Monday March 18th, 2019

The exercise:

Write about something which takes place: at the river's edge.

4 comments:

Unknown said...

There are no rivers in Carcosa, or perhaps I should say there are no surface rivers. Exactly what goes on below the surface of Carcosa is another matter entirely. Still, I hope the prompt means that you had a fun family day out by the river somewhere, and not that you're hoping I'll return to the missing-ish children of WrongStart :) Incidentally, I noticed in your replies to comments recently that you seemed less than happy with your last teaching engagement -- what happened?
[Sorry, I seem to keep running over the word limit at the moment. I shall try and behave better!]

At the river's edge
"You brought friends, Derby?" Grace's voice was gloating. "And now they are dead as well! All dead, and I alone stand here, honoured and respected by the King."
Elizabeth, still shaken by the brutal murder, gripped the Power with a firmness that surprised herself, and she bent and twisted it, sending it curling out across the quarry towards Grace like a fisherman's net cast across the surface of the water. As she expected, Grace reacted to the movement in the Power, throwing up -- nothing. Even though she was quite a distance away across the quarry floor, Elizabeth could see the surprise in both her stance and on her face. She moved again, grasping for something that clearly wasn't there. Then the net of Power fell onto her and she went rigid, her arms compressed at her sides and her eyes staring, darting in her head and the only movement she was allowed.
"My lord!" she cried out, her words muddied by being able to move her throat and lips only a limited amount. "You have forsaken me?"
"What does she mean?" asked Elizabeth. Memnith shrugged. "Likely she's talking to the King in Yellow," he said. "Though your guess is as good as mine. And, for what it's worth, we definitely don't want to attract his attention. Nothing good comes of that."
"I should let her go?"
"Not just yet," said Memnith. "Let's find out who she killed first."

They arrived at Grace at almost the same time as Derby and Tomasz. Szymon hung back, keeping an eye out for anything else arriving, or waking up.
"I rather hoped it wasn't you she was stabbing," said Memnith hugging Derby one-handedly. "But I have no idea who she is or why she seems to have developed such an animosity towards you."
They looked down: Tomasz was kneeling by Jakov and Pyotr. Pyotr was stirring slightly, but Jakov, the knife still embedded deeply in the side of his head, was still.
"Can we save him?" asked Lord Derby. He looked towards Memnith who shrugged.
"I'm no healer," he said. "That is traditionally the preserve of the Lords Theological, and with good reason."
"It's too late," said Tomasz softly. "He is at the banks of the river already, all that can be done is to prepare the journey. He slipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out two coins. "One for you, and one for Jakov," he said, placing the coins in Pyotr's hand. The man's fingers twitched once, then closed around the coins and Tomasz let it fall to the ground. He stood, and for a moment he looked like he was praying.

Unknown said...

Then he turned and punched Grace in the stomach as hard as he could. The woman shuddered, still held in place by the spell that Elizabeth had cast, but her body rebelling and trying to contort within the confines of it.
"She can access the Power," said Elizabeth, puzzled. "I don't understand why she doesn't."
"You want her to?" Lord Derby sounded horrified, and he stepped slightly away from her. Memnith placed a hand on his arm.
"It would allow the spell to trap her access," he said. "It's more worrying that she doesn't attempt it, it means she may have tricks up her sleeve."
"She definitely has that," said Lord Derby. "She seems to be working with, or perhaps worshipping the King in Yellow. We found a Temple to him-"
"The Temple of the King," said Elizabeth softly.
"-quite. She seemed entirely at home in it."
"The King is reported to grant powers to his servants," said Memnith. "Though the reports are vague as to what powers they may be."
"About that," said Derby, raising his hand to his forehead.

g2 (la pianista irlandesa) said...

Later in the afternoon, Martel made her way to the River Quarter, named for the businesses that fed down into the busy harbor. She worked against the current of people, found the house, and as she approached she could hear sounds of metal behind the house—with a sigh she diverted and followed the sounds to a workshop out back.

“Look, space is important,” she said as she entered, “but we really need to talk—”
But then she looked up and saw that the person at the bench was not her brother, but his mentor. Martel bowed her head. “Uč’čiva Irse, so sorry to bother you.”

“It’s no trouble,” Irse replied, setting down her tools. “I take it you’re looking for Qaz?”

The pit of Martel’s stomach grew cold. “Is he here?”

“He isn’t—I haven’t seen him since yesterday.” She peered at Martel. “Is everything alright?”

But Martel barely heard her, and after excusing herself in a mumble she took off back down the road, stopping in all the common places between here and the guild hall, and from the hall all the way down to the harbor. She scanned every face, listened for any familiar voice, asked anyone she remotely recognized if they had seen her brother. Her whole core had gone cold, and her heart twisted painfully every hour that went by without any word of where Qaz was. Her mind raced into a desperate whirlpool, fraying her thoughts beyond proper comprehension.

An hour or so after the lamps in the square nearest the harbor were lit and the crowds thinned for the night, there was no point continuing the search. But she dared not go home, not without Qaz. Instead, she found her way back up through the River Quarter.

Irse was waiting on the porch, and came down to meet Martel, arms out. Without a word Martel immediately folded herself in her embrace and held fast—Isme was a head shorter than she, but she felt so very small and fragile.

“It’s my fault,” she heard herself mutter, ber voice felt entirely foreign. “It was a bad, bad idea, it’s my fault.”

Isme gently shushed her. “It isn’t your fault.”

“But you don’t–”

“It isn’t your fault.” She gave her a squeeze and pulled away to motion to the house. “Let’s take care of supper, let you get some rest, and make a plan tomorrow. This will get worked out.”
=========
Kinda tangentially brushed the prompt, but this part came and punched me in the heart & I couldn’t ignore it.

Marc said...

Greg - my replies to comments has been so erratic that I have to admit that I'm not sure what you're referring to.

I'm not sure if I made mention of it, but at the last Active Kids class I finally kicked one of the kids out. Him and his twin have been nothing but lippy and uncooperative from the start, but one decided that it would be right to run at one of the girls in the class and knock her to the ground because 'she was being stupid'.

I told him he finally crossed the line he's been pushing against and got the office to call his mom to come pick him up.

Woo hoo, a reunion at last! And Grace trapped to boot. I suppose she's stuck due to the King in Yellow's departure to London? I guess... at least something good has come of that?

g2 - I like that it made use of the prompt without being overt about it. Also: always happy to read more of this tale :)