Chapter 28 #2
“After we were driven out,” Druin corrected. He turned from the window, amber eyes burning in the torchlight. “After yer people cast mine into exile.”
“They meant to destroy us,” Serathen said. “Not just to exile us, but to ensure we would eventually cease to exist.” Her shoulders shook as she faced him. “Without daughters, the orcish race will die within a generation.”
The memory dissolved in a rush of vertigo.
Aeryn gasped as she stumbled backward, her mind wrenched from Serathen’s consciousness.
Khaeric and Aeryn staggered out of the songfield, breaking the connection.
The memory orb’s glow dimmed instantly, its light receding like a tide pulling away from shore.
“The curse. It was real. They cursed your people,” Aeryn gasped as reality crashed back. Her legs trembled, and she clutched Khaeric’s arm to steady herself.
Khaeric’s breathing came in ragged bursts.
His eyes gradually regained focus, though confusion still clouded his features.
He staggered backward, hitting the stone wall behind him.
“I felt her discovery… living through that moment when she realized what they’d done.
” His voice cracked. “We’ve known for generations, but feeling it… ” He shook his head.
Aeryn pressed her fingers to her temples, trying to separate Serathen’s memories from her own thoughts. The sensation of being in another woman’s body lingered, like the echo of a song she couldn’t quite forget. “It was deliberate. A calculated act of genocide.”
She stared at the memory orb. “There must be more. Serathen was trying to find a way to help your people. She wouldn’t have just discovered the curse and done nothing.
” Aeryn steeled herself and stepped back into the songfield, pulling Khaeric with her.
The familiar disorientation washed over her as her consciousness merged with Serathen’s once more.
They were in a different chamber now, within Beinn Ork. Serathen sat at a wooden table, a parchment spread before her. “By decree of the Council of Memories,” she read aloud to Druin, who stood by the hearth.
“Serathen of the Silver Bough,” she continued, her voice hollow, “by unanimous decree of the Council of Memories, you are hereby struck from the ancestral records of Béalimhe for your treasonous actions against the Crown. Your willful absence during the rebellion, your continued harboring of exiled creatures, and your defiance of direct summons constitute irrefutable evidence of your betrayal.”
Her throat tightened as she continued reading.
“As punishment for this treason, your name shall be removed from all official lineage documents. Your memories shall be extracted from the central archives. Your right to access the Halls of Memory is permanently revoked.” Serathen paused, drawing a ragged breath.
“All properties and titles bestowed upon the Silver Bough are hereby forfeited. You are hereby banished from the realm of Béalimhe and its territories in perpetuity. Should you attempt to return, your life is forfeit.”
Grief hollowed out her chest. Druin crossed the chamber. “They cannae do this.”
“They already have.” Serathen rested a hand on her swollen belly as the child stirred within her.
The mountain air had grown colder as winter approached, and she pulled her woolen shawl tighter around her shoulders. She pushed herself to her feet, one hand braced against the table. Druin moved to help her, his large hands steadying her. “Ye should rest. The babe will come soon.”
“I will not rest,” Serathen said, though she allowed Druin to guide her to a chair near the hearth. The warmth eased the ache in her lower back, but did little for the grief pressing down on her. “Not when there’s still work to be done.”
She gestured toward the far corner of the room, where stacks of parchment, scrolls, and bound journals rose in precarious towers.
Documents she’d spent months collecting—birth records from every settlement, testimonies from elven defectors who’d chosen exile alongside the orcs, ancient texts on bloodline curses.
“They can strike my name from their records,” she said, “but they cannot erase what I have documented here.”
Druin crouched beside her chair. “Sera… what good is evidence when there’s no one to hear it? The elves have closed their ears. The humans fear us too much to listen.”
“Someone will hear it,” Serathen replied, certainty hardening her voice. “If not in our lifetime, then after.” She shifted uncomfortably. “I have seen it, Druin.”
“A vision?” He straightened, reaching for her hand. “Ye’re certain?”
“As certain as visions allow.” She squeezed his hand. “Until then, these documents will remain hidden. Here, in this very room.” She leaned forward, wincing as the baby shifted within her. “I have prepared a space beneath the floor stones.”
