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There was one thing I would ask him, if I thought there was any chance of a reply: why had he left the memories with me? He had erased them from her side of the mind, but hadn’t touched them on mine. Why?
Had he wanted her to have those sun-drenched days again? Those happy, laughing faces, those friends, those firsts? Otherwise, her first glimpse of Venice—gone. Her first birthday celebration—gone. Her first new clothes, her first taste of candy, her first kiss—from a flirtatious boy who had worked in the pigment shop where we bought our colors, when she was fifteen . . .
Could he not bear to erase them all, with no hope of redemption? Did he think that I could protect them? That no one would be able to find them in my mind,
as it was no longer the dominant one?
Or had he been afraid to battle me again, after I was older? Long decades had passed since our last confrontation. Was he worried that another clash might undo his previous work, and release me?
Or perhaps, just perhaps, did he think that, one day, there might be a way for Dory and I to be whole again?
“Then why did he try to persuade her to lock you away a second time?” Ray asked, his voice slurring slightly.
I frowned at him. His face was slightly flushed and his eyes were glassy. He looked half asleep, yet he clearly was not.
“How are you able to read me so easily?”
“Maybe ‘cause we’re both drunk.” He turned the bottle over and I watched a couple of droplets splash onto the stone. It appeared that we had consumed the whole thing. I blinked at it in surprise.
“What?” he asked.
“I have never been drunk before.”
He cocked his head. “Whaddya think?”
“I think I like it.”
“Wait until tomorrow,” he said ominously.
He tossed the empty onto our supplies and added the remaining driftwood to the fire, turning the undersides of the stone fingers above us a bright gold with reflected light. It actually became quite warm in our small camp after a time, a little too warm. I pulled off the blanket, yet still was not comfortable.
A moment later, I realized why.
“Perhaps you could help me down to the river?” I asked Ray.
“We’re already by the river.”
“I meant . . . further off?”
“Why? It’s cold away from the fire and—” He stopped. “Oh. Sure.”
He scooped me up and carried me to an outcropping of rocks a few dozen yards upstream from our camp, but fairly near to the shoreline. Then he walked off, to give me some privacy, I supposed. The rocks kept me out of the stream, except for my feet and lower legs, which didn’t feel it anyway.
And while the wind was cold, the view was worth it.
There was a moon, a huge thing, orange as flame, rising up behind the trees. I hadn’t seen it as it had been behind us, and now appeared perfectly balanced in the palm of the hand of stone. Our firelight was almost the same color, making it look as if the moon was melting and dripping down through the fingers to puddle below. While behind it, the dark treetops met the thickly, star strewn sky.
Faerie never failed to impress, I thought, just staring for a moment.
Then I did my business, washed off, and waited for Ray to come back.
There was a surprising amount of wildlife for the middle of the night. There were a few birds, brown or gray and vaguely owl-like, swooping about, chasing small animals or darting after fish. They had huge eyes that reflected the moon when the angle was just right, making them flash orange from time to time, like feathered fireflies.
The water was as active as the air. Once in a while, a silver fishtail would emerge to splash the surface before disappearing again. A large turtle slid off the embankment and into the current, like a slow-moving rock. And a small, green frog with long, red toes jumped into the spray from a nearby perch, evading one of the birds.
But nothing jumped at me.
For the first time, it felt peaceful here, in this strange new world. I realized that I did not have many memories of peace that were not also lonely. Dory needed sleep, so I could not be active for the whole of the night, and when I was awake, there was no one to talk to. Horatiu and I had had chats from time to time, but they made him feel bad. Reminded him of things he did not agree with, but could not change. I had gradually let them fall off over the years, like with so many things . . .
