Astray

by J F Rogers

  It sparked.

  “Whoa.” I dropped the stick, brought my face close to the smoldering kindling, and breathed life into it. It grew. I had fire. “Ha!”

  How did I do that? I hadn’t been rubbing the sticks together when it sparked, had I? But I must’ve been. Fires didn’t start by themselves.

  Then I remembered the rabbit. How would I prepare it? Particularly with no knife to skin it. I scoured the rocks for one with a sharp edge. One rock had a thin edge, but it was too smooth. I grabbed another and hammered it against the smooth one to rough it up. Small chips flaked away. If I angled it downward, it sharpened the rock. Elated, yet dreading the task ahead, I returned to the rabbit.

  I eyed the lifeless carcass until my vision blurred and multiple rabbits lay before me. I yelled to the sky, “I can’t do it!”

  My shout disturbed what appeared to be blossoms on the tree ahead. Small yellow birds scattered every which way, emitting loud chirps.

  Frustrated, I sought something easier to prepare. Or even better, something requiring no preparation at all, like fruit or nuts.

  I found success—a half dozen or so bushes with small, round purple berries. I picked one. It resembled a blueberry. Since it wasn’t red, I decided it shouldn’t be poisonous and tried it. Though it was a bit sour, it was juicy and tasted glorious after going so long without sustenance. Perhaps they weren’t quite ripe. Given their deep color, I expected them to be. I didn’t care. I attacked the plants, shoving the fruit into my mouth.

  The berry supply dried up before my appetite, but it was better than nothing. Feeling more comfortable than I had in some time, I lay down next to the fire.

  On the other side of the fire, the wolf gnawed the rabbit. I braced myself, ready to run, and studied him. He glanced at me as if letting me know he saw me and didn’t care, then returned to his victim.

  It seemed my life wasn’t in danger, so I settled back down, keeping an eye on him. I guess he figured the rabbit was free game.

  He shook his head. Was he shaking his head at me? He couldn’t be. Still, he had a smug expression, if it’s possible for a wolf to look smug.

  I watched him as long as possible, but my eyes grew heavy. I was half-asleep when he lay next to me. This time, I welcomed his warmth and security.

  Sometime after the fire died, I woke. In agony.

  My stomach twisted. The pain was sharp as if someone had rammed a knife into it. It lurched. I didn’t have enough time to raise myself all the way before puking. When the retching ceased, I pulled away from the vomit and lay back down. Sweat dripped from my forehead and dampened my body.

  The wolf stood next to me, staring. He looked confused, like he was ready to act but unsure what action to take.

  I puked again then fell on my back as convulsions racked my body. All went black.

  Chapter Six

  ◊◊◊

  I LAY IN THE cozy bed. Though my body still ached, happiness welled up within me as I snuggled under the blankets. I inhaled a light lavender scent and opened my eyes to—blackness.

  The contentment flushed, spiraled downward, and disappeared, dread taking its place. Where was I?

  Had I blacked out again? In all my life, I’d never passed out. Now in three days’ time, I’d fainted twice?

  Something creaked. A door scraped along the ground. Flickering candlelight illuminated the room. A woman with cascading red curls carried the candle in her right hand and a cup in the other. Her dress swished as she neared. I held the covers up, leaving only my eyes exposed, keeping a distrustful watch as she placed the candle on a table. With care, she then lifted the hurricane glass off a lantern and lit the lamp. The small room brightened as she adjusted the wick.

  “Good. You’re awake. I came to see how you’re healing.”

  Her cheery voice seemed out of place. Did I detect a Scottish accent?

  Not sensing a threat, I released my protective covering and wiped my eyes. When I opened them, her round face filled my view. She placed her hand on my forehead for a moment, and then smoothed stray strands of hair away from my face.

  “Who are you?” I attempted to back away. The pillow yielded only so much.

  “Don’t fret, my dear,” she said in a cheerful singsong voice. She reached for the covers. “I’m called Kyra. May I take another peek at your wound?” Her words didn’t match her lips, like an out-of-sync movie.

  How was that possible?

