The path towards Cavernous Ravine was marked with bullets. One of the archers said it was a good sign. It meant the scout hadn’t died en route. It was some relief, but our steps didn’t stop. While hoping my whirlwind hadn’t claimed lives, I dispelled the magic that kept my temperature at a comfortable degree. Magic consumed one’s mental strength. The more one kept in contact with Mana, the more tired they felt mentally. ‘Why did he not shoot in the ground?’ I asked Ms Nancy, feeling the sudden cold. ‘It would have caused noise, attracting our attention.’ The closer we came, the faster our steps became. The group was alert but urgent.
‘We wouldn’t be the only ones attracted,’ she said. I nodded, unabashed on the surface, abashed inside for failing to recognise the most obvious. I lowered my head defeatedly and continued our advance into the red-tinted, whispering woods.
On our way, I noticed a log cabin, sitting a little distance from the path. ‘What is there?’ I asked.
‘The cabin?’ Ms Nancy asked. ‘We use it to rest and resupply if we ever need to. There are a number of those across the forest. This one is…number four,’ she said. By now, she had become my personal guide — a very capable yet chatty one.
‘Are we to check there?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Ravine first. We may come later.’
I felt a hand on my shoulder as I was about to ask another question. ‘Stick close, Sir,’ said Mr Perk from behind, and Ms Olsberg looked back, confirming my position. She looked satisfied as I moved further inside. One of the archers, Mr Jack, took my right while Ms Nancy guarded my left. Like royalty, I was accompanied. My chest inflated alongside my ego. I felt truly regal, walking with guards in the horrors of dark woods. March, my men! I shouted in my head, pretending to be a king. It was all jolly and games until King Sacrament the II came to mind. Better a poor orphan than a poisoned king, I thought. No more did I exude the regal air.
‘We are here,’ said Mr Harris with a sudden halt and crunching of twigs. The trail of bullets stopped here. I looked around, feeling the tense air. In front of us was a twisting ravine of average size and narrow walls. A number of roots were protruding through its walls, piercing the ground. I could spot bridges made of intertwined roots of rubber figs. Living root bridges, I thought. They were short, hanging above the ravine as if creating shades for the passers-by. It was a rare phenomenon. But in this land? It should not have existed there. Unnatural. I looked around. The ground was lifeless — arid. It was covered in countless twigs, snapping under our feet. The gnarly woods were…dry and dead. They had few leaves — some even lush green — but they felt dead as if a plague had passed them. I moved closer towards one of them, examining its wide trunk. It was dry, utterly hollow at first sight. I inched closer.
‘Don’t touch anything, Professor,’ said Ms Olsberg. ‘We touch nothing here. We know nothing of this place.’ In her eyes shone caution, and knowing her judgement, I refrained from any further ventures to her relief. I don’t need to examine it right away. I had a feeling that this was a place I should know better, that I should resonate better than any of them.
I tightened the lace of my glove, brushed my waistcoat, and cleaned my glasses. And with eleven others who checked their equipment, I walked into the ravine. ‘It is quiet,’ noted Ms Nancy. ‘As usual.’ The place was frighteningly quiet, and no sign of our companions could be found near the entrance.
‘We will continue inside,’ said Mr Harris. On either of his sides were Mr Mason and Mr Hill. Ms Olsberg was behind them alongside Ms Amy. Behind them, to the left was Mr Nancy, I in the middle, and Mr Jack to the right. My rear was guarded by Mr Perk. Behind him stood Ms Perk and the other two — Mr Steven Ray and Mr Shawn Heron. Mr Ray was a capable swordsman while Mr Heron was a deft archer. So, we had a mage, a marksman, two archers, seven swordsmen, and whatever Ms Nancy claimed herself to be. This should be enough to terrorise and destroy a village.
We passed the entrance of the ravine and walked slowly and cautiously. The intermittent ceiling of roots above our heads would block the scarlet moon occasionally. The dance of lights and the shadows so silent and sombre — I felt I had entered a realm unknown to man. It was as if time had been frozen here for what could have been a century. The wind blew, but in such sorrow, I felt it tugging at my heartstrings. Each mark on the walls around us, each stone and each rock — every little detail felt historical, as if it bore no importance to the current of time. Battles have been fought here, the place seemed to claim, but none remember.
