by Taki Drake
My Name is Lost
By Taki Drake and Etienne LeFevre
East Haven Chronicles #1
Table of Contents
Title Page
Legal Stuff
Chapter 1 – Awakening
Chapter 2 – Preparations
Chapter 3 – Farmer in the Dell
Chapter 4 – Wagon Ride
Chapter 5 – Delton
Chapter 6 – Meet the Wisewoman
Chapter 7 – Tattoos and Warriors
Chapter 8 – Supper with Friends
Chapter 9 – Night Fight
Chapter 10 – Terror in the Night
Chapter 11 – Aftermath
Chapter 12 – Posse Organization
Chapter 13 – Back Tracking
Chapter 14 – Regroup
Author’s Notes - Taki Drake
Author’s Notes - Etienne LeFevre
Author - Taki Drake
Legal Stuff
Copyright © 2019, Taki Drake, Etienne LeFevre, All Rights Reserved.
Reproduction of any kind is strictly prohibited unless written permission granted by the author.
Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
Published by All Chaos Press
Chapter 1 – Awakening
Pain brutally forced me from the comfortable darkness of unconsciousness into keen awareness. Opening my eyes, I got to experience more agony as a faint light stabbed into them like an ice pick. A new type of pain splashed across my body as I tried to move.
Trying to roll from my side to my knees was a mistake as I started to cough, and almost screamed as my chest heaved. One of my ribs was broken and had punctured a lung. I was cold and looked at my body, trying to figure out the source of those sensations.
I saw my only clothing was a loincloth. That was wrong. What had happened to me? A second later, another thought disturbed me even more than the pain. Who am I? Why am I here?
Looking around, I saw that the only things visible in the dim illumination were a rung ladder going up a vertical shaft to what appeared to be a door, and a passageway that led away from the rungs. Which way had I been going? What had I been trying to do? The light was coming from down the hall, from above what appeared to be a door handle. These were only a few dozen yards away, so I began crawling toward the light and door.
Every movement caused pain to echo down my arms and legs. Crawling was the better choice as climbing was not going to happen in my current injured state. As I started to move more, it became clear that my chest had several additional broken ribs. The grating sound and feeling of them rubbing bone against bone made me slightly nauseous.
My breath was coming in short, shallow gasps as I tried to avoid the slashing agony that occurred each time my chest expanded in a deep breath. I could feel the multiple breaks in my left collarbone grinding against each other, keeping accompaniment to the lower tone grating sound of my ribs.
Blood dripped down my side, and I could feel the hot stickiness of its passage. The compound fracture of my upper left arm was causing blood to flow like a reluctant waterfall. Several fingers on my right hand looked like horse’s hooves had landed on them.
The injuries were going to take months to heal. Okay, how do I know all that? Underneath all of the pain was the heat of anger. What could I possibly have done to deserve this? Who had done this? Did I have enemies waiting to see if I survived?
The pain was overwhelming, but the desire to survive and anger fueled me. I was not going to give up. I needed answers, and one way or another, I will get them.
It seemed to take hours to cover the distance to the door, marking my passage with slashes of agony played out against a background of pain. Reaching up with my right arm, I used my thumb to hook onto the door handle. Doing it that way only hurt a little, but it put me off balance, so when the door opened, I fell forward into the room.
The massive surge of pain that accompanied my impact on the floor was too much for my overstressed body, and I passed out.
Awareness crept in until I realized that I was awake once more. Moving without consideration, I re-woke the familiar agony. How long had I been unconscious? I had to do something to ease the pain soon, or it would be too easy just to lie down and give up.
Staying on the floor for the moment, I glanced around the room. Covering the left wall were mostly empty bookshelves but a few held books. Directly opposite the entry door was a kitchen area. On its left side, was a free-standing cabinet. Next to that, a sink with what looked like a pump nozzle above it.
Slowly I was building a map in my head, fitting all these separate pieces into a pattern that would be easy to remember. Part of me wondered who had designed this to be so efficient in its space usage. Slipping through the waves of pain, I felt a reluctant admiration for both the designer and the freedom that the person had to create.
There were a few wall-mounted cabinets and three drawers set in the wall below them. The right side of that area had a rather odd-looking stove. Odd-looking because there was no place to put the wood for the fire. I puzzled over it, but there was no time to think about that type of pathway. I needed to stay focused.
I wasn’t hungry, there was too much pain for any secondary sensation to take priority. However, it was good to know that food might be available. Even if my pain-induced nausea failed to subside, I knew that my body would need fuel, and soon. Anger kept me going, pushing toward survival, and more.
Continuing my internal map building, I resumed checking out the walls of the chamber. The divider to the right held another door and a few more bookshelves. There were more piles of books jammed into the furniture, but the dim light and the tears that kept clouding my vision from the pain did not allow me to look more closely at specific ones.
