A Little Apology...

I thought I would actually have time for regular posting once the summer started... Haha, I've been pretty busy with my new job. When I do have time, I have no desire to write because my job is actually writing kids curriculum (and teaching it) for my home church. Anyway, I would just like to apologize for not writing and finishing so many stories I had planned for this blog. I probably won't have time to regularly keep this blog up in the future either. There just comes a time in a person's life when other things demand your attention, and I know many of us have hit the same crossroads. Don't misunderstand me. This isn't goodbye. It's just an "I'll see you later" - when time and circumstance allow.

Until then...

Have a wonderful summer! Use it for the glory of Jesus Christ!

Blessings,

Grace

The Story Eater

I finally wrote a story that I am able to post on here! This story is unique for two reasons. 

1. It's short! No posting "Part 1", "Part 2". etc.

2. It's a children's story. For those of you who just started following this blog: I don't write children's stories. That is my sister's forte.

So without further delay I present to you:

The Story Eater

Once upon a time there was an old woman who was known in her village for telling stories. One night just as she was getting ready for bed when she heard a knock on her door.

“Spinner Emily.” The village parents begged. “Tell us a story so that we can go home and tell our children. None of us can remember a single tale and our babies can't sleep without them!”

Spinner Emily invited everyone into her small house and sat down in her rocking chair. She began rocking back and forth. Her face looked sad and she chewed on her bottom lip.

“Folks,” she finally said. “Something must have happened to the scrolls up in story cave. I can't remember any tales either."

Everyone began to talk and gasp among themselves. What could have happened to all of the stories? And who would go up there on such a dark night to check on them?

“I will go.” Spinner Emily offered. “I will go see what has happened to them. After all, they belonged to me before they belonged to the rest of the village.”

Many of the men felt bad inside but not one offered to go with her. Who knew what could be up on the mountain or even in the story cave? It was too dark to see and they were all afraid.

Spinner Emily wrapped a warm blanket around her shoulders, took a stick to help her climb the mountain, and set off.

It was a long journey and there was only a small sliver of moon to help her see. Spinner Emily tripped many times but finally she came near the story cave.

A deep groan floated down to her ears. And then a moan and a loud wail.

“Oh my,” Spinner Emily thought. “Someone is in trouble. But their voice is so big! They must be very big too. Surely,” her heart began to beat harder. “Surely it is not a giant!”

Giant or not the brave lady trudged forward. Peeping carefully into the cave she saw nothing but darkness. Then there was a flash of fire and a deafening howl.

“A dragon!” Spinner Emily gasped in surprise and nearly left then and there. But the dragon seemed in pain and his wails made her think of the village children all waiting for their story before they could go to sleep.

(As I have said before, I don't consider myself an artist. Mostly because drawing does not come easily for me. This dragon gave me fits!)

So, gathering her courage she walked right into the cave. “Mister Dragon.” She yelled hoping to make her voice sound large. “What is the matter?”

“It's too much!” groaned the dragon. “There are too many!”

“Too many what?” Spinner Emily shouted and stepped further into the cave.

“The stories! There are too many!” The dragon whined.

“Our stories!”Spinner Emily whispered to herself. “He ate our stories!”

“Yes!” The dragon answered. (Spinner Emily had forgotten how very good hearing dragons have.) “I ate the scrolls. But I wish I hadn't! They tumble all over my head and won't let me sleep!”

“Oh Mister Dragon!” Spinner Emily said. “Dragon's don't do well with stories didn't you know that?”

“I do now!” the dragon moaned and threw himself down on the floor.

“You must get them back out!” Spinner Emily was beginning to feel sorry for the huge fellow.

“How?” snarled the dragon. “They burn as I swallow them. They would be nothing but ashes in my stomach. I can't just cough them up.”

“I don't know. Let me think about it for a little while.” Spinner Emily said and sat down in the mouth of the cave.

So they sat, and they sat. And poor Spinner Emily could hardly think of a way to help the dragon because she was feeling badly for all the village children he couldn't go to sleep. Finally dawn came and then sun shown brightly in the cave lighting up the dragon's purple scales. Spinner Emily saw something then that gave her an idea.

“Oh Mister Dragon.” She said. The dragon looked her with his big yellow eyes and she felt her stomach flip flop. He could eat her in two bites. “I have an idea. Your powerful claws scratch very well into this rock. If you sat here in the cave and carved all of the stories into the walls, they would be out of your head and you would feel much better!”

The dragon laid a claw in his stomach and rolled onto his back for a few minutes. “Yes!” He finally said. “I think I will try it.”

So he began scratching and scraping and Spinner Emily watched closely as the stories were written on the walls. As each letter and word were written she remembered more and soon began to get quite excited. Finally the dragon finished and with a big sigh he turned towards Spinner Emily.

“After this I will stick to eating sheep and cows! No more stories for me.” Then he crawled to the mouth of the cave, flew away and never came back.

Spinner Emily went back to her village. The village parents could now remember the stories and soon all of the very tired children were asleep. Spinner Emily was praised for rescuing the stories and for getting the dragon to carve them on the cave wall, where they could never again be eaten or stolen.

The End

So...What do you think? 

Title Challenge #2

One of our readers requested another title challenge. Since I am not currently writing anything that I can post on here I decided I would go ahead and grant her request.

So here's the game. You see the below picture? If that was the cover of a book, what would the title be? Give us your answers below!

Drifter - Part 3

 Luke rose early the next morning. The summer sun was barely peeking over the trees, and little light spilled through the single window in the loft. Luke glanced over at the makeshift bed they had crammed into the corner. Timothy's form was still and his breathing sounded regular. Luke pulled on his trousers and lowered himself down the ladder. Mama was already kneading bread at the table. She looked up when Luke approached. “Where are you going so early this morning?”

