When I awoke, a dull sensation thrummed me to life. My overwhelmed mind was burning in agony; I winced from the pain. Then my body went limp, and as I looked up, I realized that I was not alone.
There was a group of nervous-looking women gathered around me, each holding a large pot of water. They were not Indians - their skin was too pale, their features were much different - but they looked native somehow. Villagers, perhaps.
An uncertain whining in the back of my conscious mind told me to be afraid, but I wasn’t. It felt good to have some sort of company, something aside from the nightmares.
“What is your name?” one of them asked, stepping forward. She looked skeptical, her heavy eyebrows narrowed.
I automatically opened my mouth to speak, but the burning had spread. There was an empty hole in my mind, tearing away at everything in its reach. Panic, shock, fear. The emotions must have been evident on my face, but I couldn’t form the coherent words to tell them.
“Where are you from?” she demanded.
I turned away from her harsh expression to look at the others again. They were all wearing simple dresses with flowery designs, but dirt and grass stains ruined the fabric. A lot of them had long hair, mostly fashioned into intricate braids. An older member of the group had waist-length gray hair, and her teeth were yellowed and crooked.
“Well?” she snapped. “Go on, speak!”
I just shook my head, staring at the pairs of eyes that were staring back at me. Most of them were gawking at my silky ivory gown, and even in its tattered state, the envy was plain on their faces’. Others were eying my bright auburn hair, my tear-streaked face, my expensive jewelry. I untangled the chain from around my neck, fingering the once-gleaming opals that were attached. There was no meaning for the necklace; I could not figure out why it was there.
The older woman stepped back, motioning for the others to gather round. They grouped into a wide circle, setting their water carriers aside and glaring at me with untrusting scowls. I considered running away, but where would I run to? I struggled to for any familiar hints - images, thoughts, memories - and the blank response was only more frightening.
The group’s low whispers became frantic, and several women threw anxious glances in my direction. Were they afraid of me? How odd. I stared at my reflection in a water puddle a few feet away, wondering what on earth made me look intimidating to them when fear was burning through my own veins.
Eventually they separated, only to form another circle around me, this time with a more noticeable berth. A brave younger girl helped me to my feet, then waved me toward one direction. They wanted me to go with them.
I had no choice but to follow. I tripped every so often, my frail body even more clumsy as I stumbled with apprehension. But they always caught me, steadying my falls, even though they released their grip quickly and gave me side-ways looks. I wanted to ask questions, even though I wasn’t certain if I wanted the answers. I wanted to speak, to say something, to protest, to scream. Nothing could be worse than this unbearable silence.
It felt like our hike was lasting for hours, and the endless trees and cloudy skies were too familiar. I forced myself to keep walking, to keep pace with the others. A thorn on the trail sank into my foot; I looked down and realized for the first time that I was not wearing shoes.
The paranoia was increasing with every step. I could hear their soft murmuring ahead of the trail, and the ominous tone frightened me so much that I tried to block the sound. However, the uneasy chatter could not be stifled.
“She is not from here!” someone said angrily. “She is an enemy, come to take over our land! If we let her go, others will surely come, and we will have to fight them off!”
“Shhh!” another hissed. “Not now, we’re too close to town!”
“But how do we know we can trust her?”
“She is so young, what kind of danger could she inflict?"
"Let's gather a council, Elijah will know what to do..."
Rather than concentrating on the meaning of their words, I listened to the fluid accent with which they spoke. I kept my whimpering at a minimum and calmed my breathing to an even rate by pinpointing different origins. Turkish? Scottish? Celtic?
The older woman who walked a mere three feet in front of me suddenly turned and scowled. "What use is she now?" I heard someone hiss. "Why don't we just leave her out here to starve? She would have died anyway..."
The whimpers returned.
Say something!
I commanded myself. Stop being so helpless! You can’t let them do this!
