Rodrigo Istalindir
Explorer
Tomorrow night is good for me.
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Fall Ceramic DM - Final Round Judgment Posted!
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Macbeth
First Post
Round 2, Match 1: Orchid Blossom vs. Macbeth
Writer's Block
By Sage LaTorra
I'm drawing a blank.
The pictures went up at 12:52 A.M. My time. That's the downside of living in Cape Town. Everything important happens somewhere else, at odd hours of the night in South Africa.
I'll bet my competitor has a story already written by now. I always make myself wait at least 24 hours from the pictures getting posted to start writing. It lets me get all the bad ideas out. Lets me get all the impulsive, stupid ideas out. This time I didn't even have any bad ideas. I don't just have writer's block, I have a writer's road block manned by police wearing bullet-proof vests who blow out my tires every time I make a break for an idea.
I'm getting desperate. I keep telling myself it's just a story, just some stupid competition, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't find an original idea anywhere in my head. I keep telling myself sleep will help, but I still can't get to sleep. The pictures have now been posted for exactly 24 hours, and I have no ideas, and no sleep.
“Turn the light off honey, you've got to go to work tomorrow.” Helen's voice comes from the bedroom with the slurred tones that tell me she's already sleep. She doesn't know how hard this is.
“That computer screen is going to mutate your eyes Ted, come to bed.”
“In a minute honey.” I hope she falls asleep again so I can go back to writing, or not writing, as the case may be.
The pictures stare out of the screen at me. Hands. Stones. A river that reminds me of the forests inland from Cape Town. A monkey in a kimono with a cream pie. What the hell am I going to be able to do with these?
I make myself throw out an idea: it's a story of a shaman who uses the stones to summon the monkey spirit, and it all happens at the African river.
The bad news is, that's the best idea I've had yet. It's not even a story. No conflict.
I push the idea back out of my head, and pray to my DSL connection, asking it to bring me an idea. A blessing of ones and zeros. Some little web page that will give me an idea. I google random things, trying to find something that will give me a theme, a story, anything. Instead I find pictures of strange fetishes and pages giving away 'enhancement' pills.
Finally google brings me results, a story. Only problem is, it's somebody else's story, and its ten times better then I could ever write. Nothing like a reaffirmation of how much your ideas suck to give you confidence.
So... it's a story of a monkey movie start who uses a movie prop hand to take revenge on the man who polluted his river.
That's not much better. The plot is good, but it doesn't fit the pictures. So much for that.
I've got to move on. I've got to find an idea. The picture of a river still reminds me of someplace I've been.
That's it! I'll go to the river, the real one that is. The picture is so close to it, it must be able to give me ideas. I send an email to my boss, claiming that I have the flu. Work's taken care of, now I just have to go for a hike. It will have to give me ideas.
My excuse worked. There's advantages to being one of the few college graduate programmers in Cape Town. Your boss is a little lenient when you ask for time off.
I decided to take Pooch with me. Just as a little security. Pooch will at least help scare away the snakes and such. He nips at my hand as I close him into the back of the jeep.
The river is exactly as I remember it. Close enough to the picture to pass. It might even be the same river, for all I know.
I sit down on the bank, tie Pooch's leash to a tree, and try to have an idea.
Maybe my story is about a monkey out for revenge on the corporation that controls the rain, to save the river from drying up. And he gets stone sphere weapons from the Earth mother as weapons.
Good story, bad monkey. That one would get laughed off the boards. I like the idea, but not with these pictures.
Another bad idea. At least the heat of the sun is helping put me to sleep. Sleep has to help, maybe I'll get an idea in a dream.
This has to be the strangest dream I've ever had. It's not even my dream. I can see other people's memory. I don't know what the hell is going on, but this isn't my dream. This is somebody else's memory. Or everybody else's memory. It's like floating through an odd mixture of a pop-culture museum and a memory of my own life. The scene jumps from common memories, things everyone experiences, to mass media that is recognizable to everyone. I jump from vague memories of first love and mothers to Coke logos and movie catchphrases.
I wake up with everybody else's ideas. I struggle to hang onto them, to hold onto the ideas, but before I can write them down, they fade.
All I know is I have to go back. I have to have that dream again. That was my inspiration. I know my story is in there.
When I get home I put Pooch in the back yard and start researching. Helen won't be home for a few hours yet, and I have time to look into this and leave again before she can get home.
A little bit of creative Googling brings in results. Shared memory. Archetypes. Jung.
The idea goes something like this: if enough monkeys learn something, they all know it. That's the short version.
The longer version goes something like this: there's been some studies, most of them small, nothing conclusive, but they all point to the idea that if enough monkeys learn something: Some tool, some danger to avoid, whatever, they all know it. Geographically removed populations will all seem to know whatever enough learn. The monkey with the cream pie from my picture could pick up how to use a stick as a tool if enough of his little monkey buddies learned it. And the same thing applies to humans.
Anything that enough of us experience, we all know. Jealousy, first love, even abstract concepts like the notion of a hero, or the idea of a greater meaning to life. It all enters into the racial memory. And it goes further. When enough people internalize a slogan or an image or a sound, we all know something of it on some level. Maybe not consciously, but we all get a feel for what enough of us know.
I think that's what I taped into. Jung's Archetypes given form. It must have been something about the river, something about that place.
I know I can get an idea now, I just have to figure out how to access it while I'm awake. How to connect to it.
That's it! Connect to it. I don't know how, but I think I can connect my computer to it. I can dial into the racial memory like the internet.
I run around gathering things that seem like they might help. Cables, shielding, wire cutters, gloves, scissors, and the one strongest archetype I can still remember: the human form. I sketch out half a man on some old paper, and throw it into my briefcase along with the other stuff. With all of it together, it looks like some mixture of a medical kit and a cable guy's repair kit. Since I don't know what I'll even need, I grab a tarp and my laptop, just in case. I don't know how exactly I'm going to do it, but I know I'm going to connect to it.
With my briefcase in hand I rush out, grab Pooch, and drive off again.
The river looks even more like the picture then before. I drag Pooch along as I try to find the same spot.
When we finally come to what is, as best I can tell, the same place, I tie Pooch to the same tree and set to work. Villagers glide by in their boats, returning home on the river from the day's hunt.
The only problem is, I have no idea how to do this. But maybe someone else does.
I lie down in the same spot, with the briefcase open at my side, and Pooch standing guard. I close my eyes,a nd it's the same dream.
This time I try to focus. I try to find specific knowledge. Theoretically, anything anyone knows could be here, but the fewer people know it, the harder it would be to find.
The images stream by. People's memories, the memories left by groups, history, ideals,a ll of it. And then I wake up.
And it's done.
It must have been something in the racial memory. Something someone else knew. I don't even remember moving, but all the conduits, the cable, all of it is in place, buried in the ground, running to who knows where, with a nice RJ-45 jack on the end that's out of the ground.
It's late now. I want to make sure it works, to give it time to work, so I leave my laptop plugged into it on battery save mode. I conceal the interface and my laptop with a tarp to keep it all try, and start to leave. Helen will be wondering where I am. I untie Pooch and head home.
I still don't have a story. My competition posted about how she was looking forward to a tough round. She thought our stories might be even. At this point, she's dead wrong. I know she knows how to write. I've seen what she can do without tapping into some kind of group memory. I know she would beat me, but now I have a secret weapon. Everybody's memory is on my side.
I can't wait to go back tomorrow. To access everybody else's imagination to fuel my own. Somebody has an idea that I can use. 24 hours to go.
I had to take the long way back to the river. The Forest Service had blocked off the parking area, so I had to go over the bridge and move in from the other side. I hope I can find some villagers to take me across the water. I've seen them go by often enough, I should be able to find a boat to take me across.
As I approach the river, the scene is an exact match of the picture. It takes me a minute to realize why, but then it hits me: right where I set up my connection, there's a glow. I don't know what it is, but its right where I made my connection. I see villagers coasting by one the river, and get a ride. They're happy to give me a ride, but the won't take me directly across. I have to go to their village, which is no problem, it should be close enough to my connection.
When I reach the village, it's worse then I could have imagined. The village is about half a mile from my connection, and the dome ends just at the the first hut. I ask the villagers what happened, but none of them give me a straight answer. They all point me to the hut at the edge of the dome, and telling me “Meme keeper is there.” I don't know what the meme keeper is, but I'm not sure I want to find out.
With nothing better to do, I go to the hut, to meet the Meme Keeper. It's not as bad as I thought. The glow from the dome shows through the badly jointed wood and back lights the man who I can only guess is the Meme Keeper. Other people, maybe his family, huddle in the back of the hut. They're afraid of something. With a regal voice I hadn't expected, he begins to speak.
“So, you know something of this?”
Straight to the point, isn't he?
“What do you mean by 'this'?”
“You know, the Meme, the racial memory. You entered it didn't you?”
I have a feeling he already knows, so I might as well admit it. It's not like I did anything wrong (or did I?). “Yes. In a dream. It just happened.”
“And after that?”
“I wanted to access it again. So I created I connection I think my computer can use.”
“Damn.” He says the word like he wants to say something else in it's place, but he wants me to understand what he's saying. “Here, let me show you something.” He starts to walk outside, and I follow him, with Pooch at my side.
“You see this?” He takes a pendant of some sort out of his pocket and hands it to me. Its not much to look at, just a dime set in some kind of square, with a little ornamentation around it. I hand it back to him. “My great grandfather was given this by colonists as payment for more land then they could ever use.” His face contorts with displeasure at the mention of colonists. “Now watch.”
He walks over to the dome around my connection, and swings the dime through it, holding onto the chain so it swings back out again. “Look again.” he says as he hands it back to me.
