“What is it?” It was the same dazed look Sam wore when he suddenly remembered something he shouldn’t.
“Several lifetimes ago I traveled to the jungles along the equator.” His tone drifted, almost singsong. “The air was as thick and hot as a greenhouse, and the plants were incredible. They were immense, and everywhere, taking up every bit of earth. The air buzzed with the noise of bugs and animals calling territory.”
I could feel it. Hear it. What an alien cacophony it must have been.
“You couldn’t even drink the water. It wasn’t safe.” He traced one of the symbols on the page, paper fluttering in the fading autumn breeze. “And then it seemed like out of nowhere I came across these piles of enormous stone, so old and weathered some of them were breaking apart, but I could see where they’d once made a wall.”
“What kind of wall?” I whispered.
The remembrance began to fade. “I’m not sure….”
“Was it white?”
“What?” He blinked, and the memories vanished. “I’m sorry. I must have been thinking about something else.”
“You were telling me about stones you found in the jungle. You said they’d once been a wall. Was it white?”
Cris shook his head. “I…don’t remember that. Sorry.” He slipped the paper into his pocket. “But thank you for coming this afternoon. It was nice seeing you again.”
When we finished polite small talk and farewells, Sam and I headed from the garden maze. His voice came low and soft. “Nothing?”
If Cris couldn’t remember the conversation about the wall in the jungle, neither would Sam if I told him. And the fact that Cris had difficulty remembering it made me think Janan was involved somehow. Ugh. If only he’d said a little more. Described a heartbeat in the stone, maybe. Except the wall had crumbled, which meant what?
Sam had found a wall in the north, in dragon territory. Cris had found one in the jungle. Neither could recall the encounters clearly.
“Ana?” Sam touched my shoulder, looking worried. “Are you all right?”
“Yeah, sorry.” I shook away my thoughts of other cities for another time. “Cris said he’ll look at the symbols more.”
“Then he will.” He said it with utter certainty.
It killed me not knowing what had happened between them. They thought so highly of each other, and yet.
“So what now?” he asked.
I pressed my palm over the pocket where the temple key rested. “What I said I was doing before: going into the temple to look for more clues.” I sounded as enthusiastic as I would have at the idea of cutting off my hand with a rusty knife, but I was still glad he’d demanded to go with me.
“Oh, right.” He didn’t sound upset or disappointed. More as though I’d just reminded him of something. “You can get in.”
“Yes. I have a key, remember? It makes doors.”
“I remember. It’s silver.”
I stared at him. He’d never remembered before. Cracks were loosening the magic that kept his memories locked. It had never been challenged, and if everyone had the same selective amnesia, then it didn’t have to be good magic. But he’d spent so much time with me, with my questions—
I shivered with hope. Maybe I could break the magic.
14
CREVICE
THROUGH THE WINDOW glass, the sky turned velvet indigo as the sun hovered below the city wall and horizon.
My backpack grew heavy as I filled it with dried fruits and crackers, bottles of water, and painkillers. When I’d met Meuric in the temple before, and he’d tried to trap me, he said I’d never get hungry or thirsty. Maybe that was true, but I didn’t want to take chances.
“Got enough stuff?” Sam said as he came into my bedroom and watched me shove a small blanket into the bag. “Sure you don’t want to add the piano? I bet you can make it fit.”
I made a show of looking back and forth between him and the bag. “I’m not convinced you can carry all that.”
He pressed his hand over his heart in mock indignation. “I could. And I’d carry all your books. Your flute. Your rose, too.”
“Oh! My rose!” I grabbed it off my desk and threaded the stem through my braid. “Even if I can’t take the piano, I should be able to take something good. Besides you, I mean. I’m glad you’re coming.” The rose was starting to dry, though. Petals rasped under my fingertips. “How’s that?”
“Beautiful.” Sam snapped my backpack closed and pressed his mouth into a line.
“What? You don’t like my hair like this?” Too bad for him; I did. I’d get a hundred roses and put them in my hair.
“Oh, I do.” He put on his coat, then pulled the backpack on over it. “It just startled me for a moment. Cris used to wear roses in her hair, too.”
Her hair.
Blue Rose Serenade.