Anamnesis

By Kristie Baldridge- Hatch

Imagine a world where your greatest dreams come true, just by reading about them. Now imagine if it was a monster from your worst nightmares!

• Language: English
• Publisher: Amazon Pro Hub
• Release date: Mar 2, 2023
• ISBN: 9781960147738

Book preview

Anamnesis

Kristie Baldridge-Hatch

Copyright © 2022 Kristie Baldridge-Hatch

All Rights Reserved

Table of Contents

Dedication

About The Author

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Epilogue

Dedication

I dedicate this book to the 3 loves of my life Jacob, Bailey Marie and Brenden.  Thank you for being there for me so that I remember to NEVER give up. You are my heroes.

To Mom, Dad, Carol, and Brian… Thank you for the awesome genes and life.

I would also like to thank my friends and family who told me to go for it (or had put up with me while I was writing) … You always believed in me and supported my dream of becoming an author.

Robert, thank you for being such a patient and an amazing husband.

Hey, look, Ma, I made it!

About The Author

I grew up an only child on a farm in the Midwest. My parents indulged my love of reading and insatiable desire for knowledge by taking me regularly to the library.

During school, I was the kid reading during recess and getting in trouble for out of class books during math. I don’t know where my wild imagination originated, but I feed it fuel every day by creating the most exotic worlds I can.

I currently live in Georgia with my husband, our adult kids, and a myriad of family pets on our small farm.

Part I

Chapter 1

Thoromor sat in his favorite chair in the parlor by the front window with the blinds half drawn. The light filtered through the slats, creating a pattern on the antique book that sat on his lap. He looked up and blinked his black eyes to rid them of the dryness caused by the endless hours of reading. He sighed and slumped back into his softly padded black chair. After thoroughly rubbing his eyes, his sight drifted through the shades and out the window to the front garden. The flowers and weeds were shining in the early afternoon sun. His garden needs tending.  It always needed tending. He knew it, but the thought of working out in the sun didn't appeal much to him at the moment. It never did. The sun was far too hot and too bright for him during most of the day. He much preferred the cool, darker interior of his home, the library, or better still, the demi-cave of archives that he was allowed to visit only once a year.  For a humanoid, let alone a Darknor, he was as close to nocturnal as possible without actually being nocturnal.

A slight movement caught his attention. He sat forward in his chair to better see what it was.  A dragonfly fluttered over his garden and landed on the low, handmade stone fence. Just then, a full head of curly, white hair and pale yellow ribbons appeared beyond the fence marking the edge of his yard.  Reâdre was out today.  She stood up in her perfectly manicured garden and wiped her brow with the back of her delicately gloved hand before bending to pick up a basket of vegetables.  She smiled and whispered to the flowers and plants. Her wings made a ringing sound as they fluttered while she spoke.  She looked up to the sunflowers and said one last thing to the delicate flora with a smile before turning and heading up the stone path to the front door of her bungalow.  She was as radiant as ever in the pale yellow dress and matching hair ribbons.  The colors accented her tones beautifully. Her skin sparkled, and her wings emitted a prism as the sun passed through the delicate membranes. She walked with a gentle grace and practically glided up the stairs to her home.

Thoromor sighed at the sight of her. She was so beautiful. He had loved her from afar for nearly three years now, since the day that she arrived. How he longed to tell her, but he couldn't. After all, he was a Darknor, a Reader, and she was a Fairy, a Grower. Yes, he was highly regarded for his talents, one of few who could read any language basically at first sight, but she was a Fairy, a much higher cast of the residents in Theôdale. To tell her would be improper, a scandal. To act on it would be unthinkable. To actually follow through with any type of relationship was unprecedented. He was much too shy to take that sort of risk. Darknors were sensible and predictable, not impetuous and daring.

Someday, Thoromor said to her through the closed windows as he watched her enter through the purple door of her well-kept yet small house, I will be worthy and will win the honor of your word. 

As he sat and daydreamed of his unrequited love, a force was at work; unknown, sinister, deadly, dark, and primeval.  This force would make the idea of future life in the city of Theôdale questionable. This was going to both alter and end the lives of many, both in the here and now as well as for generations to come. Fate had a plan for him. Something exigent, magical, mystical, and so influential that the races of Fairies, Troglodytes, Magpies, Darknors and all the others of Theôdale would be honored to have his word. He would make history. He would be history. He would make a difference.

This was beyond him at the moment. He was only aware of the here and now. Being behind on his reading, even though he had nearly finished the entire Exlatain Library Archives, he had not found the spell. There were only seven books to go. A small task in its own right, but for some unknown reason, his reading was slow today. 

Shaking his head at the fleeting thought of Reâdre and a future with her, even if he did act it, would look ridiculous. Can you imagine – A Fairy and a Darknor?  They would be the essence of day and night personified. Her glowing light skin, long white curly hair, crystal-purple eyes, and proportionally shaped body in stark contrast to his dark skin, black hair, and solid black eyes, along with his long, lanky body that was nearly two heads taller than she. Wouldn't they be a pair?  They had spoken on occasion over the past three years as neighbors do, but because of his feelings for her, speaking to her made him uneasy, avoiding it whenever possible.

