[Memory Crystal Two: Little Butterfly]

  Maya's Perspective

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  The first thing I noticed about Reminisce was the sheer amount of light. Snowcrest Mountain was usually so overcast you could almost walk up the clouds and meet Ouranos himself. The Forest’s canopy was so dense that barely a few rays of sunlight penetrated the thicket, even in a clearing. But the moment Cupcake and I emerged from the woods, the late afternoon sun nearly blinded us, its glare magnified by the snowy ground.

  “And it has to warm my face?” I complained aloud, remembering the last part of Marcel’s memory crystal. “Egbami.” Cupcake made a low, grumbling noise, seemingly agreeing.

  A part of me wanted to return to the Forest, and not just to escape the crippling brightness. Despite running from home, despite crossing every boundary I thought I had in the name of survival and solace, stepping onto the dusty road felt…final.

  But a stronger part of me felt satisfied. Liberated. Any other Snowcrestian would’ve been killed if they had attempted what I had; if not by Lou, then by Vek. The bandits would’ve been justified; the pact permitted it. The only one who could have traversed the Forest and survived would be Thorin, and it wouldn’t be because of his “leadership.”

  Now all that remained was the easy part: follow the road to Mnemosyne, meet Olayemi, and wait for Marcel. But how awkward would that be? Now the roles were reversed: I knew far more about him than he’d dare reveal, while he knew nothing of my experience in the Forest. Or perhaps that was his intent. Perhaps this was his way of laying everything out after over a decade of secrecy. Was this the thread the Fates had woven for me?

  Cupcake lurched forward, nose to the grass. We could be in the sunset like Ikaros and Daidalos; literally, since we had to head west. But I hesitated to blindly march her down the path. Mnemosyne was grand, Marcel had warned, but perilous. He had shown me memory crystals of the city before, but only the grandeur. Now that I knew Lou and Vek came from there, I was wary of what might await me. Not just the people, but the circumstances that pushed them to embrace the Syndicate.

  The white memory crystal still rested in my bag. It could be like Iason’s golden fleece if even half as insightful as the green one. I dismounted Cupcake and rummaged through my bag. The Thunder blade was there, more a symbol of addiction than a weapon. After the initial horror of what I—no, what Cupcake had done—subsided, the same euphoric feeling returned. I shoved it down. It didn’t belong to me, not even to Deo. Ghost-Marcel had been right: Cupcake dealt the final blow, not me, and she was only protective. She was smart, but still an animal. She had no concept of morality or—

  Excuses, Marcel interjected.

  I sighed, taking the blade and hiding it in my sleeve, as usual. In case I need to defend myself again, I told myself.

  Isn’t that convenient? Marcel sneered. Be honest. You want a reason to ‘defend yourself’ again.

  I ignored him.

  Beside the Thunder rune lay the white memory crystal. I floated it out with my new nail. Hesitation caught me. I wasn’t sure what ghost-Marcel was, but Lou had warned he was tied to the extraction and my use of real-Marcel’s green crystal. Would using this one drive me further into insanity? Empower ghost-Marcel?

  I decided to risk it. Either this, or I’d be completely lost the moment I set off down the path.

  “Sit, Cupcake,” I commanded. She huffed like an angsty teenager, but obeyed, settling in the grass. I leaned against her, held the crystal to my forehead, and flicked it with my nail, just as Lou had taught me.

  DOOON!

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  Helios cast an ochre glow across the evening sky as I approached the third sign on my way to the city.

  “M-N-E-M-O-S-Y-N-E,” I read aloud on a whim. “One K-M.” I was indifferent to Reminisce and its people, but I had no respect for their language. Maya had been lucky: bilingual and mostly biliterate. Sometimes I considered learning Commonscript properly, if only to choose not to read or write it, rather than being unable. But I was a sell-sword, not a scholar. I kept walking.

  It was warm, much more tolerable than the Mountain or even the Forest. Three days of travel had left me parched and famished. My canteen was empty. I’d survived worse, trekking through the Cosmaran bush with Maya years ago. Thirst was the least of my worries then; it was the least of my worries now.

  After a while, I came to a fork in the road, marked by another sign. I didn’t bother reading it; my instincts guided me left, as they often had. To the right lay minor villages on the outskirts of the city; just close enough for the marketplace, just far enough to avoid the city’s chaos. Arthen had told me about the ignorant, accusatory sentiment these people held toward Cosmarans. Wanderers, they called us. I prayed Maya would never know their vitriol. She should remain in Snowcrest, far from these people.

