Within Reach

Photo by Buzz Anderson on Unsplash

Dawn jogged along the mountain trail. Around her, summer was getting into full swing. The trees were green and shady, birds chipped and darted through the leaves, and occasionally she caught sight of a chipmunk scurrying by. School was almost out for the kids and they’d be sailing on the lake soon. She smiled. Could life get any better than this? Well, okay, maybe if her missing memories ever came back… but that was a thing best not to fret about. She’d made peace with her patched together half a life. Forward was the way to go, not backwards.

She thought she heard a shout and a moment later, a strange woman ran out of the tree line. Dawn jumped back in surprise as the other woman spoke, “Reinhild! Is it really you? I thought… We all thought you were dead! Where’s Arnau?”

Dawn took another step back. There had been two times before when she’d thought she’d found someone from her past life. Once a woman had claimed to be her mother. DNA testing had quickly squelched that hope though. The other time some creep had claimed to be her husband. It had taken years to get rid of him.

“I think you’ve mistaken me for someone else,” Dawn said firmly, wondering how fast she could run if things got out of hand. This woman was dressed in a long tunic and leggings that simultaneously reminded her strongly of a raincoat and a very cozy blanket. Her hair was braided around her head with small gold medallions laced through it. She looked like one of those cosplay people Darcy was interested in.

The woman looked at her incredulously, “It’s me, Dietlinde!” 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Dawn said stiffly.

“How-” Dietlinde broke off what she was going to say and looked at her closely, taking in Dawn’s jogging clothes and ponytail. “What’s happened to you? You can’t have forgotten…” Her voice trailed off and she waved her hands. Gold light appeared swirling into intricate patterns. Dawn’s heart skipped a beat. The light from her dreams. The light that sometimes surrounded Darcy. In the patterns, a scene formed. A sailboat, and two girls on it. They were younger, but it was clearly herself and the strange woman. Steam billowed over the waters they sailed in, covering the boat for a moment, then blowing away and revealing a glimpse of something red and glowing. Lava? What where they thinking? Was that even safe? Dawn shook her head. Whatever was happening, there were more important questions.

Dietlinde looked at her imploringly, “You said that was the best day of your life.”

Dawn took a shaky breath, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She said again. “But..” But what? She wouldn’t admit to knowing this person, no matter how desperately she wanted to. Somewhere a voice whispered that the safe thing was to get away. Run fast, and never look back. But she was hungry for answers, and for the first time, answers seemed within her reach. “Have you had breakfast?” She finally asked.

Dietlinde looked startled, “No.”

“Then let’s get breakfast,” said Dawn, turning back towards her house. “And… and we’ll figure whatever this is out.”

Dietlinde nodded and followed her, “Sure.”



Dawn's becoming quite the character here. For more of her back story see Blank Slate and Out of Reach.


 

Out of Reach

Photo by Md Mahdi on Unsplash

Dawn swung the wet clothes from the washer to the dryer, somehow still amazed at it all. Here she was, somewhere in her forties (probably), but only able to remember the last twenty-six years. Most days she still felt like a teenager. What she imagined a teenager felt like, anyways. Everything before twenty (probably) was a resounding blank.

But despite that, she was married, running a household, and raising teenagers (who arguably knew more about the world than she did). How had that happened? She pushed the wet clothes firmly into the dryer and patted the machine. It still seemed magical and unknowable to her.

Vanessa stomped in and dumped clothes on the floor, “How come Darcy gets to sleep?”

“He’ll do his laundry later,” Dawn said automatically. “The washer will be stuffed as it is.”

Vanessa grumbled as she sorted her clothes into different piles. She did not think her brother’s date to the high school dance was a good enough excuse to stay up late and get out of chores. Dawn had given up explaining that Darcy had done most of his chores during the week and would be finishing the rest later. She wondered if she’d been this crabby as a teenager. Had she even had a brother to argue with over petty issues? She pushed the thought away. It didn’t do her any good to chase questions she couldn’t answer.

Vanessa finished and headed back to her room. Listening to her footsteps, Dawn let out a sigh. She’d give anything to remember her past life. The footsteps came to a sudden stop.

“Mom?” Vanessa’s voice had lost the grumpiness and sounded small.

“What is it sweetie?”

“How do you know if you’re hallucinating?”

Teenagers ask weird questions and Dawn had thought she was done being surprised by the things they came up with. Apparently she’d been wrong. “Hallucinating? What?” She asked as she followed Vanessa into the living room. She stopped and stared and wondered if she was hallucinating. Darcy had been napping on the couch, and he was still sleeping, but now he was floating about six inches above the couch with strange golden designs hovering about him.

“We’re seeing the same thing?” squeaked Vanessa. “Like he’s floating in a hamster ball.”

“Yes…” said Dawn faintly. There was something familiar about the designs. Something like a memory danced just out of reach. They both stared, mesmerized, hardly daring to breathe, as if a sudden sound or movement would send Darcy flying away. (Impossible, something inside her whispered. It would take conscious effort to get him to fly and he wasn’t exerting any.) The golden designs shifted and tilted in intricate swirls. She couldn’t take her eyes off them. They twisted one way then the other, seemingly at random and yet… “Look, there’s a pattern,” she murmured and reached out.

“Mom!” gasped Vanessa, clearly worried. “What if you hurt him?”

But she wouldn’t. This, whatever this was, she knew it. There was a pattern in the twists and turns, and with a brush of her fingers she sent the pattern spinning in a different direction. For a moment, a new pattern formed, then the golden swirls dissipated. Darcy plopped back onto the couch.

“Ow!” he sat up, rubbing his head and then caught sight of his mom and sister. Vanessa stared at him opened mouthed. Dawn stood with her hand still outstretched. “Um, guys, what’s going on?”

Vanessa opened and closed her mouth several times, but couldn’t answer.

“Mom?” Darcy looked worried. “What happened?”

Dawn stared at her hand. For just a moment, when she touched the golden designs, her world had been clear and right. No unanswered questions. She’d understood everything. All that was lost now. “There’s something I’ve forgotten,” she whispered in bewilderment.

Blank Slate

Photo by Charlie Harutaka on Unsplash

If you could start over with a blank slate, what would you do?

Dawn shudders at the essay prompt as it beams down from the blackboard. The other college students babble incessantly, spinning imagined lives into being; filling the air with chaos and drowning her in mindless speculation. She hurries from the room before the professor officially dismisses them, gulping for breath. Outside she can breathe again, but her only thought is a vision of herself, forcibly erasing the prompt from the blackboard. How can she write such an essay? Eight years ago I woke up to a wretched existence in a hospital bed as a blank slate.

Waking in a strange room with machines she didn’t have names for and questions she couldn’t answer was bewildering. Fate had left her unconscious, floating in a battered sailboat, with no clues to the mystery that was herself. No parents came forward with relieved tears to claim her. No worried friends appeared to connect her with her past. No memories resurfaced to solve the mystery of herself. There was only the nurses, the doctors, the social workers, to put herself back together again. Never once in eight years has anything seemed familiar.

