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Yasha wakes to finds herself among strangers.
They’re the first thing she notices, the second being the room she’s in: small and cramped; four walls and no windows; there’s barely space for the narrow bed she’s on; and the door is blocked by a cluster of unfamiliar faces.
One thought, so loud in her head she wonders if she said it aloud, echoes through her: I can’t breathe in here. So the reaction is instinctive: adrenaline pumping through her system, she heaves herself off the bed through the small crowd of people. I can’t breathe in here. Some part of her is aware of the sudden burst of pain all over her body—half her face, her left arm, her ribs, her right ankle—but the rest of her is already pushing out the door into the hall.
Someone behind her is calling her name. More than one. Maybe all of them. But there’s a ringing in her ears now; the shortness of breath makes her wonder if something she can’t see isn’t sitting its full weight on her chest. So her feet carry her along the hall, down a set of stairs, through an empty foyer—straight for the next door she sees. She opens it and stumbles out into the daylight.
With only the sun hanging in the blue sky over her, Yasha can finally breathe.
One by one, she learns their names: Fjord; Jester; Caleb; Nott; Molly; Beau. “Or Beauregard,” the human monk adds quickly, awkwardly, “you can, uh… call me whatever you want.” And then Yasha takes a look at her, a real look, and sees something flickering in Beau’s gaze. A secret? Something she should know? It’s unclear, but then the blue Tiefling draws Yasha’s attention.
“This is going to sound really weird,” Jester says, leaning in close, “but we’re your friends. You totally love us.” Her lips split into a bright, bright smile. “Especially, you know, Beau—”
“Not now,” Fjord murmurs to her, nudging her in the side, and Jester gives him a sour look before waving her hand dismissively and turning back to Yasha.
“Anyway,” Jester continues, pointedly not looking at the half-orc, “here’s what happened: since we are superheroes, we were on the trail of a very spooky man. Then he turned out to be a warlock who was stealing energy from all life around him so he could live forever. And he tried to kill us.” Jester winces. “Well—okay, you almost killed him, even though he summoned some pretty scary monsters to fight you because the rest of us could barely walk, and then he really wanted to kill you—”
“What she means to say is,” Fjord cuts in gently, “you were put under some sort of spell that was… supposed to destroy your mind. We killed the warlock, luckily, before he could finish the incantation. But…” He glances to the purple Tiefling.
Molly says: “we managed to save you, but… I’m sorry, Yasha, but some of your memories… they’re gone.”
“But we’re going to get them back,” the dirty man pipes up. Yasha doesn’t miss the thumbs-up Jester flashes him.
The goblin looks uncertain when she begins to hiss to him, “but, Caleb, what if we can’t—”
Jester promptly reaches over and pulls Nott’s hood over her eyes, temporarily, but effectively, silencing her. “Don’t listen to her,” the blue Tiefling says, an easy smile on her lips, “we are going to help you, Yasha. You can count on us.”
The only thing Yasha can do is stare at them. Disbelief, tight like a noose, threatens to choke her at the sound of all this, but she manages to fight the urge to run again.
It’s strange, being in company who Yasha doesn’t know but is supposed to. The others catch themselves talking as if she remembers them and their journey, but then abruptly stop when their stories are met with awkward silences and confused looks. It’s easy for them to forget, Yasha realizes, because it sounds like they’ve known her for so long—and yet she can only remember wandering east through open plains, completely alone but for the great-sword sheathed on her back. She can recall stars stretching out before her into darkness, farther than her eyes could see—but that’s all.
The house she woke up in has been abandoned for quite some time, as Caleb informs her. They had all but collapsed after their most recent battle, but, seeing as how Yasha had taken the worst of the hits, they walked all night until they found this shack so that she could properly rest. And now that they’ve begun to recover, Fjord, Caleb, and Nott talk about going back onto the main road in search of a town or household that may or may not contain texts that could help them recover Yasha’s lost memories.
“We shouldn’t be long,” Caleb assures the group—mostly Nott, who’s fixing him with a concerned look.
“How long?” the goblin asks, spinning the loose lid of her flask around the rim, her big, yellow eyes narrowing. “What if I went with you? You never know when you might need some help.” Her voice is hopeful, her hands twitching excitedly at her sides.
Caleb smiles. “You can go with us if you want.”
