This takes place in the middle of the dialogue between Morden and my character. I took some creative liberties with the dialogue. This is a character-focused moment, so there’s not much detail regarding the scenery.
There was a boy in front of her. He couldn’t have been older than seventeen, just a child, and he was fair-skinned, terribly skinny, and somber-faced. Although that did not seem the best way to describe his expression. Detached was more accurate.
The boy was standing in front of a grave. Tucker. That was who he’d buried. The generous pile of dirt over the body was surely placed so that the downpour wouldn’t wash it away. The boy, Morden, was staring at her, analyzing her. His Adam’s apple bobbed. “You don’t remember? Don’t tell me…” Morden grasped his head. His face contorted into a grimace. “Did you lose your memory?”
She had. And even though she answered his question, it seemed to affect him more than her. Morden seemed distraught by the confirmation, and a part of her instinctually wanted to reach out and comfort him. But her hand remained limp at her side, just as amnesiac as her.
Morden ran both hands through his sopping wet hair. The rain poured mercilessly around them. Cracks of thunder broke through the onslaught every so often. One such bolt of lightning struck the sea a few miles out, and the strike illuminated Morden’s stressed expression in a disturbing way. “I can’t believe it,” he said. His voice broke into a whimper, reminiscent of a child’s. “So I’m the only one that remembers. We escaped from a place that was performing magic experiments on us for the past few months.” His voice got quiet. “Tucker was with us, but they killed him while we were running.”
“I’m sorry.”
It was the only thing she could say. How else was she supposed to respond? She didn’t remember anything past waking up on the beach, and while this boy stirred up a protective instinct in her, some part of her felt that it was inappropriate to console him.
Morden shook his head. “It’s not your fault,” he said with a sigh. “We did the best we could. It’s a shame Tucker couldn’t make it, but at least he’s had a proper burial.” Morden turned his eyes up to her. “Your name is Alaina Claussell, and the three—” he swallowed “—two of us just escaped from some place that was performing magic experiments on us for months.” Morden breathed in deep, as if collecting his resolve. “Anyway, we’re free now. You still remember how to use magic, right? Since we’re magic-users, we’ll make it far in this world. We just need to meet the right people.” He pointed past her, behind her. “You can take one of those rowboats and go wherever you want. I’m going to stay here for a bit. I need to think some things over.”
Alaina Claussell. The name rang through her mind, and she felt herself attaching herself to it. It was a messy, detached connection. The Alaina Claussell Morden knew was a stranger, and it ripped her apart. She didn’t know how to comfort him. She didn’t think she could. His distress was something he was going to have to work through on his own, as much as it disgusted her to leave him alone.
“Will we meet again?” She hadn’t planned on saying the words out loud, just keep them contained deep within her, some desperate hope that she would reconnect with her past. But before they parted ways she may as well ask.
“Probably.” Relief flooded her. “I have no intention of leaving the Bronze Sea for a while. When I’m ready, I’ll probably head to Redwake, and you should too. It’ll be nice for you to see civilization for once; maybe it’ll bring back some of your memories. Anyway, I’ll see you around.”
And so Alaina Claussell took a rowboat and headed east, the unmistakable pit of dread and excitement deepening with each stroke of the oars. And she prayed to whoever was listening that, by the time she met Morden again, she would be someone he’d recognize.
