Page 104 of Prince of the Northwest Forest
Keithen falls to the side. The two closest fae rush to him, while others glare at us.
“Shit, did he pass out?” I ask.
“I think so,” Kalle says.
“Is this going to be a problem?”
Kalle squares his shoulders and looks around at the fae. “We won back Justice’s memory fair and square. Who is going to take us to where you keep it?”
“Let that will-o’-the-wisp do it,” a fae spectator sneers.
Turning to the lantern man, Kalle asks, “Will you show us the way?”
Smiling, the little man says, “Yes, of course. To repay your kindness, I will help you and your friends.”
“Prince Kalle is always kind,” I say. “I think that’s why his animal subjects love him so much.”
“And love to confide in me,” Kalle mutters. Although he says it with such fondness that I know his grumbling is just a front. He likes knowing all their gossip.
“Right this way, Your Highness. It shouldn’t take us more than a half hour to walk there,” the lantern man says.
“How much is that in normal time?” I wonder.
Kalle shrugs. “We’ll find out when we get back.”
Hand in hand, Kalle and I follow the lantern man, Hazel and Martin guarding our sides. We leave the fae behind us.
Good riddance.
But what did Keithen mean about Kalle fighting for my memory?
“This is the place where memories are kept,” the lantern man, who I’ve learned is named Linus, says, sweeping a hand out.
The castle before us is made of mundane-looking gray stone. Not very impressive, honestly. I’d think the Fae Realm’s memory vault would be more special. But if this is where I can get my memory back, I shouldn’t complain.
We step inside, and everything transforms. In contrast to the dull exterior, the inside glitters like a geode: purple, with streaks of white. Air and light pass through narrow vertical apertures in the walls and roof. In the center of the room, a rack with iron tools—hammers, mostly—rests next to a blue flame. I nod approvingly. If I’m going to be in the Fae Realm, I want it to look fae.
“Those are all smashed memories,” Linus says, pointing at broken pieces of rock on the ground.
I narrow my gaze at him. “What are you talking about?”
He gestures at the walls, and I notice all kinds of alcoves and nooks where little brown rocks are stored. There are other objects piled up in different shelves—what seem to be letters, photographs, stuffed animals, dolls.
“Are those geodes?” Kalle asks.
“Yes,” Linus says. “The fae store memories in them. To get back your memory, you must smash it open.” He gestures at a hammer.
“I’m guessing the problem is knowing which one is yours,” I muse, looking around at the hundreds of rocks that are piled everywhere.
“Once the memory is smashed, it’s returned to the person it was taken from,” Linus says, “which might not be you.”
“Okay, so why don’t we just smash them all?” I ask. “Return everyone’s memories? Since they shouldn’t have been stolen to begin with.”
Linus clucks his tongue. “I doubt you have time. Don’t forget that time passes differently here than in your realm. And you don’t want to go smashing willy-nilly. You need to be careful.”
“What are you talking about?” Kalle asks.
“You are hitting it with a hammer. It can … warp the memory. You need to hit it just right,” Linus says.
