Every Friday over on Instagram, author Emily Barnett hosts a beautiful little event called FLASH FICTION MAGIC. It’s a great opportunity for writers to practice writing short fiction based on the weekly prompt, which Emily posts on her IG feed each week. I like to periodically challenge myself with doing things that are hard for me as a writer, and short fiction is one of them, so this has been a fun way to grow my skill on a low-key deadline. When I have a completed piece, I’ll share it here for your eyeballs! Just know that these flash fics may or may not be any good, lolol, because they ARE done quickly, after all, and usually haven’t been seen by anyone else before I post them. So go easy on me! 😉

I hope you enjoy today’s piece!

~

Prompt: “A WELL IN THE WOODS”

September 11, 2020

For the last one hundred years, Kaliope had been warned never to enter the Galmizaw’s Wood. It was the primary rule among Fauswigs, followed with lawful allegiance. For Fauswigs were cautious creatures of simple priorities, motivated foremost by their compulsion to stay alive.

That is, with the exception of Kaliope, who pined after reckless adventure with an eagerness foreign to a traditional Fauswig.

Which was why she now stood in her warmest fur-lined cloak, cold toes no less than a hare-length from the Archbarrier—the burial site and last manifestation of Mother Goza’s magic, and the final milestone on the path to the Wood. 

Kaliope itched to move forward, her bare feet clenching the mossy forest floor with anticipation, but something held her in place. Phantom reprimands from the village elders echoed in her ears, though the young Fauswig had learned early in her adolescence that the bossy, know-it-all panel of old men and women were to be taken with a grain of sea salt. Their meticulous exhortations that Fauswigs keep away from the Wood seemed to Kaliope born less out of practicality—for the Galmizaw had not been sighted in her lifetime—and more from a strict sense of fear. Kaliope was convinced the practice was ritualistic and nothing more, and had longed for half a century to uncover what truly lie beyond the Archbarrier.

But saying so aloud would not only have been frowned upon by Kaliope’s fellow Fauswig, but would have given the elders cause to dislike her more than they already did. Her curiosity and fascination with danger countered their obsession with safety, and did not make for a gracious relationship. As such, Kaliope’s desire to visit the Wood had been harbored as her most private secret since she was old enough to read between the lines of Fauswig society. Her dream of exploring the Wood never gave way, but neither did she have much hope of such an opportunity arriving.

Until fate intervened on her behalf.

  When the village seer had a vision of a great catastrophe that would bring destruction and death to their people, the villagers fell into a mass hysteria, scrambling to the elders with desperate pleas for protection.

In light of this, the elders did not dissent when Kaliope volunteered to cross the Galmizaw’s Wood. For, in spite of her youth (she had only recently surpassed her first centurial birthday), it was known across the village that there was no caster among them more talented with nature enchantments. She had a rare gift that had not appeared among the Fauswig people for generations, not since the lineage of Mother Goza herself.  And after all, crossing the Wood was the only way to reach Den’fir, a mystical land rife with magic casters so powerful their abilities would have dwarfed Mother Goza’s with one artful wave of a hand. 

No Fauswig had traveled to Den’fir in an eternity—but for one. Cadgan the Fierce. Mother Goza’s long-lost son, and the most astonishing defensive caster the Fauswigs had seen since his mother’s passing. Cadgan had taken leave of the village following his mother’s burial and had not returned since. The only evidence he wasn’t dead was the occasional letter to the elders containing vague greetings and a generous tithe of Den’firian coin or precious spell book.

So, with calamity imminent, there was no time to waste, and Kaliope was assigned to fetch Cadgan. For surely his power with magic would be their salvation! 

Before her departure, the villagers prayed over Kaliope, that she would be cunning enough to navigate the fickle nature magic of the Galmizaw’s Wood, not only once, but twice, and that she would be knowledgable enough to locate Cadgan when (if) she reached Den’fir. 

That had been two days ago. In the time since, Kaliope had trekked the ancient dirt road known locally as the Galmizaw Path, and now, for the first time in her life, she stood at the edge of the Wood. The Path continued forward beneath the Archbarrier, fading out of view on the other side beneath a dense canopy of eerily-silent trees. 

Kaliope took a deep breath, her heart thumping like the drums in a Fauswig wedding ceremony. She was steps away from leaving her home, from realizing her dream of entering the Wood. From setting off on a real adventure, and fulfilling an awesome purpose.

