*****
我听到舒心的喃喃细语,有谁在低声交谈。良久,那对话逐渐清晰起来。我听出那是吉尔赛那斯和法莱乌斯。他们不在这个房间里,不过就在附近。
“我得说,我对这个地方的自然现象仍然不大理解。” 我听到吉尔赛那斯说。他的声音透露出,他仍然无法确定眼前虚幻的市民们究竟是不是不死的幽魂。他在等着玛拉和她的家人们忽然脱下伪装,现出“吸取生命的恶魔”的真面目。
“我想,没有谁会理解。”法莱乌斯回答。
“我的那位东道主似乎自认为洞悉了某些不为人知的真相。”
“你要原谅阿曼,”军团兵说,“一旦涉及到那个被他叫做玛拉的女子,他的洞察力——我不知道这样说是否适当——就变弱了。”是的,他当然会这么说。法莱乌斯在这儿生活了许多年,但他从未真正接受过盖-查-卡拉斯的本真。
“尽管当时脱水损害了你的视力,你对无踪之城的反应还是相当正常的。大部分人看见沙漠高热中摇曳的高塔和围墙时,都以为眼前是海市蜃楼。然而,当他们走近,发现了建筑物惊人的细节,和那些鬼魅般的居民,就转而相信这整座城市是一场巨大的幻象——制造它的是一名许多年前死去的法师,甚或就是诸神自己。”
“是的,”吉尔赛那斯进一步肯定,“我也得出了同样的结论,尽管没有任何我所知的法师——无论身披什么颜色的外袍——能够创造出这样的现象。”
“但事实更加不可思议。这片蜃景千真万确就是盖-查-卡拉斯。”法莱乌斯的声音里蕴含着一种我从未听到过的惊异,也许他的确理解周遭这一切的伟大之处,“我能告诉你的是,这座城市属于另一个世界,在那里第一次大灾变从未发生。我不打算假装明白这是为什么,但我们所看到的市民是真实存在的。如果那仅仅是幻影,绝不会如此复杂。他们出生,成长,恋爱,死亡,就像你所认识的任何人一样。那座城市也是活生生的……呃,就像任何一座城市一样鲜活。一些建筑物拔地而起,另一些被夷为平地。商店开业,日渐繁荣。动物们在后街跑来跑去寻觅着残羹。如果你肯下功夫留意某个特定的建筑,某个特定的人,或是家庭,你会发现,毫无疑问一段生活的韵律正在你眼前展开。别怀疑这一点,盖-查-卡拉斯是真实的。”
“如果是这样,”吉尔赛那斯高声发问,“谁能忍受在这里生活下去?”这名精灵一生经历过许多怪事,但我敢说除了诸神的回归之外,这一桩必然是其中最为离奇的。
“呃,我们之前并不知情。在我的军团刚来到这儿的时候,这儿只有海市蜃楼和满城的废墟——断壁残垣和堆积如山的瓦砾,半掩在幻象之中,我们也把这幻象错看成了盖-查-卡拉斯魔幻般的重建。我们的部族管这块地方叫无踪之城,看起来这里很适合建个前哨站。我们打算在幻影背后盖起建筑,尽最大努力让外墙与他们的建筑物合拍,不贴近观察就无法发现我们的存在。那样,我们就有了一个谁也找不到的城镇——真正的无踪之城。”
尽管我对这段故事知根知底,我还是躺在这儿,听着法莱乌斯说下去。帆布床很舒适,我感到有点儿轻微的头晕。见鬼,我不记得自己什么时候上了床。
“我们在这儿住了几个月,才有人开始怀疑真相。当我们确认这一点时,前哨站早已发展成了城镇。在被‘占用’的城区里的大多数建造工程都停止了。等你身体再好点儿,可以去码头看看,你会发现那些最新的建筑都在盖-查-卡拉斯城的范围之外。”
吉尔赛那斯咀嚼着那段话的含义:“那么,那些已经在影之城中建立家园的人呢?”
