Regardless, Carrick is recognized. Because the man before us is not a human, fae, or daemon, I have to conclude he’s also a demi-god.
Which is interesting.
He doesn’t look anything like what a demi-god should look like, but, then again, I only have Carrick, Maddox, and Lucien to compare to.
While he’s very handsome with pale blond hair cut short, denim-blue eyes, an aquiline nose, and near-perfect bone structure, he doesn’t have the brawn Carrick and his brothers have. He also doesn’t have the same vibe that sort of radiates off them—the type that says I’ll seriously hurt you if you get in my way.
No, this demi-god is mild-mannered to the core, and I’m starting to understand the gods didn’t create their progeny to all be warriors.
“We’d like to peruse some memory crystals,” Carrick replies.
The demi-god nods, his eyes cutting to me. “For you or for your friend as well?”
“Both,” Carrick replies, then introduces me. “This is Finley Porter.”
“Hello, Finley Porter,” he says, holding his hand out to me to shake, which, in my experience, is an anti-demi-god kind of thing. I take it, though, and he says, “I am Temen, the overseer of the Hall of Histories.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” I reply formally. “Do you record the memories here?”
“Oh my, no,” he exclaims with an amused smile. “The gods have created a legion of demi-gods who are responsible for memorializing events and histories. I just manage the crystals that are the medium by which they are stored.”
“And every event that’s ever occurred in any human’s lifetime is recorded?” I ask curiously.
“Not just human,” Temen corrects me as he turns and starts for the vault door. He walks with the most perfect posture I’ve ever seen, with his hands clasped behind his back. “It includes fae, daemons, demi-gods, angels, and the like.”
“I can’t even fathom the amount of information that encompasses,” I murmur.
“It’s more than the human mind can conceptually perceive,” Temen says, not in an unkind way.
“I’m curious,” I say hesitantly, not wanting this to come off rude. “But to what purpose?”
“Why does anyone memorialize anything?” Temen counters, but he doesn’t expect me to answer because he provides it for me. “We write in journals to record our experiences so we can remember; we write for others so they can learn; and, just as importantly, we write for entertainment. It’s why we keep our favorite movies so we can watch them over again for enjoyment.”
An image of the gods sitting on couches, popcorn bowls in hand, watching their most favorite crystal memories flashes before me. It seems ludicrous.
But I can also envision Rune coming here to watch the crystal where he killed me—most likely from Carrick’s point of view—so he can relish the pain he caused over and over again. The thought is awful, and I banish it at once.
Focusing on why we are here, I pry, “And anyone can access these memories?”
As Temen reaches the vault, he shakes his head and grabs hold of the wheel. “Only demi-gods and the gods themselves are allowed to access these histories. You’re here as a guest of Nuesh, so you are allowed in with him.”
Whoa. I hadn’t realized the club was so exclusive. But then again, what human would ever know about this place? Or have the ability to travel here?
“Other immortals aren’t allowed here?” I ask just to make sure I understand.
“Correct,” Temen replies, then releases the wheel. He doesn’t pull on the door, merely steps back to let it slowly swing open with a slight rasping noise. A tiny breeze hits me, several degrees cooler than the room we’re in, and I shiver.
Carrick notices, and his arm comes around me. I wonder if the vault we’re about to enter has to remain cold for the crystals?
Yet, when we step inside, I realize it’s the same temperature as the room we left. The vault is no different than the outer space with the same black flooring and white walls. It’s positively sterile looking, and the only thing of note is a square door in the far wall that has a simple knob on it. It sits in the middle of the wall, no more than a foot-by-foot square, and reminds me of the dumbwaiters that could be used to send meals upstairs in large homes.
I’m beyond perplexed as to where the crystals are or how we’ll access them through such a tiny portal.
Perhaps a potion to drink that will make us smaller ala Alice in Wonderland?
Temen moves to the small door, and I sneak a glance at Carrick. He merely smiles and nods toward Temen, indicating I should watch.
So I do.
The demi-god raises his hands about shoulder high, facing the door. He chants something so low I cannot make out the words. A distinct whirring noise starts all around us, but then seems to focalize on the wall that holds the small door as if something behind the door might be moving on tracks or via a cable. It’s distinctly mechanized sounding, yet I’d bet One Bean that nothing is mechanized about this.
It’s purely magic, I’m sure.
The noise stops, Temen’s chant ceases, and he reaches out to grasp the knob. It doesn’t pull open. Instead, he slides it up. The interior is white like the walls and is brightened by a light I can’t see. Set horizontally on a white rounded base is a crystal.
I’m startled to see it’s the same type of crystal I’d seen in Arwen’s hut, which were cylindrical, about an inch in diameter, and while the column was smooth, the ends were rough-cut points. While the crystals in Arwen’s home were multi-colored, the one on the base is opaque white and about six inches long.
Temen reaches out and grabs it. He turns to Carrick and opens his palm with the crystal lying across it, but not in a way meant to offer it to Carrick. Not just yet.
“What exactly would you like to see?” Temen asks.
Carrick tips his head toward me. “I’d actually like to see her memories of our time together in Ireland when she was Eireann and I was Banan.”
“Of course,” Temen says, then starts to wave his other hand over the crystal.
“Wait,” I exclaim, and Temen stops, looking at me curiously. “Carrick just tells you that limited information—Ireland and our names then—and you know what to pull up?”
“I know what every crystal holds,” Temen replies mildly.
“You know what’s in every crystal that holds every memory, event, and history since the dawn of time?” I ask skeptically.
Because that’s impossible.
“No,” he replies with a shake of his head and an understanding smile. “That would make my head explode. But when I hold a crystal and you give me the basics of what you need, I just know how to access it.”
My head whips toward Carrick. “Sort of how Sarvel just knows when to intervene in my life.”
He shrugs in response. “The gods work in mysterious ways.”
“Well, it’s convenient if nothing else,” I quip before turning back to Temen with an apologetic look. “I’m sorry to interrupt. Please go on.”
Temen’s blue eyes crinkle at the corners, indicating his amusement, then he waves his hand over the crystal again. When it starts to glow in a yellowish-white hue, he slowly holds it out for me to take.