The Lights Under the Lake

Chapter 1 - Misfire

BRIANNA FLETCHER AIMED HER crossbow carefully.

If she said so herself, she was a good shot, but the thin wooden walls of her bedroom were rather prohibiting, and the target was balanced precariously on top of a plant pot next to the window.

Plants of all kinds were scattered haphazardly on shelves, hanging from the ceiling, and stood in large pots in the corners of the room. Their appearance was hugely different, from thin vines with tiny blossoms like jewels dangling from deep green strings, to thick stemmed bushes with huge open flowers. Bri had always had an affinity for nature.

Scattered amongst the greenery, were several weapons of varying degrees of ruthlessness. They were accompanied by thick, leather bound books. Most of them were on horticulture, but a few were works of fiction, rare in Tenebris and most of the Deep West.

Those had been carefully collected, and even more meticulously stored in neat stacks on the shelf that took up most of the adjacent wall.

As if it was an afterthought, a narrow bed was squashed against the wall - it happened to be what Bri was standing on. It creaked ominously as she adjusted her footing, and prepared to shoot.

A moth-eaten armchair stood next to the bed, with a cushion, embroidered with a drayadaliss, Bri's favourite flower. Unlike the chair it sat on, this was in pristine condition.

Thin sheets of yellowing paper covered the walls. They were mostly sketches, but some were framed - a drawing of Bri and her family the largest, and in pride of place above the armchair. Colourful inked likenesses of drayadaliss' were most in evidence, but other flowers were also visible.

Bri let out a deep breath. She looked down the bolt of her crossbow, across to the lopsided target, which was wobbling precariously. Her finger tightened on the trigger.

"Brianna! Supper!" the shout came from down the stairs, echoing tinnily in the cramped house.

Bri spun round, pulled the trigger, and toppled off the thin bed with a crash. She groaned and watched as the bolt flew through the tiny window, and out into the moonlit streets.

She cursed silently. She would have to collect that after supper.

"Coming!" she muttered, and hurried down the spiral staircase, into the kitchen.

It was meant to be one room, but since it was the only ground floor space available to Bri's family that wasn't taken up by the shop, it served as a kitchen, dining room and living room all in one. A square table stood in the middle, four matching chairs on each side. Shelves and one cabinet, all made of the same dark wood stood against the wall. A thick door led into the shop - shut for now. There were no armchairs here; there was not enough space (it was cramped already, without adding unnecessary clutter).

"Did you break something dear?" asked her father, as he ladled thick soup from a huge pot into three bowls. "What was that noise?"

"I was practicing, and I fell off the bed." said Bri, pushing her hair out of her face.

Her father chuckled, and poked her gently.

"We have a master arbalist in the making Em." he said, grinning at Bri's mother.

"It would be better if she knew how to make the bolts - you can't just keep taking from our stock Brianna."

Emalah Fletcher was the town's arrowsmith, her husband doing the actual fletching and finishing. Their shop was well known to be the best and most reliable in the city. Bri had been practicing since she could walk. She preferred the crossbow to the bow and arrow, but was a dab hand at both.