• I awoke on the ocean floor. It is cold and dark here. I can feel the pressure all around me, the weight of the sea. Scanning my surroundings, my hands grope at the shifting sands, trying to understand. I am so tired, the fatigue of too much sleep. My vision is growing clearer, and I hear something. It is the pitter patter of rain. I look above me, to the far off surface. It is mottled with the falling drops. The sun glitters far away, barely visible. I feel my eyes light up, my body tenses in excitement. It only rains in the spring, which means it is safe to go. I push my feet off the ocean floor, sending up a plume of grainy sand in my wake.
    Bursting through the surface, waves push and pull at my body, seeming to argue over it. My first gasp of air is so crisp and cold, it feels like heaven. The salty ocean scent is alight with the promise of an electrical storm which the wind is blowing in from the east. Turning to find my bearings, I notice the bluff. I remember jumping off that bluff into the ocean a long time ago. Now, there is a building on it. The great pine forest still dominates the background, towering up the beach until the trees fall into the ocean surf. I start to swim.
    I pull myself over the rocky crest of the bluff. Its covered in loose grey soil, spattered with sand colored grass and moss. The new building is a lighthouse. Except, the new building isn’t so new. It is covered in moss, the rocks in the wall crumbling with age. The bulb at the top is long dim and cold. How long have I been sleeping?
    The air howls, I come out of my wonderings about the lighthouse. Still naked and wet, the storm winds chill me to the bone. I open the door of the lighthouse which moans with protest, echoing through the stairwell. I take the flight of stairs down into the heart of the building, hoping for warmth. The stairs end in a large room. An old wooden bed sits closest to me, with a stove and table in the back. Another door is on the right side of the room. Its dark and cool, but not cold. My hand searches the wall for a lamp. Instead, I find a switch which turns on a single bulb, glowing dimly in the center of the room. No one has been here a long time. Despite my long sleep in the ocean, I am exhausted. I fall onto the bed.


    Chapter 2
    Waking, I was momentarily confused by my surroundings. Then I remembered. Actually, I remember the ocean, and swimming, and here. I can’t quite remember anything before. It disturbs me. Faces, places, ideas, and emotions flash through my mind, but nothing is connected. I know I was stuck in a slumber at the bottom of the ocean for some reason. Someone had to put me there. But who, but why? I just can’t remember, and it is infuriating.
    The room is damp. The rain must have seeped through the cracks in the stone. It smells of wet rock, musty oldness, and the earthen floor. It comforts me in my aloneness. My muscles are weak from misuse, my hair long and unkempt. I search through the drawers hidden behind the bed. I find scissors and a spool of thread with a needle. My dark curls fall away as the dull blades cut them to a manageable length. I try to comb through with my fingers, but my hair is hopelessly tangled. I look for clothes, opening the other door which is just an empty closet. There is nothing, so I rip apart the bed sheets. The dress is in no way pretty, but it covers me.
    While stitching the dress, a face keeps flashing by my eyes. Its a man. He has jet black hair, eyes the color of ice. His mouth is tight, as if pulled shut with bad news or anger. Its a scene that keeps replaying. His face, he turns around, walks away, then comes back. He says something to me, yelling, but I cannot remember, I cannot hear what he says. We are on the bluff, a storm is raging, the waves crashing over the sheer side of the bluff. He grabs my shoulders, shaking me,and the memory fades. I have the feeling I may have been pushed into the ocean.
    Outside, it has calmed from last night. I am starving, my body aches for food. I walk to the beach, picking up crabs and clams from tide pools. Bringing them back to the house, I know I cannot live on this. I need to move on and find some people, find myself. I am worried. The stove is old, but there is still some wood in it. I snap my fingers, “ignis,” I whisper.
    The wood is still cold, my fingers empty. I try again, with a snap and a whisper. It doesn’t work. Again, again. My fingers start to shake. I say it louder, “Ignis, ignis!”
    Smoke spirals from my fingers, but no flame. I can’t do this. I have nothing except my magic. I cannot loose that, I simply cannot. I refocus. “Ignis!” with a loud snap. Again, this time yelling. Finally, a tiny flame floats between my fingers. It is blue with heat, wavering when I breath. Slowly I lower it onto the wood, and it takes.
    After my meal, I gather some things. The scissors, the thread and needle, and some scrap material fashioned into a bag of sorts. I search the lighthouse for anything else of use. There is not much. I find a length of leather in the corner, maybe an old belt? I tie it around my waist. I go up the stairs for the first time, up to the light. The bulb is huge, but unused for sometime. I know I am on the tip of some continent, either far north or south, almost at a pole. It is cold and night comes fast and lingers in the morning. I wonder who came here to build this and why it is no longer in use. Something it sticking out of a hole where a brick has come loose. I bend down and pull out an old knife. It takes me by surprise. It is large, with a sharp blade. The handle is made of bone, carved intricately with some image which I cannot make sense of. It has been here a long while also, but not as long as the other things here. I take it with me, a sign of good luck I hope. As I leave the lighthouse into the forest, I take on more look back, with the feeling I will be here again some day.