“All right,” Nott says, notably brighter than before, but, as Fjord and Caleb prepare to leave, Nott disappears back into the house, and comes out a moment later with something in her wrapped hands. “I was gonna give this to you when you woke up,” the goblin says, hesitantly holding it out to Yasha as she looks up from her spot under a large oak tree, “but you, uh, ran out before I could.”
Quicker than Yasha can blink, Nott presses it into Yasha’s hands and then darts off, catching up to Caleb and Fjord rather quickly as they disappear into the trees, following the footpath that, presumably, will lead them in the direction of civilization.
Yasha looks down, and becomes still.
Her journal.
At night, when she’s alone under the light of the moons, Yasha thumbs through the pages. She remembers some of the things she’s pressed between the ancient, tattered pages in this: her four-leaf clover; the flat, curiously heart-shaped bone she found some years ago on her trek through the west; and petals from a field of wildflowers she slept in when she was but a young girl.
But there are things she does not recognize: a trio of striking orange-and-red flowers; what appears to be a child’s painting of what she thinks might be the sun falling in love with moon; a thin length of dark blue cord, knotted at each end to keep it from fraying; and a sketch of what can only be Beau. Yasha gingerly touches her fingertip to the paper, wondering—
What doesn’t she remember?
Fjord, Caleb, and Nott don’t come back in the morning, so it’s just Molly, Jester, and Beau with her at the ramshackle house in the woods. Molly sits with her outside in the early morning air, casually flipping through his cards; they share a comfortable silence that’s only broken by the occasional sound of what Yasha assumes is Beau’s monk training taking place on the other side of the house. From time to time, Jester will call, “you need to punch it so hard you make the unicorns in the tree cry!” and an exasperated sigh always follows suit.
When Molly says they were in the circus together for a short time, Yasha can believe it. The others, however, are another store altogether. A mismatched band of misfits, side by side under a sun which probably hasn’t seen the likes of their party for quite a few years, on the road together: it’s an odd thought, to be sure, but she’s already getting used to it.
In her mind, however, it’s as if someone reached in and stole a chunk of her life. Sometimes she wonders if a thick fog descended upon her into her head to hide these memories from her. Sometimes, Molly will say something to Jester through the open door of the house, and it will sound vaguely familiar, an echo of something she used to know so well, better than the back of her own hand. But, more often than not, they’ll speak of a thing, and Yasha will have no idea where to start asking questions about it.
“Molly,” Yasha asks in the evening, as the sun begins to set, “why is there a sketch of Beau in my book?”
Molly’s eyes flick away from her, briefly, before he fully turns so he’s looking directly at her. “That’s a long story,” he says.
The half-orc, wizard, and goblin aren’t back yet. And Beau and Jester are still out back, the former still training while the latter comments from time to time. “I have time.”
Molly lies down on his back, gaze wandering into the leaves of the tree they’re under. He says nothing.
“I know something’s wrong,” Yasha says softly. “I know you lot won’t talk about it. I can guess Beau’s avoiding me. Won’t you tell me why?”
Molly sighs heavily, falling silent for a moment; then: “personally, I don’t know what you saw in her—before you lost your memory, that is.”
Yasha is stunned into silence. Did she hear him right?
“If you ask me,” he continues, “she’s nothing but trouble, and I don’t mean the good kind. It’s a wonder she doesn’t get arrested everywhere she goes.”
A beat passes between them as the sun sinks lower, then two, then tree.
“Oh.” It comes out of her mouth on an exhale. Inside her, it feels as if something’s fallen into place. “… oh.”
Molly nods serenely. “I know. That was my reaction, too.”
Shortly after nightfall, Caleb, Fjord, and Nott come back. They are chalk-full of energy, seeming to vibrate with the need to move.
“We got some good news!” the goblin exclaims.
“Rumor has it there’s an arcane shop in the next city up the road,” Caleb explains. “It’s only a few days’ worth of travel. There’s a teacher of magic there who might be able to help.”
“We’ll get there sooner if we leave tonight,” Fjord adds, smiling.
Jester, Molly, and Beau all exchange looks before turning to Yasha.
Finally, she asks, “what?”
“Well?” Jester asks brightly, “don’t you want to go?”
They’re waiting for her, she realizes. They’re waiting for her to make the choice.
