Hi all, I was unable to write this week's installment.  I found a fork in the road and am trying to decide which one I want my story to take.  I had it all planned out, but somehow got off the plan.  Now I'm trying to find my way back.  I will post as soon as I have the next installment.  I am sorry about this.  I hope to write the next installment soon!

Chapter 4 (continued):

The sun had set and stars shone in the darkness.  Silas stood outside his door.  A small bat hung upside down from his outstretched arm.  It chirped and Silas answered, he could have been mistaken for a bat himself.  Bats swooped around his head, eating bugs and chirping to each other and Silas, who answered in their language.

He gazed at the stars through the silhouettes of the bats that passed across the sky.  His eyes traced the invisible lines between the stars, connecting them in the outlines that formed the constellations.  The Pheonix, the Three Brothers, the Well, and the Face with the blue star that never twinkled for one eye.  Silas found each of them with practiced ease.  He gazed the longest at the blue eye of the face.

Tales said the blue star that never twinkled was a planet and home to another world of humans.  But no one had proof for whether the tale was fiction or not.  Just as no one had proof for the rumors that the world Silas lived in was flat.

A cry broke through the stillness.  The bats streaked away into the night, startled by the unexpected cry.  Silas jerked his gaze from the sky.  His eyes darted and his heart beat faster than normal.

The Orphan Home door was flung open and a figure rushed out, tripped down the stairs and fell to the ground in a heap.

Heart thumping,  Silas walked over to the figure.

"P-Poppy?" Silas stuttered, still startled.

Poppy looked up, her eyes were brighter than usual in the starlight.

"Silas . . .", she said in a choked voice.

"What?"  Silas desperately felt the need to do something, anything.  A sense of dread was coming upon him.

Tears trickled down Poppy's cheeks.

"Anne –",  her voice trembled and broke.  Her next words came out nearly intelligible so choked was her voice.

"She's d-dead."

Poppy burst in to tears.

– – –

Apologies about the lateness of this installment.  It is continued from the last chapter, which wasn't what I had planned but it works!

Chapter 5

Lenna's feet pounded against the damp ground of the forest.  Her hair streamed out behind her and she drew breaths through her mouth, the cool air stung her throat.  Her heart beat quickly.  She didn't stop

She wove her way around trees and bounded over bushes and puddles.  She ran, pushing herself faster and faster.

She felt her worries drop from her, left behind her by her swift feet.  The worries she had ever since her mother perished from burns and her father disappeared .

How could she repay the healer for the care she had given to her mother, easing the agony brought on by the burns when she, Lenna, had no skills with which to do so?

How could she survive another winter without living in the Orphan Home?  Something she refused to do.

The question that haunted her, night and day, clung tightly to her but eventually it too left her.  Falling off her as her feet carried her over a puddle.  Would her mother have lived is she had not hesitated before pulling her from the burning house?

Lenna ran faster, and faster.  She left her cares far behind her before stopping.  She dropped to her knees gasping for air.

Finally, her breath coming not so quickly, she stood and began her walk back to the lonely hut she lived her.

Her cares swooped down upon her, settling around her shoulders like a thick cloak.

* * *

The healer sat at the wooden table long after she had sent Mila to bed.  She scanned page after page in book after book by the light cast by a candle.  Fighting off the despair that threatened her.

More and more were falling ill with the sickness Anne had died from.  It took anyone, young and old, weak or strong.  The symptoms began with tiredness, sometimes depression.  It grew until the victim fell into a sleep none had survived yet.

The village was becoming alarmed.

Hours passed as the healer read through one book, placed it on the growing stack to her left and opened another from the shrinking stack on her right.

None of the books she had read contained the information she needed.  None ever mentioned a strange sleeping illness, much less a cure.

She brought a large tome in front of her and began reading.

The candle had shrunk in size by half by the time the healer turned the last page.  She started to close the cover when she noticed the corner of a page was maligned in the very back, between the end page and cover.  She lifted the back cover and removed the stray page which she had never noticed before.

The page was crumbling and torn.  The round handwriting blotched and smeared, the ink faded.

The healer brought the candle closer and bent her head over the paper.

"A strange illness hath beset mine towne.  The illness begins with 

the melancholy and the sleepy-ness.  I have found the cure.  Too

late, all have died.  Only I live.

