Water’s Gift
Fireflies flicker in between the gaps of the twisting foliage of Garder’s Grove. The therapeutic patter of tiny footsteps out of sync, dancing across the damp cobblestone path leading to Fairies’ Pasture, rings through the forest like an enchanted melody; laughter flows out easily between the walking pair and weaves in tune with their steps, starting up the evening’s orchestra as the light fades from the sky and night wakes with the setting sun. The younger of the pair, with wavy amber locks hastily pulled back with a hair tie, burn marks stretching the expanse of her back, and dressed in her rustic exploration garb, takes the lead into the entrance of an ancient, crumbling ruin, left for time to hideaway. The boy stumbling behind her, tripping over his own feet as he attempts to memorize every image laid before him, gazes with his icy-blue eyes bright and smile slightly crooked.
“Christopher! If you don’t catch up to me soon, I’m gonna leave you behind!”
The boy, with his golden, spiked hair, freckle-speckled face, and clothing designed similarly to his counterpart, immediately looks back to the task at hand and runs to catch up with his best friend. The duo, walking in stride, side by side, ducks under the swaying vines clinging to the archways of the ancient village cast before them. An eerie silence, only broken by the crickets chirping in the distance, encompasses their isolated, little world. The only thing out of place is the children making their way through history, and the distinct disturbance of the ground before them. Plastered into the crusting, dried-out mud, a set of foot prints were hap-hazardously scattered across the ground. No words need to be said between the children, both following the tracks that piqued their curiosity.
Delving deeper into the ruins, the children stumble, quite-literally, onto stones strewn across the pavement, some moved just enough to uncover a depression in the ground, with blue light, similar to the light radiating from the lake back in town, glinting from its depths. This time, Christopher takes the lead and carefully maneuvers to the pit. Peeking inside, he reaches his hand into the darkness. Once his hand emerges, a glittering, silver key embedded with a burning, cyan gem, rests in his palm.
“Amiera…”
The girl rushes over to her friend’s side, hazel eyes shimmering and reflecting the light of the gem, and clasps her hand around his. Both crouching in front of the other, they peer into their glowing hands, gawking at the treasure slowly pulsing with energy. Chris is the first to notice the runes inscribed onto the side, quickly recognizing the old writing. “Amiera, this belongs to the Water Empress!”
She only must look into Christopher’s eyes to see the wonder bursting from inside. Her eyes flit between the key and her best friend, pride swelling inside like an ocean. “Chris, do you know how sacred this item is?”
He nods his head in understanding and quickly responds, “It opens the gate between the spirit realm and the mortal world.”
The key, which before today, has only been seen in historic depictions, warms at the mention of its owner. The children fall back into a sitting position, and lay the key on the cracking, stone floor. At the contact, the cooled ground instantly heats from the touch of the sacred object, and small plants, whether budding flowers so vibrant they seem to glow in the surrounding darkness, or curling ferns, tickling the dirt with their supple leaves, begin to grow and bloom from between the cracks, creating a circle of life that encloses the children in the middle. Mesmerized by the magic performing in front of their eyes, each child has their own desires on how to handle the sacred treasure.
Christopher, being intimidated by wielding such immense power, shouts out first, “We need to return it!” The terror only a child could have glazes over all his other emotions.
Amiera, taken aback after realizing all of the potential, calls out her opposition, “We need to keep this! Do you know what kind of wealth this could bring? What kind of fortunes?”
Christopher looks at Amiera incredulously, obviously distraught she would suggest such a thing. To steal from a goddess is to grant yourself certain death. Christopher is quick to remind his friend of this matter, and she grunts in reluctant agreement. The gods are merciless and vicious. It doesn’t matter if you are a man, woman or child, nor does it matter if you have good intentions for committing a sin. No matter your case, the gods punish accordingly. They are feared for a reason. As such, together the children decide to return the item back to the holy, shimmering waters from whence it came. Rapidly, Christopher snatches the key, places it into one of his many pockets, and holds his hand out to Amiera. She looks up at his face, a smirk resting across her own, and pushes herself up. Once both are standing back under the canopy of wavering tree branches, they begin their trek back to the nearest shrine.
