story - part 28 - memory five - 1076 words

The world comes and goes for the next few days, a week, perhaps more. I sleep most of it, a drugged and dream clouded sleep. There is nothing else I can do; wings are still tied up in heavy splints, and even tiny movements make me ache. She does not let me out of the bed, she brings food and drink and potions to me.

Much of the time, she sits beside me and talks, working on her seeing or putting together salves, washing bandages. She lives alone, she is unmarried and childless, though she speaks frequently of her fine, strapping nephews. They never stop by. No one ever comes to visit, they only come to knock on her door and ask for her help with a broken bone, or a sick child, an infected wound.

There is no prodding for my story. She asks for my name, and I tell her to call me Raven. I can tell by the way she smiles that she knows that is not really my name, but she goes along with it. No more questions are asked of me, she reads rightly that I cannot answer, or will not, or do not want to.

If Altair has come after me, or sent someone in search, she does not take notice of a small cabin in the woods. I suspect, however, that she is sitting and plotting, assuming that I will come back to her sometime soon. She has never believed that I am capable of taking care of myself, she has trained me to rely on her. She has never expected rebellion, or a spark of self-confidence. Whatever the case, she does not find me.

Eventually, the pain fades away into something fainter, more tolerable. It becomes steady and familiar, I am able to ignore it, and almost even forget about it. Doricha stops giving me pain killers so often, she no longer mixes them into my food and my drink. My thoughts clear and my curiosity peaks. I begin to ask what different potions do, where certain herbs come from, how to mix and concoct.

When I am well enough to get out of bed, to sit up, I take to helping her with her every day tasks. I sew, peal potatoes, crush herbs into paste and apply the mixtures to bandages. We do not talk often, but it is usually enough to merely share company, to not be alone in the cold and empty house.

Another week, and I am able to limp out of the bed, to take a slow and careful tour of the house, with her help. It is small, but it is pleasant, warm and comforting. Living here is simpler, easier. I could see being happier here, than in a huge house with vaulted windows and drafts, isolated chambers. This place is more real.

An unspoken agreement is made between us. Neither of us admits that we like having the other around, we do not say it aloud, but we both know that we do not want to be alone. She will not kick me out of her house, send me packing to make due for myself.

She even starts to teach me, the basics of potions and of herbs, of human anatomy. She has no books on the subjects, she can only give me what is in her head. It takes me some time to realize that, while there are several slim books on her shelf, she does not know how to read. I take it in my head to help her learn, and her teaching turns to an exchange of information between the two of us, it is fair.

My life has never been this calm and this settled into a routine. There has always been stress, whispers and gossip, I have always had too many duties. Now, there are times when I must look for something to do. I have free time that I do not know how to fill.

We have taken to each other. We have long, low conversations regarding favorite songs and stories, the state of the country. She provides a simple and direct peasant approach to life, something I have never experienced before, and she teaches me how complicated laws work on a very basic level. I explain the reasoning behind taxes, and the customs that old laws spring from, I try to make her understand the noble side of things even as she explains the common plight. I probably learn more with her than I ever did in lessons.

It takes over a month for my wings to heal well enough that the splints can come off, and I am able to walk without any aid. I have barely left the house in this time, and now that I have the opportunity, I find that I am restless and uncomfortable inside. I long for fresh air and other company, even though I have never wanted them before. I want to get out, to find the faint memory of the smell of a garden, to hear voices, but I cannot leave the cabin. Someone might recognize me, or at the very least question the wings on my back.

Doricha is the one who comes up with the idea to disguise me as a hunchback. She has not had the training I have, but she does know that the best place to hide is in plain sight, and that no one takes notice of a cripple. She has amputated enough limbs and seen enough permanent damage to know how people react, to be familiar with the way people are not comfortable with looking someone disabled in the eye.

I become just another one of her distant relatives. She does not expect anyone to question this, and when we finally have my cloak complete, when my disguise is believable enough, she takes me with her into town. Not a word, not a single curious glance. They deliberately look in the other direction and take care not to stare.

So I become her assistant, her apprentice. She teaches me how to set bones, how to judge illnesses, how to soothe away pain and how to mix potions that will put people to sleep without killing them. Those town folks who rely on her grow used to me, and are no longer quite so uncomfortable. I am still an outsider, but at least I am part of their lives.