    Chapter 3
    Forests are not as easy to navigate as one may think. I forgot the hardships of traveling so light. The heavy tree canopy blocks off most of the sunlight, so rarely can I really tell the time or my direction. It remains dark and cool, I freeze during the night, need to find the end of the forest soon. I don’t want to waste away in here.
    I was resting in a clearing when I heard the flutter of wings. Turning to the loudness breaking the silence, I see a falcon sitting on the branch of a tree, its bright yellow eyes scrutinizing me. It has something on it, a tag on its foot. I jump to attention, this is someone’s falcon, this belongs to someone. I know they never go to far from their owner. Maybe I could follow it to a camp somewhere. Just maybe. As I approach it, the bird inches further from me on the branch. It cocks its head and lets out a quiet call, almost as if it is unsure of how to react. In the distance, a whistle sounds in response. It sounds far far away, but it must be the owner.
    I tried my magic again, but birds are the hardest animals to communicate with. I think he got the message though, and is helping me find my way out of the forest. He flies a few feet away, allowing me to catch up as the whistles grow closer.
    “Jess...Jess!”
    A man is calling. The bird perks up, then disappears in a flutter of wings. I grow tense, not knowing if the man will be friend or foe. I walk in his direction, cautious. In the clearing ahead I see him. An older man, tall and well muscled has the bird on his leather covered arm. He hears me though I make no sound, a man of the woods.
    “Who goes there, speak your name.”
    I hesitate. I have not said a word to a person since I can last remember. My voice feels rusty and foreign.
    “My name is Aestuum.”
    He looks at me, confused and unsure. I must look like some sort of ghost, with skin pale from malnourishment, my cheek bones poking through my face. My hair is long and straggled , echoing the gray ragged dress which barely fits me, tied with the leather belt.
    “What are you doing here, where do you live?”
    His voice is gruff with caution. I reply the truth. I don’t know why I am there, and I don’t know where I live. He looks me over, then offers me a ride out of the forest. I accept. We walk to his horse tether a few minutes walk away, and I am taken from the pine fortress into the unknown.

    Chapter 4

    The man I ran in to turned out to be the head forester for the King’s hunting party. They are on a two week long foray into the depths of his highnesses kingdom to hunt for unusual and rare animals, or so I was told. They allowed me to stay at their camp for the past two nights, keeping care of everything while they went out on their horses. Henry is the name of the forester, he is a very kindly man. He has been asking a lot of questions I cannot answer though, and I can tell he is intrigued. He has been talking to the King’s advisor, a small man who I sense is also attuned to magic. I worry about what they speak of though. I seem to be raising more interest in the camp than I would wish.
    I take some dishes out to wash by the stream. Doing some work for them makes me feel I am not here entirely on their charity. The advisor, who came back to camp early, walks up to me, taking me by the shoulder as I am returning. A plate drops, smashing on a rock. The crashing noise makes me jump, my hair raises on end.
    “oh, sorry I didn’t mean to jar you.”
    He says in a non apologetic tone, I can tell it was on purpose. I say nothing. I pick up the pieces and put them into a bowl and stand back up. His eyes darken and a snarl jumps onto his face,
    “fix it, woman.”
    I stare into his eyes vacantly, trying to avoid a confrontation,
    “how sir?”
    He whispers through his crooked teeth,
    “You know what I mean. I can smell your magic from across the forest. What are you doing here, what is your plan?”
    Paranoia flickers in his speech, and I am taken aback. He knows, I cannot deny it. I don’t understand the suspicion though. My fingers trace the edges of the broken plate. It is made of clay ceramics,
    “terra restituo.” I whisper to the plate, cooing to encourage it. The pieces fly back together, as if they were pieces of a magnet. The plate is again whole. His eyes grow wide and the anger leaves his face.
    “Was that old earth magic? What did you just say?”
    I am confused. It was just normal magic, the only kind I know of. I tell him this and he shakes his head in disbelief. He tells me to put the plates back and to wait at the fire pit for him to return. What should I do? I know he is suspicious of me, but at the same time I am curious to know what shocked him so much.

