Winter’s Child – Part 13

James Joseph Preston III looked out of the big window in the living room and grinned at the falling snow. He loved the snow.

“Dad! Dad!” He pushed off the window ledge and raced through the house, looking for his father. He found him in the study, cleaning up the desk.

“Dad! Did you see?”

“Hey, buddy. What’s got you so excited?

“It’s snowing. The big flakes that are best for buildin’ snow men!”

“The winter’s just starting, Joey. You’ve got lots of time to build snow men.”

“But I wanna build one now! Can we got outside? You’re puttin’ your stuff away. That means you’re done workin’, right?

James came around his desk and squatted down so he was on Joey’s level. “I am done what I was doing,” he said. “But we can’t build a snowman today. You mom and I are going out, remember?”

“Do you have to?” Joey asked, a hint of whine in his voice.

“Yes, buddy, I have to. But maybe I can find some time tomorrow.”

“Promise?” Joey asked, having heard this before.

“I’ll do my best, buddy.” James rose to his feet and tousled Joey’s hair.

“And hey, you get to spend time with Christine today. You like Christine, don’t you? Maybe she’ll go out with you.”

“Chrissy doesn’t like the snow,” Joey informed him.

James barely refrained from rolling his eyes. “Well, maybe she’ll play video games with you. And we’ll be home by suppertime.”

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Joey sighed loudly, arms crossed with his chin resting on one chubby fist, his too-short legs dangling over the edge of the chair, swinging back and forth. If he really strained on the outward swing, the toes of his running shoes could just reach the edge of the coffee table leaving a very satisfying scuff mark on its shining surface.

Not that it mattered really. Chrissy wouldn’t care. Chrissy didn’t care about anything but her phone since she got herself a boyfriend. Joey didn’t know who he was, but he hated him all the same. His favorite babysitter wasn’t fun anymore.

His legs stopped swinging and he jumped off his chair.

“Chrissy,” he went over and tugged at her sleeve. “Chrissy! It stopped snowing. Can I go out ‘n play?”

Chrissy waved a hand in his general direction, but it was unclear whether she was giving him permission or shooing him away. Joey wasted no time on an interpretation but headed with five-year-old speed for the back door.

He struggled into his snowpants and pulled on his old boots that did up with velcro instead of the new ones with the laces. Not being able to manage the zipper himself, and not wanting to ask Chrissy for help in case she hadn’t been giving him permission to go outside, he left his jacket undone. Leaving his hat and scarf behind, but putting his mittens on, he went out the back door.

And hour later found him perched atop the snow covered picnic table, surveying his work. In the center of the back yard, amid the much-trampled snow, was a large snowball with two smaller ones beside it. Try as he might, he lacked the strength to stack them.

He sat much as he had in the house, dangling legs swinging back and forth, chin resting on a very damp, clenched mitt. He sighed and tried to think of something else to do outside. There seemed to be no point in going back inside.

Grandpa Preston would have known what to do. Joey missed him a lot. Grandpa never yakked on the phone all day. Grandpa was never too busy to play with him. And when it was too nasty to play outside, grandpa would sit with him by the fire and tell all kinds of neat stories, like the ones about winter’s children.

Joey sat up straight. That’s what he could do. He could go look for one of winter’s children. Maybe one of them would like to play with him. And then he could bring it back for his dad to see and then maybe grandpa could come back to live with them again.

He slid down off of the picnic table and shot a quick glance at the house before hurrying off, unmindful of the fact he was never, under any circumstances, to leave the back yard without permission. Forgetful of all of grandpa’s warnings of what could happen to little boys in the snow.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here:
Introduction, Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5,  Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

The Pond Part 28

As a temporary measure, Izolda cast a spell on the paths leading towards the pond, to discourage visitors. It was not a perfect solution, but it was the best she could do for now. Discovering the identity of the invading entity was proving more difficult than she could have imagined.

More time passed. Fewer people were drawn to the pond, and no one cared to use it for swimming anymore. Those that went there for a picnic often returned with tales of glimpses of a beautiful woman. Sometimes she was floating among the weeds, just under the surface of the pond, and sometimes she was strolling along the edge of the water.

There were a few who claimed she appeared on the far side of the pond. She never said a word, but would beckon them forward and they would find themselves walking towards her, almost as though hypnotized, stopping only at the touch of the cold water on their feet. They would watch as she continued forward, sinking beneath the surface. Often they would hear an echo of a woman’s laughter as she disappeared.

Rumours sprung up that she was some kind of forest spirit, but no one could agree on whether she meant good or evil. At least until another of the villagers was found floating face down in the pond. It was Tomas, Nikolai’s nephew, son of his brother Sasha who had died in the pit.

Izolda felt his loss keenly. He was not much older than Mikhail and the two were often to be found together. He was almost like another son to her. To her shame, while she had redoubled the protections on her husband and children, she had not thought to extend that protection to others.

She did not normally tuck the children into bed at night herself, she left that to Marta, the housekeeper, but this night she had a desire to make sure all was well with her sons and daughter. Dmitri and Pavlina were already asleep, but Mikhail was not.

“It was my fault,” he told her, working to keep the tears at bay.

“No, my son,” she said, sitting down on the bed beside her. “Tomas’s death was a tragedy, but it was not your fault.”

“She wanted me,” he said.

Izolda’s hand, that had been stroking his hair, stilled. “Who wanted you?”

“The spirit in the pond. We saw her, we could see right through her. That makes her a spirit, doesn’t it?”

“So it would seem,” Izolda said carefully. “What happened?”

He gulped, and moved just a fraction closer to her. “We were at the pond. I know we weren’t supposed to be there,” he said in a rush. “But we just wanted to see what all the fuss was about.”

“What’s done is done,” she murmured soothingly.

Emboldened, he continued. “It just looked like a scummy old pond. But then Tomas said there was something moving in the water. Then the woman appeared, right up out of the center of the pond. She didn’t say anything at first, just smiled. Then she kind of glided towards us.”

Izolda held her son a little closer. “What happened next?”

“She reached out and tried to touch me, but something stopped her. She kind of hissed, and looked angry. Then she spoke.”

“What did she say?” Unconsciously, Izolda’s grip on Mikhail tightened.

“She—she—she said to tell my mother that her protections would not last forever. Then she sank into the water and disappeared. What did she mean, mama?”

“She meant nothing, my son. You saw naught but a spirit.”

