17878265

by David

  “Never mind your name for now. That blow to your head must have taken your memory

  from you. These things sometimes happen with such an injury,” she explained. “Stop thinking about it, relax and get some rest. Perhaps your name will come back to you in its own time.”

  Loric was dreadfully afraid. He had lost his name, his memories and his identity, but Avalana’s soft tone and kind words encouraged him, comforted him and gave him hope of recovering all that he had lost. “How long will this last?” he wondered aloud. “When will I remember who I am?”

  Avalana grudgingly replied, “I am sorry. I do not know. Like you, I only wish I knew.”

  “What about my dizziness?” Loric inquired. “And my blurred vision?” Loric’s blood

  channeled through his windpipe. Air bloated his veins. “Will these ails go away?”

  “The conditions you suffer are likely to go away in a few days, but again, it is hard to say.”

  Avalana’s coo said, I want to know the answers you seek. “No more questions,” she informed him. “You need rest. If it is any comfort to you, I can give you a name until you remember your own, Sir Stranger.”

  “What is that?” Loric asked, cringing at the sound of the word stranger.

  “Ami,” the lady responded. Loric was trying to understand what she had said, when she explained, “Ami means friend in my home country, and that is what I would call you--by your leave, of course, Sir Stranger.”

  Loric fell silent at that. He did not know what to say. Avalana’s kindness touched him. “I would be honored to be called friend- -ami-” Loric stumbled over the foreign word, short though it was, “-by you,” he answered at last.

  Avalana let off a light, relieved sigh and assured him, “I am glad for that. Now rest.”

  Loric was dull weary. He wished he could continue his discussion with Avalana until the sun broke free of the clouds once more, but his aching head would not permit him to go without rest. He wanted to know what had happened to him, and why it had happened, but he was too tired to think on those queries. It was as if his travels and the injuries he had sustained were working in concert to deny his mind for the sake of his fatigued and battered body.

  Rain beat furiously against the roof and sides of the tent. Loric lay there silent, listening to the sound of rushing air as it lashed rainfall against the canvas shelter without relenting in its assault. The wind was sometimes quiet, sometimes gusting, but there was a pseudo-rhythm in the noise of the storm. Before long, Loric forgot his many concerns and drifted into peaceful slumber....

  ****

  The chambers of Loric’s mind went blank and he wandered the land of dreams. There, he

  saw a man with graying brown hair that had receded to the crown of his head. Keen green eyes peered out of that lined face. The man was holding a bucket. He looked angry. Loric also saw a woman with long, braided brown hair that was tinged with red. Her eyes were miniature pools of green, but the hard squint at their corners hinted that she too was perturbed about something that remained hidden from the young dreamer. Loric caught glimpses of a tall red stallion scattered amongst his views of the man and the woman.

  There were images of other faces in Loric’s subconscious as well. Among them was a big, flabby-faced fellow with stringy blond hair. The brute smiled and laughed, as he danced with a pretty, young maid. Loric called to the girl, but she ignored him. She and her partner whirled away, with her auburn hair flying. Grimy men with unkempt hair and scraggly beards replaced them. One among that troublesome lot had a patch over his eye and another man in the group held a stiletto with a broken tip.

  People were not the only subjects of Loric’s dreams. He also traversed the foggy haze to arrive at a charming little cottage with a split-rail fence. Both the fence and the yard were decorated with begonias and bluebells, with anemones poking up between them. Then fields rolled by as a vast sea of green stalks and Loric’s eyes turned to a jagged highway, which stretched long and wide before his booted feet. Broken flagstones of that road gave way to the arched stone bridge over a stream, whose sparkling clear waters rushed him back to his favorite fishing spot amidst its smooth currents. Then Loric’s dream carried him away to the old stone cottage once more.

  Inside that tiny structure, the brown-haired woman sang as she prepared dinner. A wonderful aroma filled the cottage. The balding man entered the squat building without his bucket or his frown. “You sing beautifully, Adie,” said he. The old farmer kissed his wife on the cheek and went to wash up. Afterward, the man and woman spoke of the day’s events. The dream ended when the woman resumed her lovely song....

