Page 69 of The Last Kelpie

“Good. I'll let you know when the team releases your paper and the true stories.” He lifted the folder and went inside.

We went around the outside of the main hall and across the inner garden to the apartments. Zephyr flew off, probably looking for food to steal. After we dropped our bags in my room, we went to the Great Archive. Even though it was after seven, sunlight slanted through the tall windows, turning the dust motes into drifting gold. That's summer for you. Longer days indeed.

Agnes looked up from her desk and nodded once. “Julian said you'd be coming. You're looking for records of the Forgotten?”

“Specifically, any cases where they've communicated,” I said. “Spoken or shown recognition.”

Her expression tightened. “I don't recall that ever happening, but the Forgotten records are this way.”

She led us past a few stacks and into a corridor lined with bookshelves. Agnes stopped and searched a shelf, running her finger along the spines until she found what she was looking for.

She pulled down three volumes and handed them to me. “These document unusual Forgotten encounters from the twelfth century onward. If there's any record of communication, it will be in one of those.”

“Thank you.” I took the books to a reading table between the stacks.

Áedán sat beside me and laid his arm on the back of my chair. I slid a book over to Áedán, but he didn't straighten in his seat. He stayed pressed against me as he read.

Smiling, I opened a book. I translated the Latin slowly, running my finger along the text. Most of it was what I expected—accounts of the Forgotten attacking myths and trying to absorb them. But then I found something different.

“Listen to this.” I nudged Áedán's shoulder. “A myth in 1347 reported seeing 'echoes' when a Forgotten touched him. He described echoes as brief visions. Memories that weren't his own.”

Áedán leaned closer to read over my shoulder. “What kind of memories?”

“It doesn't say. Just that the phenomenon lasted only seconds before the Forgotten tried to absorb him.”

Then he angled the book he was reading toward me. “There's another account from 1502. It's the same thing. A selkie experienced a memory-like vision during an encounter. She believed she saw fragments of the Forgotten's past. The Velascan assigned to her labeled it an echo.”

“But nothing about them speaking?”

“Nae.”

I flipped through more pages. “The echoes seem to be rare. Most encounters end in absorption or the Forgotten driven off before they have a chance to speak.”

“Because if the Forgotten wants to speak, they have to fight the urge to absorb the myth's energy,” Áedán said. “Or maybe it's the myth's memories they're after?”

“I haven't seen any proof of what their motivation is.” I looked from the book to Áedán. “Julian told me about the Forgotten when I first arrived. He said they drain a myth's magic to try to become real again. But he can't know that as a fact. It's all conjecture.”

I found two more references to echoes in the second volume I read. Both described the same thing—brief, fragmentary visions that occurred when a Forgotten touched a myth without absorbing them. The accounts made it clear how unusual this was.

“Ethan.”

I looked up. Caelum stood at the end of our table. I hadn't heard him approach. He was probably barefoot.

“Caelum, hello.” I straightened, dislodging Áedán. “We're researching the Forgotten. The one that attacked Áedán—”

“Spoke his name. Yes, Julian told me. He said I could find you here.” Caelum pulled out a chair across the table from us and sat down. “What have you found?”

“References to echoes. Myths report seeing memories of the Forgotten when touched by one, but we haven't found anything about them speaking.”

Caelum nodded slowly. “Echoes occur when a Forgotten touches a myth long enough to create a connection, but not long enough to begin absorption.”

“What do they want?” Áedán asked. “Why would they show us such things?”

“I've sensed their hunger and desperation. But I can only assume that they want to live again. I believe they're drawn to the magic in myths.” Caelum's expression was sad.

“Would a Forgotten feel a stronger draw to a myth similar to what they once were?” I asked.

Caelum considered this. “That's a possibility, but I don't know if they have enough of themselves left to make that distinction.”