A Whisp of Memory

By Stephen C Norton

You awaken one morning and remember nothing. Not your name, not who you are, not where you are, nothing at all. But you’ve awoken in a bedroom which is yours, in a large house which you apparently own. You have several servants in your employee, but you don’t speak their language, nor read their written words. But you do possess one unique skill. If you hold a lump of coal in your hand, and vent all of your angry frustration into the coal, it turns into a beautiful diamond worth millions.
Over time, years, decades, you slowly begin to recover your memory, but as soon as it seems you’re just within reach of some answers, you fall ill, and forget everything again. But, marooned in a culture where the epitome of technology is square rigged sailing ships and horse-drawn carriages, how is it that you know about TV, radio, lasers and plasma jet engines. Why isn’t this culture progressing, advancing? And oh yes, why aren’t you aging?
Your most common answer is ‘I don’t know’, and your favorite question is ‘what the hell is going on’? But you will only find out the answers if you can learn to remember. Otherwise you’re going to be stuck on this world for a long, long time.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Stephen C Norton
• Release date: Aug 11, 2023
• ISBN: 9781990769092

Stephen C Norton

Stephen started his career as a marine biologist, later switched to managing computer support and development teams, and is now a full time author and artist. He lives on the West Coast of Canada with his wife and one crazy cat. He has sixteen books currently available in both paperback and e-book formats, including four novels, two guides on Soapstone Carving, one on Stained Glass Art, and multiple guides to various self-publishing topics. While currently working on a forth novel he has at least five other books planned for the next few years. An artist for most of his life, he's worked in many mediums, from oil painting to blown glass. For the last 20 years he's focused on carving soapstone sculptures and writing.He can be reached via his web site at www.stephencnorton.comTo purchase any of his books please go to his author pages atwww.amazon.com/author/stephencnorton on Amazon and www.smashwords.com/profile/view/northwind on Smashwords. His books are also available on Apple iBooks, Barnes & Noble, Kobo and other resellers.

Book preview

as always

For Gail

About the Author

Stephen started as a marine biologist, and subsequently spent most of his career in computer management. He is now a full time author and artist. He and his wife live on the West Coast of Canada.

Stephen can be contacted via his personal web site, which also provides links to all sites selling his books.

www.StephenCNorton.com

or, to be notified of new books and events, please join my mailing list at:

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Books by the Author

Fiction

The Ancient Scrolls Series

The Magdalene Scrolls - The 1st Jeanne-Marie De Nord Mystery

The Exodus Scrolls - The 2nd Jeanne-Marie De Nord Mystery

The Magdalene Legacy - The 3rd Jeanne-Marie De Nord Mystery

The Book of Enlil - The Sumerian Genesis Story

Translated from the Sumerian Cuneiform Tablets by Jeanne-Marie De Nord

The AIC Universe Science Fiction Series

A Plague of Meteors - The 1st Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

A War of Meteors - The 2nd Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

Genesis of Meteors - The 3rd Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

Fallen Meteor - The 4th Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

Unresolved Vortex - The 5th Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

A Whisp of Memory - The 6th Jodi Walsh - AIC Adventure

Non-Fiction

Breaking Glass - Stained Glass Art and Design

An introduction to creating stained glass art.

Shaping Stone Vol I - The Art of Carving Soapstone

An introduction to the art of soapstone carving.

Shaping Stone Vol II - Advanced Techniques of Soapstone Carving

Advanced techniques for carving soapstone.

Self Publishing at Zero Cost – The Series

A complete guide to self publishing your book in both paperback and multiple eBook formats, distributing to global markets, collecting royalties and not spending a dime.

Available in hardcover, paperback and ebook formats at:

www.StephenCNorton.com

Introduction

I wrote the first book in the AIC Universe series, A Plague of Meteors, as a stand-alone novel. I had no thought of producing anything more than a single book. However, by the time I’d finished the first book, I had most of the second book roughed out in my mind and scribbled down in several notebooks. I also discovered that my books have a life of their own, and I’m just along to record them.

