Tarun held his fur cape tight around himself to keep it from flapping in the wind as he continued to explore the frozen grounds of the monastery. The cold air was dry and made his cheeks sting, his lips chap, and his eyes water, but Tarun still preferred to walk through the harsh outdoors rather than wait inside any longer. The room where Mendoji still continued his vigilant chanting and meditation felt both too empty and too crowded at the same time. 

The night before, Tarun and Mendoji had managed to find a room with enough of its walls and ceiling intact to provide shelter from the wind, and hold on to most of the heat from the fire they had built. After the exhaustion of the climb and the welcome respite from the cold, Tarun had been ready to fall asleep as soon as he had scooted himself into the warm sleeping bag that Grodin had given him so many months earlier. Before sleep could take him though, Mendoji had asked Tarun if he would help him the next day to gather the remains of his brothers and sisters so he could give them a proper funeral and invite their souls to be adopted into Seth’s clan. Tarun had sleepily agreed that of course he would help. 

Tarun wasn’t sure what he had expected when he had agreed to help, but he definitely hadn’t been prepared for the experience. Perhaps he had thought they might be finding a few bones scattered around the cobblestones between buildings. After all, the attack that had killed all of Mendoji’s fellow monks had occurred nearly eight decades before. 

What Tarun hadn’t realized was that the cold, dry, thin air so high on the mountain had robbed the bodies of their moisture, but beyond that it had preserved them. Carrying dozens of mummified bodies into the central hall of the monastery had been an unsettling task for Tarun, and he had no desire to stay in the same room with all of them once he and Mendoji had finished, and Mendoji began the deep, resonant humming that always acted as a prelude to the minotaur’s meditations. 

Though he had tried to think about them as little as possible while he performed the task, now that his part was finished, Tarun found himself thinking more about the monks he had carried, and everything they had taught him about the monastery that Mendoji had never mentioned. For one thing, there hadn’t been any children among them, only adults. For another, Tarun couldn’t recall carrying a single body that looked human, or like any primafolk for that matter. Some had horns and fur and hooves like Mendoji, while others had scales or feathers, talons or tails, and many other features that Tarun didn’t recognize. Some had faces that resembled primafolk, like the satyr brothers in Aluanna’s band, while many others had beaks, muzzles, tusks, and other facial features that looked nothing like anyone Tarun had ever spoken to. Not that he could remember anyway. 

Yet there was no denying that the bodies Tarun had carried had all belonged to intelligent people, not animals or monsters. They all wore the same orange and yellow robes, though worn in different ways according to their bodies and needs. Some had died still holding paint brushes, flutes, chalk, or other instruments for creating and sharing art. They had been people who had clearly found joy in life and had not expected that joy to be so suddenly and unfairly cut short. 

As the weight of these thoughts settled on Tarun, he sank to his knees and began to weep. He shut his eyes tight and held his cape closed around him with a desperate grip, as if letting go would expose him not only to the cold, but to all the indifferent cruelty of the world. He rocked himself back and forth on the ground as his shoulders shook with his sobs, wishing he could unsee everything he had seen that day. And on the edge of his consciousness, with his eyes closed, Tarun thought he saw a white light come into his view, and he remembered something. 

Tarun remembered the white light that had appeared in his mind the night that Shon had woken him up in the healer’s hut at Life’s Edge. Shon had told Tarun about the light several times in the weeks that followed, but Tarun had never remembered it himself. Now he remembered. He remembered how it had painted over all of Tarun’s painful memories, leaving his mind a blank canvas, remembering nothing of his life before that moment. He knew it would do the same thing again if he allowed it. 

“No,” Tarun said aloud. His sobbing had stopped, though his eyes were still shut and his shoulders still shook. The memories he had, the things he had learned, and the connections he had made were all too important to be whitewashed away. “I’m keeping it,” he said, and the white edges of his vision halted. Then, through the shrill wind overhead, Tarun heard Mendoji’s deep voice echo across the mountainsides. Instead of hearing only humming or chanting, Tarun heard Mendoji’s words, and although he couldn’t understand them, he could feel them. 

Tarun realized that Mendoji was saying their names, one by one. These people Tarun had carried weren’t simply mummified victims of some great tragedy of the past. Tarun had helped Mendoji gather together his brother and sisters, his friends. He knew each of them by name, and now as he called them by name, he was inviting them home. And as Tarun heard each name echo in his ears, the haunting and desiccated faces in his mind were replaced with a vision of those same faces as Mendoji had known them in life. Each face seemed at peace, and each one seemed to smile in a way that told Tarun they were grateful to him for helping to carry them those last few steps they couldn’t walk on their own. 