This cure is warmthweed.  Many say tis but a myth for it grows not 

like other plants but must be given my Mother Nature herself.

Found Her I have, though many said 'nay, tis a myth'.

I journey to the edge of the world.  There Her presence is strongest.

I have gained the warmthweed, at a terrible price for I was foolish and

thought of no one but mineself.

If thou goest to seek her, beware . . ."

Here the words smeared and the healer could read no more.

A cure, she had found it.

But what was the "terrible price"  And what was there to beware of?  Should she go? Stay?  Send another? 

She turned these questions over and over in her mind.

Her candle guttered and reached up a long finger of flame in a last fight for life before falling and dying.  Leaving a trail of smoke behind.

The healer sat in the darkness and still she thought.

Should she take the risks? 

– – –

I hope you enjoyed this installment!  See you next week. 

I apologize about missing this week's installment.  Before I continue to post more please tell me if anyone is still reading this.  I absolutely understand not being able to reply to my installments, just need to know if anyone is still interested.  It takes time to write and post the installments and I want to make sure it's still worth the efffort.  Even if only one person is still reading this I will continue it, but it is nice to have a larger audience.

Hope your winter break is going well!

The Chronicler 

Thank you for responding, Sammy and Songbird!  I will try to get the post out tomorrow.

Morning sunlight streamed across the floorboards of the sleeping room.  The two mattresses on the floor were neatly made.  Very little else was in the room.  A small closet next to the door and a chest under the windows at the foot of the mattresses.  On the wall across from the door ran a long shelf with a few jars, books and other assortments.  In a corner was a small nightstand on which was placed a bowl of water and a folded cloth.

Mila pinned her short hair back with a gold clip and tightened the strings of her apron as she walked out of the sleeping room.  The wide legs of her pants swished against each other.

She stopped in the doorway, surprised.  The healer sat in the midst of several stacks of books, her head rested in the table and she appeared to be asleep.

"H-healer Kathryn?", Mila asked.

When she received no answer she walked quietly to the healer's side and asked again, louder this time.  No answer.

Mila's pulse quickened.  No. Mother Nature, don't let it be so.  Healer Kathryn cannot be sick.  But even as she thought this she knew it wasn't true, the healer could be sick.

If she is sick, we are doomed.  I don't know enough about healing.  How can I live without her?  How can the village live?  Who will help me find my memories?

As Mila sank to her knees, overwhelmed by the sense of panic that flooded her, she knocked a book off one teetering stack.  The healer started at the thud and sat up, smoothing her loose strands of hair back from her face.

She glanced down and say the hunched figure of the despairing Mila on the floor.

"Mila!  What happened?"  She reached down towards her.

Mila jerked her head up and looked into the concerned face of the healer who was feeling her pulse.

"You aren't sick!", Mila said after a pause, evidently relieved.

The healer smiled slightly and shook her head.  "No, tired is all.  I read late."

She frowned and placed a hand against Mila's forehead.

"Why are you on the floor?", she asked.

Mila's cheeks reddened, embarrassed at her sudden despair.  You didn't even check her temperature!  How can you be a healer if you panic and don't think first?

"I thought you were sick", she muttered.

The healer nodded understandingly.

"I am not, there is no need to worry.  Let us bring the books back to their proper places."

Mila stood and smoothed her apron.  She joined the healer in carrying the stacks of books to the self.

After she had relieved her arms of the last stack of books Mila pried the wax remains of the candle off the table.  Her eyes caught sight of a worn piece of parchment as she did so that she had not seen before.  She bent over it, the twisted candle  held loosely in her hand.  She read and her hand began clenching the candle in excitement.

Finished reading she straitened and turned to the healer who was sliding the bookcase panels closed.

"You found the cure", Mila's eyes glimmered excitedly.  "When are we going?"

The healer walked to the table and lifted the parchment.

"No one is, Mila.  The risks are too great.  The village needs a healer and you are not yet experienced enough."

"I could go.  I need to learn how to survive in the wilderness.  Every healer must have a good understanding of Nature's wilderness.  You have said so before", Mila argued.

"This is not a healer's learning quest.  The world's edge is far from here and the way is far from easy.  You cannot go alone", the healer answered.

"I will bring friends!  Together –"

The healer broke in.  "You will not bring friends into the unknown dangers.  They have people who care for them as do you."

