Aisling Murphy's Arc

Chapter 2 of 12

They carried Aisling to the infirmary that same day. It was a small wood building with a red cross above the door. Inside, the light was soft and the beds were neat. A pain lived behind Aisling's eyes, sharp and steady. When she tried to sit up, the room swayed. She lay back down. She could not even think of standing. Somewhere out there was a sky she wanted to see, but she could not reach a window yet. Two doctors met her there. The woman wore round glasses and a blue coat, and she moved fast and sure. "I'm Dr. Hartwell," she said. "I'll have you mending soon. People doubt me. They're wrong." The man beside her carried a worn leather bag. "And I'm Dr. Blackwell," he said, kneeling to her level. "You took a hard fall. We'll take good care of you." Aisling only nodded. She did not know either face. She did not know any face. "Her head needs rest," Dr. Hartwell said. "The pain has to ease first." She crushed a pale strip of willow bark into a pot. She added slices of ginger and a handful of small white daisy flowers. The water went dark and bitter-smelling. She poured a cup and held it out. "Drink. All of it." Aisling sipped. It tasted sharp. She drank it anyway, because the woman watched her so kindly. Dr. Blackwell folded cloth around chipped ice and laid it on her head. The cold stung, then soothed. "Stay still," he said. "Let it work." "Can I go outside soon?" Aisling asked. "I want to look up at the sky." Dr. Hartwell's face softened. "Not today. Maybe not this week. You'll stay here a while. Weeks, perhaps." She tucked the blanket to Aisling's chin. "The sky will wait. I promise." The ache faded as the tea spread warm through her. Her eyes grew heavy. The two doctors dimmed the lamp and stepped away. Aisling let the pillow hold her head. For the first time since she woke, nothing hurt so much that she wanted to cry. Then she slept, and a dream came. It felt long, like a whole life she had somehow lived. She saw a cliff and loose stones. She saw a small dog spinning at her feet. She saw her own hand full of flowers and the pale light above. She reached for the sky in the dream, and almost touched it. She woke in the gray hush of the ward. The pain was gone. Her head felt clear and light. She pressed her fingers to the sore spot and found only a dull bruise. She could sit up now. She could stand, if she tried. But the dream clung to her. The cliff. The dog. The flowers. She did not remember her name. Yet now she knew one thing she wanted. She had to find that place from the dream, and look up at the real sky.