"Echoes of Memory 1" by Christine Hou

        She floated without any sense of time in an ocean of emptiness so vast it could have stolen her mind. Like a babe in the womb, she slept the sleep of creation. She slept and dreamed. And as she dreamed, she became. From nothingness was born form and sensation; consciousness coalesced into being. And then she saw, wavering in her mind, a light that stroked longing. Brighter than sun and moon, it became everything, filling and filling her until it was all she was: light.

       The first breath was pain. It caught in a parched throat and seared dry lungs like fire. The next was no easier; a weight had settled, making each breath an even greater struggle. Tired lungs lost the fight against the growing pressure. A sluggishly beating heart skittered, slowed and stopped.
       Then the weight was gone.
       Her heart sputtered and resumed its weary rhythm. Closed eyes burst open and empty lungs expanded sharply with air. Gasping and coughing, she bolted up to lean on unsteady arms. Long, dark hair slid past her shoulders to surround her like a heavy curtain. It veiled her sight so all she could see were pale hands clutching paler sheets.
       “My lady!” A high pitched voice exclaimed at the same moment gentle fingers brushed back her hair and held her arms in a firm grip. “Lady Avangyline, are you all right?”
       She looked into the almond eyes of a small, earnest faced woman. The question flew past her brain and failed to incite a reply. She blinked back vacantly.
       The almond eyes wrinkled. “I’ll go get the Healer; it will be just a moment.”
       She was gently leaned back against hastily arranged pillows.
       “Gods of sun and sky! Someone must watch over you, my lady… you were dead.” With that the little woman disappeared and she was alone again.
       Her gaze flickered around the room as though following some erratic insect’s flight. She registered dimly the rich furnishing around her: the brocade of the curtains, the polished wood of the table and chair, the fine white linens. Finally, her eyes lit upon the surface of a vanity mirror hung towards her.
       The smooth glass encompassed the oval face of a comely woman with cheeks tingled with the barest hint of color. She met her reflection’s dark eyes and felt something swell up within that sent her heart fluttering anew. Words forced their way upwards to animate a leaden tongue. Her voice was a ragged sound in the silence.
       “I am dead.”

