Rolling away through the dust, still retching, still completely unaware of everything but the staring, empty sockets in the face she had woken up next to. Crawling desperately around in confusion, like a panicked animal, she fell into water.
It was waist deep and slow moving. It swept peacefully around her like molten steel in the moonlight, soothing every sense and tingling nerve ending until she was so relaxed that she may well have become a part of the water and moved away with it. The girl vomited once more, then splashed the cool water over her face and arms, washing off the bloody, sweaty dust that caked her body. Her head began to clear.
She stood up, slowly and carefully easing every muscle into motion opposing the water's, for she still felt inclined to become absorbed into the streams easy actions, then clambered up the bank on shaking legs. For the first time since waking, she looked around herself, surveying the scene.
The stream ran through a deep ditch alongside the dirt track upon which she had woken up. Surrounding the track were thick walls of trees, of varying types, each gnarled and curling ominously through the darkness. Moonlight from directly above fell in a long glittering snake down the path, touching only half of the stream so that it moved silently from ink to silver. The rotting corpses of a human and a horse lay festering in the dust in the centre of the track. A thick, buzzing black cloud swarmed across what was left of the flesh.
Though she was shaken still, and on the verge of vomiting a third time, the girl felt a deep sense of disgust at this shameless treatment of the dead. She held her breath and walked across to the bodies. The cloud dispersed, buzzing deeply and angrily, as she took a sheet from the pile of bags next to the bodies and covered them with it. This seemed to her the most obvious thing to do.
The flies lingered, for the hideous stench of death was still near, but they could no longer find the flesh they'd been feasting upon, so throbbed menacingly around the site, buzzing louder, then quieter, in rhythm.
The girl felt quite sick. The flies pelted themselves at the sheet in turn, before rejoining the cloud.
She shook herself, and looked both ways down the long track. Nothing, in either direction. She looked through the pile of bags she'd taken the sheet from. They were filled mostly with food and rope and one with many colourful drawstring purses of sand. There were a few more sheets and scraps of decorated cloth, and a knife stained with crusty brown blood, and many pieces of paper tied with silk, these were mostly maps.
The girl wondered who the poor souls that lay dead were. Somehow she felt she must have known them, having woken with them, but she couldn't remember.
It was just then that she realised she could remember nothing. It wasn't a direct realisation, it woke within her slowly. The knife she recognised, but could not place within her memory, for there was no memory. She did not remember having been in the forest, yet she knew she'd visited many forests before. The world looked all wrong; the air felt unfamiliar, the taste wasn't right. She opened her mouth to murmur "where am I?" to herself aloud, as if the answer may present itself, but instead an unfamiliar voice asked "who am I?"
Her stomach plunged. She vomited again, from the shock. The cloud screamed in delight and hurtled itself in her direction, towards this new target of misery to suck upon, so fast that she backed away in fright.
Her bare foot touched upon something metallic in the dust. She bent unsteadily, and picked up a necklace by the chain. The pendant, a round silvery stone, hung like a moonlit dew drop. It was inset with a green gem that bore a miniscule picture of two crossed batons, and the back was inscribed with the single word
"Leola" Somehow, she knew that it was her name. She remembered nothing, but knew that she was Leola. "I am Leola." She said, in that distant voice that was not her own; it was too high and silky. She also knew that she had heard of this condition before, "But where?". Amnesia is a condition resulting in the loss of memory. A tart voice spoke matter-of-factly within Leola's head.
She wanted to scream for help right then, but something, sense or idiocy, stopped her. She threw her head back, and choked, for the sky was a violent purple between the stretching branches. She rubbed her eyes hopefully, but purple it remained. At least she knew it should be blue. At least she hadn't forgotten that.
Panic was rushing through her veins, so Leola sat down in the dust and tried to calm herself. She rubbed her temples and tried to remember everything she knew about amnesia. A spark of excitement flew up inside her as she called upon the knowledge. She knew this! But calling the information to come out was a struggle; as one might struggle with a stiff lid when the content was greatly desired. Suddenly, the answer flooded out. "Amnesia is a condition resulting in the loss of memory. It can be caused by a great influx of magical energy that is too much for the mortal body, or by a damaging knock to the brain area, or by a very complex potion known only to ancient scholars. In the latter case, there is no cure. In the case of the other causes, memory usually returns fully within a month, unless the brain is too far damaged, in which case the memory may never again be accessible. The root bark of Polygala tenuifolia can benefit all the mental states, amnesia included, along with the anxiety, constrained emotions, dream-disturbed sleep or insomnia, excessive brooding, fear, disorientation and restlessness that can accompany amnesia or result from it, or occur on their own. In some cases-" Leola had to hit her head to stop the flow of information. The tart voice had recited the long practiced answer, though she was unsure whether it had spoken in her head, or aloud. "Wake up, Leola" she pleaded, in a voice that finally belonged to her. She wanted to open her eyes and be at home. "Where is home?" "Where the sky is blue." Exhaustion and hunger took over her, and she slumped backward. The last thing that she thought was that maybe she shouldn't sleep in the path.
*
Daylight had long come, and the flies had given up, and departed, when she awoke. The sun was high and yellow, and inspired a small feeling of hope within her. If any day was going to be good, Leola felt certain it would be this one, so beautiful were the green leaves in the golden light, under the alien purple sky. She felt not the bitter disappointment she might have suffered at waking up without memory still, but instead she felt easy happiness, and much calmer, and managed to order her thoughts and control the subsiding panic within her. She had to do something. "What would Leola do?" "Leola would-" she cut the voice off before it could answer. She'd think for herself, from now on.
It seemed she could either stay here in the forest hoping for a traveller to find her, or she could take what food she could carry and set off down the path. Surely it wasn't her style to await rescue? An image conjured itself into her mind, a painting of a girl locked in a tower, and a prince on horseback battling a dragon to rescue her. "Leola wouldn't wait." She decided. After taking what she knew was a foolishly large portion of the cured ham and bread for her breakfast - well, she was starving, and could miss lunch to make up for the loss - she took up one of the packs and loaded it with almost all the spare food, along with a coil of rope, and a smaller sheet. She cleaned the knife and pushed it into her belt. She was topless, so she cut up one of the expensive cloths and tied it round herself. There were shoes that fit her, comfortable moccasins of worn leather, so she wore those. She felt compelled to pack the maps, though it was foreign to her memory, and several of the purses of sand. They might help her remember who she was. Though somehow she knew they wouldn't, she took them anyway. She found that she must have previously been used to the weight of heavy bags on her back, for once the pack was strapped on her shoulders she could move about ignoring the weight. Leola was strong. She threw a couple of punches, for fun, and found herself repeating an entire warm up routine of punches and kicks. She danced through the motions, twisting and jabbing, moving faster and faster and harder until she finally began to feel the strain, and stopped. Leola stood, panting slightly, and looked up and down the path, wondering which way she might go. After a few minutes of puzzling, she decided to head downhill, not from laziness, but because some vague feeling told her she'd been travelling uphill before, "Before what?" she wondered aloud. Once again, the voice was distant and not her own. But she brushed its' query aside and set off down the hill, humming a tuneless song that came straight from her heart; whether she knew it or were making it up she couldn't say.
*
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