“他们各有各的选择。”军团兵不置可否地说,“许多人搬走了,但军团还留在原来的屋子里。至少,那些‘幻之民(phantom folk)’——我的一些部下这么称呼他们——看不到、听不到、也碰不到我们。”
“当然,大部分市民都选择搬走。尤其是那些富商,他们觉得与别人分享私宅是一件非常不爽的事。即使那些‘别人’不是这个克莱恩世界的住民。”
“但还有一部分人选择了留下?”
“显然如此。他们中的大部分就只是单纯地不接受这个事实,把盖-查-卡拉斯的市民看做幻影。令他们引以自豪的是邻居们都被区区的光影把戏吓跑,而他们仍然留在自己家里。不过还有一些人,比如你的救命恩人阿曼,认为他们是完全真实的。他们将自己的生活建立在来自两个世界的住民中间,两个世界对他们而言同样重要。我的部下把这群人称为‘影行者(shadow walkers)’,因为他们走在两个世界的边缘。而其他许多人直接管他们叫疯子。”
“就是说,阿曼认为,这间屋子里的人们——玛拉和她的双亲——都是真实的了?”
“不仅是真实的。对他而言他们亲如家人。至于玛拉嘛……呃,我想我从未如他爱着那名幻之女性那样强烈地爱过任何人。”
我震惊了。不仅为法莱乌斯对这座城市的理解是如此之深,也为他同样深深理解着我。我总以为他像其他人那样在我身后窃窃私语,嘲笑我对玛拉的感情。我得去向他道歉。
我从床上坐起身,感到一阵天旋地转。我的脑袋后边有个匕首柄大小的包。发生了什么事?
“是的,”吉尔赛那斯叹息道,“我能理解。他的生活和我这些年来所经历的如此相像。他唯一在乎的人是无法触碰的。而令我在乎的则是回忆——心灵之影——同样的不真实,同样无法触碰。我不时会倾向于相信那一切才是现实,而我周围的监牢只是一场反复重现的噩梦。西瓦纳斯提充满了那样的回忆。”
“但盖-查-卡拉斯的市民并不是回忆,” 法莱乌斯强调,“他们确实在这儿,与我们一样,同是无踪之城的一部分。”
“对我们的朋友而言,有什么比无法分清梦境与现实更糟的?”精灵打断了他,“我们必须弄醒他。”
法莱乌斯咂咂舌,像他每次遇到难题时那样:“我想,让他睡一觉是更为仁慈的决定。他什么也做不了。亲眼目睹这一幕对他来说太痛苦了。”
出了什么事?难道玛拉的父亲又抽风了?还是他过世了?我们都知道这件事有朝一日一定会发生,但我们都还没做好接受它的心理准备。
“如果阿曼必须永失所爱,我们最好给他个机会告别。在未来的岁月里,他将从这个结局中得到慰藉。否则,这会给他留下永不痊愈的伤口。”
玛拉?玛拉是不是出了什么事?以离去的诸神之名,不要啊!
我双腿发软地站了起来。
要是她快死了,我必须到她身边去。为了她,我必须去那儿陪着她——即使她感觉不到。
“如果他们离开这座城市会怎么样?”吉尔赛那斯问。
法莱乌斯再度咂咂舌,没有给出明确的答案:“人们经常离开盖-查-卡拉斯。他们走过城门的瞬间就消失了。谁知道那以后他们去了哪儿呢?定期往来的行商人,归来时总是满载着一车车来自西瓦纳斯提或诺德马(Nordmaar)的货物。他们真的去过那些地方吗?谁知道呢?也许在我们那幽灵般的邻居的世界里,还有另一个完整的安塞隆大陆等着他们去探索。因为玛拉的事,我希望确实如此,虽然这对阿曼来说不大好受。”
离开这座城市?
我想起来了!
让玛拉如此兴奋的那张纸条是一张邀请函,邀她的全家搬到舒尔(Shoole)去和她的姑姑一块儿住。他们要离开这座城市。这个消息对我来说太过分了。我想我一定是晕了过去,所以后脑才撞了个包。我失去意识有多长时间了?这有什么关系!有关系的是:玛拉就要离开了!