       The garden had become special to her. Since her awakening a few days ago, it was the only place she had been allowed outside her chambers. Despite Shura’s admonishments that the sun would burn her skin, Avangyl loved the feel of the warm rays too much to stay in the shade. The sensation of a cool breeze against her sun kissed cheeks was a wonder as were the myriad scents of the blossoming flowers. Yet there was nothing she loved more than to gaze straight up at a sky of brilliant blue stretching impossibly high above. When she leaned back so that all she saw was that endless azure, she was filled with a peace like homecoming.
       “You really shouldn’t do that,” came Shura’s chiding voice, “I fear one day you will lean back too far and fall.” She gave a dainty little shiver as she set the tea tray down on the ornate stone table. “I don’t wish to see you hurt again, my lady.”
       Avangyl straightened and smiled at her maid. Shura had been invaluable in the days after her accident. Day and night the matronly woman had tended her. After she had woken up from her coma, it was Shura who helped her recollect her fragmented memories.
       “I hope you are feeling well today…”
       She knew what Shura was going to say next and her heart fluttered.
       “…Lord Nachial is here to see you.”
       Shura retreated from the sunny garden as a tall, finely dressed man emerged from the shadowed entrance. He was attired in a flattering, green and white waistcoat that clashed with both the simple setting and Avangyl’s plain dress. Not particularly handsome, his angular features were well made though there was a predatory sharpness about his eyes and mouth. He brushed back his tawny hair as he took a seat by her side and smiled warmly.
       Her stomach churned as she looked at the plate of sandwiches before her.
       Nachial spoke. “You look better and better, Avangyl. I could almost say the accident was good for you.”
       Her hands clutched together in her lap until her fingers were ribboned white and red. She wished for him to be gone, for the garden’s peace to be restored. The strange roiling sensations that he invoked within her, she could do without.
       He leaned closer until she could feel his breath on her ear. One of his hands rested against the back of her chair and the heat of his arm seeped through the thin fabric her dress.
       “Why so cold, Avangyl? I’ve missed you. Have I not told you how worried I was for you, darling?”        His lips brushed the side of her face and she jerked away. Her eyes met his and she saw the sudden flash in his. Her mouth went dry.
       “Please, Nachial, I-I can’t,” She hated how her voice sounded so breathless and weak.
       A shadow passed over his face before he pulled back, smiling wryly. “Of course, you’re recovering. I apologize; I should have been more considerate.” His fingers caressed her hair gently. She fought the urge to move away and, instead, summoned her best look of gratitude.
       “Thank you, Nachial…I wish I was well enough to-to…”
       He pressed a finger to her lips, silencing her. “Shush, my little angel. Such things shouldn’t be spoken in daylight, not by your sweet mouth.” His gaze was tender for a moment before it hardened. “But it is important that you recover quickly. We’ll be receiving very important guests soon… and your sister will want you by her side.”
       The warmth of his touch seemed to diffuse into her blood and spread throughout her body. The faint pressure against her lips took up a disproportionate amount of her attention. She could not help but feel that his mouth was much more fascinating than anything coming out of it.
       He moved his hand and she mourned the loss. The feel of his finger against her mouth lingered, though. It felt like she was thinking through a fog; it took an improbable amount of time for one thought to meet another.
       “Avangyl, are you listening to me?” Nachial looked at her quizzically.
       His question startled her out of her reverie. She blinked at him, eyes wide, and cheeks slowly heating. Seeing her reaction he chuckled.
       “I have missed you,” he murmured quietly as he reached out towards her. He splayed his fingers softly against the side of her face, running his thumb against the curve of her cheekbone with the audacity of one marking his territory.
       The sensation was both achingly familiar and startlingly foreign. She was torn between nestling against that hand and recoiling. He leaned closer.
       Against the sand white, garden wall, two shadows momentarily became one.
       A bell tolled in the distance.
       The two parted. Avangyl reluctantly let go as he gently pulled away from her.
       “I-” Her utterance was stillborn, lost upon his lips as he kissed her again.
       “I have to go now…Araminda is expecting me. I’ll visit you again soon,” he murmured, his warm breath rushing across her skin. Then he stood, bowed and turned away.
       He exited the garden, his shadow trailing long in the setting light. Her eyes followed him even after he disappeared behind stone walls. Shura emerged from her station bearing a blanket.
       “Here, you’ll catch a cold, my lady.” She carefully draped the cover over Avangyl’s shoulders. The older woman hesitated for a moment before saying softly, “I know it is not my place to question…but I cannot help but disapprove…”
       Avangyl turned sharply to face her maid, the action loosing the blanket so it fell to catch on her chair.
       “You would not dare, you would not dare tell my sister, Shura. Have I not been good to you? You live well by me and for that I demand loyalty.” The words flew from her mouth as if of their own accord. They slid out freely as if used to being uttered; even the cooling air seemed accustomed to receiving them.
       Shura silently picked up the blanket and rearranged it around Avangyl.
       Relaxing, the younger woman reached up and grasped the other’s hand. She murmured, “I didn’t mean to be so sharp…it’s just that I…I …” She floundered searching the word that had just been on her tongue.
       “I know, my lady, you have said so before: you love his Lordship more than you love air,” Shura said, eyes downcast, mouth grim.
       Avangyl started. Had she really been about to profess love for Nachial?
       “I suppose it was silly of me to think that my lady could have forgotten her love.”
       Avangyl stared up at Shura. I love him? The thought reverberated through her head. I love him? But I barely know who he is…
       “Wait,” She grabbed Shura’s arm as if it would anchor her spinning head. “I love him?”
       Shura looked down at her bewildered. “You do not remember my lady? But what you said befor--”
       “I don’t know what I said before! Those words just came out. I don’t know where they came from!” Avangyl looked at her urgently. “Who is Nachial? Do I really love him?”
       Shura pressed her lips together in a thin line, eyes blinking, her uncertainty clear. Slowly, she said, “Lord Nachial is your paramour...and the Consort of your sister, the Lady of Eldrithmor.”
       Avangyl felt the world tilt off its axis and everything disappeared.

