Lost Time

By N Ponders

Michaeyala and Sister Morana failed her. Irzo forgot her. Prison. That's where she had ended up. It may be hard to see, and the bitterness may be too great at times, but there is life after prison. At least, that's what everyone seems to think.

She may never be able to get back those years she lost to that place. But she got out. She continued. It was even rather adventurous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: N Ponders
• Release date: Feb 4, 2015
• ISBN: 9781311137593

N Ponders

Born and bred with a love of language, N Ponders went on to get a Bachelor's degree in English and Linguistics.N Ponders lives with zer family. Ze spends zis free time--when it can be found--creating fantastical stories, learning languages, creating artwork in all forms, gardening, and spending time remodeling zer house in the Pacific Northwest of the United States of America. Ze is an avid gardener and wildcrafter. Zis favorite use for the internet is preserving herbal, and other, lore.Although ze has been writing since ze was a child, ze started the stories of The Caillte Cycle when in zer mid-teens, and has been writing sci-fi, fantasy, poetry and children's lit ever since.My pronouns are ze/zim/zer or they/them.

Book preview

Appendix A: Pronunciation

Appendix B: Glossary (including Herbs)

Appendix C: Herbal Notebook

Special Thanks

About the Author

Map

Part I

Walled Off

Chapter 1 | Lonely Beginnings

Water dripped along the inside of the wall. It was more of a slime, really. She didn't know whether she should be more concerned that it was viscous, or that it was dripping on the wrong side of the wall. Somehow, none of it seemed to bother her. She looked around.

Ascha's small cell didn't have much in it. Actually, it hardly had anything in it at all: only a mat of moldy straw covered haphazardly with a tattered blanket that was shoved up against one corner, a bucket that was shoved in the opposite corner and a lonely wall-sconce that held her singular source of light. The blanket may have been blue once. It was now some sort of dull gray, between the holes and grimy smears. Ascha had tried to push the bucket as far into the other corner away from her bed as possible. But it wasn't far enough to quench the smell that emanated from it. She found that, after a while, it stopped smelling. Then there was her satchel, with her few belongings in it, stowed beside the mat. Mostly it served as a reminder. She didn’t need many reminders any more.

The candle in the sconce flickered; leaving her in a moment of darkness.

Ascha hoped she wasn't getting used to her surroundings. Then again, if she didn't get used to them, it would be a long sentence in here. The next thirty years. Ascha didn't see how she would live that long, if her conditions were going to be like this.

A slat grated noisily against the hard stone as it opened. Her daily slop rose from the metal bowl where it had been unceremoniously heaped. At least, she assumed it was daily. The bowl had been shoved with some force, as the slop was forced onto the floor from its scrape along the floor. Ascha had no way of knowing if she got more than one helping of food a day, or even what time of day that was.

Was it day? Was it night? She didn't know. She didn't care. All she knew was that they would be by later with a cup of water, when they took the bowl away.

At first, Ascha hadn't eaten any of the helping of food. It wasn't that the food was inedible. It wasn't appetizing, by any means, but it was certainly edible. She just wasn't hungry. But eventually the days passed and she got hungry, and she ate more than only a bite of the food. She continued to eat more with each bowl, until she scraped the bottom every time, and there wasn't enough to stall her hunger between helpings. She had certainly stopped caring about not being able to wash up after taking care of her bodily functions, and before eating. It was funny that although part of her wanted to die so much, her body wouldn't let her. She still took care of herself, and ate enough that her body wouldn't waste away. It was numb, and the motions were only motions, but they kept her alive.

They had let her keep one sack of belongings. She looked at the extra cloak she had brought with her. It was balled up at one of the corners of the mat that constituted her 'bed'. She had been in here long enough that it was no longer the clean spare. However, it was still cleaner than the blanket that had come with the cell, so she often used it instead. She tried not to use them both at once so that she had something in store for herself when the nights started getting cold.

Without the cloak in it, her sack was mostly empty. For some odd reason, she had brought that weird metal cube with her. It lay in the bottom of the sack, with the comb for her hair. She didn't know why she had brought it with her. It couldn't do much, but she hadn't wanted to leave it with anyone else. She could give away all of her extra supplies for attending T'Sala, as she had done. She had asked Sister Morana to make sure Tiam received her full set of colors. The pencils had been the only thing of value she had had. And Tiam was the only one she found in her heart to give them to. He had never done anything to harm her, in any way, by accident or on purpose. She had started to feel that it didn't matter if harm was caused by accident or on purpose. What did intent matter?

