The Many Ramblings of K. A. Webb

Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam prompt: A surprise trap door.

At first all Lance could do was sit where he’d landed. There’d been no warning before he fell through what he guessed was a hole and he was certain that it hadn’t been there when he’d walked to work. No one had told him about it either, which seemed a little strange because it was the main route from their settlement to the market place. Slowly he looked up at where he expected the hole to be, but there was nothing there. Well, there was something there, but it wasn’t a hole. It was a… ceiling? He shook his head. Ceiling was the wrong word. Looking around gave him the idea he was in a relatively dark cave, although there was light coming from somewhere near, and there didn’t seem to be any way back to where he’d been before.

Breathing deeply, because it seemed the logical thing to do, Lance tried to calm himself down. Everyone had heard stories about people who’d accidentally found a door and ended up on a different world. All he had to do was find his way back home. He pushed the reminders of the other stories, the ones where someone disappeared and never came back, as far away as they would go. That wasn’t going to happen to him. Unsure whether he could stand he put his hands on what felt like a cold rock floor and tried to push himself up. It hadn’t felt like he’d fallen that far, or onto rock, so he didn’t think he’d hurt himself. If anything was going to stop him standing it was going to be shock.

Once Lance was upright, and glad the cave was as big as it looked from his position on the floor, he made a start on walking in the general direction of the light. It gave him hope that there might be other people somewhere within the caves, because he needed to, at the very least, find out where he was. He couldn’t think of any worlds he knew with a cave system, but he didn’t know all that much about the Web. For the first time he realised he should have asked his demon cousin more questions about the travelling she did, because it would have come in handy, even though he’d never planned on leaving his home world. That was the problem with living on a magical world: occasionally it decided what was best for you.

Lance tried to remember some of what he’d overheard her talking about, because both his brother and sister were interested in all the worlds she visited. It was harder than he needed it to be, but it was his own fault, so he kept walking as he tried to work out where in the Web he might be. By the time he walked into a… he stared at the creature, almost unable to believe his own eyes, even though it did make sense for a rabbit to be underground. That was when he realised he’d left the rock behind a while ago.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.

Written for a Crowdfunding Creative Jam prompt: Portals only work for the person who made them–but they can be made out of any material, using any craft.

‘Magic is an evolving thing in the Web. When the fae first stepped onto Athare they were the only race and their decision, which even now seems ludicrous, was to create more worlds. The problem with the fae is that their magic uses up the magic within the core of a world like Athare, which is something they only realised after they destroyed the world they were living on, which left them with their only options being move or die. They chose to move to another world, and when you think about it that does make sense because death really isn’t that much of a choice, and they were lucky enough to end up on an uninhabited planet.

‘At least the fae believed it was uninhabited, but it may have been. I don’t think they took the time to check before they started playing around with things they probably shouldn’t have.’ Sighing, Leolin dipped his pen into the ink bottle on the desk, and told himself to stop rambling. His notes were full of times when he ended up rambling about something totally off topic, so they were probably never going to be of any use to anyone, not that he thought anyone would be able to read them. Writing in an old language was good for keeping knowledge hidden from prying eyes.

‘Now the fae created three races on Athare and the first demon found was from one of those races. That is one example of the magic evolving, because the fae never planned for anyone else to have the ability to travel from one world to another, but the magic decided otherwise. It seems that now the demon’s magic is evolving, which is of great interest to both me and the Walkers.’ The Walkers, thankfully, didn’t execute demons any more. Instead they were stuck in a cell for the rest of their natural lives, which was, of course, a logical reaction to the problem. Sometimes Leolin hated the Walkers, even though he knew that they were only the way they were because of the way they were trained.

‘From what I’ve heard there are some demons who can create portals. Unfortunately these portals aren’t like the natural doors or the doors that were originally created by the fae, because it seems that only the person who created the portal can use it. They do seem to last, as long as they’re made from something that isn’t likely to fall apart in a strong gust of wind, and it is a great help to demons who find themselves stuck on worlds because one of the doors has changed on them.

‘There do appear to be some limitations. None of the worlds connected to Kniroch permit a door being created to or from there and some demons have been found trapped there. Aerith, Taithmarin, and Kankirin, if they do exist, are also hidden from us, but really that isn’t much of a surprise.’ Leolin was certain that the three lost worlds did exist, because there were still people who disappeared and never returned, so it made sense that they would be trapped on one of those worlds. Unfortunately there was no way to prove it.

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 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 Livejournal user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Autumn twilight, the crisp air and the way the season smells.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.

Written for lj user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Richard watching dead leaves falling. It kind of wandered off, like stories for prompts sometimes do.

Being Death made autumn an interesting season and one Richard avoided whenever he could. Sometimes he had no choice, because people died in autumn the same way they died every other season of the year. He never quite knew why, but his attention was always drawn to the dead leaves falling from the trees, and part of him felt like he should be guiding the leaves to the afterlife in the same way he guided people. Sighing, he watched a brown leaf travel from its branch to the ground, swirling in the wind, as he reminded himself that every leaf that fell would find its way safely to where it needed to be now that its short life was over.

