Immortal Memory (Iris' Atlantis 1)

1: Missing Memories

"Yes, well, as you pointed out, I haven't been around much."

That was the end of the conversation. I took my backpack, flung it over my shoulder and went searching for a less offensive spot for enjoying my time on earth.

I found myself a dark library corner bathed in yellowish lamplight. I frowned at the offensively weak light source above my head, sighed and laid down a bag containing a laptop. All window seats were taken. Which was more than understandable.

I settled myself for writing the damnable essay. Opened the lightweight tiny laptop I had and shared the phone's mobile data. For a moment I stared at the phone. I should have gotten a new one. I should get a new one. The screen was badly fractured. It still responded to touch. But parts of it were black. I had to always arrange all application icons to the left side. Or try to guess where exactly they were beneath the darkened dots.

But I had dropped it onto the hard kitchen tiles of the Fair Marquise. On a very specific night.

I hadn't returned to Hellebore's tearoom ever after that. He had my number, and he hadn't sent any messages. Never. I knew I had a debt hanging on my head. And I didn't know what Hellebore would ask. How I would pay.

Maybe I'd buy a new phone once the debt was exhaustively settled.

I wondered if it could be settled. I owed the blind alchemist more than just my life.

I shook myself out of it and concentrated on the dialectal map of Atlantis that lay open on the laptop's unfractured screen. I was in the capital city of Atlantis, called Breasinghae--the place of hills, as we were far enough from the sea and close enough to the mountain range covering most of the inland. Breasinghae was indeed built in a river valley. Spreading onto mountain roots, hills. The Black Mountain being the closest almost-a-mountain, rising 500 meters from the city.

The capital dialect of the Atlantean language was a mess and resembled little the written standard. Most words were said much shortened. Assimilations and dissimilations were frequent and some postpositions were replaced by one sound endings. It was a quick paced dialect, meant to transmit as much information in as few sounds as possible. Breasinghae was no cultural center. The old castles were by the island's western shores. And often even native speakers found themselves gaping helplessly as someone from the capital came to visit them, at a loss as to what to say, since mostly they didn't understand a word.

And a very big reason for the apparent difficulty to understand the language was due to the fact that the north-east parts of Atlantis had for many a century been ruled by a queen of French origin. And nasal sounds had apparently rubbed off.

And I was to write a very short summary of that historical change.

Well, a small summary complete with an index and at least 12 pages. The sources or illustrations didn't count but were appreciated.

Why had I come back to the university again?

"Hey? How are you doing? Like to come to lunch with us?"

I was startled by the familiar voice. And lifted my head.

Opposite me a young woman had laid her hand to the shoulder of another young lady. I hadn't paid any attention to the sitting blonde girl as I had claimed my own seat. And only briefly noted her startlingly blue eyes. Instead, my attention snapped immediately to the darker of the duo. The standing girl had dark wavy hair and features proclaiming her of Latin American origin. She stood straight and had a steady presence. Her name was Valentina. And I had known her when I first came to the university. Before my dark years. We had been of age and studied the same major.