  After I nodded, she peeled back the covers. A tan gown had replaced my dingy clothes. Worse, I was clean. My face grew hot. Someone changed my clothes and washed me too? Kill me now.

  A fresh cloth surrounded my knee. The woman inspected the wound underneath. “Ah. Much better.” She unwrapped the binding. “You had quite a gash on your knee. I stitched it up nice. The scarring shall be minor. Can you sit?”

  My muscles ached. I nodded and managed to pull myself up.

  She perched on the edge of the bed and reached for the cup she’d brought in with her. “Here, drink this broth.” She handed it to me. “This will help you regain your strength.”

  I nearly dropped the heavy mug, unprepared for its weight. The aromatic steam reminded me how hungry I was. I took a careful sip. It wasn’t scalding, so I chugged it.

  “Slow, my dear.” Kyra removed the cup from my hands and placed it on the table next to the lamp. “You’ll make yourself ill again, drinking at such a rate. You were so sick when you got here. Tell me, did something you ate make you so ill?”

  “I don’t know. The only thing I’ve eaten in days was some blueberries.”

  She cocked her head and furrowed her brow.

  “Blue berries? Ah. I suspect you ate sùgh. They have enough poison to make you very ill. Too many on an empty stomach could’ve killed you. I’m glad you got to us in time to help you.”

  “Where am I?”

  “Notirr.” She trilled the R.

  “I’m not here? Huh?”

  “Nay.” She laughed.

  I was glad she was enjoying this. An infectious quality infused her melodious laugh. If it weren’t for my irritation, I might have laughed with her.

  “No-tearrr,” she spoke slower.

  I watched her mouth. Her lips now matched the word. I repeated her.

  She nodded and grabbed the broth. “Our village.”

  “Where’s No-tear?” I accepted the broth from her and sipped it.

  “Why, Notirr is in Ariboslia, of course.” She frowned. “You really don’t know where you are, lass?”

  I shook my head.

  “Well, how do you like that?”

  I wanted to say I didn’t like it at all. But it was a bit premature to subject this poor woman to my sarcasm.

  “We knew this day would come. It never occurred to me you wouldn’t know anything about it. You don’t know why you’re here then?” The humor was stripped from her voice, the light in her eye dimmed. Worry lines crept across her forehead.

  “No.” I wished for both our sakes I could reply otherwise. “I don’t even know where here is.”

  “Oh, dear.” She clasped her hands together. “You’re safe. That is most important. I will have Declan bring you to see Mirna. She can explain everything.” She studied my face. “How is it you don’t know? How did you get here?”

  I shook my head again—clueless.

  She smoothed my hair, her eyes large and sympathetic, and then patted my arm. “We’ll get it sorted. Not to worry, child. But there is one more thing.” She took a deep breath. “When I cleaned your wound, I found some marks on your arms and legs.” Her eyes searched mine.

  “It’s nothing.” I averted my gaze and pulled my arm away.

  “Would you like to bathe before I call for Declan?”

  I nodded.

  “Good.” Her smile fattened her cheeks. “I’ll draw a bath for you.” She danced out of the room, dragging the door closed behind her.

  I stared after her be
fore returning to my broth. As I drank, I scanned the primitive room. A wooden cabinet with a bowl and a pitcher atop it stood across from the bed. A chair, with a blanket draped over it, sat on the wooden floor in a corner. The small, pizza-shaped room barely fit those items. A rounded wall behind me, the crust of the pizza, sloped to the low ceiling. The lack of windows made the room seem to grow smaller still.

  My mind returned to her speech. Her tone was pleasant, soothing even. But her lips. How could their movement fail to match her words? It wasn’t the timing that was off like an out-of-sync movie. It was more like a foreign film overdubbed in English. Or was I losing my mind? I must pay closer attention. Sipping my broth, I awaited Kyra’s return. And answers.

  Chapter Seven

  ◊◊◊

  NEVER HAD I LONGED for a bath more. I submerged my aching body in warm water, leaving only my face exposed. Lavender, mixed with something unidentifiable yet sweet, scented the steam, filling my nostrils, calming my mind. The disquiet in my soul dissolved with the swirling bubbles.