The hike echoes the symphony heard earlier in the night, creating a sense of déjà vu. Dead leaves from last autumn’s awakening leave the ground littered with decomposing vegetation and tiny signs of new life sprouting from the frigid ground. The lifeless undergrowth crunches under the children’s sore and tired feet. Before long, the pair reaches the cliff’s edge where the shrine is carved. Like the rest of their village, the shrine overlooks the holy waters from up above. Every house is wedged into the terrain’s steady mountainside, built generations ago by the first settlers. Candlelight from the lanterns hung outside glint in the distance, making it difficult to differentiate from the stars winking in the overhanging night sky and the flickering wicks perched in the windowsills.
Amiera is the first to cross into the holy circle carved into the rock’s surface. As she steps onto the intricate designs etched along the edges of the holy land, she gives a virtuous sign of respect by placing her hands in the shape of a heart across her stomach, representing the life gifted within her. Christopher follows suit, this time curling his hands into a raindrop and placing them on his forehead: a sign of respect dedicated to the Water Empress. Both kneel before a glass statue of the goddess placed upon a pedestal and wait to pray. In unison, the children recite the prayer engrained into them from the moment they opened their eyes.
“Blessed goddess by which I stand, blessed goddess by which was birthed, grace us with thy presence by which we present ourselves.”
Amiera takes this moment to glance over at Christopher, indicating for him to beg for the Empress’s return to the mortal world. Chris refuses to state anything more, but he removes the key from his pocket and places it in front of the glistening statue. Immediately, a blindingly bright, blue light emanates from the pedestal and the lines etched into the ground. The mystic light that usually illuminates the center of the lake proceeds deeper into the dark waters before bursting out across the land. Wisps of light rush around the entire island, brushing past the village, winding through the forests, and bending into every lifeform it comes across. In an instant, the light vanishes before exploding from the statue, inciting the children to cover their eyes and beg for forgiveness.
Once the evident surprise vanishes, the children dare to glance at the woman before them. Giving off a faint glow, and made entirely of water, the Water Empress basks before the children, daintily floating just above the Earth’s surface. Her hair, like that of a waterfall, cascades down her open back. The flowing dress loosely hanging from around her neck hugs her hourglass figure and dips just below the arch of her back. Her bare feet mimic her minimalist appearance other than her elegant hair. Gazing from below, her body’s transparency catches the light of the rising moon and makes her glowing form even more mystic.
Without speaking a word to the shivering children, the goddess slowly turns to pick up the key, holding it at eye level before tossing it into the sky where it pops into a bubble of water that rains back down onto the surface, locking the key from sight. With her precious key restored back to its rightful home, the goddess turns her attention to the children bowing before her feet. Palm facing up, she raises her hand casually, forcing the children to stand before their Empress.
“You have done me a great service.” Her voice penetrates deep into their cores, making her voice waver from inside their forms and echo throughout the landscape. It’s light and refreshing, but also horrifyingly powerful. “I’m indebted to your patronage. As such, I owe you a reward for your services.”
Christopher stands in a daze before the Empress, but Amiera is quick to recognize her great reward. Wishes and desires whip around her mind in a current of desperation. The boy standing beside her cannot contrast more. He kindly bows before the Empress and thanks her for her gracious offer, but declines to accept such a reward for simply doing his duty. While the smile woven onto the goddess’s face crinkles the sides of her radiant eyes, Amiera’s mortified face drops at the loss of such a gift. Noticing the change in atmosphere, the Water Empress slyly twists to give Amiera her full attention. The glimmering eyes of the goddess demand attention and action from the young child standing proudly before her. Amiera, swallowing her pride, begins her descent into a bow to relinquish her reward, but is halted by the goddess.
The Empress glides forward, pressing a chilling hand against the child’s face, “You mustn’t be as modest as your partner. Ask for what you deserve, my child.”
Amiera clenches her teeth in thought, pondering the best option, before speaking her mind. Her thoughts waver on the magic she saw back at the ruins, watching the life sprout between the crevices in the ground. She wants nothing more than to grant this sort of life for herself. With that thought in mind, she speaks, “Your grace, I want to have talents such as yours. Not only for myself, but for my friend as well.”