Izolda kissed Mikhail’s forehead, murmuring a spell that would fog his memory. She stayed sitting on the edge of his bed, staring into space, for some time after he drifted off to sleep. No, her protections would not hold forever, she needed to try something else.

She had a thought of something else to try, but it was somewhat drastic. And Nikolai was not going to like it at all.

The Pond - Part 23

Neither Izolda nor Nikolai had felt it necessary to keep in touch with their respective families after settling down, but news from their homeland did filter down to them from time to time. Shortly after the birth of their second son, Dmitri, word reached Izolda that a great flood had struck her village. Her entire family had been swept away – father, brothers, aunts – all gone.

Though she had hardly given them a thought over the past few years, it was still a bit of a shock. It was disconcerting to think of her aunts, her grandmother, all that power, gone. Did they have no warning to prevent such a tragedy? Could this have been what her dreams had been about, a fore-warning? It did not feel right, but it was the only explanation she could come up with.

The image of the pond stayed with her, until finally she left her children with the nursemaid Nikolai had hired to help her and went to the pond in the woods. It was easy to find, there was a path that wound through the woods, made by the feet of all those who had gone before her.

At first glance it was just a picturesque setting, perfect for picnicking or trysting, She studied it from the shelter of the trees, noting the flattened grass where someone had sat for a lengthy period of time, reading perhaps. There was a white towel hanging from a branch of one of the trees, obviously the forgotten remnant from a swimming party.

But there was something about the pond itself . . . Sure she was alone, she tried looking with her second sight. There was a faint overlay, but try as she might, she couldn’t figure out what was causing it. It did not seem malevolent, but neither did it seem healthy. Unsettled, she returned home, still without answers.

A few weeks later, several children went swimming in the pond, and came home screaming. They claimed they saw a woman there, just floating with her hair all spread out and tangled in the water lilies at the far edge.

Nikolai and several of his strongest workers went to the pond to search, but, much to their relief, they found no trace of a body anywhere. The whole incident was put down to youthful exuberance. In all likelihood the children had mistaken the early-blooming water lilies and weeds below the water for a body.

Izolda, however, felt a chill when she heard the children’s story. She believed them. Believed there was something inhabiting the pond, but without proof she could do nothing about it.

A little more than a week after that, a couple who were courting down by the pond caught sight of a woman, naked as a jay bird, walking slowly along the far edge of the water. They called out to her and she turned and started towards them through the water. She walked steadily until the water covered her head and they waited, but she never resurfaced.

“And did you have anything to eat or drink while you were at the pond?” Nikolai asked.

“Cheese and bread, and a bottle of wine from the grapes pressed in the fall.”

“And how much of the wine did you have to drink?”

“We—” The couple exchanged a glance. “We drank the whole thing.”

“As I recall, last fall’s pressing made for a very strong wine. What you thought was a woman was no doubt an animal entering the pond to slake its thirst.”

It seemed more plausible than the idea of a naked woman walking around the woods, and the incident was soon forgotten.

But Izolda did not forget.

The Pond - Part 20

Izolda held up her hand, admiring the gold band on her finger. On the wagon seat beside her, Nikolai was a solid presence, filling her with optimism for the days ahead.

Everything had gone as planned, better even, than she expected. Nikolai had come to the room at the inn, expecting to see Katrinka. Though he was not surprised, or displeased to see Izolda, his shock at her news froze him in place long enough for her to embrace him, transferring the dust for her spell to work onto his skin.

She planned on allowing him time to mourn, while at the same time encouraging the revival of his affection for her. Things were different in this new land. An extended period of mourning was unnecessary. It surprised her to learn that Nikolai had only told his friends that he was going to fetch his wife, he’d told them nothing about her ahead of time. She could not believe her good fortune – it would be easy to slip into the role of fiancée.

But once again, Nikolai surprised her. As an unattached female, it would be unseemly for her to travel with him without a chaperone, so he gave her a choice. He had come for a wife, and he intended to return with a wife. She could take Katrinka’s place, or he would pay for her passage back to Russia.

While she had convinced herself that Katrinka had not been the right woman for Nikolai, from the way the girl had carried on she had assumed there was a great bond of affection between them, if not love. She had never considered the affection was one sided. Would this make things easier, or more difficult for her? She had no idea.

She had not needed to feign her surprise at his ultimatum. Either the spell she had begun weaving over him in Russia was stronger than she realized, or he cared for no-one, wanting only the status of being married. Her resolve hardened. Perhaps he might not care for her in that way yet, but by the time they reached the place where they would make their life together, he would.

And so they were married in the chapel that had been pre-arranged by Nikolai for him and Katrinka. Katrinka, Izolda knew, would not have liked the dark, tiny chapel that smelled of the sea. She would have demanded a church, and the opportunity to wear her finery. And she would have expected a fine dinner afterwards.

Izolda and Nikolai had a pleasant enough meal in a café near the harbour, but Izolda couldn’t have cared less. She had what she wanted, marriage to Nikolai. Now she had the rest of her life to turn him into the man she knew he could be.

“I have a confession to make,” he told her, facing the trail again.

“So soon? The ink is hardly dry on our wedding papers,” she teased.

He smiled faintly. “It is something I was going to tell Katrinka,” he said heavily.

“Oh,” Izolda’s mind raced. Why would he feel the need to tell her something that was meat to be shared with Katrinka?

“I was going to try and talk her out of this marriage. That’s why I was so relieved when she wrote that you were coming with her – you could be our chaperone.”

He went on in a rush. “I was sure there would be someone in the town that would be more suited to her. She was unused to hard work, and she was somewhat . . . frivolous. She would have driven me mad, had we married. But it had been arranged.” He sighed, and his shoulders slumped. “You must think me a terrible person.”

“No, I—no,” Izolda said, stunned at his confession. “But . . . why marry me, then? You were under no obligation to do so.”

“From the first moment we met, I felt drawn to you. I knew you would be the kind of wife I dreamed of. You are strong, and capable. You would work alongside of your man. And you are beautiful,” he added.

“I cannot believe this,” Izolda whispered.

“I know I should be mourning Katrinka, but I barely knew her. You, I feel I have known you always.”

“We are going to have a wonderful life together,” Izolda prophesized.

The Pond Part 17

It took three days to reach the port at Sankt-Peterburg, where the steamship waited to take them to America. The closer to the city they got, the quieter Katrinka became, almost as though she was having second thoughts.