The second book, A War of Meteors, naturally lead to the third, as I found that I needed to actually address the problem of the Queens. I couldn’t just leave them wandering around the galaxy, causing havoc. It was during the writing of the third book, Genesis of Meteors, that I finally figured out what the Queens really were. In dealing with the Queens, I discovered the truth behind time paradoxes, and why they could never actually occur. No, you can’t go back and kill your grandfather. It doesn’t work that way.

I really thought the conclusion of the Queens trilogy would be the end of the tales of Jodi, Catherine, Petra, Athena and the AICs, but that was not to be. Half-way through the third book I started getting thoughts, ideas and dreams for a fourth book. An AIC book with nothing at all to do with Queens.

So in Fallen Meteor, I ended up on the Dolphins world, where I discovered that ecological systems are always much more complex that they initially appear. There’s always more than meets the eye and sometimes a simple change will turn and bite. But, like the earlier books, half-way through the writing I started getting ideas for yet another book.

Unresolved Vortex took me on another side journey, where I discovered that Petra is just as much a person as Jodi. For without Jodi, Petra alone must deal with a disaster which threatens every star crossing culture in our section of the universe.

Which brings us to A Whisp of Memory. How do you save a world when you don’t even know who you are? (Whisp is the old English spelling of wisp, and thus more appropriate for this world.)

Thank you all for your patronage of my books and I hope our journey together can continue. It looks like there will always be another book.

Stephen

Spring 2023

Prelude

The corridors are empty. Blank white walls, featureless, seeming to go on forever. But they are not silent. There's a very low frequency sound, actually more vibration than sound, more felt than heard. It's a constant background hum, steady, monotonous. Barely noticeable, but definitely present. But overlaying that near inaudible hum, there occasionally come other sounds. Random soft thuds, like a door softly closing in the distance. Sometimes it seems as if faint footsteps echo down the empty hallways, but only rarely does anything come into view. Those are cleaners. Small robots, scurrying along the floor, humming across the walls, constantly vacuuming up the non-existent dust. The floors and walls gleam. Because no-one walks these halls, no-one lives in this empty, lonely, echoing place.

But sometimes, rarely, oh, so very rarely, there comes a soft voice. Echoing down these empty halls. Haunting the featureless white corridors. It's the sound of a child, crying in the night. Weeping. Desolate.

Hello, is there anyone there? Can anybody hear me? Please help me. I'm alone. It's dark outside, and I'm very frightened. I don't know where I am. I don’t know who I am. I don't know where everyone has gone to. Oh, please, help me. Please? Help?

After a while the plaintive voice trails away, fades and is gone, and once again the never-ending corridors are silent. Empty, gleaming white, waiting. Endlessly waiting.

Time passes. Slowly, oh so very slowly. Hours, days, months, sometimes extending into years. Then the sleeper stirs again, struggles awake. Discovers only darkness and silence. Loneliness.

Please. It's a child's voice again. A little girl. Five perhaps, maybe six. Lost and alone. Hopeless, helpless and frightened.

Please, help me. I'm scared, and there's no one here to help me. Will you help me? Is anyone there? Can anyone hear me? Oh, please, hear me, help me. I’ve been alone for so long. It’s so lonely here.

After a while the voice falters and fails. The sleeper drifts away again. Ceaselessly restless, but no longer stirring. Silence once again fills the empty corridors, empty and silent except for the cleaners, cleaning away the footprints that never passed this way. These hallways are unending, as is the silence.

Memory Lost

She sat at the worktable, lost in thought.

For some reason she thought there should be a companion present, someone that she could talk to. Someone she could express her thoughts and fears to. She was sure she remembered such a person, but try as she might she couldn't think of who it could've been. Couldn't even envision a face or a feature. Was it male or female? What did they look like? What color was their hair, or their eyes? Was their skin light, dark, tanned, pink, red? Was there a shape of a face, a touch of hand against hand, some special tone of voice? Nothing came to mind. Only the surety that there should be someone there.

