It’s cold, freezing cold. I try and reach with a hand to wipe the tears off my eyes, but the pressure is too strong, I can barely move a muscle. It’s only with this attempt, that my addled mind manages to put the pieces together.
I’m in the sky.
The realization doesn’t scare me as much as I thought. Falling feels a lot like lulling oneself to sleep, I realize. It’s the same sort of suspension, the same in-between that is neither here, nor there. If it’s clouds all the way down, maybe I can stay like this forever. I could fall, thoughtlessly and painlessly, forever. Not too bad.
The clouds part for a moment; miles and miles below me, land stretches in all directions. A pale green, flat expanse with touches of red and ochre, from this distance I can’t tell if if the differences in color distinguish cultivated land or some sort of rugged terrain. The endless flat is broken here and there by groups of sharp, oddly pointed hills; and dotted with darker lumps that, I imagine, could be villages. Far in the distance to my left, a chain of mountains cuts off the horizon.
Miles and miles above the world, I am flying. I close my eyes, I smile. I’m flying.
…
Falling.
I’m falling!
I wake up from the haze that has gotten hold of my mind up to that point. I realize, with icy and sharp precision, where I am – and what’s going to happen to me.
I am freefalling to my death.
My half-naked body screams, every cell of it like a single, gaping mouth. I flail, for what little the air pressure allows, I try to oppose some resistance to gravity, but it’s all in vain. My hand, my feet don’t stand a chance against the pressure building around me, and in a few instants I’m so thoroughly drained I can do nothing but stop fighting, and accept the crash that awaits me. At least, as if the universe itself pitied me, I stumble across another bank of clouds, which shields from me the sight of the earth coming closer and closer with every second.
But hoping for the universe’s mercy would be too much. It’s just when I have come to peace with my destiny that, in the corner or my eye, I see – or, rather, feel – a colossal shadow cutting the air above my head, only for an instant. I’m too weak to raise my head and see, nor I bother to try. I’ll be dead in seconds, what could it matter whether I become a stain on a rock, or some beast makes a snack out of me?
The shadow reappears, this time below me, and I catch a glimpse of dark, gigantic wings that flap in my direction, exerting enough pressure to fight my freefall, and send me tumbling among the clouds, powerless, like a puppet with broken strings.
The impact of that gust disorients me. My eyes burn, my chest feels like it’s about to collapse, opposing currents tear at my limbs as if trying to claim one or the other for their own. It’s with resigned abandon that I close my eyelids when I see the shadow appear again; this time, close enough that I can feel its talons, each one as long as my body, close upon me.
- - - -
Come on. Open them. Open them up. You know you can do it.
I open my eyes to find out that, thankfully, I have not turned into a stain on a rock. Sure, my eyelids burn as if coals had been slipped under them, a taste of blood and bile feels my parched mouth, and every single end in my body feels as if it’s paralized. But I’m alive, and that’s a start.
I strain my eyes to take in the place around me. It’s a long, wooden room, with sky windows letting in the tame, pleasant light of what could be morning. Both sides of the room are lined with beds, like in an infirmary, of which none seem occupied. Well, except the one I’m in. It doesn’t take me long to realize I am laying among fresh sheets, tucked up to my neck. I am alone, and the infirmary is perfectly silent.
Exerting so much strain I am, for a moment, unsure if I’d even make it, I move an arm from under the covers, and into my field of vision. The sight scares me – it’s not quite skeletal, but I can tell the bones under the dry, scratched skin. I push myself to lift the blankets enough to find out whether I still have a body; and, if so, how much of it is left.
Tears come to my eyes once again. Lifting the sheets just a little, I am confronted by a famished, ruined body, a mess barely disguised by a flimsy white robe. What’s exposed of my skin is covered in cuts and bruises, and I’m so thin I have difficulties imagining my limbs functioning ever again.
I let the sheets fall. I need to remove this sight from my eyes, at least for the moment. Whoever has done this to me…
My mind halts for an instant. That’s right. Who has done this to me?
Where am I?
Who…
And that’s the moment – still etched in my mind, even today, as possibly the worst single instant of my life – in which I realize I remember nothing, at all.
Who I am. What I am doing there, where “there” is.
I let out a scream. A long, sad, pathetic scream borne out of a body that can barely function. It hits my ears more akin to a gargle, a choked attempt at a scream, but it’s all my fight or flight instincts can muster though the pathetic channel I’ve become.
Immediately, as if I have sounded an alarm, a door opens and a short, pudgy woman rushes into the room. Clad in an immaculate white uniform, her graying hair held in place by a collection of plain pins, she loses no time in reaching my bedside and initiating a complex dance, whose general goal I guess is to test what prodded me to emit that ungodly scream. She lifts my wiry arms, manipulates me, goes for my wrist and throat in a hurry.
