I remembered nothing before the fall, and only fragments of the accident. The ground came up so fast. The impact remained an unseen nightmare. I couldn’t recall it, but my mind clung to the terror and helplessness of being unable to stop it.
Murmuring in the hallway right outside my room broke through my ruminations. I puffed out a tight breath. This horrible experience remained the only clue to my identity.
Since the incident, I lost my memories, and my ability to understand language. My name, age, home, childhood, occupation—all erased. I’d awoken three days ago, but no matter what language my caretakers spoke, nothing made sense. When I first regained consciousness, I asked the young priestess who was changing my sullied head bandages where I was, and she answered in sounds I didn't grasp.
My forehead sustained the worst of the impact. How I survived at all mystified me. I should be dead. Instead, I was here with an intense headache and a miraculously unbroken skull. Skin and muscle the size of half my palm was missing, hence the bandages.
Today, my caretakers gestured for me to get out of bed. They helped me take off my sleeping clothes and put on a long tunic dress. I wouldn’t have been able to get it over my bandages without their aid. The draped linen rested on my shoulders and dusted the floor. A simple belt tied the overflowing fabric together at my waist.
Now I sat on the edge of the bed and waited. I took in the plastered walls, the cream bedding, the soft rays of afternoon sunlight filtering onto the floorboards. I pushed the questions of what might happen next out of my mind. Hopefully, my memories will return soon.
Someone knocked, and a man’s face peeked into my room. I rose to greet him with a welcoming smile. He stepped in and his stature surprised me. The top of his head reached my shoulders. He brushed his chin length black hair behind his ears and observed me.
Unintelligible words cascaded from him. I gazed at his lips, trying to make sense of the garbled sounds. He repeated himself, and his expression indicated an expectation for me to answer him.
“I can’t understand you,” I muttered. My throat tightened. I hated not being able to communicate.
His dark eyes widened as he processed my reply. “Celestia?”
My heart leapt. I knew that word, even if I couldn’t explain how.
“Celestia …” I repeated.
He motioned for me to keep talking.
“I, um, I don’t remember … anything,” I mumbled, breaking eye contact to stare at my feet.
His words came out disjointed, but comprehensible. “You understand me in this?”
I nodded, a wave of relief flooding me. My fingers loosened their grasp.
“Yes.”
A bright grin lit up his face. Only then did I notice his irises were a deep brown instead of black, like I first thought.
“Celestia is an old … language. From the eastern side of Astralind.”
He finished with a bout of unknown words.
“Where is my home?” I asked.
“It is far,” he said, frowning. He noticed my concern and softened his features. “I’m Bolin Guo, a linguist.”
I tilted my head and repeated the unfamiliar word. “Linguist?”
Using gestures and broken sentences, he explained, “I study languages.”
So he studied languages. That must be why he came. “Are you here to take me home?” I asked. Hope rose in my soul. My family had abandoned me, or they had no idea what happened. This Bolin linguist might fix everything.
“Celestia is far.” He stumbled over himself. “Here, then home.”
I blinked against the fuzziness repressing my thoughts and tapped my fingers against my wrapped forehead.
“Where do I belong?”
“I … find out. You fell from the sky … like a star.”
What a ridiculous metaphor.
“I fell. That’s it.” The accident wasn’t special, and I didn’t appreciate the positive connotation.
He tilted his head. “What is your name?”
I pursed my lips and raised my shoulders. “I don’t know.”
“Amnesia,” he murmured.
What a pretty word. “What does it mean?”
He paused, thinking before piecing an explanation together. “Your brain forgot. That’s amnesia.”
So, my brain had amnesia. Interesting.
“Want a nickname?” Bolin asked cheerfully.
“Sure.”
“How about Gertrude?”
I wrinkled my nose. My head pounded as I attempted to recall names.
He grinned. “I’m teasing. What about Stella?”
My heart warmed at the attractive moniker. “Stella.” I murmured the name several times, enjoying the way the Ls rolled softly off my tongue.
“Do you like it?”
Thinking worsened my headache, but the draw toward the nickname made the choice easy.
“Alright,” I agreed. “I’m Stella, for now.”
“Good. Come with me. My … colleagues … and I will study, then find your home.”
While I didn’t understand ‘colleagues,’ I inferred that he and his friends would help me find where I lived. I stood, blinking against the dizziness and increased pressure in my head.
Bolin held out his hand, and I took it. His soft palms warmed my trembling fingers and steadied my swaying vision.
“Come.”
I followed him into the hall, where sounds echoed with every movement. The great sacred space was just ahead. The priestesses who had cared for me waited near the door, and said what I assumed was ‘goodbye.’ I thanked them for their kindness and care, then stepped outside with Bolin.
People waited on and around the temple’s steps. Curious expressions watched my every move.
I glanced at them, unease crawling up my spine. These people stared as though I was important.
“Excuse us,” Bolin said in their language as he parted the crowd.
We squeezed between men, women, children, and even a few dogs. The bright sun blinded me, and I stumbled in my efforts to keep up with Bolin. Would these stone steps never end? I looked behind us and realized the temple rested on a small hill, and the steps carved into the rocky mound made the path to the rest of the city.
Tall buildings, three and four stories high, stretched into the distance. So many people. A sharp pang pinched my heart. This sprawling city struck me with its size and beauty, and I wished I could recall the other locations I’d seen.
A three or four-year-old girl ran onto the steps before me, giggling with her newfound freedom. She wore thin fabric slippers and squealed with delight when her mother darted after her. The parent scolded her daughter as she jumped out of reach. I couldn’t help but laugh at her naughty antics, despite my concern. Just as the child’s mother reached her, the girl slipped.
Time slowed. She fell, and I saw every movement, every hair on her head as she descended. The thud of her skull hitting a stone step turned my blood ice cold. Time resumed its speed.
The mother screamed. The high-pitched desperation in her tone made my stomach lurch.
No language was needed to express this. The child was critically injured.
I released Bolin’s hand and scrambled to the girl. Dizziness attacked my balance, but I reached them within seconds without losing my footing.
The mother gathered her daughter in her arms, calling the child’s name, Helen. But the sweet little one hung limp in her parent’s embrace.
Not dead. Unconscious.
I don’t understand how I knew she lived, but something deep inside my body rose to my awareness. Warm tingles gathered in my fingertips and my body urged me to touch the child’s skin. The mother glanced at me, but paid no attention as she tried to wake her daughter. I gave into the call and gently touched the girl’s wrist.
Gold light poured from me onto her. My tortured mind roused, and I remembered what to do.
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