Continuing from where “In Search of The Eye (part2) left off:

Not only was Jamba without any possessions, he was without friends, family or relatives. He had lost everything, even his memory. He felt like he had lost himself completely. No sense of direction, no past and no future purpose. “Is this what babies feel? No wonder they cry so much.”

That evening, Aila and Maelor came to terms with the fact that Jamba was telling the truth; he was without memory and wasn’t intentionally trespassing or trying to steal or trick them. They opened up as they realised the hell he was going through. Maelor told him about the farm and the surrounding areas, of the dangers lurking in the woods and about the village an hour to the west.

He didn’t recognise any of the local information, but the general knowledge seemed familiar. When the old man mentioned the cities, he had the idea of a busy place with horses, carts and motorised vehicles. Of a cauldron of people, low buildings, tall buildings, rules and regulations. Cold and cynical and where business decided the course of everybody’s lives. Maelor talked about wise men and magic and of how some things cannot be explained by the science taught in the universities. Even with all the computing power in the world, the magic of life could not be figured out he told.

There were creatures in the woods that Jamba could relate to. He had apparently known about Pingles, the Araxi, even ghosts and dragons. All real to him and all part and parcel of these lands, frequently mentioned in the news and regularly fought by the protectors of this great kingdom – knights and soldiers, scientists and wizards alike.

He could relate to all of this, but he could not extrapolate. Jamba couldn’t narrate any stories of his own, only nod affirmatively as Maelor poked holes in his memory – tiny holes far from useful to peek through.

“What day is it?”, he interrupted. “And year and month”, he added. Maelor was of course waiting for these questions. “It is the year 3258. Third week of Ilaiah month. It is the yellow day”. “Uh-hum?”, it went a bit to quick for Jamba: “Thirtytwo-fiftyeight after what?”. “After the gods let the humans enter this world. Or so they say.” Maelor was slowly chewing his tobacco as he was practising his wise-man role. For a moment Jamba looked puzzled: “How come I get a concept of a city as you speak of such a place but the name of the month or the colour of the day is unfamiliar?”. Maelor shook his head: “Only the gods would know”.

“Gods? How many? And are they for real?”. Jamba was obviously on a curiosity run here. “Several gods, boy. And whether they are real or not is open to debate in the academic circles. Most people in the outskirts believe they are real. It does not help not to believe”.

Maelor tried to induce his knowledge to Jamba somewhat structured, beginning with the close environment and every day importancies and moving outward to more general concepts and academic tid-bits of fact, fiction and legends. Jamba, however was constantly interjecting his questions.

Aila was quite amused the whole evening by Jamba’s whimsical personality and dispersed mind. Sometimes her father would be in the middle of a relating when Jamba would abruptly interrupt with questions like “What’s with the coloured days?’ and “What’s the colour of a pingle?”. The last question caught Maelor’s interest: “Good question, why do you ask?’ leaning backwards, curious: “What colour would you like it to have? They come in every colour, each and every one.” ” Hum?” “It depends on their mood. Blue pingles are sad, green is fear, red means anger. And a yellow furry teddy bear is a happy pingle. Sounds familiar?” “Vaguely… I can’t visualise, but it seems like I know this somehow. Do you have any idea what could have caused my memory loss?” Maelor lent forward. “Let me look at your head.” He examined Jamba for signs of blunt objects. Then for insertion points indicating neuro programming. “Nothing. But we should get you to a doctor, or maybe a psychologist for a thorough examination. In a couple of days or so. First you must regain your strength… Do not let the soup get cold”. Jamba hadn’t noticed the bowl of soup in front of him or it’s pleasant smell. From that to an empty bowl – blink of an eye. “Are they ever brown?” “Oh, the pingles? Yes, a sleeping pingle is brown. As I said, every colour.”

“White?”
“Dead”.

“Where do the pingles live?” “They are rare and shy creatures. They live up north, in the mountains, away from humans, araxi and others who would bother them. Pingles are peaceful and have great family feeling. Few humans have encountered them. Jamba, why the interest for the furry ones? Have you ever known any?” Jamba looked into his mind for clues: “I’ve no idea. Can’t seem to get any pictures, but it feels like I’ve known a pingle…” Jamba shook his head. The eyelids had put on some weight and he was getting drowsy. “Jamba, you should get some sleep. Let us see what tomorrow brings”.

