Falling Skyward

Chapter Thirteen: Searching for Familiarity

"Gailen, Gailen! No, don't hurt him," Lana whimpered. She felt fingers trace the curve of her cheek. Then she screamed.

"Stop it! Stop hurting him! I'll kill you if you touch him." The gentle pressure on her shoulders intensified. Lana lashed out, clawing at the hands holding her down. "Gailen," she moaned. Legs writhing, she felt something soft standing near, and she kicked savagely.

A voice, not her own, groaned in return.

With fire no longer licking her eyelids, Lana opened her eyes. A man stood near her bed, doubled over, clutching his ribs. Another person sat nearby—a woman settled next to a small, contentedly glowing hearth. Plump and gently curved, the woman was as plain and comforting as the room they were now in.

Lana hugged her legs, retreating toward the top of her bed. She observed these strangers for a few moments before the questions came in a flurry: "Where am I? How did I get here? Who are you? Where's Gailen?"

The woman set her knitting by the fire, rising slowly from a well-worn rocking chair. She looked confused, as though she hadn't heard Lana. "Now, there is no reason to be alarmed, sweet little miss," she said, her words lilting with a strange though not unfamiliar accent. They were hard for Lana to comprehend at first. "My name is Emmeline, and this is my son, Taren. You had a bit of a fall, my dear. Must have bumped your head. Taren was the one who found you, lying in the creek half froze. He brought you here, where we could take care of you." The words took a moment for Lana to process, as though listening and speaking were a task she had learned long ago but forgotten.

"But Gailen, I must get back to Gailen," Lana said in dizzying confusion, the words tasting strange on her tongue.

"Shh, shh," the woman cooed softly. "It's all right. We'll get you right home soon enough. Everything is fine, dear."

At Emmeline's response, Taren lifted his head, his chestnut, curly hair falling away from his eyes. The gentleness, the subdued curiosity, that electric, fierce blue—somehow Lana knew those eyes. They shocked her into full wakefulness, the muddled thoughts of Gailen and her nightmares slipping into azure. The smile lines etched at the corners had deepened, but they were still the same eyes she had seen . . . but Lana couldn't remember where. The knowledge teased at her memory.

"Are you also from Brevishaven?" she asked, trying to cover her indecorous stares.

"From where, dear?" the woman asked.

"Brevishaven, just south of Tybel Port."

"Dear me, no child. I haven't heard anything of the sort. You should ask my son. He gets out far more than I've ever done. Taren, have you heard of Brevishaven? Is it near us?"

"I can't say I've ever heard that name."

Lana's heart stuttered anxiously, and she tried to cover her sudden uneasiness. "Well, it's only that you seem so familiar. I thought maybe you had come through our town before."

"Well of course he looks familiar, dear. He's been with you near night and day the past two days." Taren looked away, feigning interest in the bowl on the nightstand. "The gods know I did all I could on my own, but it wasn't 'til he started tendin' to you and talkin' to you that the fever and nightmares broke." Taren's eyes flitted back toward Lana, fixating on her as though she were a solution with no beginning, a riddle with no end.

Suddenly chilled, Lana pulled the patched blanket over her thin nightgown and bare arms. "How many days have I been here?"

"Well, let's see . . . it's been about three nights, isn't that right? We were right worried you wouldn't pull through at the start," Emmeline said.

"Three nights?" The realization broke through the fog of nightmares. She had dreamed the most terrible things—walking endlessly through a desert of light, feeling strange lights blaze upon her as dust coated her mouth and throat, her family being tortured, screaming. "I must go. I have to warn them. I have to . . ."

Taren crossed to Lana's side in a step. Grabbing her shaking hands, he squatted down until he was eye-level. "Don't fret," he said. "We'll send a message to your family while you rest. I'm sure you'll be with your family again soon enough."

The sobs climbing Lana's throat abated.

"Besides," Emmeline chimed in. "You're in no condition to start roaming the country. I'm sure your family wants you back safe and strong, not some half-conscious skeleton."

"I just . . ." How could Lana describe to strangers the terror clawing at her heart and intestines, the fear whispering unspeakable images to her mind? How could she explain the danger her family might be in without understanding it herself? "I'm just . . . frightened for them. I need to know they are safe."

Taren put down Lana's hand gently and grabbed some paper, ink, and a quill from the desk. The feather at the end of the quill was a brilliant coral, far larger and more vivid than those belonging to any of the white and grey coastal birds Lana knew. "Do you think you can hold your hand steady enough to write?" he asked quietly, so only Lana could hear. She nodded. "Good, now, tell me more exactly where your uncle lives, and I can have this letter delivered by a friend of mine who will check on your family. He's a good rider; he can travel anywhere in the kingdom in a matter of days."

Kingdom? Lana wondered at the strange word. "I live in Brevishaven, just south of a popular port called Tybel Port."

"Yes, you mentioned that. But what province is Brevishaven a part of?"

"Province? I'm not sure what you mean."

"Do you live near the Scilia province? Or out near the Hallowed Mountains?"

Lana's breathing became ragged, sharp, and fast. None of those names meant anything to her—not even awakening a vague familiarity from all those years spent studying the atlas at the library. "Where am I?"

Taren put down the writing supplies, gripping Lana's hands again. "Lana, I am going to ask you a question, and please, don't be nervous. But I need to know. Have you ever heard of Altymia?" Lana shook her head. "What about Askendia or Caliginoxum?" Lana shook her head mutely, the dread building. Taren looked down, deep, puzzling lines appearing on his forehead.

"Why?" Lana's voice barely moved the air in the room. "What do those things mean? Why are you asking me about this?" Her voice continued to rise in pitch, in terror.

Taren looked at Lana intently for a moment, as though he was weighing something inside her, testing the strength in her eyes. Then, he finally said, "Lana, Altymia is the kingdom you are now in. Those other names are the outlying kingdoms, the only places I or anyone I have ever known has traveled to in this world."