I opened my mouth, forming the words in my mind, but my voice never came. I traipsed along like a puppet. Would death really be such a horrible ending, after all? For all I knew, my life had been miserable. Maybe I would have died soon, anyway. Or maybe my life had been wonderful, but did it really matter, either way? At least I wouldn’t remember this. I should enjoy this, the dull nothingness. Try not to focus on endings.
The forest was rather pretty, after all. Dewy leaves, mossy ground, warm sunlight, tropical-looking flowers, and the occasional fluttering of small animals. But my thumping heart would not relax, and the never-ending trail wove on and on; time passed sluggishly, and my pulsing terror began to fade into a frightened curiosity. Then the group’s footsteps began to slow, and the terror returned.
I could hear more hushed whispers, but I was not the main focus this time. Everyone was glancing at something at the bottom of the valley. I waited and waited, and finally we continued on down the sloping ground. I risked a few paces to the side, standing on my toes to peer ahead, and my eyes widened.
The village was camouflaged behind a group of thick trees, but through a small space in between I could see nearly everything. There was a ring of houses, barely noticeable from its surroundings. People wandered about, harvesting food, carrying crossbows, and leading small children behind them.
I stared in awe, gaping at the dark-skinned people below, forgetting entirely that they could see me, too. And sure enough, as they spotted us at the top of the valley, they also noticed the new arrival. Curious groups of people approached nervously, all of them eying me with uncertainty.
“Who is she?” was the constant question. The women from my group explained what little they knew to the others, and they now glared at me with varying expressions. Some looked at me with fascination, and others simply scowled. I knew what they were thinking - I was a stranger, not to be trusted.
“Elijah!” someone shouted, and I recognized the name from their earlier discussion. “Get Elijah!”
There was a murmur of agreement; moments later, another man stepped forward to examine me with interest. He had heavy black eyebrows and small, beady eyes, yet there was something warm about his complexion that eased my trembling.
"What is your name?" he asked slowly.
I thought carefully for a moment, and when I finally spoke, the unfamiliar sound of my voice made me wince. "I was unconscious. I can't remember...anything."
Elijah's eyes widened for a moment, but the others only gazed at me with more intense levels of curiosity. I waited for my verdict, but he eyed me skeptically for a long moment. "You are safe now," he announced at last, and the villagers protested vehemently. He silenced them with single wave, then turned to me again. "Come."
He began to walk toward the valley, and I hesitated. If I ran now, would they catch me? Or would they let me go?
“It’s alright,” he coaxed soothingly. "You are safe."
My decision was made - I followed.
Elijah said nothing else as we approached the border of their small town, and when we reached an opening between the trees, he held a curtain of ivory aside for me to pass through.
“Thank you,” I said, stumbling awkwardly through the entrance. Elijah reached out to catch me, and his grip was stronger than I’d expected.
“Thank you,” I repeated, my cheeks flushed slightly pink.
He nodded solemnly. “We welcome you to our village. We have not had visitors in quite a while, so I beg you forgive our crude curiosity.” As he spoke, I noticed a small group of people gawking in my direction. I looked away quickly.
“I will hold a council shortly, to discuss your arrival,” Elijah continued. “There are matters to be settled.”
I must have looked uncertain, because he gave me another smile. “It’s all right,” he said, his voice full of meaning. “We’re going to get you back where you belong.”
“But I don’t know where that is,” I said, frowning.
He patted my shoulder once, then turned away to address a nearby villager. “This is Micah,” he introduced, pulling us both aside. “He will accompany you during our council. I apologize for the short notice, but I must be off. I’ll explain everything to you directly afterwards.”
I waited until Elijah was out of sight before I turned to meet my guard - whether he was guarding me from harm, or guarding me from escaping, I wasn’t sure.
Micah's overall appearance did not vary much from the others; he had the same dark skin and dark hair. The only differences were his burly arms, his slightly softer brown eyes, and his kind expression.
“Hello,” he said, nodding once. Before I could reply, I noticed the crossbow he carried at his side, and my heart just about stopped.
