Revised February 2021

Orientation

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III III III

A brief silence followed Nesta's cryptic statement, during which Anne stared at her in confusion. "Altered… what do you mean by that?"

Nesta's gaze was fixed on her folded hands for a moment, her brow creased as if searching for the right words. At last, she looked up and met Anne's gaze; the skin around the young servant's eyes was tight, and her lips pressed into a narrow, white line. Yet, when she spoke, her voice was steady.

"I mean, that they are different. They are not who they were."

"Different how?"

"It is hard to explain." Nesta made a vague gesture with her hand. "They keep to themselves, live in secluded places, and stay away from towns and villages. People, who encountered them, cannot seem to describe them any other way than… different. Too little is known to link them to any of the raids or attacks, but we hear rumours. Some of those things…" Nesta paused, teeth worrying her lip; she was clenching her fingers so tightly her knuckles had turned white. When she continued, her voice was barely above a murmur. "Normal men could not have done them."

Anne felt like she had swallowed something very heavy and cold. She lowered her gaze to the woven rug that covered the floorboards. "But... they are men, aren't they?"

"Most of them are," Nesta muttered.

"What—" A knock on the door interrupted Anne; someone in the hallway called Nesta's name. The servant rose, giving Anne an apologetic look.

"I must get back to work. Please try to rest and not to worry too much. Forgive me… mayhap I should not have burdened you with this so soon."

With that, she left the room; Anne heard her exchange a few muttered words with someone outside in the hallway, then fainter growing footfalls, until it was quiet once more.

Try not to worry, Nesta had told her.

It was easier said than done, of course. More likely she would not be able to close her eyes tonight without seeing distorted creatures, only barely resembling human beings. Part of her did not want to accept what was going on — another part was almost thankful that she did not know what happened to her. Had someone attacked her and her brother? To think of this man felt odd, not even knowing his name or face. He was dead, she forced herself to recall. Someone, or something, had injured him so severely that he did not survive it. Possibly it was better not to remember.

No, she decided after mulling it over. Whatever happened — having no memories of people she must have loved was no bliss. Did someone attack her home? That town they said she was from, Esgaroth… Had there been a raid as well? Maybe she and her brother had escaped, and he had been wounded during their flight?

Resolutely, she pushed the dark thoughts from her mind — though in truth, she was so tired that it took little effort. While lowering herself onto the freshly made bed, she distantly wondered how far Esgaroth might be.

I have to ask Liecia or Nesta, she thought, even as she felt her mind growing comfortably drowsy the moment her head touched the pillow. Within a few seconds, she had drifted into slumber.

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Underneath the canopy of pines, the night air was pleasant and cool, rich with the myriad scents of a forest in summer. An owl alighted on one of the lower branches, clutched in its beak the small, limp body of its unfortunate prey, the soft, grey-brown fur streaked with scarlet. The raptor peered down, large, amber eyes fastening on the lone figure that crouched on the sun-baked, mossy ground. Sensing no threat, the bird turned its attention to the hapless mouse.

The Elf had of course heard the owl. Senses that were painfully sharpened beyond their usual extent allowed him to all but feel the pines' outer bark parch and crumble. The warm night breeze brought no relief; one moment, his skin seemed to burn — the next, he felt like he had been immersed in ice water. His breathing was ragged and unwonted dizziness, along with the ever-hovering darkness, threatening to conquer him as he knelt on the forest floor, pressing his hands into the dry, sandy earth.

He knew, if he just lingered, endured it, that it would pass, as it always did.

Despite all, it was a peculiarly comforting notion that at some point he would have to surrender to the advancing darkness and become one with it. It would all be gone. It would all be over.

No regret. No fear. No choices.

The darkness became a crushing weight upon his mind, a pounding rush in his ears. For a moment, he could feel the edge of nothingness touching him, caressing his worn down senses. The muscles and sinews in his forearms tensed convulsively. His heart, though made to beat forever, faltered for the span of a pained breath…

Then it was over, and he did not wonder how he had checked it, nor whether that command even lay in his power. Once his breathing became slower and deeper, he let his head sink lower still and shut his eyes. His hair had come loose from its binding and fell forward, curtaining his face.

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A horrible, prolonged shrieking noise woke Anne. After a few moments of befuddlement, she vaguely recognised it as the same sound she had heard the night before. With everything that had been going on, she had not given it any thought.