  With no clock or windows, only the lukewarm water, absent bubbles, and my wrinkled skin indicated time’s passing. After rising and toweling off, I unfolded the clothing Kyra left for me—a dress. I pinched the cloth between two fingers, holding it as far away as I could. I despised dresses.

  I emerged from the bathroom to find Kyra and a guy sitting at the rustic, wooden table in the small room I’d passed through earlier. My heart jumped. Wisps of dark hair spilled over the sides of his forehead, almost into his eyes. It flipped up just over his ears and at his neck. And he sat erect. Boys tended to slouch, giving off an air of indifference and slothfulness. Not him. I played with the hair falling into my eyes, trying not to stare.

  When they noticed me, they rose. “Ah. Fallon. This is Declan.” Kyra motioned, palm up, in his direction. “He’ll take you to see Mirna now.”

  Sure enough, her mouth didn’t match her words except when she spoke names. And she called me by name. I didn’t recall telling her. Did I say it in my sleep? No. If I did talk in my sleep, I wouldn’t call my own name.

  “Of course.” With a nod, Declan walked to the door, held it open, and waited. The doorway framed his lean, muscular build like artwork. He studied me with intense, sea green eyes. His gaze heightened my discomfort over wearing a dress.

  I wrapped my arms around myself. Kyra nudged me.

  Once outside, I understood why all the rooms were so small, oddly shaped, and windowless. They’d built the house into a hillside. Ordinary wood composed its front wall, but the rest was earth and sod. Similar homes lined a twisted dirt path. Each house built into its own small hill.

  I had difficulty keeping up with Declan as we wove around homes. He walked so fast, I almost lost him more than once. My knee felt much better, but I still limped slightly. Was he trying to lose me?

  Around a corner, a dark-haired child wearing a grubby tunic, short pants, and bare feet hollered to a taller boy. The tall boy with a similar tunic under a dark vest squatted and stuck his arms out. The smaller boy threw a piece of wood high into the air. The older boy jumped up and caught it. He held onto the log for less than a second before tossing it to a man on a ladder. The man neatly stacked the log onto a cylindrical pile the size of a woodshed.

  The older boy noticed me and stared. The younger child caught a fresh log from the man splitting wood, and then twirled in a circle, preparing to throw the log at the older boy. But the older boy was no longer paying attention. He continued to gaze in my direction.

  Once released, the wood sailed, lower in the sky, straight into the taller boy’s stomach. The taller boy groaned and fell to his knees as the small boy brought his hands to his mouth, his eyes widened. He turned, presumably to see what had distracted the older boy. I waved. Without blinking, the little boy slowly waved back.

  “Fallon! Fallon!” He jumped up and down.

  The other men, the two boys, and the girls tending a small garden all waved. We continued greeting each other from afar when I bumped into Declan who had stopped at another hillside home.

  “Oh! Sorry.” My face flushed as I backed away.

  “We’re here.” He knocked on the door.

  An almost inaudible voice from within said, “Come in.”

  Again, Declan held the door open for me.

  Once inside, I paused, waiting for my eyes to adjust. The sun hovered low in the sky, and little natural light spilled through the hill house’s single window. Most of the light emanated from candles in wall sconces. An oil table lamp added extra glow to the middle of the room.

  A woman walked in from another room carrying two mugs. She tipped her head in Declan’s direction. “Thank you, Declan.”

  He returned the gesture and left.

  The woman turned to me. “Have a seat.” Her voice might have been smooth and silky years ago. Now it cracked in places. Her long white mane draped over hunched shoulders.

  While I sat in the chair she motioned toward, she set the drinks on the table. Once settled into the chair across from me, she looked my way.

  I gasped. Purple irises. I was seeing my own eyes in her aged face.

  An awkward silence hung in the air.

  She cleared her throat. “Do you know who I am?”

  “Mirna.”

  “True. That’s what I’m called. Do you know who I am?”

  “Should I?”

  Mirna shook her head and clicked her tongue. She paused for such a lengthy time I feared she’d fallen asleep with her eyes open.