In a little cranny, in the crack of an outcrop, a forlorn pink Forget-me-not swayed. It played in the sorrowful wind, watching the blue petals of a withered companion fly away. It too was to follow the same fate, but in this lonely grey, abandoned world, that one flower looked colourful. It bore its innocence and colour, offering hope to this dreary, drab land. My heart beat faster with each step I took. I felt an unknown sense of nostalgia. I felt myself entering a world of black and white. Like the pictures in papers.
Soon, through a gap in the wall, over a large stone, flowed a streamlet like a child’s hushed sobs. ‘Water from here,’ softly muttered Ms Nancy. The pale world was having its effects on her. All of us felt the loneliness flare up. None of us spoke. We stayed silent, subservient to our calm yet mystifying thoughts. In a world where time seemed to have halted, none of us could gather urgency.
The little stream flowed down to our feet as we walked further. Down the path, a few more streamlets broke through the wall as if to see who had walked into the timeless space. They united, not unlike tributaries, mixing into each other at our feet, creating a brook. ‘Careful,’ whispered Ms Nancy gaily, with absent eyes. My own eyes followed the despondent surroundings; my ears relayed the silent songs it played. I heard the familiar piano. It had come to greet me from the pages of my memory. It continued its gentle sounds while the brook accompanied my thoughts. The place, to me, felt less eerie and more sorrowful. It was a long-forgotten plea, a shadow of old and sorrow of forgotten. If I had a say, I would name the place differently. Ravine of the still — that suited better. What could have caused this? I wondered, stepping into the stream that was now nearly knee-deep. The cold touch of water did not bother me. My wet trouser and socks did not steal my attention.
Soon, we would find our companions. I knew it. The trees told me. I hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t answered. But in those dried branches was what they had seen. The sorrow, like a melody — like the lulling song my mother played — drenched my mind in colours of trance and wonder. What have you lost to be so desolate? Whose sorrow, is it? Someone who has been lost? Or— I stopped and turned around. My eyes bore a mysterious glimmer and true sorrow. Yours, perhaps? I said, ‘I see you.’
Nothing happened. Not a leaf moved. But my companions all stopped, inaudibly brandishing their weapons. They didn’t see what I did, but on trust and experience, they had moved. Their eyes scanned the surroundings. I could feel Mr Perk’s questioning gaze, wondering where and what I had spotted. The indescribable sadness did not leave my eyes, and it did not abandon my heart. ‘I see you,’ I said again. This time, my words did not fall on deaf ears. A second passed, and from near a large root were footsteps heard.
‘Did you hear that?’ Ms Nancy said. I could tell that her skin crawled. Instinctive Ms Orchard too was pointing her revolver. She too could only hear the quiet footsteps. Her eyes did not find anything, and yet, her aim could not have been any more accurate. I heard grunts from the archers; even their sharp senses could not feel it. And I blamed none; in this group, only I was capable of seeing it — the figure that drew ever closer.
‘I see you,’ I said once again, wishing the hidden figure’s halt, but it did not. ‘I see your tarnished beauty.’ The sound of wet footsteps halted, and the downcast eyes of the figure turned to me. For the first time since I took notice, it looked me in the eye. In the mournful world, as illusions faded, a human figure appeared in that empty space.
I heard sudden, hushed gasps. It — or rather she — kept staring into my eyes. She was naked from head to toe — save for the vines that protected her dignity. But there is no indignity in being bare, right? That is what the woman would have said had she been herself. Her fair and pale, once-alluring body, was marked with greyish-black stripes. Her beautifully carved nose; the straight, long black hair that reached her ankles; listless black eyes; the figure that even mythos could not describe in proper diction — it had all lost its glow. I would have been mesmerised if she were her former self. ‘What are you called?’ I asked softly, moving a step closer despite Ms Nancy’s and Mr Perk’s warnings, my eyes lost in hers. ‘What happened?’ I felt hands grasping my arms; I shook them off.