“I’m keeping all of it,” Tarun said to himself. “My memories, my pain, all of it.” The white borders on the edge of his vision burned away, replaced by a white flame that illuminated and brightened the images in his mind, rather than hiding them. Tarun stood up from the ground, no longer shaking. “Some things are worth the pain,” he continued, wiping his eyes, then squinting as he opened them to the bright snow-covered surroundings. 

With his vision still blurry with tears and blinded by sunlight reflecting off every surface, Tarun hadn’t even noticed the strange woman perched on a rooftop across the courtyard until she spoke. “What exactly are you keeping?” she asked in a rich sonorous voice that seemed to cut through the wind, “And what is this pain that you believe it is worth?” 

Tarun quickly blinked away the rest of his tears to get a better look at this stranger who seemed to come out of nowhere. He knew he had been preoccupied, but he found it hard to believe he could have missed the sounds of footsteps crunching through the icy snow covering every surface. Once Tarun’s eyes focused on the woman who spoke to him, he realized why he hadn’t heard her coming. 

The woman had a face that resembled a human or elf, but the rest of her body was covered with dazzling iridescent feathers. Instead of feet she had talons like a bird of prey, and instead of arms she had two enormous wings, which she let hang down from her sides. Even from the roof edge where she sat, the long feathers at the tips of her wings nearly reached the cold ground below. Tarun found himself both drawn forward by her beauty, and yet held back by a sense of danger. She reminded Tarun of the way he felt watching Aluanna weave a musical enchantment with her band. 

The silence between them hung in the air a moment longer, then Tarun called out to her. “Who are you?” he asked. 

The woman lept impossibly high in the air, made three great flaps of her wings, causing a small whirlwind of snow on the ground below, then silently glided until she landed on what remained of a ruined balcony right above Tarun. “Bold of you to ask me a question when you have not yet answered mine,” she said. Her voice now seemed to vibrate through Tarun’s center, and the colors of her feathers had an almost hypnotic effect so close up. “Still, your question is simple enough, so I will answer first. I am Quecholli, and like you, I am a trespasser here.” 

Tarun shook his head and took a step back to prevent falling over from the dizzying sensation of looking too closely at her feathers. “I’m not a trespasser,” said Tarun. Though he had said the words confidently, his voice sounded so hollow and small compared to Quecholli’s. 

“This is a place where only ghosts and memories belong,” said Quecholli. “If you’re not a trespasser, does that make you a ghost, or a memory?” 

Tarun was about to reply when Quecholli suddenly cocked her head to one side, the motion had the effect of immediately making her seem both less imposing and more puzzling to him. “Then again,” she said more quietly, almost to herself, “if you are a ghost, that may explain why I can’t see you.” She then leaned forward, bringing her face much closer to where Tarun stood. 

For the first time, Tarun noticed that Quecholli’s eyes were completely black, yet had a sheen that seemed to reflect even more colors than her feathers possessed. Tarun also leaned forward and turned his head to the side, yet the stranger gave no reaction to his movement. Tarun realized that she was looking in his direction, but she wasn’t actually looking at him. “You really can’t see me?” Tarun asked. “Are you blind then?” 

Quecholli raised herself back up, straightened her posture, and her feathers seemed to spread apart in a way that made her appear even more dangerous than before. “Those are the second and third questions you have now asked me without answering even one of mine,” she said. She was not shouting, but it seemed to Tarun that he heard echos of dragons roaring and hawks screeching behind her voice. “I will not tolerate a fourth.” Then speaking again, her voice turned gradually quieter. “Yet once more I will answer, if only because the tragic irony of your questions cannot go ignored.” Both her posture and wings seemed to droop at the statement. 

“I am the least blind creature on this dark and lonely world,” she whispered. “I thought if I could see far enough, I could guide my sisters and brothers through any danger that may hide along our path.” Her voice then began to swell in volume and fullness, until it filled the courtyard as if by a choir. “But in my vanity, I was instead cursed to see ALL. Past, present, and future are now always before my eyes, and I cannot look away. And when I saw that peril which no guide could avoid, I could do nothing but play my part in their destruction. So I left. I am all that remains of those who ever called this place home, and even I am a trespasser here now.” 