The only wall that I had not mapped was the one that I had entered through. Forcing my wracked body to twist, I rode through the surge of agony, once again breathing in short, shallow gasps. As my vision cleared, I saw that the entire wall around the door was decorated with a map.
With the definitions of the borders of the chamber fixed to that image in my head, I turned my attention to what else was in the room. The first thing I noticed was that toward the center of the room, next to a small table, there was a comfortable looking sofa.
The siren attractions of the promise of cushioning against my skin and a warmer surface than the cold floor drove me. I crawled to that couch and pulled myself onto it, pushing down the accompanying pain with wild promises to my body if it would just cooperate.
To my befuddled brain, the couch almost seemed to be helping me as I tried to find a position that wasn’t painful. Finally, I sprawled in more comfort. My body was stretched out, and I held momentarily motionless as I tried to relax.
Click, click, Clack! The trap caught me off guard, and restraints closed over my limbs and torso. A cold metal skull cap completed my immobilization. I panicked and tried to move, with the predictable surge of pain, but struggled unthinkingly for a moment as fresh waves of agony slammed into me. Realizing that there was no chance of escape in my current damaged condition, I stopped fighting and waited to see what would happen next.
My anger banked, I waited in smoldering patience for any opportunity to escape. Determined that if my unknown enemy had found me that I would not go without a fight, I waited for further action. Whoever I was, whatever my name had been, I was not easy prey. Although injured, I was not dead.
An inhuman voice spoke in the language of the West, “Analysis initiated.” There was silence for a few mo
ments, and then it began listing the injuries I had sustained, including a concussion. It was a long list.
Listening to the tabulation of my injuries, I wondered how I had been able to move at all. My mind became more clear as my immobility allowed my pain to settle, and the vague warmth of the couch counteracted some of my shock.
Once again, it seemed like the furniture was attempting to help me since I could feel a distinct warming heat source every place my body touched the fabric of the couch. The shivers that I did not realize were shaking my frame were slowly subsiding, and my pain diminished again.
The voice continued listing my injuries, and at some point, I realized that the majority of them had to be deliberately inflicted by someone else. Someone tried to kill me, I realized, my fury growing. I continued to wait and listen until finally, the list of injuries ended.
After a few seconds of silence, the eerie voice continued, saying, “Analysis complete. Shall this unit initiate medical treatment? Please respond, Yes or No.” I managed to croak out a “Yes.” There was a stab of a needle in my neck, and I blacked out.
There was no pain when I woke up the third time. Opening my eyes with trepidation, I immediately relaxed with the realization that the presence of the light no longer caused pain. Relief let me breathe deeply and take more stock of my situation.
The restraints were gone, as were most of the aches and pains. I could breathe without pain. The euphoric joy of that gave me hope for my future that felt like a rushing boost of energy.
I was still cold and realized I was still naked but for the loincloth. Something would have to be done about that, or the cold would continue to drag my energy down.
All my tools are gone, came a wisp of a thought, though I didn’t know what tools were missing. It didn’t matter. I still resented their loss with emotion even stronger than my anger at what had been done to me physically.
Looking at my surroundings again, I noticed the table next to the couch had a book lying on it. I started to reach for the document, and my body informed me in no uncertain terms that I had higher priorities. There was another thing I was much more concerned with and headed to the other door in the room, which hopefully was, YES! A bathroom!
A light flashed on as the door opened, and I paused as I realize something. None of the lamps were using oil. My mind felt like it was finally getting into gear, and it meant that I could do more than one thing at a time.
I trotted back to the table, and only felt a slight stinging sensation in my legs. The overriding agony was gone from my movements, and I reveled in the feeling of freedom from pain. Picking up the book, I returned to the bathroom. I thought to myself, No sense in only doing one thing at a time.
Sitting down, I started reading, and the first thing on the page made me tense up and focus. It read, ‘Greetings escapee. As you know, you have no memory of who you are. That is by design. You are a blank slate on which to write your new life.’ What the??? came an unbidden thought, followed by, Then why can I still read?
Forcing my attention back on the written text, I saw that whoever the author was had laid things out logically. His commentary continued, ‘There is a storeroom further down the hall containing clothes, a variety of weapons, armor, traveling food, and water. Find what feels comfortable to you and take it freely. Trust your instincts when making your choices.
‘Several miles down the corridor, you will find an exit into the wilderness. The other side is hidden to prevent anyone who hasn’t used it previously from discovering it. If you have a chance in the future, return what you have taken for the next escapee.
‘My advice is for you to head East or North. Do not go into any town, it will not go well. They may know what you did, what you look like, and they will be looking for you. If they find you, your life will likely be over. All I can tell you is the same thing that was told to me, Good luck!’
I finished reading that first section and reread it several times. It seemed to be helpful and yet remained uninformative. Deliberately informative and misleading. Perhaps the rest will be more useful. Feeling both thankful for the guide and angry that it was not more informative, I continued to read.
