The Lost Gods Book One - Healer, First Edition
Published by Robin Toupin Calgary, Alberta
Copyright 2011 Robin Toupin, Calgary, Alberta
Published simultaneously in the United States of America
ISBN: 978-0-9877236-0-4
COPYRIGHT NOTICE
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form by any electronic or mechanical means (including photocopying, recording, or information storage and retrieval) without permission in writing from the publisher.
For all permissions, please contact the author at retoupin@gmail.com.
DISCLAIMER
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Prologue
She was awake. What had woken her was a mystery, although it felt almost like something had crawled across her skin. She felt herself wanting to scream but something was pressing against her lungs forcing her to save her strength just to breath. She tried to move and found herself almost unable to. It was nearly pitch black, with just a hint of dull light coming from somewhere near her head. .
Momentary panic set in and she struggled to get loose. Something was constricting her. She felt her left hand break free, tearing through the binding of whatever it was that held her. Another wave of panic struck her but she forced herself calm. A deep instinct told her that panic would rob her of what little hope she had.
Taking deep relaxing breaths, she ignored the musty dankness of the air and wriggled her free arm to the right side. She could feel the material that bound her. It wasn't rope and she was able to tear at it until her right hand was free as well.
She had no idea what to do next but as the only light was near her head, she decided that would be her best chance of escape. As she tried to bring her hand up to her head, she realized she couldn't get do it. She could touch her cheek, which oddly brought her a small measure of comfort, but the constriction of her prison prevented any further movement.
As calmly as she could, she began to feel around herself. It felt like her body was bound with some kind of cloth but it was easy to tear it loose wherever she grabbed onto it. After a few minutes of pulling she felt nearly exhausted but her legs could move slightly. Tilting her head she tried to see where the light was coming in. No luck.
Slowly she wriggled up until her head was touching the part of the box where the light was. Gritting her teeth, she lifted her right hand above her head as much as she could and slammed it into the box. Something gave, slightly! Encouraged, she hit it again and again.
Finally a hit forced a slight movement as wet dirt fell into her mouth. She spit it out and tried again. She felt her hand grow sticky and warm with the blood but fear gave her strength so she continued to slam her hand into the box again and again.
She heard a breaking sound and felt wet dirt covering her face. Trying not to panic, she kept pushing until the dirt broke away and daylight was visible. Inch by inch, she wriggled her body further until her head was completely free. Someone had buried her alive? She could see movement, an outline of a person. Fearing it was her captor she screamed in panic and fell into blackness.
Chapter One
She awoke to the muted sounds of conversation and the aroma of bacon grease. Gods, but she felt hungry. It was light enough that she realized that she was in someone's bed. The room she was in was rustic, wooden floors and walls and thatching above her. While the bed she was in was not uncomfortable, she felt itchy. Straw, perhaps?
Someone had placed her here, which was obvious. She touched her face and it felt clean. So did the rest of her, as if she had been bathed. She was too exhausted to feel embarrassed that someone had bathed her. The nightdress she was wearing was many sizes too big for her but it was clean and warm.
Time to get moving, she decided. She sat up and almost immediately fell over again. She felt as weak as a newborn kitten but sheer determination and willpower allowed her to reach her feet. Her muscles were rebellious, forcing her to sit again. As she collapsed on the bed, the door to the room opened.
"Oh dear, miss. No, no, no, you mustn't move so much yet." The speaker was a large woman with a plain but friendly face. Her hair was tucked under a bonnet of some kind that matched the plain brown dress she wore. The woman's face was worn with age and the few hairs that did manage to escape their confinement were grey. Large, rough hands that nonetheless gentle in their insistence forced her patient back into bed.
"Where am I?" Her voice cracked as if from disuse. "What is this place?"
"I'm Abigail and you are in my home, miss." Abigail's brows pressed together with concern. "Ger, that's my husband, well, he brought you home. Said he found you half-buried in the old woods when he was out hunting. From the look of you I could believe it. Now don't mind dearie, but I bathed you as best I could and dressed you in one of my old night gowns. Been worried sick for you, I must say. Now, you must be hungry?"
She realized she was ravenous. In fact, her middle hurt at the thought of food. She weakly nodded.
The morning was spent with Abigail helping her eat. She could barely lift the food to her mouth, but Abigail wordlessly fed her and helped her wash it down with some milk. At some point she must have fallen asleep again because she was wakened by Abigail for another meal.
The third time she wakened, she tried again to stand up. Her legs had ceased their rebellion and allowed her to stand. Abigail had to help her use the bedpan but she was past embarrassment.
Nodding in approval, Abigail helped her as she dressed in clothes similar to those the older woman wore. They almost fit and she wondered briefly if they had belonged to a younger Abigail. Finally, with help from Abigail, she managed to move into the main room. Abigail helped her sit in a wooden chair near the cook stove.
"Abigail," She looked around the small cottage. "I've been in your bed! Where have you slept?" The realization that this woman had surrendered her only bed for her was humbling beyond words.
"Now miss, don't you worry none. My Ger and I have made a nice little sack for ourselves in the loft of our barn. Lots of straw and comfortable. Besides, our Village Healer insisted that you be comfortable. Truthfully, miss, he wasn't sure you would make it. Called you dry-hydrated and said you wasn't likely to survive. Surprise is on him, I guess," Abigail smiled warmly, the lines around her face creasing as she did.
The door to the small cottage opened and an old man who she assumed to be Ben walked in. Behind him was another man, just younger than Ger by a few years, she surmised, dressed in some sort of formal robe and carrying a satchel. Abigail bowed slightly to man in the robe.
"Welcome Fiongall. She lives as you can see, getting better each day! Miss, this is Fiongall, our Craft Hall trained Healer," Abigail touched her shoulder lightly. "He gave me the herbs that made you well."
