15. Neuroscience of Memory
Maple leaves crunched underfoot, and a brisk sea breeze rolled in off the bay to cut between the marina shops.
Autumn had hit Keel Watch Harbor all at once about a week ago, and while the orange and yellow trees that lined the main street were beautiful, the drop in temperatures had been less than welcome.
I hunched against the wind, seeking refuge in the hood of my zip-up jacket.
My heart thumped nervously in my chest.
It’s probably nothing, I told myself. They’ll be back. They probably just forgot to tell me they were leaving.
But what sort of parents forget to tell their son they’re leaving for two nights and then not answer their phones?
“Liam?” A graying head poked out from a shop as I passed. Ethel Warrender pushed her glasses up her nose so she could better squint up at me.
“Hello, Miss Warrender.” I nodded a greeting but kept my focus on the sidewalk.
“That’s Ethel to you, Mr. Glass. Would you mind stepping in for a moment? I’ve just made a fresh batch of chickens and need a second opinion.”
“Oh, I—” I glanced down the street towards Aunt Olive and Uncle Teddy’s bagel shop.
“It’s no bother. Tuesdays are always slow for business, and I made plenty of extra chickens.” She pulled me inside with surprising strength for a woman of her age and tiny stature.
Her shop stocked a variety of items, ranging from food to touristy trinkets, but her chicken shelf was the crown jewel of her business.
It stood near the door so that it was always the first thing customers saw when they came in, and today it was laden with a fresh fleet of red, orange, and yellow hens.
“Fall colors! What do you think?” Ethel beamed and gestured at the collection. “Take one! It’s yours! And grab a couple for your folks too. It’s been a while since they’ve been by the store.”
I took an orange chicken in my hand, and my heartbeat quickened as my nerves mounted.
“My parents—” I said, but the rest of the sentence didn’t want to come out through my tightening throat.
“Liam?” Ethel’s smile slipped away, and her blue eyes hardened behind her glasses. “What is it?”
I shook my head.
“I don’t know. It’s probably nothing.” I forced a laugh. “They weren't home when I got back from school yesterday. Or today.”
“Oh, Liam.”
“But it’s fine!” I insisted. “They must’ve just gone out of town and forgot to say something. I was on my way to Aunt Olive’s just now because they didn’t leave enough food in the fridge.”
Ethel nodded through tight lips and stood aside.
“Of course. Let’s go upstairs. I’ll call your aunt for you.”
The sudden shift in her demeanor put me on edge. I ran a thumb over the smooth, glazed surface of the orange chicken in my hand. There was a strange comfort in the touch as I followed Ethel to the door behind her register and up the rickety wooden steps to her apartment.
The sun was already hanging low over the bay outside the window, and it cast the living room and kitchen in shades of muted gold.
“Sit, sit! Make yourself comfortable!” Ethel gestured at her couch. “You must be hungry then. Have you eaten at all today?”
“I bought lunch at school.” I sat on the sinking couch, and a blonde Persian padded out from under the table to paw at my leg. “Jonquil’s getting big.”
I scooped the kitten into my lap, and she curled up on my knees, purring. The sound made my heart beat a little calmer, but I still felt like I was falling in slow motion and I was bracing for the hard ground to greet me.
“Sarah?” Ethel stood at her sink with her phone pressed against her ear. “Has there been any word from Anrai and Sloane since they left?”
I scratched Jonquil under her chin. I knew Sarah, but wasn’t familiar with those other names.
Something about them itched at the back of my head, though.
Sarah’s voice buzzed indecipherably on the other line, and Ethel shifted through the porcelain chickens on her kitchen window shelf as she listened.
“Liam’s here. He says his parents haven’t been home in a couple days, so—” Ethel cut off to hiss through her teeth. She stepped back from her sink, holding two chickens from her collection. “Yeah, they’re cracked. Dammit. Dammit.”
She leaned against the counter with her head bowed. Sarah continued to talk through the phone, but Ethel set the phone on the counter. She pulled a drawer open, and set the broken chickens inside.
“Sarah?” There was a new crack in Ethel’s voice when she put the phone back to her ear. “Tell Gladys to send Eliza. I normally wouldn’t rush it, but they were the last Grimguards. They’ll need replacements, especially if someone is targeting the Sovereigns.”
Ethel’s eyes met mine as she said that last word, though I wasn’t sure what or who she was talking about. She ended the call but immediately scrolled through her contacts, searching.
“What’s a Grimguard?” I asked. “And who are Anrai and Sloane?”
“No one. Don’t worry. It’ll be okay. I’ll make sure of it.” She returned the phone to her ear. “Eliza! You aren’t busy are you? Gladys is about to call. It’s Anrai and Sloane. No. They’re gone. We need you to go to Darragh’s Watch and tell the families. Yes, we’re sure. I’m sorry.”
Ethel set the phone down on the counter and stared into her sink.
“Miss Warrender?”
“Yes, Liam?”
“I’m sorry about your chickens.”
“My—?” She straightened up and then glanced back at the kitchen drawer. “Right. It’s okay. Chickens never last forever, but I did really like those ones. How about dinner?”
She started busying herself in the kitchen.