—

He rummaged through the bottom of the chest, searching every piece of old clothing, every scrap of litter. Frantic, without depth-vision and with increasing pain his hands were grabbing and throwing the items on the floor. Papers and a quilt pen. A book, a notepad, a hat and some gloves. He turned the gloves inside out and he emptied a boot. He was bleeding heavily and he tried to stop it with his left hand as his right kept on searching. [Hammeraging] from the right eye socket. The pain was almost unbearable. But he couldn’t stop. He had to find his eye. The blood was pumping out so much that it was impairing his left eye vision. He cried out for help. He screamed for the gods to give him back his eye. He felt his life energy draining. The pool of old bloodstained clothes were sticking and made the search harder. He was almost fainting when he realized “wait a minute. This ain’t real, this isn’t happening. It’s a dream, gods damn it. I’m dreaming. Got to wake up”.

—

He was sitting upright before he realized he had broken out of the nightmare. Wet from sweat, he wiped his forehead with the soaking blanket and stood up. He looked out the window to clear his mind. It was pitch black outside. Only the small carbide lamp above the fireplace was lighting up parts of the living room. He looked down at the sofa. “No, I’m not going back to sleep just yet”, he thought and listened carefully to hear if anyone was coming down the stairs. “Only a silent scream in the dream, then. This is really not good for anything. Why the hell is this happening to me. Am I in a dream inside a dream? Is this some kind of sanity check. To see if I can take a real beating?”. “Well, you won’t grind me down, I’ll never yield”, he muttered.

No sounds except for occasional settlings of the house and the soft windy background.

He sat at the table for an hour or so before his head went heavy and he reentered dreamland. Pleasantly this time. No haunting nightmare, only an easily forgotten meadow with pingles in funny colours playing hopscotch.

Continuing where “In search of the Eye” left off:

CHAPTER 1 – AWAKENING

“Blurry and painful. A heck of a pain in the neck, and dark. Is it night? No, I just haven’t opened my eyes yet. That’s it: Open!” The eyes caught a glimpse of the bright light and promptly shut again. “To bright, and I’m a little tired. Maybe I should just… No, come on, get up! I can’t lie here all day. Lie here? Now where am I?” The boy opened his eyes again, letting them adjust to the streak of sunlight pouring through the cracks in the southern barn wall. He was half submerged in the hay, only one leg and his upper body visible. But no one could easily have seen him unless they climbed up on the attic and shuffled a big ball of hay away from in front of him. He felt kind of safe, yet he had no inkling of where he was.

“Wait a minute, wait.. a… minute… Why am I here? Where am I heading? Where do I come from? What’s my name?” A barrage of such questions were hammering him for what seemed to be lasting a whole meal or so. “I’m hungry”, he muttered. Through all his confusion and weariness, he wanted some of mom’s bread. “Mom? Who’s mom? Where is she? Do I have a mom? A dad, brother or sister? Any friends? Hell, do I know anything at all?” The questions kept coming while the hunger kept growing.

He looked around in the barn. Streaks of light from cracks in the walls. “They really didn’t do a very good job when they built this”, he thought. “Or maybe the maintenance is off.” He brushed off the hay and sat up. The sounds seemed normal enough with birds singing outside and the wind giving the building a little puff in various directions, squeaking ever so slightly.

The boy took a deep breath, swallowed, stood up to jump down from the attic as he heard some noise from just outside. Footsteps approaching. He had already started off his left foot and was quickly trying to figure out how he could halt in mid air and get back where he came from. As he turned around, he got hold of a pole on the attic. First he thought he could hold on, but then he realized he was to weak. The hand let go and he kept falling. At least he landed on his legs before he tumbled backwards and hit the ground.

He was sprawling in the mud, but arms and legs got moving in unison back towards the wall. Someone entered. He saw only a dark silhouette coming through the door. “Friend or foe?”, he thought while trying to decode the situation. He wiped his face as the someone asked “Who is there?” The boy knew his cover would be blown. He might as well step forward.

To his relief, as the silhouette walked through the barn door, it went to the right, whereas he was up against the left wall. “An opening”, he thought, looking at the three feet or so of escape possibility between the person and the doorway. “I got to.” He dashed for the door in a wholehearted attempt to make a run for it. “Damn, I’m slow”. The other person reacted like what seemed as lightning, quickly blocking the way by tripping the boy. He went headlong through the doorway catching a fair amount of dirt in his mouth as he slid his face through the mud outside.