I had a dozen questions, but she did not seem willing to answer. She kept her mouth shut, observing me. Sudden pangs of sorrow hit me; I felt my heart melt, but she did not move. ‘Who did this to you?’ I asked in hidden desperation. The longer I waited, the more difficult this pain became. My breathing became rugged. My lips quivered. I could feel the questioning, perplexed gazes over the overwhelming emotions that rose within me. But they would never understand why I was so; they could not. That is what being me meant. ‘Who did this?’ The girl did not answer, her eyes remained lifeless. I felt the calling of the inevitable. It was not pretty, but it was a duty — one none of my companions were bound by. The beats of my heart rose like a rising wave at sea.
‘Mr Harris,’ I said without taking my eyes off her.
‘Yes?’ the man answered, as composed as the first time I saw him.
‘They are all ahead. Please, find them.’ The pain in my chest worsened. ‘I will take care of this.’ He did not say anything. How did I know this? That must have been his worry, but how was I to explain? ‘They may be in need of help,’ I said. My breathing worsened with each word. The stinging pain in my chest was inexplicable.
‘Who is she, Professor?’ asked the man.
What should I answer? I wondered, looking up at the scarlet sky. ‘She is…a mage.’
‘She is not a mage, Professor,’ he riposted almost immediately. There was not a shred of emotion in his calm, composed voice. There were neither highs nor lows in his pitch. I felt slight envy.
I took a shaky breath, feeling the cold of the night. My hand traced the beautiful waistcoat Mr Hillary had altered for me. This place — my new home — had done much for me. I was grateful for all of it, but I was not willing to answer that question. Even if I were to be labelled a traitor and suspicious, even if they would call me a liability, I could not speak. I knew I should not disclose a thing. I removed a wooden case with padded insides from my inside pocket. ‘Please leave,’ I said, gently placing the spectacles inside. ‘Ms Olsberg,’ I called the woman and handed her the closed wooden case. ‘I do not want to break another pair.’ I smiled dryly. Inside me was an emptiness that resonated with this still world. I waited for a second, and the woman accepted the case. Unlike Mr Harris, she did not seem adamant about knowing everything.
‘Will you be fine, Professor?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said with a false smile. I recalled the words Ms Nancy had said on the way here. ‘I have water here. I am glad.’
‘I can’t allow this, Professor,’ said Mr Harris. At this point, I was wondering if he was not concerned that the woman might attack while we chatted. Of course, she won’t. I knew that; they didn’t. Their weapons were still pointed at her, and it saddened me tremendously. ‘You are my responsibility—’
‘With all due respect,’ I interrupted the man, ‘none of you will survive the clash if you wish to remain here.’ None of them spoke. The sound of the piano playing in my head rose. I turned back towards the mysterious woman. ‘Please leave. You will find them at the other end of the ravine — in the arms of trees.’ When they still did not move, I raised my unharmed hand. ‘I am your last hope, Captain.’ The streamlets around us burst violently into a forced shower. Like a magnificent geyser, water sprayed everywhere. My face was drenched, but I did not blink. ‘Do not let it vane.’ The water began flooding the ravine, turning it into a basin.
‘Let us go, Captain,’ said Ms Olsberg. ‘We need not pry into every little thing. That is what makes us obnoxious.’ Those words were unexpected to me. I hadn’t imagined her to speak against a superior. She was a kind one — prideful and strong like my second mother. I hummed in my head, submitting to the dreary surroundings and a forlorn melody.
Mr Harris did not say anything for a couple of seconds while the water reached our thighs. Then suddenly, when I was thinking it was hopeless, ‘We continue forward,’ he said. And without another word, the wide-eyed man continued forward. I could hear the quick footsteps that soon turned into running. I felt the flustered and agitated stares on me. Ms Nancy was looking around as if she did not know what to do. Mr Perk had his eyes narrowed. Mr Mason was wondering if he should be presenting arguments.