I try to form a word, forcing precious air out of my lungs – which, after that outburst, feel like they’ve partially melt inside my body. All I manage to produce is a lament that can barely called a word.
?What…?
The woman gently presses a hand against my chest, which I interpret as a request not to overdo it. A couple palpations later she finally seems satisfied that I’m not about to die just yet, and once again she gestures to wait before leaving the room.
I sink deeper in the pillows around me and close my eyes. Once again I try to remember, this time forcing myself to keep calm and try not to panic if memories don’t come at my beck and call. Considering where I am, and the state I’m in, it’s clear that I have suffered some sort of accident or injury, and it shouldn’t surprise me that my memory is a bit loopy.
I search inside my head, looking for a strand of memory, any shred of a moment before I opened my eyes inside this infirmary. I search and, for a moment, I seem to recall something. Water… no, a shimmering liquid, the color of dark midnight dew…
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
I wince, snuffing a yelp. For an instant, I caressed with my mind a black hole. A blind spot, where my memories used to be. Maybe they’re still there; but, if they are, I cannot reach them. Even the big, round tears of frustration that run down my cheeks achieve nothing but making my eyes burn and my head hurt even worse.
I’m angry, mostly at myself. Here I am, powerless, broken, good only to water my face like a leaky faucet. I’d slap myself, if I had the energy.
The door to the infirmary opens. It’s the nurse again, but this time she has company. Behind her is a tall, well built man. He doesn’t look too old, but his short beard and hair are tinged by visible streaks of grey. He wears formal clothing, waistcoat and all, and small round glasses are perched on his nose.
The woman stays at the door, fidgeting with her pudgy hands; the man grabs a chair and sets it right by my bedside. He sinks his hand into his pocket and then outstretches it, showing in his rough palm a small pill. Oval, opaque, a deep blue veering towards black. The color of my missing memories.
I look into the man’s eyes. Behind the thick lenses, they are gentle but firm. He gestures for me to take the pill in my hand; when my stillness makes it pretty clear I don’t have the energy nor force of will to do so, he pushes it against my cracked lips and in between my teeth. I offer no opposition and swallow the pill. I can barely move, barely think – what would be the point in resisting?
I wait for what I imagine will be unbearable pain as that medicine works its “magic” on my ravaged body, but it doesn’t come. Instead, as the seconds pass slow like molasses, the only effect I can feel is a steady, tangible clearing of my mind, as if a bit of the haze that held it in its grasp up to that instant finally let go. The man patiently sits by my side, occasionally checking the time on his pocket watch.
Finally satisfied with whatever he’s waiting, he looks at me and smiles.
?So, how are we doing today??
And then he waits some more. Truth to be told, after my recent attempts, speaking is something I would rather not do at the moment.
He stays there, placid, waiting for me to speak. He seems thoroughly relaxed, while I feel a tension grow within me. This won’t end until I speak, so I might as well. Too bad for you, old man.
?… could be better? I mumble, then widen my eyes in surprise. No brain fog, no indecision, no burning throat or words harsh like thorns. Just a little tiredness, the deflated voice of a convalescent. But I can speak somewhat clearly, and that’s the moment when I also realize my arms and legs seem a bit lighter. I feel, in fact, better overall.
The man smiles. ?A single dose of mana is not enough to get you back on your feet, but it’s a start. We have to go by degrees, everyone has their ideal threshold and we don’t want you to overdose. You must be very confused, I imagine. We should probably start with introductions – you just sit there and relax. I’m Ozyas. To make things simple, let’s say I’m the boss around here? he added with a gentle laugh. ?The worrywart at the door is Isala, the head nurse of this hospital. What’s your name??
I’m not going to face that black hole inside my mind again, not for the moment. ?I don’t remember.?
Ozyas nodded. He doesn’t seem particularly surprised by my reply; if anything, slightly disappointed, as if it’s a recurring instance he was tired of hearing. It only lasts for a moment, though, and he soon is back to his jovial countenance.
?That’s alright, we’ll fix that as soon as possible. For now, your only job is to rest and take your medicine. Let’s start with some good news – a severe case of malnutrition and, obviously, mana starvation aside, you are in remarkably good health. No broken bones, no traumas, a few bruises here and there. Nothing serious. Say, how would you feel about a little fresh air? some sun would do you good, and in the meantime I could answer your questions.?
With the impeccable professionalism I would come to know in the following months, as soon as she hears those words the nurse Isala hurries to the opposite side of the room and pushes a contraption all the way to my bedside. A wheelchair.
?You’re still too weak to walk on your own, so this will have to do for now. Just hang tight.?