我必须阻止她!
我的双腿已经动了起来。我跌跌撞撞地冲出我的家门——我们的家门。吉尔赛那斯和法莱乌斯瞪着我,就好像我是只野兽似的。也许我就是。我的心跳得像一只嗅到了狐狸气味的野兔那么快。马车转过拐角,我敢肯定,拉车的是玛拉的姐姐送给他们的马——把她们丢脸的穷亲戚永远送出这座城市的低廉代价。
我发现了吉尔赛那斯。看得出,他明白我全身奔流的恐慌。“想做就做吧,”他的眼神像是在说,“反正到头来全是徒劳。”
与此同时,法莱乌斯一脸悲哀地向我走来。他举起一只大手,显然打算同情地搂住我的肩。尽管这或许是发自内心的安慰,但我想他的真实意图是把我按在这儿,直到为时过晚。
在法莱乌斯来得及搂住我之前,我沿着街道狂奔而去。玛拉要去舒尔,那么她的马车走北门。这儿离北门只有几个街区之遥。走大道我绝对追不上马,但我有一项优势:我并不生活在盖-查-卡拉斯——我活在无踪之城!
我在街区中段右转,直扎进蜡烛店的门墙。跨过一堆曾组成锅炉的残砖碎瓦,我从店后方穿出,踏上了横越整个北区的小街。吉尔赛那斯追不上我,因为在那场严苛的考验之后,他的身子还太虚弱。在大多数情况下,追上并压制我对法莱乌斯而言毫无压力,但他不如我熟悉无踪之城的这条捷径。他不知道哪些幻象建筑易于穿越,哪些又隐藏着危险的瓦砾堆,甚至无盖的地窖。不,我那好心的朋友们必须取道大街,就像玛拉一样。
穿越褐色狮鹫旅店(Tan Griffin Inn ),绕过驿站(它是没法通过的,因为商人重建了巨大的谷仓),我望见北门就在前头。我在大街上狂奔,没头没脑地穿过盖-查-卡拉斯的人群。我平时总是用对待无踪之城实体市民的礼仪对待他们,但如今我笔直地穿过阻拦我道路的每个人跑了过去。
我停在城门口,回望街道。什么也没有。没有马车,也没有玛拉。和平日一样,只有虚幻的行人熙熙攘攘。莫非我误读了那张字条?也许她决定改走西门?我可没法及时赶到那里。
在我的担忧加剧成恐慌之前,一辆两匹马拉的平板马车转过了街角。驾着它们缓慢前行的正是我的玛拉,一脸迫不及待的笑意。
“不!”我大叫起来,前后大幅挥舞着双臂,“玛拉,停一停!别走!别丢下我!”
我知道她听不见,但我必须抓住这个机会。我像个疯子般狂喊着——大家都以为我早就疯了。
这时法莱乌斯和吉尔赛那斯转过了街角。我透过马车看到他们向我跑来,担心我做出什么伤害自己的事(尽管我也无法想象我会做些什么)。
尽管我又是喊又是挥,玛拉还是驾着她的马车径直地穿过了我。当然,她当然会这么做的。不然还想怎样?