“I won’t hurt you,” he promised, following my gaze.
I just nodded. I could not tear my eyes away from the sharp tips of the arrows, though Micah did not look very dangerous.
“Do you need to lie down?” he asked, studying my dazed expression.
“No, thank you,” I managed faintly. Instead I sat on the ground and folded my legs together. The wind rustled my hair, and Micah shifted the crossbow uncomfortably to his other side. I could see that he did not like bearing a weapon, and this thought comforted me, if nothing else.
After a moment of uneasy silence, Micah dropped the weapon altogether and sat beside me on the ground. I avoided his gaze by looking out at the sky, admiring the different shades of pink and orange that decorated the horizon. “It’s beautiful,” I murmured. The sun was barely visible; it balanced at the tip of the valley, glowing with such intensity that it stung my eyes.
“You should see it during the harvest moon,” Micah said, shifting onto his back. “Our village has a festival and stays up all night playing music and feasting. Sometimes travelers hear us, and they spread rumors about ghosts and lost souls.” He snorted.
“Buy why?” I asked. “Why do you hide yourselves out here?”
He frowned. “I’m not sure, myself. Every once and awhile we’ll send out a group to barter for clothes and food, but Elijah says we have to be discreet…he says we’re very different than the English people.”
I thought about this for a moment, relieved to have some sort of distraction. “Why are you different?”
His frown darkened. “I have no idea. We’re very…superstitious. Elijah remembers all sorts of folktales and legends, but I’m not sure I believe them. Most of it sounds mad, to be honest.” He yawned and brushed a mosquito off his arm. “But our family has lived here for ages; nobody likes to wander from the group. Maybe in a couple years I’ll go my own way.”
“Oh.” I thought about this, the idea of Micah setting out by himself. “You’re very young,” I pointed out.
“I’m eighteen, I can take care of myself,” he said defensively. And then, in a much softer tone, “I don’t have any parents. My father left after a while, and my mother died when I was a baby.”
“I’m so sorry,” I whispered.
“Don’t be.” His eyes brightened again. “I’m independent, not like most of these idiots who need Elijah to boss them around all the time.”
“But they’re your family.” Could he sense the note of jealousy in my voice?
Micah just shrugged.
I stared at him from the corner of my eye. His dark features seemed different somehow. Hair the color of ink, and brown eyes the color of chocolate. I remembered my pale skin and auburn hair and wondered if I would ever feel like I belonged - if not here, then at least somewhere. I sighed.
“What do you remember?” Micah asked, pulling me out of my reverie. The sudden break of silence made me jump. “You must remember something.”
I closed my eyes, concentrating. “I remember…emotions.” He was silent. “Panic,” I recited. “Fear. Shock.”
His eyebrows rose. “Shock from what?”
“I don’t know,” I whispered. Micah must have noticed the sense of fear in my expression, because he lapsed back into silence for a while. We sat thoughtfully, me gazing off into space and him examining the border of the valley.
“They’re coming back,” Micah announced. “Look.”
At first, all I could see was the silhouette frame of the darkness. But after looking closely, I could see a stream of people entering the village through various gaps in the trees. Some held up lanterns, which were tiny pinpricks of light from where we sat. The breath in my lungs went cold as I watched them grow nearer, with Elijah waving his way to the front. By the time he’d reached me, my head was ringing; I’d forgotten how to inhale.
“Before you,” he began, addressing the villagers who crowded around him, “stands the symbol of an innocent life.”
Elijah reached out to take my hand in his. “Our ancestors call upon us, offering a gift of majesty. A token of peace. A blessing for the land, a reward for our toil.
“My family, my friends, we must accept this blessing. We must show our gratitude and bestow our best courtesy for this blessing. For with every life that meets an end, it reaches not to the blackest sea, but to the lightest of the heavens.”
He finished his speech with a deep bow, and the applause that followed rang in my ears like a siren. “Elijah,” I said, with involuntary fear in my voice, “What are you saying?”
