Forgotten Treasures

“Lila, wait up!” 

I rolled my eyes, but I slowed my run into a slow walk. At this rate, I was going to be late and Mr. Rohan didn’t like it when I was late. He would always grumble, moaning about how nowadays kids have too much freedom and don’t respect their elders, before making me stay behind as punishment to finish menial tasks that he definitely did not pay me for. After last time where he got me to empty the trash, 5 bags full, to the Dumpyard, 4 miles south of the shop without Tom’s help, I wasn’t about to land myself in that trash pile again just for Emily.

“Thanks,,” the tiny girl panted next to me. Her two blonde braids fall on her back, as she smiles at me with those big brown eyes. 

“If you weren’t my sister, I would have left you behind,” I took her hand, as we crossed the street, past the small, grassy square which the Government thought they could call a park, and started to walk faster. “Walk quick though, or I’m going to have to stay behind an extra hour for nothing again.” 

She grimaced, thinking about last time. “Yeah you smelt like rubbish for a whole week.” 

I shudder, remembering the countless cold showers I took in vain. Nothing could remove the rotten stink of The Dumpyard.

“Oh, Mum told me to remind you to pick up Xav’s new prescription on your way home,” Emily relays, her eyes set on the path below, concentrating on the cracks on the pavement rather than meet my eyes. My jaw tightens and for once I was glad of my little sister’s understanding. For a seven year old, she knew when to give me space and for that I was grateful. I spot the swinging sign of the bakery, and for once I’m grateful for it. 

“Okay, I’ll pick it up,” I hug her goodbye for the day. “Go straight home after school with Jessy, if she’s there. If not, come to the shop and we can walk home together. 

She nodded her head quickly, before skipping towards Jessy’s house, at the end of the street. The church bells ring; I was on time, just. I open the bakery door and walk in. 

***

I heaved the wicker basket off the counter. A year ago I wouldn’t have been able to complete the daily deliveries, my lack of upper body strength and my long limbs restricting me to the back of the bakery, icing cakes and making new batches of loaves, buns and bread. Now with Tom home sick, it was my turn. The shop bell dings as I open the door, ready to start my long walk around town. It was a dry autumn day out, last night’s rainfall subjugated into puddles that dotted the uneven country roads. The markets were busy with the usual crowd, all bustling around trying to survive.

 Unlike the city where those rich enough could afford the cars, electricity, and all the tech they wanted, we had to learn to fend for ourselves. Skills here were much more useful in the hands of people, rather than robots. And yet sometimes people had their limits. As I walked towards the first street on my list, my mind wandered back to Xavier stuck at home, with Mum hopelessly fussing over him. I didn’t like thinking of my brother so helpless, fragile and alone, and yet that was exactly what he had become. Before the fire, he would twirl me around and make me laugh giddy until I was bright red in the face. The images of him standing tall and hugging Mum after he came home from the factory, soot smudged on his cheek and all over his hands, dropping me and Emily off at the schoolhouse back when he was the one to bring money into our house, the memories of him happy and smiling, spin round my head. Tech was useful, of course it was useful; why would the rich hoard it for themselves if it wasn’t beneficial to them? And yet the metal and wires it took to create these complex and advanced machines were finite materials, and that made them impossible for someone like me to get. Even if one surgery would be enough to fix my brother’s leg, it would be a miracle to ever see such treasures as copper and iron. They were for those who could afford it; I could barely afford to put food on the table. Xavier deserved more than a broken down life in a broken, old chair. 

I bit my tongue in an attempt to stop the tear in my eye from falling as I hand loaf after loaf to each house on Acres Road.  I smile weakly at the old lady who pays me twenty pence extra and tells me to save it for something nice for myself, as I walk to the last house on the list with one loaf of bread left in my basket. 

188 Stoke Avon. I furrowed my brows, the map of the village in my head or rather the places and streets I knew of. It wasn’t on a street I was familiar with, and yet Tom always came back to the shop empty. I turn the piece of paper over to see a familiar scrawl of Tom’s on the back. 

This is for little old Lila, if she ever makes it out of the kitchen alive. I snort thinking about the new apprentice Mr. Rohan barely paid being forced to do all the tedious jobs  that used to be mine in the kitchen today. The cheeky sod that was Tomas had written me directions, thinking it was the least he could do after leaving me alone for a few days; he was right. Smiling, I started making my way.

It was at least a twenty minute walk, down the steps of the Market Circle where the farmers were trying to get rid of the fresh harvests before the winter set in, shouting at passers by. I walked past all the shops, towards the woods that surround the northern part of the village, stopping before I went straight out of town. Walk straight ahead and keep on the beaten path until you see the broken tree, yes you will know it when you see it. Turn left and the cottage is there. I checked Tom’s directions again. I sighed deeply. He had better be right. I walked into the forest. 

