Memory

Chapter 7

In the days that followed I lived in a state of nervous terror, jumping at any odd noise in the night, or the sweep of an unexpected shadow. I didn’t talk to Yaphet, though my mother must have notified his family because he sent me a formal letter of condolence.

We waited seven days to hold the memorial ceremony, as custom advises for those taken by the silver. This is to allow time for friends to gather from neighboring enclaves. But travel is dangerous as my father’s fate showed, and I did not expect many guests—revealing how little I knew of Kedato Panandi.

My father had traveled often and made many friends. In the end, forty-two players risked the journey to Temple Huacho, many from far away Xahiclan, and if they hadn’t thought to bring gifts of food and drink and their own bedding we would have been hard-pressed to provide for them all. Among them were merchants and truckers and hoteliers and librarians and even the matchmaker from Halibury who had changed his opinion of my father over the past nineteen years.

The night before the service I went with my mother to the well room. She wore her green evening gown, and I wore a new dress of dark blue, for this was a formal occasion.

Stored in tiny, airtight drawers along the walls were the dormant kobolds she’d collected since the founding of Temple Huacho. Most of the little mechanics had been gathered from the mouth of our well, but many had been received from other temples, and some very rare specimens had been traded from hand to hand, traveling to us in slow steps from far around the ring of the world.

Our well produced kobolds in four different series: one of metallo-lithophores that specialized in mining; another of metallo-lithophores dedicated to building many rare objects of metal and glass; a third, unique series that produced the organic stones from which our orchard had been grown; and of course the series that encompassed the temple guardians, which were found in every well. For everything else we had to trade.

My mother approached the wide cabinet that housed the temple series. She knelt beside it, examining the drawers before choosing one at knee height. It rolled out to its full length of two feet. Inside were many small, transparent boxes. She selected one from the back, closed the drawer, then carried the box to her workbench.

The box was a complicated device used to store dormant kobolds. It was divided into two horizontal sections with a trapdoor between them. In the upper chamber were six kobolds. They looked very much like the guardian kobolds that lived within the walls and grounds of the temple, exuding their sweet, protective scent whenever the silver drew near. Like the guardians, these had membranes resembling petals on their backs, so that each looked like a blossom, but not a simple blossom like a cherry. Their petals were thicker and more numerous and they overlapped one another like the petals of a rose, hiding the degenerate legs beneath them. But where the temple guardians were white, these kobolds were a dusky red touched with tones of purple. A warning color.

My mother manipulated a bar built within the box, using it to push one of the kobolds onto the trapdoor. Then she pressed a lever, and the kobold was sucked into the lower level with a pop of pressurized air. After that she opened the bottom of the box and the kobold spilled onto the workbench, its useless legs already twitching as the touch of oxygen brought it out of hibernation.

“We’ll need two,” my mother said as she handed me the box. “But it’s best to do one at a time. So return this to the drawer for now, and be sure you close it tightly.”

I did as I was told. When I returned to the bench my mother had turned the kobold onto its back. Its legs waved in the air as she bent over it, studying its configuration code with her magnifying goggles. Then, using a tiny pick, she pressed at its belly, manipulating the digits. Sometimes configuration codes are fixed, but most kobolds have a range of functions that can be selected by adjusting the readout on their bellies.

“Have you memorized the setting?” I asked.

“It’s displayed on the screen of my goggles.”

“How can you keep your hand so steady?”

Her lips twitched in a faint smile, though she did not look away from her work. “It’s my talent. Steadiness.”

Her tears were long gone, her mood calm as she used the pick to tick off changes in the code.

“You did this for Jolly too, didn’t you?” I asked.

The thought came out of nowhere, taking me by surprise. I had blurted it out without thinking and immediately I was sorry. She didn’t need to be reminded of that other grief now—but I should have known my mother better. “How much do you remember of Jolly?” she asked without pausing in her work.

I remembered every detail of his last night. “I haven’t forgotten anything.”

She nodded her approval. “You must remember your father too. If we embrace the memory of those we love, they’ll continue inside us.”

I nodded, though I didn’t speak right away. Steadiness was not my talent.

Philosophers tell us to take comfort in the thought that those who are gone are born again into new lives but this was no comfort to me, for the memories we are made of are not reborn, and though my father might have already found new life in the womb of a woman somewhere in the world he would never be my father again.

But as they had for a week now, my thoughts slid from the fate of my father to the problem of the stranger beyond the wall. Neither my mother nor Liam had seen Kaphiri that night (if indeed it was him), for he had been standing beneath the wall, out of view of the temple—and I had said nothing.

I didn’t know what to say. I would go over it in my mind—Mama, I saw a magic man beyond the wall that night. He came out of the silver looking for your dead son.

She already had grief enough.

But I could not stop thinking about Kaphiri, and the way he had asked after Jolly as if Jolly were still alive.He should know that I am his father now.

