Memori: Tower Shadow Sword (Volume One)

MEMORI: TOWER SHADOW SWORD

Volume One

By Matt Xell

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, entities and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher

All rights reserved; no part of this publication may be reproduced or transmitted by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying or otherwise without the proper prior permission of the author

Copyright 2012 Matt Xell

Cover art and illustrations from the original artwork by Randis Albion and The Red Plus

Edited by Samba Yonga and Megan Grant

The moral right of the author has been asserted

www.projectmemori.com

Reader Beware. This is a book about life and death and the reality of it all. It may not be suitable for readers under the age of 14.

Prologue:

The Road On

There are many seemingly unending roads in the world of Everlon, and it is said that if you do not know where you are going, what you are looking for or why you are looking for it, you will wander these roads forever.

Ves Asirin, who opened his eyes feeling dizzy and disoriented, didn’t know where he was going or why he was travelling down one of Everlon’s longest roads in a cranky old bus. Ves was 11 years old and an orphan. He was short and small, had a mess of dirty blond hair and dark brown eyes.

There was, of course, a reason why Ves didn’t know why he was on this bus. Ves suffered from a complex memory loss disorder; every day since he was 4, he lost most of his memory after time periods of about 10 to 15 hours.

Ves’ disorder had more than just stripped him of a working memory; it had also given him several characteristics that usually developed in children with autism spectrum disorders. The caretakers at Orem Church Orphanage, where he’d been raised since he was 5, did not learn of his faulty memory until he was 8 though they had always thought he was a little stranger than the other children his age. Ves would always stiffen or go limp whenever a caretaker picked him up rather than cling or cuddle up to them like the other children. He showed little or no interest in interactive group activities and lacked typical social behaviour. He rarely smiled or made eye contact with anyone. He failed to develop any relationships with the other orphans. Often, he seemed unaware of the needs and feelings of others and failed to respond adequately when another orphan was hurt or in distress.

He usually played alone, often engaging in repetitious activities such as arranging objects in meaningless patterns, flipping light switches on and off, and staring at rotating objects for long periods of time. Sometimes he would spin in circles or snap his fingers continuously for hours. In some cases these habits were harmful, involving repeated biting of his wrists or the banging of his head against the wall.

Later on, as he grew older, Ves had great difficulty with language. He developed a very slow and awkward speech that he used only when he felt he absolutely needed to, but he completely failed to learn how to read and write.

When Ves was 8, a renowned child psychologist from the city visited the orphanage at the request of one of the caretakers and took an interest in him. This famous psychologist, known as ‘The Good Doctor’ by followers of his weekly newspaper column, was the first to learn of Ves’ memory disorder.

The doctor learned, fortunately and to the relief of the caretakers, that not all of Ves’ memories were lost after the 10 to 15-hour time period. Indeed, slowly but surely and with some concentrated effort on the boy’s part, some memories did come back to him. Also, memories of faces, places and things that Ves saw, interacted with and came contact with on a daily basis were not easily forgotten. He also retained many habits and behaviours easily, especially those of a physical nature.

Over the time that he worked with The Good Doctor, Ves changed or forgot most of his seemingly autistic characteristics and behaviours. He was timid and humble for the most part, but he could be really stubborn at times and was easy to anger. He avoided situations that he thought were troublesome, mentally tasking and stressful, and mostly kept to himself, never venturing out of the orphanage’s yard without a cause of his own.

That was why, on that strange night, he couldn’t understand how he’d ended up on this bus, so far away from the comfort zone of the familiar orphanage. He knew, of course, that the most logical thing to do was to ask the bus driver about it.

He stood up from his seat and walked to the front of the bus and approached the man behind the wheel.

Um, excuse me, he said slowly, but, um, where are we going?

The driver did not answer him immediately. He turned to Ves and looked at him from head to toe with a slight expression of concern on his face just as he had when the boy had stepped on to the bus.

Treper’s field. That’s where you said you were headed, wasn’t it? the driver said.

Ves raised his brows and frowned.

And … where did you pick me up from, sir? he asked further.

