“Jalese?” I say, coming up behind her. She stops and turns. “Um, are you leaving?”

She sighs and runs her fingers through her hair. “I don’t know,” she admits. “Do you want me to?” She uses the form of ‘you’ that means all of us, not including her.

“No!” I say quickly. “Look, um. I know we’re a bit weird.” I try a self-deprecating smile. She does have a smile in return, which is reassuring. “I suppose you’ve noticed we don’t really… Um, We don’t really know what we’re doing half the time.” She nods. “So, you know, if you want to say that’s it, I don’t blame you, I really don’t. But if you don’t, we could really… use your help.”

“What happened to you back there?” she asks directly, at last.

“I don’t know. We don’t know.”

I don’t want to say ‘we’re really from another world, we’ve taken over these bodies but we didn’t mean to, honest.’ I can see that not being entirely understood. And that’s without adding that ‘in fact I’m not sure this world is even real; our friend Ken just made it up for a game.’

“It’s like a kind of–” I want to say ‘amnesia’, but Jeodine doesn’t have an exact word. “Forgetting,” I manage. “I don’t remember anything, unless there’s something to remind me, then stuff comes back, like knowing how to sail a ship. I mean, I think I’m supposed to be some kind of magic user; I didn’t even remember that until just now. That guy doing the Binding on the boat–”

“You’re a novice shamaness of the Neria,” Jalese says patiently.

“I am? What… I mean, how do you know?”

“What did you think these were for?” she asks, reaching to my face suddenly and touching one of the charms braided into my hair.

“I thought they were just charms. You know, good-luck charms, talismens, something like that.”

“Well, we could make use of some good luck, don’t you think?” she says.

“Um–”

“I’ve seen you do this,” she says, and reaches to me again, and carefully unbraids one of the plaits near my temple, to free a charm, “and hold it in your hand like so,” she says, taking my hand and placing the charm on my open palm. “You did it the first night, as we were getting away, don’t you remember?”

The charm is a tiny spiral shell, exquisite and beautiful. It reminds me I really want to find a mirror at some point, and see what I really look like. My hand closes over it, but I can still see it, and I can feel it, as if my flesh has become liquid and flows through the inner chambers of the vacated shell; the memory of the creature that once lived there lingers, which for a moment feels slightly macabre. And the sea; the whole weight of the ocean, the crushing mass, but enfolding and protecting and cradling. “Oh, the Goddess,” I whisper aloud. “I can… I…” I don’t know. Back home I was never religious, and I never understood people who were, but I know this tiny token is a touch of the Goddess. I can feel her presence. We’re not in the sea, but we’re still in her influence, as is the whole of Jeodin, of course. “The Neri are my race,” I say aloud. “Maritime elves.” She nods. “But the Neria faith — the Goddess — it started with the Neri, but it’s widespread among humans now isn’t it?” She nods again. “Most people in Jeodin are probably adherents, aren’t they?”

“Including me, Miss.”

That would explain her deference to me, these last few days. A deference I hardly felt I deserved, but there it was. “I really don’t know what I’m doing,” I say, opening my palm again. I’m shocked to find that the shell has in fact embedded itself halfway into my flesh. It’s quite painless, but that sensation I had of being able to feel all the way through it must have been more literal than I’d thought. I touch it carefully with a finger of my other hand. It’s definitely fixed in there. I couldn’t tear it off without pulling away a chunk of my palm with it. “Oh bloody hell,” I say in English.

“Excuse my presumption in unbraiding it. You must cast now.”

“I don’t know–”

“Might I suggest a simple intercession of good fortune, for the five of us?” Jalese says.

“Er, like… like a prayer?” I wonder aloud. I close and open my hand, feeling the slight tug of the shell as my skin flexes around it.

“Tsheb Cal…” Jalese prompts.

I recognise it. “Tsheb Cal aceteron,” I hear myself saying. Another language. “Alem ti tarasi Taniel…” “Ocean Mother, hear me. I am thy daughter Taniel. We are children adrift in a strange ocean. Send us good winds and fair bounty, and show us our path…” I am about to say ‘home’, but I hold it back, ending the plea there. I raise my hand and open my palm, and the shell is gone. “That’s it?” I ask in Jeodine, then I stagger, feeling suddenly woozy. Jalese catches me and steadies me. “It’s all right, I’m still a bit, uh, landsick.”

