The World of Reverie Sevenik @reveriesevenik - Tumblr Blog

The Boy Who Fell Through the Underground

Ernest T Smith liked his name quite a lot, so it was with very thinly veiled irritation that he endured all manner of taunts that used his name like a weapon against him.

If he wasn't being called “Ear-nest” for the way his bowl cut made his large ears appear to stick out even more than they already did, he was being told that his last name was not, in fact his last name.

“It's Chan, right? Or Ding-Dong or somethin’. Whatever it is, it’s not Smith, so stop lying to everyone already. Where are you really from?” someone, probably Randy Welch, who delighted in telling everyone how his father employed nearly a quarter of the people in London and was therefore more important than nearly everyone else at school, would jeer.

The cocky boy was far more popular than scrawny, dark-haired Ernest, with his Young-King-Arthur looks and his wealthy family, and it was obvious that he relished his status. Randy even wore a gaudy, jewel-encrusted necklace on a thick chain to school every day and bragged that it had been in his family for generations.

“Ding-Dong isn’t even an Asian name,” Ernest would reply, “but I hear that’s what they used to call your mother back before she had you.”

His brain was always a few steps ahead of his feet, which was why he often found himself at the wrong end of a fist soon afterwards.

It wasn’t that Ernest didn’t have friends, but he was prone to alienating the few he had by saying something cruelly witty before he realized that it was probably a bad idea to say it. It didn’t help that he was literally one of the only students at his private, all-boys school, whose parents hadn’t paid through the nose to get him in. He wasn’t a stellar student, but he wasn’t a dropout either, which meant that he was worse than either of these things.

He was, unfortunately, unremarkable, except for one very important thing.

Ernest Smith could sometimes see the future.

Luckily, it didn’t happen every day, a mercy for which Ernest was rather thankful. It was disorienting to find himself randomly shoved face-first into the future for a few moments before being dragged back into the present, which usually ended up with him tripping on something or having an awkward conversation with someone who wouldn’t take “randomly popped out to look at the future for a bit, but I’m back now” as an explanation. Episodes of future sight felt a lot like being pushed underwater in a fast-moving river, and he had to struggle to keep himself focused on what he was seeing enough to figure out what was going on.

Secondly, it rarely provided useful information. Though Ernest was fairly thankful that he wasn’t left with infuriating, vaguely worded prophecies after one of his “episodes,” his forays into the future were not exactly inspiring. He could see very clearly what would be served for lunch and which line was the shortest at the snack bar, but since he always brought his lunch from home, he never really needed to use the information for himself. He could see what people would be wearing the next day or the day after, but beyond a few bets he made (which dried up after he won more than once), that information hadn’t exactly yielded positive results either.

And so, Ernest just tried to ignore his so-called “gift” and refrained from telling anyone about it. His mother had at least an inkling about it, for he’d brought it up when he was much younger, but he’d spent a lot of time convincing her that he had grown out of it (though, really, how does one “grow out” of seeing the future?). It was, he decided, a ridiculous explanation, but his parents seemed relieved at the lie.

As he grew older, Ernest was finding that lies often worked quite a lot better than the truth when it came to parents. Selective truths made up the rest of it. It seemed that cruel truths of the world were simply too much for the grown ups of the world, and Ernest wasn't about to upset them, not when they had the power to make his life miserable.

Seemingly unrelated to the obnoxious episodes of being pushed randomly into the future, Ernest also had recurring dreams about glossy black wings and the scent of mint as someone with a gruff voice whispered something unintelligible to him. It was an oddly soothing dream that he looked forward to having, though he certainly didn’t have much love for any of the garbage-stealing corvids that made a mess of the rubbish bins around the city, and he hadn't smelled the scent of real mint since the summer before, when he’d gone to the country to visit family.

It was on a fairly forgettable Friday that Ernest made the first terrible decision in a series of terrible decisions that would change his life forever.