These words, they haunted me. The possibilities they implied… it was almost more than I could bear.

So I watched my mother as she ticked off each of the hundreds of digits in the kobold’s code, and when I was sure my voice would be steady I asked, “Mama? Have you ever heard of a player called Kaphiri?”

She did not hesitate in her work. “No. I don’t know that name.”

“It’s said he can survive the silver.”

A smile touched her lips. “Has that rumor started again?”

I shrugged, though she wasn’t looking at me.

“No one can survive the silver, Jubilee. Don’t wish for it. You’ll only hurt yourself wishing for things that will never be.”

“It’s said Fiaccomo could pass through the silver.”

“It’s said he died in the silver and only the special favor of the goddess restored him. But that’s just a story.”

“I’m not so sure.”

My mother ticked off several more digits on the kobold before she answered. “All right. I thought Fiaccomo was a myth, but what you found in the ruined city suggests there really was a player by that name. That doesn’t mean he had supernatural powers. That city fell because the silver behaved then as it does now.”

I didn’t see it that way. “But why did the silver come in such a great flood on that one night, when no one in that city had even seen silver before?”

“Jubilee, I just don’t know.”

“I think I do.” I hesitated. I’d never told my mother this before: “That night Jolly was taken… he told me he’d called the silver, and it’s said Fiaccomo could do the same.”

“Jubilee!” This time she did stop her work. She laid down the pick and took off her goggles and looked at me so that I immediately regretted saying anything. “Jubilee.”

“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “It’s what he said, but he didn’t mean to do it.”

“He didn’t do it. Stories are not the same as life. No one can call the silver.”

But Kaphiri could. I’d seen that with my own eyes.

My gaze shifted to the kobold on the table. “This kobold you’re preparing, it’ll call the silver tomorrow. If it can—”

“No.”She shook her head. “That’s not a thing any player can do. Jubilee, have you believed all these years that Jolly brought on his own death…?”

I shrugged again. I didn’t know what I believed.

“You should have told me.”

There was a lot more I should have told her, but I didn’t. My mother was very wise, and I was afraid she would find a way to explain everything that puzzled me—a clever and logical explanation that might have nothing to do with the truth.

She put her goggles back on and retrieved her pick, but when she returned to her task her hands were not as steady as before.

The procession set out the next morning on foot. It was a glorious morning, with the sun bright and warm and only a few fluffy clouds. A hawk floated high in the air, while songbirds hid in the brush and trees so that it seemed as if the woodland itself was singing.

We followed a path Liam had cleared in the grass, around to the back of the hill, and from there a game trail led down to a quiet stream where I’d spent many pleasant hours swimming. Liam led the way. I followed behind him, carrying my youngest brother, Zeyen, who was only two. We were a subdued party as we picked our way along the stream for nearly a mile, but it was pleasant to walk under the shade of the trees, and to witness my brother’s delight with everything he saw.

The look of a puppy can be accurately predicted by looking at its parents, but it’s different with players. We don’t resemble our parents at all, for our parents change from one life to the next, while we remain the same person, only grown a little in experience. That is the usual rule, but Zeyen was the exception. Whether it was chance or the whimsy of the goddess I cannot say, but he looked very much like my father, and for that I kissed him often.

At last we reached our destination: a grotto where silver lingered even in the daytime. Here the stream had cut a shallow cave into the high, rocky bank on the farside. The cave was bordered in ferns and broad-leafed shrubs that bore small white flowers, and its floor was of coarse sand. At its mouth Liam and I had built a low platform of river rock to serve as a shrine. If there had been a body, it would have been laid there, but today we would leave only offerings.

The shrine was reached by a simple footbridge, made by my father when Jolly was taken. Yesterday Liam and I had repaired and repainted the bridge. I approached the site hesitantly, half expecting to see Kaphiri in the shadows, but of course he wasn’t there.

I took up a post at the near end of the bridge, while our guests gathered. My little brother had been in fine spirits all morning, so it surprised me to see his mood dim. He grew subdued, and turned his head from the grotto, resting it on my shoulder while holding himself perfectly still, just as a frightened fawn will huddle unmoving in the grass. My nearest sister, Emia, saw this and came running. “Give Zeyen to me, Jubilee. You shouldn’t bring him so close.”

“He’s all right,” I insisted.

But of course her worried face and her words convinced him there was something to fear. He started kicking and wriggling, reaching for her and crying so I had no choice but to hand him over. Babies are like that, but I felt stung—though it was a well-deserved rejection. Emia had spent far more time caring for the younger children than I had, especially since Liam came.

I watched her carry Zeyen away from the bridge and up the hill to where our guests were gathering. Herds of small deer commonly browse in Kavasphir and on this side of the stream their feeding had opened up the woodland, so that grass grew between the trees. My mother directed her guests to seat themselves here on mats and low folding chairs that had been brought for this purpose. I stayed at my post, making sure no children went across the bridge or into the water, though at this time of day there was really no danger—not until the kobolds were released.