Sometimes she thinks her favorite dream is a memory. If only it was! If only she had just one memory. But this one is just a dream. In the twilight, she walks down a worn path with her father to a small wooden sailboat. Look, she says to him, I can sail to the end of the river and back. She doesn’t know how old she is in the dream. Young though; maybe a teenager, eager to show off her skill. Her father is just as eager to be shown. His smile grows with every step. It almost could be a memory. The feel of her father’s hand in hers; the sparkle of stars in the water; the gentle caress of the night breeze. It all feels real. But it’s not. Because when they enter the sailboat, she holds up her hands and golden light spills out in intricate patterns and that is how she guides the boat through the water. They sail at impossible speeds, passing slower vessels, passing cities, all the way down to the mouth of the river. There they turn around, laughing with delight. In the east, the sun rises and the dream ends.
If she could will herself into the world of her dream, she would. In that world her slate is all filled up, except for a little bit at the end, still waiting to be written. But reality is all around her as she walks through the buildings of the community college where she’s trying to cobble together something that looks like a life. She takes a bus to her next class: sailing. Her breath catches at the river. It makes her heart ache even more for the dream of what never was. This sailboat is fiberglass and modern, not weathered wood. The ropes (lines, the instructor said) are awkward in her hands. But something about it feels right.

I named myself, Dawn, she writes, after a memory that never happened, in the hope that someday, my slate will be filled.

 *

In fantasy, there's often a character who has amnesia who's trying to figure out who they are. Sometimes they're even stuck on earth, even though they're from a magical world. I've always wondered how would this character handle being told magic isn't real? Assuming they can still talk, they know the meaning of words and would know the word magic meant, but since they can't remember anything, would they remember that magic is real, while seeing all evidence to the contrary? Obviously, this question will never be answered. But it did lead to some interesting backstory for Dawn, who will eventually have a grand adventure to get her memories back.

 

Yada Yada, Rhyme Rhyme

Aerwyna stirred the steaming pot. Outside the castle infirmary the sounds of battle raged. There was the clang of swords and shields, the roaring of the dragon, and the screams of the injured and dying. She tried to shut them out. It didn’t really matter who won. She was the Chief Healer. One way or another she’d be mending the injured when the battle was over. Sure, she would prefer if the army of the One Chosen by the Forces of Light drove the Lord of Darkness out of the castle, but they hadn’t won for the last five years, so it didn’t seem likely they would win today. Everyone knew the prophecy, all that yada yada, rhyme rhyme nonsense and everyone had a different interpretation. The Forces of Light said it meant they would win. Eventually. The Lord of Darkness said it meant he would win, and the last five years (and deaths of four Chosen Ones) was a pretty strong argument in his favor. For now, along with the other healers, Aerwyna prepared potions and bandages and healing stones and sharpened knives for the inevitable amputations. It kept her busy and away from the windows were the Battle to Determine the Fate of the World played out. Again.

*

They had been right to prepare. As expected, the army of the Lord of Darkness, with its trained warriors, superior armor and weapons, and sheer enormity of numbers, won. There were casualties of course, and those poor souls, including the Dark Lord himself, were now being admitted into the castle infirmary. Aerwyna moved from one patient to the next, casting spells to stop bleeding, straighten bent limbs, and generally prevent people from dying. In between, she helped brew more potions and clean knives and try to rummage up more bandages. The work blurred together as she picked up bits and pieces of the battle. The Chosen One hadn’t been found among the dead yet and had apparently survived the battle. Many of the Dark Lord’s generals had fallen. The dragon still lived, but both wings were torn. The grooms outside were trying to patch it up. She found this out on a trip to the well for more water. There she picked a few herbs and had a good look at the ruined fields around the castle. It would be a lean winter. All the reasonable normal people (who seemed to outnumber the maniacal lunatics at the moment) wanted the fighting to end. But on they went. At the end of the day Aerwyna found herself coaxing the irritable Lord of Darkness to drink potions, and being very glad that his sword arm was broken and encased in a cast, where he couldn’t use it to hit her.

They both had a fitful night. Dark Lords are terrible patients. They tend to threaten violent destruction on whoever was telling them (gently and with sympathy) that yes the arm really was broken and needed to stay in the cast, sitting up too fast would cause dizziness, and that throwing up after a battle was normal and not a sign of weakness, though maybe it was a sign of infection and fever, and yes, a potion really could help with that in the long run and throwing it all over the place wasn’t going to do anybody and good. Somewhere in the early hours of the morning, the Dark Lord finally slept and Aerwyna had a bit of a breather. She would have liked to take a nap herself. Instead she brewed another potion with the herbs she had found by the well. As the steam rose up, she reflected on how lucky she’d been to find those particular herbs. She’d thought the Head Gardener had weeded them out years before the Dark Lord had taken the throne. When he woke she held out the potion to him. “Here,” she said in her most soothing voice, “Drink this.” And for a wonder, he did. Three hours later, the Lord of Darkness was dead and the castle was negotiating terms with the Forces of Light.

*

There had been one maniacal minion who had given a great speech about carrying on the Dark Lord’s legacy, but no one paid any attention to him. During the negotiations it came out that the fifth Chosen One was deathly ill from dragon poison and it became Aerwyna’s job to heal her. The camp of the Forces of Light was lacking in everything, from tents to water and medicines, but the jovial attitude of the victors almost made up for it.  There were no true healers with training. The poor man who had been trying to heal the Chosen One was relieved when Aerwyna arrived. Aerwyna was relieved to see that he hadn’t done a bad job. Dragon poison was non-intuitive to heal. With proper training, he would do well. They didn’t have time for that though so he acted as her assistant. The Chosen One drifted in a fevered haze, muttering to herself, until Aerwyna had a good idea about all her journeys. A bard would have killed to be in her position. The Chosen One’s companions hovered nearby and Aerwyna drafted them to fetch supplies from the castle. By the time the Chosen One finally woke, the fever had lasted three days.

“Drink this,” Aerwyna said, handing her a potion. Reflexively, the Chosen One pushed it away, spilling the potion.

“Who are you?” demanded the Chosen One. “Give me a sword and-”

“Relax, Neirin,” said the man who’d been Assisting Aerwyna. “We won! The Dark Lord is dead!”

Neirin, the Chosen One, calmed down and finally drank the potion and apologized. “I’ve been so sure someone would poison me, or something like that. It’s made me rather paranoid about what I eat.”
Aerwyna smiled. “You’ll last longer than the Dark Lord then.”

Word Allergy

I parked my car and took a deep breath. How bad could a hiking club be? We'd look at plants and identify trees, see some birds, take pictures, and get to the top of a mountain together. It would be fun. Still I was nervous when I approached the guide and the usual questions began.