"So you are throwing away the only chance to save Grayingwell", Mila said flatly.  An edge had crept in to her voice.

"Not throwing away.  I am still considering what we have read", the healer's voice was calm.

"You read the parchment.  The writer was the only one living.  The only one.  That could happen to us!  Grayingwell could die!  We don't have time to consider!"  Mila's voice was rising.

"The effects of sicknesses vary from village to village.  We do not know if this illness will end Grayingwell."  The healer's eyes never left Mila, her voice didn't change.

"So you will wait until we do know?  What if it does end Grayingwell? What are you going to tell those who have lost or are loosing loved ones to this sickness?  That we have found the cure and the way is too risky for anyone to go?", Mila demanded.  "We don't have time to wait!"

"It would be dangerous to rush blindly into things."

Mila clenched her hands, her nails digging into the candle she still held.

"It would be devasting to wait", her tone was icy.

Not waiting for the healer's response she turned away and left the house.  The door thudded shut behind her.

– – – –

I don't feel this is the best of scenes and I think it needs a lot of work.  This one is a little rough and I would really like some tips on.  If I change it and it makes a difference in the story I will post the rewritten version. 

Chapter 6 (continued)

Poppy lay on her back, red rimmed eyes pointed upward but seeing nothing.  Her tangled curls forming a mat under her head.  She felt hollow and fragile.  Like a tempest had stormed through her leaving nothing but a shell behind.  A shell that might break at the slightest touch.

Anne.  Even Poppy's tears had ceased.  She no longer wept when she thought of Anne.  No longer railed against her death.  It wasn't that she cared anymore.  She did.  But her heartbroken anger and rage at the seemingly pointless death of Anne had left her.  Leaving behind a wish to not exist.  To disappear.  To not be.

Poppy closed her eyes and drifted.  Her thoughts were unfocused, lost.  They never stayed in one place.  Moving — always moving.  But slowly and in no direction.

She wasn't sure how long her mind wandered but she heard soft footsteps entering the sleeping room in which she lay, and the quiet swish of fabric against fabric and someone wended their way around the many mattresses that were scattered across the floor.

"Poppy."  It was Mila's voice, and though it was gentle Poppy could sense a current of excitement beneath the gentleness.  This excitement was the only thing that made Poppy open her eyes and roll to face Mila.

Mila's face was flushed, as if she had been angry or upset, her eyes were kind but with suppressed excitement in them.

"I have something to tell you.  Drink this while I do so."  She thrust a clay cup into Poppy's hand.

Poppy propped herself on an elbow and sipped at the sweet tea inside the cup.

Mila watched her, seemed to hesitate, then began abruptly.  "There's a chance."

Poppy looked at her.

"A chance to cure the sickness", Mila continued.

She glance at Poppy and saw a spark of hope in her eyes.  Emboldened by this Mila went on.

"It would require a journey."

Poppy nodded.  "It would be worth it.  Even if it may not succeed."  It was the most she had spoken in days.

"But Healer Kathryn says it's too dangerous.  She said she wouldn't let any one go." Mila frowned and pressed her lips together.  Without Poppy asking she began to explain in detail.  Her discovery of the parchment, her argument with the healer.  "It's as if she doesn't care about anyone in Grayingwell at all!", she finished.

"I don't think so", Poppy began.  "I think she cares for everyone in Grayingwell so much she doesn't want anyone to put their life at risk for a chance that may not possibly work."  She was sitting up fully now.  Empty cup held in both hands.  "She thinks — hopes — she can save everyone with her skills.  No one would risk their life if she could.  But nothing she does seems to work."  

Poppy paused, then added hurriedly looking at Mila: "No offense to Healer Kathryn of course.  I know she is doing what she can.  Just, this illness is new and the old ways don't seem to be working."

Mila nodded to show she understood.

"She hasn't talked to someone who has lost another to this sickness", Poppy said.  "I won't wait to see what this illness will do to Grayingwell and I think she won't either if I talk to her."

Mila nodded again, this time excitedly.  "I knew you would.  I think the same.  One thing though, you mustn't say anything to the village about this.  It would be terrible if we got their hopes up only to dash them to pieces."

– – –

I am so sorry about missing last week's part.  I hope you enjoy this part and that it makes up for my missing a week.