Autumn felt like an uncomfortable item of clothing. Richard rubbed his hands down his arms as he tried, unsuccessfully, to get rid of at least some of the feeling. It was a season that was neither alive or dead, but both at the same time. Spring was the same in a way, and different, because then things were coming alive instead of slowly dying. As Death he felt the things that were dying and, even though he knew there were things coming to life, he couldn’t feel life. Spring, unless he was gathering someone, didn’t really feel of anything to him, because he was a part of the afterlife that was almost more dead than the dead.

Richard picked up one of the dead leaves. There was no spirit within it any longer, because it had moved on. Above him he could feel the spirits in all the other leaves, who all knew that soon, very soon, they would be travelling to the afterlife. It was different to the feeling he got from humans, different to the feeling he got from domestic animals, different to the feeling he got from wild animals, and different to the feeling he got from animals that were breed for food. Death was something unique for everyone and everything. Humans were his responsibility, as Death, the afterlife’s psychopomp, but that didn’t stop him from feeling everything else.

When Richard thought about it, he knew his favourite of all the feelings was the one he got from loved domestic animals. It didn’t matter who loved them, but if someone who had loved the animal was in the afterlife they automatically went to them. Unloved domestic animals needed help to get to the afterlife, where they would find someone who would help the recuperate from what had happened to them during their life. His job wasn’t to guide them, although he sometimes did if an animal spirit happened to be close to where he was gathering a human spirit, because he couldn’t leave them alone.

The leaf swirled back down to the ground when Richard dropped it. It was nothing more than the shell that had once housed the spirit of the leaf. Gathering up his courage he looked at the gravestone in front of him and told himself that the body that was decomposing in the ground beneath him was just the shell that had once housed his spirit. Instead of being within that body he was outside it, his spirit continuing the life he’d been living since before he was even in that body. He knew there were other bodies in other graves and he promised himself he would visit them all.

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

Written for LJ user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: going from the hot season to the moderate season. (Tell me if anything is wrong with what I’ve written, because there wasn’t a lot of information on the seasonal changes.)

Lucille knew why she had chosen Quiar as one of the worlds she wished to visit, although she hadn’t made any definite choices about the worlds she wished to walk to, and she was making the most of the year she’d been given to make those choices. The last time she’d visited, staying safely on Larnach, it had been the middle of the hot season, but she most wanted to visit during the short period of time when the seasons changed. If she was honest she was just totally fascinated with Quiar, because of how different it was to all the other worlds. Even though she knew about the way the worlds had been created she couldn’t help thinking that Quiar seemed more like a world that would have evolved than a world created by the fae.

On Lucille’s first day it had still been the hot season. To her it felt like a nice summer’s day on most of the other worlds. Sometimes it could be too hot, the same way it could be too hot on the other worlds, but she liked the hot season on Quiar. When she woke up the next day she couldn’t hide her surprise. People had explained that Quiar’s seasons changed abruptly and she thought she’d been ready for it. It wasn’t hot any longer, at least not to her, and the blanket her deer guide had left at the end of the bed, mentioning that non-Quiaran’s always had trouble with the sudden changes, became the most useful thing she had been given.

During her studies, Lucille had read about the changes of season, but reading about them and experiencing them were very different things. The change of temperature was always the first thing. It was followed by all the normal seasonal changes that were expected when it changed from summer to autumn, because that was almost what the change was, although moderate was slightly different to autumn. She just found the temperature difference harder to cope with that the Quiarans because she wasn’t used to it, even though she’d been expecting it. In a couple of days she knew she would be able to cope with the moderate season easily.

Although, there were still the other changes to come. Lucille found it easier to think in terms of other seasonal changes she knew, because that was what she was used to, but she knew that they weren’t the same. The plants would change, which meant the foods she would be offered would change too. She was actually looking forward to that part. It would take a few days, with the heat of the hot season fading, and she wanted to watch it happen. Walkers had to write reports on their visits, so the way the plants changed was something she definitely wanted to write about. Once she’d written three reports on each of the different worlds she’d be told if she was compatible with them, and she really wanted to be compatible with Quiar, even if she ended up not choosing it.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.

Slowly Abigail walked through the village, taking in every detail. There were some minor differences, but it was similar enough that she believed she was dreaming, because no other explanation made sense. People she knew, and people she didn’t, walked past her, not noticing the confusion she felt. She was grateful that they didn’t. Part of her wanted a real explanation, as everything seemed too real for her to be really be dreaming, but she didn’t think anyone would understand why she needed an explanation. They couldn’t know that their lives were documented in a TV show. As far as she knew everyone she had recognised were played by actors.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.

Written for LJ user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Margery and Opal share their experiences about blooming on Sauin Day.

Mirrored from K. A. Webb Writing.

Written for LJ user ysabetwordsmith’s prompt: Zoe discovers something in her new world that she wished would have existed in her old world.

Mirrored from K. A. Jones Writing.