It's blank. The face still sits there, but all the identity. The mint year. The mint place letter. The words. All that's left is the face.”This is what you've done. You opened the Meme. You you brought it into a physical form.”
“You mean my computer is the Meme now?”
“Not really. Your computer gives it form. And lets it into the world. You see, only thoughts are supposed to enter the Meme, only thoughts should be absorbed by it. But now it's open, now it's eating the world. Everything is becoming memory. This coin: it's identity has been absorbed, it's now only in the Meme. And the same thing is going to happen to all of us. The Meme is meant to absorb everything it touches, all the thoughts that enter it. But now that it's here, it's eating everything. Absorbing the meaning, leaving the physical forms.”
“Crap”
“That's right.”
In the shock of the moment, I let go of Pooch's leash, and he runs in to dome. While I stand dumbfounded, The Meme Keeper steps on Pooch's leash before it all goes into the dome. He pulls the leash back out, and the dog that comes out isn't Pooch.
I kneel in front of the dog, and try to find some glimmer of recognition in it's eyes. “Pooch?”
No response.
“Sit.”
Nothing.
“Stay”
No.
This isn't my dog. He sits there with a blank look, a vacancy that I've never seen before. My dog is gone.
The Keeper speaks. “Now do you see? He is nothing now, but all his memories are part of the Meme now.”
This is my fault. “So, how do we stop it?” This is all my fault, so I should be the one who stops it.
“You disconnect the Meme, return it back to being something insubstantial. But once you are inside, your memories are gone. There will be none of you left to remember what you were doing.”
“How long will I remain me? How long would I have if I went in?”
“ In don't know. Your dog was absorbed in a few seconds, but he is simple. You may stand a chance, but not for long. I can't let you in.”
“Too late.”
Before the Meme Keeper can keep me out, I run into the dome.
As I run back to the connection, I think about my wife. I try to hang onto her name. I try to think about the story I could write if I make it out. I try to find a way to be me.
I make it to the connection in a matter of minutes, and all I am is a force to destroy what I have made. I don't remember my name. I don't remember my life, all I know is why I'm here.
The wire pulls out of the laptop easily.
And now I'm nothing. My body is nothing but a shell. All I had left was the urge to end the connection, and now even that is gone. This story is all remains of my life. The last trace of the Meme, the last trace of me, left on the computer. If you find this, please post it for me. I need people to know I had a story, that I tried to find an idea, that I was going to write.
Found on a Laptop in the middle of the River Basin Disturbance, November 16th, 2004. Posted here by the deceased's request
Writer's Block
By Sage LaTorra
I'm drawing a blank.
The pictures went up at 12:52 A.M. My time. That's the downside of living in Cape Town. Everything important happens somewhere else, at odd hours of the night in South Africa.
I'll bet my competitor has a story already written by now. I always make myself wait at least 24 hours from the pictures getting posted to start writing. It lets me get all the bad ideas out. Lets me get all the impulsive, stupid ideas out. This time I didn't even have any bad ideas. I don't just have writer's block, I have a writer's road block manned by police wearing bullet-proof vests who blow out my tires every time I make a break for an idea.
I'm getting desperate. I keep telling myself it's just a story, just some stupid competition, but that doesn't change the fact that I can't find an original idea anywhere in my head. I keep telling myself sleep will help, but I still can't get to sleep. The pictures have now been posted for exactly 24 hours, and I have no ideas, and no sleep.
“Turn the light off honey, you've got to go to work tomorrow.” Helen's voice comes from the bedroom with the slurred tones that tell me she's already sleep. She doesn't know how hard this is.
“That computer screen is going to mutate your eyes Ted, come to bed.”
“In a minute honey.” I hope she falls asleep again so I can go back to writing, or not writing, as the case may be.
The pictures stare out of the screen at me. Hands. Stones. A river that reminds me of the forests inland from Cape Town. A monkey in a kimono with a cream pie. What the hell am I going to be able to do with these?
I make myself throw out an idea: it's a story of a shaman who uses the stones to summon the monkey spirit, and it all happens at the African river.
The bad news is, that's the best idea I've had yet. It's not even a story. No conflict.
I push the idea back out of my head, and pray to my DSL connection, asking it to bring me an idea. A blessing of ones and zeros. Some little web page that will give me an idea. I google random things, trying to find something that will give me a theme, a story, anything. Instead I find pictures of strange fetishes and pages giving away 'enhancement' pills.
Finally google brings me results, a story. Only problem is, it's somebody else's story, and its ten times better then I could ever write. Nothing like a reaffirmation of how much your ideas suck to give you confidence.
So... it's a story of a monkey movie start who uses a movie prop hand to take revenge on the man who polluted his river.
That's not much better. The plot is good, but it doesn't fit the pictures. So much for that.
I've got to move on. I've got to find an idea. The picture of a river still reminds me of someplace I've been.
That's it! I'll go to the river, the real one that is. The picture is so close to it, it must be able to give me ideas. I send an email to my boss, claiming that I have the flu. Work's taken care of, now I just have to go for a hike. It will have to give me ideas.
My excuse worked. There's advantages to being one of the few college graduate programmers in Cape Town. Your boss is a little lenient when you ask for time off.
I decided to take Pooch with me. Just as a little security. Pooch will at least help scare away the snakes and such. He nips at my hand as I close him into the back of the jeep.
The river is exactly as I remember it. Close enough to the picture to pass. It might even be the same river, for all I know.
I sit down on the bank, tie Pooch's leash to a tree, and try to have an idea.
Maybe my story is about a monkey out for revenge on the corporation that controls the rain, to save the river from drying up. And he gets stone sphere weapons from the Earth mother as weapons.
Good story, bad monkey. That one would get laughed off the boards. I like the idea, but not with these pictures.
Another bad idea. At least the heat of the sun is helping put me to sleep. Sleep has to help, maybe I'll get an idea in a dream.
This has to be the strangest dream I've ever had. It's not even my dream. I can see other people's memory. I don't know what the hell is going on, but this isn't my dream. This is somebody else's memory. Or everybody else's memory. It's like floating through an odd mixture of a pop-culture museum and a memory of my own life. The scene jumps from common memories, things everyone experiences, to mass media that is recognizable to everyone. I jump from vague memories of first love and mothers to Coke logos and movie catchphrases.
I wake up with everybody else's ideas. I struggle to hang onto them, to hold onto the ideas, but before I can write them down, they fade.
All I know is I have to go back. I have to have that dream again. That was my inspiration. I know my story is in there.
When I get home I put Pooch in the back yard and start researching. Helen won't be home for a few hours yet, and I have time to look into this and leave again before she can get home.
A little bit of creative Googling brings in results. Shared memory. Archetypes. Jung.
The idea goes something like this: if enough monkeys learn something, they all know it. That's the short version.
The longer version goes something like this: there's been some studies, most of them small, nothing conclusive, but they all point to the idea that if enough monkeys learn something: Some tool, some danger to avoid, whatever, they all know it. Geographically removed populations will all seem to know whatever enough learn. The monkey with the cream pie from my picture could pick up how to use a stick as a tool if enough of his little monkey buddies learned it. And the same thing applies to humans.
Anything that enough of us experience, we all know. Jealousy, first love, even abstract concepts like the notion of a hero, or the idea of a greater meaning to life. It all enters into the racial memory. And it goes further. When enough people internalize a slogan or an image or a sound, we all know something of it on some level. Maybe not consciously, but we all get a feel for what enough of us know.
I think that's what I taped into. Jung's Archetypes given form. It must have been something about the river, something about that place.
I know I can get an idea now, I just have to figure out how to access it while I'm awake. How to connect to it.
That's it! Connect to it. I don't know how, but I think I can connect my computer to it. I can dial into the racial memory like the internet.
I run around gathering things that seem like they might help. Cables, shielding, wire cutters, gloves, scissors, and the one strongest archetype I can still remember: the human form. I sketch out half a man on some old paper, and throw it into my briefcase along with the other stuff. With all of it together, it looks like some mixture of a medical kit and a cable guy's repair kit. Since I don't know what I'll even need, I grab a tarp and my laptop, just in case. I don't know how exactly I'm going to do it, but I know I'm going to connect to it.
With my briefcase in hand I rush out, grab Pooch, and drive off again.
The river looks even more like the picture then before. I drag Pooch along as I try to find the same spot.
When we finally come to what is, as best I can tell, the same place, I tie Pooch to the same tree and set to work. Villagers glide by in their boats, returning home on the river from the day's hunt.
The only problem is, I have no idea how to do this. But maybe someone else does.
I lie down in the same spot, with the briefcase open at my side, and Pooch standing guard. I close my eyes,a nd it's the same dream.
This time I try to focus. I try to find specific knowledge. Theoretically, anything anyone knows could be here, but the fewer people know it, the harder it would be to find.
The images stream by. People's memories, the memories left by groups, history, ideals,a ll of it. And then I wake up.
And it's done.
It must have been something in the racial memory. Something someone else knew. I don't even remember moving, but all the conduits, the cable, all of it is in place, buried in the ground, running to who knows where, with a nice RJ-45 jack on the end that's out of the ground.
It's late now. I want to make sure it works, to give it time to work, so I leave my laptop plugged into it on battery save mode. I conceal the interface and my laptop with a tarp to keep it all try, and start to leave. Helen will be wondering where I am. I untie Pooch and head home.
I still don't have a story. My competition posted about how she was looking forward to a tough round. She thought our stories might be even. At this point, she's dead wrong. I know she knows how to write. I've seen what she can do without tapping into some kind of group memory. I know she would beat me, but now I have a secret weapon. Everybody's memory is on my side.
I can't wait to go back tomorrow. To access everybody else's imagination to fuel my own. Somebody has an idea that I can use. 24 hours to go.
