Lethe

The first thing you’re aware of is fire.

The fever rakes your body like boiling oil in your veins. The ground feels freezing cold beneath you compared to the summer locked in your lungs. You exhale, and your breath almost burns your lips.

You open your eyes.

“... Ah. I got lost again, didn’t I?”

The night sky greets you, pitch black pierced by a thousand stars. None of the constellations you see are familiar. Striking by its size and color, a blue planet stands among them.

You’re back on the Moon. Where all lost and forgotten things lay.

You sit up. Your limbs are trembling. It doesn’t hurt, though. You suspect that you might be dreaming- as much as servants dream, obviously. It’s harder to feel pain when one doesn’t have a body.

Your chest burns. Your everything burns. It’s a familiar fire, something you know you’ve encountered in the past. But when you blink, all you can picture is smoke, with no additional context. You cannot remember.

“Okay, so.” There’s no one here for you to talk to, of course. But talking out loud helps you keep track of your thoughts. Better track than when you keep quiet, if anything. “What’s the last thing I was doing?”

You look down. You’re wearing your usual armor. You flex your hands. They’re empty.

“I think I was hanging a light string. I was up a ladder. Siegfried was telling me to be careful.” You tilt your head. “So I was in Chaldea. And we had a reason to celebrate. Perhaps a birthday?” … No, you don’t think that was it. “A holiday, then?”

Ah! There! You clap your hands. “Christmas! It was for Christmas!” You love Christmas! Much lights! Much noise! It’s great! It’s like the world aligns with the inside of your head for a week.

“So I was hanging light strings for Christmas with Siegfried, and then I…” You pause. Frown. “I…”

… 

You draw a blank there.

Huh. Well, no need to cry over it. You’ll remember in time. You usually do. In the meantime, you should probably get going. You’ve never shaken your memory up by sitting around.

You get up and start walking. Your legs are trembling. You feel weak. You feel hot. You walk past the prayers and wishes sent by sinners to God, past the ancient glory of the Assyrians, past the favors princes gift their subjects. You are so small, among these mountains of unrecorded history and unsated desires. They’ve only grown bigger since the last time you’ve come.

You reach the river. It’s unchanged. It is, after all, one of the few things even magic can’t alter easily.

The antelope, though, is new.

“Hi there!” You wave. Small. Short fur. Brown body, a black stripe on the flanks. White belly. White face. Two black stripes down its eyes like tears. It’s a springbok. (Or rather, it appears to be a springbok. On the Moon, more literally than on Earth, nothing is as it looks like. You wonder if you look like a human to others, here. Maybe you’re actually a bird, or a gust of wind. Reckless and free.)

The animal startles, turning her head towards you with fright- but she does not back away. She stares. You stare. 

Slowly, she bows her head.

You do the same. It’s only polite. “So, are you lost too? I don’t remember how I got there. I think the underworld sickness sent me here, but honestly, I’m kinda guessing randomly here.”

Oh! The underworld! That’s right! That was the last time you felt this heat, when you wandered into Hell. You didn’t need a coat for the next few winters after that.

The springbok, being a springbok, doesn’t answer. She does, however, lowers her head, and tries to push something with her nose. Square. Thick. A clay tablet.

You get closer and pick it up. It’s a lot heavier than it looks. Perhaps your illness is making you weaker, but you have an inkling as to what that tablet is. If you’re right, that’d explain why it weights so much.

You flip the tablet. There is something carved on the other side. The alphabet is too old for you to know it. You can’t read it, but you know what it is.

“You know, last time, I met an old man here.” You say. You wonder if the springbok can actually understand you. “He was carrying stone tablets like these. The names of the recently deceased. Their name, and history, and identity, and everything. He carried them here, and threw them in the river. And then he went to pick up more tablets, and do it again.”

The antelope pokes your leg with her snout. You think she wants her tablet back. You ignore her and turn towards the water.

“Do you know what this is? It's the flow of time. The literal flow of time. When a name falls in there, it erodes. Becomes smoother. Until it’s not readable anymore. Until no one remembers that person anymore.” You smile. “That’s what I was told, anyway. I’m afraid my guide is long dead, too.”

The springbok makes a noise you could almost interpret as frustrated. You run your fingers over the writing on the tablet. “Is this your name?” Quite a life she must have led! For it to be so heavy. Did she burn bright, or did she burn long? You wish you could have a proper conversation with her, now. That sounds so interesting!

The gazelle is growing even more agitated now. She’s biting at your pant legs, pulling. She’s surprisingly strong. Still, you stand your ground. “If you’re not lost. Did you come here on purpose? Did you come here to be forgotten?”

The springbok lets go of you. For a few seconds, she doesn’t move. Your heart sinks.

Then she kicks you.

You stumble forward. You manage to catch yourself on your hands before your face hits the ground. But the tablet slips out of your grasp. It slips, and it rolls, and-

“No!”

You throw yourself on the river bank and plunge your arms into the water up to the elbow,                               tablet.                 deep                                  catch   .                                                      water                                                 pull         .

            ground         back,                                               .       springbok              ,      instead of                                as you feared,                with concern.

“Hold on. My thoughts are. All over the place.”                 .  “I’m missing. Bits. I need to talk. I can keep it straight if I keep talking.”

The springbok           concerned noise       pokes your       with its soft        . You would            her, but        arms feel like      . 

You peer down.

Oh.

Your arms are missing      . It’s. Not          good to look at. Raw         exposed without        to protect it. It’s a good thing        is a dream. This would be        to heal in real       , not to mention         painful.

“Sorry. Sorry. Couldn’t let you do that.” The tablet      heavy in your arms. “Someone still remembers you, right? It’s not fair of you to force the wheels of time to speed up just for you. They should get to mourn you properly! You can’t just take it away from them. That’s rude. And painful. And, honestly, this wouldn’t even work well. Take it from an expert at forgetting things! One may not always remember people or names, but feelings are forever. If there’s still someone out there preventing you from being forgotten, removing your name from history won’t take away their grief.”

You wonder        expression the gazelle is making. Your sight is getting blurry. Note to self, don’t play          with time! It messes you up real bad! Real bad! Don’t do it.

“Anyway. No more of that. Let yourself get forgotten normally, like the rest of us. No cheating.” You close your eyes. “Or get remembered, and live with it. Whichever is your lot.”

You feel sleepy. You feel tired.

You feel a little less hot.

“Sorry. I guess that’s what I was brought there to do? Or maybe time’s just up for this particular dream.” You chuckle. “I mean it, though. No more of that, alright? Else I’ll have to come back again! I’ll get lost as many times as it takes to lend you a hand.”

You feel soft fur on your cheek.

You fall asleep.

You wake up in Chaldea.

You feel restless and warm. A plague struck Chaldea, you’re told. But it’s okay. The master dealt with it already. We can go back to Christmas. We can go back to celebrating.

Your forearms itch.There’s moondust all over your skin.

You can’t remember what you did.

You shrug. Hopefully, it was something good. Most likely, you were the sole witness of your actions, so you suppose it doesn’t really matter. 

You head towards the cafeteria. You heard the master brought a couple more servants back from this whole adventure. You wonder who is this year’s Santa! Oh, maybe Cu Alter? He seems to be the only alter who didn’t-

You freeze in the doorway.

Blonde hair. Humanoid. Very obviously divine. Nothing about this stranger is even remotely reminiscent of antelopes. Yet, for a second, barely a blink- you see a springbok standing there.

Her skin is glistening with moondust, too.

Oh, my. Comments