Lost Moon (Unravelling Monsters Universe #3)

Chapter 1 Lost

Lost

***

Knowing that I should know something is the strangest feeling in the world. I ought to know who I am — my own name, where I am from, and what this place is — but as I turn my mind to those questions I find no answers, only a strange sense of emptiness.

I’m lost, and I don’t know how I know this.

I don’t know anything at all, which is rather alarming.

I look down at my hands and somehow know they’re mine.

Long-fingered, pale, the edge of my thumbnail stained brownish-green from picking flowers.

It’s with relief that I let out a small exhale that sits somewhere between a laugh and a sob; at least I recognise this body as my own, some sort of intrinsic knowing that can’t be taken away.

Stolen.

The word sits heavy in my gut, and I don’t know why that is.

What is going on?

I don’t recognise this place. I stand on the edge of a huge, winding river, staring up at the dull, sunless sky, wondering why I’m here at all. This entire landscape is so utterly foreign and yet I cannot shake the feeling that I’ve been here before.

For a long time, perhaps. Yes. Trying to catch my memories is like trying to catch small fish in the ocean. I can see it now, the way they’d always dart away whenever I stretched out my hands towards them.

The water is cold but the sun is hot on my shoulders as my sister yells “Again!” and I dive forward, pushing the school of fish towards her.

I turn in a circle, trying desperately to look for the person I just saw in my mind, to hold on to that image and the sound of their voice, but it’s already fading.

Why am I turning in a circle? What is this place?

There’s grass under my bare feet, and nothing of interest behind me — simply more grass and trees — so I take a seat here on the bank of this river.

I think I’ve been here before.

I don’t know what this place is. It doesn’t feel like home. I don’t know what home is supposed to feel like, but I don’t think it’s this quiet emptiness. Shouldn’t there be other people around?

Other people. There’s gaps in my memory; I’m certain of it. Important people that I can’t recall, a home, a bed to sleep in.

Music playing, a stilted tune from the piano, filtering down the hall.

I leap to my feet, as if the movement will help me retain the flash of recognition, but it’s already fading, and as I stare out across the river I’ve already forgotten it all. Only the knowledge that I did remember something remains.

Who am I? I look at my hands and recognise them as my own, but I don’t know who I am. I should have a name, shouldn’t I? People have names. People are supposed to have names, and yet I seem to have lost mine.

I sit down in the grass on the bank of a wide river, and somehow know that I am lost.

I think I’ve been here before, and I am so very tired. I’m always tired. I don’t know how I know this, but when I think upon it, this fact rings true in my mind. I am tired and I am lost.

I don’t know who I am.

What is this place?

I jump when I realise that I’m not entirely alone. With a hand pressed to my racing heart, I stare at the little girl who stands just a small distance from me. The first thing I truly notice about her are her eyes. They’re the most striking shade of gold, like amber held to the light.

“Here, Rose, hold it up to the sun, and see what you can find.”

A polished pebble of amber in my hand, held towards the window, rich gold in the light, and within it, a tiny creature. “A mosquito!”

“Yes, the little bastard got trapped in that kauri gum. Keep it Rosie-girl, put it in your little box of treasures.”

I take a step back, turning, hoping to find the man who had spoken in my memory. Papa. He’s not here.

I take a step towards the forest in the distance, but I can’t remember who I’m searching for, only that they were important.

“You’re lost like me.”

I jump at the sound of the voice, and turn to find a little girl with striking gold eyes staring at me. That’s right; she was here a moment ago. I think I got distracted by something, but I’m not sure what.

“I think I am,” I tell her.

She tilts her head to the side, staring at me in a rather precocious way for one so small. She’s intelligent, I can tell that much, and adorable with her long, dark ringlets and tanned skin.

When she smiles, revealing a set of canines that look far too sharp, I have the sudden sense that she is not like me at all.

“Are you a person?” I ask.

It’s a foolish question — obviously she is — but she seems to consider it for a long time before she answers. “I’m a wolf. I’m not supposed to tell people that, but I don’t think the rules matter right now.”

“What rules?”

“I don’t know.” Her voice is small, echoing the same confusion I feel.

“Have you lost your memories, too?”

She nods vigorously, and while I’m momentarily relieved to know that it’s not just me, I am equally disappointed for her and for myself.

“Do you know what this place is?” I ask gently, staring at her furrowed brow. She turns her head, staring out over the wide river beside us.

“The bad people made it.”

“Who?”

She shakes her head. “I don’t know. I don’t know much. My wolves know more.” She looks distressed, as if she might cry. I don’t understand what she means by this wolf talk, but children often say strange things.

“Come here, sweet girl, and sit with me.” She does, crossing her legs beside mine, our knees touching. “This dress is beautiful,” I say, touching the coarse blue fabric of her skirt. “It reminds me of Anna Pavlova. She’s a ballerina.”

“You remember that?”

“I suppose I do.” I can picture it now; the photo card in my hand, the words Anna Pavlova: A Ballerina Dancer printed beneath the image of a woman in a wide white skirt.

“It’s a princess dress,” the little girl says now, “but I forgot her name. I watched her at the movies, but that was a long time ago now.”

I don’t know what this movies is that she speaks of, but I nod anyway. “I think I’ve been here a very long time,” I tell her. “I don’t know how I know that, but it feels true.”

She nods. “You look like you’re from the olden days.”

I look down at my dress, the fabric of my skirt stretched taut over my knees. “Do I?”

“But you smell like my friend.”

That’s an odd thing to say, but then again, she is an odd child, with her sharp teeth and unusual eyes, and we’re in an odd situation. I look at her, and she stares up at me. “Do you remember your friend, then? I keep trying to remember things and they seem to… disappear.”

“They disappear for me, too.”

“Are we trapped here?” I don’t know why I’m asking a small child when I’m the adult here. Her chin begins to wobble, tears welling in her eyes, and I feel awful. “Oh no, darling, forget I asked. Let’s talk about something different.”

She shakes her head, a look of determination crossing her face. “No. You have to go. I have to send you.”

“Send me where?”

She doesn’t answer, instead reaching for my hand. She’s holding a ball of golden light, and I should be more alarmed by this, but all I feel is calm as she places it in my hand. “You have to touch the sky,” she says, and suddenly I am flying, being pulled up, leaving her behind.