“Just for a little walk. I'll be back before breakfast.” Luke kissed her cheek.

Mama smiled. “You should meander over to that plot of land your father was talking about last night. There's a pretty little spot on the east side that would be perfect for a large house. I hear the owner wants quite a price for it, but with the King's gold, you should have a fair chance in getting it.”

“Mama … I don't think I'm quite ready …” Luke could feel his face burning.

“Oh please, Luke, I raised you! I've watched you grow up strong and learn to work with your hands. You are more ready than your Father was when he married me. Why, we hardly had a scrap of food to call our own. Lived on the back of my Papa's farm until Richard could secure a place to call his own.” Mama stroked Luke's cheek. “You've got that man look in your eyes. You can do anything you set your mind to do.”

Luke looked away. “I will take a look at it.”

Mama almost squealed and wrapped him in a hug. “Oh, sorry. I just got flour all over your shirt.” She pulled away, her eyes teary.

Luke dusted off his torso. “Don't worry about it, Mama.” He tried to laugh, grateful for the change of subject.

“But I am worried.” Her eyes were still teary. “Worried I'm not going to get my grandsons soon.”

“Oh, Mama.” Luke tried not to groan. “You've got Timothy to worry about now.”

She turned back to kneading her bread and her face clouded. “Well, he's hardly a child, and not my own at that.”

“But he is kin,” Luke added.

Mama didn't respond.

“I guess I'm going now.” Luke started for the door.

His mother forced a smile. “Enjoy your walk.”

“I will.” Luke stepped outside and took a deep breath. If she knew what he was really doing would she approve? Luke didn't know, but it didn't matter. He had to see if there was any sign the boy had lived.

Luke made his way to the river bank. If he had time on they way back he'd take the long way and stop at plot of land to make good on his word to his mother. He followed the bank for quite a ways, avoiding people if at all possible. He didn't need anyone to tell his Mom he'd been the opposite direction of the Barry's plot. He was just about there. The mouth of the river was just ahead. Luke scanned the trees, his ears were alert for any movement. There, footprints in the mud. Granted, they could belong to someone else, but they were small and made by bare feet. He followed them until they disappeared into the shrubbery and trees. Now which way?

Thwack! Something hard whacked Luke in the back of the head. “Hey!” Luke spun around.

A scrawny young man with a sandy head of curls and sparkling brown eyes stood over him bearing crude wooden sparring sword.

“Jon Fire! What in all of Amoz are you doing here?” Luke rubbed his head.

Jon grinned and swung his sword at the air. “I was looking for you.”

“But how did you get here? I thought you were still working off your father's debts in the Quartzland mines!”

“I was … Until I ran away.” Jon grinned again.

Luke shook his head. "H-how? Where's Julie? Is she here?” He squeezed Jon's shoulder. 

“She's here,” Jon smirked. He seemed to catch Luke's drift. “After escaping the mines, I went in search of her mistress and rescued her from that terrifying lady. Soon thereafter we convinced a captain to smuggle us across the Swiftish river in his ferry. Upon arriving on your shores, I left my fair sister with the dazzling Amelia Lamb and was headed to your house when I ran across you, your eyes fixated on the ground and your mind lost in who-knows-where.”

Luke laughed but guilt prodded his gut when Jon mention Amelia. Right. He was betrothed. He couldn't be interested in anyone else.

“What were you doing, anyway?” Jon asked.

Luke shrugged his shoulders. “I just dropped something.”

“What was it?” Jon was already scanning the ground.

“Oh, don't worry about it. It's not that important. Why don't you come eat breakfast with my family?” Luke gripped his friend's shoulder. “You know my Mama makes the best pancakes.”

“That she does.” Luke could hear Jon's stomach growl. “But I already promised Queen Amelia I'd eat breakfast with them.”

“Oh …” Luke scratched his head. He'd forgotten Jon's crush on Amelia, or Dazzling Queen Amelia as he used to call her when they'd play knights and queens by the river. He'd joked about marrying her, but surely he wasn't thinking seriously now. But maybe he was.

“Why don't you come too?” Jon slapped Luke's back. “It would be like an old family reunion. You and me and Julie and Amelia - everything like it used to be.”

“I wish … but I don't think that is a good idea.”

“Why not?”

“I told Mama I'd be back for breakfast and promised to check out a plot of land I may possibly buy.”

“That's no problem. We'll just stop by your house and tell your Mama you've had a change of plans and that you'll stop buy that plot of land on the -” Jon's words trailed off. “Wait, why are you buying land?” He leaned forward, a sparkle in his eye. “Is there something you are not telling me?”

Luke's cheeks flamed red and he looked away.

“Come on, don't be a sissy! You're getting married, aren't you?” Jon slapped his back. 

“Congratulations, my friend! Who's the lucky girl?”

“Wait, wait, wait.” Luke held up his hands. “I'm not getting married yet. My parents just want me to prepare.”

“You're still getting married then. Again, congratulations!” Jon was suddenly shaking Luke's hand. Then he grabbed his arm and began to pull him into a dance. At the top of his lungs he began to sing: “Oh the time it comes for every man when he a pretty gal will wed, and then the lads will sing and dance because Oh the time it comes for every man …” Jon stopped when he saw Luke wasn't dancing. “Oh come on, Luke! Have you grown old while I was gone? Lost your feet, maybe?”

Luke shook his head. “Jon … please.” Leaves rustled and a bush trembled. Luke slapped Jon's arm. “Did you see something?”

“No … Did you?” Jon creased his brow.

Luke peered into the shadows. A set of blue eyes met his.

“So you are alive!” He exclaimed more to himself than the boy.

“What?” Jon asked.

“Oh nothing. Must have been my imagination.”

Jon narrowed his eyes. “Well, in that case, what are we waiting for?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.” Luke smiled to himself and followed Jon back through the trees.