‘Did you not hear?’ Ms Olsberg shouted in fury. ‘Move, he said!’ And she too ran.
One by one, others followed. Ms Amy left with her team. Seeing them, Mr Mason left alongside Mr Hill. Ms Perk pulled Mr Perk away. And Ms Nancy was the last to leave. ‘You confuse me, Professor,’ she said with a last glance. I laughed emptily, listening to the disappearing steps.
Finally, when I felt they were far away, I let out a long-held breath. The scarlet moon, the grey surroundings, the clear water — none of it evoked emotions as fiercely in me as the woman ahead. Her lifeless eyes were fixated on me. ‘I apologise for having you await.’ My hand moved once again. ‘I believe you won’t answer?’ I kept staring at her. ‘Or perhaps can’t?’ I believed her eyes glowed, but without my spectacles, I could not be assured.
‘I see.’ I let out a gasp. ‘There is no other way.’ The force of the spraying water became stronger. It burst from left and right. Its strength broke the stones and outcrops. The mysterious, nearly naked woman kept staring at me.
I spread my hands. And every bit of water began floating — litres upon litres, tonnes and tonnes. ‘Who could believe Professor Pretty can do this?’ I chuckled emptily. ‘But then again, Professor Pretty created a whirlwind. Do you know I have students?’ My eyes turned to the sky, and as if to respond to my gaze, every water drop converged aloft, flowing like twisted streams. The streams continued spewing water at my feet while I recalled my mother as her heart-wrenching melody played like reality. Like an orchestra conductor, my hands moved alongside my high ponytail. Each tremble had some meaning only understandable to me and my element. ‘And then,’ I whispered, ‘forgive me, he said.’ High in the sky, under the scarlet moon, as blobs of water floated upwards and shadows trembled, a twelve-storey long figure made of flowing water rose. That night, in the skies of Celbrun, it shone in red so the ones awake could gawk and gape — [The Trident of Goodwill.] — my new spell.
The path towards Cavernous Ravine was marked with bullets. One of the archers said it was a good sign. It meant the scout hadn’t died en route. It was some relief, but our steps didn’t stop. While hoping my whirlwind hadn’t claimed lives, I dispelled the magic that kept my temperature at a comfortable degree. Magic consumed one’s mental strength. The more one kept in contact with Mana, the more tired they felt mentally. ‘Why did he not shoot in the ground?’ I asked Ms Nancy, feeling the sudden cold. ‘It would have caused noise, attracting our attention.’ The closer we came, the faster our steps became. The group was alert but urgent.
‘We wouldn’t be the only ones attracted,’ she said. I nodded, unabashed on the surface, abashed inside for failing to recognise the most obvious. I lowered my head defeatedly and continued our advance into the red-tinted, whispering woods.
On our way, I noticed a log cabin, sitting a little distance from the path. ‘What is there?’ I asked.
‘The cabin?’ Ms Nancy asked. ‘We use it to rest and resupply if we ever need to. There are a number of those across the forest. This one is…number four,’ she said. By now, she had become my personal guide — a very capable yet chatty one.
‘Are we to check there?’
‘No,’ she said. ‘Ravine first. We may come later.’
I felt a hand on my shoulder as I was about to ask another question. ‘Stick close, Sir,’ said Mr Perk from behind, and Ms Olsberg looked back, confirming my position. She looked satisfied as I moved further inside. One of the archers, Mr Jack, took my right while Ms Nancy guarded my left. Like royalty, I was accompanied. My chest inflated alongside my ego. I felt truly regal, walking with guards in the horrors of dark woods. March, my men! I shouted in my head, pretending to be a king. It was all jolly and games until King Sacrament the II came to mind. Better a poor orphan than a poisoned king, I thought. No more did I exude the regal air.
