The Memory
The time of Ruin has come.The meaning of the Prophecy is becoming clear at last: if Ruin cannot be stopped, all of memory will transform into nightmare.In the tunnels of the Underland, a place of phantoms, monsters, and creatures of god-like power, Aranfal and Brandione are drawn into the game to end all games – a desperate search for the very first memory – while Canning and Drayn grapple with both ancient adversaries and their own abilities.Hunting for a way to destroy Ruin, Brightling journeys into the heart of the Machinery. As she descends, though, she discovers that Ruin is already more powerful than anyone could have imagined.The future – and the past – of the Overland will be reshaped as Gerrard Cowan’s mesmerizing epic of power, magic, and memory reaches its finale.
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The Memory
GERRARD COWAN
HarperVoyager
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First published in Great Britain by HarperCollinsPublishers 2018
Copyright © Gerrard Cowan 2018
Cover images © Shutterstock.com
Cover design © HarperCollinsPublishers Ltd 2018
Gerrard Cowan asserts the moral right to be identified as the author of this work.
A catalogue copy of this book is available from the British Library.
This novel is entirely a work of fiction. The names, characters and incidents portrayed in it are the work of the authorâs imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or localities is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins.
Ebook Edition © July 2018 ISBN: 9780008121839
Version: 2018-08-29
For Grace
Table of Contents
Turn back.
That was all Ruin said to Brightling, as she walked down the stairs.
Turn back.
She was unsure how long she had been in this place. Her memories felt strange, at times: out of her reach. She forgot why she was here, in this darkness. She had to grasp for it, searching through the muddy waters of her mind. The Machinery, she told herself. I am going to the Machinery.
Ruin is in the Machinery. Ruin will die.
An image rose in her mind, and all her confusion disappeared. It was a picture of a young woman, pale-skinned and black-haired. Katrina.I will destroy the thing inside her, and I will bring her home to me. The mask burned against her skin, when these thoughts came. She had worn it since she had come here; it showed her the way through the darkness, down the never-ending stairs. It had such power, this thing. I have power when I wear it. I will use it to destroy my enemies: the enemies of mankind.
But she did not know how.
Turn back.
Ruin was afraid of her. This creature, feared by the world, Overland and Underland, was frightened. She could sense it, in his voice. She could always sense fear: even the fear of a god.
She caught herself. A god? Is that what we call them now?
Turn back.
Yes. A god. What else were they but gods, and what manner of mask was this, to strike fear into one of them? Jandell had fashioned it from a shard of a defeated enemy, in times long past, and he had given it to her.The Absence. A mask like no other: a mask that could carve someoneâs memories into little bits. The Absence was dead, now, but somehow, this little thing still thrummed with a dark power. It loved her. She could feel it. It did not wish to cause her pain. But it still hurt her. It licked its fiery tongue around her memories and longed to burn them away.
Turn back.
Each time Ruin said those words, she heard a noise behind, back from where she had come: a door creaking open. When she continued on her way, the door would close, only to reopen when Ruin spoke again.
Ruin did not speak for a long time. When he did, this time his words were different.
You will not turn back, Brightling.
She shook her head. âNo,â she said. Her voice sounded so small, here, and she despised herself for all her weaknesses.
There came a great sigh.
You have always been special, Amyllia.
The use of her first name made her stop.
I know you very well. I have watched you for so many years.
Brightling took another step. She knew what Ruin was doing. The doomed tried all sorts of tricks to stave off the inevitable. Donât ever listen to the dead, went an old Watcher saying. The dead are full of lies.
But she could not ignore Ruin. Not in this place.
I see everything that has been and gone. I remember the first time you appeared as ⦠someone of promise.
Brightling turned another corner of the twisting staircase. The steps were wider, here, the walls further apart. There was a door, to her left. It was slightly ajar, its edge glowing with a thin line of golden light. She reached out a hand, before quickly snapping it back.
âWhat is in there?â
What else? A memory.
Brightling heard a voice, muttering beyond the door. It was her voice; the voice she had as a girl. Warmth. Contentment.
I have all your memories before me, Amyllia. Tell me where you would like to go, and what you would like to see again.