But Katrinka was easy to control, and there was no way Izolda was going to let her back out now, not when she was so close. It took very little power to make Katrinka happy again, and to erase the misgivings her father had at sending his beloved daughter into the unknown.

While Fyodor, Katrinka’s father, talked to the ship’s clerk, Izolda looked over to where the steerage passengers were waiting. She could not imagine being squeezed in amongst them. Thanks to the money Nikolai sent and the generosity of Katrinka’s family, the girls were to share a first class cabin.

“Have you ever seen anything so enormous?” Katrinka asked, clutching at Izolda’s arm.

Resisting the urge to shake the other girl’s hand off, Izolda glanced at the ship they were to take. “It is quite large, isn’t it?”

“You could fit our entire village in it three times over!”

Izolda ground her teeth together to keep from snapping at Katrinka. This is who Nikolai was being forced to marry? It was a good thing she planned to save him from such a fate.

The clerk motioned another of the ship’s crew over and Fyodor turned to the girls. “This is one of the stewards on the ship. He will show you to your cabin. “

The man tipped his hat at them.

“I want you girls to go straight to your cabin, no loitering on the deck. And stay there as much as possible. Nikolai will be there to meet you on the other side and will take you to the home he has built. From what I have heard, he is doing very well for himself.”

Katrinka threw her arms around him and squeezed. “I will miss you father, and all the rest of the family too,” she said tearfully.

“You will make Nikolai a fine wife,” he said gruffly, eyes moist. “And you, Izolda. A pretty girl like you will have no problem finding a husband.”

“I hope so,” she murmured, suffering herself to be hugged as well.

There was a blast from the ship. The steerage passengers began picking up their belongings and forming a queue.

“Write as soon as you reach your destination,” Fyodor said. “And God go with you both.” He hurried away before he was reduced to tears.

Katrinka made as if to follow him, but Izolda laid a hand on her arm and together they turned to follow the steward. He led them to a different ramp than the steerage passengers were taking and they boarded the ship. Having been given his instructions, he led them straight to their cabin, pausing only long enough to point the way to the dining hall on the way.

Their trunks were already waiting for them. The steward told them what time they would be expected for dinner, and then left them alone. Izolda looked around their room with a critical eye. It was a little small for two, but would be just perfect for one.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

For the first few days of the voyage the seas were calm. But after the fifth day the water grew rough and Katrinka grew seasick. She grew worse and worse, until Izolda sent for the ship’s doctor.

After a cursory examination, the doctor, a rotund little man sporting a goatee, told Izolda, “It looks worse than it is. Trust me, my dear. No one has ever died of seasickness.”

He might have been less light hearted if he’d seen the thoughtful look on Izolda’s face as he turned his back and left.

The seas calmed and Katrinka grew better. She developed the habit of taking an evening walk along the rail of the deck and of course Izolda accompanied her for propriety’s sake. They became a common sight, the young bride to be and her faithful companion.

The ship was forced to change course to avoid a typhon and there was speculation at dinner that night about how many days they would be behind schedule.

“And I would suggest you young ladies forego your walk this evening,” the ship’s clerk, who was at their table this evening, advised. “Though we have only caught the tail end of the inclement weather, the winds can be quite strong.”

“I agree,” Izolda said quickly. “It is far too dangerous to walk on deck.”

Katrinka looked like she was going to say something, but subsided and merely smiled.

That evening, a rain-soaked Izolda burst into the first class salon. “Help, oh, someone help!”

“What is it child?” the doctor said.

“It’s Katrinka! I fear she has been swept overboard! Oh, someone help!”

The purser sent for the captain, while the doctor led a sobbing Izolda over to one of the club chairs.

“Now tell us what happened.”

Izolda took a sobbing breath.

“I thought I’d talked Katrinka out of taking her evening walk, but she slipped out of our cabin when my back was turned. I followed, thinking to talk some sense into her.” Another gasping sob. “I could see her just in front of me, near the bow of the ship. There was a gust of wind, and then a wave, and then—and then Katrinka was gone!”

She buried her face in her hands and began to cry in earnest.

The doctor looked over her head and exchanged a glance with the purser. They would check the deck, just in case, but the other girl was as good as gone.

When Izolda finally retired to bed that night, it was with a smile on her face.

The Pond - Part 16

Izolda stood in the witch’s cave, her cave, for the very last time. She glanced around, making sure she was not leaving behind anything important. In the pack at her feet was the book of spells and recipes that had once belonged to Varnya. As well, there were several sealed glass bottles of potions, and several bundles of dried herbs that she might have difficulty finding in the new world.

On the shelf by the bed was the journal she no longer had any use for, as well as the tinctures she didn’t require for the journey. They’d be easy enough to recreate at a later time. The bed was made, the cave was clean – she shouldered the pack and left without a backward glance. At the mouth of the cave she paused and set the ward. It would only allow a woman to pass, and only one with power.

She moved through the woods silently. This was the only thing she was going to miss. The forest had been her sanctuary, a source for herbs for her potions. While she was sure the new world would have forests as well, it would not be the same.

Back at the village, she slipped into the house unseen. A large wooden trunk rested on the hearth. It was only half full, but Izolda didn’t have all that much of her own. She wrapped the spell book in a spare skirt, as much to protect it as to hide it, and then fitted the bottles into a case she’d had made by her brother Dimitri, who had a fine hand for woodworking.

Hearing the approach of someone, she quickly buried the case in the center of the trunk. Though the bottles could be mistaken for bottles of scent or skin creams, she didn’t want to take the chance of anyone recognizing them for what they really were.

Izolda’s aunts Anya and Polina entered, both carrying bundles of cloth.

“Izolda!” Polina said. “We were hoping to find you here. Come, come, see what we have brought you.”

They set their bundles on the table.

“What is all this,” Izolda asked, mystified.

“We know there is not a husband waiting for you, as there is for Katrinka,” Anya said. “But there is a good chance you will find one, and quickly too, a pretty girl like you.”

“You have spent so much time helping Katrinka with her trousseau, you’ve had no time for your own,” Polina added. “So we have taken it upon ourselves to help you out. See, here are towels and bed linens.” She held out a towel for her inspection.

“And here is a quilt, made by us all,” Anya said, resting her hand on the folded fabric.

