The Call of Nys #5 (Waverly Stump and The 7 Realms)

19 - J U D S O N

At the crack of dawn, Judson was roused by droplets of water caressing his nose ridge. His eyes shot open and traveled up, where cold dew trailed down from the leaves like mini streams and fell all around him. He had spent the night outside because he was anxious about sharing a tent with Ayariel. Moreover, she was a total stranger. A generous stranger, but a stranger still.

She was yet to recover from unconsciousness and slept throughout the night without so much as a flutter of her eyelids. He had brought her into the tent for comfort and to shield from the cold then taken her place beside the fire outside. When it began to drizzle, he scurried to the tree for shelter and had unknowingly fallen asleep there.

His back ached as he detached it from the trunk, regret filling him for resting against the tree at all. He stretched, inspecting the environment for any oddities. The stack of firewood had turned into heaps of blackened, wet ash; the sky was a faint cyan as a result of films of white clouds draped across them, morning mist lined most of the atmosphere, and distant flashes of lightning warned of a possible downpour.

Letting out a sigh, he rose and suddenly noticed something queer. Little dewdrops were collecting to form a clear pool at his feet – the tiniest pool he ever saw. He squatted to peer closely at it and saw that it was starting to trickle on, like a running stream. A strange urge to discover what the phenomenon was all about pulled at him to follow the trail. The further it went, the bigger the stream became.

At the edge of a cluster of bushes, the waters spilled over a rocky cleft that led down into a brook surrounded by bulrushes, growing fern, and flattened reeds. On the other side of the silent waters was the prominent stump of a tree, and he halted at the sight of a lady seated on it. Thin, translucent wings, like those of a butterfly, were sticking out of her back, which was the part of her he could see better.

He almost let out a frustrated grunt as soon as he recognized her.

She rose, petals dropping to her feet, and stared straight at him then questioningly at the stream between them.

"You could either walk into it, or fly right over," He said, shaking his head. The sight of her was inexplicably agitating. "Because I am not coming to you."

Her sigh was audible. Suddenly, she broke into water and materialized in front of him. "There is absolutely no need to use such blunt tones with me."

He scoffed. "Would you rather I coat my words to please you?"

"No," Her head tilted. "But you can be nicer."

He studied her for a bit, then spoke in a gentler tone. "What is it you want?"

She came forward and cupped his face. "For you to listen to me."

He politely took her hands away and hurt flickered across her tiny features for a moment. Somehow, he had known they would meet again, but was as unprepared for it as he was the first time. Unexpectedly, she gripped his thumbs, her bright eyes clouding with emotion.

"I know I have failed you," She whispered. "And there is nothing I might do to redeem myself, but you have to listen to me. If it were not so important, I wouldn't have come."

He wriggled his thumbs free. "Exactly."

Stepping back, he glimpsed her extending a weak hand. "I did not mean. . ." She faltered and let out a breath. "There is something you must know."

"You made that clear before, but I am not. . . I do not want to hear it."

A mild frown curtained her face. "You speak as though you have an idea what I am about to say."

"I do not," He glanced at the tree stump and spotted pieces of jasmine and buttercup around it – the flowers she had dropped. "But I have lived long enough to know that whatever it may be, it is not good."