       Faint voices filtered through to her, their words trickling dimly into her half conscious mind.
       “…Avangyline…”
       The mention of her name kindled a spark in her floundering mind and she tried to concentrate on what the voices were saying. There were two people, one of which—the woman--sounded familiar.
       “…I was so hopeful,” the female voice said, sighing deeply.
       “She doesn’t remember anything?” the other, male voice asked.
       “There are times when she seems so lucid, like she was before the accident but then…then she gets so confused,” the woman paused. “Sometimes it feels like I’m dealing with two people, she can act so differently.”
       “Well, Lady Agamon is coming and her Healer …”
       The voices dimmed and faded away. She strained harder to hear them but they were gone. She struggled a few moments longer in her half-asleep state, her eyelids fluttering as she tried to rouse herself. But it was a futile battle as the tides of sleep came rushing in once more to claim her.

*        *        *

       I want you to see something
       See what?
       Follow me
       She followed the voice, letting a faint compulsion guide her through the primordial blackness. Gradually, she became aware of the resistance of the ground beneath. Then her hands came to brush against cold stone, a wall running along side. Yet there was still no light; she walked blind.
       Come, hurry
       The voice goaded her onward, faster and faster until she was running. Wind drew chill fingers through her hair and snatched away her laboring breath. Her feet pounded against hard rock; she was surrounded by stone, cold and impenetrable. She did not know where she was going, could not see what lay before her yet she felt no fear. So long as that voice beckoned, she knew she would follow. She trusted that voice.
       Just a little further
       Her lungs were starting to burn and her legs to tire. The passageway was endless; growing with every step. Then suddenly it ended at a tall pair of doors streaming light from its edges. Shadowy images swirled upon its surface but she could not fathom them in the dim yet brilliant glow.
       Come, beloved
       The voice was like a hand and she reached out to grasp it. The door was solid under her fingers and she had to push firmly to open it. The two halves parted and momentarily blinded her with light. For a moment she was engulfed in pure, radiant white and she felt someone gently pull her forward.
       When she could see again, she saw blue. Azure light fell from above in long rays that illuminated the entirety of the circular chamber, painting everything in the soft shade of sky. She knew without looking what lay above: a view of heaven that would steal her soul. So she gazed before her at the hooded figure that stood at the room’s center.
       Its back was to her so that all she could see was shimmering blue fabric that fell like water to the ground. As she gazed at that back she was filled with urgency. Something, there was something she had to do—to say. She had to reach this person before—
       She started to run and time slowed. The figure began to turn. Slowly, so slowly, it turned and as it turned, its hood fell. If only she could reach that figure, if only she could see its face!
       It turned, hood falling, and she saw—
       Beloved
       She saw a blue so blue it had no name.

*        *        *

       Avangyl woke to the sight of pale cream cloth. She gazed for long moments at the bed’s canopy, eyes focusing slowly in the dim light. After a while, she attempted to rise but found her strength lacking; her limbs were heavy and awkward. When she commanded her legs to move and support her, their stiffness instantly melted into jelly. She lay on the bed, blankets half off her body, breathing in the air that smelled faintly of sickness.
       Whether it was the dim light or her grogginess, the room swam before her eyes. The rays of light sneaking in through the curtain edges blurred and sharpened as she stared at them blankly. Then she realized that those soft beams were reminiscent of something and, suddenly, she remembered the dream.
       The endless passageway, the room of blue and the eternally turning figure with a face of cerulean light, she did not know what to make of it. But beyond the inherent strangeness, there was the phantom voice that had beckoned her. It was no voice that she could remember ever hearing but it had been so familiar, so reassuring. Even now, lying on her bed in the muted light of morning, she could recall it and the turmoil it invoked.
       Her haphazard thoughts were scattered when the door opened with a gentle creak and Shura entered. The woman walked quietly over to the windows and surreptitiously drew the curtains to welcome in the day.
       Avangyl attempted to speak but her tongue was lead stick in the cotton box of her mouth; it had been days since she last spoke. She had no clue how long she had spent an invalid, drifting between dream and reality. It was as if the hand of some god had struck her down that day in the garden. Morning and night she would be seized by great bouts of sickness and nausea so terrible she could neither eat nor drink properly. Often it felt like her body and mind were separate entities that were warring against one another. She was consumed by strange hallucinations where she seemed to be two people at once. Only now had those bizarre feelings finally subsided, and she felt alive and coherent once more.
       It took a while before she succeeded in making a small noise halfway between a grunt and a cough. Nonetheless it drew the attention of her maid and she tentatively approached the prone figure of her mistress.
       “My lady?” She whispered, stepping closer, craning her head forward as if for a better view, “Are you awake?”
       Avangyl grunted in response, and moved her right hand weakly against the sheets. Shura apparently took this as a good sign and visibly relaxed. She said rather ridiculously, “Good, my lady is well.”
       She hurried from the bed and out the room pausing momentarily to say, “I will bring up a sick tray—the kitchens have made your favorites.”