“Oh, how wonderful,” Izolda said, playing the part of being genuinely touched. “I cannot believe you did this for me.”

“We could not let our sister’s daughter go off to start her new life unprepared,” Polina said gruffly.

“Thank you, both of you.” Steeling herself, Izolda, who rarely touched another person, hugged them both. She placed the linens in the trunk. “It was just what was needed,” she told them.

“I will miss you sorely,” she said, closing the trunk.

“You will not have time to miss us,” Anya assured her. “First there will be Katrinka’s wedding, then no doubt you’ll be planning one of your own.”

“No doubt.”

The next morning her trunk was loaded onto the bed of the wagon alongside Katrinka’s larger, heavier one. It was a day’s journey to the seaport where the ship was waiting to take them away, so the girls said their goodbyes at the village.

At last they were on their way, Katrinka’s father driving the wagon. Katrinka kept turning and waving, tears streaming down her face. But Izolda as dry-eyed as she faced forward into her future.

The Pond - Part 13

Nikolai Antonovich seemed right at home among Katrinka’s friends. His shameless flirtations caused more than one girl to sigh with yearning. Izolda remained impassive, at least on the outside. On the inside . . . on the inside she was already making plans.

She watched with the others as Katrinka gathered up her things and took Nikolai’s arm so he could escort her home. Her hands were sweaty and her heart was racing. As soon as the happy couple were out of sight, chatter broke out among the group.

“I cannot believe Katrinka’s good fortune!” Marta said.

“I wish my parents had betrothed me as a child,” Svetlana said with a sigh. “As long as it was to someone like Nikolai. What do you think, Izolda?”

Izolda weighed her words carefully. “I think, if I were in Katrinka’s place, I would find it hard to wait to be married.”

Later, when she was alone in her cave, Izolda considered her options. Love spells were chancy things, and may not last long term. And love spells could only be used once. But a compulsion spell, well crafted, could be renewed if it started to wear off.

But compulsion would not be enough. Any fool could see that although the marriage had been arranged there were true feelings developing between the two. This had to be stopped. Attraction must turn to aversion, for both of them. This would be harder to achieve.

Her time was limited, however. The plan must be completed before Nikolai left for America, and he was scheduled to leave in just two weeks. Izolda chose her spells carefully and memorized them. Her plan would work, it was flawless. She had not felt such excitement since she vanquished Varnya.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Olga was a little surprised when Izolda and Katrinka became close friends. It was not that she had anything against the girl, it’s just she had no magic whatsoever. It just did not seem like Izolda to befriend someone like that.

Already having misgivings about her only daughter, Olga started keeping better track of her comings and goings, and who she was spending her time with. Because Katrinka was spending more time with Izolda, it was only natural that they were both spending time with young Nikolai.

That, in itself, was not unduly worrying, but when the couple became cool with each other, arguing over trivial matters, Olga realized everything was not as it seemed. Izolda appeared to be confidant to both Katrinka and Nikolai, sympathizing without taking sides.

Something did not ring true for Olga. Using her magical sight, she studied the threesome and the lines of magic connecting them, Katrinka and Nikolai to Izolda, First a chill filled her, then it was burned away by anger.

Izolda was breaking the most basic rules of magic. Every minute she spent with the couple drove them further apart. At the same time, she was laying a compulsion on Nikolai. Olga couldn’t quite determine what the compulsion was for, but she could guess.

For some time now, she’d known Izolda wanted something beyond village life. Never would she have dreamed her daughter would go this far to get it though. To ruin a couple’s future, to compel a man’s affection – it was unthinkable!

With a heavy heart, Olga sent Izolda off to pick some fresh goosefoot. The fact that the girl made no protest at leaving her friends behind meant whatever she was doing was working to her satisfaction. As soon as the door shut behind her, Olga offered the sullen couple a cup of tea.

“I think you will find it to your liking,” Olga told them. “It is a special blend I make myself.”

They accepted politely, and when they finished, Olga brought up her own magic. This time she didn’t just look at the lines of magic, she carefully pictured them being severed. With a soft chant, she made it so.

Several minutes passed and then the couple seemed to come out of a trance.

“Forgive me,” Nikolai said. “I seem to have lost the thread of our conversation.”

“I believe you and Katrinka were just saying your farewells.”

Nikolai looked at Katrinka and smiled. “I believe we were. We have much to talk about.”

“Yes,” Katrinka agreed, smiling back. “And many plans to make before you leave. Will you give our apologies to Izolda?”

“Of course,” Olga said. “I’m sure she will understand.”

The couple left and Olga settled down to wait. It was well it was early in the day, there was no one to witness Izolda’s shame.

Izolda returned with her arms full of goosefoot. She looked around in surprise. “Where are Katrinka and Nikolai?”

“Beyond your reach, at least for now.”

Carefully setting down the goosefoot, Izolda tried to brazen it out. “I don’t know what you mean.”

“I know what you have been doing. You seek to come between a betrothed couple and set them at odds. Are you really so desperate for a man you must steal another’s?”

Izolda’s face went white, then filled with rage. “It was an arranged marriage, they barely knew each other.”

“And you think that makes it all right?” Olga let her own anger show. “It no longer matters. I have broken your wicked spells, including the one that compels Nikolai to turn to you for affection.”

“No! What have you done? He leaves in two days, there is no time to reset the spell.”

“That’s right.” Olga nodded in satisfaction. “In two days he will be beyond your reach. You will spend those two days reflecting on your shame.”

Pure rage suffused Izolda’s face. “You’ve ruined everything!”

She chanted a guttural spell under her breath and pointed her hands in her mother’s direction. Olga’s eyes widened in shock. She clutched at her chest and fell to the floor. Izolda stared down at the woman who had given her life, and felt not an ounce of regret.

The Pond Part 12

Just because Izolda was spending more time trying to fit in with the other girls of the village, did not mean she was neglecting her studies in the cave. She still studied when she could, but it was getting harder to get away, and she was missed if she stayed away too long.

She was sixteen now, and though several of the young men of her village had taken an interest in her, she became adept at discouraging such attention lest her father get ideas about marrying her off before she was ready. The last thing she wanted was to remain in the village the rest of her days.

If she had cared to, she could have easily been the leader of the small group of village girls, but she did not want that kind of responsibility. A leader’s movements were kept track of, her absences noted. Explanations of her movements would be needed. Just being part of the group was exhausting.

