The Pleasure of Memory by Welcome Cole Read Free Book Online Page A

back from his face. The liberty of sleep was now thoroughly vanquished, rounded up and executed by grim dreams and broken flesh. His thoughts roamed back to the Vaemyd taunting him in his dream, and he immediately wanted to beat something to death. It seemed like those goddamned savages had been chasing him his entire life, and he’d been hating them just as long. Now, they were even plaguing his dreams.
    Outside the cave, the rain still pattered. Darkness shuttered the cave’s entrance, though the crystalline surface framing it was shimmering in a most peculiar red light. It looked like a mouth seen from the inside out, with glittering crimson lips and jagged, bloody teeth, and though he knew the light was only the crystal facets stealing the firelight, he still found it mildly disturbing. And yet, watching it diverted him from his agonies more effectively than any feeble meditation attempt ever could.
    He glanced over at the pouch still resting on the rock beside his bed, then immediately did a double take. It was glowing. It looked lit from within like one of the luminaries used by the Parhronii civilians to line the streets during the Festival of the Trees, candles softly glowing inside small, woolen bags half filled with sand. It was utterly impossible and perfectly fascinating, and obviously another trick of light in a cave defined by tricks of light.
    He picked up the pouch. It bathed his hand and wrist in a muffled red glow. The bag and its content felt warm against his palm and fingers, like a pebble heated by a summer sun. He slipped the cord over his head and laid the pouch against his chest. The warmth quickly radiated into his flesh. It flowed through his arms and into his shoulders and swelled across his back like blossoming wings. The sensation was delicious and enticing. He closed his eyes and melted back into his bedding.
    Time faded. His mind folded back into the veils of sleep. It may have been minutes or days before the voice stirred him from his slumber.
    He opened his eyes. His heart was pounding. He held his breath and listened.
    The rain was still murmuring quietly outside the cave, though the runoff from the mountain pattered more enthusiastically at the entrance. There was no voice to be heard in it.
    It was nothing. Just an illusion induced by the residual anxiety left over from the misery of the day. He’d only been dreaming again.
    He closed his eyes and tried to push the world away. His wounds rallied to sabotage his sleep, but he resisted them. He just needed to let go of everything, to stop thinking, stop worrying, to get some rest while he still could. He concentrated on his heart, focused on the singular vibration of each dedicated beat. Before long, he was sinking once again into slumber.
    Someone whispered in his ear.
    He pushed himself up onto an elbow and peeled the poultice from his blind eye. He peered around the camp. The fire simmered worriedly as the last licks of flame struggled to hold onto life. The crystals shards hanging high above him twinkled in reflection of the pale light of the flames. His clothes pasted the rocks surrounding the fire like the shadows of dead men. He was alone.
    Then he heard it again, a feminine voice lurking just under the cover of the rain. He focused on the sound but couldn’t determine the location. It floated up from the darker depths of the cave, and yet was as close as if she were lying right here beside him.
    “Who’s there?” he whispered.
    The voice continued murmuring. It was growing louder. It seemed all around him, near and distant in the same breath. He braced his ribs and pushed himself to his knees so that he was facing the thick gloom gripping the hidden rear of the cave.
    “Who’s back there?” he said, louder this time.
    Again, no response. The eerie voice was growing more distinct, though he still found no substance in the words. It was like the sound of the monks chanting behind the thick oak doors of the priory back in his