Alma had always hated the smell of flowers. Ever since she was a child, it was enough to make her eyes water. Her mother had always told her she was overly sensitive. Hated anything too bright, too loud, too colorful. And nothing reminded her more of that hatred than the plague that struck her town.
Nobody knew exactly where it came from. There were rumors that it was a new biological weapon, to wipe out the last non-magical humans. Others believed it was some kind of divine retribution. Alma didn’t concern herself with such rumors, just the fact that it had taken away her mother within months. There was no burial, no headstone, just masked men, and a cart. But even then, the rest of her family decided they’d try their best to have a funeral. A ceremony, if one could even call it that, in the backyard. Alma was tasked with gathering as many flowers as she could. She didn’t retain a word of her aunt’s eulogy. The only thing she could think of was the last thing her mother had said to her.
“Don’t fear death, Alma. It’s the one thing that unites us all.”
Her mother was a strong believer in the afterlife. So much so that it seemed it was all she really concerned herself with. She never told Alma any stories about the world before magic, or anything from either of their childhoods. The only thing that seemed to make her smile were stories of people living in the clouds in eternal joy.
Alma was the only one outside that day. Everyone else in town was either too scared, too sick, or too dead to join her. For the first time, she noticed the sound of her shoes clicking against the gray pavement as she walked.
Bellum had never been so quiet.
The short brick buildings with no one on the stoops. Windows drawn closed. Street vendors that either abandoned their carts or left with them. Alma had never been one for conversation, but the lack of anyone calling out to greet her was something she just couldn’t see herself getting used to. This new plague caught on fast and killed quick.
She stopped in her tracks when something colorful caught her eye. Chalk drawings. Probably from her neighbors’ children. They looked old and faded. faint and pink flowers, Clouds drawn in blue. The biggest and most vivid, though, was a yellow circle of a sun. She closed her eyes and tried to imagine what it looked like when they first drew it. Briefly, she felt a childish desire to go home. She was home, was she?
Was home a place? Or was home in the small talk, in people walking dogs, in children playing on the sidewalk? It was the same town. And yet, Alma might as well have been lost in the dense, green woods down the road. It almost felt like it was mocking her. A place that teemed with life so close to a place where everything was dying all around her. Alma stepped over the drawing as carefully as she could, not wanting to disturb it any further. The children were alive, as far as she knew. The woods were in view. That’s where she really wanted to go. Anything, anything to get out of this now ghostly town.
She had been walking for a few minutes, taking in the beautiful monotony of it all. The sounds of birds, the scent of mud, the greenness of it all, when she heard someone humming. She looked ahead.
There was a girl in a tattered green dress kneeling by a bush.
She picked a bunch of herbs, and held them up to inspect them before putting them in her basket. Then she turned to Alma, with a strange, knowing look on her face. Her eyes were strikingly, startlingly green. Alma looked away.
The girl spoke. Her voice was warm. Gentle. “What are you doing all by yourself out here?”
Heat rose to Alma’s face, but she managed to compose herself as she replied. “I just needed to clear my head.”
“Here?” She quirked a thin eyebrow. “It’s quite dangerous. Monsters hiding everywhere.”
“If you’re so worried about the monsters, then why are you out here?” Alma narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
The girl pursed her lips, and picked another handful of herbs. “I can do magic. You can’t.”
“Hm? How do you know I can’t do magic?” What was it with this girl?
“Mages can always sense magic when it’s present. There must not be much where you come from.” She tilted her head, smirking. “Where did you come from?”
“Not sure if I’d like to share that with a stranger.”
“Can I at least have your name?”
Odd way of phrasing it, but ok. Before Alma could even open her mouth, she heard a shriek. The girl yanked Alma behind her. Swooping towards the two was an enormous bat, its wingspan easily twice Alma’s size. She clapped her hands over her mouth. So those were the monsters she had been talking about.
Yet, the girl seemed perfectly calm as she stood and raised both her hands. They became clouded with silvery light. The light began to form itself into something that looked solid. A pair of fish. With an elegant sweep of the girl’s hand, the fish each swam to the bat, each circling it rapidly. With one final shriek, the bat exploded into a puff of black smoke.
“I… Thank you.” Alma whispered, her voice shaking.
“Of course. If you still want to stay out here while I finish harvesting… well, I don’t have to be back for a bit.”
“Neither do I.” Alma settled down next to the girl. “Alma. My name is Alma. I’m from Bellum, up the road.”
She shook her head sorrowfully. “Goodness, that poor little town. My name is Freyja. It’s nice to meet you.”
The two sat in silence for a bit, while Freyja continued to harvest her herbs. There was so much Alma wanted to know about Freyja. About where she was from. About her magic. About that strange look on her face when she saw her. But for now she was content to sit with her in the silent woods, picking herbs instead of flowers.
Gina Forbes has been writing fantasy stories since she could hold a pencil. She is currently studying creative writing in college, and wants to be a graphic novelist.
Mountain Jay Books 