    Chapter 5

    Night is falling, and with it comes the powerful frost of the evening air. Even at the edge of the forest, the pine scent is strong. The king and his party return from their hunt, trailing a dead snow tiger in their wake. Its coat blazes white in the grayness of the camp. The smell of it’s blood burns my nostrils, acrid and heavy with dead magic. Snow tigers are revered by those who practice magic for their keen intelligence and magical properties. Its a shame to kill such a regal animal for sport.
    I have been making a plan to escape the camp. I don’t feel safe here anymore. To much suspicion has been raised. I feel bad to steal a horse from them, as they have been kind to me, even saved my life. But there is a greater calling which is pushing me. The face of the man.
    “Aestuum, can you come with me?”
    It is Henry, with a kind smile on his face. I frown.
    “Its alright, I have talked to Robert. We simply want to have a discussion about your magic.”
    I am still unsure, but he gives me a look, showing that his invitation is more of an order than a choice. I stand and follow him. He starts walking towards the royal tents which are set off in their own circle.
    “Henry, I really...” He cuts me off,
    “It is fine, the King is intrigued.”
    My appearance is so shabby, I look like a peasant, I am not fit to see a king. Suddenly I wish I had stayed at the lighthouse. Getting involved in the high powers of the land won’t help me.
    Four plush chairs sit around an elaborate stove, belching warmth and wild flames. Henry nods me to a chair, he takes the one to my left, and we remain standing. All is silent except for some murky voices coming from the King’s own tent. Silence, and the rich velvet flap opens. Robert the advisor appears, his expression unreadable, as he takes the seat to my right. Again the flap opens and the king appears. He is obviously of regal birth, his skin pale and features regal. In his mid-thirties, he is still young, with an eager spring in his step as he comes to his seat in front of me, the stove between us. As he sits, so do the others, and I follow.
    “Aestuum it is, correct?”
    His speech flows elegantly. I am still in shock, but manage to reply in a guttural, common tone,
    “Yes, highness.”
    I cast my eyes down, embarrassed.
    “ Where are you from, do tell. You are safe here, do not hold back.”
    He smiles like honey.
    “Sir, to tell the truth I really cannot remember much. I woke up on the beach by a lighthouse a few days ago and I have no recollection of anything before that.”
    Silence follows, making my answer grow awkward with every second. The King looks at Robert with an indistinguishable expression. Suddenly, I feel bloated with frustration. I blurt out with impulse,
    “Really, I have been quiet about my confusion....bur I don’t even know what year it is, I don’t know where I am or how long I have been gone from wherever I belong. I am completely lost.”
    The lump that had been hiding in my stomach is gone, and my raw vulnerability is on the table. I haven’t confronted the question of time, as I fear to my core the length of time that has passed. In the pit of my stomach, I feel it has been so long, I cannot return to whatever my old life was.
    The king chuckles,
    “My dear, it is 2682. I am so sorry to hear no one has informed you of this. Now, when is the last date you can remember?”
    Fire embers glow in the emerging evening, the stove blocking my complete view of the King. The smoke distorts his face into that of a clown, laughing at my stupidity. My fingers feel ice cold, prickling as if covered in ants. The feeling travels up to my head and down to my feet, I feel sick.
    Henry leans over to me, asking if I am alright.
    “I remember.”
    Everyone leans in.
    “It was 1953.”
    My fingers curl with repulsion at the words I just said. And I take a breath.

    Chapter 6
    I am alone outside. The three men went into the Kind’s tent, talking in low murmurs about my case. I am still in shock from my sudden remembrance of that year, of the headline of that newspaper. As I said those words, 1953, three images flashed in front of me; a picture in the newspaper of myself, a long wooden boat, and the man’s face. Except this time, the man was holding out his hand to me from across the road, with a smile on his face as big as the full moon. I shiver as I think about him. Did he push me into the sea not with the intention to kill me, but to protect me from something? I have a dark feeling that we were chased to the edge of the earth by someone searching for something I hold within my fingers. This old earth magic.
    Since I remembered those three things, other bits and pieces have been reappearing. The town I lived in, the old car he drove sometimes. The smell of the river, the warm summer air. That was all so long ago though. What happened? It has been nearly 800 years, but I feel as if I have stepped back in time, not forward. And I can’t help but think...I am alone. There is no way he is still here. I stiffen at the sound of the flap lifting up from the tent.
    “Aestuum, the king would like you to join him in his court as you regain your memory. We feel there is a lot of important things you could tell us.”
    Henry is standing in front of me. He seems tired.
    “The court will care for you completely in turn for your knowledge.”
    “What can I give you that will be of interest to the king?”
    “Well, your old earth magic is much more powerful than the kind practiced today, but there is no one alive who remembers how to use it, except you. Also, since the Time of Night, we have lost so much of the old world. We are trying to recover how to generate electricity, computers, cars, motors, anything really of the Electric Era.”
    I am momentarily horrified. They don’t have electricity? They have nothing? Have I fallen into a time warp back to the middle ages? I stand up with nervous energy.
    “What do you mean you have lost everything? How did that happen? I don’t understand.”
    He looks at me, concerned.
    “You will have to wait until we return to the court for someone more knowledgeable of the past to tell you. All I know is that there was some sort of collapse in civilization, a lot of war, and it resulted in society falling back into a much simpler kind of life.”
    I am in a dream. I know it. This is to weird, to insane to comprehend. Was there a real apocalypse while I slept? I take my leave back to my tent. Sleep does not come easily as I lay tossing and turning, my mind doing backflips as I try to rationalize my situation. The wait for answers from the court historian will be tortuous.