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