“No, it’s the spell. I think it worked. Shall we find out?” She grins. She seemed to be catching that grin off Samira.

“How?”

“Over there,” Jalese says, and keeping custody of my arm, leads me towards the inn at the end of the row of buildings. “I have been here before, a couple of years ago before I was captured,” she says. “The first piece of luck will be that Hethan still has something I know he had then. The second piece of luck will be that he’ll remember me and let us borrow it.” She leads me through the tables and chairs arranged outside the front like a French café and pushes the door open and pulls me into the building.

“The third piece of luck will be if he needs extra help over Market,” she adds quietly, leaning close. Then she grins, lets go of me and goes up to the bar alone, leaving me in the middle of the room to look around like an idiot. Thankfully there aren’t many people here at this hour. A couple of young women are talking at a table near a window. They’re wearing pretty, folky-type dresses I suppose, and interrupt their conversation to glance at me curiously for a moment. It makes me feel self-conscious about the rough undyed linen trousers that are too short in the leg, and tunic and sandals that are all I have. I smile awkwardly and look elsewhere, thinking I have to start working on my aloof, unattainable elf-maiden look sometime before someone figures out I’m faking.

My first impression is that it is almost reassuringly like the bar of a nice English seaside pub, then I start noticing the differences. The obvious ones come first of course: No Sky Sports, no jukebox, no fruit machines. No carpet, but a slate tile floor. There is a bar, but it’s tiny, more like a counter, barely allowing two people at a time to stand at it. Instead there are more tables and chairs. I think this might be quite upmarket back home; catering to a more middle-class type of pubgoer, with children maybe. I have no idea where it’s positioned in this culture. There is a raised area to the side of the bar — or rather, the bar is to the side of the raised area, which looks suspiciously like a small stage.

“Here you are,” Jalese says, returning to my side and putting something in my hands. It’s an exquisitely carved wooden box, approximately triangular in shape, but with much ornamentation carved so finely it seems almost as if it had grown that way. There are a lot of strings on one side, twenty or so at a glance, with a pattern of holes behind them. “Oh, I see,” I say unnecessarily, identifying it as a musical instrument.

“Let’s sit down,” Jalese says, and steers me towards the fireplace. It doesn’t have an open fire, rather an iron stove of some kind, turned down low but still giving off a little heat.

I sit, and find myself automatically crossing one leg over the other and placing the instrument comfortably along my thigh and cradled by my left arm. “Yes, this is familiar.”

“I thought it might be. My mother told me, all Neri learn to play this as children. Hethan got this in lieu of payment from a Neri couple while I was here last. I think they must have been very poor, to give away something like this for a room for a few nights, don’t you?”

“I… I suppose.” I pick at some of the strings, seeking a physical memory, and there it is. I run my thumbnail back across all the strings, and then I’m tuning it, turning the little ivory handles by tiny increments and doing another light strum, reiteratively until I know, somehow, it’s right. It sounds a little like a hand harp, but more resonant, with the chamber behind the strings. Perhaps more like a lute with no neck and far too many strings. I don’t know how else to describe it. There’s a complex, rich tone to the notes that I find almost achingly familiar. “Uh, do you know any tunes that I… that you think I ought to know?”

“Oh, let’s see, what about the Selkie’s Lament?”

“How does it go?”

“Um…” The way she smiled, an apology and warning in advance from someone who considers themselves not one of Nature’s singers, was so familiar — even English, maybe — that I can’t help smiling back. She starts humming a tune quietly, not wanting anyone else to overhear. I listen for a while. It sounds simple and plaintive. I pluck a couple of strings experimentally, getting the right note but… It’s the wrong technique. The notes Jalese are singing are long, and I sustain it by quickly and repeatedly plucking a string with three fingers in turn. It also lets me move seamlessly to another string, to change to a different note.

“Ah…” I hear myself say.

“No, that’s right,” Jalese stops to say.

“Don’t stop.”

She carries on. I’m staring at the instrument, at once hyperfocusing and trying to let this happen. I need to concentrate, but at the same time I know if I try to think too hard about what I’m doing I’m not going to be able to do it. I never learned to play an instrument–

My mother, teaching me. We’re in a cabin in the stern of a ship, yet I seem to be cradled in the crook of a branch in a tree. It’s a juxtaposition of memories I can’t quite understand. Diamond-leaded windows give a view of clouds like iron, and a sea that’s black, like oil.