‘We are here,’ said Mr Harris with a sudden halt and crunching of twigs. The trail of bullets stopped here. I looked around, feeling the tense air. In front of us was a twisting ravine of average size and narrow walls. A number of roots were protruding through its walls, piercing the ground. I could spot bridges made of intertwined roots of rubber figs. Living root bridges, I thought. They were short, hanging above the ravine as if creating shades for the passers-by. It was a rare phenomenon. But in this land? It should not have existed there. Unnatural. I looked around. The ground was lifeless — arid. It was covered in countless twigs, snapping under our feet. The gnarly woods were…dry and dead. They had few leaves — some even lush green — but they felt dead as if a plague had passed them. I moved closer towards one of them, examining its wide trunk. It was dry, utterly hollow at first sight. I inched closer.
‘Don’t touch anything, Professor,’ said Ms Olsberg. ‘We touch nothing here. We know nothing of this place.’ In her eyes shone caution, and knowing her judgement, I refrained from any further ventures to her relief. I don’t need to examine it right away. I had a feeling that this was a place I should know better, that I should resonate better than any of them.
I tightened the lace of my glove, brushed my waistcoat, and cleaned my glasses. And with eleven others who checked their equipment, I walked into the ravine. ‘It is quiet,’ noted Ms Nancy. ‘As usual.’ The place was frighteningly quiet, and no sign of our companions could be found near the entrance.
‘We will continue inside,’ said Mr Harris. On either of his sides were Mr Mason and Mr Hill. Ms Olsberg was behind them alongside Ms Amy. Behind them, to the left was Mr Nancy, I in the middle, and Mr Jack to the right. My rear was guarded by Mr Perk. Behind him stood Ms Perk and the other two — Mr Steven Ray and Mr Shawn Heron. Mr Ray was a capable swordsman while Mr Heron was a deft archer. So, we had a mage, a marksman, two archers, seven swordsmen, and whatever Ms Nancy claimed herself to be. This should be enough to terrorise and destroy a village.
We passed the entrance of the ravine and walked slowly and cautiously. The intermittent ceiling of roots above our heads would block the scarlet moon occasionally. The dance of lights and the shadows so silent and sombre — I felt I had entered a realm unknown to man. It was as if time had been frozen here for what could have been a century. The wind blew, but in such sorrow, I felt it tugging at my heartstrings. Each mark on the walls around us, each stone and each rock — every little detail felt historical, as if it bore no importance to the current of time. Battles have been fought here, the place seemed to claim, but none remember.
In a little cranny, in the crack of an outcrop, a forlorn pink Forget-me-not swayed. It played in the sorrowful wind, watching the blue petals of a withered companion fly away. It too was to follow the same fate, but in this lonely grey, abandoned world, that one flower looked colourful. It bore its innocence and colour, offering hope to this dreary, drab land. My heart beat faster with each step I took. I felt an unknown sense of nostalgia. I felt myself entering a world of black and white. Like the pictures in papers.
Soon, through a gap in the wall, over a large stone, flowed a streamlet like a child’s hushed sobs. ‘Water from here,’ softly muttered Ms Nancy. The pale world was having its effects on her. All of us felt the loneliness flare up. None of us spoke. We stayed silent, subservient to our calm yet mystifying thoughts. In a world where time seemed to have halted, none of us could gather urgency.
The little stream flowed down to our feet as we walked further. Down the path, a few more streamlets broke through the wall as if to see who had walked into the timeless space. They united, not unlike tributaries, mixing into each other at our feet, creating a brook. ‘Careful,’ whispered Ms Nancy gaily, with absent eyes. My own eyes followed the despondent surroundings; my ears relayed the silent songs it played. I heard the familiar piano. It had come to greet me from the pages of my memory. It continued its gentle sounds while the brook accompanied my thoughts. The place, to me, felt less eerie and more sorrowful. It was a long-forgotten plea, a shadow of old and sorrow of forgotten. If I had a say, I would name the place differently. Ravine of the still — that suited better. What could have caused this? I wondered, stepping into the stream that was now nearly knee-deep. The cold touch of water did not bother me. My wet trouser and socks did not steal my attention.
