What Was Forgotten by Tim Mathias

service to the church, Nestor spent much of his time – as much as he could – reading any old book he could, scribbling notes to himself as he went. He had been a historian in his younger years, and the habits he had formed in that time were still with him. In reality, he had never stopped doing their work, always looking for inconsistencies within the volumes of the annals in need of correction. Osmun hoped that Nestor could impart something useful, even if unintentionally. In his old age, Nestor loved to recount stories from his youth at any opportunity, so much so that it seemed to Osmun that it was just so he could prove to himself that he still remembered. Even so, Osmun knew he would need to navigate these waters carefully.
    Nestor was, predictably, at a table, hunched over a stack of parchment. A quill in his right hand scribbled words on a separate sheet, almost on its own. The curator’s attention was undisturbed until Osmun cleared his throat. He looked up from the stack of parchment, his eyes nearly bloodshot from hours of reading. He squinted at Osmun and brushed his white, wispy hair from his eyes.
    “Brother Osmun.” Nestor gave him a quick smile before turning back to his book. “Is there something I can help you find?” His face was mere inches from the page.
    “There is something, though I doubt it will be in one of the books.”
    “Ah, something important, by the tone of your voice.”
    “Perhaps, though to be honest, I’m not sure. Perhaps, perhaps not.”
    Nestor put down the quill, shook the stiffness from his hand and rubbed his eyes before turning in his chair to face Osmun. The priest continued: “It’s something of an afterthought, I’m afraid, from a few months ago when I was in Ellsland .”
    Nestor nodded. “Yes, yes, lots of work to do there, I hear. I never went there myself, but I remember when they became part of the Empire. That was… how long… twenty years ago? I remember hearing from priests and clerics about the rifts there. Numerous and frequent. And we’re still sending priests there? Very unusual that we would need to after all this time, wouldn’t you say?”
    “It is a troubled land.” Osmun nodded in agreement.
    Nestor chuckled. “Troubled. Yes, that’s one way, a very kind way of saying it. Some say cursed. But no difference to the church, I suppose. If there’s work to be done, we’ll do our duty, won’t we?” Nestor reached for a cup on his table and eyed it disappointedly. “Would you be good enough to fetch me green tea from the store room? I’m all out and when I go myself I usually end up getting the wrong leaves.”
    “Of course,” Osmun said. Nestor was not shy or embarrassed to tell others of his colour blindness.
    “Wonderful,” he said. “We’ll call it a trade, then. So, what questions bring you to me?”
    “It was from a few months ago, so please forgive me if I can’t recall everything with perfect clarity.” Osmun scratched his head as if he had trouble remembering. “Have you heard of any instance… or, perhaps you may have heard one of the historians mention something… of a spirit that acted as though it was… aware? ”
    Nestor pushed himself up from the chair. His limbs were as wispy as the hair on his head, and he leaned on Osmun as he stood. “Well, every spirit is aware, Brother Osmun, as you know. Only dimly aware of the living world, and therefore, likely dimly aware of us in it. But you know this, of course.”
    “Of course,” Osmun agreed.
    “So you must mean something different altogether.”
    “It was not a vague awareness, Brother Nestor. It was very acute. Very specific. It had… deliberate focus.”
    Nestor squinted at the young priest. “Is this something one of the other priests in Ellsland told you?” Nestor paused. “Or did you experience this yourself?” Osmun was hoping he would not need to answer this question, and his hesitation must have been obvious.Nestor nodded. “I see. What else