“Huh…” I begin. I’m playing a harmony on the lower notes with my thumb, alongside the main melody. One thumb note to every three with my fingers. Every now and then it strikes a resonant mode in the box that makes a particular chord sing out more richly than those around it. Jalese has gone quiet, listening. I know this, but I can’t see her because my eyes are filling with tears suddenly. “I know this,” I say. “I remember learning it.” Tears are tracking down my face. “I was with my mother.” But my mother is a manager of a clothes shop. Her musical aspirations don’t go beyond Happy Birthday and a few Christmas carols. This Elven lady in my memory, I’m a child, leaning back in her arms, her hands are guiding mine onto the strings. No, wasn’t I leaning in the branches of a tree? I can’t see her face. How can she be ‘mother’ in my memory?

Another memory; it must be years later. I’m playing alone, in the same room. This time the windows are open, stirring the muslin curtains in the warm breeze. Pink blossom swirls in the air. We must be in some tropical waters, because the sea is azure blue and, I know if I were to lean out and look down, would be clear down to the shallow bed, barely deep enough for the ship. I don’t need to look. It’s time to practice.

“You’re starting to remember,” Jalese says gently.

“This…” Tears are still running. “This is impossible.” I am still playing, but I come to the end of the song and stop.

“Music brings old memories forward.”

“No, but…” I hold my thought. These are memories of being Taniel. Growing up. If these memories are real, she must be real. She’s a real person. But now it’s me. I’m here, in her place, like a burglar reading a private diary.

And I know something else now. This instrument — I remember its name now; it means something like ‘box-harp’ — this instrument is not merely the same type as that which I learned on. It is the same instrument. A little more battered now than in my memory, but I recognise the worn carvings from when they were fresh. I remember the faded paintings of sinuous, stylised dolphins. I remember when it was new. I remember helping my mother paint the dolphins.

“This is mine,” I say through the tears. “I learned to play on this actual one.” I manage to look up at Jalese now. She’s staring at me, surprised and concerned. “The… You said you were here when someone used this to pay for a room?” She nods. “What do you remember? Who were they? Where did they go next?”

“I… I don’t remember that much. I just remember seeing them talking to Hethan and passing it over. I wasn’t close enough.”

I look at her for a moment, then stand up abruptly and go to the bar, carrying the box-harp. I use the back of my hand to quickly dry my eyes a little. I can see a way out through the back of the bar into a larger room. “Excuse me,” I say, (or rather ‘Hey, you,’ I suppose). It gets the innkeeper’s attention anyway, as he comes into view and approaches the bar.

“Miss?”

“Do you remember anything about the people who gave you this?” I ask, showing him the box-harp. “Did they say who they were? Where they were going?”

“What’s it to–”

“This was mine, as a child.”

He gives me a frankly disbelieving look.

“How much do you want for it?” I ask, partly because I want it, and partly to reassure him I’m not going to just try to take it without paying. To reinforce this I actually place the instrument down on the bar. It proves surprisingly difficult to take my hands off it. “Please? And did the people who gave it to you say anything at all about where they were going? Maybe they might have left a message?”

“Oh, I can’t remember if they said anything, Miss. It was a long time ago.”

I bite my lip in frustration, wanting to yell out to him, ‘they must have said something!’ I just say, “How… How much do you want for it then?”

“Oh, let’s see, a nice box-harp like that?” And I know he’s going to rip me off. It’s the same voice you get from a builder or a car repairman. “I reckon that could fetch say ten Crowns?”

Ten Crowns. Ten days of harbour fees. That’s the only point of reference I have, but it must be a lot of money. Infinitely more than I have anyway.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” I say, and turn for the door.

“Oh now wait, Miss,” he calls me, as I reach the door.

Right on time. I sigh and turn back to him. “Is this haggling?” I ask. “Please excuse my ignorance but I’ve lost a great deal of my memory, and I don’t think I’ve ever had to haggle before anyway, so I’m not going to be very good at it.” I have his attention anyway, so I come slowly back to the bar. “We escaped from slavers down the Tail five days ago. I have literally nothing, sir. I have the clothes you see me in and the boat we came in, which we’re going to lose if we can’t pay the harbour fees and at the moment I don’t know how we’re going to do that. If you can name a fair price for that, I’ll try to find the money before we have to leave. If we can leave.” I reach the bar. “Hethan, is it?” I ask, for confirmation. He nods; it’s his name. “My name is Taniel. Did the people who gave this to you ever mention my name? Taniel? They might have been my parents. I thought they were dead. They might have thought I was dead.” ~This was mine. They wouldn’t have just sold it, would they? If they were my parents?~

I watch his face. I don’t think he’s an uncompassionate man, but he’s doubtless seen his share of fakes and hustlers and charletans, and how does he know I’m not just another, after all?