"Caroline, right?" He checked my name off a list. "And what word are you allergic to?" He asked. I pulled out the medical card case and averted my eyes while he flipped it open. Touching the word directly makes my fingers itch. Looking at it makes my eyes smart and eventually results in full on tears and a stuffed nose, like I was cutting an onion. Hearing it starts a slow build up of reactions until I can't breathe. Saying it myself sends me straight into anaphylactic shock. He read the card and then the questions start.

"Can I say H2O? No? What about-"

"Just read the card," I beg. "It's all right there."

Hearing H2O isn't as bad as the actual word, but it still leaves my ears ringing. Why are people so possessed with the idea that they have to verbally ask for every single possible synonym? One or two, I can handle, annoying as it is. But a whole diluge of synonyms can still put me in the hospital. Acceptable words are listed on the card. All they have to do is read it. I can say it in French, l'eau, but not in Spanish. Ocean, sea, tears are okay. My doctor says it's because the salt in them mitigates the idea of the actual word. But if it's a a form of the word without salt? Not happening. I have to be careful with pool. I can say it, but it makes my tongue fuzzy. I try to save it for if I'm having a really hard time communicating and the other person's being dense. 

Then he started on the next set of questions and I tried to hold my frustration in. It's not his fault all the questions people ask are the same. "But you can drink it right? It's everywhere; it's not like you can avoid it. Are you sure it's a real allergy?"

Yes I can drink it. It's a word allergy, not a food allergy. No, I can't avoid it; but it puts a lot of limits on what I can do. Yes it's real and not in my head. Once when I was eight, my uncle yelled it at me over and over again, until my ears rang so hard they bled and I fainted because I couldn't breathe. I woke up in the hospital and my parents never spoke to that uncle again. 

"How do you manage? Don't you ever do anything fun?"

I manage the way everyone with word allergies does. I wear earplugs or headphones and carry my medical cards at all times. Also a white board, so that new people can write to me, until I decide it's safe to take the headphones off. I never take them off in crowded public places; there's too much risk. Texting is a lifesaver. Even if someone forgets and uses the word, it's not as bad as hearing it. I rarely take calls. I work remotely, which also helps.

"But don't you get lonely?"

Well, that's why I'm here. I  enjoy nature and a hiking club seemed like a good way to get outside and meet new friends. He hands the card case back. "Great to have you on board. Before we start up the trail be sure to grab a water bottle."

The Missing Lake

Photo by Dylan Freedom on Unsplash

I looked over the rock garden with a frown. I’d spent weeks designing and trying to create a lake-like effect with bare stone. It was supposed to accentuate the archeological site in the drained lake. In a few weeks, the University would be unveiling it to the world as the place where Excalibur had been found. So far only the University professors and a few select scholars knew about the find and had been studying it in privacy. Of course everyone knew that something was going on, but the University had been telling everyone it was just looking for stuff about the school’s origins, which I guess was technically true. The Lady of the Lake had given Arthur and taken the sword back, and the University was named after her… If she even existed. From what I’d heard from the excited professors, it was looking more likely that a small city with an advanced blacksmith had been established here.

Even after all my work, the rock garden still was unsatisfactory. It was one of the most challenging projects I’d ever taken on. Vivienne University had been maddening insistent that the “garden” be movable and weren’t interested in anything with roots. It had taken me weeks of arguing to persuade them that moss tucked into the rock cervices and a small water feature would add sufficient interest to be worthwhile. With so many limitations, the garden wasn’t a masterpiece, but it had turned out better than I’d hoped, even if I wasn’t completely happy with it.

Walking along the gravel path towards the dig, I bent down to straighten a stone with gold lines running through it, when I touched it felt warm. Standing up to get a better look at it, I suddenly realized I wasn’t in England anymore. Gone were the rocks and moss I had slaved over. Instead, I was standing on some kind of a balcony, overlooking a flooded city. The gold lines in the rock I was holding were glowing. Alarm raced through me. Apparently I’d ended up in fairyland. How could I get out again? Turning around, I discovered there was a woman on the balcony with me.

I expected her to be the most beautiful woman in the world, but she wasn’t. Really, she was rather ordinary, except for the fact that she wasn’t. She was standing still and looked like someone had taken a picture right as she’d moved, so her edges were blurred. Not enough to be noticeable at a first glance, but enough that it was there and made her hard to look at. When she finally advanced towards me, everything about her shifted as if she wasn’t there and then she was. I was expecting a demand to know what I was doing in her domain, or a mysterious welcome into a world I couldn’t understand and braced myself for it.

“Where is my lake?” she yelled. “Where’s Arthur’s heir? I sent the brat the sword and has anyone come to ask my advice on anything? No! And now my lake is missing!” The water in the flooded city rose up with each crescendo of her voice, until it was a towering wave above us.

“I’m sorry,” I said trying to keep my voice from trembling. “I’m just the gardner and I’m not even from the U.K. Maybe you should talk to someone else.”

She glared at me, “How am I supposed to travel through the worlds if my lake is gone?”

“I got here. So there must be a way -”

She through her arms up in the air and the spray from the water drenched us. “Where’s the poetry in picking up a rock? I need a lake to rise from the waters as if I were a living wave. How can I be the Lady of the Lake if there’s no lake?”

Well that confirmed who she was. The University would have a field day if they knew the actual Lady of the Lake existed. What would that mean about the village with the blacksmith they had discovered? Her mere presence rewrote history. The history that we knew about anyways. “Perhaps you could talk to the University about the lake,” I suggested tentatively. “If you could answer some of their questions -”

She suddenly locked eyes with me and I couldn’t finish. Her eyes were strange - probably green, but with an eerie yellow glow. “Questions? I have answers for every question you mortals could ask.” She sounded disdainful, but the waters around us calmed.

“I’m sure they have tons of questions only you could answer,” I said helpfully. “And if you talk to them, maybe they’d be willing to put your lake back. If you like, I could take you to them.” I wasn’t sure about that last part. The University was terribly excited about the dig, and there was still more to unearth. But I was willing to say anything to get out.

Her strange eyes flashed and with a wave of her hand we were back on the University grounds. I promptly dropped the rock. The gold lines vanished as it hit the ground. Careful to avoid it, I picked my way across the path to the University. “Come this way,” I called over my shoulder, without stopping to see if she was coming. As I tried not to bolt across my rock lake I marveled that it was the most beautiful thing that I had ever seen and for the first time I was glad there was no water.

For more garden adventures see Avalon Gardens and The Gist of a Lake.

The Gist of a Lake

Photo by Aaron Burden on Unsplash

“And the lake must be spectacular!” the warlock in front of me waved his arms for emphasis.

Professionally, I did not scream. I really wanted to though. This was the tenth time he had used the word ‘spectacular’ as a must, while either only having a vague idea of what the university grounds should look like or being over specific about plants that wouldn’t work. No, we weren’t going to be putting in a man-eating pitcher plant next to the child-development building, not even with a railing, and especially not with a dragon guarding it.

