A voice boomed through Frieda’s mind. “GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUT!”
Emily cringed as the voice tore into her very being, burning through her thoughts. It was powerful, yet ... she could hear a hint of desperation underneath it. She thrust herself onwards, remembering—again—that mental combat was all in the mind. Frieda could drive her out, she thought, but she couldn’t do any real harm as long as Emily kept a tight grip on herself.
Samra should be here, Emily thought, numbly. Or someone who knows what they’re doing.
She reached out, mentally, for the first part of the lattice. It was glued to Frieda’s thoughts ... no, it was part of Frieda’s thoughts. Emily couldn’t help thinking of it as malware, exploiting gaps in Frieda’s defenses until it seemed part of her defenses. And yet, she reminded herself, again, to concentrate on visualizing the lattice as something that could be removed. If she believed it couldn’t be removed, she wouldn’t have a hope of removing it.
Frieda’s thoughts raged around her, a razor-blade storm that threatened to dig into Emily’s soul. She saw ... creatures ... running towards her, strange entities that flickered from shape to shape as they tried to lock onto her thoughts. They would be formless, she reminded herself, as long as her mind didn’t give them form. She couldn’t close her eyes, not in Frieda’s mind, but she could ignore them. And telling herself—convincing herself—that they were harmless would make them harmless.
She touched the lattice ...
... The father is angry, storming around the room. The girl recoils from his shouts. She tries to speak, to try to promise that she won’t do it again if only he’ll tell her what she did wrong, but the words refuse to form. He grabs her by the arm, throws her over the chair and lashes her until her back is bruised and bleeding. She tries to ask, again, what she did wrong, but there is no answer. It isn’t until much later that it dawns on her that she didn’t do anything wrong ...
... And recoiled in shock. A memory, overwhelmingly strong. Emily gritted her teeth as phantom pain burned her back and legs, telling herself—firmly—that the pain wasn’t real. And yet, it had been real. Frieda had grown up with that man, her father ...
Emily didn’t want to press on, but she had no choice. She took hold of the lattice and pulled, hard. It resisted, shifting from form to form as it tried to find something that would give it a chance to remain embedded in Frieda’s mind, but Emily refused to let go. She heard someone—or something—howl in pain as she tightened her grip, imagining that her hands were superhumanly strong. The lattice shimmered ...
... The little girl stands in the square with her family and watches as the taxmen inspect the village. They go into every house, searching for hidden crops and livestock, then check the barns and other potential hiding places. The little girl feels the sullen anger and bitter helplessness pervading the villagers and wonders why her father does nothing, even when his oldest daughter is insulted, but she knows the soldiers will kill anyone who resists. And, afterwards, her father takes his rage out on her ...
... The young girl is running, hiding. She can hear giggling behind her, a mockery of a hunting horn ... she runs faster, only to trip and fall. Her pursuers are on her before she can rise, beating her with their fists and tearing at her clothes. She tries to kick out as they roll her over and over until she is covered in mud, but she cannot resist ...
... The winter is cold. The little girl watches as Granny is marched out of the house by her son. She wants to cry, to scream, but she knows her father will merely beat her again. Granny is old and frail. She must die so the rest of the family can live. And when her brother tells her she will be the next one out the door, she believes it ...
... The girl has just started to bleed, a day before the Harvest Festival. A sign of luck, perhaps ...
Emily staggered under the wave of emotion, of self-disgust and bitter sickness and naked hatred. The memory seemed to laugh at her, taunting her ... the lattice had found something that almost made her let go. She tried to concentrate, but the emotions pressed onwards, tearing into her mind. Frieda had been through hell. And now, if Emily wanted to free her, she had to face her friend’s memories.
She braced herself, feeling a sudden flash of relief. She’d thought she’d had it bad, years ago. She had no doubt that neither her mother nor her stepfather were suited to bringing up a child. But her stepfather had never beaten her for fun, or to relieve his feelings ... he’d certainly never put a grandma out into the cold to die. And if he had, he would have been arrested for murder, instead of being feted as someone who’d made the right decision. Frieda would have killed to have Emily’s problems. She would have traded places in a heartbeat.
The lattice snapped and snarled, growing teeth and claws. Emily smiled, challengingly, and reached for it ...
... The hunt is serious, this time. The boy is a few years older than her, on the verge of getting married. His father is a headsman; his mother the dame of the village. The girl knows better than to let him get too close, but he is too fast and strong and catches her away from the village. And then his hands are everywhere, pulling up her skirt and ...
Emily felt sick, but she forced her way through the memory. The impressions grew stronger and stronger—a young man molesting her, a father who didn’t care, a mother who couldn’t defend her daughter—capped with a memory of the first time Frieda had shown magic. Even Mountaintop had seemed an improvement, at first. She certainly didn’t want to go home again.
The lattice grew stronger, clawing at Emily’s mind. Emily concentrated, then took hold and pulled as hard as she could. Frieda screamed—Emily couldn’t tell if it was a real scream or just something in her mind—but Emily refused to be distracted. The lattice snapped and snarled at her, throwing memory after memory into Emily’s mind, yet it was losing. And she knew it was losing. The knowledge gave her power, even as the last memory struck out at her ...
... There is a girl. No, a young woman. Beautiful and clever and brave and ... and a savior ... HER savior. She wants to be with her. She hates it when she is with others. She wants her all to herself ...
Emily blinked in shock. Frieda had a crush on her. She’d known Frieda had a crush on her, after Mountaintop, but she hadn’t realized how intense it had been ... It still was. She’d thought Frieda had got over it, yet Frieda had been jealous of Caleb and ...