Linda Maye Adams

Writing in Public, Story 5, Scene 3 (Again)


Cover showing a rugged stream as a man stands on a rock overlooking itWriter’s note: the earlier Scene 3 turned out to be a rabbit’s hole with a dead end, so a new scene 3.

3/

Bright silver light was the first thing Eleri saw.  So much that she squeezed her eyes shut to it.  Her magic felt like she’d been in a lightning storm, standing up on end.

She was aware, somehow, that Morgan was holding onto her.  But also that he seemed very distant from her.  His voice sounded like it was from behind a closed door in another room.  She wanted to tell him she was all right, but she couldn’t get her body working again.  Her tongue felt too thick, and her mouth too dry.

Instead, she pried her eyes open, so he would see she was awake.

And she was … somewhere else.

Morgan was gone.

Had she imagined it?

But she was still by Hunter’s Creek, right where she’d been standing.  She was on her back, roots and stones diggning into her backside.  The cold from the dirt was beginning to seep in through her trousers.

The light was coming from the creek.  Where she’d seen clear water darkened by the night flowing over the rocks, now the water glowed.  Here and there, the silver darkened, like her lantern fly streaks.

Above her, an oak was being showy with red leaves.  At least something that way it was supposed to be.

Footsteps approached.  Not heavy, like Morgan’s.  Lighter.

A woman appeared above her, pale brown hair and silvery eyes.  Dressed in a woolen coat over a dark green dress.   She seemed faded, like she was here and wasn’t.

Eleri would have gotten up, but something seemed to be holding her down.

The woman knelt, close enough that Eleri got a whiff of lavender perfume.

“We don’t have much time,” the woman.  “I’m like you.  Water magic.  The streans are like a cloth stitched together between our two worlds.”

“Worlds?  This is a different place?”

The woman nodded.  “The same and not.  We had a bad storm that tore the seams.  It’s like a bag with holes.”

“Is that why our streams our fouled?”

It seemed incredible, but then Elieri was looking at a silver stream and a woman with silver eyes.

The woman nodded.  “Ours are affected here, too.”

“How do we fix it?” Eleri asked.

She did not want to ask the real question that came to mind: Can we?

“I can’t patch from inside the bag,” the woman said.

What did that mean? Before Elieri could ask further, she heard Morgan yell.  Then something yanked hard at her arm and she fell back into the blackness.

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