The memory of the village mela was Elara's most precious jewelry. In her mind, she could still smell the sweet, frying jalebis and the scent of sun warmed dust. She was six years old, her small hand tucked into her father's giant, rough palm. A flute-seller was playing a tune that made the very air feel light, like a kite catching the wind.
It was her favorite memory. It was also worth exactly forty silver coins.
"Are you sure, beti?" the Archivist asked. His voice was like dry husks of grain. He sat behind a glass counter in a shop filled with ticking clocks and glowing jars of blue light. "Once I take it, the fog will come. You won't just forget the music. You will forget the man who led you there. You will forget the taste of the sugar on your tongue."
Elara squeezed the empty cloth purse in her hand. Behind her, in the chemist shop at the corner of the lane, a bottle of blue medicine sat on a shelf. Her mother's cough had become heavy and wet. Without that medicine, she wouldn't last the night.
"I am sure," Elara said, her voice trembling just a little.
"Put your head against the brass plates," the Archivist ordered.
The machine was a monster of gears and humming wires. As Elara leaned forward, the cold metal bit into her skin. She closed her eyes and summoned the mela. She saw the red ribbons in her hair and heard her father's deep, booming laugh—a sound that always made her feel safe.
Hold on, she told herself. One last look at his smile.
The Archivist pulled a heavy lever.
A sharp crack echoed in her skull. For a second, Elara felt a burning heat—and then, a snap. The heat vanished, replaced by a terrifying, hollow cold.
Elara gasped, pulling back. She searched her mind for the mela. She found... nothing. There was only a gray, blurred shape where the joy used to be. She knew she had been somewhere. She knew there had been music. But the feeling of it was gone. It was like looking at a photograph that had been left in the rain until the faces washed away.
"Forty coins," the Archivist muttered, sliding a small bag across the counter.
Elara reached for the money. She felt lighter, but not in a happy way. She felt like a tree that had just had its deepest root cut.