What he saw astounded him. His expectation, his hope, had been that Elieve would accumulate memories as swiftly as a newborn, but Mark’s focused companionship had managed to create memories within the girl at an even faster rate. While Elieve’s memories still constituted a stream rather than a river, there was no danger of the girl losing her way.
With a brief mental exertion, he lifted his hand from her skin and came out of her mind. “Well done, Mark. I think we can do more than just try to restore her vision; I think I’ll be able to take away all of Cerena’s memories.”
He glanced at Allta, waited for his guard to acknowledge him before he continued. “Listen carefully. Here is how it must be done. When those with the gift of domere enter a person’s mind, we see their memories as a river composed of colored strands. The color indicates the emotion attached to the particular memory. When I first entered Elieve’s mind, every strand I saw was black with hatred. That was Cesla’s doing.”
He sighed against the coming fatigue. “Since all of those memories had to be destroyed, it was a fairly simple process. What I must do now is harder. I will have to sift through Elieve’s memories until I have destroyed every remnant of Cerena’s life. Within her mind, I will grasp each memory, one at a time, to determine its origin. If it is Elieve’s, I will release it. If it is Cerena’s, a mental twist, hardly more than the intention of destroying it, will serve to obliterate it. Delving runs at incomprehensible speed compared to the waking world, but even so, this will take a long time. Do you understand what I’m telling you, Mark?”
His apprentice—strange that the word carried more weight now—nodded.
“Good,” Pellin said. “You must commit everything I tell you to memory. It’s important.”
Mark’s answering nod was serious. “Yes, Eldest.”
He put his hand back on Elieve’s arm.
When he lifted it again, the ship still rocked, but the morning sky outside the porthole had turned to charcoal and a scarlet wash of clouds on the horizon showed that night was mere minutes away. The room spun in his vision, and he pitched toward the floor.
Strong hands caught him, helped him upright. Slowly, the room stabilized and Pellin pointed to a chair. Allta half carried him, but once sitting, his real senses reasserted themselves, and after a drink he found speech possible.
“I have done all I can to ensure she is well and truly Elieve. I think you can remove her blindfold now, Mark, though she may find even this dim light uncomfortable at first.”
Mark reached up to untie his thief’s blindfold from the girl.
“Be ready, Allta,” Pellin said. “Her response is unpredictable.”
The girl ducked her head, squinting against the light, then buried her face into the crook of Mark’s shoulder.
“It’s alright, Elieve,” Mark said.
The sound of his voice pulled her head up, her eyes wide, but his nearness kept her from focusing on him, and blinking, she leaned away until almost a foot of space separated them.
“Elieve,” Mark said again.
“Loved,” she said.
“Yes.” Mark nodded.
Pellin watched her gaze fix upon Mark’s lips. “Keep talking to her, lad.”
“You are loved,” Mark said.
Elieve lifted her hands to Mark’s face, feeling, poking him clumsily as he spoke to her, tracing the movements of his mouth. Her head lifted as her gaze traveled up from his lips, and wherever her sight landed her hands followed, touching. When she got to his eyes, a light blue that matched the color of the sky at noon, she stopped.
His shy grin showed teeth, and she reached out to touch them. “Greetings,” Mark said.
She traced the movement with her hands and copied it in a husky voice. “G-gr-greetings.”
This time when he smiled, she copied that as well.
Hesitantly, his moves gentle and slow, as though she was a fawn he didn’t want to startle, Mark turned Elieve around so that she faced Pellin. “Look.”
Her eyes. Her eyes were a light brown, tan, the color of weakest tea with cream, but they were colored. Not clear.
Tears stung his old man’s gaze, and he drew a deep shuddering breath. How long had it been since he’d felt this, this sense of wonder, since he’d felt young? “It’s a miracle.”
Mark laughed softly, his posture mirroring the fatigue wrought by Elieve’s constant care. Smudges of exhaustion beneath his eyes testified to the price he’d paid to bring Elieve’s mind back from oblivion. “Do all miracles take so much work? I thought they were supposed to be like magic.”
Pellin sighed. Despite the tone of jesting, Mark’s question carried hints of earnestness that shouldn’t be ignored. “I think so, though I haven’t seen enough to claim any expertise. Perhaps a miracle must carry a cost, but most of the time we just don’t see it.”
Mark nodded. “That makes sense. Someone should put that in the liturgy.”
“It’s in there,” Pellin said, “for the really important ones anyway.”
“Ma-ark,” Elieve said, putting her hand to his chest.
Mark’s smile lit the room. “That’s right, Elieve. That’s right.” He turned. “What do I do now, Eldest?”
Pellin shook his head as he smiled. “You’re asking me? I’ve never brought anyone back from such emptiness. What I have to do and what you have to do from this point are very different.” He let all the pride he felt at Mark’s accomplishment blaze in his smile. “I’m going to record everything you’ve done in the most minute detail so that those who follow us will know how to rescue such lost souls. Aer be praised, lad! Do you know what you’ve done?” Without waiting for an answer, he turned to Allta. “She’s coming with us to see the southern Vigil. What’s most important?”
Allta nodded.