It was his first class of the day and he slipped into his seat only to feel something cold and slimy underneath him. He jerked out of his seat and fell to the floor with a scream that echoed through the classroom.

Everyone stared and a few people began to point and laugh. Ernest turned his head to see that someone had piled his chair with cold, slimy noodles.

Shame colored his cheeks as he slowly pulled himself to his feet.

“Thought you'd appreciate a bit of chow fun this morning! You should thank me, Chinaman!” Randy jeered, his cronies surrounding him like an assortment of particularly dim rocks.

Ernest muttered something angrily under his breath just in time for the surly biology teacher to enter the classroom.

“Mr. Welch!” Professor Mungin growled, looming over the suddenly very contrite boy. “Bullying students again are we? You will clean up this mess and apologize to Mr. Smith. Then, I think that you and I shall take a little stroll down to speak with the Headmaster.”

Randy looked a bit panicked at that, but he appeared to think of something quickly enough and his expression turned smug.

“Oh, Ernest knows that it was just a joke. Harmless fun, right Ernest?”

The way he said it promised dire things if Ernest did not agree.

“No. Not right,” Ernest replied bitterly, wincing at the twinge of pain in his tailbone. “He was just laughing about having done it.”

“Is that so?” Professor Mungin glared angrily at Randy, who was not even bothering to disguise the look of utter hatred on his face.

Ernest knew it was a mistake the moment he heard the door to the classroom close. The rough, rock-faced boys gave him the sort of look that made his breath hitch with fear. One drew his finger across his neck and then added, as though Ernest couldn't have understood the obvious meaning of the gesture, “Yer dead, Smith.”

Randy didn't return to class with the teacher and Ernest sank even further down in his seat, which, though it had been wiped down, was still cold against his somewhat soggy trousers.

He dreaded the end of the day.

“Oi!” The voice was sharp and full of undone violence.

Ernest did not turn back. He ran.

He could barely hear anything over the roar of the blood in his ears, but from the chorus of shouts behind him, he knew he was in trouble. Ernest had short legs, but he also wasn't very tall. Normally, these two things were the respective banes of his existence. It was hard to get other blokes to take him seriously when he was nearly a head shorter. Being small and sleight was a boon, however, when running away from a group of murderous thugs in a crowded, bustling city.

Ernest flew into the street and sidestepped a lorry just as it barreled on through the intersection without even slowing down. As he landed on bus flew by behind him at breakneck speed and he could hear his pursuers swearing over the cough of exhaust that escaped the giant beast of a vehicle as it braked to turn into a bus stop. Ernest ran ahead and ducked down behind a large dumpster.

Sure enough, the group of angry thugs ran by, and when he was sure they'd gone, he quickly took off in the opposite direction.

He’d made it all the way past the turnstiles and was standing near one of the support beams near the subway platform when he someone grabbed his shoulder and pushed him...hard. Ernest let out a shout and half-stumbled towards the end of the platform. He finally caught himself and turned, only to find himself face to face with a furious Randy Welch.

“Come back here, you slanty-” Randy let out a noise somewhat like a balloon being deflated as Ernest headbutted him in the stomach.

“Leave! Me! Alone!” Ernest ground out as Randy grabbed his arms and began to push back against him, his mouth a comical “O” of pain as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Just you wait ‘til my friend Freddy gets here,” Randy gasped out, his fingers curling around Ernest’s arms like steel beams. “He doesn’t like your sort.” He snarled. “Half-breeds.”

Ernest only had a moment to turn his head before Randy spat on his cheek, the warm, thick sensation filling Ernest with a deep, unsettling desire to fight and flee at the same time. His blood boiled in his ears as he began to struggle like a caged animal against the stronger, bigger boy’s grip. Ernest felt as though he was looking down a long, dark tunnel, his only desire to hurt Randy until he let go and then get away.