       The breakfast passed slowly as Avangyl reluctantly ate enough to appease her maid. It was strange; she could taste the richness of the butter, and the sweetness of the jam yet it brought her no satisfaction. Somewhere in the back of her mind she knew she sampled the finest food anyone could wish for but it might as well have been wood shavings. She ate and her body filled but the hunger inside her did not lessen.
       When her stomach could take no more, she retired to a chair by the fireplace. Shura stroked up the flames and draped a shawl over Avangyl’s shoulders before going to clear the table.
       As of their own accord, Avangyl’s eyes began to drift close. The warmth of the fire and the gentle crackle of the wood were as soothing as a lullaby. She must have drifted off momentarily for suddenly she woke to Shura reentering the room. Blinking her bleary eyes clear of sleep she looked up at her maid. She noted Shura’s thinned lips and vaguely strained expression. The woman stood stiffly a little ways in front of her, hands wringing the front of her dress.
       “I swear that I did not utter a word,” Shura said quickly, “but your Revered sister has heard that you are feeling better and requests your presence in an hour.” She shook her head. “I only wish my lady was truly feeling better…”
       Avangyl sat quietly for a long moment. She had not met her sister since her accident and thus had no memory of her. She only knew that she was called Araminda and was the ruler of Eldrithmor, one of the most powerful of the Free Cities.
       She was also Avangyl’s only living relative, their parents having passed away some time ago.
       Avangyl had learned most of what she knew from Shura, however there were some lingering feelings that arose whenever she thought of her sister. Those sensations were often strange and not particularly heart warming. Though she had no recollection of her sister, she guessed that they likely had not been close. She grew cold as she abruptly remembered Shura’s words: Lord Nachial is your paramour...and the Honored Consort of your sister. Suddenly Avangyl wanted very much to avoid the meeting.
        “Are you all right my lady? You look pale,” Shura asked concerned both by her lady’s stricken expression and her long silence.
       Avangyl hurriedly summoned a smile. “Oh no, I am fine…could you help me choose a dress? I fear I don’t know what would be appropriate for a meeting with my Revered sister.”
       The older woman relaxed a little as she settled into the familiar routine of dressing her charge. She helped Avangyl over to the vanity, seating her so that she sat, sideways to the mirror.
       Smiling brightly, Shura gently tilted her lady’s face upwards. “Now, my lady has always looked lovely, but perhaps a little more powder will be needed to hide your pallor today…” As she studied Avangyl’s face, her voice trailed off and her smile faltered. “Am I mistaken or has my lady’s eyes become…darker?”
       Avangyl blinked and turned her face towards the vanity mirror. She had not seen her reflection since the day she had awoken after the accident. Recalling suddenly the strange words she had said, her lips murmured them anew: I am dead. Her eyes met those of her reflection’s and her heart skipped.
       She could not remember what color her eyes had been but surely they had not been the black they were now. The iris was a hue as deep as pitch and seemed to swallow the very light.
       Black as death.
       She startled as another pair of eyes flashed through her mind. They had belonged to a face of terrible beauty: dark eyes, pale skin, red lips.
       “My lady?” Shura asked worriedly. “You’ve gone white.”
       Avangyl closed her eyes and took a deep breath; her head was spinning and she feared another bout of sickness.
       “My lady, should I fetch—"
       “No, I’m fine,” She cut her off. “Just help me get ready.”
       “But my lady—"
       “I’m fine, Shura.” She opened her eyes, careful not to look into the mirror, and hardened her face. “Help me get dressed; I need to be presentable in an hour.”