Drifter - Part 2

The coins in Luke's pocket jingled in his pocket with every step. He followed the path that twisted through the trees to the small clearing where a large cabin sat nestled in the brush. Luke whistled a hearty sailor's tune and his feet were lighter with every step, but even as he drew closer to his home, he kept an eye scanning the surrounding trees.

“Luke is home!” a voice squealed. Daisy flew out the front door, her mop of curls flying out behind her. Luke embraced his little sister, perhaps the only person who made coming home worthwhile. “Guess what?” Daisy's eyes danced with excitement. “Mama says you have to share your room for awhile.”

“What do you mean?” Luke playfully poked her freckled nose.

“There's a boy, and he's come to stay with us!”

“It's true.” Luke looked up to see Amelia standing just behind Daisy. “Your Father brought him in just a few minutes ago.”

Luke stared at her, speechless. They had captured the Drifters early this afternoon. Could it be? The boy had made it to land?

“Well, what are you waiting for? I'll introduce him to you.” Daisy skipped ahead of them.

Amelia walked beside Luke. She linked her arm with his, despite the fact he hadn't offered it yet. A soft rosy smell drifted from her clothes, and it was just then that Luke noticed Amelia was wearing the hair pin he'd given her for her birthday. Well, in all honesty, it was his mother who had given the pin to him to give to her.

“Your mother invited me to dinner tonight.” Amelia's voice was sing-songy and expectant.

But Luke didn't know what to say. “That's nice.” He tried to sound sincere. She'd eaten with them last time he'd been home. And the time before last.

“That's nice? That's it?” Amelia stopped and swiveled around to face him, a teasing grin on her face. 

“I thought you'd be excited to see me after your long day at sea.”

Luke smiled, but said nothing. He didn't like this, her continual fishing for affection and appreciation. He liked the old Amelia better. The one who used to punch his belly and yank his hair and climb trees with him. But she'd changed ever since that day their parents had announced they had planned since their births for them to marry someday.

Luke sighed, and Amelia frowned. “Is something wrong?” She back into step beside him.

“No, just a long day at work.” Luke avoided her gaze.

Amelia was eying him closely. “Was it really so bad? What's this?” She snatched the bulging satchel out of Luke's pocket. She stopped and spilled part of the contents into her palm. Her eyes widened at the glistening gold. “Luke, this is King's gold! What in all Amoz did you do to earn this?”

Luke grinned, but his words were cut off by Daisy's voice. “Luke, hurry up!”

“I'll tell you over supper.” Luke bent over and kissed her forehead before darting through the doorway.

It took a moment for Luke's eyes to adjust to the dim interior. Amelia stepped in behind him, the satchel still in hand. Papa sat with his arms crossed, scowling at the opposite wall. He stood when he saw Luke and Amelia enter. Luke's elder sister Leah was placing dishes on the table, while Mama stood beside the table, her hands resting on a boy's shoulders. Luke frowned. This boy was definitely not the one he'd let escape off the ship. Sandy hair fell to the boy's chin, and his dark eyes surveyed Luke's muscular sailor build.

Daisy grabbed Luke's hand. “Timothy, this is my brother Luke. Luke this is Timothy. His parents died so he's going to live with us now.”

Timothy stood and extended his hand. Luke shook it. An awkward silence fell across the room.

Mama cleared her throat. “Luke, why don't you show Timothy your room?”

Luke nodded and motioned for Timothy to follow. He led the boy to the other side of the room and pulled down the ladder to the loft. Luke scrambled up, still trying to swallow his disappointment. How on earth was he going to share the little loft anyways?

“Well, this is it,” Luke said when Timothy had made it over the top. “It's small, but we'll figure out how to make room for another cot and your things.”

“I don't have any things,” Timothy mumbled.

Luke glanced at him, waiting for an explanation. When none came, he cleared his throat. “How come?”

“They took it all.”

“Who?”

Timothy opened his mouth to say something, but Papa's voice yelled from the bottom of the ladder. “Luke, I need to have a word with you.”

“Yes, Sir,” Luke replied. He glanced back at Timothy but the boy turned away. Oh well, he'd find out later.

Papa had pulled Luke outside to the back of the house. A dark shadow seemed to hang over his mood, and Luke could tell this was serious.

“Does this have to do with Timothy?” Luke asked.

“It has everything to do with Timothy.” Papa stroked his beard, as if trying to figure out how to word the news. “Timothy is my sister Sylvia's son.”

“Wait. You mean Sylvia and John? The ones who are Drifters?”

“Hush, not so loud,” his father put a finger to his lips and glanced around. “Yes, the Drifters.” He lowered his voice to a whisper.

“Then Timothy is our cousin?”

Papa nodded his head.

Luke shook his head in disbelief. “Does Daisy know this?”

“No, and you are not to tell her. All she must believe is that his parents are dead and we are doing a kind deed by taking him in.”

“Then Sylvia and John aren't dead?”

Papa shook his head. “But you cannot let Timothy know this. My sister and her husband were arrested in Portland and transferred to the Heartland dungeon. Their stay will not be short. It may end with their execution.”

“Then why are you doing this? Isn't it dangerous? What if Timothy causes trouble?”

“Years ago, I made a promise to my sister that if anything ever happened to her, I would take in her children.” His father paused and sighed. “Yesterday a strange fellow met me in the fields with a message from Sylvia, saying they had been caught and that her son was hiding with friends. She thought he would be safer with me here. So, I packed up this morning and headed to Portland to bring him home. If the boy believes his parents are dead, then perhaps all his ties to the Drifters will be more easily broken. If he causes trouble …” Papa's voice faded. “Luke, I need you to keep a careful watch on him whenever you are home. Your mother and Leah will keep an eye on him when you are gone.”

Luke nodded. His heart pounded.