  ****

  Loric awoke with a pleasant song lingering in his ear. Although he did not recognize the language of the vocals, it was the fairest melody he had ever heard. Sweet fragrance was in the air. As he reoriented himself with his surroundings, he realized he was bedded down in a tent.

  Loric was lying on a thick pad of soft down. The sole source of light was a small oil lantern atop a table at the center of the tent. There was a wooden bowl on an oaken trunk beside him.

  Steam rose from the bluish liquid within the container. It gave off minty sugary smell.

  Then Loric’s eyes fell upon Avalana, the fountain from which angelic song bubbled. Her long blond hair fell in shiny tresses down to her waist. It was alive with loose curls, which were shimmering in the warm glow of the lamp. Those golden locks only partially hid a young face on the threshold of adulthood. Her eyes were the brightest of blue, reminding Loric of Sapphire Lake. A soft brow and long beautiful lashes protected those brilliant spheres, which were set perfectly about the bridge of her nose. Her mouth gently curved in a sweet smile as she sang, revealing teeth that were porcelain white from good care. Upon her thin frame, the lady wore a blue satin dress that looked dim when compared with her eyes. Its shiny fabric was adorned with small gemstones that did not sparkle as her dazzling teeth did.

  Loric was helpless to keep from staring. Try as he would, he could not look away from the fair maiden before him. Such loveliness he had never known, nor did he believe he would ever know again. He was spellbound by Avalana’s beauty, captivated by her innocence and enchanted by her song.

  Avalana poured liquid from a small jug into a wooden cup. The swirling sound made perfect accompaniment to her song. She blushed upon glancing up and discovering that Loric had affixed his gaze to her. She ended her chorus in mid-line. “I-I did not mean to disturb you. I will stop bleating so you can rest.”

  Loric fumbled for the words, saying, “Uh.... no. Please.... uh.... continue. You are not disturbing me, I promise.” His anxiousness left him as he went on, “You judge yourself harshly.

  Your song is very nice. I enjoyed it. I would like to hear more, if it pleases you. As for me, I feel quite rested.” The young traveler from Taeglin unfastened his eyes from Avalana by concerted will. He turned them earthward and apologized, “Forgive me. I did not mean to stare, milady.”

  Loric absent-mindedly let a question slip from his tongue, begging, “Please, answer me this: are you a queen? For you fit description of highborn consorts oft spoken in tales.”

  Avalana laughed and smiled, dimpling her cheeks with delight. Loric thought that an odd response to his query, until she pointed out, “Ami, you can see! That is wonderful.”

  “Yes,” Loric noted, catching her bliss and grinning. “To my great joy, I finally get to see the fair maiden who has been tending upon my wound.”

  Avalana’s cheeks bloomed red, as she answered his question, saying, “I am not a queen, gallant Sir Ami, but my father is a king. By title he is King Avalar of Regalsturn, across the Shimmering Sea.” She waved her hand to her right and sighed.

  “Is the sea named for your hair?” Loric asked. The upturned corners of his mouth held their vertical curves, until rational thoughts infiltrated the spell on his mind. What am I doing? Good sense shouted, You are courting a headsman’s axe for speaking to a princess as if she were a simp
le peasant girl! Nevertheless, the banner of warning had risen too slowly to wave his mouth silent, and the words were on the air for the princess to hear and consider. I cannot unsay what I have said.

  “I do not know for what the sea is named,” Avalana replied bashfully, not seeming to mind Loric’s frank manner of speech. “I only know that my home is close enough to the Shimmering Sea that I can almost see it as the gods view it, in all of its breadth. I miss the sea, my home.”

  Avalana’s smile, which had been such a welcome sight to Loric, faded as she finished

  speaking. Her voice dampened in speaking her longing for Regalsturn. Loric’s thoughts also turned homeward. He remembered it. “Taeglin is my home.” He caught Avalana’s eyes as they lit upon him. They seemed to request more information, so he went on, “It lies southwest of Moonriver, along a branch of the Moonbeam Stream.”