“Right, the lake. How big is it?”

He gestured again, “It’s about two loch ness monsters long and half a monster wide.”

I made a note to find a conversion chart and didn’t bother asking anymore questions. He would either explain the conversion in long winded magnanimity or skip the answer in favor of astonished snobbery. Either way it would be faster to look it up at home. “Star lilies are impressive. They have large eye-catching flowers for the day time and at night when they light up they’ll look like floating votives.”

“No, no! We can’t have any water lilies.”

I held in a sigh. It had seemed like such a fantastic networking triumph when the sorceress had recommended me to her alma mater. Not only was it prestigious to be doing work for Vivienne University, but I also got to visit the UK. It should have been the chance of a life time. Now I was wishing she hadn’t bothered. “What’s wrong with water lilies?”

“Well, Ms. Linden, you can’t put them where there’s no water.”

I blinked. I must have misheard him, “But we’re talking about a lake, right?”

The warlock smiled indulgently and patted my shoulder, “There are lakes and whole oceans on the moon that don’t have a drop of water. It’s very much the same thing here.”

This was such an absurd explanation that I couldn’t even question it. So I foraged ahead, not sure what I was doing. “How about some bachelor buttons… and maybe some monkshood… we could recreate the look of a lake in flowers! A bunch of blue flowers. Blue roses would be absolutely stunning!” As I warmed to my theme I actually started getting excited. I had fallen in love with blue roses just the summer before when I was doing work for the sorceress and was itching to use them again. But the warlock waved me off. “We can’t get in the way of the archeologists. It wouldn’t do to have something put down roots only to dig it up.”

I tried to wrap my head around the instability of this preposterous idea. “And are you sure you want a garden in the… lake, at all?”

“Of course there should be a garden! It’s the most important site on campus! Two years ago a student was doing some recreational diving and unearthed Excalibur at the bottom of the lake. We had to drain the lake to excavate the site properly. It’s the most spectacular discovery in history! We must show proper respect to it.”

“I see,” I said. “I haven’t heard about any of that.”

“Naturally, if we’d announced it right away, we’d be crawling with treasure hunters and professors from other universities would want a go at it. So it’s been kept quiet until now. But soon, we’ll be presenting our finds to the world. So you see, everything must look spectacular!” He positively beamed at me, as if he had just handed over Excalibur itself, and not an impossible task worthy of the fairy queen.

I chewed my lip in thought. A lake without water, a garden without roots, a spectacular display without stability. Was it a demand like this that had caused Merlin to create Stonehenge? Catching hold of the faint hope this thought carried, I made one last offer, “How about a rock garden?”

For more of Ms. Linden's garden adventures see Avalon Gardens.

Avalon Gardens

Photo by Michael Bourgault on Unsplash

“And over here we have slumber apples in three different varieties: Short Nap, Golden Dreams, and Dead to the World. They make great healthy bedtime snacks! Next to them are the Apples of Youth, which are lovely for pleasure gardens, as they bloom all year long - even in winter. The fruit is small and sour, not worth eating. And of course, we have ornamental Golden Apples. Fruit appears once every ten years. They are for decoration only, if you tried to bite them you’d break a tooth!” The tour guide gave a brilliant smile and laughed at her own joke.

I smiled back. Outfitting a sorceress’s garden was a daunting task. It was a more than a dream come true though; working with magical plants was always so fascinating - they keep you on your toes, especially the hybrids - and building a garden from the ground up? Well, the sorceress might be the one footing the bill, but this was my garden. I looked at my brochure again. Avalon Gardens: Magical Greens and Nothing Else! It was the largest magical nursery in the States, nestled in a river valley in Idaho. It was so large that we were bumping along in a golf cart on a tour that had taken most of the day. We had just come out of the greenhouses after looking at the man eating plants (which were fed with cows, not people), and it was a relief to get out of the humidity.

“It says on the map here that the mineral trees are close by. But all I see are the apples.” I was a little dubious about these. While they could be quite striking, they were very high maintenance.

“Oh, those are underground!” chipped the tour guide. “The Silverleaf Trees tend to tarnish if left out in the elements too long and the gold ones loose their shine. We just imported some Gold Groves, so the Mineral Caves are closed off until next week while we move them in. And,” she lowered her voice confidentially, “The Princess Diamonds have coal blight at the moment.”

I winced in sympathy. I made a note that a Gold Grove might be fantastic in the entryway, but otherwise, they didn’t seem worth the trouble. I also started a sketch of some Apples of Youth surrounding the wall of the garden. Then I frowned. Did the local teens know enough about horticulture to know better than to try stealing the apples? ‘Youth’ referred to the year-round flowers, not any property of the fruit, which was a common misconception. It would be a nuisance to keep chasing over eager teens out. On the other hand, one bite of the apples would probably ensure they were never bothered again. Those apples were just as sour as lemons!

“Can we see the roses now?” I asked. Roses were always a good staple for enchanted gardens.

“Oh yes!”

We left the orchards behind and were soon amid the colorful bobbing heads of the roses. It was a relief to see all the different hues. Magical trees tended to run towards the gold side. I read an article online once that claimed all magical trees were descended from one ancestral tree that had sprouted from a gold vein so many thousands of years ago; it wasn’t hard to believe.

“Those blood-red ones on the right are Castle Thorns,” said the guide. “Very few flowers. Lots of thorns. Grow like crazy. They make wonderful barriers, though they do need lots of pruning. Anciently they were used around castles when dragons were too hard to come by. They’re still a great addition to any security plan you’ve already got.”

I nodded thoughtfully. Perhaps some Castle Thorns around the garden walls and Apples of Youth more towards the center. The beds of roses were all shades of red from a crimson so dark it was almost black to a pale baby pink. There were deep purples and dusky lavenders, pristine whites and butter yellows and fiery oranges. A faint fragrance wafted up from them. I quickly filled up a page of notes. 

“Most of these are Enchanting Roses. They aren’t magical themselves, but they soak up magic like sponges. So if you need a timer, or a plant to grab an intruder, or a recitation of your grocery list, these will do it. The brochure has a list of the most common spells Enchanting Roses are used for. If you want to do something not on the list, check our website for more details.”

A quick glance at the list told me the colors made a difference in the spells. I made a star next to it. The sorceress would have to look it over to see if there was any particular spells she wanted. Otherwise, I was pretty sure I would have free range. And then we came to the blue roses and I gasped. Oh, I’d seen blue roses before in vases, but I hadn’t seen them growing. It was as if we’d suddenly entered a mini ocean. “They’re splendid!” These we needed no questions asked. They would make an impressive bower for receiving guests. Pale ice blue roses would add a frosty elegance to summer. It would be unsettling. Magical. Perfect.

The guide grinned at my enthusiasm. “They’re delicate, but worth it. Be sure to pick up a booklet back at the office on their care. My favorites are the Sapphire Hearts.”

