The Flames of Shadam Khoreh (The Lays of Anuskaya) by Bradley Beaulieu Page A

that one look, she stole his memories, for he recalls nothing beyond it for long days or even weeks.
    As they approach the base of the cliff, more memories surface, mere glimmers of their travel across the Motherland. A village where they bought packs and food for their journey. A forest of alder and spruce whose last leaves were just beginning to fall. A city that lay at the edge of the desert. It was difficult for him to see how she changed over that time, but now, as he looks back, he sees the changes clearly. She was a girl of eleven when they left the Spar. But now she looks to be at least as old as his eighteen years. If he reckons it right, less than two years have passed, and yet she has somehow aged seven or eight. He wonders if her mind has grown similarly, but he tosses the thought aside in an instant. She had always seemed older than her years. Perhaps this was simply the fates allowing her mortal shell to catch up.
    Thinking back, he doesn’t know why she didn’t simply transport them as she did in the sea, but he wonders if it had anything to do with the way she stared into the stone when the two of them were alone. There were many nights when she would simply sit at the edge of their fire like an urchin with a bright new coin. She would stare into its depths, learning or perhaps yearning for things yet closed to her.
    She asked him from time to time what he knew of it, and he would answer—he had no choice but to do so—and he would tell her of his memories…
    His memories of Khamal. One of the Al-Aqim.
    By the fates, he cannot remember who he is now —that much is still closed—but he remembers his life as Khamal, and he remembers the other Al-Aqim. Muqallad and Sariya they were named. And with Sariya’s memories come memories of her daughter.
    Kaleh.
    The woman’s name is Kaleh.
    He told her of his life as Khamal, of what he had done with the stone. She asked not of the time after the sundering but instead of the days leading up to it. Of those days, however, he had very few memories, and all too soon she would return to her contemplation of the Atalayina, and he would slip back into forgetfulness. But he would retain some of what he’d lost, and he would store it away in a place she couldn’t find so that when he woke again he could find it easily and slowly, hopefully, return to himself. It was the only way he knew to break the chains she and the Atalayina placed on him.
    At last they come to the face of the tall black cliff. Kaleh walks along its length. Bushes and briars grow at the foot of the cliff, and it is in those dark places that Kaleh stops and hunkers down and peers intently. She finds nothing, however, and they continue on.
    As the sun slides behind the westward ridge of the towering peak, the air immediately becomes more chill. They come to a forest of impossibly tall trees. Their bark is greenish-grey, and their branches still hold leaves, as if they refuse to bend to the coming winter. The air is filled with sage, but there is also the scent of antiquity, like the smell of ancient scrolls. Kaleh continues to lead them along the face of the cliff. Sometimes they’re forced away by the landscape, but this never seems to bother her. She simply leads them beyond it and resumes her search as they trek westward. The sky darkens, making their path through the trees more difficult to see. She continues until she’s practically searching with her hands along the rock.
    Finally the sun sets fully. The stars shine brightly and insects chitter among the trees. And Kaleh suddenly steps back.
    Ahead there is a looming blackness. Kaleh retrieves the Atalayina from its pouch and holds it high in her hand. The stone begins to glow, first a deep blue like the sun against a shallow sea, and then it intensifies into a cold white brightness that reveals a yawning opening in the face of the cliff. She stares at it for some time, moving the stone this way and that, as if she doesn’t quite believe what