But that lack of remembrance had suddenly become the norm for her. She'd awoken that morning, completely empty of memory. She was simply a blank slate. Rising from the bed, she looked around the room. Lightly stained wood paneling, where, for reasons completely unknown, she expected smooth whiteness. Wood framed windows, strangely doubled, an inside window, an air gap, and an outer window. Primitive style double glazing, her mind told her. That didn’t really tell her anything meaningful.

Her eyes had settled on a mirror and she had startled herself, thinking she had unwittingly disturbed the room’s owner. Then she realized it was merely her own reflection. A naked young woman, standing in a strange room.

She studied the image in the mirror. Obviously female, twenty-five, perhaps a touch older. Shoulder-length dark coppery brown hair, occasionally streaked with blond. Sunstreaks perhaps? Brown eyes. Slender figure. Smallish breasts. Arms showed a firm musculature but they weren’t thick or heavy. She certainly wasn't a weightlifter. A swimmer perhaps? Trim hips, long legs. Like the arms, the legs looked firm but not overly heavy. Her skin was a pale olive brown. Caucasian mixed with Mediterranean maybe. She frowned. More meaningless words which gave her no information whatsoever. The figure in the mirror frowned back at her, but remained a stranger. Pretty enough, she thought, but still unknown. The image provided her with no sense of self at all. It belonged to someone else. Someone she didn’t know at all. That thought was extremely disconcerting.

She went to a cabinet, opened the door, found clothes within. Looked around. She saw no other clothing. Shrugged, pulled clothing from the cupboard and began to dress, then stopped. Underwear first, my girl, she thought to herself. The thought, the admonition, came from nowhere, and yet she found it meaningful. A chest of drawers beside the cabinet provided what she needed. A bra of a type that seemed oddly constructed somehow, but why that was so did not become apparent. She put it on, with no confusion or issue with the how or the why of it. Panties next. She turned back to the cabinet. Found shirt and pants. Finished dressing. Found that all the clothes fit her remarkably well. Rather unsurprising, she supposed. Were they hers? Was this room her room? Someone had put her here, maybe that same unknown someone had provided suitable clothing as well.

Tentatively she opened the bedroom door and listened. Something, or someone, was making noise downstairs but it felt normal, or at least not threatening. She eased through the doorway and found herself standing on a landing. Below was an open area. There was a living room directly below, a dining room off to the right. A half-height wall separated the dining room area from what was obviously the kitchen. Large windows filled the walls and sunlight streamed into the rooms. It made the open space bright, friendly, welcoming. She went downstairs and cautiously approached the kitchen. Peered within.

A woman bustled about, obviously cooking a meal. Breakfast, from the looks of it. Eggs, toast, jam, some sort of dark brown drink. As she studied the woman she glanced up. But the woman merely smiled, nodded her head. Said something. Completely unintelligible. She thought she should say something back, apologize for invading the house, explain what she was doing there, but then again, what was she doing there? But the fact the woman’s words were unintelligible aborted that impulse.

She guessed it might have been good morning, just from the body language, but it could have been almost anything. Although the woman seemed friendly. She hadn't screamed at her sudden appearance, so perhaps she was allowed in the house. As she looked on, the woman said more words and gestured back towards the dining area. Kind of a backhanded pushing motion. Perhaps she was expected to go and sit at the table? Again, the body motion seemed to make more sense than the words. Body language, the term sprang into her mind. She shrugged and went and sat down at the only place set with utensils.

