Kaelen and the Lights of Memory Part 2

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She stood up. The lights clustered closer together, as if waiting for a sign. Kaelen closed her eyes and breathed until the frost in her lungs turned into a mild burn. Then she reached out to her left, where the painful images thronged. "You," she said, "may go if you wish." A tremor ran through the air. Some lights went out immediately, others paused, as if considering whether their disappearance was a betrayal. Kaelen added, "Not because I despise you. Because I thank you. And because I must move on." Then the Dark Ones began to sink back into the rock, not like ash, but more like seeds finding a place. A remnant remained, stubborn, two or three drops that refused to budge. Kaelen nodded. "I'll keep you. Not as a whip, but as a lamp when the path breaks off." She tapped the drops; they became clearer, less painful, like stones finally fitting in her hand. The bright lights, meanwhile, hovered closer together before her, until they formed a wreath. Kaelen felt something in her chest shift aside to make room. It wasn't exuberance, more a calm, steady filling, like a well that had leaked for a long time being repaired. In the wreath, she saw the child with the pipe, the hands kneading bread, the half-open door. And in between, very small, the laughter of a girl she had once been, who was unafraid to hope. Varaan let out a short, deep laugh. The wreath was reflected in his eyes, and for a heartbeat, it seemed as if he, too, wore it, beneath scales and horn, invisible yet there. He lowered his head so that his horns grazed the ground, and from a crack emerged a single light that wasn't Kaelen's: a long flight over salty plains, the sound of wings over moonwater. Kaelen smiled. "You too choose," she said. The sky above the ridge was now full of glows, as if someone had superimposed a second star map over the first. Kaelen raised her hand. "If you wish to go, go," she spoke upwards. "If you wish to stay, stay. But don't mistake yourselves for me. I will carry you, and you will carry me—but we are not the same." It was a strange sentence, but as she spoke it, silence fell. Many lights rose higher, as if they had needed her permission. Some sank back into her, quietly, without pain. The wind returned, cautiously, and blew through Varaan's luggage straps, making metal clang softly. Kaelen tightened a loose loop, checked the hooks, and patted the dragon's neck. "Come," she said, "the pass awaits." They continued on, and with every step, Kaelen felt more clearly what she had done: she hadn't erased, she had ordered. The mountains bore the same shadows as before, but the shadows were no longer overpowering, part of a picture that finally had edges.