我跪倒在尘土飞扬的鬼街上。
同伴们跑到我身边,而我转过头去,凝望着玛拉,我唯一的真爱,她即将消逝于虚空。
她停下马车,放下缰绳,转身最后一次回望自己的家园。玛拉脸上绽开了一个希望洋溢的微笑,一个允诺幸福未来的微笑,她挥手作别。
我挥手回应,惊讶得说不出话来。我知道她看不见我,但这毫无关系。
她捡起缰绳,催马远去。一步,两步,三步……她的身影在飞旋的砂粒中渐渐淡去。玛拉走了。我举头向天,对着无云的青空发出哀嚎。
这世上从此空无一人。我恒久孤单。倘若沙漠像它吞噬玛拉那样吞噬我该多好。“我一无所有了。”我向风儿低诉。而唯一的回答是——一只手温柔地搁在了我的肩上。
吉尔赛那斯单膝跪在我身边,他脸上写满了痛苦的回忆。法莱乌斯站在后面,给我们留出私密的空间,但他也没有离得太远,随时准备在必要时出手阻拦。
“你还有你的回忆,阿曼吾友。那是我们终其一生惟一真正拥有的东西。”
“回忆?关于什么的回忆?她从来就不是真实的!我花费了这么长的岁月追求一个女子,而她甚至不比一缕青烟更真实。吉尔赛那斯,也许你曾与诸神结伴而行,但你不可能明白我的感受。”
“我不明白?”他收回搁在我肩上的手,站起身来,用一种父亲看任性幼童的眼光俯视着我,“你只不过是失去了你的爱人,每个人或早或晚都要经历这种痛楚。对任何人来说,这苦痛都绝不轻微,既不取决于你们是相处过几个月还是共度终生,也不取决于你们是否曾在一起——或者说是否曾真正在一起。不要用从前犯过的错误自寻烦恼——它们与横亘在你面前的情绪深渊毫无关联。
“你的心上如今有一道深深的伤口。它终将自愈,但这需要时间。你打算明智地度过这段时间吗?你会回味那些甜蜜的瞬间,将其余的部分忘在脑后吗?这样做,可以抚平你心头的伤痕。”
我猛然转向精灵。这一切都不是他的错,但他给了我一个发泄怒气的标靶。
“要是我不希望它自愈呢?”我咆哮道。
吉尔赛那斯悲伤地望着我。
“那么你有两种选择。你可以选择待在这儿,沉浸在回忆中,看着往常熟悉的一切,做着你往常所做的事。这是个切实阻止你心灵痊愈的好办法,不过正如许多前人已经证实的那样,痛楚永不会消褪。或者,你也可以试图努力去寻找你的心之碎片,把它安放回正确的地方。”
我发出一声嘲讽的冷笑。
“那是不可能的,你知道。”
“也许,”吉尔赛那斯微笑起来,“但不见得比寻找一条自身希望永不露面的银龙更加不可能。”
我大笑着说:“而你已经以身作则地告诉我们这个办法有多管用了,你在西瓦纳斯提的监狱里待了多少年?”
“足够长,”精灵指出,“足够我与自己的过去和解,并把它抛在脑后。在那些日子里,唯一支持着我活下去的就是我的回忆。而如今我自由了,我为未来而活。阿曼,你又打算为什么而活呢,未来,还是过去?”
“未来,”我不确定地说。他说得对,从前发生过的事并不重要。玛拉已经走了,我无论做什么也无法改变这个事实。珍存这段爱,把它当做构建未来的基础,是纪念这段过往的最好形式。只要我仍然忠于自己的感受,玛拉就永远在我身边,“你不再为回忆而困扰了吗?”
吉尔赛那斯沉默了一瞬。我想他不确定该如何回答这个问题:“或许它们仍在困扰我,但它们不再支配我了。有许多更要紧的事等着我去做。身为奎灵纳斯提的王子,我对我的人民负有使命。”
“那么,当你的使命完结之时,”我问,“你又将为什么而活呢?”
法莱乌斯感到我们的谈话将近尾声,他大步向前,扶我站起来。
“我的使命将永不完结。”精灵坚定地说。他望着滚滚沙尘,不愿直视我的目光,“终我一生。”
“那么,你是一个比我更加悲哀的生灵。”
劇透 - :
*****
I can hear the comforting drone of hushed conversation long before the words become clear. It's Gilthanas
and Falaius. They're not in this room, but they are nearby.
"I must say, I still don't understand the nature of this place," I hear Gilthanas say. He still isn't certain that
the spectral people he sees aren't undead spirits; you can hear it in his voice. He expects for Mala and her
family to suddenly give up their charade and reveal themselves to be life-draining fiends.
"I'm not sure anyone does" Falaius answers.
"My host seems to think he has an insight others cannot perceive."
"You must forgive, Aman" the Legionnaire says. "His sense of perspective is, shall we say, impaired when
it comes to the woman he calls Mala." Yes. He would say that. Falaius has spent many years living here, but
he has never truly accepted Gal Tra'kalas for what it is.