A minute or so later the woman, the cook perhaps, bustled into the room, talking a mile a minute, and placed a plate of food in front of her. She bustled. There was no other way to describe the effect that surrounded her. An oval face, currently bearing a friendly half smile. Dark brown hair with a few grey streaks in it, pulled back in a ponytail and almost covered in a smallish chef’s cap, or was it simply a white kerchief? Strong, muscular arms, large hands, mid-fifties perhaps. Pale skinned but perhaps with some Latino background. (Latino? A small voice in her head said. What’s that? More meaningless words.) Large hooped earrings that jangled softly as she moved, and she seemed to move constantly, even when she was standing still. The woman stood there, one hand on her hip, looking at her, the half-smile becoming a full, happy smile, clearly expecting her to say something.

I'm sorry, she said. I don't know who you are, or what I'm doing here. Can you help me?

The woman looked a bit puzzled, though not in the least bit alarmed, and then babbled some more. She stopped and stood looking on, the smile on her face becoming mildly confused, though still not alarmed in the least.

I'm sorry, she said again. I just don't understand what you're saying.

The woman shrugged, waved a hand at the food on the table and continued to gesture towards her, as if inviting her to eat. Then she babbled some more and returned to the kitchen. She reappeared almost immediately with a large cup of the brown drink, placed it beside the plate of food. Gestured at it and babbled yet again.

The young woman shrugged, interpreting the body language again, if not the words. She picked up the cup, took a sip of the drink, as she had apparently been told to. It tasted delicious. The woman, she was fairly certain now she must be the cook, said a word, Oslot, gestured at the drink, nodded and then babbled merrily on, arms waving expressively. Her gestures took in the room, the windows, the sunlight streaming through. If she had to guess, she would say the cook was saying what a wonderful day it was, how nice and sunny, just right for having a hearty breakfast and then getting to work. The word echoed around inside her head. oslot. Not coffee, as she would've called it, but oslot. But then again, what on earth was coffee?

She held up her hand, gesturing for the babbling woman to stop, wait. She pointed at the drink, said Oslot. Pointed at the eggs, and waited. Pallet, the woman finally said, scowling in puzzlement. The look clearly said, why are we playing these silly games, this early in the morning? Ignoring the look the young woman pointed at the toast on the plate and waited again.

Falal. Pointed at the jam. Dol. She lifted the fork and raised an eyebrow. Preto. Did the same with the knife. Canlo. The plate turned out to be Potal.

Suddenly it was like a wave of solid rock smashed into her head. ‘Language Module, verbal, activated,’ she thought she heard. Then the memory module released its entire contents into her skull in something less than a microsecond. She almost screamed at the pain. She grabbed her head, hands squeezing desperately to stop it from exploding all across the kitchen table. She doubled over, almost smashing her head on the table, gasped at the stabbing pain, and continue to gasp over and over again as multiple waves smashed into and through her mind. Wave after wave, after wave.

The babbling woman looked suddenly totally stricken, like her best friend had just had a major stroke right in front of her. Perhaps she had. She darted forward with a cry of anguish, hesitated, opened her arms and wrapped them around the young woman. Still holding her head in torment she found herself being rocked backwards and forwards, as tears of agony poured down her face. The cook spoke more words, sounds of comfort, and when it became apparent that things were not going to get any worse, she let go, darted into the kitchen to return in seconds carrying a glass of water and a bottle of white tablets. She offered them up. Pointed to her head, then the tablets and raised two fingers. She looked thoughtful for a moment, and then raised four fingers and shrugged. Raised six and shook her head.

Barely able to focus through the pain and the tears, the younger woman took four tablets and quickly swallowed them, chasing them down with the water. Closed her eyes, then hid them behind her hands. The resulting darkness seemed to reduce the pain, ever so slightly. The cook immediately rose and closed all the curtains, plunging the room into dimness. She gently lowered her head to the table and rested. After a few moments the cook tugged on her arm gently. Gestured at a couch in the living room, offered her hand. She took it. Rose to her feet, leaning heavily first on the table, and then on the no longer babbling cook, and they made their slow, staggering way to the couch. She lay down gratefully. The cook tucked a pillow gently under her head, covered her eyes with a small cloth, made sure she was comfortable. The pain sat in her head, regularly sending spears of agony into the back of her eyes. She tried to relax all of her muscles, tried to release the tension in her body. As she was trying to focus on relaxing her body, instead of the pain in her head, whatever had been in those four tablets kicked in, and she promptly passed out.