“If he starts saying anything suspicious or stirring up any trouble, tell me immediately. If it weren't for my promise, I wouldn't have chosen to put you in this sort of danger.” Papa squeezed Luke's shoulder. “I am proud of you. You've proven yourself a noble young man thus far. Don't fail me now.”

Luke leaned against the cabin and watched as his father disappeared around the house. What sort of promise could be so important as to risk their lives? But then again, it wasn't much different than what he'd done this afternoon. Luke's eyes clouded over, deep in thought, until his Father popped back around the corner.

“Remember, Luke. You have a job to do.”

Drifter - Part 1

Here's a sneak peek at something I've worked on a bit the last few months. I may post a bit more, but most definitely not the whole thing. I need some help with this first scene though. If you have any suggestions on how to make it more realistic and accurate (I don't know much about ships), it would be much appreciated.

<><><>

When Luke had joined the apprenticeship of Captain Dye's merchant crew, he had never expected to take part in a battle. Sure, he'd been hoping for some excitement beyond dragging shipments on and off the ship, but this was different. This wasn't a Sunsdownian pirate ship or a Golden Sands barge. No, this was a King-ordered destruction of a private fishing boat which had annoyingly placed itself at the mouth of the Swiftish River.

A grizzly hand squeezed Luke's shoulder. “There she is,” Captain Dye said, his voice hushed. The fishing boat rocked on greenish waves where the water faded from murky brown to glassy blue as it spilled into the sea.

“Sir?” Luke looked up at his father's friend. “Have you ever seized a ship before?”

Dye grinned. “No, but there's always a first time, eh?” He thumped Luke's back. “Besides, this will be like stealing sweet things from a baby. They won't be expecting foul play from a merchant ship with only a few hands.”

Luke nodded, excitement swelling in his chest.

“Take the Drifters prisoners. Burn the cargo and the ship,” Dye barked at his crew.

The sailors scampered to their stations. To Luke's right, a man swung his grappling hook in readiness. Luke fiddled with the dagger at his waste as the distance between the two vessels closed. He could see people, at least a dozen, moving about on the boat. Peace lovers they called themselves. Luke wanted to snort every time he heard that reference. If anyone disturbed the peace of Amoz more, it was the Drifters.

Then they were upon them. The grappling hooks zipped through the air and landed with a mighty thuds in the unsuspecting ship. Adrenaline raced through Luke's veins. This was it. This was real. As the ropes drew the two ships together, Luke leaped over the side and onto the other deck. The boats thumped together, throwing him to his stomach. Luke pushed himself to his feet. People scattered. A balding man ran for the side, but Luke was faster. He grabbed the man's collar and shoved his dagger under his chin. “You are coming with us,” Luke grunted, dragging the man toward the boarding plank. A plank cracked against Luke's head. His knife clattered to the deck, and the old man stumbled toward the side again. Black crawled into Luke's vision. He ran his hands across the planks, searching for his weapon. A hand jerked him to his feet. “Slow down there, young man. You've got to wait for the rest of us.” Captain Dye shoved the knife back into his hands. Sailors now turned pirates swarmed the deck. Shouts pierced the air.

Captain Dye prodded Luke toward the other ship. “Go! Open the hatch. We'll stuff the prisoners in the hold with the cargo.”

Luke pounded up the boarding plank and rushed to the hatch. Sweat beaded on his brow. He could see flames shooting up from the fishing boat already. The last of the Drifters were being dragged aboard the Purple Knight. The hatch stood open, it's yawning mouth ready to receive it's extra cargo. Luke's superiors prodded protesting men into the dark hold below.

“You have no right!” A bearded man struggled against his bonds. “And neither does the King! We will not be his slaves nor will we let him corrupt our land with your merchandise.”

Captain Dye's eyes turned steely gray. He grabbed the man's beard. “Do you think I have a choice, Drifter? It's lice like you who want to keep families like mine from making a living in this world.” With a shove, Dye sent the man tumbling down the steps.

Luke smirked and shook his head. He examined the rest of the prisoners. Three more men were already being pushed toward the hatch, and a couple women huddled near the barrels as if hoping they were invisible. Not a chance. They were soon prodded too their feet.

The blazing ship faded in the distance, but Luke could still see the smoke. A sense of satisfaction swelled in his chest. Yes, he'd finally been a part of a great feat for his country. His father would be proud, and Amelia, well, she'd probably get that serious, worried look in her eyes. He could already hear here voice in his head. “You know, Luke, you could have been killed. How are we going to raise a family if you are dead?”

Luke chuckled. He liked it when she got all upset like that. Perhaps it wasn't so good for their future marriage, but he couldn't let this arranged marriage ruin his life could he? She would learn he needed his fun.

Luke jerked himself from his uneasy thoughts when a slight movement behind a crate caught his eye. He stepped closer, his hand on his dagger. Then he spotted him, hidden among the tackle, a raven-haired, blue-eyed boy with a look of sheer terror on his face. His mouth was gagged and his hands and feet were bound. His eyes widened when he spotted Luke, and he tried to wiggle farther away.

Luke's heart softened. The boy had to be only eleven or twelve. Really it probably wasn't the boy's fault he was here now, bound and gagged. His parents had probably dragged him along, teaching him against the king like the Drifters always taught their children. And then those wide eyes, they had sparked a hidden memory, something way down deep inside. He couldn't put a finger on it, but he knew he couldn't lock this boy up in the hold with the rest of them. How would he hide him? How could he get him off the ship? No matter, he'd figure out something. He crouched down and whispered, “Don't worry. I'm not going to hurt you.” He unsheathed his knife and cut the boy's bonds. Then he removed his gag and motioned for him to be silent.

The boy nodded, but he narrowed his eyes.

“I think I can smuggle you out in a crate or something. Just wait here until I tell you.”

The boy nodded again.

