How to Find your Way in the Incomplete Archives

One

Archaea recalled a kaleidoscope of images strung together with words. Were these her own memories? Did people usually doubt which memories belonged to them?

A crackling pain shot through her skull. She placed a firm hand on the throbbing pulse beating at her temple and tried to suppress the ache. The urgent questions weighed heavier than any physical discomfort.

The sharp flare of pain subsided as suddenly as it had arrived, leaving her in heightened confusion. Colours swirled in her thoughts, at times painting lush green meadows into the canvas of her mind and at other times the light faded into utter chaotic darkness.

She could not determine if those scenes had anything to do with her. A number of unknown yet familiar faces were intermingled with these images. Was one of these faces her own?

On instinct, her hands traced the lines of her visage from her forehead to her jaws but the unremarkable skin revealed no hints. It was impossible to reach a conclusion.

"Arlan, fetch me a mirror!" She called. There was no response. An uncanny silence muffled her sound, drowning out her words.

Not one to give up, Archaea cupped her hands around her mouth and called again with renewed vigour, "Arlan!"

But again, the noise dissipated without a trace.

It struck her as rather strange. She was unsure of many things but she knew with certainty that this was not how sound should work.

The passage she was standing in was wide, bordered on either side by tall shelves laden with books. The high ceiling above her stretched into an unfathomable darkness. The area was spacious.

It should have been the ideal space to echo sounds, she concluded. Yet, by some mysterious interference, it had the opposite behaviour.

Archaea grew curious about her surroundings, forgetting her original objective for the moment. She started to test the acoustic quality of the space.

"The sky is turning blue!" she shouted a childhood rhyme, "The grass is laden with dew! Reflecting the morning light! As the sun turns a golden hue!"

Each sentence faded out as soon as she uttered it.

"The shepherd rises at dawn! He greets the golden fawn! The heir's emerald eyes..."

'Stop! End this cacophony!' a deep voice boomed. She did not 'hear' it. Instead she perceived these words in her mind as if they were a rebellious faction born of her own thoughts.

"Who's there?" she questioned the unbroken shadows.

'No need to shout,' another deep wave of 'sound' rippled through her head, 'I am right here,'

She turned around to find a shadowy figure clothed in a hooded cloak standing behind her, close to one of the shelves. She was certain that no one had been there a moment ago.

"Who are you? Identify yourself!" her hand reached for the absent hilt at her waist. Her hands grasped at the air.

'You have a loud voice. Is it a result of always standing at a distance from your peers?'

"What do you mean?" she asked in a quieter tone.

'So you can speak like a normal person. I was beginning to worry that you had only learned to shout commands, given your position and all,' the mysterious figure materialised a soft cloth, seemingly from the air, and started to clean the books on the nearest shelf.

"Do you know who I am?"

'I wish I did not,'

"Wait, you do? Who am I?"