"Though you were half-blind with dehydration, your reaction to the Missing City was quite normal. Most
people see the towers and walls waving in the desert heat and assume they are seeing a mirage. However,
when they get here and see the amazing detail in the buildings and even the ghostly inhabitants, people
change their minds, believing instead that the city is all one tremendous illusion cast by a long dead sorcerer,
or perhaps even by the gods themselves."
"Yes," Gilthanas adds with authority. "I came to that conclusion myself, though I know no sorcerer of any
robes who could create such an effect."
"But the truth is even more fantastic. The mirage really is Gal Tra'kalas." Falaius has a sense of wonder in
his voice that I've never heard before. Perhaps he does understand the grandeur around him. "As near as I can
tell, the city belongs to a world where the first Cataclysm didn't happen. I don't pretend to understand how it is
possible, but the people we see are real. They are far too complex to be simple illusions. They are born, grow,
fall in love, and die just like anyone you know. The city is alive too ... well, as alive as any city is. Buildings are
built, others are razed. Businesses open and prosper. Anials run the back alleys looking for scraps of food. If
you make it your business to pay attention to a particular building or person or family, you'll see the
unmistakable rhythm of life unfold before you. Make no mistake about it, Gal Tra'kalas is real."
"If that is true," Gilthanas wonders aloud, "then how can anyone bear to live here?" The elf has faced many
strange things in his life, but I dare say that other than the return of the gods, this must be the most bizarre.
"Well, we didn't know. When the Legion first came here, there was only the mirage and a city's worth of
ruins—crumbled walls, and mountains of brick and mortar debris half-hidden by the mirage, which we too
mistook for a magical reconstruction of Gal Tra'kalas. My tribe has always called this spot the Missing City, and
it seemed like an ideal place to build an outpost. If we built exactly behind the illusion, doing our best to
recreate the facades of the buildings, only the closest inspection would reveal our presence. We'd have a town
that no one could find—truly a Missing City."
Even though I know the story backward and forward, I lie here listening to Falaius. The cot is comfortable,
and I feel a little light-headed. Odd. I don't remember going to bed.
"It was only after we'd been here several months that anyone began to suspect the truth. And by the time
we were certain, our outpost had grown into a town. Most people stopped building in the 'occupied' sections of
town. When you feel well enough to come down to the pier, you'll see that the newest buildings all stand just
past the end of Gal Tra'kalas's city limits."
Gilthanas considers what he's heard. "And the people who already built their homes in the shadow city?"
"Each made a choice" the Legionnaire says noncommittally. "Many of them relocated, but the Legion
maintained their original building. After all, the 'phantom folk,' as some of my men call them, can't see, hear, or
touch anything of ours.
"Of course, most of the civilians chose to move. The wealthy merchants in particular were uncomfortable
with the notion of sharing their homes with others, even if those others are not of this Krynn."
"But there are others who chose to stay?"
"Obviously. Most of them simply refuse to accept the people of Gal Tra'kalas as anything other than
illusions. They take pride in the fact that they maintained their homes while their neighbors were run off by
mere tricks of the light. But others, like your benefactor, Aman, consider them wholly real. They build their lives
around people from both worlds, neither more or less important than the other. My men call these folks
'shadow walkers,' because they tread the edge of two worlds. Most others just call them crazy."
"So the people in this house—Mala and her parents—are real to Aman?"
"They're more than real. They are his family. And Mala . . . well, let's just say that I don't think I've ever felt
as strongly about anyone as he does for that ghostly woman."
I'm shocked. Not only does Falaius understand the city, but he also understands me. I always thought he
snickered behind my back like the rest of them, mocking my feelings for Mala. I have to apologize to him.
I sit up on the bed, and the room spins. I have a lump on the back of my head the size of a dagger's pommel.
What happened?
"Yes," Gilthanas sighs, "I understand. His life is very similar to the one I've led these past years. The only
things that matter to him are untouchable. For me, they were memories—shadows of the mind—but no less
real because I too could not touch them. At times, it was easier to believe they were reality and my cell was a
recurring nightmare. Silvanesti is full of those memories."