Ozyas removes the sheets and effortlessly lifts me off the bed onto the wheelchair. He and Isala exchange a few words I can’t hear, and then the man gently pushes me outside the infirmary, into a spacious corridor, stone walled with wooden inlays. The wheels of the chair creak as Ozyas guides me along the empty corridors. I slump upon the cushioned seat, while my eyes explore the surroundings.
?Very empty? I say.
Ozyas chuckles. ?It’s lunchtime, everyone is down at the cafeteria. A bit too soon for you stomach, for now you’ll have to do without Granma’s excellent cooking. We’ll give you some more mana and some fluids once we’re back.?
I don’t protest; though, truth to be told, I am a bit hungry. It’s as if that blue pill I swallowed has reawakened me, returning my energy but, at the same time, the uncomfortable sensation of having a body. Some of my bruises sort of hurt again and, while the cloudiness in my brain is almost gone, I feel slight pangs of whiplash running from the back of my neck to my forehead.
We open a door and exit upon a terrace. Ozyas stops the wheelchair once we’re all the way against the stone railing, so that I might take in the surroundings, and the vista before me. It’s a wonderful day, the sky is entirely clear and the sun is pleasantly warm against my skin. The terrace we are on is the flat roof of a red-stone building, a tiered structure perched on top of a tall hill that dominates what appears to be mostly cultivated farmland, save for a few groups of sister hills in the distance. The color of the land, mostly a mossy dark green, occasionally gives in to patches of a strangely dark, burgundy red. Against the horizon, so far they’re nothing but a thick line drawn at the feet of the sky, it’s a vast mountain chain.
Ozyas sits against the railing, next to me. ?This place is Hospital One, and what you see before you is Zenobia. None of these names mean anything to you, I imagine.?
I stand silent for a moment, then shake my head.
Ozyas sighs. ?Would have been too good to be true. Now, I’m not quite sure how to start – which is sort of funny, considering how many times I had to do this already – but I guess the best way is to simply explain the situation, and then you can ask me any question you have. How does it sound??
Eyes on the horizon, I nod. I can almost feel Ozyas breathe in, preparing himself.
?You have fallen through a Hole in the sky, into Zenobia. You’re not the first one, so we were ready to catch you before you became part of the landscape. Unfortunately, we have only one rider, so we had to make choices. You were the only one we were able to save.?
I show no reaction. I don’t even know which “others” he’s talking about. ?I remember only –? I say. ?Wings. Dark wings. And talons. I though I was done for.?
Ozyas laughs, heartily. ?Xaver will be happy to know him and Doa made such a big impression on you. Some researchers have put together flying machines, but they’re all prototypes for now. We still rely on… let’s say, animal flightpower to catch people falling from Holes. I’m sure you will get a chance to meet both Xaver and his ride, in time. Now, as I was saying, we were able to save you; but it’s easy to see you suffer from amnesia, for all that concerns your life before you fell from the Hole. Your memories – ?
?Are you a doctor?? I interrupt.
?Sort of.?
?Will they come back??
Ozyas sighed again. ?You would be the first one in history.?
I stand silent, eyes on the panorama before me. With my mind’s eye, I imagine a tiny speck in the distance, a flailing small insect who doesn’t know who she is, falling off a Hole in the sky, whatever that means. Lost, no memory of who she is, no past. Would she want to be saved?
?I know this is a lot to take in at once. If you have any question, I’m here to answer.?
This time, it’s my turn to take a deep breath. ?What will be of me??
Ozyas picks his glasses and cleans the lenses with a handkerchief he produces from his pocket. ?Well, you are our guest. All expenses paid, though eventually you will need to find an occupation to sustain yourself. But that’s far in the future. For now, all you need to do is recover. After that, let’s say you’ll be enrolled in a school of sorts. Don’t worry, we will do all we can to get you adjusted to you new life.?
My new life.
I lay back my head and close my eyes. I bask in the sun, feeling my body grow lighter and warmer.
?Anything else you want to ask?? Ozyas says.
?Can we stay here a little longer??
He doesn’t answer, but even with my eyes closed I can feel him sitting more comfortably against the railing. We both stay silent, I don’t know what he might be thinking, nor I care. I clear my head of all thoughts, push aside the new reality I have been thrust into, and decide that the only reality I want, for the moment, is the warmth of the sun. This girl with no name just wants to exist.
…
….
?Hyos. My name is Hyos.?
I open my eyes. Ozyas stares at me, tense with expectation.
?You mean that…?
?No. I just like the way it sounds. Do you like it??
…
….
He laughs.
A long, hearthy laugh. A laugh of surprise. A laugh of amazement. A bitter laugh of disappointment. A laugh that has me truly born into this new world.
A laugh I will never forget.