I had to take the long way back to the river. The Forest Service had blocked off the parking area, so I had to go over the bridge and move in from the other side. I hope I can find some villagers to take me across the water. I've seen them go by often enough, I should be able to find a boat to take me across.
As I approach the river, the scene is an exact match of the picture. It takes me a minute to realize why, but then it hits me: right where I set up my connection, there's a glow. I don't know what it is, but its right where I made my connection. I see villagers coasting by one the river, and get a ride. They're happy to give me a ride, but the won't take me directly across. I have to go to their village, which is no problem, it should be close enough to my connection.
When I reach the village, it's worse then I could have imagined. The village is about half a mile from my connection, and the dome ends just at the the first hut. I ask the villagers what happened, but none of them give me a straight answer. They all point me to the hut at the edge of the dome, and telling me “Meme keeper is there.” I don't know what the meme keeper is, but I'm not sure I want to find out.
With nothing better to do, I go to the hut, to meet the Meme Keeper. It's not as bad as I thought. The glow from the dome shows through the badly jointed wood and back lights the man who I can only guess is the Meme Keeper. Other people, maybe his family, huddle in the back of the hut. They're afraid of something. With a regal voice I hadn't expected, he begins to speak.
“So, you know something of this?”
Straight to the point, isn't he?
“What do you mean by 'this'?”
“You know, the Meme, the racial memory. You entered it didn't you?”
I have a feeling he already knows, so I might as well admit it. It's not like I did anything wrong (or did I?). “Yes. In a dream. It just happened.”
“And after that?”
“I wanted to access it again. So I created I connection I think my computer can use.”
“Damn.” He says the word like he wants to say something else in it's place, but he wants me to understand what he's saying. “Here, let me show you something.” He starts to walk outside, and I follow him, with Pooch at my side.
“You see this?” He takes a pendant of some sort out of his pocket and hands it to me. Its not much to look at, just a dime set in some kind of square, with a little ornamentation around it. I hand it back to him. “My great grandfather was given this by colonists as payment for more land then they could ever use.” His face contorts with displeasure at the mention of colonists. “Now watch.”
He walks over to the dome around my connection, and swings the dime through it, holding onto the chain so it swings back out again. “Look again.” he says as he hands it back to me.
It's blank. The face still sits there, but all the identity. The mint year. The mint place letter. The words. All that's left is the face.”This is what you've done. You opened the Meme. You you brought it into a physical form.”
“You mean my computer is the Meme now?”
“Not really. Your computer gives it form. And lets it into the world. You see, only thoughts are supposed to enter the Meme, only thoughts should be absorbed by it. But now it's open, now it's eating the world. Everything is becoming memory. This coin: it's identity has been absorbed, it's now only in the Meme. And the same thing is going to happen to all of us. The Meme is meant to absorb everything it touches, all the thoughts that enter it. But now that it's here, it's eating everything. Absorbing the meaning, leaving the physical forms.”
“Crap”
“That's right.”
In the shock of the moment, I let go of Pooch's leash, and he runs in to dome. While I stand dumbfounded, The Meme Keeper steps on Pooch's leash before it all goes into the dome. He pulls the leash back out, and the dog that comes out isn't Pooch.
I kneel in front of the dog, and try to find some glimmer of recognition in it's eyes. “Pooch?”
No response.
“Sit.”
Nothing.
“Stay”
No.
This isn't my dog. He sits there with a blank look, a vacancy that I've never seen before. My dog is gone.
The Keeper speaks. “Now do you see? He is nothing now, but all his memories are part of the Meme now.”
This is my fault. “So, how do we stop it?” This is all my fault, so I should be the one who stops it.
“You disconnect the Meme, return it back to being something insubstantial. But once you are inside, your memories are gone. There will be none of you left to remember what you were doing.”
“How long will I remain me? How long would I have if I went in?”
“ In don't know. Your dog was absorbed in a few seconds, but he is simple. You may stand a chance, but not for long. I can't let you in.”
“Too late.”
Before the Meme Keeper can keep me out, I run into the dome.
As I run back to the connection, I think about my wife. I try to hang onto her name. I try to think about the story I could write if I make it out. I try to find a way to be me.
I make it to the connection in a matter of minutes, and all I am is a force to destroy what I have made. I don't remember my name. I don't remember my life, all I know is why I'm here.
The wire pulls out of the laptop easily.
And now I'm nothing. My body is nothing but a shell. All I had left was the urge to end the connection, and now even that is gone. This story is all remains of my life. The last trace of the Meme, the last trace of me, left on the computer. If you find this, please post it for me. I need people to know I had a story, that I tried to find an idea, that I was going to write.
Found on a Laptop in the middle of the River Basin Disturbance, November 16th, 2004. Posted here by the deceased's request
orchid blossom
Explorer
Untitled
by: orchid blossom
"Hold your arm out straight." Carlene ducked under the arm and looked at the musculature from beneath. "You could have at least bathed before you came in."
"And you could have gotten someone else to do this for you," Aidan shook his head. "Or at least done it later. You can't expect me to come in from mucking stalls smelling like a daisy, can you?"
Carlene stood back and made another mark with her charcoal pencil.
"My arms are getting tired."
"Just another minute."
Aidan shifted his weight from side to side. "What's the point of this anyway?"
"I'm supposed to draw the arm and torso, making note of the musculature. It's part of my studies."
"And what are you going to learn from this?"
Carlene looked up, one eyebrow raised. "All the ticklish spots."
"Alright with the evil eye already. I really want to know."
"Mrs. Kennedy thinks it's easier to learn things with hands on experience. So instead of just looking at pictures and memorizing the names of the muscles, by looking and drawing I'm supposed to remember better."
"And do you?"
"Actually, yeah, I do. It's pretty interesting."
Aidan nodded. "Okay, my arms are getting really tired."
"You can put them down, I'm done. And for heaven's sake put your shirt back on!"
"Sure, sure. Use me and then just toss me aside." Aidan pulled his rough cotton work shirt back over his head and shook his arms to loosen the tight muscles. "You're coming out to the fair tonight, aren't you?"
"Of course I am."
"Well then, you can make it up to me."
"What?"
"You did it all backwards. You're supposed to buy me dinner first, and then try to get me out of my clothes," he grinned.
Carlene clamped her lips shut and tried not to laugh. "Out! Go!" She chased him out the door and watched as he ran down the path toward his parent’s house.
He turned and ran backwards down the path. "You're going to dance with me, right?"
"Only if you bathe first!”
……………………………………….
The evening air was chilly as Carlene walked down the hill toward the town square. It had been three months since the last fair, and the village was ready for the party that always accompanied the return of a retrieval team.
The generator had been started for the night, and electrical street lights illuminated the square and stalls. The teams must have found fuel tanks this time. She couldn't imagine what it was like before the Plagues, when everyone had electricity all the time. Living in a crowded city with cars and buses and a machine to do anything you could imagine. She'd seen those things when she went to the nearest operating hospital for the "modern" part of her training. Now she was learning the older healing arts as well. Those with serious problems would be taken to a hospital if they were able to make the trip, but Carlene would be able to take car of things like broken bones, cuts that needed stitches and sicknesses that could be cured through herbal rather than pharmaceutical means.
Carlene walked up and down the vendor stalls, looking over the newest arrivals. There were still plenty of things of use to be found in the cities. Any food was long spoiled of course, except for the occasional Twinkie, and no one trusted eating something that was still good after 30 years. But there were plenty of clothes, dishes, books, and just about anything made of plastic you could want. She made her purchases and had everything set aside to be delivered tomorrow afternoon.
"Hey, I got you something," Aidan said as he came around a corner. He held out a package wrapped in plain brown paper. "Open it."
Carlene carefully unwrapped it to expose a bas-relief of the head of a small boy, mounted in a carved wooden frame. She carefully folded the paper. "Aidan, it's beautifully done, but, what am I going to do with it?"
"It's for your shingle. You know, doctors are supposed to hang out their shingles, right? We can hang this outside your house, and I'll carve you a name plate to go underneath it. Come on, we’ll go put this in your delivery crates, and then we’ll get some dinner.”
She gave in and bought the dinner and gave Aidan his dance by way of a thank you. Carlene smiled and laughed as she danced from one song to the next and drank the home brewed beer that had been one of the first things people figured out how to make for themselves.
………………………………….
"Carlene! Carlene!"
She put down the book on herbs she had been studying and hurried to the door. It was only a little past noon, early for anyone to be knocking on the day after a Fair. She opened it just as the man was about to knock again. "Kieran. You should be sleeping. You've been gone for weeks, and then all that unloading yesterday."
The retrieval man shook his head. "Can I come in?"
Carlene nodded and moved out of the way. "Look, we brought back more than just goods yesterday. We found some people wandering the city. They said they'd been traveling, retrieving like us. When they got back to their village no one was there. So they set off looking for others."
"Why didn't you bring them up yesterday?"
"Well, one of them said they didn't feel so good. Apparently they've been to a couple other villages that wouldn't take them in. Places that didn't have a healer and were pretty paranoid about sick people. Anyway, they seem worse today. I don't want to bring them up here until someone looks at them. Can you come?"
"Me?" Carlene backed up a step. "I'm still in training. I don't know if I'll be able to help at all. We should get Mrs. Kennedy."
"She's delivering a baby."
Carlene sighed. Babies she'd dealt with. But if those people were really sick then Kieran was exposed, and through him so was she. She couldn't just go trade places and spread it further. "Ok, hold on a minute. Carlene grabbed her bag, threw in a few pairs of the precious rubber gloves and snapped it shut. "Let's go.”
