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Nov. 18th, 2012
Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam Prompt: Food as a portal.
Tattoos were expensive, which meant that there were those who found themselves unable to travel and trapped on the wrong world. Annabelle had, once, long ago, been one of them, until something magical had happened. It took her years to work out what it was, but thankfully the Walkers never had, so they left her alone. She tried not to think of the time she spent within one of those special jail cells they had for people they suspected might be a demon. As she’d never travelled through any of the doors, legally or illegally, it had been easy enough to prove that she wasn’t a demon, although most demons never touched one of the Walkers’ doors.
As Annabelle stirred the soup, waiting for someone to walk into the little cafe she’d set up, she found herself thinking again about the power she’d been gifted. It was something she was always thankful for, because it took her away from living an unfulfilled life, even though it had also dragged her away from the people she loved. She hadn’t seen them since the day she’d been set free by the Walkers, just for a few minutes, to say goodbye. The Walkers had agreed that if something magical had taken her to a different world then that was the world she was meant to live on, which meant she was unlikely to see her family or friends again.
It was the goodbyes that always made her think. Annabelle knew she was doing something good, but at the same time it was heart wrenchingly painful, because so many people would never be able to say goodbye. Whenever she made a meal for someone it was imbued with her power and warning everyone exactly what would happen would lead to the Walkers turning up again, asking her more questions she couldn’t answer, and she didn’t want to have to deal with that. Instead she put up signs throughout her cafe telling her customers that her food may have unexpected consequences.
During the time she’d owned the cafe Annabelle had employed others with powers that could be imbued in food. There was one girl, not much older than sixteen, whose food had allowed the eater to see their future during the time they were eating, and people had come from miles to test it out. When she’d moved on, after eating something Annabelle had made, they’d stayed in contact. It was wonderful to know that someone she’d helped was doing well, because no one else could let her know. They didn’t know it was her that had helped them.
Sighing, she turned to look at the time. Annabelle opened at midday, every day, and kept the cafe open until midnight. Occasionally she did think about taking a day off, but it was beginning to seem as though word was spreading. She didn’t quite know what the word was, and it terrified her when parents brought their children, but it was good for business. In the local area she had regulars who turned up just for a bowl of soup, so her food was appreciated as well as whatever people believed her abilities were.
Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.
Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam prompt: A book turns out to not really be a book, but one of those hiding-places-things-disguised-as-books, and the thing that’s hidden is a portal.
It looked innocuous, just another book on a shelf full of books, until someone opened it. Then… well, it wasn’t just a book. Not for everyone. Most people would pick it up, look inside to find that it was one of those hiding place books, and put it back on the shelf, because they didn’t need the other world. Others would pick it up and the portal would take them to the world on the other side of the portal. Luna had seen it happen, watching different people as they picked it up, interested to see who was chosen and who wasn’t. She didn’t have the courage to pick the book up herself.
One day it was gone. It was a Tuesday, just after Luna had finished her shift, and she’d stepped into the bookstore the same way she did three or four times a week to watch. She knew there had to be a reason it had moved, maybe someone had bought it because they really did need one of those hiding place books, or it was simply time for the book to move on, or there was always a chance that someone else had realised what it was and taken it away so no one else was dragged to another world. For the first time she wished she had picked the book up, not because she thought that she’d be one of those chosen, but just to see what it was that the majority of people saw.
Luna knew, if she hadn’t of accidentally witnessed someone being taken by the portal, she wouldn’t have known what the book did. She might have picked it up, just like everyone else. When she looked into it, like so many people before her, she would have seen a hiding place book, nothing more. There was no reason for it to take her to another world, although… She sighed. Sometimes she did wish for something more and that would be why the book wouldn’t chose her. If she wanted change in her life she was going to have to make that change, even though it was terrifying.
After one last look at the shelf where the book had been Luna made her way towards the door. She looked at the books as she passed, because there were times when she saw something different, something that caught her attention in the way that most books now didn’t. It, the book that caught her attention, was sitting on a shelf between two other paperbacks, and if anyone asked her she wouldn’t know what it was that really caught her attention. Maybe it was the colour, maybe it shimmered slightly, but there was definitely something. With one hand she picked it off the shelf, pulling her bag strap up with the other, before opening the book…
Moments later Luna found herself stood in a corridor that reminded her of the set of flats one of her old school friends had lived in and no book in her hand. Astonished, all she could do was mutter, “Bloody hell.”
Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.
Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam prompt: A door that only lost people can find.
‘It’s unsurprising, considering the number of different types of natural door, that there are stories of a door that only lost people find,’ Leolin wrote, dipping his quill into a bottle of ink. He gathered stories about the demons, the doors, and everything he could to do with the magic that had been used to create the Web. Unfortunately much of what he wanted to know was in the hands of two groups who didn’t like talking to anyone: the fae and the Walkers. The fae refused to let anyone within five miles of their settlements, while the Walkers had a habit of arresting anyone who asked too many questions.
Sighing, Leolin turned his attention back to the piece of parchment. ‘Many of them have been passed down from someone in a family who happened to find the door. One such story is of a little boy who found himself lost within one of Athare’s many huge markets and, when he realised he had no idea where he was or where his parents might be, he took a step towards someone to ask for help. Instead of finding himself where he expected to be he ended up standing right in front of his very worried mother. At first the two of them, and the boy’s father, were too happy to be together again to think about what had happened, but later they couldn’t help wondering how something so wonderful had happened.’
Leolin had stepped through many doorways himself, so he knew that travelling through the natural doors was as easy as taking a single step. Often it was the same way with the created doors, but it was the preparations that took the time, because of the restrictions the World Walkers’ Council had put in place. After using a Walkers’ door once he’d made the decision that he would never use one again. He used the natural doors instead, even though he didn’t always end up where he was planning on going.
‘No one really knows if any of the stories are true.’ Dipping his pen in his ink again, Leolin smiled. ‘Personally I think they are. The fae were experimenting when they created the Web, everyone knows that, and so many things have shown that many elements of this experiment have evolved in their own way. One example is the Walkers, who were originally nothing more than people who had the ability to walk through the created doors, and when they were demonised they were replaced by a series of tattoos that technically should allow everyone to travel from one world to another.
‘Unfortunately the World Walkers’ Council have put so many restrictions in place, not least the cost of getting one of the tattoos, that very few people will ever be able to travel. It’s really not a surprise that people protect the demons, because they have a natural ability, and pass on stories of doors that even little boys may have a chance of using. Some even view demons as lucky omens.’
Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.
Written for a Crowdfunded Creative Jam prompt: pull down the stairs that ye may go up.
Mackenzie checked to make sure she was alone before she reached up with her hand and grabbed hold of the chain. Only certain magic users were permitted to know of its existence, because it led to a safe place mostly inhabited by the thieves. She was lucky to be one of them, especially as she would never steal anyone’s magic, but instead she would help the people who couldn’t cope with blooming. It meant she had more magic than most of the thieves, she had to watch her back more than anyone else would, and if anyone ever found out who she really was…
Shaking her head Mackenzie put her foot on the first step, pushing all thoughts about her past out of her mind, because there were several telepaths who might be in the safe place when she entered. A couple of them she liked and trusted enough to talk to them about every day things, but she didn’t trust anyone enough to talk about who she had been before she bloomed. It didn’t matter if they liked her or not: if they found out the information would be all around the kingdom within a couple of hours and then she’d be in real trouble.
Once Mackenzie was in the safe place she headed straight for her room, because she didn’t really want to spend time with anyone. She didn’t want to be alone either, but it wasn’t as though she had any friends, and it was better to be alone than to have to deal with people she mostly didn’t like. Most of them were interested in one thing: power. It didn’t matter where they got it from as long as they had more of it than anyone else, which made everyone compete against each other, and, unfortunately, everyone wanted the amount of power Mackenzie had.
It wouldn’t happen, but they didn’t know that. None of them knew that one of the powers Mackenzie had gained when she’d bloomed was the ability to take someone else’s power without endangering herself. That was another one of those things she had to keep to herself, because there were some thieves who collected different abilities as well as power. She wasn’t the only one with the ability either, so she had to keep them safe as well as herself, because they weren’t as strong or as capable of using their powers as she was.
As she walked she nodded to a couple of people she thought, under different circumstances, she might like, picked up a bottle of something drinkable, and finally got the key to her room out of her top. Mackenzie kept it on a necklace, because if anyone thought they could steal it they would. It had taken her years to be able to afford even a small room of her own and she wasn’t going to let anyone steal it. Once she was in, with the door locked behind her, she kicked off her shoes. Sighing, she flumped onto her bed.
Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.