Page 120 of Play of Shadows

. . . to her.

Chapter 60

The Rider

Wave after wave of Corbier’s memories slammed into me, one after another, drowning me in unfamiliar sights and sounds, then flashing past before I could make sense of any of them.

You’re going too far back, Veristor, the Red-Eyed Raven warned.The stage is not set for where you seek to travel, and no script guides you to your destination.

I’m done with scripts, I replied, concentrating on seeking out Ajelaine among the multitude of Corbier’s experiences, but every time I caught a flash of her, or the fleeting scent of her hair wafting on the air, she was gone again, as if the memory was being snatched away from me. I had no trouble finding the culprit: Corbier was holding me back.

She’s not some pretty picture or a few lines from a play, he said bitterly.You seek to stomp through my most precious memories—

Then relive them with me– bring me to Ajelaine—

No! Do you still not understand, Player? The hardest memories to endure aren’t those of pain and suffering, but of love itself– I cannot see her as she was in happier days without tarnishing those moments, forever staining them with her blood.

I shivered at my own remembrance of Ajelaine’s death. The sprays of scarlet from her children’s throats, the gush of crimson erupting from her belly. Corbier’s ocular condition lent a red tinge to everything he saw, making the blood spilled that night look unnatural, almost theatrical, a horrifying image imprinted onto his eyes.

I’m sorry, I said, aware of the cruelty I was inflicting,but we must see her again.And at last I grabbed hold of a passing memory.

The gusting winds halted, but my feet couldn’t find the ground; instead, I was being jostled up and down on aching buttocks.

On the stage, I heard Beretto whisper anxiously, ‘Saint Laina’s tits, brother, you look like you’re humping a wild pig. Tell us what’s going on! We can’t cover for you if you don’t give us anything to work with—’

‘I’m. . . I’m riding a horse,’ I said aloud, looking down to see my black-gloved hands clutching at leather reins. My boots had slipped out of the stirrups and I was bouncing in the saddle. Branches dancing with red, gold and orange autumn leaves stroked my face as we flew past.

‘Just barely,’ said the young woman laughing next to me, but when I turned, all I could make out was golden-brown hair whipping about her face, and a wide grin as the slender figure in brown riding gear raced into the rushing wind.

‘Ajelaine,’ I said aloud for the audience, ‘merry and mischievous, a girl of perhaps thirteen, who flirts recklessly with both danger and love.’

Fourteen, Corbier corrected me.I was a year younger, as she never failed to remind me.

‘Right, we can work with that,’ Beretto said.

I returned my awareness to the tree-lined path on which my bay horse was galloping far too fast for comfort. I felt like an oversized straw doll strapped to the back of a pony.

‘You’re not a very good rider, are you, Raphan Corbier?’ Ajelaine asked, letting go of her reins to wag a disapproving finger at me. Her massive black charger dwarfed my own mount.

‘I’ll get better,’ Corbier replied, promising himself he would, too, no matter how hard he had to practise. ‘Besides, this beast you’ve given me is ill-tempered. What is this foul hellion’s name again? Storm’s Teeth? Bloodbath? Hellmount?’

Ajelaine laughed. ‘Buttercup.’

Distantly, I heard myself recount the joke on stage, and peals of laughter from the audience. It was a struggle to keep track of both worlds, but the players were adding to my halting explanations, improvising outrageously to keep the crowds entertained.

The young Corbier wasn’t laughing, but marvelling at how calm he felt despite Ajelaine’s teasing. She was the only person who could mock him with—

Stop, Corbier begged me,please. This was the moment I first fell in love with her. Don’t make me—

‘You’re a bit early, I’m afraid,’ Ajelaine said.

I gaped, seeing the way she was staring at me from atop her horse. ‘My Lady? Did you—’

The girlish smile turned serious. ‘Careful, Veristor. You may converse with me here, but keep silent in your own time.’

I’m not just witnessing Corbier’s memories any more!I marvelled, simultaneously exhilarated and terrified.I’m speaking to her– to Ajelaine!

With her instruction, I found I could speak through Corbier, while keeping my mouth shut in my own time as my fellow actors covered for me.

---