Page 2 of Hell-Bound (Pacts of the Infernal #1)

Renata sat on the docks, gazing at her arm. An ugly scar, about five inches long, marred the skin there. It was discolored, a pink harshness against her pale skin, but to her, it was beautiful. The scar meant that she had lived a life. That she’d had experiences that had changed her—not that she could remember any of them.

During her six weeks on the merchant ship, she’d spent hours imagining how she’d gotten the scar. Had she fallen as a child? Did she get accosted by two ruffians in a back alley? Perhaps she had dropped a knife while making dinner for her lover, Nephele, a person she had also forgotten.

The nightmare began several months ago in the small town of Vergessen.

She had awoken to a stranger lying half-naked in the bed beside her.

Renata recalled her horror and screams for help as the male Elf, who she now knew as Nephele, tried to explain that he was her partner, that they lived together, and that they were in love.

True, he wasn’t entirely unfamiliar—with his long dark hair, blue eyes, and pointed ears—yet she could not place them. The space where those memories should have been was blank. He was like a character she might have seen in a play.

It didn’t take long to figure out that something was terribly wrong. Renata had forgotten her life. But not quite everything. She could still remember faces and names, yet there was no meaning behind them—no memory attached. She could still remember how to do daily rituals. Her fingers immediately knew the proper rhythms when she pulled at the strands of her hair to plait it—she didn’t need to think about tying her boots. It just happened as if her habits had been burned into her body rather than her mind.

She recognized her mother, Clara, by sight but not by recollection—no memories to prompt any emotional connection—nothing to tie her to this wizened Elven female with a kind face. While it felt right to call her Mother, there was nothing else. The same was true for her father, Atlas. Yet Renata was undeniably theirs—with her mother’s silver hair and her father’s dark Human eyes.

She visited her parents one last time before she left Vergessen. She sat at the small kitchen table, dissociating as she watched the steam rise from her tea cup. Her mother was crying, and her father, much like her, refused to say much.

“You still can’t remember…anything?”

her mom said again.

Renata finally looked up, forcing herself to meet the lovely female’s eyes.

“I…no. I mean—not really. I know who you are. I remember people, I somehow recognize them—but none of our…interactions. If that makes sense?”

“No, Renata…it…it doesn’t!”

Clara stammered, anguish in her wet eyes.

Atlas just shook his head wordlessly. His eyes were creased on both sides, looking much older than his wife’s.

The older woman reached across the table to hold Renata’s hands. As skin touched skin, Renata’s first instinct was to pull her hand back, not yet used to physical contact. But they felt warm, comforting even.

She held her mother’s gaze.

“You can fix it. Say you can fix it.”

Renata’s jaw worked.

“Mother. I don’t know what this is. I…don’t know what happened.”

She felt, in that moment, that she should be sadder. That she should be heartbroken, like these two. That she should feel something for them besides pity. A flicker of affectionate feeling. But she was blank. She knew they had been close, or that’s what they’d told her. Stories of her chasing bees 30-something years ago and playing a small piccolo in the garden to the plants so they would grow faster.

Clara continued to desperately share these moments to trigger some sort of recognition rather than the ever-present frustration.

“And Nephele? Have you seen Nephele?”

she asked, sniffling.

“Not yet.”

The weeks that followed were a cacophony of tortuous interactions. Everyone was so upset that she couldn’t remember.

“But surely, me? We see each other every fortnight!”

“Don’t you remember? I’ve known you since we were youngsters.”

“Be serious, Renata. You order the same thing every week!”

And Nephele, most of all.

The last time she had seen him was at a quiet tavern near dusk. She had avoided the encounter, but as she was leaving in the morning, she couldn’t put it off any longer.

Nephele’s eyes were bloodshot shadowed with tiny purple curves underneath.

Renata sat silently, as she’d learned to do in many circumstances lately.

“Renata…”

he started, breathing out a shaky breath.

“I heard you’re taking the ship out tomorrow. To…Ataria?”

She nodded slowly.

“Yeah…I got a letter,”

she said, scratching her arm nervously.

“The sender said that I would find answers there. So you don’t have to worry,”

she said, plastering a smile on her face.

“I’m sure I’ll be back to normal in no time…”

Her words trailed off, hanging in the air awkwardly.

Nephele’s eyes began to glisten, but before tears could fall, he wiped them away on his sleeve.

Renata’s heart clenched.

She wished she could give this male what he wanted. From what Clara and Atlas had said, he was genuine and kind.

Nephele cleared his throat, trying to steel himself.

“I don’t think leaving is the answer—”

“But I don’t even—”

“Please, Renata, let me finish,”

he said solemnly, lips trembling.

“I think leaving is a mistake. What if you forget how to get home?”

He looked at the table hopelessly.

“But…I love you, so I…respect your right to choose this path yourself.”

Renata clenched her fists, frustrated. How was she even supposed to respond to that—to defend her decision? Did he not understand that she was scared, too? That the only thing that felt more terrifying than leaving was staying here? But she pushed down her aggravation—he was hurting, and if nothing else, she could understand that.

“You will always be the woman I love,”

he continued sadly.

“The woman that showed me what it meant to be alive. The woman who challenged me to be a better man and inspired me to help others, no matter the cost.”

Renata blushed, feeling undeserving of such an endorsement.

“It is because of how true I know our love is—was—that I know I have to let you go. If this is what you chose, perhaps you should live that life.”

He let out a small sob.