I’m aware of Jalese quietly coming up to my side.

“Taniel?” he confirms.

“Yes.”

“What were your parents’ names?”

“I can’t remember.” I bite my lip again. “It may come to me later. I’m sorry, I’m obviously wasting your time.” I turn back for the door.

“You can play that thing,” he says, stating a fact.

“Apparently,” I say.

“No, you can. I heard you playing earlier. Can you sing?”

“I–”

“Of course she can sing,” Jalese picks this moment to intervene, giving me a quick nudge to stop me denying it. “Have you ever met a Neri who couldn’t sing like a siren? And ten Crowns is an outrageous amount to ask for a familyship box-harp, Hethan. If you could’ve sold it for anything worthwhile you would have done it years ago, and done this place up a bit.”

“Oh,” I say quietly to her, “this is how you haggle, is it?”

“Shush.” That word is the same in English. “Hethan, it’s Market in two days. You need some more hands around the place anyway.”

“Jallie, do you want your old job back?” Hethan asks her, as if acknowledging something at which she had only hinted.

“It would really help,” Jalese admits. “Just for Market. You know how busy it gets at Market. And Taniel can play the box-harp, and sing–”

“Bu–” I start, but I get a sharper nudge in the ribs and shut up.

“And when she’s not she can help around the place too,” Jalese says. “Basic wages, bed and board plus tips?”

Hethan looks at us both for a few moments. “All right,” he says, “but only because Beni’s just had her baby, so I was short anyway.”

“Beni had a baby?” Jalese crowed. “Who’s the dad?”

“Some boy off a marketeer, she says. Daft girl. I think they’re still friends though; he’ll probably come in with the Market.”

“Oh, I’ll have to see her.”

“All right, so you two can work here during Market, and if the takings are good enough, I might just let you have the box-harp for nothing. How’s that?” He looks at me.

“Oh,” I say. “Thank you. That’s very kind.” ~It’s that easy to get a job here?~

I get another nudge. “Actually, we were hoping we could start today,” Jalese says. She knows she’s pushing it now. Even I can tell, from Hethan’s face. “Taniel needs to learn how we do things anyway,” she adds hopefully, and follows it with a pretty smile.

I take the cue and try to match her smile.

Hethan sighs, then chuckles a little. “You really have nothing?” he asks. He sighs again. “All right. You can start by getting all the rooms properly cleaned.”

“Yes, sir–”

“Now. You know where everything is, Jallie.”

“We’ll start now,” she promises. Hethan shakes his head and wanders back into his back-room. He’s left the box-harp on the bar-top. “See?” Jalese asks me.

“See what?”

“Weren’t we ever so lucky?” She grins. “I think your spell worked.”

“Ohhhh.” ~That’s how it works.~

“Beni’s off for her baby, Market’s starting in two days, and it’ll start getting busy tomorrow anyway as the island traders come in, and that box-harp wasn’t just any old box-harp, it was yours–”

“Wait a minute, that’s all stuff that was set ages ago. I only just did that spell!”

“Yes, and?”

I stare at her. ~That’s how it works?~ I’m thinking. ~Did I just fuck with causality?~ That’s not rational, and I know it. Rationalisation, it has to be.

And another thought: The harp. It’s only got sentimental value, it doesn’t make sense for my parents, if they were my — Taniel’s — parents, to just trade it for a couple of nights in an inn, unless they thought I might come here and find it. That reduces the problem from one of ludicrous coincidence or ‘luck’ anyway.

“Come on,” Jalese says. “We have to start. Get your box-harp, and I’ll show you where we’re sleeping tonight.”

“What about the others?”

She stops again and looks at me. “I was pushing it as it is. I don’t think I can get them jobs here too. They’ll sort themselves out.”

“You think? They’re just as confused as I am.”

“Your spell took them in too, didn’t it?”

“I… Did it? Maybe it did…”

“Something will turn up, then.” And that, there, was a statement of faith, I suppose. The simple, practical acceptance of possibly causality-breaking magic being thrown around by a complete novice.