Chapter 18: A Stolen Memory
Chapter 18: A Stolen Memory
“Stay back!” Evelyn shouted, her blessed dagger flashing as she lunged at the spectral knight, its rune-etched sword swinging toward her. The marsh air was thick with rot and ash, the fog swirling green, the ground sucking at her boots. Her rune blazed, a white-hot pulse in her palm, the knight’s red eyes glowing like Azrael’s sigil on its armor, the stench of decay choking her. Tristan raised his amulet, its blue light flickering, blood dripping from his nose, his cough rattling.
“Together!” he gasped, chanting, a blue pulse bursting from the amulet, staggering the knight. Evelyn thrust her rune forward, channeling her anger, Rowan’s betrayal, the locket’s lie, into a golden surge that slammed the knight, its armor smoking, its howl piercing the fog. She slashed with her dagger, the rose sigil searing its chest, and it dissolved, its sword clattering to the mud.
Evelyn stumbled, dizzy, her vision swimming, the rune’s heat fading to a dull ache. “Tristan!” she called, spinning to find him slumped against a reed cluster, his face pale as bone, blood staining his lips. She dropped beside him, her hands shaking, the air sharp with his sweat and blood. “You’re killing yourself!”
“I’m fine,” he lied, forcing a weak smile, his hand clutching the amulet, its glow dim. “We need to get back to Morgana. The portal’s close, but we can’t fight like this.” He tried to stand, swaying, the fog clinging to his cloak like damp hands.
Evelyn pulled him up, his weight heavy, her boots squelching as they retraced the glowing path to Morgana’s hut. The air grew warmer, heavy with sage and iron, the hut’s fire crackling, spitting embers that stung her skin. Morgana stood at the table, her gnarled hands sorting vials, her eyes glowing faintly, the scent of herbs sharp.
“You survived,” Morgana said, her voice like dry leaves, her staff thudding the dirt floor. “But your boy’s fading. Pay my price, blood heir, a memory, or his amulet fails, and you both die.”
Evelyn’s rune pulsed, her satchel thudding as she dropped it, the Chronicle of the Cliff heavy inside. “What memory?” she demanded, gripping the table, its splintered wood biting her palms. Her heart raced, the ache from her last lost memory, something with Tristan, now gone, raw in her chest.
“One that binds you,” Morgana said, her smile cold, her fingers brushing marsh vines coiled on the shelf. “A childhood joy, shared with him. Give it, and I’ll strengthen his amulet, clearer time-slips, less pain.”
Tristan’s eyes widened, his voice low. “Evelyn, don’t, ” He coughed, blood flecking the floor, his hand reaching for hers, warm but trembling. “We can find another way.”
“There’s no time,” she said, her voice breaking, tears stinging her eyes. The locket’s weight lingered in her mind, Rowan’s betrayal clashing with the need to save Tristan. “Do it, Morgana. Take the memory.” Her throat tightened, the fire’s heat searing her face, the air thick with tension.
Morgana cackled, her staff raised, vines slithering across the floor, their damp leaves brushing Evelyn’s boots, cold and slick. “Kneel,” she ordered, pointing to the fire, its embers hissing. Evelyn knelt, the dirt gritty under her knees, the vines coiling around Tristan’s amulet as Morgana chanted, her words sharp, slicing the air. A memory flashed, her and Tristan, children, building a fort from rosewood branches, his laugh bright as sunlight, then it vanished, a hollow void in its place.
Evelyn gasped, clutching her chest, the rune cooling, her eyes wet. “I can’t… hear him,” she whispered, her voice trembling, unable to recall Tristan’s laugh, the loss cutting deeper than Rowan’s locket. She stood, her boots grinding dirt, the hut’s air heavier, Morgana’s eyes watching like a predator.
Tristan caught her arm, his touch distant, his face pale but set. “It’s done,” he said, his voice soft, hiding his pain, the amulet now glowing steadily, its runes bright. “We’re stronger now. Let’s move.” His hand lingered, but the warmth felt wrong, their connection strained, the memory’s loss a wedge between them.
Morgana thrust a parchment map into Evelyn’s hands, its edges curling, inked with a path to the marshes’ heart. “The time portal,” she said, her voice low. “It’ll take you to a moment before your wedding, your betrayal’s root. Alter it, and you might stop the spirit. But change too much, and time unravels, your existence with it.”
Evelyn gripped the map, its parchment crackling, her rune pulsing in warning. “I’ll take the risk,” she said, her voice fierce, shoving the map into her satchel, the Chronicle thudding against her side. “I’m ending this curse, for Westfall, for everyone.” Her resolve burned, but the hollow ache of the lost memory lingered, her trust in Tristan fragile.
Tristan nodded, his breath labored, the amulet’s glow cutting through the hut’s haze. “The portal’s our shot,” he said, his hand brushing hers, hesitant, the air thick with sage and regret. “But we’re walking into Azrael’s trap. Be ready.”
They stepped outside, the marsh air hitting like a damp slap, thick with rot and the croak of frogs, the fog swirling green under the moonlight. The glowing path snaked ahead, leading to the portal’s hum, its light crackling like a storm. Evelyn’s sword clinked at her hip, her dagger warm in her hand, the rune pulsing as they pushed through reeds, their sharp edges slicing her palms, the ground bubbling with each step.
Tristan raised the amulet, its runes blazing, his chant steady despite his cough. “Portal’s close,” he said, his voice tight, blood flecking his lips. “We jump to before the wedding, find Rowan, stop him.” He gripped her hand, his fingers cold, the amulet’s glow searing the fog.
Evelyn nodded, her rune burning, the path’s light guiding them to a swirling vortex, its edges shimmering, the air humming with power. She stepped forward, the ground trembling, the fog parting, but her rune flared, a white-hot pain that made her gasp. A voice, her own, screamed from the portal, sharp and desperate: “Don’t trust the prince!” The words echoed, chilling her blood, as the vortex pulled them in, the world dissolving into shadow and light.