  Fifteen minutes later, I saw the Gates of Mnemosyne. I’d shown Maya the gates countless times through runemagic; and her wonder never waned even once. I couldn’t blame her; Snowcrestian infrastructure was primitive at best, middling even. I could’ve shown her Cosmara’s mighty castle gates, just to compare—but it was best she had as few memories of home as possible. I would do the remembering for both of us.

  The longing I’d felt for all these years. Suffocating. Stifling. She didn’t deserve even a fraction of it, even if it was her heritage.

  I took a deep breath as I approached the Gate. It was just a pit-stop; my journey still stretched to Hillcrest. But I never went anywhere without stopping at The Puny Axe. Olayemi hated it otherwise. He had been the first Cosmaran I’d seen outside Cosmara, and the only one who willingly left home before the Dream-Eater incursion. Most Cosmarans, including Maya and me, never had that luxury.

  “Wandering into Mnemosyne, I see,” one of the Gate’s guards remarked sarcastically as I passed. Scrawny. Gambling, as usual. I didn’t know their names, and they didn’t know mine.

  Their purpose was what, exactly? Why guard the gate when all the trouble was already inside? I wasn’t sure, especially since they were so easily bribed.

  “Shut up your mouth,” I spat, tossing them a golden munin. They scrambled for the coin like fish to bait and let me pass. I had tried showing Maya some of these coins, but to her they were just shiny circles; and that was for the best. Greed was unbecoming of her. Reminiscents wore it best.

  I walked through the gate and made my way into the Mnemosynic streets. The outer city was pristine: well-kept cobblestones, landscaped avenues, marble mansions, and expansive properties. Aristocrats and politicians lived here. Maybe Maya would have been impressed, but I wasn’t. The inner city told the real story. Most people couldn’t afford to avoid suffering.

  Like a color gradient, the city deteriorated the further I went inward. Buildings crumbled, people grew weary. Trash littered the streets. Beggars. Choosers. All wandering amid decay. This was the part I hoped Maya would never see: the wrath, the pride, the vanity—

  Sinners. All of them.

  I navigated the streets with practiced ease; left here, right there. My body remembered even if my mind didn’t. Many had been divorced from their wealth and innocence here; the consequence for being leisurely in the inner city. The assailants couldn’t choose for themselves, so they chose for others. Perhaps we were alike in that regard.

  Passersby moved through their own worlds; a stark contrast to life in Cosmara. There, everyone was a brother, an uncle, a sister, an auntie. Even little Maya had her juniors and seniors. Here, you could be surrounded by thousands and still be alone. Mnemosyne: the city of memories where the individual is forgotten.

  But I had been isolated from the start.

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  Eventually, I reached The Puny Axe. The building was massive, occupying almost an entire block. Though Mnemosyne’s infrastructure generally decayed inwardly, this area was surprisingly well-kept, rivaled only by the aristocrats’ grove. Contrary to its name, the ‘Wanderers’ had built a thriving community; a haven walled off from the city’s indiscriminate inhumanity. Mnemosyne wasn’t lawless; its people were simply ungovernable. Most chose violence, Olayemi chose community. Maya had met him before, but I doubted she remembered.

  “Abúrò!” Olayemi shouted as soon as I stepped inside. “Long time! How bodi?”

  He was tall, bald, with loam skin and a handsome face. Somehow, he was bold enough to wear a white-and-gold agbada in inner Mnemosyne, adorned with gold jewelry. Olayemi: “A life of wealth, prestige, and fortune befits me.” At least he lived up to his name.

  “I dey here, O,” I replied, pushing past drunk Reminiscents. His tavern was special. One price for runemagic that instantly inebriated a customer, extra for bottled liquor. “Would you like taste or experience?” he always asked. The answer was usually both.

  “Come now, jare,” he said, “we have—”

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  Mrmph. Cupcake grumbled, nosing me awake. The crystal had slipped into my lap as I sat groggily upright. The late afternoon sun nearly blinded me. Again, I was alone in a snowy, marshy puddle while Cupcake went about her business. From her perspective, I had simply decided to nap randomly, and she had made the executive decision to wake me.

  “Kí ló s?, Cupcake?” I groaned, rubbing my eyes. I pocketed the crystal. Cupcake wasn’t letting me fully process it. Whether I made it to The Puny Axe now was up to Hermes.

  Cupcake whined impatiently. I wasn’t sure what she wanted.

  “A monster?” a feminine voice called from behind Cupcake. She shifted, revealing a pale-skinned woman standing across the road with a small pail. If she was one of the Reminiscents who believed the Forest held demons, she was impressively brave.