“What are those, the white ones with blue tips?” I asked then scribbled down her answer Glacial Thaw. I had a new favorite plant; besides the Venus Flytrap on my office desk, the pussy willow and white daffodils in my backyard, the living rocks in my bathroom, the lilac bush down at the park… I have a lot of favorite plants. But the Glacial Thaw roses were at the top of the list.

By this time the sun was setting and I almost missed the black roses. I wasn’t so sure about those. They were impressive and beautiful, but people tended to assume only wicked witches had them and I didn’t like to think what that could do to the sorceress’s reputation. With the sunset in full swing just about the only thing visible now were the giant beanstalks off in the distance.

“Off to the night garden!” cried the guide.

I had never worked with night plants before. As we tumbled along, I wondered if they were even worth it. Most night plants either gave off a heavy scent or a dim light. Hanging baskets of moon violets could mark a pathway, but lanterns were perfectly serviceable. Star water lilies looked impressive in ponds, but how often would there be guests in the garden at night to see them? Unless the sorceress wanted to host a midnight ball or something they would be wasted. And she hadn’t seemed like the ball giving type to me. We passed a field with large sprinklers shooting water over rows of short leaves. I frowned. I didn’t recognize them. They didn’t look like rapunzels, or mattress peas, or anything else I could think of; they had to be really rare. I tried to consult the brochure, but it was now too dark to see it. “What’s in the fields?” I asked.

“Potatoes!” said the tour guide brightly.

“Potatoes?” I asked in surprise, wondering if I’d heard her right. I didn’t know of any magical potatoes. It had to be a new hybrid. Maybe they grew as french fries or potato chips in the ground. How would they get the dirt off? Or maybe they talked? Talking plants were all the rage right now, though I didn’t see the point in giving potatoes the gift of speech. “What do they do?”

“Oh nothing much,” the guide said breezily. “They’re just good honest potatoes.”

“Why?” I asked at a loss for words.

She laughed, “This is Idaho. It would be unpatriotic not to have potatoes.”

I stared at the fields and sprinklers as if I’d never seen them in my life. Of course I had passed several potato fields on my way to Avalon Gardens, but somehow I couldn’t wrap my mind around them being here, in the most magical place I had ever been in my life. How could it be that the strangest thing I saw in Avalon weren’t the golden trees, or the man eating plants, or the glowing moon flowers coming into view, but the potatoes?

En Plein Air

Photo by Denise Johnson on Unsplash

Gasping, Bella began to wonder if she really needed to drag the table outside. It had seemed like such an easy thing to do… But that had been thirty minutes ago, after staring out her window at the spring, instead of painting. Then - such a clever idea! - she’d decided to simply take her watercolors outside and paint what she was looking at. And now here she was. 

Gritting her teeth, she pushed at the table again. She’d gotten this far, she may as well keep going. With several more grunts Bella tugged the table forward and smacked into the doorframe. Swallowing frustration, she took a deep breath. Almost there. A bee buzzed through the open door and she ignored it. So long as it stayed away from her, she’d let it be. Carefully, she maneuvered the table out the door and onto her lawn.

She collapsed into the grass and gulped for air. Why did she have such a heavy table? How was she going to get it back in now that it was out? Bella firmly banished such thoughts from her mind. The table was out, she was going to paint in the spring, and she wasn’t going to think anything beyond that. Of course, now she needed her brushes and paint, paper, clipboard… With a groan, she pulled herself up and headed back into the house, passing the bee on its way out. 

Bella caught a glimpse of herself in the hall mirror and had to laugh. Her hair had come undone and was flying out every which way and her short stint in the grass had already put stains on her jeans. Oh well. The idea was for people to look at the painting - when it was done - not at her. Shaking her head, she rounded up various art supplies and headed back to the table. She had to take another trip back into the house for water, and then another one for a chair. And once she got herself settled, she went in again for a paper towel roll to prop up her clipboard. With a sigh she finally reached for her brush. 

An apple-blossom breeze tried to rearrange her hair. Somewhere, a mockingbird called out. Smiling, she dipped her brush into the water. Was it even possible to capture such perfection? She began to paint the scene before her. The tire swing swaying gently from the tree. Several bees courting daffodils. Chickadees and goldfinches splashing in the birdbath. The neighbor’s terrier running by with a struggling fairy in its mouth…

Bella dropped her paintbrush and stared. “Hey!” she yelled, then realizing that was stupid, tried a different tactic. “Here, Rocky, come here boy.”

Obediently, the dog trotted over, clearly pleased with himself. The fairy was yelling things she couldn’t understand, but assumed weren’t very nice. Bella grabbed the dog’s collar. “Let go, Rocky.” Rocky wagged his tail at her. She tried to gently pry his jaws apart, which was difficult both because she could only use one hand and because she was trying no to hurt the fairy more. “Come on, drop it.” Rocky reluctantly relinquished his hold on the fairy and then immediately tried to pick it up again. “Shoo! Go home!” Bella pushed the dog away. Rocky didn’t want to go. In the end she had to scoop up her paintbrush and throw it before he lost interest in the fairy.

Finally she was able to turn her attention to the fairy. The fairy had picked herself up and was shaking out her wings that resembled something closer to bat wings in shades of yellow and green. “Are you alright?” asked Bella.

“No,” snapped the fairy. “I’m alive, and no longer under that revolting creature’s control, but I’m certainly not alright.”

“Can I get you something?”

“There is nothing you can do,” said the fairy grandly, sweeping her wings behind her like a cape. “But you have saved my life and I must reward you. What boon can I do for you?”

Bella blinked, “Um… I don’t really need anything…”

The fairy crossed her arms, “I didn’t ask what you needed. I asked what I can do for you. Most humans have a list of things they want.”

Bella looked around. There was the tire swing, the daffodils, the birdbath, her painting table with everything askew, the house. “Can you get my table back into my art room once I’m done out here?”

The fairy stared at her in disbelief, “You have the opportunity to ask for untold riches and you want me to move your table?”

Bella didn’t point out that in most stories asking for untold riches seemed to get people in trouble. “It’d be a help. But if you can’t do that…”

The fairy rolled her eyes, “Of course I can do it! But you humans… there’s no understanding you.” With that, the fairy disappeared behind the daffodils.

The table was still standing in the grass. Bella shrugged, and started straightening things out. She was missing her favorite brush now that she had thrown it for Rocky, but she could make do with the others. Maybe she should have asked for a new brush. She spent the rest of the afternoon painting. Some bees buzzed by her water, but soon lost interest. Rocky ran across her yard again, but this time with no fairies. He was soaking wet though. Bella shook her head. She had no idea what that dog was up to. Finally, she cleaned up her supplies and started lugging the table back inside. It was incredibly light, and took no effort at all. Bella grinned. This was much better than dragging it out. In no time she had everything put away and was thinking about dinner.