Chapter 2 – Preparations
After a nice relaxing hot bath, I took the book back to the main room. Hunger announced itself as my stomach gurgled, interrupting my survival driven need to understand every word that the unknown author had left me.
Heading over to the kitchen area, I started opening the doors and drawers. The drawers in the wall contained silverware, cooking utensils, and some plates and bowls. Moving to the stand-alone cabinet, I found it contained several different types of already prepared food, and a variety of fresh meats, eggs, and vegetables. At this point I was so hungry, everything looked good.
Grabbing some prepared food that looked appealing, and a fork from one of the drawers, I went back to the only seat in the room. Cautiously sitting on the couch again, I was happy and relieved when it did not respond with the restraints I had encountered before.
The smell of the opened package of food abruptly shifted my priorities once more. The couch was no longer a danger to me, and I needed to pay attention to providing my body with the fuel it needed to continue healing.
My attention quickly shifted to consuming the food and reading the rest of the book. As I ate, the energy levels in my body rose, and a low-level feeling of desperation eased. Understanding that I had been starving and had not realized it, I made sure to eat all of the food I had chosen, and even went back for more.
Most of the book was less interesting to me than the shock of the beginning. After the disturbing introduction, the next chapters described the political situation of the area. The book had the names of many people and included their affiliations, alliances, and enemies. While understanding why that information was laid out there, I had to force myself to read through that portion of the book and struggled to put the information it contained into a structure in my mind so that I could draw upon it later.
I knew the problem was that this section was boring to me. Even though I did not know my name, I knew what things I was interested in, and political landscapes were nowhere on my list of things I like to read. After I finished reading through the whole thing, I closed the book and put it back on the small table.
Glancing around the room again, the map on the wall grabbed my attention. It had a ‘you are here’ symbol, with a couple of towns marked along a river. One village, Ironwood, was right next to that indicator, and the other was a small city, which was unnamed.
The indicated city sat on what appeared to be a dam or bridge over the river. I could understand why cities frequently were built by waterways since that was an efficient way of getting traffic of goods and people in and out. The location was something for me to remember, and I added it to the mental map I had already started to build of the geography.
Some markings seemed to indicate ruins fifty or sixty miles north. That was noticeable, especially if I needed to find someplace to hide. I realized after a moment that both the city and the ruins provided a form of concealment, one away from people and the other hidden in a more crowded population.
My attention started to wander as I looked at the map. I realized that I was already bored again, and thought, Time to go to the storeroom for clothes and weapons. The idea of sorting through the items that were mentioned in the book perked me right up, and I felt energized, rather than bored.
Motivated by some unknown urge, I decided to clean up the dishes and utensils I had used and then headed to the exit. I could not tell if that urge was because it was the right thing to do or because I was fastidious by nature.
Opening the door carefully and quietly, I glanced both ways to ensure there was no one in the hallway. It was empty, clean, and quiet. Clean? I’d been bleeding a lot. Exiting my temporary sanctuary and moving as quietly as possible, I looked at the hall side of the door. No blood was on it. There had been no sign or sound of anyone moving around. Another
puzzle. Great.
It was quiet in the hallway, and my footsteps were inaudible as I snuck down the hall away from the room where I had been healed. I moved freely and with confidence. Although there were still a few aches left, the majority of the pain was gone.
Continuing down the hall for about 10 yards, I noticed another door located on the opposite wall. Moving over to it, I touched the entry portal gently, and it slid open smoothly and without noise, just like the door to the healing room had done.
Someone had been a skilled engineer. Whoever made it was careful to construct this passage to minimize noise to prevent the authorities from finding this escape path.
Looking in, I saw crates. There was a slight musty smell as if the room hadn’t seen use in years. There were dozens of boxes, all labeled in eight or nine languages, five of which I could read. How can I comprehend five different languages? And how do I know that I am able to read those languages?
At this point, worrying about how I knew something was not accomplishing anything. Maybe I can figure it out later. There are more immediate issues. Shrugging off my mental dialogue, I moved into the room.
My first impression was that it was huge. Shelves were everywhere, and the aisles and shelves were coated with strange characters. Crates sat on the shelves with open sides exposed for efficient viewing. The storeroom was well organized, and I could see that the far corner held a dressing area with a full-length mirror.
Picking some clothes from the men’s clothing crates, I put on a comfortable outfit, choosing colors that would break up my silhouette when operating in either wilderness or an urban setting. While dressing, I glanced into the mirror at my back. It was a bit startling to see a very elaborate snake tattoo. Another of those things I don’t remember dammit. I’m sure there’s a story there! Now dressed, the temperature seemed much more comfortable.
Next on my agenda was weapons. In short order, a Katana and Wakizashi set were resting comfortably on my hips. A katana was functional against an unarmed foe. Still, if I had to go against anyone armored, I’d need something with more penetrating power, so I added a shortsword, which could be slung over my left shoulder for easy access.
