it now.”

“But, Kaawa, that was—” May started to say.

The older woman raised her hand, and May stopped.

“I’ve only ever had them once a year,” I told them all. “This was an anomaly. I don’t know why it came early, but I’m sure it won’t happen again.” “How can you be sure? You can’t, not really. There is nothing to stop you from having another one right now, or an hour from now, or a week from now, is there?” Kaawa insisted.

I gritted my teeth in acknowledgment.

“What if you were driving a car with your son and you were suddenly sent into a fugue?” “That would be very unlikely—”

“But it could happen,” she pressed. “Would you risk his life?” “It’s never happened like this before,” I said, but the horrible ideas she was presenting couldn’t be denied. The fugue shouldn’t have happened now, but it did. What if it came again, while I was with Brom? My gut tightened at all the terrifying possibilities of disaster.

“I think what Kaawa is trying to say is that until you know why you’re having these… er… events, you should probably stay with us,” May suggested.

“No,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve left Brom alone long enough. I must go home.” “What if—” She slid a glance toward Gabriel, who nodded. “What if your son joined you here?” “I don’t know,” I said slowly. “I think it would probably be better to be with my family. Gareth may not be any great shakes as a husband, but he has looked after me this long.” “How long would that be?” Kaawa said, pouncing on my words.

“A long time,” I said finally, not finding any answers in my brain.

“Would he have any reason for wanting you to be without your memory?” Gabriel asked.

I opened my mouth to deny such a thing, but remembered the manifestations. “He might. There is… when I have a normal fugue, I manifest… that’s not the right word, really, but it’s how I think of it… I make…” They all watched me with an avidity that made my skin itch. I took a deep breath and said the word. “Gold.” The two male dragons sat up straighter.

“You make gold?” May asked, her expression puzzled.

“Ahh,” Kaawa said, sitting back, as if that explained everything.

“Yes. Gareth — my husband — says that I’m a natural alchemist. That’s someone who can transmute base metals without a need for apparatus or any special elixirs or potions. Every year, when I have the fugues, he brings me lead. Lots and lots of lead, great huge wads of it, and leaves it in the room with me. When the fugue has passed, the lead has been changed into gold. I don’t know how it’s done, but he assures me that it’s some process that happens when I’m asleep.” “That must be very handy,” May said, somewhat skeptically, I felt.

I made a face. Whether or not she believed me wasn’t the problem at hand. I was more concerned about this sudden loss of memory. Maybe it was me who was going insane, not them, as I’d first thought. “To be honest, I’d much rather do without the fugues. Especially if they’re doing something to my brain.” “I imagine you would.”

“I admit that’s a curious talent to be given, and one that leaves me wishing I had some lead to place in your room,” Gabriel said with a rueful smile, “but I don’t follow the reasoning between that and why your memory would be wiped.” I made a noncommittal gesture, and for a second, a scene flashed in my mind’s eye — Ruth, lying on a cot in a dimly lit hut, covered in boils, sweating and trembling with an illness while Gareth shook her, telling her I was awake, and demanding that she rise and take care of me. I tried to push the fragment of a memory, tried to see more, but there was nothing there, just a black abyss.