Before her, the Archbarrier hummed softly, magic repelling off of it in waves. As the magical gateway that had sprouted into being after Mother Goza sacrificed herself for her people in a tremendous battle against the Galmizaw, the Archbarrier separated the territory of the Fauswigs from the Wood, safeguarding them from the threat of its creatures. Few in Kaliope’s village had seen it, even from a distance. And here she was, so near that she could have reached out her fingers and made contact. 

The two-sided stone structure soared above her head by numerous feet, the tasteful archway forming a point at the tip-top. The entirety of its girth was wrapped in wild vines, their blooms crumbling in the early autumn chill.

A shiver crawled up and down Kaliope’s spine. Supporting herself with every once of courage she possessed, she propelled herself through the archway—perhaps the first Fauswig to venture into the Wood in over a millennia.

When she passed through the Archbarrier, the air around her rippled like water, and a gut-wrenching coldness like she’d never known flooded her veins. Her heartbeat thundered in her ears, and her skin tingled into numbness. When she emerged on the other side of the archway, the cold instantly receded, and she gasped with the jolt of the change. Feeling to her skin returned in patches, and she bent over with hands on her knees, quelling her erratic heart with slow, focused breaths.

What was that?

The Fauswig straightened, taking in her environment with careful attention. It looked almost the same as it had from the other side of the Archbarrier, though there was a shimmer to the air that caught her off guard.

Magic.

Her fingers twitched, an unfamiliar urge to cast a spell taking over her. She pushed it down, instinct telling her to be extra careful of magic in this foreign realm. 

Kaliope cast an uneasy look over her shoulder at the Archbarrier, and her chest constricted. 

The archway was gone.

In its place stood an aged, handmade well assembled from rocks, sticks, roots, and other organic materials, all sealed together with hardened mud the color of tar.

Kaliope spun in a circle, trepidation exploding through her nervous system. The archway was indeed nowhere to be found. The only structure in sight was the well.

An owl hooted in the distance, and a light breeze penetrated the trees, sending Kaliope’s cloak billowing around her. She tugged it tighter around her shoulders, unsure why the chilly breath of air made her feel as if she was being watched from the shadows. The forewarnings of the elders popped into her mind: the Wood is wily. It will try to manipulate you, draw you into its Heart.You mustn’t listen to its call. Resist. It is your only chance of survival. For if you trespass into the Heart of the Wood, you will be lost, cursed to wander its depths for a thousand years, mad and alone.

No. Kaliope would not let that happen. There was too much at stake.

She advanced on the well with resolve, her head held high as she tempered the pull of magic with her own will. Peering over its edge, she noticed a long-handled ladle roughly rendered from a tree branch strapped to a hook at the mouth of the well. Grasping it with her cloak on impulse, Kaliope could make out a primitive inscription on the ladle’s handle: Make peace with the Wood.

It occurred to her that this well—specifically drinking the water within it—may be the only passage through the Archbarrier from this side. But what if—

A low growl sounded at Kaliope’s back. Close. The ladle flying carelessly from her hand, she whirled in time to see a plume of smoke unfurling from a tangle of wild shrubbery no more than ten feet away. Yellow smoke, the color and stench of sulfur.

A Galmizaw?

Well. So much for her “there are no more Galmizaws in the Wood” theory.

Blood pumping with adrenaline, Kaliope spun around and crouched behind the well. Brambles and low branches caught at her cloak as she peeked around the well’s side in search of her adversary. The tips of her fingers throbbed with repressed magic as she locked her gaze onto the smoke ahead. With mounting horror, she watched as it thickened in multiplying tendrils. The pungent scent of boiled eggs was all around her now, and Kaliope fought off a cough as it threatened to choke her. 

An animalistic snarl erupted from the shrubs, kicking up leaves and debris from the forest floor as the yellow smoke blew outward in a rapidly-expanding cloud.

Sweat beaded on her temples as she fumbled in her cloak for the concealed pocket that held her dagger. The pocket had been enchanted by one of the elders to reveal itself solely to the cloak’s wearer, but Kaliope still found it difficult to detect. At last, when sharp metal nipped her flesh through the folds of fabric, she gripped the dagger’s bronze hilt and firmly planted her naked toes in the dirt. A vast spectrum of waffling emotions surged through her, but an unexpected stab of annoyance was the loudest.

This Cadgan the Fierce better be all he was cracked up to be.

© 2020 Baj Goodson

---

Written by Baj Goodson

Instagram | @bajgoodson

#flashfictionmagic


Itching for some more flash fiction? Try this one next.