  “A huldra?” the woman gasped, incredulous upon seeing me. “Then the legends are true…”

  I didn’t know what a ‘huldra’ was, nor did I care. But I had to be careful. She clearly believed Cupcake and I were supernatural beings, just as the Syndicate intended. If I revealed I was human, she might inspire others to venture into the Forest, breaking the Syndicate’s cover and endangering Snowcrest. Lou said she would be stationed at the outer outpost soon, so revealing too much would create problems for her, as well.

  Alternatively, I could retreat into the Forest and re-emerge later; but she might alert others and stake out the ‘Hydra,’ or whatever she had called me.

  You could kill her, Marcel suggested. Keep up the Forest’s terror. Her family will assume she wandered too close.

  Or I could remain silent, bestride Cupcake, and flee. I’d been speaking Cosmaran while groggy; this lady probably thought it was the ‘language of the forest’ or something. If I left now, she could be happy that she saw a real Forest spirit.

  “Oya,” I said, swinging onto Cupcake’s back. She bolted down the road before I even fully seated myself, while the woman called after us.

  ***

  Marcel had traveled this road for hours; Cupcake did it in half the time. I could relax as she sped down the path. Not like there were any trees to barrel through anymore.

  “Mnemosyne, one ‘K-M,’” I read aloud as we passed the sign. I didn’t know what a K-M was, but assumed it measured distance. Snowcrest’s units were simple, based on body parts: fingers, arms and longer distances in paces or hours.

  The next sign appeared thirty seconds later at Cupcake’s speed. I gritted my teeth, coaxing her left. My muscles burned from two days of riding, but we pushed on. Soon, the Gates came into view. And they were breathtaking.

  Memory crystals were impressive, but they couldn’t match real experience. I’d never felt so small next to anything, not even Cupcake. I barely noticed the guards at first.

  “Another Wanderer?” one taunted, yanking me from awe. “Fourth this month. Migration or something?”

  I recognized them all from the memory crystal, which was very unsettling. They knew nothing about me, yet I had seen exactly what they looked like long before meeting them. I tried to swallow the feeling and pass through the Gate, but—

  “Woah, where’re you going, miss?” one of the guards rose to stop me and Cupcake, while the others continued their card game. She huffed, but showed no signs of aggression.

  “Through the Gate?” I said sheepishly. The coins, I thought impatiently. Why should I give them coins? None of them look like Kharon to me.

  “By yourself?” he asked. A loaded question, it kind of reminded me of Vek. But ghost-Marcel wasn’t telling me to kill him. Maybe that was a good sign.

  “Technically, I have my dog with me,” I said innocently.

  Woof! Cupcake agreed.

  “Where is your husband?”

  Husband? I thought. In Snowcrest, marriage carried political responsibility and was discouraged until the mid-twenties. The closest I had to a husband was probably Val. Or maybe Lou.

  “I—”

  You’re going to have to lie your way out of this, Marcel breathed. Lie, not bluff. I couldn’t invoke Deo here. The guards had no connection to Tiger’s Fang, so threats wouldn’t work. I needed something new.

  “I’m going to see him right now!” I decided.

  “I’ve never seen you before.”

  “Born and raised in the inner city,” I replied.

  “And the bear?”

  “Anniversary gift,” I said without hesitation. “Planned this for months. Had to sneak out and everything. Don’t even get me started on the breeder…” I rolled my eyes playfully, praying I sold the story. Cupcake tilted her head, watching.

  “Mhm,” the guard grunted. “You know, I gotta search the saddlebags. Wouldn’t be doing my job otherwise…”

  “Fine,” I shrugged. “But be warned: she bites.”

  “Junebug just went all in on your behalf, Jorge,” another guard called, waving him over. The cards clearly mattered more than me.

  “Y’know what? Whatever,” Jorge muttered, dismissing me. “Just go ahead.”

  And so, we did.

  ***

  The city wasn’t nearly as cold or snowy as outside the Gate. It warmed quickly, and I briefly worried about having to shave Cupcake; but she wasn’t panting, even after the long run.

  The infrastructure left me unimpressed. The Aristocrats’ Grove, as Marcel had called it, was objectively beautiful; but seeing it after knowing my brother’s bitter disdain was like watching a play spoiled by a heckler.

  And the noise!

  DOOON!

  DOOON!

  DOOON!

  It was as if everyone had decided to use their runes at once. Marcel might have tuned it out in his crystal, or maybe he was simply desensitized, but I was blindsided. I had heard it faintly in the distance, but here, it was overwhelming.

