SunRider

[15] Beyond the Stream

—Circa 4,900 E.E. (Economic Era-The 17th Era): House Silverskin and House Glover develop a feud over possession of land. The feud lasts three hundred years, affecting the economy of many cities, who are left without coveted Fibermoss-nets and orange wheat.—

The rushing sound of water grew stronger as Finn drew close to the banks. He ran around a grove of trees and slid down an embankment covered in dew. Ferns and tall grass swept past his face, slapping him as he skidded to the edge of the water. In the distance, he could hear voices calling his name. Finn had a strong feeling he shouldn't answer, but instead stay quiet and cross without being seen. There had been something about the dream that'd spoken to him in a deeper level, as if it had been a secret message. There was a way to accomplish this challenge, a method no one had thought of doing before.

     His new boots carved into dark mud and crushed rotting vegetation as he walked to the water's edge. The smell of wet wood hit his nose and a finite mist tickled his skin. Standing upon the banks, he examined the water once more, still unable to determine which way it flowed. On the other side, tall grass and closely-knit willow trees hid the ground. Anything could be there, watching and waiting.

     What would happen if he did cross? Nothing? Or perhaps his wish to activate his bracer would be immediately granted? Or would he die? No one had ever come back from crossing the stream and no bodies had ever been found. He fought with himself to make up his mind. What if this was his only opportunity to have a wish granted? He had to stop thinking. The voices in the village were still distant, but growing closer. Finn didn't have time to hesitate. He remembered the dream: how the green-eyed girl had turned him around. Not that way. Like this. He rotated backward, preparing to walk into the water while facing away from the opposite bank.

     The bracer and Goblin's wristband were splashed with water as he took a blind step, putting one foot into the churning waves. Nothing happened. He wasn't swept away. Hands didn't reach out and drown him. The near-translucent fish wove around his boot, curious to his presence. Still looking away, he put his other foot in the water, now standing in the stream. His heart pounded and he swallowed hard. He might never see Goblin again. Might never see all of Lenova, his biggest goal in life. Instead, he might drown.

     Finn stepped again, the water rising to his calf. He remembered he couldn't swim—had never been taught to swim. He walked backward and the water moved to his thighs. It was cold... yet warm. Everything about this stream contradicted itself. Its flow, its temperature, and even the way in which one had to cross it. Finn continued to move, the water mounting around him. As it hit his waistline and he walked even deeper, he was buffeted back and forth. The strength of the water grew and he did what he could to not slip on the rocks his feet tread upon. He imagined sliding under the waves and he knew if his head submerged, he wouldn't resurface.

     A fish splashed near his face and distracted, Finn slipped, chin dipping into the water. He waved his arms in windmills to maintain his direction. Upon finding his balance, he coughed out the water that'd splashed into his mouth. It was sweet. He continued, shedding the stream as he rose from the opposing banks. As he drew near to shore, tall cattails pushed about him. He was soon only treading ankle-deep in water. In the distance, he could see villagers led by Miriam, Piscus, and Goblin. They walked to the edge of the ravine which he'd slipped from. They were trying to find him.

     Weeds pushed about Finn, hiding him as he walked backward until his feet hit dry ground. With his heart pounding, he worked up the courage to spin in place and face the other side. Nothing fatal happened. Surrounded by willows and weeds taller than his head, he tasted the earthy smell of untouched vegetation and was relieved to be alive. Near his foot a fox ran by, stopping to stare at him in curiosity. Perhaps having never seen a human before, it wasn't scared. With a flick of its tail, it was gone.