Soon, we would find our companions. I knew it. The trees told me. I hadn’t asked, and they hadn’t answered. But in those dried branches was what they had seen. The sorrow, like a melody — like the lulling song my mother played — drenched my mind in colours of trance and wonder. What have you lost to be so desolate? Whose sorrow, is it? Someone who has been lost? Or— I stopped and turned around. My eyes bore a mysterious glimmer and true sorrow. Yours, perhaps? I said, ‘I see you.’
Nothing happened. Not a leaf moved. But my companions all stopped, inaudibly brandishing their weapons. They didn’t see what I did, but on trust and experience, they had moved. Their eyes scanned the surroundings. I could feel Mr Perk’s questioning gaze, wondering where and what I had spotted. The indescribable sadness did not leave my eyes, and it did not abandon my heart. ‘I see you,’ I said again. This time, my words did not fall on deaf ears. A second passed, and from near a large root were footsteps heard.
‘Did you hear that?’ Ms Nancy said. I could tell that her skin crawled. Instinctive Ms Orchard too was pointing her revolver. She too could only hear the quiet footsteps. Her eyes did not find anything, and yet, her aim could not have been any more accurate. I heard grunts from the archers; even their sharp senses could not feel it. And I blamed none; in this group, only I was capable of seeing it — the figure that drew ever closer.
‘I see you,’ I said once again, wishing the hidden figure’s halt, but it did not. ‘I see your tarnished beauty.’ The sound of wet footsteps halted, and the downcast eyes of the figure turned to me. For the first time since I took notice, it looked me in the eye. In the mournful world, as illusions faded, a human figure appeared in that empty space.
I heard sudden, hushed gasps. It — or rather she — kept staring into my eyes. She was naked from head to toe — save for the vines that protected her dignity. But there is no indignity in being bare, right? That is what the woman would have said had she been herself. Her fair and pale, once-alluring body, was marked with greyish-black stripes. Her beautifully carved nose; the straight, long black hair that reached her ankles; listless black eyes; the figure that even mythos could not describe in proper diction — it had all lost its glow. I would have been mesmerised if she were her former self. ‘What are you called?’ I asked softly, moving a step closer despite Ms Nancy’s and Mr Perk’s warnings, my eyes lost in hers. ‘What happened?’ I felt hands grasping my arms; I shook them off.
I had a dozen questions, but she did not seem willing to answer. She kept her mouth shut, observing me. Sudden pangs of sorrow hit me; I felt my heart melt, but she did not move. ‘Who did this to you?’ I asked in hidden desperation. The longer I waited, the more difficult this pain became. My breathing became rugged. My lips quivered. I could feel the questioning, perplexed gazes over the overwhelming emotions that rose within me. But they would never understand why I was so; they could not. That is what being me meant. ‘Who did this?’ The girl did not answer, her eyes remained lifeless. I felt the calling of the inevitable. It was not pretty, but it was a duty — one none of my companions were bound by. The beats of my heart rose like a rising wave at sea.
‘Mr Harris,’ I said without taking my eyes off her.
‘Yes?’ the man answered, as composed as the first time I saw him.
‘They are all ahead. Please, find them.’ The pain in my chest worsened. ‘I will take care of this.’ He did not say anything. How did I know this? That must have been his worry, but how was I to explain? ‘They may be in need of help,’ I said. My breathing worsened with each word. The stinging pain in my chest was inexplicable.
‘Who is she, Professor?’ asked the man.
What should I answer? I wondered, looking up at the scarlet sky. ‘She is…a mage.’
‘She is not a mage, Professor,’ he riposted almost immediately. There was not a shred of emotion in his calm, composed voice. There were neither highs nor lows in his pitch. I felt slight envy.
I took a shaky breath, feeling the cold of the night. My hand traced the beautiful waistcoat Mr Hillary had altered for me. This place — my new home — had done much for me. I was grateful for all of it, but I was not willing to answer that question. Even if I were to be labelled a traitor and suspicious, even if they would call me a liability, I could not speak. I knew I should not disclose a thing. I removed a wooden case with padded insides from my inside pocket. ‘Please leave,’ I said, gently placing the spectacles inside. ‘Ms Olsberg,’ I called the woman and handed her the closed wooden case. ‘I do not want to break another pair.’ I smiled dryly. Inside me was an emptiness that resonated with this still world. I waited for a second, and the woman accepted the case. Unlike Mr Harris, she did not seem adamant about knowing everything.
