The Rule of Fire and Chaos

Chapter One

I place another bowl on the floor to catch the drops of rain coming in. Like everything else in this old cottage, the roof is falling apart. There are cracks in the walls where vines have grown right through to the inside, but I don't mind. I just let it grow. I like it better this way. I shiver as I pull the blanket around my shoulders tighter and decide it's time to light a fire. The rain is coming in violent waves and the wind is howling outside. I get the fire started easily and stare into the dark shadows it casts around the room until thunder cracks, startling me out of the trance. I watch through the window as lightening follows, lighting up the sky with a flash. I love storms like this. It's such an elegant display of the power of nature.

I crawl into bed and suffocate the flame in the lantern next to me. The quiet in the cottage is a stark contrast to the sounds of the storm raging outside. It makes me feel cozy nestled into bed, the fireplace still glowing with warmth. I pull the quilt up to my neck, hoping the fire lasts a little longer, and let the sound of the rain lull me into a restless sleep. But as I drift off the visions creep in again, tormenting my mind. The dreams aren't exactly the same every time, but they retell the same story night after night.

I'm standing on top of a hill, looking over the land of an unfamiliar world. Thousands of small lambs lay slaughtered and spread out for miles. I look down at my blood covered hands and know I failed to stop it. I feel a familiar hand touch my shoulder and I turn to rest my head against his chest. Tears flow from my eyes and as I look up to see his face, I wake up. I'm always grateful when the dream ends before I have to lay eyes on him again.

The sun is shining through the thin curtain on the window and I can hear birds singing outside. I must have slept late. I make my way over to the basin of water on the table and splash my face with cold water. I make note that the water needs to be refilled and plan to walk to the spring today. I pull on my boots and grab the garden basket by the door. It still has a few tomatoes and some basil left in it from picking the garden yesterday. The soil is rich and my garden is lush. Of course, I'm sure my source has something to do that with that. It gives me a green thumb, to put it lightly.

I notice my hands are getting callouses and I rub my palms proudly. This life is far different than the one I left, the one that left me with such soft palms in the first place. I was a prize to be won when I emerged. The most beautiful girl in the village- and an emerging witch. My parents couldn't have been prouder. Suitor after suitor knocked at our door asking for my hand in marriage. If only they had chosen someone else sooner-before he showed up. I think of his face and the way he looked at me that day, and I feel that familiar pain in my chest. Stop, I think to myself, I can't change the way things turned out.

I take the long way to the spring that goes by the lake. It's a short walk from the cottage. I never stay long, but every few days I visit, just to stare at the water-to make sure I can still see the glimmering silver light that's barely visible at the bottom. The water is cloudy and dull after the storm last night, not recovering as quickly as the rest of this world. I walk along the waters' edge for a while, listening to the song of a bird that I can't see. It must be high up in the branches, safely hidden away.

 When I get to the spring, I fill up a small jug and close the lid tightly, so it doesn't spill. The sun is sitting low in the sky with a bright peachy glow around it. Some days are shorter than others here. I guess I haven't perfected that part, but it doesn't matter. Time doesn't really matter in this place anyway.

I make it back home as the sun is setting. The shorter days are the worst. I miss the warmth and sunlight. I push the door open and step into the dark room, hearing the scampers of tiny feet scurrying away. I don't mind the mice. They usually stay out of sight. I fill a pot with water and pour the rest in the basin, then warm my hands over the fire after I light the stove, grateful for the warmth, before I begin preparing my dinner. It's been a while since I've had any meat, I can't stomach the killing-but I baked a loaf of bread yesterday morning and can get whatever I need for a soup from the garden.