The Tor - 23. Chapter 23

Christopher did not seek Vale immediately. Three days passed after the incident upon the harbour wall, three days in which he returned to school, marked exercise books, attended meetings and attempted to behave as though nothing had changed.

The effort became increasingly difficult. Memories continued slipping through the boundaries of ordinary life.

A Year Nine pupil asked a question about Roman Britain and, for a moment, Christopher found himself searching for an answer in a language that had not existed for nearly two thousand years. While shopping, he reached automatically for ingredients he did not recognise until he arrived home and discovered they belonged to a recipe he had not cooked since the eighteenth century.

Twice he woke convinced he was somewhere else. The first time he believed he was aboard a ship. The second time he spent several seconds searching for the monastery bell before realising he was hearing traffic beyond his bedroom window.

Each incident passed. Each left him a little less certain.

By Friday afternoon he found himself standing outside the museum. Rain drifted across the harbour. The excavation offices were quiet. Most visitors had already left for the day.

Vale sat alone in the archive room surrounded by books and storage boxes. He looked up as Christopher entered. Something in his expression suggested he had been expecting him.

"You nearly walked into the sea."

Christopher stopped. "Marco told you."

"No." Vale shook his head. "I guessed."

Christopher laughed humourlessly. "That doesn't make me feel better."

"No." Vale closed the folder resting before him. "I imagine it does not."

Silence lingered. Christopher remained standing.

Vale studied him carefully. "You are frightened."

The directness of the observation irritated him.

"Wouldn't you be?"

"Yes."

The answer arrived without hesitation. Christopher had expected argument. Instead he found agreement.

Vale folded his hands. "What happened?"

Christopher looked towards the rain-streaked window. "I thought I was somewhere else." Vale waited. "I knew where I was." Christopher struggled to explain. "I could see the harbour."
He frowned. "But I could also see another shoreline." His voice lowered. "At the same time."

Vale closed his eyes briefly. When he opened them again, Christopher saw unmistakable sadness there.

"It is accelerating."

Christopher felt his stomach tighten. "Because I remembered the original life?"

"Partly." Vale hesitated. "There is another reason."

Christopher waited. Vale looked towards the distant outline of the Tor visible through the rain.

"The memories are strongest here."

Christopher followed his gaze. "The Tor."

"Yes."

"The shrine."

"Yes."

Christopher stared through the glass. Neither spoke. Then understanding began assembling itself piece by piece.

The excavation. The dreams. The visions. The memories.Everything had begun there.

"You think this place is causing it."

"I think this place is where it began."

Christopher looked back at him. "And if I left?"

Vale's expression altered almost imperceptibly. Christopher realised he had asked the question before the older man could.

"If you left," Vale said quietly, "I do not know what would happen."

The honesty startled him. "You don't know?"

"No."

Vale leaned back. "I have theories."

"What are they?"

The older man was silent for several moments. "Distance weakens memory."

Christopher frowned. "What does that mean?"

"It means every time one of your lives settled far from here, the memories returned more slowly."

A chill ran through him. "You've seen this before."

"Many times."

Christopher lowered himself into the chair opposite. The room suddenly felt smaller.

"You never told me."

"You never asked whether geography mattered."

Christopher laughed softly. The sound carried little amusement.

"No, I suppose I didn't."

Rain tapped against the windows. Somewhere deeper in the museum a door closed, the sound echoing faintly through the building.

Christopher found himself staring at the floor. "If I stay with him..."

The words emerged before he had fully formed them.

Vale remained silent.

Christopher looked up. "If I stay here." Another pause. "The memories keep returning."

Vale did not answer. He did not need to. Christopher already knew. The evidence surrounded him.

The dreams. The visions. The confusion. The lost distinctions. The dead language surfacing in his sleep.

For the first time he found himself asking a question he had spent weeks avoiding.

"What happens when they all come back?"

Vale's face seemed suddenly ancient. "I do not know."

Christopher almost laughed.

Neither of them seemed to know anything.

"I thought you spent centuries studying this."

"I spent centuries failing to understand it."

The answer carried no self-pity, only exhaustion.

Christopher looked away.

Outside, the Tor rose dark against the grey afternoon. The sight of it usually filled him with affection. Today it felt different. For the first time in his life it seemed capable of harm.

"You think I should leave."

Vale spoke carefully. "I think you should consider the possibility."

Christopher felt anger flare. "Because that would solve your problem?"

Vale met his gaze. "No."

The simplicity of the answer disarmed him. "No?"

"No."

The older man's voice remained calm. "I stopped believing there was a solution centuries ago."

Christopher looked at him. "Then why?"

Vale's eyes drifted once more towards the Tor. "Because every life deserves the chance to become itself."

The familiar argument, yet today it struck differently.

Christopher thought of standing in seawater without realising it, of speaking Brythonic in his sleep, of calling Marco by another man's name.

"You think I'm losing that chance."

"I think the question deserves asking."

Silence settled between them. Christopher rose and walked towards the window. The harbour stretched below.

The school sat beyond the town centre. The streets he had known since childhood wound between stone buildings darkened by rain.

Everything he loved existed within that view. The bakery. The harbour. The lighthouse. The Tor.

Marco.

His chest tightened unexpectedly. Because another possibility had appeared. A train station. An airport. A city elsewhere. London perhaps. Edinburgh. Manchester.

Anywhere.

A life where he could wake knowing who he was. The thought should have felt liberating. Instead it felt like grief. He couldn't imagine waking without Marco or
passing a day without seeing the harbour.

Vale watched him quietly. Neither man spoke. Christopher realised, with a sense of genuine shock, that he was imagining leaving Penmere.

He had never done so before, not seriously. The town had always seemed woven into him too deeply to abandon.

Yet now he could see it. A rented flat in another city, a different school, different streets. A life that belonged only to Christopher Edwards.

The vision lasted no more than a few seconds. It frightened him more than any memory, because part of him wanted it, part of him wanted rest.

Christopher pressed his hand against the cool glass. Beyond the harbour the sea stretched towards the horizon. Grey, endless and uncertain.

When he finally spoke, his voice sounded distant. "I don't know what to do."

Vale's expression softened. For the first time there was no argument between them.

"No," he said quietly.

"I know."

And Christopher understood with growing unease that he had crossed a threshold.

Until now every warning had driven him closer to Marco.

For the first time, one had driven him away.

Only slightly. Only enough to imagine it.

Yet that was all it took.

The possibility existed now.

And once imagined, it could not easily be forgotten.

He left the museum, saw Marco across the harbour.

Marco smiled and raised a hand.

Christopher instinctively started to walk towards him. Then he stopped.

Just for a heartbeat.

He sketched a salute to Marco and continued in another direction.