Rewriting Memory

Chapter 3

She had a destination in mind, and let her feet guide her there. This was a place she and Zephyr had gone day after day for the last two years, a place she knew by heart, a place to which she could walk in her sleep without any trouble. At an intersection between streets, she jumped over the remains of a concrete wall that had been torn down long ago. She pushed through the tall grass that brushed against her thighs, scraping her worn boots through the dirt, ascending the steady incline of the hill until she and Zephyr stood at the crest. There she looked out over all of Oblitus as she had done for the last two years, studying the geometric pattern of streets and steady movement of people, the gilded edges of buildings and the organic leaves of the wiretrees.

Lysandra sat down in the grass, tucking her legs under her and smoothing her skirts over her knees. "You said we came here before all that stuff happened," she began.

Zephyr dropped down next to her. She swatted away some grass that waved in front of her face. "Yeah, we did."

"What did we talk about?" Lysandra asked.

Zephyr smiled. "I'm beginning to think you just have chronic short-term memory loss," she said. "You ask me that every time we come here."

"Tell me something you haven't told me, then."

"Well," Zephyr began, tipping her head back and squinting at the clouds, "one time we talked about cake."

"Cake," Lysandra echoed.

"You know, that stuff they sell in the pastry shops. Cake." Zephyr leaned back on her elbows, staring into the sky. "I said I liked the round ones. The cranberry-orange ones, you know? And you said they were gross."

"Cranberry is gross," Lysandra said.

"It's not. Anyway, I asked you what kind you liked, and you said coffee." Zephyr shook her head. "Coffee is so expensive. I said if you ever have a boyfriend, he's going to be broke as hell."

Lysandra laughed. "I don't remember that conversation." She fell silent, staring at the city's streets for a moment before suggesting, "Let's go get some cake."

Zephyr turned to her, eyebrows raised. "Right now?"

"Right now," Lysandra said. "I promise I won't order coffee cake."

"Deal." Zephyr pushed herself up from the grass.

The two of them raced down the hill and back through the streets until they found their usual pastry shop. Lysandra remembered this shop, too, from the past two years. She and Zephyr had often gone there back when one of them was upset about something. There they'd talked - or just stayed completely silent - over cups of mint chocolate or dishes of cake.

That was before Zephyr had taken it upon herself to go see a Memory Recoder about it instead.

Four o'clock was not one of the pastry shop's busier hours, and Lysandra and Zephyr found their usual table, the one in the corner next to the front window, easily. They ordered two plates of vanilla cake and watched the crowds outside.

Lysandra felt a stir of unease in her chest. She wanted to ask Zephyr about Oden. She wanted to know what her friend had felt the need to Erase without even telling her. That was the problem with Memory Recoding: it messed up the truth and who knew it. Two years ago, Zephyr would have just told Lysandra about her problems rather than getting a Memory Recoder to Erase them for her. Now, whatever had happened between Zephyr and Oden lived on in Oden's mind only, and maybe not even his, depending on whether his will was as weak as Zephyr's.

But she couldn't ask Zephyr about it. She couldn't bring herself to ask, to ruin the rest of their trip out, or to incur her friend's strange looks and reminders that even she didn't remember. So she stayed silent.

Lysandra had met Oden More once, while she and Zephyr were out on one of their escape runs. He was a boy of medium height and weight, the same age as both of them, with short, dark hair, bronze skin, and a crossbow slung over his shoulder. Zephyr had apparently arranged to meet him somewhere, because Oden had stood there waiting until she and Lysandra showed up. Zephyr had accidentally introduced Lysandra using her real name - "This is my friend Lysandra Ferry," she'd said without a second thought - and Oden's eyes had bugged out of his head.

"No way," he'd said. "Lysandra Ferry? As in, Simon Ferry's daughter?"

Lysandra and Zephyr had looked at each other, debating whether to feign innocence or come out with the truth. Somehow they'd come to a decision. "Yes," Lysandra had said, "that's right."

"Wow. Holy Saints," Oden had said. "Nice to meet you, Lysandra Ferry."

"You, too."

She just remembered feeling glad he hadn't asked her for her autograph or something crazy. Not her father's - no, her father had already been imprisoned by then.

Zephyr had gone on for months and months about Oden to Lysandra. Lysandra had devised schemes to get them to go out. None of them had seemed to work, but one day Zephyr had dragged Lysandra along to that chance meeting, and Lysandra knew things had changed.

She knew things had changed again when Zephyr decided to Erase Oden from her memory completely.

"This is good," Zephyr said with a smirk, interrupting Lysandra's thoughts, "but not nearly as good as cranberry-flavored cake."

"Yeah," Lysandra said absently.

Zephyr gave her a strange look. "Hello? Lysandra? Are you in there? I thought you hated cranberry."

Lysandra blinked, trying to shake her disquieting thoughts away. "Oh. Sorry. Yeah, I do hate cranberry. Coffee-flavored cake, on the other hand . . ."

"Of course Simon Ferry's daughter would have expensive taste," Zephyr teased.

Lysandra stared down at her half-empty plate. "Zephyr, what happened to being able to talk about whatever here? I mean, instead of handing it off to some random Memory Recoder?"

Zephyr's eyes went wide, and her lips twitched, as though she searched for words but couldn't find any appropriate enough. Finally she said, "Some things are just too hard to talk out," and looked away.

"Zeph, I'm your best friend," Lysandra said. "You couldn't have just told me? I'll listen. I'll listen forever."

"I know, but . . ." Zephyr stared down at her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry. I just thought . . ."

"Just imagine," Lysandra said, recalling their conversation from just minutes ago, "forgetting something that you want so badly to remember. Something you try every day to remember, but that you can't because somebody else decided you didn't need it anymore."

"I know," Zephyr said. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for you to take it that way. I just wanted to get rid of it. Trust me, I thought about it for a long time. I didn't just decide one day that I was going to go to a Memory Recoder. I thought about a lot of things. But in the end I didn't want it to eat away at me anymore."

Lysandra hesitated. "I'd give almost anything to be able to trade places with you. All I want is some sort of memory. Something. Anything. Even if it's a painful memory. At least then I know it's there."

Zephyr nodded. "Yeah. I know what you mean."

"No," Lysandra laughed ruefully, shaking her head, "you probably don't."

Zephyr's mouth twisted and she looked up from her plate. She squinted at Lysandra, searching her eyes. "Okay," she said. "You're right. I don't."