He smiled. “Until we can return you to your proper resting ground, we will offer you our best hospitality.”
“But how?” I cried, my voice drowning in the crowd. “You don’t understand!”
Elijah just nodded and smiled, gesturing toward a tiny brick house near the center of the village. The villagers milled in that direction, and I had no choice but to follow. When I reached the door, they waved me inside to the bedroom that held a single bed surrounded with wildflowers. Two open windows framed wither side, and the roof was held with tree branches and more ivory.
Abruptly, the door was pulled shut. My mind ached with horror and confusion, but the temptations of the soft bed kept me from crying. Instead, I laid my head against the feather pillow and closed my eyes. The soft glow of the bedside lantern eventually dimmed into the nothingness, and I was left feeling very alone.
The next day, after I woke up, I found that a different group of women were squeezed around my cot. I opened my mouth to scream, but one of them spoke quickly, cutting me off.
“We’re delighted to have you here,” she chirped in delight. Then one of them stepped forward, holding out a wooden bowl of freshly-picked raspberries.
Pretty soon, every single person was holding out a selection of food to pick from: apples, grapes, strawberries, some kind of wheat-looking thing, and even mint leaves and deer meat.
They all bowed, smiling, and I hesitantly scooped a handful of raspberries. The woman holding the raspberry bowl was overwhelmed with happiness, practically fainting in gratitude.
I was nervous, but hungry. “Thank you.” I allowed them a hesitant smile. “This is very nice.”
“It’s no trouble!” a younger girl said, beaming. “We’re happy to serve you!”
I sat up in my bed, and they flocked around to the front of the cot, fussing: “Would you like another blanket?” “Are you still tired?” “Would you like more fruit?” “Are you warm?” “Do you feel ill?”
“No thank you,” I answered, slightly irritated. “But I would like to speak with Elijah, as soon as possible.”
Their smiles were punctured with worry. “Elijah is away right now,” the young girl explained, blushing. “He does not wish to be disturbed.”
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “I need to go home.”
“Don’t worry!” she said, eyes wide. “That’s why Chief is busy. He’s going to help return you to your rightful place.”
“Shhh!” someone hissed, digging their elbow into her side. “Elijah said not to - !”
Then they all began to squabble nervously, and only by waving my arms violently did I regain their attention.
“I’m pretty sure I know the way back,” I lied. “Just let me try to find it, please, just let me go…”
“No, no, no!” they all cried. “Elijah has got to do it!”
“Do what?” I asked, but they ignored my question.
“Listen,” I called, waving my arms, and they fell silent. “I’d like to be alone now, please. Thank you for everything.”
They herded toward the door, and as an after-thought I grabbed the arm of a woman who was stuck in the back of the crowded room. At this, her eyes grew teary as if she had been blessed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Um, I was just wondering if you could help with a favor.”
She nodded eagerly.
“I need to talk to someone. Michael, I think?”
“Michael?” she repeated in confusion. “Do you mean Micah?”
“Yes, that‘s it. I need you to find him, please. I want to talk to him.”
She nodded again, grinning, then fled from the room.
Something about Micah was different than the rest of these chaotic villagers. He was nicer, somehow, but without being so over-enthusiastic that he was a nuisance. Maybe he’d be able to explain what was going on, or at least tell me why everybody was denying me information and acting so flustered in my presence.
I examined the flowers on my bedside while I waited, and when I heard footsteps enter the room, I looked up. Micah stood there, looking uncertain but cheerful. He flashed me a friendly smile; I smiled timidly back.
“Hello,” he greeted me, scanning the room.
“Hello,” I echoed, and his smile deepened.
“Is everything alright?” he asked. “Do you need anything?” I felt slightly abashed at the assumption, but I tried not to let it show.
“No,” I said, hesitating. “I just wanted company.”
He chuckled, then crossed the room to sit at the edge of my cot. “You know, you haven’t introduced yourself yet.”