Turns out, he was right. Firstly, the tree was in fact broken and yet still intact. The trunk had a massive split in the middle creating a hole much like a bullet wound through the old oak, as if something had cut it from the inside out. I turned left to see grey smoke through the surrounding treetops. There ahead was a small cottage alone amongst the trees, smoke puffing out of the stone chimney. ‘This must be it.’ 

I go across to the front door. There were no lights inside, although how anyone harnessed electricity within the middle of the forest was above me, the windows were shut. I knocked once. No answer. I knocked twice this time and shouted out, “Hello, I’m here to deliver the bread you wanted.” My voice sounded shaky, almost nervous. Of course I was nervous; I was in the middle of the woods which were avoided by most villagers, at what looked like an abandoned cottage, alone. No would hear me down here. I try again; “Hi, anyone home?” 

I scolded myself in my head. ‘Shut up, Lila are you trying to get yourself killed?’ 

I placed the basket down on the step in front of the red door. One last try and then I was out of here. I knocked harder this time, left hand clutching the handle. I guess I pushed a little too hard because the door then opened, with no one behind it. Who doesn’t lock their door? 

Even with every survival instinct in my mind telling me bread isn’t worth this strangeness and that I should still get out of here while I still had all my limbs attached to my body properly, I grabbed my basket and stepped inside. There was a logical explanation to why this cottage felt so strange, and I needed this job. I thought of Xavier again; we all needed this job, it was our lifeline, our way to get food on the table. The front room was larger than my own, if you could count our one sofa in a corner a room, and dark the embers in the fire dying a dark amber. ‘Where was the smoke coming from then?’ The faint smell of lavender came from the next room, the scent getting stronger as I made my way towards the open door. 

In the flicker of five candles, calloused hands plucked the purple parts of lavender spikes off and dropped them into a glass bowl. The old man’s white was pulled back into a short ponytail, as he muttered something under his breath. No, not muttered. Chanted. I took in the plants all around us at that point. Flowers of all kinds lined the windowsill, nettle leaves in a pile on the counter, with gems of every shape and size adorning the other side. Jade, opal, turquoise, quartz of every shade imaginable dotted around, each winking from the light of the candles placed beside them. Bright blue eyes met my wide brown ones, yet he kept chanting in a foreign tongue. It felt rude to interrupt his chant, and turned my gaze towards the basket in my hands. His eyes followed mine, and after a quick glance at the loaf inside, he turned back to his plants. I stood there like a fool all the while. Finally he stopped; I dared not to breath out of fear. 

“The usual baker boy just leaves the loaf by the door, rather than walk inside my house,” he chuckles, hands outstretched to take the bread. I flushed red as the rose petals on the windowsill of his kitchen, as I handed it over. 

“Sorry, he’s off sick. It’s my first time on this part of the job,” I trailed off, my excuse however just sounding lame to my own ears. He shakes his head in disapproval or something else I’m not sure, and turns towards the sink to wash his hands.

Before I knew what I was doing, I opened my mouth again. “Can I ask what it is you were doing?” I felt my cheeks go redder, if that was even possible at that point. 

He motioned at me to come closer. “Nature has gifts, my child, gifts that people have forgotten. When treated properly and with respect Nature will help you to prosper and to grow just like the trees outside.” He picked up a nettle leaf from the pile. “Nettles can hinder or help you. When you brush past them carelessly, they will hurt you, sting you much like a wasp might.” He started to boil water on the stove within a small, beaten up bowl over the fire of a few of the larger candles. After a few minutes, it started to boil and he added the leaves to it.  “When you instead take the time to learn, to nurture the plant and recognise it’s plain beauty within the leaves, you get a healing tea.” I watched in confusion and awe, as he stirred the bowl with a wooden stick, the colour of the liquid inside darkening, until it was brown and almost opaque. He poured one glass in a small, chipped cup and handed it to me. It was too hot to drink, but the warmth felt nice on my coarse fingertips. 

“So these brews and gems, they’re like medicine?” I asked, trying to understand. If what this strange, old man was saying was correct then, this could help Xavier right? If they worked, that is. For all I knew I could be about to drink poison. 

“A type of medicine one could describe them as,” he replied. “These are teachings our ancestors once used more than the tech of today. To be one with Nature, to learn how to use its treasures to our advantages. To live a better quality of life. It cannot mend broken hearts or limbs, but it can give you the strength to learn to live despite their aches.” His blue eyes shone, wise beyond most, a lifetime of secrets and traditions living within their ocean. I took a sip of the dark drink in my hand. It tasted almost sweet, surprisingly.

“So it's magic then,” I snorted. Of course the old, crazy man in the middle of the woods believed in magic. 

“Not magic. Alchemy,” He smiled.

I must’ve been a fool. At that point I had made many mistakes to get me to that point. This was my worst one. 

“Teach me.” 

**** Author’s note: this is very much an unedited draft as I did not get time to finish it before the deadline so any typos or errors I apologise for***