Meden Dale, two miles from the Tower of Parlen Min. Don’t you remember? the driver replied.

The driver looked away from the obviously confused boy after a moment of silence and continued to stare at the road ahead, steering the wheel gently. Ves turned around and returned to his seat trying his best to recall the locations the driver had mentioned but nothing came to mind.

Over the years, after habitual mustering and conditioning, and again with The Good Doctor’s help, Ves had learned to leave himself reminders, or rather clues, to help him remember as best as could where he’d been or what he’d been doing in the last 10 to 15 hours before his memory failed. These clues sometimes triggered vivid visions from his lost memories.

He usually left these clues in his backpack. These clues could be anything from ordinary objects like scraps of paper, candy wrappers, bottle caps, rocks or leaves that he picked up at any location he wanted to remember. Most importantly, he left these clues in the form of sketches in his scrapbook; his most prized possession.

He reached over his shoulder for his backpack … but, it wasn’t there. This was even more disconcerting to him … he never went anywhere without his backpack, never. Frantically, he turned to look carefully at his own body, which coud be a very useful clue as well. More to his shock, he found cuts and bruises all over his skin and his clothes were ripped and burnt in certain parts. There was a wound just above his right knee; it had been bandaged tightly, but surprisingly he didn’t feel any pain from it, only a slight soreness. There was another wound on the back of his left hand — an ominous burn mark or branding of sorts … a strange V- or U-shaped symbol in a circle. He stared at that particular wound in horror for a while, though he did not touch it … no, he didn’t want to touch it.

He noticed that his feet felt quite uncomfortable and bare. He looked down at them, he saw that he was wearing flip-flops he didn’t remember owning ... no, he was certain, they weren’t his. He took one of them off and examined it. The size of was slightly bigger than his foot … and there was something distinctively feminine about them too.

He also realised that he is wearing some sort of cap over his head … a beanie … it wasn’t his either. He pulled it off and examined it closely as well. It is was navy blue with a faded label on the front it.

Wherever Ves had been before he’d boarded this bus, these two things—the flip-flops and the beanie—must have belonged to the last two people he’d been with … or at least the two people that he’d wanted to remind himself of … but sadly he couldn’t remember them.

Ves bent over and placed his head in the palms of his hands and groaned. A strong feeling of anxiety and dread swept over him. What had happened to him in the last 10 to 15 hours? His memory loss had never in his whole life been that bad. Why couldn’t he remember even one thing? Who … or what had put him in this state?

Whatever it was, he sensed, must have been terrible and devastating; something that had thrown the life he’d lived before then into total disarray and chaos; something that now wanted to remain forgotten. But … he wouldn’t let it go. Something … anything … had to come back to him … it had to.

Chapter 1

Wender and Ves at Orem Church Orphanage

Wender Mistry was, according to most of children there, the best caretaker at Orem Church Orphanage. She was 25 years old with long, red hair that ran down her shoulders and back. She was tall, beautiful, kind-hearted and really loved the children.

At 8 o’clock in the morning, the time when most of the children woke up, Wender served breakfast to those arriving at the tables in the dining hall. Unlike the other caretakers, she really tried her best, whenever possible, to serve each child his or her favourite food, which was quite a task. But she loved the feeling that followed after seeing a satisfied orphan thank her with a sincere grin.

Here you go … Selly… Patric, She said as she served two of her favourite children.

Thank you Miss Wender! they praised her with looks of glee.

She moved across to another table to serve Milly Hempshed and Ves Asirin.

Here you go guys, she said, handing them their plates.

Thank you very much, Miss Wender! Milly said cheerfully.

You’re welcome, Milly, said Wender smiling … but that smile soon disappeared as she turned to Ves.

In all her five years at the orphanage, Wender had never known a child that was harder to work with than Ves. Though Ves did not associate with anyone unless it was absolutely necessary, he sometimes spoke to the other caretakers on rare occassions … but he never spoke to Wender. He strongly disliked her.

There were many reasons why Ves hated Wender. Ironically, most of them were for the very same reasons that the other children loved her. The main reason, however, had its roots in an incident that had happened when Ves was 8.