  Ghost-Marcel, relatively silent at first, grew louder as we progressed inward, his paranoid shouts startling me:

  Who’s that!? Watch out! Duck!

  His voice rattled around in my skull, overlapping itself until it was unintelligible, migraine-inducing nonsense. My body began jerking reflexively, responding to his commands. I had to consciously quell each movement. Perhaps he feared ‘assailants,’ but I looked unwell. And my giant hound only amplified the intimidation.

  The Reminiscents themselves surprised me. They showed more skin than I expected from a snowy mountain upbringing, wearing airy dresses, tunics, and… rags? I noticed a middle-aged man sitting on a curb, cradling a baby. His clothes were tattered, teeth missing. How could a city with such grandeur allow this?

  Ghost-Marcel’s headache faded, returning as a uniform voice:

  DO NOT HELP HIM!

  I ignored him and gently approached. The man didn’t notice me or Cupcake until we were right next to him.

  “What do you want?” he demanded, abrasive and accusatory.

  I reached into Cupcake’s saddlebag, pulling out a soft peach. Probably not ideal, but soft enough for the baby.

  “Here,” I said, smiling.

  “You think an apple is going to help my situation!?” he shouted, slapping the peach away, startling the baby to tears. He made no effort to comfort the child. “You think you’re Eir’s descendant!? I don’t need charity—especially not from you!”

  I stammered, backing away. “S-sorry.”

  That’s not—LOOK OUT!—what Deo would’ve done, ghost-Marcel sneered.

  “Shut up…” I muttered. In his crystal, Marcel had never been bothered. He just kept his head down, and menacing enough to be left alone. Who did I think I was? This man was exactly the type the Syndicate would target. The type shaped by circumstance, dressed in rags. Desperate. How many others like him existed?

  I kept walking.

  ***

  I struggled to remember the exact route Marcel had taken to The Puny Axe. Between the deafening city noise and ghost-Marcel’s pounding in my head, disorientation felt inevitable.

  But eventually, I found the Wanderers’ Enclave and soon after, Olayemi’s tavern. Cupcake couldn’t fit through the door, but she didn’t complain until I told her to stay put. Poor girl was restraining herself from chasing new scents. I owed her now.

  Pushing past drunkards, I reached the bar. Marcel’s voice fell silent, and my headache mostly subsided. Perhaps this was the first indication of safety. The city here was quieter; not silent, but less overbearing.

  Olayemi lounged with his feet up on the bar, seemingly paying no attention. He wore the same clothes as in Marcel’s memory crystal, which made me wonder how old the crystal was and if he’d washed them since then. I quickly brushed the thought aside; I probably stank myself after what I’d been through.

  “Mr. Olayemi?” I started shyly. My voice came out much more meekly than I intended; but knowing his name before he knew… me made everything awkward. According to Marcel, I’d met him before—but that would have been twelve years ago. He was a tavern owner; he probably forgot many people who still remembered him.

  “Yes, dear,” he sat forward. “How can I help you? A taste or an experience?”

  I froze. I hadn’t expected to make it this far, and honestly, I hadn’t wanted to. I’d been used to feeling out of place… but this? Outside Snowcrest, none of the values I’d grown up with mattered. Not kindness. Not mercy.

  Now that I was here, what was I even going to say? Look for Olayemi, the owner, Marcel had instructed. Tell him I sent you. But would he respond to Marcel or to Tiger Fang?

  Be natural, ghost-Marcel said.

  “Marcel sent me,” I said finally. “I’m—”

  “Maya-mi!” Olayemi exclaimed, nearly leaping over his bar to greet me. He maneuvered around the customers and crashed into me with a warm hug. All of the drinkers stared, but he didn’t care. “How are you? How bodi? Long travel from the mountain, abi?”

  Amid his affection, I wondered: when was the last time anyone had genuinely been excited to see me? Valorie? We lived together; familiarity had long since replaced excitement. Marcel? He was always more… relieved, not excited. As if taking a pain suppressant. Eliza? Concerned, inevitably. Cupcake didn’t count. Chief Thorin hated me. Mrs. Linda was oblivious. Margaret was a pain. Hugo was thrilled by duty. I’d threatened Lou. Vek… died. The guards? Indifferent over their card game. And the homeless man had shouted at me, despite my attempt to help.

  So… no one. Not a single person.

  “I—”

  “Come, sit,” Olayemi interrupted, gesturing to a seat in front of the bar. “I shouldn’t use much Cosmaran, abi? You only speak Common?”

  “I can sp—”

  “Wonderful!” he said, switching fully. “O gb?d? s? gbogbo n?kan fún mi!”