Friday, April 12, 2013

The Pond of Magic- Writing Prompt/Fan Responses

Who is the girl that reads the future from the pond? How does she help, or destroy, the village?

Response from Morgan Silver & Lawrence Pitchford: 

She's a bit scared of what she can do and starts out helping people with small matters, but slowly works her way up to bigger things. 

People begin to notice and pester her for her knowledge, and the lines between moral and immoral become blurred. Especially when she falls in love with someone who already loves someone else. 

Dum dum dum dum....

Thanks for participating, Morgan! I can always count on you to spread the creativity. -K.N. Lee
For more on Morgan Silver and her creative imaginings:

By Lawrence Pitchford:
  Helen stared into the dark pool. The hour was late, and the creatures of the night were about. If her father knew that she’d slipped out of the cottage, in the middle of the night, on the eve of Hurot, he’d have her hide for sure. Lucky for her, and him, he didn’t know that she’d been doing it since she was five.

A squawk caught her attention and she glanced over her shoulder to see the familiar thrush sitting on one of the branches of the long dead sapling. “Greetings Barharton,” she said. The bird bowed its head once and then eyed her from the side. “I hope there is some good news tonight for me,” she added.

In three days she would turn thirteen, and be married to Geris Hobart, the son of a local farmer, who stood to inherit a thousand acres of prime land, but she did not love him. In fact, his brutish ways had shown her that she should fear the man, for his propensity for cruelty and avarice could not be hidden by his father’s efforts to make him a suitor. So, to the pool of standing water she came. It had served her well in the past, looking into it and telling it her woes.

The first time she came was the night after her mother died; Helen was only five, and the pool told her to expect good tidings. The next year her father married again, and she soon had a baby brother. Her step mother was kind and loving, and they all got along famously. The second time was when her pet rabbit Uri died and the pool told her she would be surprised in a week’s time. When her father brought her a pony to love, she was sure the prophecies were not to be ignored.

Holding the small lantern up over the black pool, she inhaled deeply, closed her eyes, put her fingers into the water and swirled counterclockwise once. “What am I to do? My heart does not belong to Geris, and his cruelty infamous among the Folk. My tears would flow if I had any left, but alas, they are all spent,” she said.

From somewhere deep within the pool a light appeared. It looked like as if one was watching the coming of a candle from down a mile long corridor. Slowly it approached growing brighter, more powerful, until it shown from the pool like the mouth of a giant lantern. “Helen,” a voice said.

“It is I who cometh,” she responded.

“Deep sorrow is not known by you yet. Folly you cry now to me, but before you leave this enchanted place, your heart will be torn asunder. Though in despair you shall dwell for nigh upon ten years, at the end, reprieve shall be yours, and love’s truth shall wash the darkness away with light.” The brightness began to diminish. Slowly it receded and faded until only the reflection of Helen’s lantern remained.

“What do you suppose that was about?” she nervously stated to the thrush. The creature chawed, then took flight. Standing too, she began to move off across the broken landscape along the ancient road. The ruins and crumbling walls of the once powerful city passed by her.; her mind was a muddled torrent of thought. Then she saw it. 

In the distance an eerie orange glow illuminated the sky. For a moment she was perplexed, but soon realized it was a fire. Her feet barely touched the ground as she raced along the rutted path, and turned across the field owned by the Hobart’s. The freshly plowed furrows caused her to stumble, as she closed on the glow. Getting closer she could see the flames, then the dead. Farmhands, cows, horses, all strewn about like stalks of wheat after a reaping; some were hacked to bits, others had arrows protruding from them. The Hobart farm was ablaze, and she knew no living thing within could survive such. 

Standing there she felt numb, then she saw a wagon pushed into the field. She approached, and gasped as she saw the flayed corpses of the senior Hobart and his family. She backed up, turned and vomited onto the ground. Scrambling to her feet, she turned toward her father’s cottage, and saw the glow of orange there too.

For more on Lawrence Pitchford:

Photo by Tidesend