In her peripheral vision, she can see Christopher’s embarrassment flush against his pale skin. The goddess merely closes her eyes, “Done.”
She raises her hands against her chest, like Christopher had before entering the sacred land, and recites a chant in a foreign tongue. As she speaks, floating specs of light, like that of fireflies, begin to appear and grow. Each floating star moves leisurely towards the children, latching onto their skin and sinking beneath its surface. Spec after spec, a feeling of immense energy courses through their nerves, setting their bodies ablaze, and expanding their lifeforce from within. Amiera clutches Christopher’s hands, tears slipping down their cheeks and their cries of pain reaching over the horizon as both bore the excruciating blaze in unison. Soon enough, black dots cloud their vision and each child slowly lose consciousness, but not before the Water Empress states her final words, “Be thanked for thy kindness, and reckoned for thy sins.”
Dawn’s growing rays creep past the cove’s edges and caress the innocent faces laid before the morning sun. Inside a new cavern filled with stalactites and stalagmites, the children rest, still facing each other with their fingers entwined, in front of a second pedestal dedicated to the goddess. Christopher is first to wake, feeling his hand burning from being in contact with Amiera. He flinches his hand back, cradling the tender flesh into himself. The sudden movement wakes the young girl, who pushes herself off the grainy cavern floor, rubbing the sand from her eyes. Once her vision comes into focus, she sees her friend tending to his minor wound.
“Christopher,” she begins her sentence as she reaches across to assist in his futile efforts. Noticing the incoming threat, the boy desperately pushes away from the only person he trusts. Panic set in his pupils as if he’s an animal backed into a corner. He slowly calms himself down. “Amiera, you’re burning up. How are you not melting your insides?”
Confusion slips through the girl. Sure, she felt a little warmer than normal, but nothing out of the ordinary. She quickly dismisses Christopher’s ridiculous comments and walks toward the cove’s edge to assess their location. The small cave itself is situated above sea level with an exit route scratched into the mountainside. Down below, tumbling waves wreak havoc on the sandstone, creating small indentations which will eventually erode the stone. It can only be assumed that the Empress has transported the duo here to shelter their bodies from harm.
Reminding herself about the events from last night, Amiera turns back to the shrine, her spirit radiating adrenaline to test out her newest toy: magic. Looking at her finger tips, she recreates the hand gestures the Empress used the night before and concentrates on the lifeforce inside her. Christopher barely pays attention, as he’s still concerned with the burns on his hand. Little blisters speckle his palm, and the distinct pattern of his friend’s hand tattoos his fingers. Meanwhile, Amiera recites various chants and executes careful hand gestures, in an attempt to create life. After a few minutes of absolutely nothing, it’s evident she didn’t possess the talent.
Feeling as if she’s been cheated, the rambunctious little girl stares down the glass statue before her. Immediately she storms over to the pedestal, yelling profanities and sharing a piece of her mind with the inanimate object, hoping to elicit some sort of response to ease her distress. Christopher, seeing his friend insult the goddess, stands up to try to rationalize with such a livid monster. As he approaches her, she swings around to lash out at him. Once her hand swipes across the open air, flames lick at her finger tips and shoot a fan of flames out towards Christopher. Fearing for his life, he/ stumbles back and falls over the cave’s edge, plummeting down towards the raging sea.
Amiera, in a state of bewilderment, cannot reach out for her best friend, instantly regretting the mistake she has made. Too petrified by the sight of the flames in contact with her skin, she becomes paralyzed. The burns across her back serve as a raw reminder of how hazardous fires can be, especially when ignited by the gods and backed into a corner as she is now. Clutching at her heart with heat rising against her flush cheeks, she can only remain frozen as her childhood best friend sails to his death. Between the flames and her friend’s imminent peril, there is physically nothing she can do.