………………………………
Aidan shaded his eyes from the sun and peered in the kitchen window. “Carly?” She usually worked at the kitchen table. “Carly? I have your stuff!” He knocked on the door again and waited. Finally he shrugged and opened it. He piled up her crates of supplies in the hallway and shouted one more time. She was probably with Mrs. Kennedy.
He was on his way back down to the stables when a mechanical hum came to him from the distance. Down at the bottom of the hill, people were pouring out of their houses. All eyes were looking down the old road as the automobile bounced over the cracked pavement. Small children who had never seen one before hid behind their mothers, and even the elders who remembered them looked surprised. Gasoline was a precious commodity, used only when absolutely needed.
Aidan reached the road just as a man stepped out of the car. He was rail thin and dressed in a pristine black suit. “You’ve all had retrieval back recently, yes?”
“Just a couple days ago, sir.” One of the gathered crowd told him.
“Any new people come in with it?”
Most of them shook their heads, and a few answered aloud. The man looked around suspiciously, studying each face until the crowd was squirming. “Who are the retrievers that came back with the last load?” A few hands went up and the man gestured for them to come forward. “Where do you unload?”
“We ferry the goods from a larger ship and unload on the east side of the lake. It gets too shallow to bring the big boat in.”
“I’ll need to go out to your main ship. You may have had stowaways,” he said with a sniff. “I don’t want to waste my time circling that lake if they never came here.” The man opened the back door of his auto and a canine nose peeked out. He reached out and stroked the animal, and it poked its head out further. Aidan pulled back as he saw the wolf’s eyes. For a moment, he thought they weren’t there, but a glint of light betrayed a dull black presence. The man snapped his fingers and it jumped lightly out.
Aidan watched as the man moved away with the retrievers and got into the longboat to make the trip out to the main ship. The chatter in the crowd started quietly, but grew quickly into a loud buzzing. Aidan slipped away and headed for the storehouse.
………………………………
Kieran led Carlene down a wide dirt path circling the lake to the storehouse. The walls were made of wooden slats with wide cracks between them. “Can’t be much good at keeping the weather out.”
“We usually keep tarp over it. But they kept saying it was stifling in there, so we pulled it off.” He pushed the door open. Carlene stepped in and shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in through the cracks. There was a little boy sitting against the back wall, and a man in African printed cloth near the door.
“Are these two all there are?”
Kieran shook his head. “Where’s Libby?”
The man shook his head. “She died while you were gone. Coughing up blood.”
Carlene nodded. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on here.” She opened her bag and put on her gloves. The ball bearings she sometimes used to help crush herbs had gotten loose and were scattered all over the inside of the bag. She shook her head and got down to work.
The sun was setting as Carlene confirmed her diagnosis. If these people had been at home and resting, they would have recovered easily. “Kieran, I’ll need a small fire to boil some water in.” She pulled out her mortar and pestle and pulled out a few of the old pieces of tubing she used for cases. In a few minutes the herbs were crushed and ready and Carlene stood up to stretch. She walked over to the wall and peered out between the cracks.
Kieran was busy striking his flint and steel under a small pile of kindling. Carlene looked past him at the sun setting over the water. “Is that a longboat coming over?”
“What?” Kieran looked up and at the lake. “Damn!” He kicked the pile of sticks down and ran back inside.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think they were tracked. Listen, there’s people out there who track down the sick and try to keep them from spreading anything. They’ve been doing it since the Plague. There’s one of them in that boat. He’ll kill both of them and us if he finds us. And he will. He’ll have a wolf with him, trained to sniff out the sickness.”
“So running is not an option?”
The Retriever nodded. “He’d just track us down.” He moved to the back corner of the room and pulled up a trap door. “Get them down here. We’ll hide and pray he thinks they were here and left.”
“Why would the others bring him here?”
“You don’t say no to a Mortician, Carlene. Let’s go.”
Carlene helped get the two sick people down the steep stairs and ran back up for her bag. She popped open another tube and poured a fragrant herb into her hand. She used her fingers to crush it and release the oils and then rubbed it on the outside of the trap door. “It should confuse the wolf’s sense of smell,” she explained. She grabbed her mortar and pestle and tossed them down.
“Hurry up, Carlene.”
“Just one more thing.” She reached over and pulled on the blanket she had used to cover the body of the dead woman. It fell down, exposing her face. “Sorry,” she whispered to the spirit of the woman and hoped she wouldn’t mind being a decoy to save the rest of them.
Carlene could hear voices outside as she ran back down the stairs and started pulling the trap door down over her. “My bag,” she whispered urgently, starting back up again.
“Too late, leave it!” Kieran pulled her back down and caught the trap door, keeping it from slamming loudly.
……………………………..
Aidan whistled as he pushed a wheelbarrow down toward the storehouse. The strange man in the suit was just coming up the path as Aidan arrived.
“You there! What are you doing?”
“Just getting some supplies. Still people waiting on their deliveries.”
The man in the suit sneered. “You’ll have to wait.” He opened the storehouse door and the wolf trotted in growling. Aidan watched as it trotted straight to a blanket covered pile in the corner. There was a combination of smells coming from the room, but strongest was a sweet, herbal smell that tickled his memory.
“Dead,” the man in the suit said as the wolf poked his nose at the body. Aidan coughed and turned his eyes away from the animal. The man whistled again and the wolf backed off and sniffed the rest of the room. It was interested in a spot by the door, as well as one by the back wall, but it kept sneezing when it tried to go near the back corner or near a black bag that was sitting on the floor.
“Recognize that?” the man said, picking up the bag and walking over to the door. Aidan looked down and saw the drawing that Carlene had been making of him yesterday tucked beneath her medical supplies. It didn’t look a bit like him. Aidan shook his head. “Nope.”
The man held it out to the retrievers who’d brought him out. “Any of you?” Most of them were shaking their heads, but one noticed Aidan nodding from behind the man. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I picked that up. Healers always wanting stuff like that. You should take that up to Mrs. Kennedy, Aidan.”
“Soon as the man gives the okay.”
The wolf went back in the room and sniffed again, each time coming out sneezing. Finally the man seemed satisfied that the body was the only sick person there. “Take that out and burn it,” he told the Retrievers, “And cover you hands, noses, and mouths when you do it. That path go back to the village?”
They waited until the Mortician was out of sight and then rushed into the storehouse. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Aidan called out.
The trap door flopped open and Carlene stuck her head out.
“I’ve heard of playing hard to get, girl, but this is ridiculous.”
……………………………………
"Be careful up there, Aidan. I don't want you to be my first patient." Carlene coughed. She’d been sick herself after treating the people the Retrievers had brought back, but as she suspected, it wasn’t a serious illness as long as it was treated right away. She’d spent a week in the storehouse nursing them back to health, and they now lived in the village. The little boy, Charlie, had been taken in by one of the families at the bottom of the hill and was outside now, playing in his yard with the other children.
"I'm being careful. Why did you let me buy such a heavy shingle?" He grunted and lifted the heavy metal and wood bas-relief. The metal hooks bounced against the sign a few times before Aidan managed to get them in the loops he'd screwed into the wood. He slowly transferred the weight from his hands to the chains.
Carlene picked up the name plate and ran her fingers over the delicately carved letters of her name. She handed it to Aidan and he hung the much lighter piece from the bottom of her "shingle."
She looked up at the picture of the young boy and smiled.
by: orchid blossom
"Hold your arm out straight." Carlene ducked under the arm and looked at the musculature from beneath. "You could have at least bathed before you came in."
"And you could have gotten someone else to do this for you," Aidan shook his head. "Or at least done it later. You can't expect me to come in from mucking stalls smelling like a daisy, can you?"
Carlene stood back and made another mark with her charcoal pencil.
"My arms are getting tired."
"Just another minute."
Aidan shifted his weight from side to side. "What's the point of this anyway?"
"I'm supposed to draw the arm and torso, making note of the musculature. It's part of my studies."
"And what are you going to learn from this?"
Carlene looked up, one eyebrow raised. "All the ticklish spots."
"Alright with the evil eye already. I really want to know."
"Mrs. Kennedy thinks it's easier to learn things with hands on experience. So instead of just looking at pictures and memorizing the names of the muscles, by looking and drawing I'm supposed to remember better."
"And do you?"
"Actually, yeah, I do. It's pretty interesting."
Aidan nodded. "Okay, my arms are getting really tired."
"You can put them down, I'm done. And for heaven's sake put your shirt back on!"
"Sure, sure. Use me and then just toss me aside." Aidan pulled his rough cotton work shirt back over his head and shook his arms to loosen the tight muscles. "You're coming out to the fair tonight, aren't you?"
"Of course I am."
"Well then, you can make it up to me."
"What?"
"You did it all backwards. You're supposed to buy me dinner first, and then try to get me out of my clothes," he grinned.
Carlene clamped her lips shut and tried not to laugh. "Out! Go!" She chased him out the door and watched as he ran down the path toward his parent’s house.
He turned and ran backwards down the path. "You're going to dance with me, right?"
"Only if you bathe first!”
……………………………………….
The evening air was chilly as Carlene walked down the hill toward the town square. It had been three months since the last fair, and the village was ready for the party that always accompanied the return of a retrieval team.
The generator had been started for the night, and electrical street lights illuminated the square and stalls. The teams must have found fuel tanks this time. She couldn't imagine what it was like before the Plagues, when everyone had electricity all the time. Living in a crowded city with cars and buses and a machine to do anything you could imagine. She'd seen those things when she went to the nearest operating hospital for the "modern" part of her training. Now she was learning the older healing arts as well. Those with serious problems would be taken to a hospital if they were able to make the trip, but Carlene would be able to take car of things like broken bones, cuts that needed stitches and sicknesses that could be cured through herbal rather than pharmaceutical means.