  Avalana’s lips parted jubilantly. “Speak on if you remember more, but if not, drink the curatif brew. The vapors have done much to cure your wound. Do you also feel refreshed?”

  Loric continued his nod of agreement.

  “The herb from which I made it is more potent when you drink it,” Avalana shared. “Go on.

  Drink it. Drink, Ami.”

  The princess pointed to the bowl next to Loric. He took the container between trembling hands. He watched the blue liquid splash the inner round of the vessel. It created foamy waves, like the ocean he had heard about, but only imagined. The wayward traveler stared at the wavelets as he lifted the bowl to his lips and sipped its contents. There was no bitterness to the remedy. He drank. To his surprise, the steamy brew went down cool. It was sweet to the taste and smooth on his throat.

  Loric felt better after his first drink. It infused him with energy. When he finished, he asked,

  “What is this? It not only satisfies the mouth, but it restores vigor to the body as well.”

  “The mathasz lutinszba nes do is a mystical plant found along the seashores near my home,”

  answered Avalana.

  Loric was dumbfounded. It was a mouthful to speak something as simple as a specific type of plant in Avalana’s strange language. He opened his mouth to repeat the words, “Maw....

  thawz-”

  Avalana stopped him with a giggle.

  Heat rose from Loric’s chest to his cheeks. Warmth faded, leaving him cold and hollow.

  Avalana apologized, “I am sorry.” She took up a wooden cup and drew a sip from it,

  returned it to its place on the table. She slowly repeated the words, “Mathasz lutinszba nes do.”

  She reached out with her narrow fingers, which chased in circles for the right translation, offering, “In your language, it means.... weed of the elf.” She smiled, pleased with her grasp of the native tongue.

  “I see,” Loric replied, “although I am unfamiliar with this plant.”

  Avalana continued excitedly, “It grows near Crenullaisz, across the sea. I frequently employ the use of this and other enchanted herbs. In my home country, people consider me a gifted healer, but I sometimes doubt the high praise I receive. I have simply been well schooled in the use of blessed plants.”

  “I know nothing of healing,” Loric admitted, “but I know that everything you have done for me has eased my pain and cured my head.” He offered further encouragement, saying, “I feel mild throbbing behind my eyes, but that is not due lack of attention on your part. You have gone to great lengths to comfort me. You have restored my vision and my memory, and for that I owe you thanks and a debt that may not be within my means to repay, milady.”

  Avalana smiled and assured him, “You owe me nothing.” She paused, reconsidering her

  position, before she decided, “You owe me continued rest, until you are well.” Avalana moved toward him unexpectedly, murmuring, “I should check your bandage.” She leaned close to Loric, who caught the fragrance of lavender wafting toward him. Avalana lifted a corner of cloth from his forehead, taking great care not to irritate his wound. After a peek at his brow, the lady informed her charge, “This must be changed.” Avalana removed the old wrap. Then she

  withdrew a jar of creamy paste from a pocket of her dress and smeared it onto a new bandage.

  Avalana slowly pressed the poultice to his head, warning him, “This sometimes burns when it is first applied, but it should ease your pain.”

  It burned like fire. It was as though she had placed a hot coal upon his brow. Loric grunted and reached up to strike the bandage away.

  Avalana stopped his move to resist her with a firm, “No!” Loric’s discomfort and her harsh command caused Avalana to say, “I am sorry, Sir Ami. The pain is part of the cure.” She soothed him with a touch of her hand and words of encouragement. “The burn will pass. It should feel better in a moment.”

  As promised, the fiery balm cooled. Pleasant numbness settled into Loric’s forehead. “Ah,”

  he sighed, as the burning sensation finally faded away. “That is much better.”

  There followed a long pause in which neither the princess nor Loric spoke. Young man and young woman looked about with no focus. Avalana fidgeted with the clasps of her hands, right upon left and then left about right, afterward interlocking fingers in various combinations. Her smile rose by half, and then it twisted downward, before it arose again, her eyes twinkling. At length, the princess shrugged and her face brightened. She spoke, though hesitantly, asking,

  “Who is Adie, Ami?”