Perhaps it would have made a difference if any of them had been the least bit interested in magic. Though she was very careful to keep her true power hidden, it would have been nice to have someone with similar interests. But these girls had little interest in magic, and most of them had very little in the way of power.

“I do not understand, mother,” Izolda confessed one evening. “Why is it that magic runs so strong in our family, but not in others?”

“Magic is a thing that must be nurtured, used, to make it grow. The women in our family have done so for years.” Olga shrugged. “It is not always so with other families.”

“At one time, marriages were arranged to encourage strong magic in the offspring,” her grandmother put in. “You would be wise to seek such a husband. Think of the sons you would have!”

Izolda ducked her head, hoping the red in her face would be mistaken for maidenly embarrassment rather than the rage it was. Why would she want to bear sons who could wield magic when she could not?

“Magic is status,” her aunt Anya added. “It is the reason your father is leader of this village, and well respected by others.”

"You could do worse than marrying for status," her said.

The following day, Izolda joined her friends, still mulling over what her grandmother had said.

“What is wrong, Katrinka?” she asked. Katrinka was normally the most cheerful of the group.

“Nothing is wrong,” Katrinka said. “Not really. My betrothed has told me he is emigrating with his brothers. Our marriage will be delayed until he is settled and sends for me.”

“I did not realize you were betrothed,” Izolda said in surprise.

Katrinka nodded. “Since we were small children. His mother and mine were friends and wished to bind our families.”

“And you had no say in this?”

With a shrug, Katrinka said. “He is pleasant to look at and comes from a good family. I could do worse.”

“Where are they emigrating to?” Marta wanted to know.

“America.”

There were gasps from several of the girls.

“America is so far away!” Svetlana exclaimed. “Won’t you miss your family?”

“Perhaps. But it is a chance to forge a new life in a new land. But it might take a year, maybe two, before he’s ready to send for me.”

The girls fell to discussing both moving so far away and having to wait so long to be married. Having never been far from the village, most couldn’t fathom going so far, even for the prospect of a good marriage.

“What’s he like?” Marta asked.

Katrinka smiled. “You will be able to see for yourself. He’s coming to walk me home later.”

There was excited chatter for the rest of the afternoon. At first Izolda had trouble picturing moving to America. She’d heard many stories about the wilderness and the savages. Two of her brothers had shown an interest in emigrating until Andrei put his foot down with a resounding no.

When Katrinka’s betrothed arrived to fetch her, she introduced him to everyone. When Izolda looked up at him, she saw her future. And it’s name was Nikolai Antonovich.

The Pond - Part 3

It might have been natural for Izolda to resent her baby brother, but much to Andrei’s chagrin the two became very close. Izolda did her fair share of the fetching and carrying, cooking and sewing, but was never too busy to answer Matyei’s endless questions or play with him. The two could often be found curled up together in a corner by the fireplace while Izolda told him stories.

Andrei would often watch them, something dark in his eyes. The unwanted girl-child was strong and robust, but the favored son was frail and somewhat lacking. There was a part of him that resented this. The son should be the stronger one. Still, he allowed it to continue because the girl made the boy happy, and no one else had the time to spare to give him the extra attention he deserved.

Even as these thoughts went through his mind, the girl looked up from where she was showing her brother how to make a wicker doll. A shiver went up Andrei’s spine. It was as if she could read his mind. There was something uncanny about her and he often wished he’d had the portents read after her birth, as he’d done with his sons. She was a model child – thoughtful, unobtrusive, always ready to help. But he just couldn’t warm to her.

Izolda continued to grow, staying unobtrusive, and out of her father’s way. And she continued to give Matyei what time she could, becoming not just his playmate but his confident.

“ ‘Zolda, you’ll never guess!” he exclaimed, bursting into the kitchen where she was kneading the bread dough. He’d just turned seven the day before.

“I’m sure I won’t,” she said with a smile. She, herself, was now ten, tall and slender and able to wear her long dark hair up in a woman’s bun.

“Papa said I’m to start magic lessons!”

Izolda’s hands stilled in the bread dough briefly before she continued. Only two days before she had asked her mother if she’d be taking lessons in magic, as her brothers did. Olga’s smile was sad and she stroked a hand down her daughter’s hair.

“No, my daughter. You will not.”

“But—”

“It is not fair,” Olga said with a sigh. “I know. But that is the way of things. We do the small magics of the kitchen and home and keep the rest to ourselves. You have a rare gift, my daughter. I am sorry it cannot be nurtured as it should be.”

“I don’t understand,” Izolda said. “Why can’t it?”

“Your father is narrow in his thinking. He does not accept change as he should. And the idea of a woman being able to wield the same magic as a man is too big a change for him to accept.”

“But you learned magic.”

“Yes, bit by bit, spell by spell, and mostly on my own, as you will.” That was all her mother would say on the matter.

“How nice for you,” Izolda managed to say to Matyei now.

“Maybe we can take lessons together,” Matyei said, a little more subdued.

“Such is not for me.”

“Why not? You have magic, I’ve seen it. I can ask Papa and—”

“No!” Izolda said fiercely, spinning around to face him. “You must not tell Papa of my magic.”

“But I can ask about us taking lessons together,” he said stubbornly.

“It is no use, little brother. Papa will never agree, and asking will only anger him.”

Matyei opened his mouth to argue, but one look at his sister’s face and he closed it again. His exuberance gone, he left her to her breadmaking.

Later, Izolda brought him some witch hazel to put on the bruise rising on his cheek.

“You never listen, do you?” she said, gently dabbing his bruised skin. “Did you tell him of my magic?”

“No,” Matyei said dolefully. “I did not wish to anger him further.”

“Then perhaps you learned something after all.”

The Cave – Part Eighteen

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way. But there's something else going on as well . . . and Sara has just started to figure out what it is.

Sara still wasn’t a hundred percent sure she wasn’t dreaming all this – the hike, the cave, the cave-in … But here she was, who knows how deep underground after having been pushed off a ledge by her best friend and then being swept away by a river.

“Maybe I inhaled some mushroom spores on our hike and I’m hallucinating this whole thing,” Sara muttered. The fact that she didn’t recall seeing any mushrooms didn’t really matter, it made more sense than the alternative.

You are the champion . . .

Was the voice a whisper in the air, or just in her mind? She decided that it didn’t really matter.