Ascha thought back to how she had gotten here, trying to make sense of it all again. There was not much to do in her cell but think. She just couldn't figure out why Brother Raeyan had taken the fall for Irzo. She guessed that the ties of family must have been stronger than she thought, not that she would know, since she didn't have any of her own. Irzo must have really been a wild wizard, she concluded. Brother Raeyan must have known it. Ascha just couldn't figure out why Brother Raeyan was willing to risk his own life, and let the world think he had done something wrong, rather than let Irzo be prosecuted as a wild wizard? She knew Brother Raeyan was protecting something, and that protection had landed both himself and Ascha in prison. At least Brother Raeyan's prison had a name, she thought, bitterly, This place isn't even important enough to have one.

Meb's words rang in her ears. This world, this world is either a curse, or a mistake.

Ascha ran her thumb absently along the hilt of her dagger, as she had grown fond of doing. She wondered why they had let her keep it. They had made sure they knew exactly what she was bringing in with her. She guessed the small blade didn't prove much of a threat.

Even so, she had imagined using the small blade to aid in an escape. But her musings didn't go very far, as she didn't know where she was in the prison, or even where the prison itself was. When she couldn't develop her plan any further, she decided not to plan at all. What good would it do? She would just find herself back in the same place. Probably for longer. At least as it stood, she would be released. Eventually.

Meanwhile the blade handle proved to be a meditation aid, of sorts. Rubbing her thumb against the curved ivory in its handle helped her focus her thoughts. She dared not use the blade to scratch into the stone walls around her. And the dagger itself proved to remind her that the world outside existed, and that she had had a life before. She used it to remind herself that she would have a life again after.

Chapter 2 | Airy Notes

It sounded sweet, like something from another world. Ascha was sitting on the floor. She leaned her head back against the wall behind her. Her hair was ratty enough that she didn't feel the perpetual grime from the wall. It had built up its own barrier of dirt. At least this section of the wall wasn't dripping. She could ignore the grime, so long as it was dry. She just needed it to be dry. Damp was okay, but dry was the best.

Ascha closed her eyes and cut out everything she felt. She just wanted to listen. The lonely notes found their way through the air. Those notes took her mind to a different place, a happy place. There was sunlight. And openness. No laughter. Nothing so free as that. There were no pictures or images in her thoughts. Her mind wouldn't let her go that far. But she couldn't stop herself from feeling a little better.

There was a tinny punch as a note hit oddly, followed by a very human yelp. Ascha's eyes opened. The feeling was gone, and everything around her was very real. She waited for the music to start again, to take her someplace, any place, else. But the flute had stopped. After a while, Ascha wondered who was playing the flute, and how they even got one in here.

Her thoughts turned to her dagger. Maybe it would have been better to bring a flute than a dagger. It may have been a beautiful dagger. It was little more than four inches long hilt to tip, simple yet beautiful. Thin, concentric lines of silver danced in spirals along the hilt. But you could only look on beauty so long before it grew stale. Her heart yearned for something more. She wanted to feel again.

Showers! Time to get clean! Ascha heard one of the guards shout.

Showers. She couldn't remember the last time she had had one. At first she thought the words were a dream, then she heard the guard shouting again.

File up by the side of your doors. We'll be there to get you soon.

Ascha leaped up. She wasn't going to miss her chance for a shower. She wondered if they would have soap. It didn't matter. She just hoped they had water. Clean water.

She was standing beside the door to her cell when it opened. A very bored-looking guard gestured for her to walk out in front of him, and join the queue of inmates. She took her place in the line.

Remember, no pushing or shoving, or else you give up your shower privileges.

Ascha balled her hands inside the cuffs of her sleeves. She wasn't going to lose her shower rights because of being mistaken for starting a fight.

They were led down a maze of halls. Ascha didn't bother to count how many, but she knew there were several guards.

Eventually they arrived. There was a great drain in the middle of the floor that muddied water flowed into consistently. Someone had left many of the showers on. The design accommodated large numbers. And since they had not been singled into groups based on gender, Ascha guessed they were all supposed to use the same shower, or rather, showering room. She looked around at the other inmates, and let out an internal sigh of relief. At least, under all of the grime, it appeared that only the women were in this group.