“Luke, I need you in my cabin!” Captain Dye's voice roared above the hustle of the sailors.

Luke motioned for the boy to stay. “Remember, don't move.” He crawled out from behind the crate and stood. “Aye, Captain, I'm on my way!” he shouted. Luke had just reached the cabin door when a splash hit the water.

“Man overboard!” a sailor yelled. “A prisoner's escaped.”

Luke's hands grew clammy. Captain Dye rushed out of his cabin. “What!? Who in all Amoz let that boy go? I didn't hire lazy bums for sailors, did I? Don't just stand there! Lower a boat.”

The man to Luke's right jumped to do the captain's bidding, but Luke didn't budge. “C-captain, he seems just to be a child. He'll probably drown by the time he reaches the shore,” Luke stammered.

Captain Dye grunted. Sailors were already lowering the lifeboat.

“Let him go,” Captain Dye huffed. “But don't tell of this to anyone.”

Luke sighed in relief, but watched the boy swim out of the corner of his eye. Would he make it? The boy was swimming to the east shore, which would not be too far from his father's farm. Luke made a point to go explore along the river as soon as possible this evening.

The Forgotten Memory --part 3

The next morning at breakfast Fern seemed a little unsure of herself.

“Is something troubling you Fern?” Mistress Chervil spooned a large helping of oatmeal onto Fern's plate.

Fern stirred the oats for a moment and then set down her spoon. “I should not be here any more.”

Mistress Chervil and I both starred at her.

“I mean, you have both been more than kind to me but now I am well and I do not want to cause you any more trouble.”

“You are no trouble.” we both answered.

“But I am. You have to buy food for me, Valerian, you have to share your room, and I am still wearing one of your dresses.”

“You may not leave. Valerian and I both enjoy you. If you truly feel badly about staying here, you may help more with chores. Besides that, where would you go?”

Fern sighed. “I was afraid you would say that. But I would find a way to support myself. Maybe I could become a servant in one of the big cities.”

“No, I agree with Mistress.” I chimed in. “You're not going anywhere.”

“I thank you.” Fern put a spoonful of porridge in her mouth.

Fern--the only one of my character drawings I actually liked!

Fern did start helping with the chores more. She would do everything Mistress Chervil or I allowed and somethings we didn't allow. One of her favorite tasks was herb collecting. She loved gathering the green foliage, or digging for roots.

One day a rare thing happened, Fern was late for lunch.

“I sent her to gather lovage, near the pond about an hour ago.” Mistress Chervil paced the room. “I know she loves that pond so maybe she just got distracted. Will you go check on her?”

I grabbed my straw hat and danced out the door. It was a sunny day, the type I could eat for dinner and I wouldn't blame Fern if she did forget about the time.

When I neared the pond I slowed down and approached on tiptoe, curious to see what my friend was up to. Hearing a little splash my heart lept into my chest. What if she had fallen in the pond and drowned?

Then I saw her bending over the smooth surface and singing quietly to herself.

They jump, they dive,

They swim in three's or five.

Who knows where they come from,

I surely wish I did.

Blue and green,

Yet truly, really, grey.

Will you come,

in,

Come playing in the bay?

It was not a tune I had ever heard before.

I told Mistress Chervil about it that afternoon as we walked to town, leaving Fern at home resting.

She looked at me quizzically for a moment. “That, my dear, is a marine song. I heard it once when I traveled to Crenate City. It is about a big fish they call a dolphin.”

“What is a marine song?” I shifted the basket full of herbs for trading from my left arm to my right.

“It means it has to do with the ocean.”

Something in my mind clicked. “So she's from somewhere near the ocean! That's why she looks so different. And her eyes, I always thought they looked like puddles of sea water!”

“Maybe.” my mistress conceded. “But the ocean people are a long ways off. Don't forget your geography Val. They are on one side of Eindelliar and we are on the other, butted against the Uncharted Lands. Over four hundred miles.”

Despite her voiced misgivings something in her tone made me think that thought had previously crossed her mind.

Suddenly I stopped and grabbed Mistress Chervil's arm. “It also means she remembers something from her past does it not?”

“Something.” Mistress Chervil agreed.

So the months slipped by and Spring bloomed into Summer. Fern and I walked barefoot together and dangled our feet in the pond to cool off. I never told her I had over heard the song, somehow it felt like invading her privacy.

I will never forget the day they came. Two men, in full armor and draped in blue rode into Darag Village. They stopped at the tavern where they happened to come across Elder Maple on her current pet subject: Fern.

“A girl with piercing blue eyes?” they asked.

“Yes!” agreed another villager who had seen Fern many times. “Like yours, only much deeper and darker.”

“You say she lives with the healer? Mayhap we should go visit this mind reader.”

I heard them riding towards us from a mile away. Who couldn't with all the jangling?

“Mistress!” I called. “Two soldiers in blue. They have light hair.” Then as an after thought, “Like Fern's.”

Mistress Chervil came and peered over my shoulder.

“Ho there! We hear you have a mind reader!” The taller one called at they came trotting up the hill.

“No.” my mistress's eyebrows lowered. “We do not.”

“That is what they said down at the pub.” The man waved his arm back towards the Darag.

“We have a girl here yes. But she cannot read her own mind much less anyone else's.”

That was not strictly true, Fern did seem to be a little less confused these days. Mistress and I however, both knew why she was saying that. Someone had obviously wanted Fern dead. Someone who was probably a countryman of Fern's like these two were. If these men were in anyway connected with her and had evil intentions perhaps, if they thought she was out of her mind they would decide she was not a threat and leave her alone.

“Can not read her own mind?” the second man asked with a slight lilt in his speech.

“That is right.”they were at the bottom of our porch steps now and dismounting. “She cannot remember anything.”

“Even things we told her yesterday.” I added.

Their eyes flickered to me.