When she woke, the room was no longer dim, it was dark. A single weak flickering light set on a small table on the far side of the room and a middle-aged man sat on a stool by her head.

Mistress Jol, are you awake? He asked softly. Do you know me?

Yes, she whispered. You’re Doctor… Danal.

Excellent. The man replied. Do you remember what happened?

Pain in my head. Hurt so bad. Collapsed.

Yes, so cook Sadie tells me. Apparently you scared the life out of her. May I look in your eyes? Shine a light in them? Or would that be too painful?

Try.

He reached over to the table, picked up a small candle-like tube. Clicked the button. She saw a spark, and a small flame appeared at one end of the tube. A beam of light issued from the other end. It was bright, but not blindingly so. He waved it in and out of her eyes, one at a time. Then pointed it into the side of her eye and held it steady, first on one side, then the other.

I think we can relax, he said, turning off the light. I had feared you’d suffered a stroke, given the level of pain Sadie described, but your pupil response is entirely normal. I'm not at all sure what might have caused the incident, but I'd suggest simple bed rest for the next few days. I've already told Jackson to close the shop and leave it closed for now. I'll have Sadie put you to bed now, and I will see you in the morning.

Hungry.

Ah. Well, that in itself is a good sign. A little clear broth perhaps. No more than a cup worth, sip it slowly, over perhaps half an hour, or even longer. Nothing else right now. Did you hear that, Sadie?

Jol looked up to see Sadie hovering anxiously behind the couch.

Yes Doctor. I hear you loud and clear. She agreed, then prompted. The pills.

Oh yes, the pills. She's allowed to have two, every four hours. Leave it for longer if the pain goes away, but take two anyway at six hours. If it gets worse you can increase to three or even four tablets once, but then send Jackson to get me immediately. Now, off to bed with you.