“I’m nobody’s champion,” Sara aloud. She was just a CPA who had gone hiking with a friend and fallen down a rabbit hole.

You must complete the seal and stop the evil . . .

“And how am I supposed to do that?” she asked in frustration.

You will find the way . . .

For guardian spirits they didn’t seem all that helpful, Sara decided. It would serve them right if she just stayed here and waited to be rescued. Her leg was fine now, she had food, she had water, she could last for several days, maybe even go back to following the river.

Sara let out a gusty sigh. whatever else was going on, she knew deep down in her soul that she had to finish this. Whatever this was. And that meant finding her way back to where the mosaics were and probably confronting Eve.

“Can I ask you a question?” Sara didn’t wait for a reply. “You said your leader created the mosaic with the great seal, but what about the paintings in the first cave. Did you, or she, do those as well?”

There was a long pause. We do not know . . .

It made her wonder. Maybe the paintings had been a first attempt at creating a seal. Or maybe they pre-dated the arrival of the guardians. It was an interesting puzzle, but not one she really needed to solve right now.

Her back pack, that she knew she’d left behind before jumping in the river, was lying beside her. Resigned, she stowed the remaining food in it as well as the stoppered bottle which, to her surprise, held some kind of juice, not water. With no idea how long she was going to have to make it last, she’d have to remember to eat and drink sparingly.

Climbing to her feet, she shouldered her pack.

“Okay,” she said. “I’m ready. How do I get back to where I need to be?”

This way . . .

There were three exits from the cave Sara had awoken in and she felt a tug towards the one on her left. Picking up her battered lantern, she entered the passage. A sudden thought occurred to her.

“I know this lantern was supposed to have an extra long battery life, but it’s been days. Have you somehow been recharging it?”

Yes . . .

“Oh. Well, thank you for that.” Another thought occurred to her. “And what about Eve? Has this evil entity been recharging hers for her? Never mind,” she added. “I guess it would only make sense.”

Sara shook her head slightly. She should be terrified, or at least freaked out by her situation. Maybe the guardian spirits were doing something to her that kept her calm. Maybe she really had gone crazy.

Hurry . . .

She caught the sense of urgency in the guardian’s voice, whisper, whatever, and quickened her steps. Did this mean Eve was getting close to finishing the mosaic that would let the evil out? And just how, exactly, was she supposed to stop her? It couldn’t hurt to ask.

“How am I supposed to stop Eve from completing her mural?”

You will find a way . . .

“Well that’s real helpful,” Sara muttered.

Finish the great seal . . .

“Oh, sure. Easy peasy.” She couldn’t seem to help the snark that crept into her voice. But then she was feeling a little snarky. If the guardians were to be believed, there was a lot riding on so little information. She had a feeling it was going to be a far more daunting task than she imagined. It was easy, they would have finished it themselves.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight,  Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen, Part Seventeen 

The Cave – Part Seventeen

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way. But there's something else going on as well . . . and Sara has just started to figure out what it is.

Eve stood back to study the swirling colours of the mosaic. The sequence of colour was much more intricate than she first realized. There was a pattern to it, but every time she thought she figured it out, it seemed to . . . shift.

Repair . . .

Maybe if she replaced the missing stones it would make more sense. Yes, she decided, before she did anything else, she needed to repair the damage. It became imperative to her that she do so.

The small gap in the spiral, maybe she should start with that. Or maybe replace the missing stones in the rest of it. She swayed a bit on her feet. It was all so confusing. She glanced around uneasily. Something wasn’t right. Why was her thinking so muddled?

Her eyes glazed over as the stones in the mosaic began to pulse, almost like a heartbeat. Thump thump. Thump thump. The drumming came from all around her now, she could feel the pulse inside her. Her heart began to beat in time with it.

There was a brief surge of panic, but it was quickly subsumed by the pulsing beat. Her thoughts stilled. The essence that made her “Eve” shoved to the back of her mind. Her consciousness was overshadowed by the task at hand – repair the mosaic. Complete the mosaic.

She had an unshakable feeling that the spiral was crucial to the whole design. Perhaps with the spiral completed, she would be able to figure out the rest of the design. Mindlessly, she picked up one of the stones and pressed it to the slight indentation.

This time there was no blue light, and when she let go of the stone it fell to the ground. Eve frowned. Choosing another at random, she tried again, with the same result. Her breath came out in a huff. Nothing was more important that completing the mural, but how was she supposed to do so if she couldn’t figure out how to attach the stones to the rock of the cave?

How had she got the first one to stick?

with care . . .

She didn’t just pick a stone at random, did she? No, she’d chosen it with care.

Eve squatted down beside the pile of stones. Staring at them intently, she spread them out with her hand. Not just random, but each stone must have purpose. There was light coming from the stones she’d collected, but not from every stone.

She touched one, a little brighter than the rest, and felt a tingle. Her fingers curled around the stone and she rose to her feet. Studying the mural, she stepped forward and pressed the stone to one of the empty spots where a stone had been missing. The blue light flashed, and the stone adhered.

That was more like it. She carefully selected another stone, and placed it in another indentation. Again the blue light flashed and the stone stayed in place. Hours passed. Eve worked slowly and steadily. She felt neither fatigue nor hunger, and when she ran out of energy she simply collapsed where she was.

When she awoke her stomach was cramping. Was it hunger or thirst, she wondered. Did it really matter? With a groan, she pushed herself to her feet and stood swaying. She needed food, and water. But the fungus she’d harvested was gone. She must have eaten it without realizing it.

Her water bottles lay scattered on the ground, empty. How had that happened? She couldn’t remember the last time she’d had a drink, but there lay the evidence she had.

“This isn’t right,” she whispered. Had she really become so obsessed with the mural that she’d couldn’t remember eating or drinking? Glancing up at it she was surprised at how much progress she’d made. How long had she been working in her trance?

She needed to get control of herself. This couldn’t happen again. Perhaps it was her weakened state that was responsible for this. She needed to refuel. Mural forgotten, she staggered down the passage that led to the fissure with the fungus.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight,  Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve, Part Thirteen, Part Fourteen, Part Fifteen, Part Sixteen

The Cave – Part Thirteen

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way. But there's something else going on as well . . .

The fungus tasted only slightly better than it smelled, but if it kept her alive that was all that really mattered. Eve chewed slowly and thoroughly, washing it down with a sip from the bottle of water she was carrying. She waited a moment, just to see if there were any aftereffects, but there was no nausea, no dizziness. Relieved, she broke off another piece and ate it. It wasn’t haute cuisine, but it filled her empty stomach.