“But, selfishly, I can’t give up—don’t think I can move on knowing that you might return to me one day…”

Renata finally found her voice.

“Did I not…mention anything before? Did I not explain?”

she asked desperately, knowing the answer before it came.

He shook his head mournfully.

“I wish you would have. Perhaps then we both wouldn’t feel so lost.”

Renata came back to herself as a small wave splashed upon the docks. It was some kind of cruelty that the only memories she had now were of confusion and hurt faces. Of conversations that led to tears—tears she couldn’t understand. So when Leonardo’s letter summoned her to Ataria, she leaped at the chance to change her fate.

The letter explained that news of her mysterious affliction had reached the shores of Ataria and that, if she was interested, he could book her on a merchant vessel to arrive in six weeks to discuss her affliction.

Renata had no desire to question the letter’s authenticity. If it was something false, it was still better than staying in that depressing little town with the pitying faces bearing down on her.

The journey itself was relatively uneventful. She found that she wasn’t prone to sea-related illnesses and enjoyed the water spray and how her skin stung mildly from the salt that constantly coated it.

But the best part was the freedom—freedom from the expectations and the sadness. No one on the vessel knew her. She could be anyone and didn’t have to answer impossible questions or be affronted with tales of the past that made very little sense to her.

She wasn’t angry at the people in Vergessen. Most were trying to be helpful. But it was incredibly irritating to be told who you were.

“But you used to love oysters! How could you not like them now? No, no…you’re mistaken. Renata loves oysters!”

On the sea, she could breathe. She could rock gently side to side with the waves and listen to them crash against the vessel’s side. If she ever found herself melancholic, she would retrieve a small piccolo from a satchel, the only real item of note she had brought, and play a gentle tune.

She had shocked herself back in Vergessen when she lifted the piccolo to her lips and immediately began playing. She almost cried with relief and joy as the notes twisted through the air. It felt almost miraculous that her ear recognized different notes. Memories of people were lost to the mysteries of her mind, but when it came to music, to the melodious sounds that made her blood quicken and her heart beat a little faster, she would never forget. Perhaps it was too much a part of her—something that made up so much of not only who but what she was—that it couldn’t be torn from her mind.

She also made a friend on the ocean journey, a young urchin named Benji.

He wasn’t on his way to Ataria. Instead, he explained.

“I’ve been workin’ on this ship for years! Best home a man could ask for!”

Benji wasn’t, in fact, a man. He was Human, but he barely reached Renata’s shoulders and still had the round cheeks of a lad. They formed a fast friendship as Benji loved to tell stories of his adventures on the Sea Walker, their vessel. Renata was always fascinated by his tales.

He would regale her with stories of different ports, foods from all over the world, and times when they’d almost wrecked and surely would have died if not for his heroics.

In only his few years, Benji had lived such a spectacular life that she couldn’t help but feel jealous of all the adventures he could share. Renata was woefully unable to reciprocate.

But the friendship wasn’t one-sided. If there was anything Benji liked more than spinning tales, it was money.

One night, he snuck into the guest quarters and pushed Renata’s hammock, jolting her awake.

“Heya, Ren! Follow me! I have an idea.”

Renata, bleary-eyed, slunk out of her hammock and followed him up on deck. It was pitch black, save for the glow of three lanterns. The night sky was absolutely breathtaking—glittering like millions of gems and somehow wholly different from those in Vergessen, which looked dull in comparison.

“Hey! Ren! Did you hear what I said?”

“Ah. Sorry, Benji. No.”

Benji gave an irritated sigh.

“I said I found a way to get some money. See, I’ve been watching you. You’re like a dang cat when you move—you barely make noise! Probably because you’re so small,”

he said thoughtfully.

Renata knew better than to mention their height disparity.

“So, the way I see it, we can both get good if you just sneak into a couple of chambers and snatch some coins. Maybe from old Simon?”

Renata couldn’t really remember much about the cultural connotations of money. But she did know that stealing was frowned upon.

“Benji, I don’t think we should be taking money. What if they kick us off the ship?”

she whispered.

Benji waved her off.

“No way. Besides, Simon takes money, too! Remember when he was playing cards with Sean? Sean called him a lying thief!”

She supposed that was true. That did happen.

“It’s all about strategy. Whoever has the best skill, like in cards, gets the most money!”

Renata had no argument for this.

In the end, they both made off with a stash of gold pieces each, stolen from pockets, socks, and deserted cabins.

Benji was right, though. No one even noticed Renata as she slipped her hand silently into their trousers. Her favorite find was a small mirror that Jon Jon had left in his hat.

Renata had no particular plans for her spoils, but Benji told her that she would find something in no time and that he was going to buy the best cakes in Ataria.

One night, as they lay together on the deck, Benji became wistful.

“Say, Ren, what’d you buy if you had all the money on The Mortal Plane?”

She immediately knew what she should say. My memories!

But she hesitated. Renata felt she had to at least find out the reason for her affliction. Perhaps it was just some illness that she had unwittingly contracted one day. The medical magicians in a city as big as Ataria would surely have the cure.

Remembering her time with Benji on Sea Walker gave her courage. It meant that no matter the answer to her affliction, she was at least still capable of making memories. Perhaps one day she would share the stories of Benji with another—keep them alive for him so they would never be forgotten.

Then, in her small moment contemplating her own menial memories, she stood purposefully, dusted off her pants, and made her way to The White Whisper.