With the Doctor providing support they navigated the stairs, and then Sadie helped her undress and put her to bed. Sadie quickly delivered a cup of soup to her bedside, of which she managed a sip or two. Then she swallowed two of the Doctor’s tablets and that ended her first day of remembering.

~~~

The second day began much is the first had, except this time she remembered where she was. At least, she remembered that she was in bed, her bed, in a rather large house that other people seem to think belonged to her. She also remembered that the Doctor had called her Jol, though that named failed to ring any bells or sound at all familiar. She got up, wandered into the attached bathroom to have a shower, and discovered that there was no shower. Only a tub, freestanding on the floor with rather crude looking taps poking over the edge.

She made the best of a sponge bath in the sink, got dressed and headed carefully downstairs. She remembered her blinding headache of the day before just as she entered the kitchen, but it remained only as a memory. The pain was entirely gone.

Oh, you're up. Are you sure you should be? The Doctor didn't say you should be up. Perhaps you should just go back to bed. I'll send Jackson for the Doctor, right away.

Sadie paused momentarily for breath and she managed to fit a few words into the minute gap.

I feel fine, Sadie. Just very hungry. What's for breakfast?

Are you sure you should be eating anything? The Doctor said…

Jol held up her hand and interrupted. That seemed to be the only way to talk to Sadie.

Sadie. I haven't eaten in nearly two days. The Doctor isn't here. I'm hungry. Feed me.

Yes Mistress, Sadie finally subsided, grudgingly. What would you like?

In deference to the absent Doctor, let's start with a couple of eggs, sunny side up, yolks still runny.

Mistress? Sadie looked puzzled, and slightly apprehensive. Soon nee syde up? I didn't understand that word.

Break the egg onto the grill, with the yoke facing up? Don't turn it over. With toast?

Yes, of course, eggs with the yolks up. Yes. Harvest Moon, you mean. Why didn’t you just say? Of course, your regular dish. What is that other word you used? Post?

Toast. Bread, sliced thin, held over a grill or an open flame till it's browned on both sides.

Grilled bread. Yes, of course. Falal. But that other word you used, toast. I've never heard Falal called that before. Is that some new word you just read somewhere? From one of those languages you’re always learning? Well, never mind, you just go sit down at the table. I'll bring you some juice and some oslot. You just go sit now.

She went and sat as instructed, feeling somewhat like a wayward child being ordered about by an overbearing aunt. Oslot was delivered. She looked around for milk and sugar but didn't find any. Rather than initiate any more confusion she drank it black. Actually it wasn't bad that way. It didn't have the bitterness of coffee, though it did apparently have the boost. A caffeine alternative perhaps? The juice was surprisingly thick, light pink in color and very sweet. Pink grapefruit loaded with honey. She searched her memory for what it was called and found nothing beyond the word ‘juice’.

The eggs, along with her sudden realization that she was now fully conversant in the language, arrived almost simultaneously the Doctor.

Hello Doctor. Welcome back. She started to rise and he hurriedly waved her back into her chair.

Hello again, Lady Jol. You're obviously feeling much better now. How's the head?

The pain is all gone. Those pills must've been pretty heavy duty. They knocked me right out and kept me asleep all night. Thank you for that. Now, seeing as Sadie and Jackson have brought you out here for no real reason, can I offer you some breakfast. Juice, oslot, eggs, grilled bread?

You know, I certainly could use some food. I had an early call this morning and I haven't eaten yet.

Excellent. Sadie, she called. Another breakfast for the Doctor please.

Yes Mistress, right away.

Oslot and juice appeared almost immediately.

You seem to have recovered your language skills again. Any issues still remaining? The Doctor inquired as he sipped his oslot with a pleased sigh.

Not really, though I have had some odd occurrences. I’ve gotten the impression I'm reasonably wealthy? Is that correct?

Definitely. I would even venture to say that you are quite rich. Your jewelry business does a very good trade in town and you always have ready cash available. Plus of course you own this entire estate.

That's good to know. And do I assume correctly that Sadie and Jackson are both my employees?

The Doctor looked a little uncertain. Concerned at this disturbing turn of the conversation.

Yes, he said hesitantly. Sadie has been your housekeeper for the past two years. You hired Jackson to attend to your jewelry store, about ten months ago? He works at your store and is one of your apprentices. You have another store helper and apprentice jeweler, named Heather. The store is in town. You have a gardener, Mason, and a cleaning lady, who is Sadie's second cousin, Judith. Do you not remember all this?

She waved her hand, as if sweeping the inconsequential off the table.

I have to admit that some of it is a bit hazy, she said, while carefully filing away all the names and occupations. But I'm sure it will come back shortly.

She was going to ask more questions, but the cautiously concerned look on the Doctor's face stilled her voice. Don’t let him realize that you remember next to nothing, something in her head warned her. She focused instead on eating. Thankfully, once she stopped asking odd questions, the Doctor turned the conversation to more inconsequential topics.

Breakfast finished, he took on his role as Doctor once more. Examined her, checked her eyes again, asked her to walk around the room, turn in place. Nodded to himself at the results. Then recommended she start with some light exercise, light and small meals and no more pills unless the pain returned. She readily agreed and he then begged her leave to deal with other patients. She sat quietly as Sadie cleared away the dishes.

Judith will be here soon to clean, Sadie said. Did you want fresh sheets?

Yes, please. Thank you. I'm going to walk now, slowly and gently, just around the house, as per the Doctor's orders.

Yes, Mistress. I'll be right here in the kitchen. You just call out if you need anything, and she bustled away. The newly remembered Lady Jol sat finishing her oslot, then rose carefully to her feet and began exploring the, no, her, house.

The downstairs comprised of the kitchen, the dining room, and living room, as she had already discovered. On the other side of the open area, tucked into the side of a hallway, she discovered a second bathroom. As with