“Well, then I guess it was a dry run mate.” the man with a lilt began remounting. “Say,” he stopped suddenly, “They said she had blue eyes. Does she also have light hair? Maybe she is a country woman!”

The taller man grinned. “Yeah! Does she look like us? Mayhap we know her! Would not that be nice out here in this wilderness to see one of our own.”

Mistress Chervil stiffened next to me. I felt her hand slip into mine for half a moment but that was all I needed. She was my mistress, and I was her apprentice, we understood each other.

I stepped back inside and went into my bedroom where I had last Fern.

Fern was not there.

The men stormed the house regardless of Mistress Chervil's attacks. The valiant woman even grabbed a knife and received a twisted wrist for her efforts. Caught off guard we were totally at a loss how to defend ourselves.

Then my wrist was grabbed from behind and my whole right arm twisted behind my back. It hurt.

“I can break bones.” The man with the lilt offered me. “Where is she?”

“I do not know.”

He twisted harder and I grunted.

“Where darling. Just tell us and all this pain can go away.”

“I do not know.”

I screamed as I felt my thumb crack.

“Stop that!” a deep but feminine voice filled the room commanding obedience.

We all turned toward the sound.

Fern stood in the doorway, the tall slender figure backed by the setting sun. Her hair seemed to be glowing and her blue eyes looked cold and deadly.

“Fern.” Mistress Chervil moaned.

The man let go of me and starred in surprise.

“Someday when right has been wronged, I will have your heads for this.” her voice was ringing with authority. “You may think I will not remember your faces men, but I will. Ask your master, he will tell you that I forget nothing. Ever.”

“Just wait until Lord Ray gets his hands on you Cet--” the taller man began but in a blink she was gone.

I heard her fleeing down the porch steps and tried to stop the men but they were after her like hounds after a fox.

A fox is a fitting picture of Fern. She took their horses. Jumped on one and grabbed the reigns of the other. There was no question she was a master horse rider and the thought slipped through my mind that maybe she could read as well.

Master Conifer later filled me in on what followed. Fern rode their horses into town, briefly told of what had happened at the house and then, when Darag Village was on her side she waited.

The men came puffing up the street but never made it past the pub. The twang of two longbow strings was heard and both men fell, arrows through their bodies.

Mistress Chervil and I arrived just as they were carting the bodies away.

“I am going now.” Fern strode toward us.

“Where?” I asked, cradling my still unbandaged thumb.

She smiled, a little bitterly I thought. “Anywhere I have not already been.”

“Mistress Chervil,”she embraced my mistress, “I thank you for your care.”

Then she turned to me. “Valerian, I am afraid I will have to borrow your dress a little bit long but I return the nightgown. And by the by, you are a wonderful teacher.”

“But you already know how to read do you not?”

“English, Latin, Greek, and French. But you would do a good job teaching someone who did not know.” Then she embraced me too and I felt tears running down my face.

Turning quickly away she mounted the stronger of the two horses, my short dress hiking up past her knees. “I leave you this other fine horse, Mistress Chervil.” She nodded, turned and cantered out of town.

“Fern!” I called and ran after her.

The Land of Eindelliar. I spent several days last week learning calligraphy in order to draw this.

She pulled the horse up.

“You said you remember everything do you not?” I panted, coming even with her.

A look of intense pain slithered across her face. “Everything.”

“What is your name?”

She looked toward the sun, giving it's last gasp of light. “What you do not know, can not hurt you.”

Then she turned her horse and galloped away into the fast falling twilight.

The End

So, what do you think? Is my writing boring? Are my drawings hideous? If you say "yes" I'll agree with you. :)

Happy Birthday Grace! I hope you enjoyed the story! 

The Forgotten Memory--part 2

After being on her feet for about a quarter of an hour Fern grew tired.

“Will you set me down?” her voice was even softer than usual with exhaustion. “But please, in a chair. I want to stay out of that bed for as long as possible.”

We placed her in the high backed chair at the desk and went about preparing the evening meal.

Mistress Chervil...who ended up looking considerably

 

 

 

younger than I had intended.

“Now that you're up, Val will have to lend you one of her dresses as well as the nightgown of hers you are already wearing.” Mistress Chervil chatted to her.

“I am wearing your night gown?” Her brow puckered. “Forgive me. I did not know.”

“Oh, that is alright!” I was chopping up some potatoes for soup. “I have another one. But I am afraid none of my dresses will fit you very well. You are rather taller than I.”

“I hate to wear your clothes Valerian. I mean,” she bit her lip and looked at the floor. “no offense. I just do not like having to borrow things you might need.”

“No worries.” I dumped the diced tubers into the kettle over the hearth. “I have three.”

“Thank you.” she turned quietly away and rested her arms on the top of the desk.

After Fern had been up for several days, Mistress Chervil suggested moving her into my bedroom so that the patient bed, which resided in the common room, would once again be available in case of emergency.

“I will have Master Conifer fashion you a bed.” my mistress offered.

“I thank you. I am sorry to cost you. Perhaps I can help with some of Valerian's responsibilities in exchange?”

“Nonsense.” Mistress Chervil chided. “You are not strong enough yet. Besides that a bed will cost me nothing. Conifer owes me for birthing his wife a month ago.”

Besides being the Darag Village carpenter Master Conifer was also the town gossip. Less than an hour after the last nail had been pounded into Fern's bed and Master Conifer had left a visitor came puffing up the hill.

Elder Maple, a white haired lady who was grandmother to half of the village tapped on the door frame. “I heard the girl was up and came to pay my respects.” she nodded to Mistress Chervil.

Fern was still in my room, admiring her bed and thus out of hearing.

“Is it true?” Elder Maple sidled close to Mistress Chervil and lowered her voice. “She can't remember a thing?”

“It is true I am afraid.” my mistress nodded.

