The Gates of Memory, стр. 69
Toren indicated that she should go next.
Shaking her head, she stepped out onto the crossing. The board bent under her weight and she swore she felt the vibration caused by the river’s current through the board. Two more steps and the board bowed more under her weight, flexing with her steps.
She did fine until she looked down. The drop itself didn’t scare her, but the rushing water directly beneath her disoriented her sense of balance.
“Alena,” Jace said.
She looked up. Jace stood on the other end of the bridge, his hand extended. Focusing on him helped her find her balance. She stepped quickly, grabbing his outstretched hand and allowing him to help her cross the last few paces.
Toren followed, having none of the trouble she had. A flush of shame rose in her cheeks, and she silently promised that she would practice her martial forms with renewed vigor.
The edge of the village was less than fifty paces from the bridge. Up close, Alena realized just how vertically the village had been built. Homes appeared to spread up rather than out. She supposed with limited space and plentiful stone, the decision made perfect sense.
Closer now, the village didn’t just suffer from damage, but from decay. It was more difficult to tell with stone, but the buildings appeared old. Alena wouldn’t have any trouble believing they were older than the empire.
Storm clouds darkened the sky. Alena watched them for several heartbeats, feeling the change of the air on her exposed arms. Sheren’s offer of shelter appeared well-timed.
Sheren led them deeper into town. The holes weren’t just in the buildings, but in the streets as well. Alena knelt down to examine one, surprised by its depth.
Jace broke Alena’s growing worries. “It’s a nice location, but I’m not sure this village would be high on my list of places to visit. And I still haven’t seen many ghosts.”
Behind Alena, Toren laughed.
If Sheren took offense, she didn’t show it. She stopped in front of one of the buildings, one that had been boarded up. She gestured for them to enter. “Welcome to my home.”
The three stepped in, Jace going first, his hand hovering near his sword.
The room they entered surprised Alena. After soulwalking with Sheren and feeling the depth of her affection for this village, Alena expected to see Sheren’s home more decorated.
Instead, bare walls greeted her. Nothing inside the room provided any clue to Sheren’s past or personality, unless an absolute lack of mementos counted. A well-used fireplace appeared along one wall, and a mat had been laid against another. Otherwise, a shelf filled partway with food and pots rounded out the extent of Sheren’s possessions.
“You live here?” Jace asked.
“This is home,” Sheren said. “It’s not much, but it’s all I need, and I’m often gone for long stretches of time, so it’s easier to live with less.”
“Why here?” Jace asked. “Aren’t there better places to live in Falar?”
“Certainly,” Sheren answered. “But not if one actively develops an affinity.”
“Ahh,” Jace said. Alena kicked herself for not thinking of it earlier. In her academy classes she’d learned the Falari didn’t have affinities. Sheren, and her presence here, made the truth obvious enough that even Jace could figure it out. Of course affinities would manifest among the Falari. It wasn’t like the ability respected borders.
But those with the gift would either hide it, causing it to wither, or they would find someplace to live where they wouldn’t be bothered.
Someplace like here.
Sheren stoked the fire and put some water to boiling as the party settled in. Outside, the wind picked up, causing the boards over the holes to rattle. The air began to smell like rain.
In time the rain came, but Sheren prepared them tea. They sat together as the storm pelted the walls of Sheren’s house.
“How many people live here?” Alena asked.
“Less than a dozen, but it depends on the day. Most of us come and go frequently.”
“And you’re all gifted?”
“Or cursed.”
Jace jumped in. “You must not feel that way, though, if you’ve decided to come out here to live.”
Alena sipped at her tea to cover her reaction. That was a surprisingly astute observation from Jace. She continually forgot that he was older and wiser than she tended to think of him.
Sheren gave her brother a half smile. “My thoughts change from day to day,” she admitted. “Most days, you are right. I’m grateful for my ability. But there are others where I wish for a life more in line with customs.”
Through the open door, Alena thought she saw movement in the rain. She turned to see better, but when she did, the movement vanished.
She shook her head. Must have been a trick of her eyes.
Sheren began her story. When she was young, she hadn’t thought anything of her abilities. Elders in her village remarked on her understanding, specifically on her ability to pick up on what people were feeling. But nothing seemed abnormal until a day about ten years ago.
“That was the day I saw my first ghost,” she said.
“I was thirteen, and I came across a man wandering near our campsite. At first I thought he might be an enemy, but he carried no weapons. I was scouting with two others, and I pointed him out. The others saw nothing, but I saw him as clearly as I see the three of you. My friends were worried, but I was able to convince them I’d made a mistake, even as the man walked within a dozen paces of us.”
Sheren sipped at her own tea. “That was when I knew something was wrong. I saw the man again, in our camp, but I noticed that no one else reacted to him, so I kept my mouth shut.”
Again, Alena thought she saw something moving outside in the corner of her vision, but when she snapped her head around, there was nothing there.
“You see them, too, in the rain, don’t you?” Sheren asked.
“It’s nothing,” Alena responded.
Sheren