When all was settled my mother spoke to her guests of my father’s life, and then Liam spoke, and then one by one many there came forward to tell what they had known of Kedato and why they had loved him. And as I stood at the foot of the bridge my father had built, I learned many things about him I had never heard before and felt a sharp pang of regret that I had not known him better.

Two of my brothers and my nearest sister also spoke, but words were beyond me. I listened to the soft voice of the stream and waited for the pain in my throat to subside.

When the speaking was over I crossed the bridge. I had carried a gold cloth with me, and I laid that now on the rock platform. My nearest brother, Rizal, came next and lit incense that filled the air with the sweet scent of citrus flowers. Then one by one my siblings crossed the bridge and left offerings on the shrine, gifts they had made for my father, or things that had belonged to him. Jacio brought his favorite bow. Emia brought a shirt he liked to wear that she had embroidered with flowers. Tezoé left her favorite kite.

Beside the other gifts I laid a spray of cherries from the orchard, and a figurine of a hawk that had belonged to Jolly. It’s said that in other times and places the youngest child was left on the shrine or if there were no children then the distraught lover might offer herself instead.

Thankfully, we lived in a kinder age.

My mother was last. She laid a handwritten letter on the shrine, and a strand of hair from each of us, made into a braid. Then she looked at me with dry eyes and nodded. I sent my siblings back across the bridge to join our guests on the hill. Everyone stood. Some of those who were older and slower, or who had small children with them, began to migrate toward the hilltop.

I stepped within the shadow of the cave, my mother beside me. The dazzle of sunlight had prevented us from seeing inside the cave before, but now we could look to the back wall where tufts of silver gleamed in narrow crevices running in rough angles from floor to ceiling.

“The silver won’t last long in the sunlight,” my mother said in a low voice. “But it will rise quickly. Don’t stumble as you cross the bridge.”

“I won’t.”

Then we bowed our heads to the silver and spoke together the ancient words credited to Fiaccomo:

I could hear Zeyen crying far away across the stream. My mother listened a moment. Then she took two tiny, transparent boxes from the pocket of her gown: the boxes that contained the kobolds she had prepared last night. In their airtight chambers they had gone dormant again but that would not last long. She gave one to me, saying, “Now we will ask the goddess to visit us.”

We returned together to the sunlight, placing the boxes on either side of the shrine. I waited for my mother’s signal. She nodded, and together we pressed the spring latches and our boxes fell open. Oxygen brushed the kobolds’ thick petals. I glanced back into the cave, thinking I had seen a shadow move within the shadows, but the sun was too bright and I could see nothing.

“Come,” my mother said, holding her hand out to me. “We’ll walk together. Quickly. But walk. And don’t look back until we’ve joined the others.”

I took her hand and we crossed the bridge together and climbed the hill. I did not look back, though I wanted to. I imagined Kaphiri emerging from the cave. I imagined his dark eyes, and his disquieting questions: Where is Jolly? Why does he hide from me? His presence filled my mind, so that when a murmur arose from our guests I knew Kaphiri was the cause. He had been seen. I started to turn, but my mother gripped my hand more tightly. “Wait,” she whispered. “Don’t turn back until we reach the top.”

I nodded. This day I was determined to obey her, no matter what.

Our guests had retreated ahead of us to the hilltop. As they looked past us I could see excitement in the faces of the children, but in their mothers’ eyes I saw anxiety. I could hardly bear not knowing. I hurried the last few steps. Then I let go of my mother’s hand and turned back.

The trees were widely spaced so it was easy to see down the grassy slope and across the stream to the cave, but I saw no sign of Kaphiri there. Our guests were mesmerized instead by the appearance of silver in daylight.

The kobolds had wakened the dormant silver. It billowed out of the grotto’s dark mouth, looking thin and almost white in the sunlight, floating higher than silver should, as if it had become light as a cloud. It drifted over the shrine, hiding our offerings. It rolled to the water where some of it was caught by the current and carried downstream in steaming clouds, but the main bank of silver crossed the water, filling the little vale and climbing the slope of the hill. An anxious, excited murmur ran through our gathering as the silver drew nearer. I could smell its fresh and lively scent. My heart beat faster. Instinct warned me to run away, to flee over the hill, and I knew everyone around me felt the same. But we stayed, and in a moment the sunlight did its work. The silver broke up into iridescent tendrils that rose like steam among the branches of the trees, vanishing utterly as they passed above the canopy.

In a few minutes it was all over. The silver was gone, and the streambed was as it had been except the gifts on the shrine and the cloth I had left there were gone. Taken by the goddess in her dream? It’s what my mother would say.

The bare river rock glistened now with flecks of gold. More flecks decorated the bridge, but that was all. The silver had not lasted long enough to bring about any real change.