Carlene walked up and down the vendor stalls, looking over the newest arrivals. There were still plenty of things of use to be found in the cities. Any food was long spoiled of course, except for the occasional Twinkie, and no one trusted eating something that was still good after 30 years. But there were plenty of clothes, dishes, books, and just about anything made of plastic you could want. She made her purchases and had everything set aside to be delivered tomorrow afternoon.
"Hey, I got you something," Aidan said as he came around a corner. He held out a package wrapped in plain brown paper. "Open it."
Carlene carefully unwrapped it to expose a bas-relief of the head of a small boy, mounted in a carved wooden frame. She carefully folded the paper. "Aidan, it's beautifully done, but, what am I going to do with it?"
"It's for your shingle. You know, doctors are supposed to hang out their shingles, right? We can hang this outside your house, and I'll carve you a name plate to go underneath it. Come on, we’ll go put this in your delivery crates, and then we’ll get some dinner.”
She gave in and bought the dinner and gave Aidan his dance by way of a thank you. Carlene smiled and laughed as she danced from one song to the next and drank the home brewed beer that had been one of the first things people figured out how to make for themselves.
………………………………….
"Carlene! Carlene!"
She put down the book on herbs she had been studying and hurried to the door. It was only a little past noon, early for anyone to be knocking on the day after a Fair. She opened it just as the man was about to knock again. "Kieran. You should be sleeping. You've been gone for weeks, and then all that unloading yesterday."
The retrieval man shook his head. "Can I come in?"
Carlene nodded and moved out of the way. "Look, we brought back more than just goods yesterday. We found some people wandering the city. They said they'd been traveling, retrieving like us. When they got back to their village no one was there. So they set off looking for others."
"Why didn't you bring them up yesterday?"
"Well, one of them said they didn't feel so good. Apparently they've been to a couple other villages that wouldn't take them in. Places that didn't have a healer and were pretty paranoid about sick people. Anyway, they seem worse today. I don't want to bring them up here until someone looks at them. Can you come?"
"Me?" Carlene backed up a step. "I'm still in training. I don't know if I'll be able to help at all. We should get Mrs. Kennedy."
"She's delivering a baby."
Carlene sighed. Babies she'd dealt with. But if those people were really sick then Kieran was exposed, and through him so was she. She couldn't just go trade places and spread it further. "Ok, hold on a minute. Carlene grabbed her bag, threw in a few pairs of the precious rubber gloves and snapped it shut. "Let's go.”
………………………………
Aidan shaded his eyes from the sun and peered in the kitchen window. “Carly?” She usually worked at the kitchen table. “Carly? I have your stuff!” He knocked on the door again and waited. Finally he shrugged and opened it. He piled up her crates of supplies in the hallway and shouted one more time. She was probably with Mrs. Kennedy.
He was on his way back down to the stables when a mechanical hum came to him from the distance. Down at the bottom of the hill, people were pouring out of their houses. All eyes were looking down the old road as the automobile bounced over the cracked pavement. Small children who had never seen one before hid behind their mothers, and even the elders who remembered them looked surprised. Gasoline was a precious commodity, used only when absolutely needed.
Aidan reached the road just as a man stepped out of the car. He was rail thin and dressed in a pristine black suit. “You’ve all had retrieval back recently, yes?”
“Just a couple days ago, sir.” One of the gathered crowd told him.
“Any new people come in with it?”
Most of them shook their heads, and a few answered aloud. The man looked around suspiciously, studying each face until the crowd was squirming. “Who are the retrievers that came back with the last load?” A few hands went up and the man gestured for them to come forward. “Where do you unload?”
“We ferry the goods from a larger ship and unload on the east side of the lake. It gets too shallow to bring the big boat in.”
“I’ll need to go out to your main ship. You may have had stowaways,” he said with a sniff. “I don’t want to waste my time circling that lake if they never came here.” The man opened the back door of his auto and a canine nose peeked out. He reached out and stroked the animal, and it poked its head out further. Aidan pulled back as he saw the wolf’s eyes. For a moment, he thought they weren’t there, but a glint of light betrayed a dull black presence. The man snapped his fingers and it jumped lightly out.
Aidan watched as the man moved away with the retrievers and got into the longboat to make the trip out to the main ship. The chatter in the crowd started quietly, but grew quickly into a loud buzzing. Aidan slipped away and headed for the storehouse.
………………………………
Kieran led Carlene down a wide dirt path circling the lake to the storehouse. The walls were made of wooden slats with wide cracks between them. “Can’t be much good at keeping the weather out.”
“We usually keep tarp over it. But they kept saying it was stifling in there, so we pulled it off.” He pushed the door open. Carlene stepped in and shaded her eyes from the bright sunlight streaming in through the cracks. There was a little boy sitting against the back wall, and a man in African printed cloth near the door.
“Are these two all there are?”
Kieran shook his head. “Where’s Libby?”
The man shook his head. “She died while you were gone. Coughing up blood.”
Carlene nodded. “Okay, let’s see what’s going on here.” She opened her bag and put on her gloves. The ball bearings she sometimes used to help crush herbs had gotten loose and were scattered all over the inside of the bag. She shook her head and got down to work.
The sun was setting as Carlene confirmed her diagnosis. If these people had been at home and resting, they would have recovered easily. “Kieran, I’ll need a small fire to boil some water in.” She pulled out her mortar and pestle and pulled out a few of the old pieces of tubing she used for cases. In a few minutes the herbs were crushed and ready and Carlene stood up to stretch. She walked over to the wall and peered out between the cracks.
Kieran was busy striking his flint and steel under a small pile of kindling. Carlene looked past him at the sun setting over the water. “Is that a longboat coming over?”
“What?” Kieran looked up and at the lake. “Damn!” He kicked the pile of sticks down and ran back inside.
“What’s the matter?”
“I think they were tracked. Listen, there’s people out there who track down the sick and try to keep them from spreading anything. They’ve been doing it since the Plague. There’s one of them in that boat. He’ll kill both of them and us if he finds us. And he will. He’ll have a wolf with him, trained to sniff out the sickness.”
“So running is not an option?”
The Retriever nodded. “He’d just track us down.” He moved to the back corner of the room and pulled up a trap door. “Get them down here. We’ll hide and pray he thinks they were here and left.”
“Why would the others bring him here?”
“You don’t say no to a Mortician, Carlene. Let’s go.”
Carlene helped get the two sick people down the steep stairs and ran back up for her bag. She popped open another tube and poured a fragrant herb into her hand. She used her fingers to crush it and release the oils and then rubbed it on the outside of the trap door. “It should confuse the wolf’s sense of smell,” she explained. She grabbed her mortar and pestle and tossed them down.
“Hurry up, Carlene.”
“Just one more thing.” She reached over and pulled on the blanket she had used to cover the body of the dead woman. It fell down, exposing her face. “Sorry,” she whispered to the spirit of the woman and hoped she wouldn’t mind being a decoy to save the rest of them.
Carlene could hear voices outside as she ran back down the stairs and started pulling the trap door down over her. “My bag,” she whispered urgently, starting back up again.
“Too late, leave it!” Kieran pulled her back down and caught the trap door, keeping it from slamming loudly.
……………………………..
Aidan whistled as he pushed a wheelbarrow down toward the storehouse. The strange man in the suit was just coming up the path as Aidan arrived.
“You there! What are you doing?”
“Just getting some supplies. Still people waiting on their deliveries.”
The man in the suit sneered. “You’ll have to wait.” He opened the storehouse door and the wolf trotted in growling. Aidan watched as it trotted straight to a blanket covered pile in the corner. There was a combination of smells coming from the room, but strongest was a sweet, herbal smell that tickled his memory.
“Dead,” the man in the suit said as the wolf poked his nose at the body. Aidan coughed and turned his eyes away from the animal. The man whistled again and the wolf backed off and sniffed the rest of the room. It was interested in a spot by the door, as well as one by the back wall, but it kept sneezing when it tried to go near the back corner or near a black bag that was sitting on the floor.
“Recognize that?” the man said, picking up the bag and walking over to the door. Aidan looked down and saw the drawing that Carlene had been making of him yesterday tucked beneath her medical supplies. It didn’t look a bit like him. Aidan shook his head. “Nope.”
The man held it out to the retrievers who’d brought him out. “Any of you?” Most of them were shaking their heads, but one noticed Aidan nodding from behind the man. “Uh, yeah. Yeah I picked that up. Healers always wanting stuff like that. You should take that up to Mrs. Kennedy, Aidan.”
“Soon as the man gives the okay.”
The wolf went back in the room and sniffed again, each time coming out sneezing. Finally the man seemed satisfied that the body was the only sick person there. “Take that out and burn it,” he told the Retrievers, “And cover you hands, noses, and mouths when you do it. That path go back to the village?”
They waited until the Mortician was out of sight and then rushed into the storehouse. “Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Aidan called out.
The trap door flopped open and Carlene stuck her head out.
“I’ve heard of playing hard to get, girl, but this is ridiculous.”
……………………………………
"Be careful up there, Aidan. I don't want you to be my first patient." Carlene coughed. She’d been sick herself after treating the people the Retrievers had brought back, but as she suspected, it wasn’t a serious illness as long as it was treated right away. She’d spent a week in the storehouse nursing them back to health, and they now lived in the village. The little boy, Charlie, had been taken in by one of the families at the bottom of the hill and was outside now, playing in his yard with the other children.
"I'm being careful. Why did you let me buy such a heavy shingle?" He grunted and lifted the heavy metal and wood bas-relief. The metal hooks bounced against the sign a few times before Aidan managed to get them in the loops he'd screwed into the wood. He slowly transferred the weight from his hands to the chains.