Coming to her senses, and finally overcoming the pure terror of the flames, Amiera runs to the cave’s edge, expecting to see a floating corpse bashing into the side of the sea wall, but instead she sees her friend hanging in midair, as fearful as she had once been before. Hands outstretched, and too horrified to move, Christopher hangs in the air, just over the ledge of the cave. Instantly, Amiera reaches over the cave’s edge, rips her nails into her friend’s shirt, and yanks him back onto solid ground. Neither of them speak, fear still permeating the air as their greatest fears come to life. It is clear the children have been granted gifts from the almighty goddess: talents which, although great, scare them shitless. As everyone knows, kindness reaps rewards, but sins flaw their existence in the first place.
Hours pass. The cove in the mountainside now mimics the blazing hues of a dying sun, setting the ground ablaze and giving the illusion of warmth on a chilling evening. The ghostly shadows from the cave’s teeth expand into its mouth, creating the only breaks from sunlight. Sitting across from each other, the children continue to stare at one another, silently, as they have since the accident. Amiera has yet to stop crying. At first, it’s a choked sob, so intense she can barely breathe. Now, it’s become uneven hyperventilating mixed with the guilt of almost murdering her last friend in the world. Christopher sits stoically, staring deeper into the cave mouth in thought. It’s hard to understand his stance on the issue, but he hasn’t talked since facing death’s door. Yet, despite the atrocities, it is he who speaks first.
“Could we beg her to take it back? To stop this insanity?”
Amiera gazes at Christopher, her swollen eyes wishing for nothing more than that to happen. She’s been keeping her hands flat on the floor, too horrified and disgusted with her own body to make contact with her skin. Christopher has a brilliant power. He’s always been repulsed by the idea of heights, never being able to walk to the edge of their village. His gift is a blessing, a talent which can be harnessed to overcome his fear. Amiera on the other hand, is damned with a disease which has left her body scarred and her family in ashes. Knowing fully well other gods have unjustly burned her family alive, the Empress has cursed her with this hell anyway. But, she knows better than to ask the goddess to remove it. If anything, she would enhance it for disliking her gift.
“You know as well as I that she would be livid if we asked her to retract this magic.”
Christopher doesn’t object, but he glances around the room in thought, looking for an answer that is marked nowhere on the cave walls. After a few minutes, he stands and walks over to Amiera. Towering over her trembling figure, he understands the pain she’s going through. He may not want this power, but at least it is a proper gift. He pities her, and feels revolted by the idea of her suffering. Without a second thought, he spins on his heel and walks out of the cave, leaving Amiera in his wake. As he turns the corner to go, he shouts back, “Meet me in Fairies’ Pasture.”
Amiera watches him go, listening to his footsteps diminish as the distance between the two of them grows. Once alone, she cries out in frustration, chucking a pebble against the cave wall, making it shatter and skid fragments across the floor. She scrambles to her feet in a fit of rage, wanting to run somewhere but having nowhere to go. Slamming her palms against the eroded walls, she shoves her body forward in the direction of the glistening statue. Water remnants remain on the glass, and some even float around the pedestal. At her proximity, the entire structure begins to glow, but Amiera, noticing the almighty presence, bursts with ire. Her fury heats the air, evaporating any water left in the cave. The glowing immediately dies out in the face of this mass mutiny, and the child smiles with pride. Having evoked her little temper tantrum, she walks out of the cave without looking back.
When she finally arrives at Fairies’ Pasture, Christopher is sitting on an oak log laying across a stream. Feet dangling over the bubbling brook, he writes in his leather journal quietly with butterflies fluttering around his head in a dance of love. As always, he has a pack slung across his back, like he normally does while adventuring, and tunes out the world around him. Fairies’ Pasture has always been a breathtaking sight, lined with towering trees wrapped in ivy and bushels of wild flowers dotting the landscape. Amiera can’t blame him for turning a blind eye to the wretched world every once in a while, especially in such a peaceful pasture.
She walks over to Christopher, who immediately snaps his head towards the approaching footsteps. Calming at the site of his companion, he slides himself back onto solid ground, digging through his pack all the while. Amiera waits patiently for him to approach, and when he finally does, a small box of matches rests in his palm. Grimacing at the box, she takes a step back, “What are those for?”