  I reached for the drink before me. It tasted like water, but sweeter and more satisfying.

  After I placed the heavy mug back, she sighed. “I am your gran.”

  I almost spat out the drink. Somehow, I managed to choke it down. I coughed. “My gran? As in my grandmother?”

  “Aye.” She nodded. “The mum of your mum.”

  “My mother died when I was three,” I said, as though my mother’s death somehow translated into her death too. How had I never considered my mother might have living parents?

  Mirna paused again. Her mouth opened slightly as though she might say something but changed her mind. Her fingers trembled.

  I had grandparents, or at least a grandmother, who’d never made herself known to me. Others existed who might have shed light on the mystery of my mother. Someone else might have given me the love I desired. The love Fiona withheld.

  Mirna spoke the truth. I’d seen it in her eyes—my eyes. My stomach twisted into knots. My throat burned. I was going to be sick.

  Any pretense of proper etiquette fell to the wayside. Years of pent-up resentment bubbled inside me. I rose, arms open, slack-jawed. “H–How can it be? If it’s true, where’ve you been all this time? Did you know I was alive? Why didn’t you look for me?” My voice came out shrill, growing louder with each question. I wanted to say more, but my mind failed to conjure the words.

  Mirna nodded again, as though she expected me to say as much. Hurt dwelled in her eyes.

  A pang of guilt tugged at my heart, but anger squelched it. I would not apologize. Instead, I sat back down at the edge of my seat, waiting for her to say something—anything.

  She looked up. Did she roll her eyes at my thick-headedness, short temper, or one of my numerous other shortcomings? No. Her gaze didn’t return to the ground. It remained fixed on the ceiling. Her lips moved as small children’s do when they’re learning to read in their head. She took another deep breath and dropped her voice. “I ached to be part of your life. It was not meant to be. The choice was not mine.” She clasped her hands together. “This village is the home of your mum and her people. She grew up here. She left to protect you.”

  I broke free from her stare. Focused on a knothole in the table edge, thoughts bombarded me, weighing me down. “Protect me from what?” It came out in a whisper. Conflicted. I didn’t want to know, yet I needed to.

  “From my son.” Her mouth twisted as if
her words tasted awful. “There is much you need to know before you will understand. Do you know where you are?”

  I shook my head.

  “I feared.” She straightened and returned her attention skyward. “This will not be easy.” She appeared to be addressing Someone above.

  I followed her gaze. Finding nothing but ceiling once more, I refocused on Mirna.

  Her eyes fixed on mine. “How can I explain? You are in Notirr, a small village in Ariboslia.”

  “I’ve never heard of such a place. Where is it? How did I get here?” Bracing my elbows on my knees, I rested my forehead in my hands and closed my eyes. Part of me didn’t want to continue, but a larger part hungered for answers.

  “That is what is most difficult to explain. Are you familiar with heaven?”

  As the questions’ absurdity mixed with my discomfort, I laughed. “Heard of it. Never been there.”

  Mirna chuckled. “I imagine you haven’t. I ask you, where is it?”

  “Where’s what? Heaven?” She nodded, so I shrugged. “I dunno. The sky, I guess.”

  “But how do you know? Your people explored the sky, am I right? Why is it they have not found heaven? It must be quite large.”

  “I don’t know. Does it even exist? Maybe we just can’t see it.”

  “Ahhhh.” Mirna sipped her drink, seeming content with my response. “I think you may be correct. I believe it exists and is invisible to us. That, I know, is what Ariboslia is like. Ariboslia exists right alongside your world.”

  “My worl—what are you saying?”

  “I’m saying you are not in North America or any other continent on your world. This world, Ariboslia, resides on the same planet at the same time as yours—in another realm. Two things cannot exist in both realms at once, with the exception of the megaliths. The same megaliths that exist here, in Ariboslia, also exist in your realm. They are portals between the realms. Do you follow what I say?”

  I nearly leapt out of my seat. “Is that how I got here? Through a megalith? Can I go back through the portal and get home? Are there others close by?”