His concentration continued to wane. Mind wandering, looking down at his hands, something seemed different. He carefully inspected each finger, each nail, the palms, the backs, his wrists, and nothing looked different.  Then realizing it wasn’t his hands that were different. It was his concentration. He needed to get himself out of this distracted state. Maybe some tea? This was a good idea.  He got up and carefully laid the ancient manuscript on his chair before proceeding to the cookery.

Even the task of making tea seemed to be too much. He managed to light the stove, place the kettle on it, and get out a tea cup and the tea, but soon his concentration left, and he was staring out the window at a couple of birds playing and splashing in a nearby puddle. The kettle’s whistle was at a feverish pitch before he regained his bearings and quickly pulled it from the black and silver cast-iron stove.  Thoromor shook his head in hopes of dispelling the cobwebs encroaching on his mind.  What was wrong with him today?  The last piece of hucklenut cake in the server might raise his spirits. Sitting at the cookery table, his concentration was shifted out the window again, this time at the trees gently swaying in the breeze. Before it was drunk, the tea was cold. 

Where is my head? His concentration was not on the book, nor was it on the fair Reâdre. It wasn’t anywhere in particular. It just wasn’t where it was supposed to be.  Normally, his concentration bordered on the impossible to break; reading for hours, days even without a thought for anything else.  This was unlike him.  It was unnerving, to say the least.

Not knowing what else to do to get out of this mood, he decided to go for a walk. Go to where my head is wandering, go outside, and get some fresh air.  The late afternoon sun was starting to turn to early evening, and the shadows were beginning to lengthen.  He hadn’t read anything since early afternoon. That wasn’t good.  Regardless, reading was going to be useless unless he could concentrate, so he headed toward his front door and some fresh air. Despite the fact that the daylight would soon be but a memory, he brought his cloak for protection from the sun and its heat. Darknors did not like to be out in the direct sun.

Thanks to long, lanky, muscular legs and longer strides, he quickly walked the short distance to the Town Square.  It was practically empty at this time of day.  Most of the other residents were at home preparing or enjoying their evening meal. He strode past the food shops and enjoyed the delicious aromas as the sounds of some of the residents enjoying the merriment of the local tavern drifted out the open door. He continued on and passed the now deserted playground and schoolyard, where he first learned of his talent for reading. A few buildings away stood the library.  The library was a magical place to him, his favorite place. Not only was this the place of his employment, but it was his passion.  He loved his position of Reader and the reading quests that he was assigned by the Council of Five for the Land of Eloptia. He longed to go visit, but he knew that Ummer and Betallia would be at their respective homes and not be here waiting to share his finds of the day, of which he had none.

The walk wasn’t helping; his mind was still not focusing. It was wandering from one thing to another as his surroundings changed. He decided to head home so that maybe some reading could be done before retiring for the night.

As usual, it didn’t take long at all to get home; at least, it didn’t seem like it. He came in his front door with the creaking hinges and hung his cloak on the farthest wooden hook from the door in the hallway.  It was good to be back home. It smelled and felt like his. He looked around at the familiar things with a sigh. An outing was always enjoyable, but there was no greater feeling than coming home. Although his home was sparsely furnished with dark wooden furniture and standard Darknor gray walls, it was masculine yet homey. Not as dark as one might imagine. It was well-lit because there were windows, lights, and lamps placed everywhere. The stacks of books and those on the shelves helped to create a small-scale version of the library of which he was so fond. His home was designed for a single purpose, to make his career of reading as comfortable as possible.

It was early in the evening, and his concentration problem was still there. Sitting in his chair, and although it was nowhere near dark yet, he turned on the reading lamps. Even with the light directed on the book that lay in his lap, he found himself staring at his reflection in the window. As with the earlier episode, with his hands, he examined his reflection. He looked at the short-cropped, spiky, black hair, combed straight back from his forehead; he looked deep into the reflection of his black eyes and saw only his eyes looking back. There was his noble nose, prominent cheekbones, and full lips that looked normal, as did his strong chin. He decided that he was handsome for a Darknor, although no one had ever called him that.  Nothing was different, yet something wasn’t right. With a shake of his head, he looked down at the book to the page marked by the red ribbon. He stared at the pages but could not recall the exact spot where he had stopped.  The red ribbon made him think of Reâdre, as this was her ribbon.  She had dropped it last month outside his gate on a trip to the town, and rather than return it, Thoromor kept it so that he might have a little piece of her with him as he read. 

Why was his mind wandering today? He shook his head and looked down at the book, and avoided looking at the ribbon. What had he been reading about? There was no memory at all.  He decided to flip back a few pages and start over.  Again, this didn’t help.  Closing the book and shutting his eyes, it was time for a short nap.  Slumbering lightly for a short time in his chair, as on many occasions, he woke feeling refreshed.  His mind was starting to focus again.

Thoromor opened the book and started reading.  Nothing made sense. He understood the words, but the meanings were