"But the people of Gal Tra'kalas are not memories," Falaius replies. "They are here, as much a part of the
Missing City as we are."
"And how much the worse for our friend if he cannot separate his dream from his waking world?" the elf
pauses. "We ought to awaken him for this."
Falaius clicks his tongue, as he always does whenwrestling with a difficult question. "I think it may be
kinder to let him sleep. There's nothing he can do. Watching this would be too painful."
What's wrong? Did Mala's father have another seizure? Did he die? We all knew it was coming, but no one
is ever prepared for such a thing.
"If Aman must lose the one he loves, it's best that we afford him the opportunity to bid her farewell. In the
years to come, he will draw solace from the closure. Otherwise, this will be a wound that never heals."
Mala? Has something happened to Mala? By all the departed gods, no!
I stand on uncertain legs.
If she's dying I must go to her. I have to be there for her, with her—even if she doesn't know it.
"What will happen when they leave the city?" Gilthanas asks.
Another tongue click announces that Falaius doesn't have a definite answer. "People leave Gal Tra'kalas
all the time. They just disappear as the pass through the gates. Who can say where they go after that? The
merchants come and go on a regular schedule, and they always return with carts full of goods from Silvanesti
or Nordmaar. Do they really go to those places? Who can say? Maybe there's a whole other Ansalon for our
ghostly neighbors to explore. For Mala's sake, I hope so, though that will be no real comfort to Aman."
Leave the city?
Now I remember!
The note that had Mala so excited was an invitation for the family to come live with her aunt in Shoole. They
are leaving the city. That realization must have been too much for me. I think I blacked out. That must be how
I got this lump on my skull. How long have I been unconscious? What does it matter? What matters is that Mala
is leaving!
I've got to stop her!
My legs already are moving. I stumble out the door of my house—our house. Gilthanas and Falaius stare
like I'm a wild beast. Perhaps I am. My heart beats with the same desperation as a rabbit's when the scent of
the fox is in the air. The wagon rounds the corner pulled, I'm sure, by the horse Mala's sisters have given
them—a cheap price to have their embarrassing relatives leave the city for good.
Gilthanas catches my gaze. I can see he knows the panic that sweeps through me. "Do what you can," his
eyes seem to say. "In the end, it will do no good."
Meanwhile, Falaius walks toward me with a sad expression on his face. He holds out his massive hand,
obviously meaning to lay it sympathetically on my shoulder. As heart-felt as that consolation might be, I know
his true thought is to keep me here until it is too late.
Before Falaius can clasp my shoulder, I dash down the street. If Mala's going to Shoole, she'll take the
wagon out the North Gate, and that's only a few blocks away. On the streets, I'll never catch the horses, but I
have an advantage: I don't live in Gal Tra'kalas—I'm in the Missing City!
In the middle of the block, I turn right and run straight through the front wall of the candle-maker's shop.
Leaping over the pile of rocky debris that used to be the kiln, I pass out the back and into the alley that cuts
across the Northern District. Gilthanas can't possibly keep up with me; he's still too weak from his ordeal. In
most instances, Falaius would have no trouble overtaking and subduing me, but he doesn't know this section
of the Missing City as well as I do. He doesn't know which spectral buildings can be passed easily through and
which hide dangerous piles of rubble, or even open pits. No, my well-meaning friends will have to take the
streets just like Mala.
Through the Tan Griffin Inn and around the livery stable (it's been impassable since that merchant rebuilt
the colossal barn), I see the North Gate ahead. I run heedlessly through the Gal Tra'kalans on the street.
Usually I treat them with the same courtesy I do the more solid citizens of the Missing City, but right now I'd run
straight through anyone who stood in my way.
At the gate, I stop and look back down the street. Nothing. No carriage. No Mala. Just the usual spectral
pedestrian traffic. Did I read the note wrong? Is she heaing for the West Gate instead? I can't possibly get
there in time.