Anne sat up and squinted bleary-eyed around the chamber; she was alone. Nesta and Liecia seemed to have already risen, but it could not be long past dawn. Soft, pale-gold sunlight fell through the window with its little rhombus-shaped panes, and cast a grid-shaped pattern on the smooth floorboards.

Anne started wondering whether it would be inappropriate if she left the chamber wearing nothing but her nightgown to search for the lavatory when the door opened and Nesta poked her head in.

"Ah, you are awake," she said. "I was just about to rouse you. I brought you something to wear and then you should have a little breakfast. Are you hungry?"

Anne realised that she was. "Yes, to be honest. Thank you."

Nesta gave her a smile, which Anne hastened to return, recognising that the other woman was not about to address what they had spoken about the previous evening. Nesta crossed the room and placed a bundle of folded cloth on the foot of the bed.

"Here. You can borrow a pair of my shoes for now. Liecia's would not fit you, she has feet like a children's doll." She indicated a place next to the door where several pairs of shoes were lined up.

"Thank you… didn't I have any shoes with me?" Anne found that hard to believe.

"You did, but they are terribly filthy, covered in mud and other things. I suppose you can wash them. They will take a couple of days to dry, however. I have to start preparing the midday meal now, just come down once you are dressed."

She left the room, and Anne inspected the clothes. Unfolded, the reddish-brown bundle turned out to be a button through dress, similar to the ones she had seen both Liecia and Nesta wear. Discreetly wrapped inside of the dress, Anne found two more garments, both of them white.

One of them was a sleeveless chemise made of a strong fabric, with wide shoulder straps. It was not too tight, so Anne could easily pull it over her head. There was lacing in the front to support and adjust it to the wearer's body. The other one appeared to be underpants or warmers of a sort, reaching just below Anne's knees and falling loosely. The dress fitted rather well, both in length and around the upper body, and Anne expected it to be Nesta's as well.

Feeling like she was, for once, dressed appropriately, Anne made for the door, but stopped short at the sight of a small mirror hanging on the wall between two of the chests. For a few seconds she only stared at the oval of polished metal, her hands involuntarily clenching into fists. Then she gave herself a mental kick and slowly, warily stepped closer. She was not sure what she had expected or feared. Not to recognise herself? Having the face of a stranger staring back at her?

Instead, a strange sense of confused relief washed over her. Olive skin, a bit wan, as though she had spent a long time inside. Dishevelled, slightly frizzy brown hair. Anne knew those brown-green eyes under dark brows that seemed very prone to frown. She recognised her nose and her mouth, the bottom lip slightly fuller than the upper one, and right now almost bleached of colour. Scattered freckles, stark against her current pallor, sparsely dotted her face here and there, though there was a denser line of them across the bridge of her nose and upper cheeks.

Every inch was familiar, although maybe a bit more peaky, and hollow-cheeked than it should be. There was something else that was not quite right, something that was just ever so slightly off, but Annecouldn't put a finger on it. Yet, she knew with bewildering certainty that this was her, that this had always been her.

With a sigh, Anne turned away from the mirror, crossed the chamber and stepped out onto the dimly lit landing. She took a moment to find her bearing, before cautiously making her way down the steep flight of stairs to her left. With some relief, she noted that she already felt a lot stronger than the previous evening. The scent of freshly baked bread wafted up from somewhere downstairs, and something that might be ground poppy seeds. Obviously, there were some things she had not forgotten.

After reaching the bottom of the stairs, she followed a narrow, short corridor, which ended in front of a closed door. To her right, there was a passage in the wall; quiet voices sounded from the room beyond. Anne stepped inside and found herself in a large kitchen. Shelves upon shelves lined the walls, containing numerous bins, boxes, and vessels of different shapes and sizes. Several boards were laden with tin plates and cups. A long, scrubbed oak table stood in the centre of the room, heavy iron pans and pots were hanging from the ceiling above it. A second passage on the opposite side of the kitchen led behind a counter.

Nesta stood by a large stove in one corner. She was talking to a young man, clad in a woollen shirt and dusty trousers; straw and dried mud clung to his heavy boots. Anne did not want to interrupt them, so she crossed the room and stepped through a door that was ajar, hoping that she would not accidentally walk into someone's private chamber.

