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

childhood, where he could easily recognize the sound and cadence of their prayers, but could never quite make out the message.
    He grabbed his knife, held onto the tall, black rock rising beside his bed, and scaled it to his feet. The volume of the voice continued to swell. It wasn’t an echo and it wasn’t an effect of the wind. This voice was real. Someone was here in the cave with him.
    He wrapped an arm around his chest and held his knife out before him, then hobbled cautiously toward the darkness. “Show yourself!” he called out. The tenor of his words disappointed him, sounding half-hearted and far too self-conscious as they echoed into the gloom
    The voice didn’t seem to notice, but only continued chanting.
    He eased his way deeper into the cave. The reddish light followed him, seeping through the crystal around him like blood burning beneath translucent skin. It was nothing more than an illusion created by the fire, but he was still thankful for it. Even the dim red light made the trip deeper into confinement less terrifying.
    “Don’t make me come back there!” he yelled, “You’ll be damned sorry if I do!”
    The voice responded by surging louder. The intensity was becoming uncomfortable. It reverberated through the crystal, echoing back and forth through the shadows so that it sounded like a dozen voices all chanting the same words just slightly out of synch with each other.
    His palm was sweating. He adjusted his grip on the knife to compensate for it. He drew a stuttering breath and commanded himself to be calm, then forced himself deeper into the cave. He refused to be intimidated by whatever fools lurked back there.
    The light continued to follow him. The volume of the voices continued to rise. He realized he could occasionally make out specific words, and though he didn’t understand them, he somehow knew they were an ancient form of Vaemysh. He thought about the Vaemyd in his dream, thought about her claims that he’d stolen the eye-stone from her. The memory spurred his aggravation.
    “I swear to the gods, you’d best come out of there!” he yelled out. He immediately regretted the desperation in his voice, and compensated by adding, “I’ve about had my fill of this bullshit!”
    The voice was loud enough now that he could feel his eardrums rattling. He considered going back for his crossbow, but with his ribs broken, he doubted he’d have the strength to span it. Still, he’d be damned if he’d let himself be played this way. Instead, he walked deeper in. The light flowed forward with him.
    The volume of the voice was nearly unbearable back here. It pulsed against his skin. He covered his ears, which did nothing. The words felt like they were inside him, like they were insects tunneling through his veins. They coursed through his blood and lapped against the walls of his skull. The words were calling to him from the inside out like the refrain of a song pounding over and over in his mind. It was too much. He squeezed his head. He felt dizzy. He couldn’t focus. He had to block it out. He had to—
    The voices abruptly stopped.
    Their memory quickly echoed into silence.
    Beam slowly lowered his palms from his ears.
    His hand was trembling. He knotted it into obedience. Enough was enough. He was good and goddamned sick of the whole mess. Somewhere ahead of him was an explanation for this madness, and he was determined to find it. And when he did, he’d give the sorry bitch something serious to mutter about.
    He marched boldly forward now, the red light dutifully in tow around him. He didn’t make ten more paces before everything changed.
    The ceiling disappeared above him. The crimson light ascended the steep walls, rushing upward like water pouring in reverse. It washed over the tops of the walls and slowly flooded the glassy surface of a massive domed ceiling hanging a hundred feet above him. It was at once both breathtaking and terrifying.
    He understood immediately that his was no