Uncertainty – The Word Worker

The Edge

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They called it The Edge. In reality it was a dam, the greatest feat of engineering ever achieved. The power of the great glacier harnessed, tamed, to do man’s bidding. To him it was more.

The wars of the twenty-third century had left scars upon the fertile equator and stripped the temperate plains to desert. With water rationed and food scarce, desperation had created The Edge to warm and distribute the ice of the polar climates. Longing for what was lost had diverted a mere fraction of arctic power to pockets of living memory.

Like this mountain stream, tumbling rocks over and over in its tiny rapids, only to filter through the moss into infinitesimal falls. Like many, he came often to walk the swinging bridge, artificially propped above waters that could have been waded, hung at the edge of empty air like so much possibility. Unlike many, he came to grieve.

He knew what others would not acknowledge. The Edge, the last great hope, was doomed. A century, maybe, could be wrung from the glacier, but no more. If the scars were not healed, and soon, The Edge of the future would be its end. And with the insulation of memory become recreation, there would be no healing.

Wormhole

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She could still see the town below as if through a pea soup fog, street lights shining incongruous against the blue sky. It was near midnight when she had walked out of the glare of those lights into the darkness of the hills. She hadn’t expected the night to be so dense, nor for it to explode into sunlight within a single step.

Nothing made sense. The asphalt-paved county road she had chosen for her escape was now nothing but deep ruts in a sea of green. No trace remained of the farms and homes that had skirted the town; only bare, rolling hills marked the horizon instead.

She had shaken her head wildly and hefted her suitcase. It was a hallucination. Or a dream. Or… she had marched onward, ignoring the evidence of her senses. In a minute she would be alright. In a minute everything would be normal. When sweat had trickled down the back of her neck she had turned back to see the town bathed in white shadow, and knew.

She had been so desperate to get away, to disappear. Walking was a long shot, but it was the only chance she had to escape his omniscient fingers that probed every corner of the world. Her suitcase dropped from nerveless hands and she collapsed to her knees beside it in the red ruts. She would wait here. If he didn’t walk up that wagon trail by nightfall, she could breathe. A different time? A parallel universe? It didn’t matter. He would never find her again.

The Map

It was the worst excuse for a map I had ever seen. Trust Lin to come up with something like this. Too much imagination, not enough sense, that girl.

That square might be the airport, I thought. Or if I was holding it upside down, maybe it was the fairgrounds. Given the giant question mark in the middle, I wasn’t holding it upside down.

What was that question mark about anyway? Who uses punctuation on a map? Lin would probably call it a challenge, but seriously. I just want to get where I’m going, not waste half an hour and twenty bucks worth of gas playing guessing games.

Next time I should probably just ask for written directions. Although, knowing Lun, she’d find a way to make that just as pointless. Could a map be written in poetry? If not, she’d probably try.

I wadded the fake parchment with unnecessary vigor and tossed it into the back seat. Time to ask for directions. “Excuse me, could you direct me to Knight’s Row? It must be, I’m supposed to look for the fourth gate west of the Great Hall. No, I’m not trying to be funny. Wait, come back! Hey, I just need directions!”

The address, Lin. Next time, just tell me the address.

The Elevator

FB_IMG_1589902792589 I stood on the boardwalk, gazing out at the elevator glowing faintly in the reflected light of the moon. The water was eerily still, barely a whisper in my consciousness. Pap, Mam, and I had been in line on the boardwalk since a week gone, since the day we were granted our tickets at the shore office. We’d been given a week’s rations in a wheeled cooler, issued uniforms in various shades of blue according to the strict set of guidelines posted on the wall of the office waiting hall. Mine was an ugly flat royal shade with large pockets and no distinguishing marks, the uniform of a pre-productive student. I hated it.

Pap and Mam sat on the the single duffel bag we had been given, that held the change of uniform provided, our passports and tickets, and the few personal items we had been allowed to bring. Their backs against the opposite rail, they huddled together, Mam’s head on his shoulder. She beckoned for me to join them, but I wasn’t ready for sleep yet. The elevator stood visible at the end of the boardwalk, just waiting, motionless for the first time since we had first seen it early that morning. Over and over I had watched it spin its way under the waves, carrying family after family to their new future.

