Chapter 59: Memory

Chapter 59: Memory

Believe me, there I was... Follow current novels at novelhall.com)

We'd been sliced and diced so frequently and in so many ways that our battle formation was barely holding up, and the opposition just kept growing stronger. I was worn out and trembling with fear, just like everyone else, what with blades swishing by my ears and different kinds of magical strikes swooping over my head - or was it the other way around? The ground was filled with groaning casualties and silent injured people, or perhaps that was reversed too. But I'm telling you as I recall it, though I'm aware my memory can be quite the prankster.

I'll elaborate on that shortly.

But first, forgive me for kicking off in the middle, but that's more or less where it all begins.

So, there I was, immersed in a full-scale war, a situation no respectable assassin should ever find himself in. Worse still, I was in the midst of this enormous battle with a nagging feeling that I was fighting for the losing team, at least in this specific clash. I was positioned on Eeriedale's Hill, with the Wall about two hundred yards behind me, and the Tomb (which isn't actually a tomb and never has been, and shouldn't be called that) roughly a quarter-mile to my left. I was desperate to teleport away or at least run, but for some reason, I couldn't. I had a sword and enough additional weapons to arm half of the Shearer Company (my squad, hip hip hooray). Ahead of us was The Enemy, inching closer, seeming more determined than ever to stick around this time. They were so numerous, and all I could think was, "If they're so keen on this darn hill, why not let them have it," but I knew that wasn't the right attitude. And my comrades would definitely contest such a sentiment; after all, we'd fought tooth and nail to take it from them initially. (And we had failed.

Why were we holding the hill then? I can't tell you; they don't explain these things to foot soldiers.)

Then, as if things weren't already bad enough, I heard the rip of the juice-drum playing "Live Fully," the signal for forming up for a charge. I assumed the Captain had decided we weren't well-equipped enough to defend, or perhaps he wanted to die a glorious death. It baffled me - if we had the advantage of higher ground, why squander it by charging? I wanted to label him a fool, but I knew he wasn't.

"Indeed. Where Drevolan performed that somewhat embarrassing ritual. Why do you ask?"

"No particular reason." Just then, I remembered the ritual too, which I had conveniently forgotten. It's quite unpleasant to have these disturbing thoughts, especially before breakfast.

He continued, "Is it important?"

I curtly replied, "Drop it, Opal."

Memory is indeed a complex phenomenon. I had forgotten something significant from just a few days prior, yet I clearly remembered our conversation from over three years ago. Isn't that peculiar?

You, the sleek, shiny device with assumed auditory capabilities, might be confused about who I am and what I'm trying to express. But that's fine. I'll allow you to remain perplexed for a while longer.

After a quick omelet breakfast and cleaning up, I contemplated discussing my strange memory lapse with some new acquaintances. However, something about revealing my vulnerabilities held me back. Nevertheless, the issue continued to bother me.

Still mulling over it, I put on my Vorgan colors (grey and black, in case you're keeping tabs), checked the placement of my assortment of weapons, and stepped out onto the street that I virtually controlled.