“Oh.” I avoided his gaze, stalling for time as I wracked my memory for clues.
Elizabeth? Isabelle? Abigail?
“I don’t remember,” I confessed at last.
He didn’t seem at all bothered by this; rather, he looked amused. “Should I make one for you?” he suggested.
“I suppose,” I said indifferently. I tried to put more volume in my voice - and grimaced. The sound of it was so unfamiliar.
“Hmm.” He eyed me thoughtfully, scrutinizing my appearance. “Rosalie?”
I considered it, but before I could make my decision he was shaking his head. “No, no, that’s not right. Autumn, maybe?”
I made a face, and he shrugged apologetically.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at thinking up names.”
Micah got to his feet, nearly crushing a display of petunias on the ground. Carefully, he stepped out of the way and eyed them with a sudden spark of interest. I rolled onto my stomach and craned my neck for a better look.
“They’re pretty,” I said shyly. “What are they called?”
“This is a chrysanthemum,” he said, gesturing to a bright yellow flower. “This is a morning glory, this is a rose…and this is an azalea.”
He leaned over, snapping the stem off a pink-purple flower. It looked pretty, sort of tropical-looking. Then he tucked it behind my ear, and stood back to admire its effect.
“Azalea,” I repeated softly, brushing my hair out of the way. It was a pretty name, too.
He let the idea sink in, then scrutinized my appearance before he spoke. “It suits you.”
I grinned shyly; a slight blush shaded my cheeks. Micah was just so likeable, so easy to talk to. Not that I did much talking on my part.
Micah smiled again, but threw an anxious glance toward the doorway. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” he asked.
I looked up at him, with the bright azalea petals in the far corner of my eye. His smile was so genuine, with dimples in the corners, and his dark skin was slightly flushed. I had to look away.
“No, thank you,” I said softly.
“Then I should probably get going…Elijah needs me,” he mumbled sheepishly, avoiding my eyes. “It’s been nice seeing you again.”
“Bye, Micah,” I sighed.
“We’ll meet again soon,” he promised, his expression suddenly grave. He turned out the doorway, ducking his head under the low ceiling, and for some reason my stomach clenched uneasily as I watched him leave.
Micah was a very nice boy, of course, but there was something strange about this place, and I knew I wouldn’t rest properly until I found my way back home.
Wherever that was.
The next day, after I woke up, I found that a different group of women were huddled around me. I opened my mouth to scream, but one of them spoke quickly, cutting me off.
“We’re delighted to have you here,” she chirped in delight. Then one of them stepped forward, holding out a wooden bowl of freshly-picked raspberries.
Pretty soon, every single person was holding out a selection of food to pick from: apples, grapes, strawberries, raspberries, and a clay pitcher filled with water.
They all bowed, smiling, and I hesitantly scooped a handful of raspberries. The woman holding the raspberry bowl was overwhelmed with happiness, practically fainting in gratitude.
I was nervous, but hungry. “Thank you.” I allowed them a hesitant smile. “This is very nice.”
“It’s no trouble!” a younger girl said, beaming. “We’re happy to serve you!”
I sat up in my bed, and they flocked around to the front of the cot, fussing: “Would you like another blanket?” “Are you still tired?” “Would you like more fruit?” “Are you warm?” “Do you feel ill?”
“No thank you,” I answered, slightly irritated. “I’m really very comfortable at the moment. However, I would like to speak to whoever is in charge.”
Their smiles were punctured with worry. “Elijah is away right now,” the young girl explained, blushing. “He does not wish to be disturbed.”
I sighed, rubbing my eyes. “I need to go home.”
“Don’t worry!” she said, eyes wide. “That’s why he is busy. He’s going to help return you to your rightful place.”
“Shhh!” someone hissed, digging their elbow into her side. "Elijah said not to - !”
Then they all began to squabble nervously, and only by waving my arms violently did I regain their attention.
“I’m pretty sure I know the way back,” I lied. “Just let me try to find it, please, just let me go…”
“No, no, no!” they all cried. “Elijah has got to do it!”