I folded my arms on the railing and set my chin on them. Pap had talked for weeks and weeks about fair work, and new opportunities. Mam had been dreaming about a new house and neighbors. They hadn’t asked me what I thought. I remembered Ellie’s face when I told her we were leaving. And Boris, who had scowled and stomped away never to speak to me again. They were my best friends. We had done everything together since we were tots. Ellie and I had made pinkie promises just last year in third form to grow up and take care of each other. Boris and I had planned to join the Fieldball team together next year. Now I would never see them again. No one who went below ever came back.

That was the deal. Start over, that’s what they said. No ties to above. Personal items were heavily restricted, only useful items allowed. I was just glad that my fieldball was considered a useful item for a pre-productive. Mam had her art supplies; they barely qualified, and she had cried over leaving the portrait she had painted of Granda and Grana. No ties, not even to memories. Pap had a handful of books; they wouldn’t let him keep his Pap’s tools.

In the morning the elevator would descend empty and bring the welcomers up from below. Their white uniforms and slicked-back hair would shine in the early sunlight, like the surface of the waves. Only welcomers wore white; only welcomers ever returned to above. They would walk down the final stretch of boardwalk to unlock the gate, where they would stand and count the people jostling through. When the day’s limit was reached, they would close the gate, and those behind it would watch the space gradually widen behind the lucky ones who made it to the elevator.

In the morning we would be the first. In the morning we would see the sun, the surface of the ocean, the above, for the very last time. We would step onto the elevator with the shining welcomer and spin into the depths forever. So tonight, I stood at the railing and watched the moon. Tonight I said goodbye.

The Frost Bubble

FB_IMG_1577495577958 Nevaeh blew through the wand, her breath white in the crisp air. I shivered, wishing I had taken the time to grab my coat before following Nevaeh out here. Despite skin the color of chalk and deep hollows in her cheeks she seemed unbothered by the cold.

Moving ever so slowly, she touched her bubble to the icy railing. The tiny feathers of ice that crept around it’s circumference seemed to be drawn from the chunk of ice filling my chest. They mirrored the blue lace of veins marking my daughter’s bare skull, the chill reminder of a fragile life.

Nevaeh laughed with innocent delight, for the moment forgetful of weakness. She clapped her hands and I wondered at the normal sound. I could almost have expected the clacking of bone, but not yet.

She stretched one finger to gently touch the feathery surface, only to see it crumble beneath her hand. Her sigh seemed to deflate her like the bubble, her strength gone like that of a frost fairy in spring. She wrapped her arms around herself and shuffled back inside as a single frost feather brushed my cheek.

The Aftermath

FB_IMG_1574886918099 I stared at the last piece of pie, barely seeing it. It had been on the plate in front of me long enough to be room temperature, and the dollop of whipping cream atop it was looking not quite so whipped anymore. Of course returning to Earth after a magical war would coincide with the Thanksgiving holiday.

All the happy families around us in the restaurant left me sick to my stomach. They had no idea what had just happened; they couldn’t feel the magic exploding from the collapsing barrier. I glanced over at Dagda, sitting across the table picking at his own pie with a pained expression. Brigid sat next to him, head down, eyes gazing into nothing. Casual passersby would probably just assume we were a dysfunctional family trying to make it through the holiday. If only that were true.

They would know soon enough. The worlds were uniting once again, just as had been prophesied. None of us had quite realized what that would mean. Fae peoples were being scattered around the globe in fits and spurts, in some cases plunged into a world of which they knew nothing, in others their own homes displacing Earth structures. Within an hour or two word of the increasing chaos would reach even the most oblivious of celebrators.

Suddenly furious, I snatched up my fork and plunged it viciously into the center of the slice of pie, smattering cream onto the tablecloth. My companions both started, their expressions deepening into worry. “It isn’t fair!” I snarled. “Is this what we fought Dracul for? To replace one chaos with another?” I shoved my chair back with enough force to rattle the glasses on the table and draw mildly curious glances from nearby diners, and stood up. “I hate magic! I hate it!”

I stalked away, my vision blurring. I took a deep breath. The last thing we needed now was for me to lose control. There was no telling what power would ignite before magic found its place here. Balhon and Kizi were waiting in the city park, unnoticed in the trees. That was where I needed to be. Their strength and hope would calm me. Maybe.