"But names are so personal, Griffin Byrne of New Haven," came her sweet voice, always seeming to laugh at me...
And then later that evening, when we were jumped by highwaymen, and I finally came face to face with her, her dark hair and bright eyes...
That same night when we made love by the campfire, bodies and sweat mingling... I traced every scar with my lips...
Months later, I cradled her head... she died in my arms...
She was everything... she was the one person who worked for me.. her name...
I... can't... REMEMBER...
*****
The previous night was nothing but a blur in my head, a scramble of action and movement, sound and light and darkness. There was the great sensation of flight, of being held above the treetops, the cold wind knifing through my clothes. People and faces swimmed in front of me as I floated in and out of consciousness. Stark was most prominent, as she tended to us all (and we all seemed so... damaged) as best she could.
She advised I sleep, but I curled my cloak around me and huddled against the cave wall, trying to sort out my mind. I could not reconcile that the most mundane of events -- what I had for supper ten days ago; the smell of corn in the fields my foster parents slaved over year after year; the taste of blood in my mouth, sharp and coppery -- but I could not remember those things most cherished, the memories I held most dear...
They were gone, lost in a scramble of minutia and the stench of demon's breath.
Suffice it to say, that evening I was not a pleasant man, and it was not until the next morning that I did not even begin to feel anything myself -- the presence of the splitting headache reminded me I'd survived the ordeal. Now all of my memories were a haze, such as that when taking a sharp blow to the head.
One of the Aeryans approached me and said that he would take me to the 'Meeting of the Winds' -- purportedly a place that could help me regain that part of myself I had lost at the hands (and occulus) of the demon. Again I felt that sensation of flight as the Aeryan lifted me with powerful arms, and we flew through bright blue skies towards the tallest peak in the distance.
Upon approach, I noticed that the fierce sunlight was actually flowing through a small fissure in the rock -- a nook the width and length of about the total height of my body. The Aeryan unceremoniously dumped me into this cubby-hole, and my first act was to pull my hood over my head to protect from the fierce winds ripping through the fissure. Making myself as comfortable as possible, I slowly drifted back to sleep.
Again, that sickening spiraling sensation, and then I was back to that campsite, the fire burning merrily beside us.
"Well, that was fun," I'd laughed.
"Better than talking to each other around a tree," came her response, always seemingly laughing at me...
Then I was kneeling there in the mud and rain, holding her body, wiping the rain and hair from her pale face.
"I love you, Claire..."
*****
Confident that I'd reassembled most of those memories lost to me, I summoned elementals to carry me back. I literally ran into Shen upon stepping back into the caves. "How do you feel?" he said, in his halting, grumbling way.
"I *am* the Master of the Winds!" I yelled, making Shen that much more confused. I thanked him again for saving my life, and he just gave me that look like he wasn't exactly sure why I was saying what I was. I could only clap him on the back (which required quite an stretch on my part) and we went back down to group up with the others.
Syrana looked no better. She did not have the benefit of a Shen to rescue her from the other demon's occulus, and such overnight had not woke from what Stark referred to as a coma. I petitioned to take her to the Meeting of the Winds -- Shen, who had seemingly been taken in by the Aeryans, arranged for this to happen -- with one small warning. If Syrana did not survive, her death would be on me.
I do not take life so carelessly, as a rule, but I had a hunch that the Winds would do Syrana a world of good, as they did me. Thus I took her to that place, and I studied my spellsongs as she slept. Hours passed before she finally woke, dazed, still scrambled, but alive and kicking. She was famished, and since I had nothing but a dessicated apple in my cloak, I picked her up into my arms and called the wind spirits back to us yet again.
Upon return I I found that Cecily was recovering from her near-death experience, and that we were being asked to relocate to caves that were down on the ground. Syrana and I met back up with Gerda, and we descended, in more than one way.
*****
I could go on at length about Fletcher and Gerda. Suffice it to say that just watching this happen was painful -- Fletcher demanding respect from Gerda on Syrana's behalf, Gerda not feeling it necessary to have explain herself to him. I could only shake my head as I watched the subject of this argument huddle and shiver against the side of the cave wall.
Back to War Paint
Ahead to Celebration
Return to Diaries
Return to Griffin