About a week later, when she sat down to paint again, she opened a drawer in the table, looking for a sketchpad and gasped. The drawer was filled with gold and diamonds. Stunned, she gaped at it for a moment. Then she hunted up her laptop and started googling how to do taxes on fairy gold.

Glistering

Photo by Jeff Finley on Unsplash

gliding across the river, paddles

glint with trailing water drops

giving away spreading ripples and

garbling the watery ghosts of

galaxies and the full rising moon that

giant of silver shining light; pulling

gazes from the river to the sky

The Book Club League

Li Hua-Hsuan on Unsplash

“Girls, it’s almost time to go!”

“Almost done, mom,” Melissa yelled back. She turned to her best friend Carrie. “That’s all, right? Did we miss anything? What about -”

Carrie started picking up papers from the kitchen counter, “Stop worrying. This is going to be the best science fair ever!”

Melissa rolled her eyes. Carrie said that every year. Carrie lived for the science fair. Melissa was just grateful to be her partner and tag along for the glory.

Carrie suddenly gave Melissa a sideways glance, “Unless… You haven’t seen anything that we should worry about…?”

“For the last time, I can’t see the future. Get over it!”

Carrie looked hurt, “I’ve known about your power for years. You might as well admit it. I’ve never told anyone. Not once! You can trust me.”

Melissa stared down at the counter and angrily gathered up their notes, not caring what order they were in. Ever since junior high, Carrie had been convinced of her nonexistent ability to see the future. Lately, Carrie had been trying to trick her into admitting it: asking her things like who’d win the volleyball game - Oyster Bay High or Waterbury? - And pressed until Melissa gave her a guess. If she was right, Carrie used it as proof of her abilities. “I don’t have super powers.”

Now you’re lying.

Melissa glanced over at her fiery orange betta fish. Not now Blaze. He was right though. She did have a super power, just not the one Carrie thought she had. She had even told Carrie straight out a few years ago that she could talk to betta fish. Carrie hadn’t believed her.

“Fine,” said Carrie, picking up the last of the papers, revealing a book with a green waterfall on the cover. Lover’s Paradise was printed across it in fancy gold script. “And I’m a lama.”

Before the argument could continue, Melissa’s mom swept into the room. “Oh, I can’t believe we’re running late again! Carrie do you have your stuff? We’ll drop you off, pick up the dry cleaning, and just barely not be embarrassingly late to LotL.”

Carrie looked up from shoving papers into her backpack, “What’s LotL?”

“League of the…” Stop! yelled Blaze, but Melissa had already realized her mistake and mentally kicked herself.

“League?” asked Carrie with a glint in her eye. 

Of course, she was thinking of the superheroes. Melissa’s mind raced. What could she say to explain her slip of the tongue? Even if she’d wanted to tell Carrie LotL stood for League of the Lame (talking to betta fish was lame. So were prophetic dreams of fashion faux pas. All six members had powers that, while mildly interesting, weren’t really useful) Carrie would never buy it. Her eye fell on her mom’s book. “League of the Lovers. It’s our book club.”

Carrie’s eyes narrowed, “I’ve never heard of this book club.”

“That’s because dad doesn’t want to admit to liking romance novels,” Melissa hastily improvised. “So we don’t talk about it.” Blaze’s fishy laughter rang in Melissa’s ears and she had to control her own laughter at the thought of her dad reading a romance novel. She didn’t even like them herself. She’d skimmed Lover’s Paradise out of boredom once and couldn’t finish. (The love interest was a jerk and she was hoping the heroine would shove him off the waterfall.) “Please don’t bring it up. Dad’s really  sensitive about it.”

Carrie looked back and forth between Melissa and her mom, unconvinced. “Really?”

“Really,” said Melissa’s mom firmly. “Lissa, grab the book. I can’t lead the discussion without it. I’m glad we didn’t forget it. You girls have everything? Then off we go!” With that she shooed the girls into the van.

The ride was awkward. Carrie sulked, while Melissa’s mom prattled on about the nonexistent book club. Melissa breathed a sigh of relief once they dropped Carrie off. If only she hadn’t gotten the notion that she could see the future! They had been great friends almost their whole lives. But Melissa didn’t know how much longer it could last.

“So, you realize we’re going to have to keep this up, right?” Her mom asked, backing out of the driveway. “Read a romance every month? It’s the only way she’ll believe us.”

Melissa groaned, “Why’d I say lovers? I could’ve done lunatics and then we could read murder mysteries.”

Her mom laughed, “It’s a great cover story though. It has a built in excuse for why we keep quiet about it. Of course, dad and the other guys will be embarrassed when they find out.”

Melissa groaned again, “Dad’s gonna kill me.”

Why does Carrie think Melissa can see the future? Read Betta Girl to find out!

The Wishing Glass

Photo by Marek Okon on Unsplash

The lair was ahead, jutting out from the ocean floor in broken boards. The human ship had sunk hundreds of years ago and the dragon had claimed it. Algae covered nearly every inch, waving green tendrils in the ocean current. Some distance away the outline of an anchor was covered in coral and anemones. The cargo inside was the important part. Amatheia swam cautiously towards the lair, trying to stay hidden. Stealing even a minor token from a dragon’s hoard was tricky and she was after more than a mere trinket. Legends and rumors said the Wishing Glass had been aboard the pirate ship when it sunk. If that was true, then the king himself would reward her richly. If not, then she had just swam across an ocean and risked her life for nothing.

She flicked her tail and propelled herself forward with determination. The Wishing Glass was the only thing that could prove the queen’s innocence. By looking into into it the king would see who’d really tried to poison him. It had to be on this ship; its magic had to work, otherwise the evidence was too overwhelming and the queen would be sentenced to death. For the past several days Amatheia had watched the dragon; learning its routine. When it swam out for hunting, she knew it was her chance.

Amatheia flew over whale bones and through a ragged hole in the hull of ship. The inside was smaller than she’d expected, and crowded. Anything human had long ago been corroded past recognition. Amatheia wondered how much of it she would have recognized anyways. Some years earlier she had actually talked with a human named Jessica, and realized how little she knew about humans. The gold coins that were scattered everywhere, however, were pristine. The spaces that weren’t covered in watery vegetation, were covered in coins, necklaces, the odd goblet; treasures beyond imagining. Amatheia reached out in awe then swiftly drew her hand back. She couldn’t touch anything except the Wishing Glass. The dragon would notice. Once it did, it would hunt her and she had to delay it for as long as possible.

Heart pounding, she began her search. She scanned each room carefully, flinching at every sound as if the dragon was returning already. Fear shivered down her fins at each new artifact: rusty swords with bright hilts,  golden figurines of strange animals, even sea folk treasures were mixed in with the human trove. A tail ring set with emeralds glinted temptingly at her. There was too much gold to be from a single shipwreck. Clearly the dragon had been collecting its hoard for centuries. And that meant it would hunt her even longer than a younger dragon would - maybe even for years.