The other one jumped on top of him, wrestled him around and pinned him to the ground. The boy tried to escape, kicking, squirming but to no avail. He was just to tired. And hungry. And weak. He let go of his intention to escape.

“Who are you?” the girl asked. “Good question”, the boy replied. “Are you a thief, an outlaw?” “If I only knew”, the boy muttered. The girl squeezed his wrist harder. “Ouch, she’s strong”, the boy couldn’t think clearly. He was pinned to the ground, unable to move an inch. The girl was quite pretty with long dark hair, dark green eyes and a cute nose. “Nice boobs”, he thought looking down her cleavage. The girl looked annoyed and repeated “Who are you? Answer me!”.

With a befuddled and somewhat irritated expression, the boy answered: “I’ve got no clue. I woke up in this barn only minutes ago not knowing who I am or where this is. You could be my sister for all that I know”. He added in his mind: “Oh no, not my big sister. I must have had a terrible childhood with a super-strength sister like that.” “Eh well, maybe not my sister… Do you know me?” he inquired. “Know you? No! You will not get anywhere with that ‘I don’t know who I am’-story”. “My father will have you thrown in prison for trespassing, theft or what have you. Murder maybe? Maybe you’ve killed someone and are a fugitive from the law? Look at you, you’re covered in mud and you got me all dirty. Sit up!” She moved to the side and the boy sat up, wiping his face and looking where he shouldn’t “Nice boo.. eh.. house”. He pointed at the stone hut with turfed roof just across the small clearing. There were only these two buildings and the well in between. A thick oak forest surrounding them on all sides. Nothing familiar. How did he get here?

The boy realized there was no use trying to get away. And besides, the girl didn’t look like she’d harm him. On the contrary, she was cute and somewhat… hot. He simmered down and so did she. He sighed: “Listen, I really don’t remember a thing. I don’t even remember my own name. I woke up and here I am. I couldn’t have been sleeping much, I’m dead tired. Sorry if I’m trespassing or whatever. If I only could get a bite of something, I will be on my way. I am not here to stir any trouble.” With a curious look, she replied: “Well, I suspect you could not do much harm in your condition.” She held him firmly by the arm and walked him over to a pond nearby. “In to it. Clothes and all”, she commanded.

“A tad bossy. Determination is good, hmm…” The boy made sure he got clean all around, right ear, left ear, hair. He enjoyed the water. So much so that he swam a bit before the tiredness caught up with him. He could swim. He had no idea. “This memory lapse will make a life full of surprises. What else do I know…?”. The girl was sitting on a rock, watching him, ready to save him should he prove unable to swim or just to exhausted. The last two strokes and he got hold of that very stone. He got up on it as the girl moved away not to get all wet. She told him to undress to the underwear. “Yeah, you wish”, he muttered, turning around, twisting his shirt until it was at least fairly dry. Then the pants. All dressed again, he turned back towards her. There was a slight curiosity in her eyes. Or was that wishful thinking?

A small hand gesture told him to come along with her. Before he left the tree-encircled pond he got a good look at his reflection. Short, dark hair, maybe blue eyes, distinct facial features. “Quite handsome”, he thought, pleased while he trotted along. His shirt had come halfway to its original off-white colour. His brown leather pants were a bit heavy from the water.

“Now you will meet my father. His name is Maelor Keesar. Mine is Aila. I am not sure yet if it is a pleasure to meet you, whoever you are.” “I am not sure it is a pleasure to be here, either. If your father can shed some light on who I am or why I’m here, I’d be happy as a Pingle on midsummer’s eve”. “You know about the Pingles? Either you play me for a fool or your memory is returning”, scrutinizing him with a suspicious look. “What’s a Pingle?”, he returned. He really had no idea, the words just stumbled out of his mouth. If she was suspicious a second ago… “Really, I have no clue”, he added “it’s only words to me, no idea where they came from. My subconscious or something”. His honest look and those charming blue eyes did a good job at convincing her. “Ah well, my father will know”.

The little farm was quiet. Just occasional splashes back in the pond, birds singing, wind making the trees whisper. And a barn, the house and the well. “Your family have animals?” “Only two horses apart from me and my father lives here.” Her tone of voice was opening up. He felt he at least got an inch of trust to build on. Damn he was lonely.