Christopher scratches at the back of his head, averting eye contact as he attempts to explain himself, “They’re to practice your magic.” Amiera’s face scrunches as she turns to go, “No way! I want no part in this!”
Christopher, on impulse, dashes in front of the fleeing girl and prevents her from escaping, “Running from your destiny isn’t going to suppress your magic!”
Amiera’s expression is incredulous as her voice raises, “Destiny? You call this destiny?!”
Christopher shrinks back, “Maybe not destiny, but you can’t hide from your fears forever.”
Amiera scowls in his direction, but huffs out her distress and extends her hand over towards Christopher. He smiles happily and hands her the matches. She rolls the box around in her palms while Christopher jogs over to the log and rips off a huge chunk of bark. He leans the wood against the trunk of another tree before taking a few steps back and signaling for her to begin. Taking a deep breath, she takes a match from its home, counts down silently, and strikes it against the side. As soon as the match ignites, she shrieks and chucks the flame into the brook, scattering any nearby fish. Christopher calls out to her, grabbing Amiera’s attention, as he encourages her to try again. This time she focuses, now expecting the sudden flame. She clenches her jaw, lights the match, and carefully rests it in her palm.
The fire starts off small, no larger than a candle’s flame. Soon, the wood is burnt to ashes and a perfect ball of fire flickers in her palms. At first, she’s cautious, staring into the flame and slowly maneuvering her hands around, but eventually her excitement causes the flame to grow. Christopher cheers her on, proud of his friend’s accomplishments. His reassurance, accompanied by the girl’s growing amusement, causes the small wavering flame to erupt into a blazing inferno, strong enough to start a conflagration. Out of fear, she explodes the flames outward and away from her body. In the wake of the flaming detonation, Christopher is left burnt, hands shielding his face from any damage. As the flames subside, Amiera looks over towards Christopher who’s petrified over his charred, blackened hands. She runs over to him, scared and horrified.
Before she can utter a word, Christopher is roaring at her, “What is wrong with you?! Why can’t you control yourself?!”
She flinches, unsure how to answer. Christopher never raises his voice at her. She knows this is just another accident, but at the expense of her friend’s safety, how can she blame him? She tries to reason with him again, but Christopher continues to shout, causing the ground to rumble and the frightened girl to feel the weight of the world crashing down upon her, quite literally. As the enraged teen continues to shout and vent out his anger, the trees gradually bend towards the ground, flowers wilt under the pressure, and the entire world seems to flatten. Amiera screams at Christopher with all that’s left in her, begging him to calm down and focus. At the sudden opposition, the boy turns his attention back towards the girl, in a much calmer demeanor. Noticing his mistake, he backs down. The entire world snaps back to normal, gravity returning to its original state.
Christopher apologizes quietly, hands still burnt and searing. Amiera glides over to him, rummages through his pack, and removes a stretch of linen stashed inside. She snatches some plants from the ground around her and quickly makes a salve before wrapping his hands tightly with the cloth. The duo stands up quietly. Christopher hands Amiera another match and beckons her to try again. Hesitantly, she does.
Throughout the next few years, the pair practice their magic daily. They grow with it, incorporate it into their lives, and learn how to harness every ability granted to them. In due time, the young, innocent children grow to be “mature”, young adults. Still hiding their talents from the rest of the village, they camp out in Garder’s Grove, training and living out their lives knowing that some destiny is meant for the two of them, no matter how much Amiera resents it. They sit together, feet hanging over the edge of the mountainside overlooking their village. The light flashing from beneath the surface of the lake is still visible in broad daylight, even from atop their mountain, reminding each of them of the long adventure ahead.
For Christopher, he knows they are meant to protect those who cannot protect themselves. The power each of them wield is meant for the good of the world. He glances at her, the pure girl he grew with and came to love, envisioning the heroic duo battling against some greater evil and becoming legends. As for Amiera, tightly grasping the hand of the last thing she holds dear, she peers down into the depths of the lake, watching the light flicker, knowing someday soon she’d kill the bitch who slept under the waves and all the traitorous gods that committed genocide upon her family.