“And that she is pale? And blue eyed?” Elder Maple glanced pensively towards my bedroom door.

“Yes.”

“So strange. She is not from here!” Elder Maple pursed her lips.

“Fern, there is someone here who would like to meet you.” I could tell by Mistress Chervil's face that she did not like the direction the conversation was going.

I heard a few slow steps before Fern appeared in the door. She was wearing a faded blue dress of mine, that swished startlingly high up her calf. Her long hair hung loosely down her back or flooded over her shoulders and her eyes, always a watery blue, seemed even more unearthly today.

“Ma'm.” Fern rested a hand against the wall and made a small curtsy.

Elder Maple looked her up and down fully three times before speaking. “I am pleased to see you are healing well.”

“Yes, I thank you.” her quiet voice was even quieter in the presence of a stranger.

Elder Maple looked Fern hard in the face but I noticed our she avoided her eyes. “Well, I think that I had best go now. Good day to you ladies.” And with a small bow she strode out the door.

Mistress Chervil returned from a bargaining trip in Darag the next day with her brows down low. I knew from experience that she was mad.

“Elder Maple told had the whole place, including the three other Elders, convinced that she is strange.” she told me as we unpacked her basket in the store room.

We had turned down Fern's offer of help so she had gone to sit on the porch. There was no fear of her overhearing.

“Strange?” I wrapped a fresh chunk of cheese in a cloth and laid it on the appropriate shelf.

“Not bad per say, but something to be watched. Elder Maple said that she was so white and tall she can not be a normal person.”

“I noticed she did not seem to be able to look Fern in the eyes.” I carefully placed a newly sharpened knife on the cutting block.

Mistress Chervil nodded. “That is the worst part. She has reported that her eyes were so clear and blue that she must see things differently than we do. Elder Maple has implied that she might even be able to see thoughts.”

I snorted. As a young girl I had been taught to respect the Elders but honestly, I did not believe anyone except God could read minds.

“Plain ridiculous!” my mistress plunked down the last bundle and hung up her village basket.

There was something unusual about Fern, I had to admit that, but she could not read thoughts. I tromped out of the store room and through the common room then out the front door.

Fern was seated on the bottom step of the porch stairs running her left fingers through the dust.

“Do you want to do a lesson?” I called down to her.

She flinched as if I had slapped her and in a blink her foot had scuffed up the dust.

“I am sorry, did I startle you?”

She stood up, brushing her dress. “Yes, a little. And thank you, I would enjoy a lesson.”

She managed to read several small words that afternoon. I smiled, delighted to see how my pupil was finally coming along.

“Fern.” I opened the desk drawer and removed a sheet of paper. Placing it on the desk I dipped a handy quill in the ink and held it out to her. “It is time you learned to write.”

She hesitated a moment and then took the pen. “How?”

“Sit and I'll guide your hand.”

She sat and I wrapped my hand around hers. Together we wrote the letters F-E-R-N. She smiled and looked up at me.

“That says Fern doesn't it?”

I nodded and smiled back.

“Mistress Chervil!” a man's voice squeaked through the air. “Mistress Chervil!”

I ran to the door and looked out. Coming up the slope were two men, one supporting the other.

“Mistress!” I called and dashed for the bucket.

I tied my knot too hurriedly and lost the bucket down the well. Then I frantically had to search through the shed and house before finding another. The result was that I missed something.

Mistress Chervil had hurried out of her bedroom when she heard my call. Fern was already rising from her chair, opening the door wide and motioning the men towards the bed.

“He was bit,” Verde the goat keeper slowly eased Cleft his father onto the bed. “by a snake.”

Mistress looked for me and seeing only Fern ordered her, “Go to the store room and get me Costmary.”

Fern blinked and then vanished. Returning she held out some leaves of a freshly cut herb. Mistress Chervil took them from her and began pressing them over the mark on Cleft's leg.

“Fern.” she pulled back. “These are not costmary.”

Fern looked at the mistress, her face miserable.

“It is alright. The costmary--” Mistress Chervil began giving directions.

“Use it.” Fern's voice sounded strangled.

Mistress Chervil opened her mouth.

“Hurry,” Fern swallowed hard but rushed on. “It is Lion's Ear. It will help.”

“Fern--”

“I read it!”

Mistress Chervil looked at her hard.

“Alright, I will hold it on here but go fetch me the costmary as well.”

Fern vanished again. When she returned Mistress Chervil lifted the leaves and gasped. The two angry red marks from the snakes fangs hand nearly vanished and there was absolutely no swelling.

After she sent the father and son back home and I returned to the house with the belated water she turned to Fern.

“What did you say that was called?”

“Lion's Ear.” Fern cowered a little, obviously worried that my mistress would be upset.

“Where did you find it?”

“It grows about half way down the hill near the big rock.”

Mistress Chervil cocked her head. “I've never heard of it. Maybe I should reread some of those books Val is teaching you from.”

Later Mistress Chervil took me outside with her to feed the chickens. It was totally unnecessary do so I knew she had something she wished to speak to me about.

“You know she said that was Lion's Ear?”

I nodded and scattered a handful of grain.

“There is not a mention of any such thing in that book.”

I looked up. “Was she just making a wild guess?”

Mistress Chervil shook her head. “No, she knew. That was too lucky of a guess.”

Any new predictions? Whose your favorite character so far? Valerian?Mistress Chervil? Fern? Master Conifer? Elder Maple?

Kelpie

The Forgotten Memory

In honor of Grace, I let her name the main character in this story which I am now posting, on her birthday. A very happy birthday Grace and I hope you enjoy this story!

The Forgotten Memory

After Master Conifer, the Darag Village carpenter stumbled across her beaten and bloody body strewn over a patch of ferns he thought she was dead. He called Mistress Chervil, the village healer and my mistress, and she listened to the girl's heart. It was beating.