Carlene picked up the name plate and ran her fingers over the delicately carved letters of her name. She handed it to Aidan and he hung the much lighter piece from the bottom of her "shingle."
She looked up at the picture of the young boy and smiled.
FireLance
Legend
Ceramic DM Round 2.2: FireLance vs. sparky
Cinders
Ella sat by the sea shore, enjoying the cool feel of the early morning breeze on her face and the waves on her toes. She stared out at the horizon, dreaming of visiting the distant lands spoken of by the travelers staying in her stepmother's inn. With a sigh, she stood up and trudged back to the inn. She would have to content herself with dreams for now.
"Where have you been, you lazy girl?" her stepmother snapped when she returned to the inn. "There are pots and plates to be washed, the kitchen floor needs scrubbing, and the fireplaces must be cleaned out again." Ella quietly started work as her stepmother continued her tirade. "I curse the day that I agreed to marry your good-for-nothing father. To think that I took pity on him then, with his wife just dead and you only a babe. And he repaid me by disappearing not three months after our wedding, leaving me to raise you by myself. Oh, the injustice of it all." It was a speech Ella had heard many times before, as far back as she could remember. She did not blame her father for leaving, but often wished he had taken her with him.
Ella washed, scrubbed and cleaned for hours. As she completed her tasks, she kept a wary eye out for her stepmother. Her stepmother had no patience for "idlers" and would assign her new jobs whenever she was done with her old ones. She needed something to distract her stepmother so that she could slip out of the inn and return to the sea shore.
Her chance came when a liveried servant of the local Baron called at the inn. "Mistress Feuxmains," he said haughtily, "The Baron has heard tell of your skill at roasting meats, and has seen fit to employ your services on the occasion of his ball tomorrow evening. I have a list of viands that the Baron wishes to be prepared. Have you time to discuss the details?"
While her stepmother haggled with the Baron's servant in the kitchen, Ella slipped out the back and returned to the sea shore. Kneeling down, she washed her hands in the waves, cleaning away the soot and ash that stained them. It was then that she noticed http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17270]a tiny black speck, far out to sea[/URL] (1). It approached as she watched, and revealed itself to be a small sailboat piloted by a woman. The woman guided the boat to shore and disembarked.
She was a tall woman, good-looking in an unconventional way, wearing a cloak, blouse, kirtle and scarf, all made of cloth that had a strange metallic sheen. "Good day, young lady," she said to Ella, "Would you be able to direct me to the village inn?"
"My stepmother runs the local inn, milady," Ella said, "If you will follow me, I will take you there."
"Please, call me Brina," the woman said with a smile, "How fortunate that I met you. And what is your name?"
"Ella, milady - I mean, Brina," Ella replied. Encouraged by the warmth of her smile, she questioned her further, "Where have you come from? Have you traveled far? Can you tell me of the places you have visited?"
Brina laughed, "I will be glad to tell you of my travels, Ella, but I have sailed for some time and am now quite tired. Perhaps this evening, after I have rested for a while."
Ella could see the fury in her stepmother's eyes when she and Brina entered the inn, but the presence of a customer saved her from another tongue-lashing. She merely told Ella curtly to do the laundry after seeing Brina to her room, before storming off into the kitchen.
Ella guided Brina up the stairs to her room and helped her remove her cloak. She gasped when she touched it for the first time. The material was cold, like stone on a winter morning. Brina looked amused. "I should have warned you," she said, "My clothes are made from silverweave - mithral alloyed with steel and drawn so fine that it can be woven and worn like cloth. It's a very hardy material." As she spoke, she removed her scarf. Ella noticed that it was extremely long, perhaps as long as fifty feet if fully extended. Ella hung up her cloak and scarf and returned to her chores.
The next morning, Ella woke up early as usual, to watch the sun rise over the sea. As she crept past the kitchen, she heard a noise and peered into it. What she saw there almost made her scream in surprise and fear. Brina was kneeling by the fireplace, a translucent, ghostly hound by her side. A ball of light that glowed dimly floated over her head. Ella must have made some sound, because Brina turned to face her, and their gazes locked for a second. "You're a witch," Ella whispered weakly.
"Ella!" The sound of her stepmother's voice came from behind her. She whirled around to see her coming down the stairs. "I will be at the Baron's manor house today, preparing for his ball this evening, but the inn still needs running, so that means you won't be able to idle, you lazy good-for-nothing. I have a list of chores for you to complete. I will also need you to help me tonight, and I can't have you showing up at the Baron's manor barefoot like a beggar. You can wear these." With a cruel smirk, she dropped a pair of the ugliest shoes Ella had ever seen: yellow and blue, with strange frills around the mouth. Without another word, she turned and left the inn.
"Ella." This time her name was spoken gently. She turned back to the kitchen to see Brina standing there with a compassionate smile on her face. "Is your stepmother usually that unkind to you?" she asked.
Ella scowled at her. "Why do you care, you witch?"
"I am not a witch, Ella. I am a sorceress. I am neither cruel, nor evil, nor do I wish you ill."
"Then tell me, why are you here? And what were you doing in the kitchen? What was that dog you had? And the light?"
Brina sighed. "To give a full answer to all your questions will take too long, but the short version is as follows. Sorcerers have the power to command spirits bound into talismans such as these." She displayed a handful of small figurines, each about an inch high. "Witches use the same spirits, but they lack the power to bind them permanently. A witch must strike a deal with a spirit in order to gain control over it, and must uphold her end of the bargain or the spirit will be freed. This usually involves causing pain to some innocent person, because these spirits tend to be spiteful and malicious, and enjoy the suffering of others." Brina looked grim for a moment, then continued, "The hound spirit you saw earlier is bound into this one," she said, holding up a crude dog-shaped figure. "It allows me to detect the presence of magic and to find other spirits."
"What does this one do? It looks dangerous." Ella asked, pointing to one shaped like a coiled snake. "Dangerous? Hardly," Brina said, "It simply allows me to control rope-like objects. It is quite useful for trapping a spirit that wants to get away."
"And what about this one?" she asked, indicating http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17271]a figurine of a human head[/URL] (2). "That one allows me to invoke a minor illusion to disguise myself. Ideal when you need to get away from people who recognize you, and it has cosmetic applications, too."
"You should like this one," Brina said with a smile, holding up a figurine that looked like a broom, "This one does housework."
Ella laughed, "I don't suppose you have one that will get me out of helping my stepmother at the ball tonight?"
Brina looked thoughtful. "I might," she said.
Ella sighed as she scrubbed plates and glasses in the Baron's scullery. She had spent an enjoyable day dreaming by the shore as Brina's bound spirit did her chores. However, nightfall saw her washing and scrubbing again, wearing the ill-fitting, uncomfortable shoes given to her by her stepmother. Brina had disappeared for the entire day on some mysterious errand. "Where are you, Brina?" she wondered.
"Right here." Ella whirled round with a squeak to see Brina standing in the shadows behind her. "Brina, how did you get in here?" Brina smiled, and held up her human head figurine, "Getting in is no problem for someone who can look like one of the guards. Ella, how would you like to go to the ball?"
Ella's heart leapt. "I would love to, but how can I, dressed like this?"
"Take this," Brina said, handing her http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17269]a small, multicolored glass bauble[/URL] (3), "It will give you the power to command my spirits. This one, for example." She held up the human head figurine again. "Hold on to both, and think of yourself in the most beautiful clothes you can imagine."
Ella did so, and the figurine shimmered, grew and became the ghostly, translucent image of a woman, which settled around her. Immediately, she was clothed in a gown that gleamed like silverweave. Jewelry adorned her hair, neck and arms. Even her ugly shoes were transformed into silverweave slippers studded with diamonds. With trembling hands, she touched a bracelet on her arm, but felt nothing. "None of this is real!" she exclaimed.
Brina nodded. "It is only an illusion, but it should do. Go out, enjoy yourself, but be careful of the time. By my estimation, the spell will end close to midnight. I will see to these plates and glasses."
Ella wandered through the Baron's house, following the sounds of music and merriment. Eventually, she made her way to a large, brightly-lit ballroom filled with well-dressed men and women, and settled in a corner of the room to listen to the music and watch the dancing.
Before long, she was approached by a dark-haired, powerfully-built man. The medallion of office around his neck proclaimed him to be the Baron himself. "My dear lady, one as lovely as yourself should not deny others the pleasure of your company. Will you dance with me?"
Ella shook her head. "I do not know how," she said. She was also conscious of her shoes, which despite the spell, remained ill-fitting and threatened to drop off her feet if she moved too quickly.
"Then come, I shall teach you," the Baron said with a grin, extending his hand.
"I am sorry, sir. I cannot." Ella turned and fled out of the ballroom. "Wait, stop! I command you!" The Baron shouted after her, but she ignored him. She hurried back to the scullery, where Brina was directing her housework spirit to do the washing.
"What happened to you?" Brina asked.
"The Baron asked me to dance, and I panicked and ran," Ella confessed, "I need to hide in case he comes in here after me."
Brina laughed. "Silly, just dismiss the disguising spirit. The Baron is looking for an elegant lady, not a scullery maid cleaning the dishes."
"I had not thought of that," Ella said, relieved. "I dismiss you, spirit." The illusion covering her vanished, and the spirit disguising her coalesced into its figurine form again. It was then that she noticed that she had lost one of her shoes in her flight from the ballroom. It was not turning out to be an enjoyable evening.
The next day, Ella was cleaning the kitchen fireplace in the inn when Brina walked in, an excited look on her face. "Ella, this is important," she said, "Leave your chores aside. You must come to the village square now."