“You’re…” In his surprise, Tarun barely caught himself from asking another question. Instead, he considered his words, took a deep breath, and then spoke in a voice as clear as he could manage. 

“I’m sorry for your pain,” Tarun said. “If you knew the people who lived here and saw the tragedy that followed that must have been more horrible than anything I have ever endured.” 

“More than you can possibly imagine,” Quecholli replied. 

“I’m sure you’re right,” Tarun continued, “but I can imagine at least a small part of it. That’s the pain I said was worth keeping. The pain of making room for all those people in my soul, even though they’re already gone. It hurts, but it’s worth the hurt because of what I gain by letting them in. And I couldn’t gain that if I didn’t care.” 

“You know nothing,” Quecholli said, her gaze now growing cold. “You speak like a child.” 

“That’s probably true too,” replied Tarun. “I have so few memories, my friend Shon says that my mind is younger than most children.” Quecholli scoffed and turned as if to fly away, so Tarun quickly added, “But I’m no trespasser! And I’m no ghost either. My companion used to belong to this monastery, and I came here with his permission.” 

Quecholli whipped her head back to where Tarun stood and her face showed a mix of fury and disgust that was terrible to behold. She opened her mouth and let out a horrifying shriek. “Then either you are a liar or your companion is,” she screamed. “And while I may have ignored a trespasser, I do not suffer liars to live.” 

“It’s not a lie!” Tarun shouted. “I came here with Mendoji.” 

Quecholli’s wings were outstretched as if to take flight and start her assault on Tarun, but it seemed her every muscle froze the instant that he said Mendoji’s name. Then she bristled, raised her wings high above her head, and spoke in a voice deep with pain. “Now I know you are a liar,” she said. Her face contorted into an expression of hurt and betrayal as if Tarun had lifted her out of a pit and then slapped her back down again just for sport. “Mendoji is no more. He fell even further than I did and became Vdekshi, just as I foresaw nearly a century ago. He festers in his fortress to the west, growing in both power and bondage until he is ready to play his part as the tool of destruction that destiny has forced him to play.” 

“I may not be able to see you,” she said coldly, “but I will make sure to hear every painful cry you offer as I kill you slowly as penance for speaking the name of my dearest fallen student.” 

“He’s not Vdekshi anymore,” Tarun said, afraid of what she would do, but standing firm. “You’re right, he did fall. But he’s been healed. My friends and I helped him, and in the process my best friend was badly hurt, and now something is happening to him we don’t understand. We came here to find information that might give us some answers.” 

Quecholli cocked her head to the side, and again Tarun felt an immediate change in her presence. She seemed hesitant and unsure now. Vulnerable even. Tarun wanted to show her he meant no harm, and had no desire to take advantage of her vulnerability. 

“If you can see everything, maybe you can help us,” Tarun said, but regretted it when he saw the look of anger flash across her face. “If you don’t believe me, then use your sight to look at the fortress where Vdekshi was. Can’t you see he’s not there anymore? He’s in that center building right over there, chanting over your slain brothers and sisters, giving their souls a chance to rest at peace.” 

Quecholli’s eyes narrowed in disbelief, but then she turned her head to the west, presumably in the direction of the Homestead. Her face went slack. “I… I can’t see the fortress,” she whispered, almost unable to say the words. “Just like I can’t see you. Everything is hidden as if by an impenetrable gray fog. How can that be? Is destiny itself broken?” 

“Maybe there’s just more to destiny than what your curse lets you see,” said Tarun. “Honestly, I don’t know. As you said, I’m a child and I don’t know anything about destiny. But I know Mendoji is a lot wiser than I am. Won’t you let me take you to him? You can talk to him yourself and see that it’s really him. Maybe together we can figure this all out.” 

For the first time, a tear fell from Quecholli’s eyes, and Tarun noticed that the tear was the same color of iridescent black as her eyes. “If what you say is true, I could not bear for my sweet Mendoji to see me like this,” she said. “And if what you say is a lie, I could not bear the pain of such a cruel trick.” She wiped the tear from her face, then looked with determination towards the west. “I will go to the fortress and learn for myself what the truth is. It will be good to learn something new again.” 

She turned one last time towards the spot where Tarun stood. “If Mendoji really is inside, please don’t tell him more than you need. I would hate for him to know how ugly I’ve become.” She then lifted her wings and soared away before Tarun could say another word.