No—they are giving her a choice.
“Okay,” she says, not realizing what she’s said until it’s already in the air, “let’s go,” and Nott and Jester cheer as Beau and Fjord turn towards the house to grab the supplies they stored inside. Molly, grinning, heads towards the horse and cart.
Then she feels a tug at her sleeve. Looking down, she sees Nott, presenting a handful of blue, soft-looking wildflowers.
“Because you don’t remember I gave you the other ones,” the goblin explains. She waits eagerly as Yasha slowly bends and takes them gingerly in her hands. Nott’s smile is wide, revealing her jagged, sharp teeth. Then she turns and leaves, presumably to follow Jester as the blue Tiefling begins to dance-walk towards the cart.
Yasha is left alone in the dark with a handful of soft, delicate blue, and, for the first time that day, she wishes she could remember the last time Nott gave her flowers.
The journey is long, and painful. Despite their determination to find a master of the arcane, their progress is hindered by both their healing wounds and their predilection for distractions—Jester and Nott in particular—but they press on all the same.
On their first night on the road, Beau approaches Yasha, hands behind her back, expression nervous in spite of the grin she flashes.
“It’s not your watch yet,” the barbarian softly as she places her hand on the horse’s neck.
“Yeah, uh,” Beau clears her throat, “I know. I just…wanted to give you this.”
Beau brings her hands out from behind her back. Yasha peers closely to see it in the failing light, and momentarily forgets to breathe as she gently, gently, gently takes the chain of flowers from the monk’s hands. The petals are small, gold speckled with white—a rare type that must only grow in the woods they were staying in—and their fragrance, however faint, is still sweet.
“Did you make this?”
Beau scratches the back of her head. “Well, I wouldn’t say I made it…because I didn’t.” Quickly, she says, “Jester and Nott helped me make it. I, uh, was never really good at this… sort of thing.”
Beau has been avoiding her since she woke. And when she’s around her, she’s awkward, like she doesn’t know what to do with herself, and Yasha wants to reach out to her, but instead holds the flowers closer to her.
“Thank you,” she says.
Beau grins, lopsided and carefree; there’s no awkwardness in her expression this time, no hesitant, dancing dark eyes. She reaches out to her, as if she means to link their arms together, but freezes—remembers.
Beau’s face can only be described as crestfallen.
“Uh. Sorry.” Beau and Yasha stare at each other for a long, quiet moment before the monk abruptly turns around and starts heading back to where the others are sleeping. Yasha watches her go—and hears hushed whispers follow the sound of grass being crushed underfoot. When the barbarian peers around the wagon, she sees Jester flashing Beau a thumbs-up while Nott scurries to her side. She hears the goblin hiss, “so how’d it go?” before Beau shushes her and collapses onto her bedroll, covering her face with her hands.
Yasha can’t help but notice how the scene tugs at her. And, it’s only when her mouth begins to ache does she realize she’s been smiling
As they travel, Yasha finds herself getting to know them more and more. Jester has already become a natural presence, however chaotic she can become with her endless tricks and surprises; Fjord is grounding in his cordiality and good humor, though she suspects there’s more to him than he says; she and Molly, just as Jester said, get along famously, laughing as the Tieflings share pastries and card readings; Nott shows Fjord some slight-of-hand tricks, and the goblin, upon finding Yasha watching closely, offers to teach her someday; Caleb splits his time between having his nose in an arcane text and explaining to the group how he thinks her memory loss can be reversed; and Beau—
Beau isn’t very good at hiding her glances towards Yasha. She repairs her staff, redoes the wrappings around her hands, prods Molly in the back when he makes a snide remark about whether or not he should place a bet on her getting arrested the next place they go. But when she’s not doing that, she’s looking at Yasha with pursed lips, or pretending she wasn’t just looking at Yasha.
The whole way there, Yasha fights the desire to look back over her shoulder and ask about what she can’t remember.
At sunset on the third day of travel, they crest a hill to find a town sprawling out into the fields to meet them. With renewed energy, they pick their way through wheat fields and through groves of trees that are heavy with ripe fruit. They pass mostly farmhouses before heading into the busier innerworkings of the town—and when they catch sight of a sign indicating an arcane shop, they hurry to the door with Jester and Nott rushing ahead.
