A Picture of the Heart

The man jerked awake and reached for his head. A bald spot? As the pain lessened, he looked around to find himself—actually, he had no idea where he was. His heart raced as he scanned the unfamiliar surroundings. How’d he get here? Think! Thoughts were fuzzy. Nothing seemed right. Suddenly, a terrible thought occurred to him; he couldn’t recall his name. Panicked, his eyes darted around, desperately searching for anything to help him remember. A bookshelf carved into the wall at the head of the bed caught his attention. Scrambling up the bed, he scanned the shelf. Creatures of the Realm, Woodworking, History of the Bergsteiger, White Oak. Nothing. Come on! When he reached a book titled Memories, he snatched it from the shelf, using both hands to lower the massive book onto the bed. Page after page held carvings on thin sheets of wood. He rubbed his fingers across the picture of men with shaggy hair and thick beards. None of it was familiar.

Replacing the book, he turned to hop down when he spotted a small wooden box on the bed. Inside, safely placed within a padded indention, was a glass bird with a blue liquid inside its body. Who are you, little bird? On the inside of the lid were the words, The Light. Well, little friend, I could use some illumination right about now. Any idea who or where I am? No? I didn’t think so. Placing the box on the bed, he hopped down and moved across the room to the edge of the stairs. Up or down? He turned out his pockets, hoping for a coin to help him decide, but the search came up empty. Well, isn't this something? I’m lost, can’t remember anything, and broke.

After trying to decide between two directions that looked the same for too long, he finally became impatient with himself. You’re too indecisive for my taste. Just make a choice already. Stop that! Why are you...why am I talking to myself? Choosing up, he followed the spiral stairs to the next floor, where an oversized rocking chair sat near the window. Climbing the chair, he leaned out and breathed in the cool air. A wall of trees and brush created a natural barrier around the glade. The thick overhead canopy diffused the light, making it impossible to tell whether it was dusk, dawn, or somewhere between. Now that's something. Across the clearing, there was a gap between two massive trees. Probably an entrance, he decided. And besides the dizzying drop of probably forty feet, there wasn't much else to see. So, he hopped down.

Pausing at the stair’s edge, he surveyed the carvings which followed the contour of the wall in both directions. Something about the depicted creatures felt odd, but he couldn’t quite place his finger on the answer. Was it the long feet? Their big oval eyes? The vests they wore or the satchels they carried? The word Swiftfoot below the images, perhaps? The memory was somewhere in there, but it seemed just out of reach. So, leaving the strange feeling on the level below, he circled up.

The uppermost room was empty except for a shaggy white rug in the middle of the floor. Still, what it lacked in furnishings, it made up for in carvings. Like the stairs, pictures followed the curve of the wall onto the rounded ceiling; however, this time, instead of strange creatures, there was a map. A circle of trees with the word Bergsteiger below them was depicted at its highest point. Further down—where the ceiling met the trunk—was a white tree with a throne carved into it where a crowned man sat. The moment he read the words White Oak carved beneath the throne, disorienting images flooded his mind. Grabbing his head, he fell to his knees. Black and white blurry images raced through his mind like a video playing at 10x speed. When it ended, he’d only captured one image: an old wooden signpost and the words White Oak. The images had invaded his mind and left before he could process what was happening. The dizziness, on the other hand, seemed intent to hang around.

Turning slowly, he leaned against the wall, closed his eyes, and waited. Taking slow, deep breaths seemed to help push back the nausea. Finally, after several long minutes, his head cleared, but an uneasy feeling lingered. Why had the words White Oak invoked such a strong reaction? Would it happen again? Was it worth another look? This could simply be someone’s version of art or decoration. Still, if it was a map, it could prove invaluable. Deciding the benefits outweighed the cost, he gained his feet, turned, and found the throne. Taking a deep breath, he looked beneath the throne and read the words, White Oak. Thankfully, nothing negative happened. Just for good measure, he read the words a few more times. Satisfied, he continued.

On the left side of the wall was a small village between the Bergsteiger picture and the white oak tree. In the middle was a building that stretched the village’s length, and the words White Chair were carved below. Approximately the same position on the opposite side was a ship pictured above a village, almost as if it were hovering. Next to the ship was some sort of huge lizard with wings, and below it were the words Dragon Ship Vale.

In the middle of the four carvings was a compass rose with north pointing toward the white oak tree. Assuming the circle of trees and brush he’d seen outside the window were the same as the circle of trees on the map, that meant he was in the Bergsteiger village. That was one mystery potentially solved, but what the Bergsteiger were was an entirely different issue he fully intended to solve. It was time to venture outside.

Like the other three, the bottom floor was simply decorated and only contained one piece of furniture, a chest-high table. Its size, like the bed and rocking chair, was perplexing. Pushing aside the implications, he moved to the massive door. Standing against it, he stretched his arms to the side, then overhead. His fingertips reached both sides of the door but were about a foot short of reaching the top. Reaching out, he grasped the thick rectangle door handle, which was uncomfortably large for his hand. Just as he was about to pull, he caught a whisper of voices. Intrigued, he pressed his ear to the door.

“Are you sure he won’t wake until we get him to Black Oak?” a husky voice asked.

“The quality of my potion is above your scrutiny, human,” an irritated voice squawked. “There was enough Korathax in the stew to knock out a giant. He won’t wake until the antidote is given.”

“For your sake, Leadbelly, I hope you’re right. The Master’s plan hinges on the man waking, without his memory, at the right time. We won’t be made to look like fools because of your ineptitude. Now step aside.”

“Do you two think you can handle one little human by yourself, or should I assign some real guards to the task?” the irritated one, the guard had called Leadbelly, said mockingly. There was no response.

“I’ll take that as a no,” Leadbelly said. “In that case, I’ll be returning to the canopy now to resume the sleep you interrupted for no good reason.”

Eyeing the door like it was a vicious creature, he backed away and fell backward onto the stairs. Gotta move! Turning, he scrambled up to the second floor. What’d they say about my memory? Something about an antidote and some sort of weed? Hate to disappoint you, but your plans are about to be ruined. Snatching the sheets off the bed, he headed up to the floor above, tied the bedding together, and went to the window. Anchoring to the chair, he tossed the bundle out. No good. Still too far of a drop. The sound of heavy boots below said it was time for a hasty plan B, so he circled upstairs where the map was. Then, he waited on the floor at the stair’s edge.

“Those fools,” an angry voice growled. “Come on, we need to search for him.”

“Delve, look. The window!”

“Check it, Bert!”

“Oh no!” Bert exclaimed. “He already climbed down.”

“Go downstairs and tell the Wiggletwigs to search the village.”

“Right,” Bert said. “Then what do you want me to do?”

“Stay outside beneath the window.”

“What are you gonna do?” Bert asked.

He strained to hear what he thought were faint whispers, but there was no mistaking the heavy steps thudding on the stairs and growing fainter. He breathed a sigh of relief, but the soft squeak on the stairs said the men weren’t as foolish as he’d hoped. Okay, we do it the hard way.