As Eve got used to the texture and taste of the fungus, she began to eat faster and faster. It really didn’t taste so bad, once you got used to it. And more importantly, it would keep her alive so she could do what she had to do.

Soon she was ripping off chunks as fast as she could, stuffing them in her face and swallowing them down. Of course she realized her mistake only seconds after the massive amount of fungus she was ingesting hit her achingly empty stomach.

Eve had just enough warning to back away and turn around before she doubled over, vomiting up the fungus she’d just eaten.

Stupid! She should have known better than to gorge herself after having done without food for so long. It was a rookie mistake, and one she didn’t intend to make again. When she was certain she’d purged everything, she rinsed her mouth out with water from her bottle, then sat with her back against the stone wall to catch her breath.

She sipped from her water bottle, giving her stomach time to settle. Eve knew it wasn’t the fungus itself that made her sick, it was the amount she ate, and the speed with which she ate it. Though it couldn’t have been more than a few days that she’d been without food, it was enough time for her stomach to start to shrink.

She was lucky she found the fungus when she did, she reminded herself. Between it and the water in the other tunnel, she had a real chance of survival.

Discretion being the better part of valor, Eve got to her feet and went back over to the fungus. She broke off a couple of large pieces, but rather than eat them right away, she decided to take them with her. She could always come back for more.

As she made her way back out to the cave, she wondered how fast fungus grew. She needed to be a little more careful, make sure her demand didn’t outstrip her supply. After all, she didn’t even know how it started growing there in the first place. It might be a fluke and once it was gone, that would be it.

There seemed to be no reason to keep going on to the cave with the paintings, so Eve retraced her steps back to the mosaic cave. Peace stole over her as she stared up at the mosaic once more. She hadn’t even realized how tense she’d become until she started to relax.

There was a roughness to the wall abutting the mural that formed a narrow ledge. Eve set her lantern on it, freeing her hands so she could sit down beside the stones spilling out of her pack. Nibbling on one of the pieces of fungus she’d brought back with her, she studied the mosaic in the soft luminosity from the light. The other mosaic, the on the opposite wall depicting an actual scene, held no appeal for her. Her attention was riveted on the abstract mosaic.

It rose and fell, dipped and swirled, the workmanship exquisite. The design seemed almost random but she was able to follow the pattern it formed. It was mesmerizing, pulsing with life. As she continued to stare at it, it began to glow.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight,  Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven, Part Twelve

The Cave – Part Twelve

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way. But there's something else going on as well . . .

Sara paused to take a rest. She was taking them more and more often, and every time she did it got harder to get up again.

Hunger was a dull ache inside her, an ache that rivalled the ache in her leg. She didn’t even want to think about her leg. It was enough she knew it was swollen with infection, and she was pretty sure she was running a fever.

Her thoughts drifted to Eve, and what might be happening with her. And then her thoughts just drifted away.

Sara jerked awake. How long had she slept this time? Given that she was feeling rather refreshed, it must have been a lengthy rest. A smart person would get moving while they had the energy to do so, but for some reason she lingered.

Raising her light, she checked the level of the water. It had peaked hours ago and, if she was not mistaken, it was beginning to recede.

The light flickered, then steadied again. It occurred to her that this artificial light wasn’t meant to last forever. What would happen when the battery finally ran out? She’d be left in darkness, that’s what. She stared down at the turbulent water, mesmerized. If it was receding, then it had to be going somewhere.

Sara sat back again. The way she saw it, she had two paths before her. She could keep following the ledge and hope she came to a way out before she starved to death, or she could take a swim and hope the water was draining through a way to the outside. Not great choices.

Have faith, the watcher whispered, although not loud enough for her to hear. This is your last challenge.

Sara took a large drink of water, trying to placate her empty stomach. It wasn’t fooled, but the hunger pangs did ease up a bit.

Follow the ledge, or take to the river? One thing for certain, she couldn’t just stay here indefinitely.

The ledge was probably safer, but there was no guarantee there wouldn’t be a gap in it too wide to cross, or that it might peter out altogether.

Glancing down at the water, she tried to gauge how fast it was moving. Certainly faster than she could hobble with her bad leg. She was a strong swimmer, although probably not so much in her weakened state.

Still . . . she could probably manage to stay afloat and let the current do all of the work.

Her light flickered again and she felt a chill of fear. How much worse would it be to be trapped here in the dark? The battery couldn’t last forever, it was a miracle it had lasted this long.

The thought of a quick resolution, one way or another, had a definite appeal. As for the light, she’d paid extra for it to be waterproof, she could take it with her.

She had to trust she was doing the right thing. Staring down at the water, she couldn’t hold back a shiver though. Closing her eyes briefly, she firmed her resolve and turned away to divest herself of anything that might weigh her down. The knapsack was a no-brainer.

All it held at this point were the three water bottles. Next, she sat down to remove her hiking boots. They’d only weigh her down in the water. If she made it to the outside, she’d damn well walk in bare feet. And if she didn’t, well, it hardly mattered, did it?

She didn’t for a second believe she’d be able to hang onto her light, so Sara worked the lace out of one of her boots. One end was tied to the light, and after some consideration she tied the other end to one of the belt loops of her pants.

“And now you’re just procrastinating,” she told herself. “Time to take a leap of faith.”

It wasn’t so much a leap, as an easing off the ledge and into the water. Sara gasped as the cold water struck her, then carried her away.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight,  Part Nine, Part Ten, Part Eleven

The Cave – Part Eleven

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way. But there's something else going on as well . . .

The trembling of the earth woke Eve from the trance she’d been in. How long had she been standing in front of the mural, hours? Days?

The quake didn’t last long, and the rumbling was no worse than the sound of a mild thunder storm. Eve felt like she’d could have stood there forever if she hadn’t been jarred back to her senses. She was no longer thirsty, but hunger ate away at her.

Her back pack was at her feet, rocks spilling out of it. Why had she picked up so many rocks? It didn’t make any sense. Nothing was making any sense. Eve rubbed her forehead, swaying on her feet. She was so confused. She needed something to eat.

Maybe there was something they’d overlooked in the first cave. They? What was she thinking. There was no “they,” there was only her. Leaving her back pack behind, Eve retraced her steps back to the cave with the paintings.