On a sunny day when most of the other children were playing outside, Wender had found Ves alone in the dormitories.

Ves, wouldn’t you like to play with the other kids outside? Wender had asked him. The weather’s really nice today,

No thanks … I’m busy, Ves replied.

Really? What are you doing? Wender asked.

Ves didn’t answer her, busy fiddling with two pieces of string. Minutes later, he noticed that she was still watching him and said:

I’m … teaching myself … how to tie my shoe laces.

Wender smiled.

And how’s that coming along? she asked.

Good, Ves said.

He ignored her, hoping that she would go away eventually … but she stayed with him. Wender watched as Ves put the pieces of string down and then bent over to tie the first crude knot on his right shoe.

He looked up at her and said, George, the caretaker, has shown me lots of times how to tie this knot … but I always forget. But I’ve … I’ve been leaving myself … clues so I can remember this time.

Clues? Wender asked in earnest curiosity.

Ves now attempted to tie his other shoe’s laces.

Will you tell me more about these clues? Wender continued carefully, for it was a well-known fact that Ves did not like it when his personal space was invaded.

She half expected him not to answer her … but he did.

The clues … Ves said, almost annoyed at the thought of explaining it to Wender, help me … keep track of a lot of things that I forget, not just how to tie my shoes.

This was more than Ves had ever spoken to her or anyone else. Wender could not believe she was having a ‘normal’ conversation with him.

What are they … these clues of yours? she asked him.

Ves didn’t answer. He had an expression on his face that told Wender that he was contemplating telling her more or not.

Then very slowly, he pulled up the left sleeve of his jersey to reveal several thin cuts on his arm. The skin there was red and swollen. Wender, who was startled, gasped aloud in shock.

Each–each cut that I make … helps me remember different things. The pain causes these … fla – flashes … of v-visions or whatever that help me remember. I figured it out two weeks ago. Isn’t it amazing? I can remember now. Ves said with an awkward smile halfway between a smirk and a grin.

Wender was in too much shock to speak, breathing hard and fast.

This one here … the long one, is for remembering my name … this one here is for your name, the other caretakers, also … these are for finding rooms like the bathroom, the playground, the dining hall and … I think these are for remembering the times for breakfast, lunch and dinner … Ves continued.

Wender suddenly grabbed Ves’ hand and hurriedly walked him out of the dorms and down the hall toward the infirmary.

The cuts are only good for some days … because they heal; but if the cuts are deeper, the memories last a little longer. So I started making bigger cuts for important memories, Ves continued with an odd fascination for his own discoveries in his tone of voice.

Wender abruptly stopped, turned to Ves, and slapped him hard across the face.

She put a hand over her mouth after realizing what she had done. She’d never hit any of the children before, nor anyone in her whole life.

I’m … sorry, she said breathlessly, her voice trembling but … don’t you ever purposefully hurt yourself like that again, do you hear me? … Do you understand? … I want you to tell me that you do.

Ves didn’t say anything, but after a moment, he nodded. Wender took him inside the infirmary and bandaged his cuts. After that day, Ves did not speak to her freely again.

And so, he didn’t even turn to look at her or give any sign of thanks as she walked away after serving him his breakfast. Wender just didn’t understand how a boy with constant memory loss had managed to keep a grudge like that for over 3 years.

After she’d served every one of the children, Wender stepped out of the orphanage’s main building to collect the mail. There were the usual bills, notices and a few important letters addressed to the head caretaker.

There was one other letter that stood out clearly from the others. It was wrapped in a black envelope with postage stamps from a distant country that she didn’t recognize. It had the crest and coat of arms of a family of nobility above the address which was written in silver ink.

Brian Calvins? Wender read out loud in apparent surprise. It’s addressed to one of the children?

The letter couldn’t have been from a relative of Brian’s for he didn’t have any, so she wondered who had sent it. Even though she knew she wasn’t supposed to open any mail that wasn’t addressed to her, curiosity got the best of her. She carefully opened the letter and quickly read through it.

Dear Mr. Brian Calvins,

I, Jacobius