Chapter Seven
Krujha
In the morning, they parted ways with the band of musicians. Some coin had changed hands for wine and spare blankets; but other than the new items, and the extra time it took for them to get back on track, it was as if the night of merriment had never happened.
All the elves were so stuffy and rigid—save Myrra, who had danced with half the troupe last night—and Alwyn was just as standoffish as always, even though Krujha had tried to open up to him. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected from sharing the story with the elf, now that he was reflecting on the conversation. All he had gotten out of it was Alwyn admitting he’d been an orphan, too. Not that he had shared the story because he wanted something from the elf, aside from some sign that the elf was more than a walking spellbook.
He had kept his assurance to Gorza that he would keep an eye on the little assassin, but the more time he spent with Alwyn, the more he thought he was, in truth, only a boy in over his head. It was obvious he was keeping Krujha at arm’s length; but he so quickly flustered when Krujha pushed against his boundarieseven slightly, as if he didn’t know how to keep his guard up even if he wanted to. It hadn’t surprised Krujha when the elf answered so curtly that he was just following orders.
That, perhaps, was the most important information he had learned from their conversation: that the little elf didn’t think much for himself. He seemed smart enough, but whoever he served had him completely under their thumb. Krujha had seen the signs before, even recently, from the struggling brute they had subdued with Gorza; he had sat there cursing them, parroting the same dogma all Zesh’s followers used to justify every act that came with waging war on their own people. Alwyn had that same weakness, whether or not he realized it—maybe he would try following that thread, wherever it might lead.
On the other hand, they were fighting on the same side, so he didn’t reallyneedto learn more about the elf. But he found Alwyn a bit endearing, somehow: how he tried to be so stoic and serious, yet seemed to burn with heat at the slightest ribbing. And he was so small and cute. All elves were, compared to orcs; but something about his bravado, trying to project an air of a deadly mage, with his delicate features and easily shaken certainty, made Krujha want to keep poking and prodding at him.
When they broke off from the rest of the group to forage along the banks of a creek, though, he didn’t even need to start the conversation. This time, it was Alwyn who spoke up first.
“Do you think recurring dreams mean anything?” he asked abruptly, as soon as they had each dismounted from their horses to gather some berries from a shrub. Krujha blinked, the question taking him by surprise. He considered it earnestly for a moment.
“Perhaps,” he finally said, shrugging. “I think they’re most often a reflection of the things we want, the things we think about in waking hours. Or perhaps the things we’re too afraidto think of, but some part of us wants to consider anyway.” He paused and shot Alwyn a teasing grin. “Why? Been dreaming of something you want lately?”
Alwyn’s cheeks flushed a faint pink as he glanced away from Krujha, muttering something under his breath. As he kept picking berries and dropping them into the bag Krujha held, though, his expression remained pensive. Instead of teasing him further, Krujha waited to see if he would say anything else.
“I’ve been having the same dream a lot,” Alwyn finally said, keeping his eyes firmly on his work, as if he couldn’t bring himself to say it outright. “Where I’m a little kid, barely older than a baby. It’s not exactly the same dream every time, I guess, but it’s always the same place. It’s a cottage along a river, with a waterfall nearby. I’m always a child, and there’s always an adult somewhere in the dream, a man or a woman.”
He trailed off, but didn’t seem to expect an answer this time. Krujha would sometimes dream of places he’d been in his childhood, too: the rocky shore and coastal chaparral that he had never returned to. That in itself wasn’t especially unusual, but Alwyn appeared visibly troubled about whatever he wasn’t saying about the dream—and he was certain that there was something the elf was holding himself back from saying.
“Are they your parents?” Krujha asked softly, guessing at what was causing him the conflict. Alwyn winced.
“I don’t know,” he said, then added in a smaller voice, “I don’t remember them. My earliest memories are of leaving the orphanage to attend the Library.”
Krujha let out a sigh, a small pang of sympathy aching in his chest. He had memories of his parents, at least, though they were murky and faded with time now. To have no memory at all of where he’d come from—even imagining it made his heart hurt.
“Do you think dreams can be old memories like that?” Alwyn asked, finally glancing up at him. “That maybe some part of me remembers them, even if just in dreams?”
From the pained expression on the elf’s face, Krujha could tell he already didn’t believe it.
“Well,” he said, crouching slightly, so he was closer to eye level with the shorter elf. “I think it’s certainly possible. We might not have conscious memory of learning to speak or walk, either, but obviously some part of that remains with us. So maybe those dreams are coming from somewhere in that part of you, too. A memory formed before you even knew it was a memory.”
Alwyn didn’t respond, but his hands seemed less sure—not quite shaking, but his mind was clearly elsewhere now—as he continued to pull clusters of berries from the bush.
“When did these recurring dreams start?” he asked, probing. Alwyn’s eyes darkened, though he was clearly trying to keep the same stoic, emotionless face.
“After my last... job,” he replied, his voice clipped. “Which didn’t go well for me.”
There was something there, too; but he didn’t want Alwyn to continue drawing in on himself. The little assassin was talking of his own accord, and he very much wanted to keep him talking. A different approach would be best, then.
“You said you remember an orphanage,” Krujha said, changing course. “Couldn’t you go back there and find out?”
Alwyn blinked, his eyes darting up to meet Krujha’s in surprise, the darkness in his expression fading quickly. Clearly, the question caught him off-guard. Maybe it was something he had never even considered.
“I...” he said, color rising in his face again. “I don’t remember anything about it. I’d have to ask my—my mentor.”
Krujha raised an eyebrow. “Your mentor?”
“Yes,” Alwyn said, offering no other information, aside from the tension building in his face.
“Was that who took you out of the orphanage?”
“No,” Alwyn said, frowning. “I don’t remember exactly when I left... But he is the headmaster of a branch of the Library, which is how I met him. He... thought I had exceptional promise, and provided additional tutoring for me. I owe him much for how far I’ve come. I’m only here because of him.”