“Do what?” I asked, but they ignored my question.
“Listen,” I called, waving my arms, and they fell silent. “I’d like to be alone now, please. Thank you for everything.”
They herded toward the door, and as an after-thought I grabbed the arm of a woman who was stuck in the back of the crowded room. At this, her eyes grew teary as if she had been blessed.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and I raised an eyebrow.
“Um, I was just wondering if you could help with a favor?”
She nodded eagerly.
“I need to talk to someone. Michael, I think?”
“Michael?” she repeated in confusion. “Do you mean Micah?”
“Yes, that‘s it. I need you to find him, please. I want to talk to him.”
She nodded again, grinning, then fled from the room.
Something about Micah was different than the rest of these chaotic villagers. He was nicer, somehow, but without being so over-enthusiastic that he was a nuisance. Maybe he’d be able to explain what was going on, or at least tell me why everybody was denying me information and acting so flustered in my presence.
I examined the flowers on my bedside while I waited, and when I heard footsteps enter the room, I looked up. Micah stood there, looking uncertain but cheerful. He flashed me a friendly smile; I smiled timidly back.
“Hello,” he greeted me, scanning the room.
“Hello,” I echoed, and his smile deepened.
“Is everything alright?” he asked. “Do you need anything?” I felt slightly abashed at the assumption, but I tried not to let it show.
“No,” I said, hesitating. “I just wanted company.”
He chuckled, then crossed the room to sit at the edge of my cot. “You know, you haven’t introduced yourself yet.”
“Oh.” I avoided his gaze, stalling for time as I wracked my memory for clues.
Elizabeth? Isabelle? Abigail?
“I don’t remember,” I confessed at last.
He didn’t seem at all bothered by this; rather, he looked amused. “Should I make one for you?” he suggested.
“I suppose,” I said indifferently. I tried to put more volume in my voice - and grimaced. The sound of it was so unfamiliar.
“Hmm.” He eyed me thoughtfully, scrutinizing my appearance. “Rosalie?”
I considered it, but before I could make my decision he was shaking his head. “No, no, that’s not right. Autumn, maybe?”
I made a face, and he shrugged apologetically.
“Sorry, I’m not very good at thinking up names.”
Micah got to his feet, nearly crushing a display of petunias on the ground. Carefully, he stepped out of the way and eyed them with a sudden spark of interest. I rolled onto my stomach and craned my neck for a better look.
“They’re pretty,” I said shyly. “What are they called?”
“This is a chrysanthemum,” he said, gesturing to a bright yellow flower. “This is a morning glory, this is a rose…and this is an azalea.”
He leaned over, snapping the stem off a pink-purple flower. It looked pretty, sort of tropical-looking. Then he tucked it behind my ear, and stood back to admire its effect.
“Azalea,” I repeated softly, brushing my hair out of the way. It was a pretty name, too.
He let the idea sink in, then scrutinized my appearance before he spoke. “It suits you.”
I grinned shyly; a slight blush shaded my cheeks. Micah was just so likeable, so easy to talk to. Not that I did much talking on my part.
Micah smiled again, but threw an anxious glance toward the doorway. “Are you sure there’s nothing I can do for you?” he asked.
I looked up at him, with the bright azalea petals in the far corner of my eye. His smile was so genuine, with dimples in the corners, and his dark skin was slightly flushed. I had to look away.
“No, thank you,” I said softly.
“Then I should probably get going…Elijah needs me,” he mumbled sheepishly, avoiding my eyes. “It’s been nice seeing you again.”
“Bye, Micah,” I sighed.
“We’ll meet again soon,” he promised, his expression suddenly grave. He turned out the doorway, ducking his head under the low ceiling, and for some reason my stomach clenched uneasily as I watched him leave.
Micah was a very nice boy, of course, but there was something strange about this place, and I knew I wouldn’t rest properly until I found my way back home.
Wherever that was.
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