Luckily, they get their foot in the door before the shopkeeper can lock up. Jester says, “hey—look buddy, we traveled a long way to get here, and we’re not leaving until you promise to help us—”
“We’re very sorry to disturb you,” Fjord interrupts, shooting her a pointed look, “and we know it’s getting late, but we would be in your debt if you could help us help our friend.”
The shopkeeper is an old, wrinkled woman with beady black eyes, dressed in almost every shade of red the world has probably ever seen. She looks from Fjord and his imploring gaze to Jester and her impatient foot-tapping for a long moment before opening the door wider to them.
“What seems to be the problem?” she asks, eyeing them cautiously.
“Our friend here has lost her memory,” Caleb says, trying to stand on his toes to get a better look at the shopkeeper from behind everyone else, gesturing to Yasha. “And we were hoping that you could help her get it back.”
The old woman smacks her lips. “Nothin’ I can do for a bad blow to the head,” she says, surveying their bruised and battered forms.
“Oh no,” Caleb quickly says, “her head is fine. All our heads are fine. What I mean to say is, a warlock tried to put a spell on her, but was…uh—unable to complete the incantation, so all it did was make her lose her memory, you see.”
The old woman is silent for a moment, then hums. “I might have something for that,” she says finally, and the party visibly brightens. “Come in,” she says, stepping back to let them go through the doorway, “right this way.”
The elixir costs them—or, rather, costs Nott—quite a bit of gold, but they manage to strike a bargain, promising to do work for the old woman around her store in exchange for a lower price. She then gives them directions to the nicer of the two inns in town, and sends them on their way, quick to lock up behind them. Standing outside in the cooling evening air, everyone watches as Jester, with a brilliant smile on her face, holds out the bottle of viscous blue liquid.
Yasha looks at the bottle, then to the faces of her would-be friends, and takes it. She downs it in one go.
The initial taste is metallic, like that of blood, but the aftertaste is shockingly vile. Yasha nearly chokes, feeling it sting as it settles into her stomach before the discomfort subsides. Her head is becoming thick with fog, so much that she only wishes to sleep—for a year, perhaps, with her only thought being, why am I so tired? The others help her down the street and into the inn once they find the sign the woman described to them. Beau hangs back with Yasha as the others, save for Nott, go ahead to buy their rooms for the night.
Beau eventually says, “can you, uh… is anything coming back?” Her voice is quiet, barely audible over the noise of the packed tavern. There’s hope in her voice, Yasha realizes, a hope that makes her heart ache, and she wants to turn and assure Beau that things will be fine—that she’ll stay, even if she doesn’t regain her memories, because she can’t recall ever having friends like this—but she only succeeds in tilting her head back until it thuds against the back wall. Her eyes begin to flutter shut. “Hey,” she hears Beau say, shaking her gently by the shoulder. “Don’t fall asleep on me. You’re supposed to carry me, remember? Hey…”
The last thing Yasha knows is the feeling of being led up a staircase and down a cramped, low-ceilinged hall. When she hits the mattress, she’s already asleep.
Yasha wakes on her side. Her eyes blink open, her mind fogged with exhaustion. Her eyes scan the dark room, first finding Jester asleep on a narrow bed set across from hers with Nott curled by the Tiefling’s feet. Swallowing down a knowing, swelling feeling, she looks down at the floor, and, as expected, finds Beau fast asleep on her bedroll directly next to the bed.
The fog lifts, slowly, slowly, slowly—
Yasha’s heart swells in her chest. She remembers.
The barbarian reaches down and touches the monk’s shoulder, causing her to wake. “What…” Beau mumbles, cracking open an eye to look at her. “Jeeze, Yasha, can’t a girl get a little…”
The look on Beau’s face changes: remembrance, then realization. Her eyes blink open, wide in the dark.
“Hey,” Yasha says softly, so as not to wake Jester and Nott, “how about I carry you out of here in the morning?”
Beau blinks once, twice, three times before she seems to remember how to speak. “Yeah…yeah,” she says as she begins to hesitantly reach for Yasha.
“I won’t even charge you for it,” Yashsa says, and winks.
Beau’s grin is wide and soft in the shadows of their room.
“Okay,” she replies eventually, settling back on her bedroll, but not before intertwining her finger’s with Yasha’s. “Okay.”
They hold hands in the dark until they both fall back asleep.