A cat made him feel welcome. The little purring fur ball was stroking against his legs making it hard not to trip. “Ok, I got it. You’re hungry”. He picked up the fluffy and looked at Aila. “Got any milk?”. “Inside. She usually fears strangers. You have a way with animals?”

He carefully wiped his feet on the mat and stepped into a small porch. “Father! We have a guest”. Father-sounds were approaching. Sounded like a big father or a weak construction. Floors were squeaking.

“Hello there!”

“Big father. Bear-like”. He kept patting the cat for a feeling of safety.

“What is your name, boy?”

“Eh… Jamba… maybe”. Aila was inspecting him again like she was expecting some kind of confirmation of her scepticism. “Jamba, maybe? Maybe what?” With a big grin he reached for Jamba’s hand with a big paw and squeezed it like a grizzly. “Come in boy, Jamba. Where did you two meet?” Aila was soon to interject: “I found him in the barn, father. He seems not to know who he is or where he is. I thought that you would know what to make of him”.

“Are you a thief, boy?” still grinning. “Eh, no sir. I am… I don’t… really know, sir.” “So, you could be a thief, then”. “No, I have no intention of stealing anything. I won’t be of any trouble, sir. I’ll be on my way”. The look of the big grinning father made him uncertain. He looked like someone in the know. “You are not leaving in your condition, boy. We will not be responsible for leaving you to the thugs, hungry and frail as you are. You will stay here for a couple of days until you regain strength. Then we will see.” Parts of the grin transformed into curiosity. “Tell me, Jamba, what Do you remember?”

Jamba looked hard and long into his mind. “I think my name is Jamba. And I said something about Pingles earlier and that got Aila reacting. In the pond I saw my reflection. I know what I have seen since I woke up only half an hour ago. Yeah, I know what an hour is, apparently. It’s difficult to get a grip on what I know… Right now I’m really hungry.” He looked towards the kitchen to the left. There was a kettle, boiling. Soup, maybe?

“My name is Maelor, as you know Aila is my daughter. We are hunters and we live an hour or so from the nearest village. By horseback, that is. I wonder how you got all the way out here…”. “Do you remember anything from yesterday? Walking? Riding? Anything?” “No, nothing. Neither is my legs or butt any more tired or sore than the rest of my body”. “sorry, sir, I can’t help you. Or myself”.

“Sir, why would you believe anything of what I’m saying?”

“A hunters hunch, boy, a hunters hunch”.

“Food is ready”. Aila was standing in the kitchen pouring soup into the three bowls on the table. She looked like a maid with that apron. “Deceiving looks covered the huntress… yeah, I feel poetic today. I’m glad I think before I speak.” Jamba smiled and tried to be as polite as he could while the smell of delicious soup tormented his nose and stomach.

Jamba was hypnotised by the smell and the taste. His patience was put to the test as he fought hard to constrain himself. The five minute meal took forever and he never seemed to get satiated. Bowls passed by and only Jambas slurping was heard until finally his belly was full. A loud burp let out. “Oops, sorry”. They smiled. He blushed.

He stumbled over to the couch in the living room and lied down. Legs stretching, belly-heavy and tired he went into a slumber.

Maelor tucked a blanket around him as he was still a bit wet.

…

The eye watched his every movement. Curious and scrutinising, there was no escape. No hiding, no privacy. He kept on walking towards it. It was like walking to the end of the rainbow. The further he walked the further away it seemed to be. An endless walk. The atmosphere inducing fear, sweat pouring and compulsive thoughts chasing is mind. A hammering headache kept on hammering a manic feeling into his marrow. He screamed to let it out. He screamed until he was out of oxygen. He couldn’t breathe.

…

Sweating and gasping for breath he woke up as Maelor shook him. A wild look around, Jamba almost hit the old man. Hadn’t it been for the keen hunters reflexes, his nose could have been broken.

“I’m… I’m sorry. Sorry. Ah..eh, sir. Sorry” “You are OK, boy, you are awake now. A bad dream. Just a bad dream”.

Jamba was clearing his mind as Aila dashed into the room. “What was that?”, she asked. “Jamba had a rough nightmare. Could you get him some water?”. Jamba was shaking as he drank from the wooden bowl.” “I’m truly sorry. I never meant to be any trouble.” He felt like shit and the loneliness made him swallow twice.