She’d only taken a few steps down the passage when she stopped. There was a large crack in the wall. Funny, she didn’t remember there being a crack here before. Maybe there had been but they were just too focused on their footing to notice it.

There was that “they” again. What was the matter with her?

Not being able to help herself, Eve raised her light to better examine the crack. It was bigger than she realized, more fissure than crack. Big enough for a person to slip through.

Curiosity getting the better of her, she squeezed through the crack, finding herself in a narrow corridor. It was a tight fit, but not too tight to deter her. It was a good thing she wasn’t claustrophobic.

She followed it for several uncomfortable yards before it widened up. The air grew damp and dank, and what was that smell?

The corridor came to an abrupt end in a cul-de-sac. No, not quite a cul-de-sac she realized, raising the light. The corridor continued on the other side, but the opening was too small even for her.

Despite the dampness, the little chamber wasn’t cool, like she would expect it to be. In fact, it was rather warm, which didn’t make any sense. Caves generally stayed the same temperature the further in you went, they didn’t usually get warmer or colder.

With a shrug, she turned to go back the way she’d come, and spotted the source of the odor.

There was fungus growing on either side of the walls framing the entrance to the chamber. But why here and nowhere else?

It probably had something to do with the damp heat. She knew it was possible for certain types of fungi or plants to grow underground. But was it safe to eat?

Eat.

Eve looked at the pale white fungus growing on the wall and along the edges of the floor. She went hiking with a group once that was big on foraging for their meals, and those meals had included a variety of edible mushrooms and fungi. Too bad she hadn’t paid attention to which ones were safe.

Eve looked at the fungus, all but salivating. It would solve a lot of her problems, keep her from starving to death. Reaching out, she stroked the smooth, white flesh.

Eat.

On the other hand, it could be poisonous. If she bit into that spongy flesh, would it make her sick, make her hallucinate? Would it kill her?

If only she had a way of determining whether this bounty was her salvation or her end.

Eat.

The voice whispered through her mind. Was it her hunger talking, or something else altogether? Eve sighed.

Eat.

The voice was right. She should just suck it up and eat. What’s the worst that could happen?

She could die, that’s what. But at least it would be a quicker end than slowly starving to death. At least she hoped it would be.

Eat.

Eve broke off a piece of the fungus. And ate.

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight,  Part Nine, Part Ten

The Cave – Part Ten

To quickly recap: Friends Eve and Sara were rock climbing and stumbled across a large cave with primitive drawings on its walls. A rock slide traps them inside. Having little choice, they go deeper into the cave, hoping to find another exit. The cave system seems to be a mixture of natural and man-made and the further into it they go, the stranger Eve starts acting. Just as Sara thinks they’re getting close to a way out, Eve shoves her off of a ledge into a chasm. Now they must each find their way.

Sara waited until she’d filled all three bottles before drinking again. As thirsty as she was, she didn’t want to make herself sick. The water was cold and fresh, and if there were bits of dirt or leaf matter in it, she couldn’t have cared less.

Tucking the other bottles back into her pack, she discovered an apple tucked in the bottom.

“Sweet! How did I miss this?”

She hobbled over to the rock fall and sat down with a sigh. The apple was a little bruised and battered, but no fruit had ever tasted so good. Lantern at her feet, she nibbled slowly, making the apple last as long as possible. She ate the entire thing, including the core.

When she was finished, Sara moved so she could better see her injured leg and poured the rest of the water from the bottle she was holding over the scape. It was too late to stop the infection, but maybe it would keep it from getting worse.

Now that she’d quenched her first and had something to eat, she should probably rest for a bit. It was the smart thing to do, she told herself.

She shone the light around – the ground was pretty much unvaryingly rocky, although right beside the rock fall it was slightly more uniform. With a sigh she slid down from her rock and curled up on the ground. She laid the staff beside her and used her rolled up pack as a pillow. The last thing she did was turn her light off to save the battery, hugging it to her like a teddy bear.

Sara woke with a start. It took her a moment to orient herself. She had no idea whether she’d been asleep for minutes or hours. Her feet were cold. Why were her feet cold? And there was a sound like running water.

She was still clutching the lantern and turned it on now, bringing the intensity of the light up slowly. “What the heck?”

Quickly, she pulled her feet up. Her soaking wet feet. Scrambling to her feet she turned the light all the way up.

“Uh, oh. This can’t be good.”

While she’d been sleeping the trickle of water at the bottom of the riverbed had swelled until it was a steady stream.

“Where is this coming from?” she wondered. And more importantly, where was it going?

Something must have opened up when the earth shook. Now she had a choice – follow the water to see where it was going, or go back and trace it to its source in hopes it was coming from the outside.

Whatever she decided, she’d better do it quickly as she realized the water was steadily rising.

Sara backed up to the rock fall. Whichever way she went, it wouldn’t be safe staying down here in the riverbed.

“Damn it!”

With no real idea of how long they’d been in here or how far she’d come, she didn’t see that she had much of a choice. She’d follow the water. If she had any kind of luck it was flowing out of a fissure in the rock.

Looking up towards the top of the rockfall, she was relieved to see that the ledge continued in the direction she wanted to take. Now all she had to do was get up there.

Though her leg was still painful, it supported her weight. The climb wasn’t as bad as she feared, nor was it as high. She was halfway up before remembering her walking stick. She glanced down but didn’t see it, not that she would have gone back down for it, she’d just have to leave it behind. The wall of the chasm could provide support if she needed it.

She reached the top and was happy to see the ledge was wider than the ones she’d used previously. Putting the gap the rockfall left behind her, she started off in the same direction as the water.

The ledge was smooth and even, a little too smooth and even to her mind. She couldn’t help but wonder if these ledges were natural, or if someone had made them. Other parts of the cave system seemed to be man made as well, which meant people had used these caves at one time. Which meant there had to be another way out. If she hadn’t been so tired and hungry, the very thought of a way out would have put a spring in her step.

At least she had a source of water, she thought, glancing over the edge of the ledge. The water had risen enough that she could see it, and she stopped in her tracks as a new thought occurred to her. It was rising pretty quickly. There were still several feet to go before it reached the ledge, but what happened if it kept rising?

* ~ * ~ * ~ * ~ *

Missed an installment? Catch up here: Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four, Part Five, Part Six, Part Seven, Part Eight, Part Nine