AllFreeNovel
Share Us
I laugh and Gods, it hurts. “Considering I am pretty sure I’ve still got my boots on, I am very sure we didn’t have sex, Edith.”
She hums something noncommittal and drags herself to standing. “Right, well, I am going to make us some tea of something or other. And also a shower. Because I smell like I’ve been out in the Woods for days.”
Grateful for the quiet again, I shut my eyes and try to let unconsciousness take away the pain.
It takesseveralcups of Edith’s specialty herbal teas and one impossibly long shower in her aesthetically pleasing but kinda gross when you’re in it, rock and moss-covered shower, and I feel somewhat back to human.
Well, part human anyway.
But things are missing. And not just a large chunk of my memory. My hiking bag is in Edith’s lounge room, where I had been asleep, tucked in between one of the far too many spindly side tables covered in intricate and morbid knick-knacks.
I am pretty sure that it’s my backpack, anyway. But there are a whole bunch of clothes in there that are at least two sizes too small for me. I have no idea where they came from, but I still manage to dig out a pair of fresh underwear that kind of fit, clean jeans that are actually mine plus a thermal tee and sweater that fit if I don’t lift my arms over my head. The pack is also missing a whole heap of things thatshouldbe in my kit if I was out hiking alone. Maybe I had dropped it somewhere?
Edith stumbles out of her bedroom in a fresh velvet dress, buttoned high in the collar with a pleated full skirt that hits mid-calf. Shereallyenjoys dressing the part of eccentric forest witch. People in town hate her when she decides to drop in and cause trouble every so often.
“Got your memories back, bud?” she asks, flopping onto the nearest overstuffed couch. There are certainly more than enough to dramatically throw yourself into. Edith’s whimsical decorating style is one that even most maximalists would declare “too much”.
I throw the backpack I had been digging through to the side. “No. And I’m missing things. Some of these things aren’t mine. And whenever I try to remember, it’s like…” I try to find the words to explain it.
“Like you’re taking a pickaxe to the brain?”
“Yes! Like my brain is actively trying to not remember. But, I don’t know. There is something missing. Something big. Like my arm’s been chopped off, but I can still feel it. Is that weird?” I rub at the spot in my chest where there is a strange ache. Maybe I pulled a muscle? Edith shrugs and waves her hand around the room at the taxidermied birds, hanging bones and crystals and woven tapestries.
“Who am I to judge weird? It’s probably just hangxiety. You’ll be fine once it passes. Want me to come with you back to Black Stump?”
There is no better solution, really, so I nod half-heartedly and shove the last of the stuff back in the backpack.
“Sure, I’m sure the walk’ll clear our heads. Maybe we’ll remember.”
***
The walk doesn’t exactly do much to clear our heads, but it is exhausting. So there’s that. We had set out around lunchtime, but we could barely drag our feet along. It feels like we had been walking fordays. And my ankle is weirdly sore. But, just like everything else, I have no memory of hurting it. And every so often, I get this strange pulsing sensation in my hands. Like a burning tingle that… grows? I have no idea.
Edith caught me staring at my hands a couple of times and gave me a funny look, but I’d only been able to shrug. I had no idea what was going on and I had decided to temporarily give up trying to remember anything past this morning. The searing pain is unbearable and I am pretty sure it will all come back when my brain works out whatever kinks it has. Hopefully.
But the Woods are against us too. I have never been this unlucky in the Woods. The paths keep changing; the wind is swirling against us. Several times, the path became blocked with a tree or rock or impassable creek, all seemingly out of nowhere, forcing us to double back until we could find our way back around.
And the sprites! Usually I get along great with the little buggers, even if I rarely see them, but they have been hanging around like flying, glowing mosquitos, squealing at us in their impossible language. Edith finally lost her cool and summoned a huge gust of wind to blow them away from us. But then, as the gale had passed, rushing around us in a furious flurry, she had paled, turning that sickly grey colour again.
“Um, so I don’trememberanything, but uh, wind is bad apparently?” It is always disconcerting to see panic on the face of a powerful witch, but I got what she meant. That little knot of anxiety in my stomach had tightened even further, the burning returning to my hands, when the wind had passed us. Maybe there is a good reason that we have no memories? Though it would be nice to know how long we’d lost.
***
The sunset has cast a fiery red light over the sky, and we’ve been walking pointlessly for hours. I stumble over an errant tree root jutting from the ground, and my scramble to stay upright is the last straw for my already overwrought emotions. Like a volcano erupting, all my confusion, anger and exasperation spews out of me.
“This is getting out of control. I feel like shit. My mind is racing. I have this awful feeling that something extremely bad is happening and I don’t know what it is and I have no idea what is happening at home. I am sick of this shit already.”
To further emphasise my point, I rip my backpack off me and throw the damned thing to the ground, quickly following suit by slamming my butt down on the nearest rock. Resting my elbows on my knees to cradle my head in my palms, I try to massage away some of the pressure pounding in my skull.
Now is not exactly the time for a pity party, but I am overwhelmed, exhausted and sick of this black fog ofsadnessclouding my head. Oh, and I’d somehow lost my tent, so I am sleeping outside in the Woods tonight because there is no way we are making it to the Black Stump before nightfall.
I can feel Edith’s bony arms wrap around me; her pungent herby smell is strangely comforting. She doesn’t say anything for a long while, just rocks me gently, resting her chin on my shoulder while we both sit in our own melancholy.
“Come on,” she whispers eventually, “let’s make dinner and get settled for the night. Maybe things will be better in the morning.”
I sniff back the tears threatening to spill down my cheeks, hoping that maybe she’ll be right.
***