Instead, she found herself in a deserted parlour. Several round low tables and comfortable-looking chairs were scattered in the room, and on one side was an enormous fireplace. Sunlight was streaming through the high, slightly dusty windows, and a faint scent of pipe smoke hung in the air. A threadbare rug covered the wooden floor.

Anne headed towards another half-open door. This seemed to be the inn's main common room. A long counter was on the right side, tables and low benches lined the walls. This room was nearly empty as well — except for the man called Nardil, who sat at a corner table, a steaming cup and a small tin on the table in front of him. He was busy rubbing a stained rag over something that looked like a tangle of leather straps.

Then Anne spotted Liecia at the far end of the room, wiping tables. She approached her hesitantly. The young maidservant looked up at the sound of Anne's steps, and her face split into a grin.

"Good morning! It is good to see you up and about. Are you feeling better?"

Anne nodded, attempting a smile in return. "Yes, very much. Thank you."

"Splendid! Sit down, I will fetch you something to eat."

Liecia tucked an errant golden lock behind her ear and waved away Anne's embarrassed protest, before striding around the counter and vanishing inside the kitchen. Left to her own devices, Anne glanced at Nardil again. He looked up, as if feeling her eyes on him, and nodded by way of greeting. Anne could now see that the thing he was rubbing at seemed to be a bridle and reins. Liecia returned with a tray laden with deliciously smelling bread, a small chunk of white cheese, a bowl of porridge and a little cup filled with creamy, yellow butter. Anne suddenly realised that she was hungrier than she had thought.

"Thank you so much," she said to Liecia. "But..." with a further glance towards the corner where Nardil was sitting, she lowered her voice. "Would you mind showing me the... the latrines first?"

Out of fear that Nardil might overhear her, Anne had only whispered the last couple of words. Liecia, seemingly amused by the fuss, snorted out a quiet giggle and motioned for Anne to follow her. They went back through the kitchen, into the narrow corridor, and took the door on the left side that Anne had noticed before. It led into a paved courtyard, bordered by a low, square building on the left. Anne could hear the stamping of hooves and the occasional snort from inside.

They went around it, and Liecia showed Anne the small hut with the pit latrine. Anne's initial thought was that this might actually be an experience well worth forgetting. They were about to head back inside when Anne remembered something else.

"This morning I heard a very odd noise, an awfully loud shriek. I heard the same thing last night…"

Liecia looked puzzled for a moment and then laughed. "Of course! Come, have a look." Still chuckling, she led the way behind the main house. After turning the corner, Anne paused, and stared at a small enclosure made of poles and coarse meshed nets; inside - picking on the sandy ground, or perched on logs and heaps of straw, were the strangest-looking birds she could imagine. They resembled both vultures and turkeys, with dirty brown feathers and large wattles.

Liecia saw the expression on Anne's face and grinned. "Bogskirls. They might not look all that pretty, but their meat is delicious, the feathers are soft enough for bedding, and from the skin of their feet and legs one can make water sacks—"

"Yes, I see your point," Anne said hurriedly. She peered into the enclosure again, where a Bogskirl was eyeing her suspiciously while emitting low clucking noises.

"I know, their voices are not the most pleasant thing to wake up to," Liecia said as they walked back to the courtyard. But one gets used to it."

"Well, at least that solves one riddle," Anne muttered.

The blonde woman's face became serious. "Anne, once you have eaten, there is something I must show you. Or rather, return to you."

Anne furrowed her brow. "Return to me?"

"Yes… When you arrived here, you carried not much with you, since you only had one horse. But, there is a little; one saddlebag that seems to contain merely clothes. We did not go through it, but there were also a few things you had on you. It is not much, but they are probably yours and who can say if they might not help you remember anything?"

Anne swallowed and nodded while following the younger woman up the steps that led inside the inn. She was not sure how she felt about the prospect. Whenever she dwelled on the vast darkness in her mind, her stomach gave a weak lurch and an odd tingle crept up her neck and across her scalp. She wanted to know what had happened, who she was. How could she live without memories?

And yet, the thought of discovering pieces of the past came also with a twinge of indistinct fear. How could a memory loss be so absolute, when the names of objects, types of food or animals came to her without difficulty? Everything prior to her waking up in the inn's servant's quarters was like a black void. Anne could not help thinking that from this void, things might emerge that were better left forgotten.

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