Amatheia tried to banish this thought from her mind. Once she returned to Atlantis she would be safe. Right now she had a job to do. The queen’s life depended on it. A hole in the ceiling above her beckoned her upwards. She passed through more treasure chambers, sometimes scrapping her scales against the ancient wood and once against the treasure itself.  She shuddered, images of dragon fangs sinking into her tail flashing through her mind. She willed herself to keep going. Her search turned up nothing. Despite being inches away from golden wealth that hadn’t been seen for centuries, the Wishing Glass wasn’t to be found. She groaned as she drifted out of the ship, coming up by the mast. The last place to look was the captain’s cabin. Suddenly, she heard the hunting call of the returning dragon.

There was the only one place to hide. She dove through the open doorway of the cabin and trembled. How long would it take for the dragon to notice there was an intruder? Ears ringing as the dragon came closer, she looked around the cabin. And there it was, hanging from a rusty nail: the Wishing Glass. It had a gleaming golden handle, but the glass was clouded and brown. Amatheia rubbed at the glass, hoping it was only a film that would wipe off. Nothing happened. How was this going to find the poisoner? As soon as she thought it, the glass changed and she was staring at a merman with silver-green scales and a tail ring with a large obsidian. Amatheia gasped; it really worked. The queen was saved! The dragon’s roar sounded again and her elation vanished. Neither she nor the queen were safe yet.

She clutched the mirror close. Her best chance of escape would be when the dragon first entered the lair. She could flee while it couldn’t see her. She looked into the Wishing Glass again and willed it to show her the dragon. It did and the dragon’s fangs were just as terrifying as she’d imagined. She watched as the dragon left a half eaten whale outside and entered. She exploded from the cabin, swimming upward as fast as could. The dragon was a creature of the deep ocean. It wouldn’t follow her to the surface.

A furious shriek below her gave her an extra burst of speed. She was racing for her life. Soon she heard the dragon below her, but she didn’t dare look back. Nothing mattered, except speed. Speed, and the upward climb. Fish scattered before her, though she knew it was the dragon they were fleeing from. Closing her eyes, she tried not to think. Her muscles burned. She thought her tail might fall off. Not once did she think of pausing. That would only lead to death. So she swam.

She didn’t notice the dragon’s cries getting fainter. When she crashed above the surface of the ocean, she gasped in surprise. For a moment waves buffeted her as she tried to think. The dragon hadn’t caught her. She had the mirror. Despite smiling, she was too tired to feel relieved. Floating on her back, she planned. Until she was within the range of the Atlantis guards, she would have to keep to the surface. Though the dragon wouldn’t come to the surface it could still track her. She would have to be on the look out for humans; but they were a lesser danger than the dragon. For now though, she would rest. She had a long swim ahead of her.

For Amatheia's earlier adventure see Escaping the Cave.

Ephemeral

Photo by Amelie Ohlrogge on Unsplash

Pitter-patter steps of rain

Tiptoe across the road,

Branches, rooftops, and my nose

Cool splotches freckle across my palms

Landing polkadot in reflecting puddles

Kissed by rebel fallen leaves

Of rust mixed with dying green

Their love blooms in petrichor

Putting time on hold

Petrichor - The smell of rain.

Written for dVerse.

Escaping the Cave

Photo by Annette Batista Day on Unsplash

Amatheia flipped her emerald tail and plunged through the salt water. Grinning in anticipation, she flew beyond her parents’ objections. The cave was too small; she’d get trapped, especially with the storm coming. The cave wasn’t always full of water. The extra rain water would fill up areas Amatheia normally couldn’t reach. If she was still in one of those spots when the storm stopped and the water drained, no one would be able to rescue her. And of course, it was much too close to the human city. Humans were unpredictable; capable of great friendship, but more often they were terrible enemies,

Amatheia found all of these worries laughable. She was the best cave swimmer in Atlantis (Junior Deep Brine Division, Poseidon Medalist). There wasn’t a cave she couldn’t get in or out of. And going there during a storm was the whole point. If she wanted to see the top most chambers of the cave, this was her only chance. Besides, humans weren’t out much during storms. Even if they were about, she could easily out swim them. With the intoxication of potential danger, she hurried on.

The cave was close to the beach that was normally covered in humans. On days with clear weather, she had to sneak cautiously past them. Today, with the storm on the way, the beach was nearly empty. Perfect. The entrance to the cave was narrow and so shallow she had to drag herself through the water. Once inside she swam swiftly  through the long twisting tunnel. Here the roof wasn’t very far from the water; she had seen it to her heart’s content. The chambers she was interested in were deeper. If she was lucky, the water wouldn’t start rising until she got to there. It was always thrilling to rise up with the water as it filled the cave. When she swam into the first camber, all thoughts of her expedition vanished and she gasped in shock. Sitting on a rocky shelf, illuminated by a shaft of fading light that poured in through a hole in the top of the cave, was a human.

The human jumped up at the sound of her gasp and stared wide-eyed at Amatheia. For a moment they both froze and gaped at each other. Amatheia had never seen a human so close before. She knew their skin was a washed out sandy color, but she hadn’t realized they had no scales. Perhaps the human was wearing that strange pink fabric to make up for the lack of scales. Her own scales ranged from vibrant green to marine blue. Where her hair was thick and kelp-like, the human’s was thiner than seagrass and a dead brown color. Then there were the legs, which were nothing like Amatheia’s sleek tail. They were stocky, ending in soft protrusions with short stubby, finger-like things on the end. All in all, the human was ugly, but strangely fascinating.

The human broke the silence, “I’m Jessica,” she said. “Are you real?”

“Are you?” asked Amatheia. Not even when sneaking past humans had she ever thought she might one day actually talk to one.

Jessica glanced down at herself as if to make sure she was really there, “I’m real. Unless I’m dreaming.”

Amatheia nodded, “Me too.”

Jessica suddenly laughed, “I’m so glad I came. I almost didn’t. But Bobbie dared me too, and I just couldn’t stand the smug look on his face when he said I was too much of a scaredy-cat. And now I’m talking to a real live mermaid!”

Smiling, Amatheia swam right up to the shelf. She was liking this Jessica-human. It sounded like something she would do. “Is it true that humans can swim? How can you manage it without a tail?”

For an answer Jessica jumped into the water with a splash. Amatheia watched intrigued as Jessica kicked her arms and legs and swam in a circle.  “Wow! So you could go all the way to the end of the cave!”

“Well yeah. In theory. But I have to get back before my mom notices I’m gone. Do mermaids really -” She was cut off by a deafening crack of thunder. A moment later torrential rain poured through the hole in the roof.

Amatheia laughed as the thunder died, “My mom always told me those dark heavy storm clouds come from two brothers who leaped so high  that the spray from the splash reached all the way to the sky and fell back into the sea with a crash!” She did a flip to demenstrate. Jessica’s eyes widened in awe. “That’s so cool! 