“Weren’t you going to call my aunt?” I asked.
Ethel sighed as she set a dutch oven on her stovetop.
“Liam. Your parents. It’s important you know that they are so proud of you,” she said.
“I know that they love you. And I know you’ll be waking up soon and you won’t remember this, but Liam, you don’t have to do or become anything you don’t want to.
Anrai and Sloane were talented Grimguards, and they were loving parents, and you’re going to feel pressured to walk in their footsteps.
But please, don’t. Not if you don’t want to. ”
Jonquil jumped from my lap when I straightened up on the couch, trying to make sense of Ethel Warrender’s words. But then something tugged on my consciousness, and in those hazy seconds before my mind was dragged elsewhere, I remembered.
I always remembered, every night just before slipping away, only to forget moments later when I woke up. I always remembered, like remembering a recurring dream, but only in those foggy moments just before and just after waking.
And I remembered my mother Sloane and my father Anrai, and I remembered them leaving our home in Darragh’s Watch.
“My parents.” Panic coursed through me in those final moments, and I clung to Ethel’s living room. I wouldn’t forget this time. I’d remember. I’d—
“It’s okay, Liam,” Ethel assured me. “I’ll have soup ready for you when you return. It’ll be okay.”
The living room vanished, replaced with pelt-lined walls.
I’d been dreaming again. I dreamed almost every time I slept, but I never remembered of what. Wherever my mind had gone this time, however, had left me with a strange apprehension that sat heavy in my stomach.
“Daithi?” I whispered into the dark of the room. I concentrated the Skal in my eyes, feeling the electric warmth of the magick as it solidified into place and cast the room in a soft, orange glow. “Daithi, wake up.”
Daithi grunted from his cot and raised a dismissive hand at me. “No, thank you.”
“Something’s wrong.”
It was just a dream—a dream I couldn’t remember, but somehow also a dream I was certain I’d had before.
And I couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that clung to me even as the details of the dream evaded me.
A bugle echoed outside, and Daithi sat up. He blinked orange Skal-light into his eyes and looked between me and the door.
“The Herald,” he hissed, the color in his face draining. “Why is she here?”
But there was only one reason the Frozen God’s Herald would be at Darragh’s Watch, and the dread roiling in my gut solidified into something heavy.
We stumbled out of our beds. Daithi stopped to throw his cloak haphazardly over his tunic, but I raced past, not even bothering to find my boots. My aunt was already running out the front door of our hovel. Sleep-messed hair streamed behind her and bare feet sprinted over ice-laden cobblestones.
I blinked against the afternoon sun as we followed after her. It hung low in the sky, turning the Frozen God’s glacier gold out in the bay. The icicles that hung off the eaves of every hovel in Darragh’s Watch reflected that same gold hue back out at the frozen sea.
I’d only seen the Frozen God’s Herald once before.
We weren’t sure where she disappeared to when the Frozen God didn’t need her.
Some speculated she was a Nightmare, summoned and sent by the Saergrim to carry out her bidding.
Others thought she might be the Frozen God herself.
Whoever or whatever she was, she was revered and she was feared.
And she never brought good news.
Now she stood at the head of the street, dressed in black cloaks that made her blonde hair stand out where it rested over her shoulders.
The Herald’s bugle had called most of the town out of our hovels, though many of our neighbors remained at their doors with hands over their mouths or kneeling out of respect.
My aunt, however, stumbled in the wind rolling in off the bay’s frozen surface as she rushed to meet the woman, and my uncle chased after her.
I stayed rooted to the spot. I could feel Daithi next to me, but my vision was closing in on the blonde woman. If I refused to meet her, if I refused to listen…
Because there was only one reason she’d be here, and it was not a reality I was ready to face.
“My sister!” My aunt’s shout carried down the frost covered street. “Where’s my sister?”
I was too far away to hear the Herald’s response, but my aunt’s heartbroken cry echoed over ice.
The world swayed. I slumped against Daithi as my head turned light, but he kept me standing.
Because there was only one reason for the Saergrim’s Herald to be in our village and only one thing she could’ve said to my aunt to make her scream in such a terrible way.
The sky closed in around me.
“Mother?” I whispered. “Father?”
The Herald’s serious face found mine in the growing crowd. My knees buckled as she strode past my aunt where she cried on the ground in my uncle’s arms. The woman was coming towards me, but I already knew what she was here to say, and I didn’t want to hear it.
“I’ve got you. Ciarán, I’m here.” Daithi’s arms were around me. My aunt screamed my mother’s name. The dread in my stomach turned into something worse, but I couldn’t quite name it.
We were sitting on the frozen ground. I wasn’t sure we’d gotten here.
My aunt was still sobbing, but I couldn’t see anything through the haze of orange my Skal cast through my tears.
Someone else was sobbing too, their cries coming out in shuddering, haggard breaths that ripped at my throat and threatened to suffocate me.
The Herald crouched in front of me. I hadn’t expected her to look so angry.
Her mouth moved, and I couldn’t hear what she was saying, but it didn’t matter. I already knew.
Mother. Father.
Mother. Father.
My mother and father were dead.
I was alone.