A crude platform had been built in the square, and a pedestal had been placed on it. Lying on top of the pedestal was an open box containing http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17272] the shoe that Ella had lost the night before[/URL] (4). The Baron also sat on a chair on the platform, while his servant addressed the crowd that had formed.
"Last evening, the Baron encountered a most enchanting young lady at his ball. However, she left before he could discover her name, leaving behind nothing but this shoe. The Baron has thus proclaimed that all young ladies in this village shall try on the shoe, so that he may know who it belongs to."
"Do you expect me to try on the shoe?" Ella protested. "It doesn't even fit me. And I'm not sure that I want the Baron to find me, anyway."
"Hush," Brina said, "Go and try on the shoe. It will work out well. Trust me on this."
Ella had to wait some time before it was her turn to try on the shoe, as it seemed that every girl in the village was fighting for the chance to do so. When at last she ascended the platform, the shoe fitted as badly as it always had. "It doesn't fit," she said. But the Baron was not looking at her feet, but at her face.
"It does not matter," the Baron said, "I have found the girl I was looking for."
"No!" A piercing shriek made itself head over the sounds of the crowd. It was Ella's stepmother. "You cannot do this! You cannot take her away from me!" she screamed as she ran on to the platform.
"I can and I have," the Baron bellowed, "Go away, old woman. She is mine now."
Ella's stepmother's cries of protest were drowned by a demonic cackle. Flames burst from her apron, and formed themselves into a vaguely humanoid shape that stood before her. "Free! Free at last! After sixteen years of cooking and roasting, the bargain is broken and I am free again," it gloated, "Free to take my revenge." Flames burst from its hands as it spoke, and Ella's stepmother screamed again as she caught on fire.
Ella was vaguely aware of the cries of the crowd and the sounds of people running away, but her attention was mostly focused on the fiery figure in front of her. It pointed its hands at her, but before it could act, Brina rushed onto the platform, carrying her scarf. "Bind it!" she shouted, invoking her snake figurine. The figurine dissolved into a translucent, serpentine form that merged with her scarf. One end of the scarf leapt forward and wrapped itself around the spirit of fire, while http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17268]Brina held on to the other end[/URL] (5).
The fiery spirit laughed, "You are well prepared indeed, sorceress. You have bound me with a rope of metal which I cannot burn through. But you have forgotten that while metal does not burn, it can get very hot." It concentrated its flames on the scarf, which soon glowed cherry red. With a cry of pain, Brina dropped the scarf.
As the fiery spirit struggled to unwrap itself from the scarf, Ella formed a desperate plan. She reached into her pocket and brought out the glass bauble that Brina had given her the night before. With her other hand, she grabbed onto the end of the scarf that Brina had released. "Continue to bind it!" she commanded the snake spirit, and ran off the platform, dragging the scarf and the bound spirit behind her.
The fiery spirit sought to heat the scarf again, but Ella's hands were toughened and calloused from years of hard work, and accustomed to burns from cinders and coals. She gritted her teeth against the pain, and continued running, heading for the sea.
The fiery spirit's struggles increased when it realized where she was headed, but Ella held on to her end of the scarf with all her might. She ran into the water, dragging the spirit behind her. There was a tremendous hiss when it was pounded by the ocean waves, and great clouds of steam arose. The spirit's struggles weakened, it gave one final, despairing wail, and disappeared.
As Ella stood in the sea, waiting to regain her breath, Brina walked down to the shore, bent down and picked up something that was tangled in the other end of her scarf, and gave it to Ella. "Unconventional, but effective," she commented, "This is yours, now."
Ella stared at the figurine she held. It was shaped like a cone of flame emerging from a hand. "Mine? But what do I need with it? You're the sorceress. You should keep it," she protested.
Brina shook her head. "You are a sorceress too. My hound spirit told me that yesterday, when you surprised us in the kitchen. The bauble I gave you was only worthless glass. It was your own power that allowed you to command the spirit of disguise yesterday, and to command the snake spirit this morning. And I guess that was why your stepmother had to torment you as part of her bargain with the fire spirit. Many spirits hate sorcerers for the power that we have over them."
"So why didn't you just tell me when you knew? Why go through this charade with the glass bauble?" Ella asked.
"Because I had to be sure you would use your power responsibly. The power that we sorcerers wield can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Think of your stepmother. But you proved yourself when you acted to save me instead of running away." Brina bent down to retrieve her scarf. "So what are your plans now? Are you going to stay and see if things work out with the Baron?"
Ella shook her head. "There is nothing left for me here. I don't think I will like the Baron very much, either. If I may, I would like to leave with you."
Brina smiled and nodded, and the two of them boarded her boat and sailed out to sea, towards the horizon.
(1) The sea
(2) The human head figurine
(3) The glass bauble
(4) The ugly yellow and blue shoe
(5) Brina the sorceress holding on to her silverweave scarf
Cinders
Ella sat by the sea shore, enjoying the cool feel of the early morning breeze on her face and the waves on her toes. She stared out at the horizon, dreaming of visiting the distant lands spoken of by the travelers staying in her stepmother's inn. With a sigh, she stood up and trudged back to the inn. She would have to content herself with dreams for now.
"Where have you been, you lazy girl?" her stepmother snapped when she returned to the inn. "There are pots and plates to be washed, the kitchen floor needs scrubbing, and the fireplaces must be cleaned out again." Ella quietly started work as her stepmother continued her tirade. "I curse the day that I agreed to marry your good-for-nothing father. To think that I took pity on him then, with his wife just dead and you only a babe. And he repaid me by disappearing not three months after our wedding, leaving me to raise you by myself. Oh, the injustice of it all." It was a speech Ella had heard many times before, as far back as she could remember. She did not blame her father for leaving, but often wished he had taken her with him.
Ella washed, scrubbed and cleaned for hours. As she completed her tasks, she kept a wary eye out for her stepmother. Her stepmother had no patience for "idlers" and would assign her new jobs whenever she was done with her old ones. She needed something to distract her stepmother so that she could slip out of the inn and return to the sea shore.
Her chance came when a liveried servant of the local Baron called at the inn. "Mistress Feuxmains," he said haughtily, "The Baron has heard tell of your skill at roasting meats, and has seen fit to employ your services on the occasion of his ball tomorrow evening. I have a list of viands that the Baron wishes to be prepared. Have you time to discuss the details?"
While her stepmother haggled with the Baron's servant in the kitchen, Ella slipped out the back and returned to the sea shore. Kneeling down, she washed her hands in the waves, cleaning away the soot and ash that stained them. It was then that she noticed http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17270]a tiny black speck, far out to sea[/URL] (1). It approached as she watched, and revealed itself to be a small sailboat piloted by a woman. The woman guided the boat to shore and disembarked.
She was a tall woman, good-looking in an unconventional way, wearing a cloak, blouse, kirtle and scarf, all made of cloth that had a strange metallic sheen. "Good day, young lady," she said to Ella, "Would you be able to direct me to the village inn?"
"My stepmother runs the local inn, milady," Ella said, "If you will follow me, I will take you there."
"Please, call me Brina," the woman said with a smile, "How fortunate that I met you. And what is your name?"
"Ella, milady - I mean, Brina," Ella replied. Encouraged by the warmth of her smile, she questioned her further, "Where have you come from? Have you traveled far? Can you tell me of the places you have visited?"
Brina laughed, "I will be glad to tell you of my travels, Ella, but I have sailed for some time and am now quite tired. Perhaps this evening, after I have rested for a while."
Ella could see the fury in her stepmother's eyes when she and Brina entered the inn, but the presence of a customer saved her from another tongue-lashing. She merely told Ella curtly to do the laundry after seeing Brina to her room, before storming off into the kitchen.
Ella guided Brina up the stairs to her room and helped her remove her cloak. She gasped when she touched it for the first time. The material was cold, like stone on a winter morning. Brina looked amused. "I should have warned you," she said, "My clothes are made from silverweave - mithral alloyed with steel and drawn so fine that it can be woven and worn like cloth. It's a very hardy material." As she spoke, she removed her scarf. Ella noticed that it was extremely long, perhaps as long as fifty feet if fully extended. Ella hung up her cloak and scarf and returned to her chores.
The next morning, Ella woke up early as usual, to watch the sun rise over the sea. As she crept past the kitchen, she heard a noise and peered into it. What she saw there almost made her scream in surprise and fear. Brina was kneeling by the fireplace, a translucent, ghostly hound by her side. A ball of light that glowed dimly floated over her head. Ella must have made some sound, because Brina turned to face her, and their gazes locked for a second. "You're a witch," Ella whispered weakly.
"Ella!" The sound of her stepmother's voice came from behind her. She whirled around to see her coming down the stairs. "I will be at the Baron's manor house today, preparing for his ball this evening, but the inn still needs running, so that means you won't be able to idle, you lazy good-for-nothing. I have a list of chores for you to complete. I will also need you to help me tonight, and I can't have you showing up at the Baron's manor barefoot like a beggar. You can wear these." With a cruel smirk, she dropped a pair of the ugliest shoes Ella had ever seen: yellow and blue, with strange frills around the mouth. Without another word, she turned and left the inn.
"Ella." This time her name was spoken gently. She turned back to the kitchen to see Brina standing there with a compassionate smile on her face. "Is your stepmother usually that unkind to you?" she asked.
Ella scowled at her. "Why do you care, you witch?"
"I am not a witch, Ella. I am a sorceress. I am neither cruel, nor evil, nor do I wish you ill."
"Then tell me, why are you here? And what were you doing in the kitchen? What was that dog you had? And the light?"
