* * *
Once they had left, Sandrena went down that hall and paused at the door, bracing herself against the wall. Silent sobs took her. She didn't know if she could face her failure once again. Now that the god was dead, vengeance no longer gave her the will to go on. Even coming this far had been a terrible effort, but she needed this to put the pain to rest. She needed to bury the Lady's body so that she could move on.
Maybe... maybe then she could finally dream.
Dream of a life all her own.
She pushed the wooden door open and stepped into the room. What she saw there nearly stopped her heart.
A woman, beautiful, strange yet familiar, stood on the balcony at the other side of the room, overlooking the mists. Hands the color of bronze rested on the railing gently, as if savoring the feel of the stone under her fingertips, as if amazed that they would ever be able to feel such a thing again. Hair as white as Sandrena's had been danced joyfully in the mountain breeze sweeping over the walls and ramparts of the ancient keep. The woman turned, and Sandrena beheld eyes of silver.
Without smiling, without expression of any kind, the Lady said, "I wasn't sure you'd remember."
Sandrena gaped. Of all the things she had seen lately, this astounded her the most. She had seen the Lady crushed to pulp, seen all life squeezed out of her ruined body. But she had also seen her body restored, if not to life, then to form. And resurrection was not something that was alien to the people of the Fourth World.
A thousand questions assailed her at once. The first one that she could clutch onto coherently was, "Remember what?"
Then the Lady did smile. Her face radiated joy. "Our song, of course."
"Our... song?" Sandrena leaned heavily against the door jamb. Slid to the floor.
Alarmed, the Lady rushed over to Sandrena and gathered her up in her arms. "I— I'm sorry," she stammered. "I thought you knew."
Sandrena didn't know. She couldn't even think. The words entered her mind—our song—and everything seized up within her. "Knew?" she managed.
The Lady held her close, arms wrapped tightly around her. Sandrena could smell the Lady's hair; it smelled nothing like she remembered her little sister's smelling, her little sister from a life she never lived. Sandrena had always wondered if there was something wrong with her mind; why else would she have such strange memories, memories of events she knew never happened to her?
Yet she remembered them; they were her memories. They defined her as much as any experience she had had on the Fourth World.
All of that flew out of her head like leaves on the wind. All she was left with was this moment. Now.
With my sister, my true sister, holding me.
Tears fell from Sandra's eyes, onto Laura's neck. She returned the embrace, gripping her fiercely, remembering all the joy that little blond girl had given her in that other life, and silently thanking her for it.
Laura's voice was soft in her ear. "I knew you would save me again."
"Again? What do you mean? I tried to save you last time, but I didn't. I failed."
"No." Laura gently pushed herself away so that she could look into Sandra's eyes. She was crying, too. "No, you didn't fail. Dad came and got the water out of my lungs." She smiled, though Sandra could see the pain in her beautiful silver eyes. "He chased off the Second Hill boys, and eventually ran them out. I never saw them again."
"So... you—"
Laura smiled the smile that Sandra remembered, the one that righted all the wrongs in the world. "Yes. I lived, all thanks to you."
Sandra couldn't decide whether to laugh, cry, or tighten her embrace, so she did all three. Soon, they were out on the balcony, Laura telling her stories of her life after that day while the sky darkened. Sandra laughed when she heard how her father made a cart for Laura that the dog could pull and how she had taken many a spill out of it. She wept when Laura told her of the day mom died, trying to give birth to a brother who also didn't survive. She nodded in satisfaction as Laura told her what dad had done to rid the villages of Ian and Jonah, and gasped in shock when she learned that Devvy had murdered them.
"The last day I saw dad was the day I started walking."
"You... walked?"
Laura smiled, eyes abstracted as she remembered. "It was hard, but yes. The healers couldn't figure it out." She shrugged. "But I was stubborn. Nothing was going to stop me."
Sandra knew the truth of that.
"Sandrena," said Laura, suddenly somber. "I'm afraid I'm going to do something very cruel to you."
Sandrena stomach turned. She met the Lady's gaze. "You're going to make me forget, aren't you?"
"Those memories. They're from another world. They don't really belong to you."
Sandrena shook her head. "You're wrong, little sister. They are me."
"I'm not Laura anymore. I'm the Lady now. I have to make sure that Berahmain's plans are followed. You remembering that other world disrupts the order that the God fights for."
Sandrena had come into that room, planning on burying the body of the Lady. She had come here knowing that it was time to forget. "Will I forget this conversation?"
The Lady withdrew within herself as she considered. "Technically, I could let you keep it, but it wouldn't make much sense to you without those other memories. It will seem little more than an addled dream."
A dream.
A dream of my very own.
Sandrena breathed in deeply, sighed it all out. "Will you remember me? Will you remember... Sandra?"
A fresh tear rolled down her copper cheek. "Always."
Sandrena nodded. "Then let me remember this at least."
The Lady's voice was little more than a whisper. "Always."
"Goodbye, little sister."
"Goodbye, big sister."
* * *
When Sandrena slept that night, she dreamt.
She dreamt of love and loss, of tragedy and triumph, of life and death.
She dreamt of a little girl on crutches, whose smile could save the world.
When Sandrena awoke the next day, her dreams faded, forgotten.
She did not mind. She knew that the dreams would return, and give a glimpse into a world that never was, and a life she never lived.
About the Author
Though having only discovered fantasy fiction in his adult life, Brandon was raised on a steady diet of science fiction novels, instilling in him the sense of wonder that eventually culminated in his becoming a fantasy author. He has lived in Washington State for most of his life, though he currently resides in Japan, and received a degree in philosophy from the University of Washington in Seattle. Like many authors before him, he was attracted to fantasy for its ability to provide a backdrop for exploring philosophical themes, many of which permeate the stories of the Fourth World.
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