Before my fear sharpens to panic, a flat wagon pulled by two horses rounds the corner. Driving the team at
a slow trot is my own Mala, a smile of breathless anticipation painted on her face.
"No!" I shout, waving my arms back and forth wildly. "Mala, stop! Don't go! Don't leave me!"
I know she can't hear me, but I have to take the chance. I yell like the madman everyone already thinks I
am.
Now Falaius and Gilthanas round the corner. I can see them through the wagon, racing toward me, afraid
that I'll do myself some harm (though what I could do, I can't imagine).
Despite my shouting and arm-waving, Mala drives her horses straight through me. Of course she does.
What else could she do?
I sink to my knees in the dusty, haunted road.
As my companions reach me, I look over my shoulder to watch as Mala, my one true love, is about to
dissipate into nothingness.
She stops the wagon, lays down the reins, and turns around for one last look at her home. A smile full of
hope and the promise of a happier future plays across Mala's face, and she waves good-bye.
I wave back, too stunned to speak. I know she doesn't see me, but it doesn't matter.
Picking up the reins, she urges the horses on. One step, two, three ... she fades into the swirling sand. Mala
is gone. I throw back my head and howl to the cloudless sky.
There is no one left in this world. I'm all alone. If only the desert could swallow me up the way it has Mala. "I
have nothing," I whisper to the wind. But the only answer I get is a hand laid gently on my shoulder.
Gilthanas bends down on one knee behind me, a look of painful memory on his face. Falaius stands back,
giving us a sense of privacy while still being close enough to intervene should it become necessary.
"You have your memories, friend Aman. That is all any of us truly carry through this life."
"Memories? Memories of what? She was never real! I spent all these years chasing after a woman who is
nothing more than a wisp of smoke. Gilthanas, you may have walked in the company of the gods themselves,
but you have no idea how I feel."
"Don't I?" He takes his hand from my shoulder and stands, looking down at me the way a parent looks at a
petulant child. "You've just lost the one you love, a pain everyone sooner or later must face. It matters not one
whit whether you had a few months or a lifetime together, or whether you ever were ever actually together at all.
Do not confuse yourself by finding the faults in your past—they have no bearing on the emotional chasm
before you.
"A hole has been torn in your heart. It will heal, but the process takes time. Will you spend that time wisely?
Will you savor the sweet moments and release the rest? If you do, the scar your heart bears will be light."
I whirl on the elf. None of this is his fault, but he makes a convenient target for my rage.
"What if I don't want it to heal?" I growl.
Gilthanas looks at me ruefully.
"Then you have two choices. You can stay here and wallow in the memories, see all the things you used to
see, do all the things you used to do. This is a tried and true method to keep your heart from healing, though as
many before you have discovered, the pain will never cease. Or, you can devote yourself to finding the missing
piece of your heart and returning it to its rightful place."
I sneer derisively.
"That's impossible, and you know it."
"Perhaps," Gilthanas smiles. "But no more impossible than finding a silver dragon who wishes to remain
hidden."
Laughing I say, "And you've told us how well that worked out. How many years were you in that Silvanesti
prison?"
"Enough," the elf points out, "to reconcile my past and put it behind me. There were days when the only
thing that kept me alive were my memories. Now that I'm free, I live for the future. What will you live for, Aman,
the future or the past?"
"The future," I say uncertainly. He's right; whatever happened before doesn't matter. Mala is gone, and
nothing I do wil change that. But if I take the love we had and build upon it, then that is the best way to honor
the past. As long as I remain true to my inspiration, Mala will still be with me. "Do your memories no longer
haunt you?"
Gilthanas pauses. I think he's unsure how to answer the question. "Perhaps they haunt me still, but they no
longer rule me. I have more pressing matters to attend. I am a prince of Qualinesti. I have a duty to my people."
"When your duty is done," I ask, "then what will you live for?"
Falaius, sensing our conversation is nearing its end, steps forward and helps me to my feet.
"My duty will never end." The elf stiffens. He looks into the dirt, unwilling to meet my gaze. "This is my life."
"Then you are an even sadder creature than I."