With very little urging Amatheia happily went through a series of dives and spins. The rain made a makeshift waterfall that she flipped in and out of to show off some of her fancier tricks. Jessica joined in by showing a bunch of different human swimming strokes. Amatheia was amazed at all the different ways legs could move. They were both fascinated by the other and kept asking every question they thought of. Jessica finally got back to her questions the thunder had interrupted: Did they really sing to lure sailors into crashing their ships? Amatheia thought this was hilarious. She couldn’t sing to save her life. Caving on the other hand - well if her life depended on it she’d live forever. Neither of them noticed the rising water. Their attention was wholly detained by the surreal experience of meeting the other.

“Oh, I’m tried. I need a break,” gasped Jessica after trying to copy one of Amatheia’s jumps (she couldn’t do it; but the only consequence was laughter and getting more wet, so that was alright.) She looked around, “Where’s the shelf I was sitting on?”

Amatheia glanced over, “The water’s rising!” she cried in delight. “I forgot about that. Ooh, now we can get into the parts of the cave we normally can’t reach.”

“Rising? How high will it go?” Jessica exclaimed in alarm. “Where’s the entrance? Is that underwater too? How can we get out?”

“The entrance is still there silly. We’ll just swim underwater -”

“I can’t hold my breath that long! I’m going to die. My mom’s going to kill me and then I’m going to drown.”

Tears started trailing down Jessica’s checks and her wavered. Amatheia struggled to understand why. The rising water was one of the best features of the cave. Riding the water was a little like riding a wave. Fun. Nothing to be scared of. But Jessica was clearly terrified. Drown. What did it mean? It sounded somewhat familiar. Suddenly she remembered. Her history teacher had mentioned it once in a class on menfolk-human relations. Drowning was something humans did because they couldn’t breathe in water. 

“Don’t panic, we’ll think of something.” Amatheia said uselessly. She knew very well this entire chamber could flood all the way to the top. How long had the storm been going on? How long would it continue? “Maybe it will stop soon,” she said. “Then the water will go back down. We just have to wait.”

“You think so?” Jessica whispered.

“Yeah.” Amatheia hoped she wasn’t lying.

They waited.  Jessica alternated between treading water and floating. The rain did not stop. It kept coming down in sheets, accompanied by crashes of thunder and flashes of lightning. It was cold too. Somehow they hadn’t noticed before, but now Jessica struggled not to shiver. Though the temperature didn’t bother Amatheia much, she didn’t like the effect it was having on her new friend. The stories she’d heard about humans hadn’t made them seem so fragile. It was hard to imagine that so soon after meeting a human for the first time she might also  watch her die. The water climbed steadily up the sides of the cave, creeping ever closer to the roof of the cave. They tried to talk, but only managed a few sentences before falling back into a nervous silence. Mostly they stared at each other, as they had a short time ago. This time there were no questions about what was real. The pouring rain, mounting water and the increasingly panicked look in Jessica’s eyes proclaimed that this was no dream. 

“Take my body back,” Jessica said suddenly breaking the painful silence.

“What?”

“Please. Take me back to the beach when I die. At least my parents will know what happened.”

Amatheia shook her head, “No! It’s going to be okay. It’ll go down…”

“Don’t you see the rain coming from the hole? It’s pouring!” Jessica wailed. “There’s no clear skies on the other side. Not for me. The least you can do…”

Amatheia stared at the hole and didn’t listen. Who could have known it would be such a harbinger of doom? The last time she had come to the cave in a storm she’d had great fun leaping back and forth through it. “That’s  it!”

Jessica just stared at her in dejection.

Amatheia pointed up to the hole, “You can get out that way. Once the water’s high enough you’ll be right there.”

“I just have last that long,” said Jessica hesitantly, but there was hope in her eyes. Again they waited. Jessica  swam next to the rainy waterfall, so as to be as close as possible to the hole. They still didn’t say much, but the silence was no longer menacing. Instead, it was impatient. Before the water rose too fast. Now it was too slow. “I don’t know if I can make it,” Jessica said at last. “I’m too tired. Even if I get through the hole, there’s still the swim back to the beach.”

“I’ll help you,” Amatheia promised.  She swam over to support Jessica, feeling guilty that she hadn’t thought of it before. But how could she have known humans couldn’t swim forever? The cave wasn’t too far from the beach. It would be easy for her, even with story waves. Even so, helping Jessica would take its toll. If it got to a point where Jessica was simply too tired, what then? Water sloshed against the walls, gaining height. At long last, they reached the top of the cave. Jessica gasped as the rain hit her with full force as she scrambled for the rim of the hole. Several times her hands slipped. Amatheia saw blood in the water and winced, but there was nothing they could do about it now. It took a combination of pulling from Jessica, pushing from Amatheia and the continual rise of the water to get her out. Well, that was one obstacle down. Amatheia leaped out after her, landing with a splash in the choppy ocean.

“We did it!” she shouted above the sound of the raging wind. But there was no answering shout. With alarm Amatheia looked around, but didn’t see Jessica. Dread struck her as she searched franticly. Ducking under the water, she finally spotted Jessica, struggling to get her head above the waves. With a flick of her tail, Amatheia sped to her aide and pulled Jessica up. They broke above the waves and Jessica gasped for breath. “Come on,” yelled Amatheia. “This is the easy part!” Jessica didn’t answer. Her eyes were panicked. Amatheia gulped. Apparently getting out of the cave had taken the last of her strength. She’d thought Jessica would at least be able to swim a little, but now she realized there was only one option. Hooking her arms under Jessica’s, she towed the human girl along.

They were buffeted by the waves and the wind. Very soon, Amatheia’s arms burned. How long could she keep this up? Would she have enough strength to get them both to the beach? Or would she eventually be forced to let go and watch Jessica sink? Gritting her teeth, she kept going, straining every muscle she had. Normally when she swam through storm waves, she threw herself heedlessly through them or dove under. But with Jessica in tow, she couldn’t do that unless she wanted Jessica to drown. Several times she caught herself about to dive and had to pull up suddenly. With waves crashing over them, Jessica kept swallowing water and coughing. Amatheia did her best to keep her head above water, but couldn’t always manage it. Every cough sent worry surging through her tail, but there was little she could do about it. Instead she focused on her task and strove to banish any other thoughts. She just had to hold on to Jessica and swim. Hold on to Jessica and swim. Hold on - 

Her scales brushed against sand. With a start she realized they’d reached the beach. “We made it!” she yelled. “Go, go!”

Unsteadily Jessica managed to scramble to her feet and stumble away from the waves. Amatheia watched until she saw a stray human running towards her. Good, she’d be alright then. With a tired but relieved smile, she pushed herself back into the water and disappeared into the ocean. Above her, the skies cleared as the storm finally dissipated.

Prompt: When I was a kid my mom always told me those dark, heavy storm clouds come from…