Serathen struggled to her feet, pressing one hand to her back as she reached the center of the room. Druin followed. He knelt and pulled aside the woven rug, revealing stone floor tiles beneath.
“The third from the left,” Serathen instructed, “and the fourth back.”
Druin found the edge of the indicated stone, prying it up. Beneath lay a hollow space, lined with oilcloth to protect against moisture. Large enough to hold the precious documents she had gathered.
Aeryn felt Serathen’s determination surge through her own body as her ancestor knelt beside the opening, her swollen belly making the movement awkward and painful.
Serathen closed her eyes, her breathing slowing as she cradled the box, gathering her power.
Aeryn felt the rush of power building within her ancestor’s body—a tingling sensation that started at the base of her spine and flowed upward, gathering strength as it moved through her chest and into her arms.
“Blood of my blood,” Serathen whispered. “Only blood of my blood shall break this seal.”
The memory dissolved, Serathen’s voice fading. Aeryn gasped as she was thrust back into her own consciousness. She stumbled backward, out of the songfield, her legs nearly buckling beneath her.
Khaeric caught her elbow as the surrounding chamber solidified once more.
Aeryn’s heart hammered as the memory faded. This wasn’t war or conquest; this was deliberate, methodical murder stretched across generations. “We have to tell them.” The words tumbled out. “The Council needs to know what we’ve seen.”
Her fingers closed around Khaeric’s wrist, tugging him toward the exit. “They need to see this memory! To know what their ancestors did.”
“No.” Khaeric’s voice was quiet but firm.
Aeryn turned back to him, confusion sweeping through her. “What do you mean, no? This is proof of what they did to your people. The curse was real, deliberate—they meant to wipe out your entire race!”
“And what do you think they’ll do wi’ this proof, Aeryn? Apologize? Make amends?” Khaeric leaned closer. “They’ll destroy it.”
Aeryn froze. “They wouldn’t dare,” she said, but the words sounded thin even to her own ears. “This is history, their history as much as yours.”
“History they’ve already erased once.” Khaeric released her wrist and gestured toward the memory orb, its glow now diminished to a faint pulse against the stone plinth. “They erased Serathen from their records for helpin’ my kin. They were willin’ to hide my blood in their records.”
Aeryn stared at him, the weight of his words settling into her bones. He was right. The Council would never willingly acknowledge what they’d done—a deliberate attempt to eradicate an entire race through blood magic. They would sooner destroy the evidence than face their shame.
“What would you have me do, then?” she asked. The weight of Serathen’s memories pressed against her mind, demanding justice, demanding to be heard.
Khaeric walked back to the plinth, where the memory orb had dimmed to a faint blue light. He lifted it from its cradle; the luminescence casting shadows across the planes of his face as he turned back to Aeryn. “We wait. Until we have more standin’. Until we find the documents Serathen hid.”
She wanted to march straight to the Council chambers and demand justice.
To force them to look upon the truth of what they had done.
Yet Khaeric’s words carried the weight of truth.
The Council had demonstrated their willingness to erase history once.
What would stop them from destroying this memory orb too?
“The documents? But that was centuries ago. They could be anywhere in Beinn Ork by now.”
Beinn Ork had expanded over centuries, its tunnels and chambers multiplying as the clans grew. “The mountain has changed so much since then. How would we even know where to look?”
Khaeric’s brow furrowed in thought. “The oldest sections of the mountain would be our startin’ point. The first settlements were built on the eastern face.” His hand came to rest on her shoulder. “We’ll find it. The ancestors have guided us this far. They willnae abandon us now.”
Aeryn nodded, though doubt gnawed at her. She returned the memory orb to its velvet pouch, securing the drawstrings around her wrist. They retraced their steps through the winding corridors. The carriage waited as promised.
As the carriage pulled away from the Hall of Memories, Aeryn clutched the velvet pouch against her chest. Rain streaked the windows, turning the world outside into a blur of gray and green.
The streets of Thiarra passed in watery smudges as the carriage wound its way back toward the estate. “We should leave tomorrow.”
Khaeric nodded. “Aye. The sooner we begin our search, the better.”