They brought her in our narrow doorway and Mistress Chervil, spotting me wide eyed, ordered me out to the well for fresh water.

“And grab some clean rags from the storage room on your way back in, Val!” she called after me.

I grabbed the tin bucket that was leaning against the outside of the log house and dashed down the hill as fast as my bare feet could carry me. This patient was not only a wreck, but someone I did not know, an unusual occurrence in our little corner of Fen Forest.

I shoved the details from my mind as I reached the well and lifted the rope Mistress always left coiled near by. I tied a quick knot around the bucket handle and then dropped it down into the watery depths.

My mind returned to the body just laid on the patient bed in our common room. I had seen some nasty wounds, but never so many on one person. Really, she was just a mass of bloody tissue. Shuddering I hauled the full pail back towards the light and then hurried up the hill, careful not to spill a drop. I snatched the bag of freshly washed and dried bandages on my way through the store room.

“Perhaps she is from--” I heard my mistress drop her sentence midway as I clattered into the room.

She stood up from the girl's bedside abruptly and waved the men out of the house. “Leave. I need to take care of the patient.”

We silently washed her as best we could, cutting off her clothes to make sure we found all of the gashes and bruises. She was pale and slender. Her hair wavy and light colored. Certainly she was not forest born. When we were finished bandaging, and I was preparing to clean up Mistress Chervil finally spoke.

“She is just wearing a simple weave. Why would anyone do this to a poor girl?”

I glanced up to see her fingering a scrap of the girl's dress.

“Maybe stole something?” I suggested, dumping the soiled rags into the wash basin.

My mistress shook her head and shrugged. “I suppose we will just have to ask her when she becomes conscious again. She is not from around here that is obvious.”

It was days before she woke up. My mistress and I both suspected she had lost a lot of blood.

Much to our relief though she did finally open her eyes. Those eyes! I liked to imagine they were blue as the ocean that I had never seen. Certainly, growing up in the forest like I had there was nothing else I had ever found which could come close to rivaling them.

“W-who ar-re you?” she asked as I bustled towards her with a bowl of soup.

“My name is Valerian though some just call me Val. I am the healer's apprentice. Here swallow some of this.” I held a spoon full of the broth to her mouth.

She pulled away. “Where I am?”

“Fen Forest, near Darag Village.” I waved the spoon in front of her eyes to remind her.

“What am I doing here?”

“We were rather hoping you could tell us that.” Mistress Chervil had come up behind me and was watching our patient closely.

“What is my name?” The girl's brow puckered and her large sapphire eyes roved over the room.

“Bless you child.” Mistress Chervil murmured and quickly turned away.

“I'm afraid we do not know dear. But we can call you Fern if you like.” I offered the spoon a third time.

My mistress turned back to me and frowned at the reference.

Valerian

But the girl said, “Okay.” and swallowed the soup.

Fern got better, painfully slowly. She had a broken arm, several cracked ribs and was so covered in stitches she resembled one of my mother's quilts. We were petitioning God that she sustained no internal injuries.

For the most part she laid in bed, or occasionally was propped up on pillows and silently watched us as we went about our work. When she did speak it was usually to ask some question about herself or her past.

“It must have been something very traumatic.” My mistress confided in me one day as we were pulling weeds from around the comfrey. “Sometimes people's brains wipe out everything in an effort to forget one devastating occurrence. She had head wounds as well, which could explain the memory loss.”

One day as I sat at the desk, pouring over a map on which Mistress Chervil had marked the best places for gathering specific herbs, I happened to turn towards Fern. Last I knew she had been napping peacefully but as I glanced toward her I realized she had awakened and was watching me. Her eyes were clear for once and unsettlingly piercing. It was just a brief glimpse before she groaned and the confused blank stare she usually wore slipped back over her face.

“Are you alright?” I asked.

“Yes, I thank you. I think I was asleep and you made a move that startled me.”

“I am sorry.”

“No, no. I probably should not be dozing anyway. It means I will not sleep well tonight.” Her left hand stroked the bandages on her other arm, the one that was broken. “When do you think I will be able to get up?”

I shook my head. “ I do not know. I can ask Mistress Chervil if you would like.”

“No that's alright.” she smiled a slight, apologetic little smile. “I could not put you to that trouble. I can ask her at supper.” and then she turned to face the window near her bed.

“Can you read?” a sudden inspiration came to me.

“Read?” she turned back towards me.

“Yes. I'm sure my Mistress would let you have some books if you so chose.”

She gave me that sad little smile again.. “Reading is only for the rich, or learned like yourself.”

“But you could learn too!” I was getting excited now. “I'll teach you.”

Fern was even slower at learning her letters than a snail dragging a rock behind it. Though she always acted as if she enjoyed it I sometimes had the feeling that she was resisting my lessons. Letters that she had finally seemed to master would suddenly slip from her mind and have to be completely relearned.

I vented my frustration in whispers to Mistress Chervil one evening as we were tidying the storage room.

“Be patient. As I told you before, I'm sure she has some brain damage which may affect her long term memory. You're doing a good job.” she reached out and pulled one of my dark brown curls. It was an old gesture, one she had not done to me since I turned sixteen and had my coming of age party. Still I appreciated the gesture of affection.

“Now come,” she smiled. “Let us see if Fern would like to try getting up today since it is such a pleasant evening.”

Our patient complied, wincing as she moved her upper half.

She was tall, I realized when we got her standing. And her hair! I already knew it was lighter than any I had ever seen before, except for the elders, whose hair was white of course. But when she stood up, her hair fell to her waist in a mouse colored mass of waves. My mouth fell open a little. No forest born person would ever let their hair grow that long.

Mistress Chervil saw me gaping and made eye contact. We understood each other: this girl was from far, far away.

Interested in reading more? Any predictions?

Kelpie