Brina sighed. "To give a full answer to all your questions will take too long, but the short version is as follows. Sorcerers have the power to command spirits bound into talismans such as these." She displayed a handful of small figurines, each about an inch high. "Witches use the same spirits, but they lack the power to bind them permanently. A witch must strike a deal with a spirit in order to gain control over it, and must uphold her end of the bargain or the spirit will be freed. This usually involves causing pain to some innocent person, because these spirits tend to be spiteful and malicious, and enjoy the suffering of others." Brina looked grim for a moment, then continued, "The hound spirit you saw earlier is bound into this one," she said, holding up a crude dog-shaped figure. "It allows me to detect the presence of magic and to find other spirits."
"What does this one do? It looks dangerous." Ella asked, pointing to one shaped like a coiled snake. "Dangerous? Hardly," Brina said, "It simply allows me to control rope-like objects. It is quite useful for trapping a spirit that wants to get away."
"And what about this one?" she asked, indicating http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17271]a figurine of a human head[/URL] (2). "That one allows me to invoke a minor illusion to disguise myself. Ideal when you need to get away from people who recognize you, and it has cosmetic applications, too."
"You should like this one," Brina said with a smile, holding up a figurine that looked like a broom, "This one does housework."
Ella laughed, "I don't suppose you have one that will get me out of helping my stepmother at the ball tonight?"
Brina looked thoughtful. "I might," she said.
Ella sighed as she scrubbed plates and glasses in the Baron's scullery. She had spent an enjoyable day dreaming by the shore as Brina's bound spirit did her chores. However, nightfall saw her washing and scrubbing again, wearing the ill-fitting, uncomfortable shoes given to her by her stepmother. Brina had disappeared for the entire day on some mysterious errand. "Where are you, Brina?" she wondered.
"Right here." Ella whirled round with a squeak to see Brina standing in the shadows behind her. "Brina, how did you get in here?" Brina smiled, and held up her human head figurine, "Getting in is no problem for someone who can look like one of the guards. Ella, how would you like to go to the ball?"
Ella's heart leapt. "I would love to, but how can I, dressed like this?"
"Take this," Brina said, handing her http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17269]a small, multicolored glass bauble[/URL] (3), "It will give you the power to command my spirits. This one, for example." She held up the human head figurine again. "Hold on to both, and think of yourself in the most beautiful clothes you can imagine."
Ella did so, and the figurine shimmered, grew and became the ghostly, translucent image of a woman, which settled around her. Immediately, she was clothed in a gown that gleamed like silverweave. Jewelry adorned her hair, neck and arms. Even her ugly shoes were transformed into silverweave slippers studded with diamonds. With trembling hands, she touched a bracelet on her arm, but felt nothing. "None of this is real!" she exclaimed.
Brina nodded. "It is only an illusion, but it should do. Go out, enjoy yourself, but be careful of the time. By my estimation, the spell will end close to midnight. I will see to these plates and glasses."
Ella wandered through the Baron's house, following the sounds of music and merriment. Eventually, she made her way to a large, brightly-lit ballroom filled with well-dressed men and women, and settled in a corner of the room to listen to the music and watch the dancing.
Before long, she was approached by a dark-haired, powerfully-built man. The medallion of office around his neck proclaimed him to be the Baron himself. "My dear lady, one as lovely as yourself should not deny others the pleasure of your company. Will you dance with me?"
Ella shook her head. "I do not know how," she said. She was also conscious of her shoes, which despite the spell, remained ill-fitting and threatened to drop off her feet if she moved too quickly.
"Then come, I shall teach you," the Baron said with a grin, extending his hand.
"I am sorry, sir. I cannot." Ella turned and fled out of the ballroom. "Wait, stop! I command you!" The Baron shouted after her, but she ignored him. She hurried back to the scullery, where Brina was directing her housework spirit to do the washing.
"What happened to you?" Brina asked.
"The Baron asked me to dance, and I panicked and ran," Ella confessed, "I need to hide in case he comes in here after me."
Brina laughed. "Silly, just dismiss the disguising spirit. The Baron is looking for an elegant lady, not a scullery maid cleaning the dishes."
"I had not thought of that," Ella said, relieved. "I dismiss you, spirit." The illusion covering her vanished, and the spirit disguising her coalesced into its figurine form again. It was then that she noticed that she had lost one of her shoes in her flight from the ballroom. It was not turning out to be an enjoyable evening.
The next day, Ella was cleaning the kitchen fireplace in the inn when Brina walked in, an excited look on her face. "Ella, this is important," she said, "Leave your chores aside. You must come to the village square now."
A crude platform had been built in the square, and a pedestal had been placed on it. Lying on top of the pedestal was an open box containing http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17272] the shoe that Ella had lost the night before[/URL] (4). The Baron also sat on a chair on the platform, while his servant addressed the crowd that had formed.
"Last evening, the Baron encountered a most enchanting young lady at his ball. However, she left before he could discover her name, leaving behind nothing but this shoe. The Baron has thus proclaimed that all young ladies in this village shall try on the shoe, so that he may know who it belongs to."
"Do you expect me to try on the shoe?" Ella protested. "It doesn't even fit me. And I'm not sure that I want the Baron to find me, anyway."
"Hush," Brina said, "Go and try on the shoe. It will work out well. Trust me on this."
Ella had to wait some time before it was her turn to try on the shoe, as it seemed that every girl in the village was fighting for the chance to do so. When at last she ascended the platform, the shoe fitted as badly as it always had. "It doesn't fit," she said. But the Baron was not looking at her feet, but at her face.
"It does not matter," the Baron said, "I have found the girl I was looking for."
"No!" A piercing shriek made itself head over the sounds of the crowd. It was Ella's stepmother. "You cannot do this! You cannot take her away from me!" she screamed as she ran on to the platform.
"I can and I have," the Baron bellowed, "Go away, old woman. She is mine now."
Ella's stepmother's cries of protest were drowned by a demonic cackle. Flames burst from her apron, and formed themselves into a vaguely humanoid shape that stood before her. "Free! Free at last! After sixteen years of cooking and roasting, the bargain is broken and I am free again," it gloated, "Free to take my revenge." Flames burst from its hands as it spoke, and Ella's stepmother screamed again as she caught on fire.
Ella was vaguely aware of the cries of the crowd and the sounds of people running away, but her attention was mostly focused on the fiery figure in front of her. It pointed its hands at her, but before it could act, Brina rushed onto the platform, carrying her scarf. "Bind it!" she shouted, invoking her snake figurine. The figurine dissolved into a translucent, serpentine form that merged with her scarf. One end of the scarf leapt forward and wrapped itself around the spirit of fire, while http://www.enworld.org/forums/attachment.php?attachmentid=17268]Brina held on to the other end[/URL] (5).
The fiery spirit laughed, "You are well prepared indeed, sorceress. You have bound me with a rope of metal which I cannot burn through. But you have forgotten that while metal does not burn, it can get very hot." It concentrated its flames on the scarf, which soon glowed cherry red. With a cry of pain, Brina dropped the scarf.
As the fiery spirit struggled to unwrap itself from the scarf, Ella formed a desperate plan. She reached into her pocket and brought out the glass bauble that Brina had given her the night before. With her other hand, she grabbed onto the end of the scarf that Brina had released. "Continue to bind it!" she commanded the snake spirit, and ran off the platform, dragging the scarf and the bound spirit behind her.
The fiery spirit sought to heat the scarf again, but Ella's hands were toughened and calloused from years of hard work, and accustomed to burns from cinders and coals. She gritted her teeth against the pain, and continued running, heading for the sea.
The fiery spirit's struggles increased when it realized where she was headed, but Ella held on to her end of the scarf with all her might. She ran into the water, dragging the spirit behind her. There was a tremendous hiss when it was pounded by the ocean waves, and great clouds of steam arose. The spirit's struggles weakened, it gave one final, despairing wail, and disappeared.
As Ella stood in the sea, waiting to regain her breath, Brina walked down to the shore, bent down and picked up something that was tangled in the other end of her scarf, and gave it to Ella. "Unconventional, but effective," she commented, "This is yours, now."
Ella stared at the figurine she held. It was shaped like a cone of flame emerging from a hand. "Mine? But what do I need with it? You're the sorceress. You should keep it," she protested.
Brina shook her head. "You are a sorceress too. My hound spirit told me that yesterday, when you surprised us in the kitchen. The bauble I gave you was only worthless glass. It was your own power that allowed you to command the spirit of disguise yesterday, and to command the snake spirit this morning. And I guess that was why your stepmother had to torment you as part of her bargain with the fire spirit. Many spirits hate sorcerers for the power that we have over them."
"So why didn't you just tell me when you knew? Why go through this charade with the glass bauble?" Ella asked.
"Because I had to be sure you would use your power responsibly. The power that we sorcerers wield can be dangerous in the wrong hands. Think of your stepmother. But you proved yourself when you acted to save me instead of running away." Brina bent down to retrieve her scarf. "So what are your plans now? Are you going to stay and see if things work out with the Baron?"
Ella shook her head. "There is nothing left for me here. I don't think I will like the Baron very much, either. If I may, I would like to leave with you."
Brina smiled and nodded, and the two of them boarded her boat and sailed out to sea, towards the horizon.
(1) The sea
(2) The human head figurine
(3) The glass bauble
(4) The ugly yellow and blue shoe
(5) Brina the sorceress holding on to her silverweave scarf
FireLance
Legend
Blast, something went wrong with the URL formatting, and I checked it before posting, too. Oh well, I think it's still legible.
I was going to call this story "Burning Hands: I Choose You!" but decided against it because it didn't fit the tone, and I didn't want to be responsible for people calling a sorcerer's spells known "Pokespells".
I was going to call this story "Burning Hands: I Choose You!" but decided against it because it didn't fit the tone, and I didn't want to be responsible for people calling a sorcerer's spells known "Pokespells".