  Adie! “I know that name. Adie is my mother’s name. Why do you ask?”

  Tension melted away from Avalana’s face in the warmth of her bright smile. She made a poor attempt to hide her relief, as she curtly answered, “Oh, no reason.”

  Loric shrugged.

  “You said that name while you slept. That is all,” Avalana added. Her face crinkled in perplexity as she went on to say, “Well, actually, that is not all. You also muttered sunset many times and -?”

  “Sunset is the name of my horse,” Loric declared proudly. “My father gave him to me.”

  “That was a rich gift,” Avalana remarked. “Your father must be a wealthy lord to spoil you so,” she chided. Her eyes were serious and thoughtful.

  Loric bit back his discomfort at telling his half-truth. Palen had told him Sunset was his when he finally left his boyhood home, but Loric had departed unbidden, no matter how he tried to justify his thievery. As for the armor and sword, he had stolen them outright. Guilt tortured him for doing that, especially when he looked about for them and discovered they were gone.

  The bandits must have taken everything, he thought darkly. Wait. She thinks my father a lord?

  And wealthy too?

  Avalana smiled, not seeming to notice Loric’s tormented state. Her eyes were in another place as she remarked, “He is remarkable.” Upon reading Loric’s quizzical expression, she added, “I mean your Sunset; not your father, although he may be remarkable as well. Rumor has it your steed was reluctant to accompany Lord Aldric’s soldiers back to camp.”

  “Sunset is here?” Loric questioned. His mindset instantly lifted above the gloom into which it had settled. When Avalana nodded, he sighed, anxiety eased. “I am glad to know he was not taken--that I did not lose him. That is good news.” He beamed broadly as he shared, “I suppose this is a time of good news. I know who I am. I know who my mother is, and my father, and my horse.” He went on to introduce himself with a polite nod, saying, “I am Loric son of Palen, of Taeglin, at your service and deeply in your debt, Princess Avalana.”

  Avalana extended her hand, fingers down. Loric reached up beneath her delicate digits, gently placing his thumb over them. Their eyes met, causing them to smile at one another dumbly. Loric felt Avalana pull against his hold, so he released her warm hand and admiring eyes.

  Avalana’s cheeks retained their pink afterglow as she inquired, “Do you remember anything else about yourself, Loric? I mean brothers, sisters, friends--lady friends, perhaps?”

  The last part o
f the question caught Loric off his guard, but he cleared his throat to rid himself of the bitter lump Belinda’s betrothal to Barag had left there. His tone was measured, as he politely replied, “I am the lone son of my father, with no sisters. Of my friends, there is little to tell. Most of them are older fellows who have followed their hearts unto other lives--usually to make war for Lord Garrick, as I too intend to do. Some of the lads let a pretty, young girl snare them before they could go off to war. Those poor chaps have settled down to build nice farms, close to their families.”

  “No such snare was set for you,” Avalana began, disdainfully crinkling her nose at Loric’s word of choice, before she posed, “or did you use your wit and cunning to avoid it? After all, it would seem that war is the pitfall to avoid.”

  Loric cocked his head at Avalana’s last remark, failing to understand her meaning. “There was one hook and lure I thought to let take me....” Loric started, but as the rest came back to him, he grunted, “....things did not sort themselves out between the maid and me.”

  “Oh,” the princess responded, almost cheerily.

  Loric frowned at her happiness, which caused Avalana to mirror his expression.

  The princess quickly shrugged off the affront, as if it were no more than a trifle. “Perhaps it is for the best,” Avalana assured Loric in her most comforting voice. She applied two nervous pats to his shoulder for emphasis, before she ventured, “What was the girl’s name? Belinda, right?” she answered.

  “Yes,” Loric rasped. “I suppose I spoke of her in my sleep as well,” he reasoned.

  “Oh,” Avalana cooed. “This Belinda was a waste of a good dream, Loric.”

  Loric disagreed with a hard stare.

  Avalana giggled.

  That giggle was an infectious sound that made it hard for Loric to continue his glowering gaze. He cracked a smile, unable to shield himself from the disarming presence of the princess before him.