‘Will you be fine, Professor?’ she asked.
‘Of course,’ I said with a false smile. I recalled the words Ms Nancy had said on the way here. ‘I have water here. I am glad.’
‘I can’t allow this, Professor,’ said Mr Harris. At this point, I was wondering if he was not concerned that the woman might attack while we chatted. Of course, she won’t. I knew that; they didn’t. Their weapons were still pointed at her, and it saddened me tremendously. ‘You are my responsibility—’
‘With all due respect,’ I interrupted the man, ‘none of you will survive the clash if you wish to remain here.’ None of them spoke. The sound of the piano playing in my head rose. I turned back towards the mysterious woman. ‘Please leave. You will find them at the other end of the ravine — in the arms of trees.’ When they still did not move, I raised my unharmed hand. ‘I am your last hope, Captain.’ The streamlets around us burst violently into a forced shower. Like a magnificent geyser, water sprayed everywhere. My face was drenched, but I did not blink. ‘Do not let it vane.’ The water began flooding the ravine, turning it into a basin.
‘Let us go, Captain,’ said Ms Olsberg. ‘We need not pry into every little thing. That is what makes us obnoxious.’ Those words were unexpected to me. I hadn’t imagined her to speak against a superior. She was a kind one — prideful and strong like my second mother. I hummed in my head, submitting to the dreary surroundings and a forlorn melody.
Mr Harris did not say anything for a couple of seconds while the water reached our thighs. Then suddenly, when I was thinking it was hopeless, ‘We continue forward,’ he said. And without another word, the wide-eyed man continued forward. I could hear the quick footsteps that soon turned into running. I felt the flustered and agitated stares on me. Ms Nancy was looking around as if she did not know what to do. Mr Perk had his eyes narrowed. Mr Mason was wondering if he should be presenting arguments.
‘Did you not hear?’ Ms Olsberg shouted in fury. ‘Move, he said!’ And she too ran.
One by one, others followed. Ms Amy left with her team. Seeing them, Mr Mason left alongside Mr Hill. Ms Perk pulled Mr Perk away. And Ms Nancy was the last to leave. ‘You confuse me, Professor,’ she said with a last glance. I laughed emptily, listening to the disappearing steps.
Finally, when I felt they were far away, I let out a long-held breath. The scarlet moon, the grey surroundings, the clear water — none of it evoked emotions as fiercely in me as the woman ahead. Her lifeless eyes were fixated on me. ‘I apologise for having you await.’ My hand moved once again. ‘I believe you won’t answer?’ I kept staring at her. ‘Or perhaps can’t?’ I believed her eyes glowed, but without my spectacles, I could not be assured.
‘I see.’ I let out a gasp. ‘There is no other way.’ The force of the spraying water became stronger. It burst from left and right. Its strength broke the stones and outcrops. The mysterious, nearly naked woman kept staring at me.
I spread my hands. And every bit of water began floating — litres upon litres, tonnes and tonnes. ‘Who could believe Professor Pretty can do this?’ I chuckled emptily. ‘But then again, Professor Pretty created a whirlwind. Do you know I have students?’ My eyes turned to the sky, and as if to respond to my gaze, every water drop converged aloft, flowing like twisted streams. The streams continued spewing water at my feet while I recalled my mother as her heart-wrenching melody played like reality. Like an orchestra conductor, my hands moved alongside my high ponytail. Each tremble had some meaning only understandable to me and my element. ‘And then,’ I whispered, ‘forgive me, he said.’ High in the sky, under the scarlet moon, as blobs of water floated upwards and shadows trembled, a twelve-storey long figure made of flowing water rose. That night, in the skies of Celbrun, it shone in red so the ones awake could gawk and gape — [The Trident of Goodwill.] — my new spell.