There was a whistling sound in the distance as policemen ran down the platform, but it might as well have been a million miles away. The rumbling and hot hiss of air as an approaching train filled the stagnant underground station, but Ernest was focused only on one thing.

Get away. Get away. Getawaygetawaygetaway.

Ernest clawed frantically at Randy’s chest and his fingers hooked around something cold and solid.

The pendant on Randy’s stupid necklace.

“-are you crazy-” Randy was shouting something else, but Ernest pulled in the opposite direction blindly, his mind only coming back to him the moment his right foot hit empty air.

There was a horrible metallic snapping noise as the chain snapped and Ernest fell backwards, his head turning to see a bright light growing brighter in his eyes until he couldn’t see anything at all.

There was a scream, and Ernest wondered vaguely if it was his own, but then, with a blast of heat and light, his forehead slammed against something hard and then he didn’t wonder anything at all.

#original fiction #ernest smith #original characters

Just a confused girl in a parallel world.

#reverie

Braidsplaining is annoying.

#Serena Nafferty #Avi Stecht

A Girl and Her Raven

Avi Strecht did not do friendship.

In the small town by the sea where she’d grown up, she’d been an oddity. Even if her mother hadn’t been known as a widow who lived in a tiny cabin on the other side of the untamed forest who had, one day, appeared in town with an infant strapped to her back, the villagers still would have talked.

As it was, they still talked, and none of it was good.

First it was for her pale, yellow-tinged skin, as though she were permanently unwell, though she was in fact heartier and healthier than even her mother, who rarely got sick. Then, it was for her pointed, beak-like nose, which they said was not a proper nose for a young girl at all. Finally, it was because of her large, dark, black eyes- “eyes of a witch” they had said without pretense, shunning her mother at the market unless she did not have her daughter with her, even though her money was good.

Avi hated the villagers twice as much- once for herself and once for her mother, who acted as though she didn’t mind one bit, even though Avi knew otherwise.

Her mother taught her all of the skills she would need to care for herself. She could spin wool into yarn and learned how to plant a garden in such a way that the bugs wouldn’t bother it. They never bothered with a scarecrow, though.

For Avi had a secret that she refused to share with anyone, even her mother.

The birds were her friends.

On most days, she would sit very quietly in a tree and listen to the sound of the wind, the ambient noise of the bugs in the grass calling out to one another. She would close her eyes, relax her body until it felt as though it was sinking into the tree itself and then…

And then.

The rustling of wings would announce their presence as they landed around her in the branches, many starting out further away, but moving closer when she did not move an inch. Everything from tiny chickadees to a large, grumpy-looking owl would sit around her and they would sing and chirp and preen and Avi would feel as though she were surrounded by old friends.

This was how she spent many years of her childhood, knowing that this kinship was a special secret, one that could get her in trouble in more ways than one, even though her mother was quick to tell her daughter that they’d not burned a witch in over a hundred years.

Which sounded to Avi like a warning that they’d burned witches before, and may do so again.

And yet, her mother never questioned why birds never bothered their garden.

It was seven days after Avi’s twelfth birthday that she found the raven. It was after a spring storm, one of many that buffered the coast each year. His wing had been injured and one of his claws was completely gone. She’d found him huddling in a wet, feathery pile in the corner of the garden nearest to the crumbling stone wall. He was still wearing his fledgling feathers on most of his body, which gave him a dirty, unfinished look, and his caw was as dry and scratchy as dead leaves on the wind.

And yet, he’d only bitten her once- out of fear when she’d wrapped him in a wool blanket. She did not begrudge him for it. She pulled strips of jerky from her own meals to give to him, and he greedily ate each bite, his dusty caw incessantly crying out for more. Even once he was well again, he’d begun to look to her as a mother of sorts, and he’d hop back and forth on her windowsill, dancing until she smiled, his tiny, beady eyes going half lidded as he opened his beak and let out an approximation of a laugh.

It was then she knew his name, as sure as she’d known he was male, that he wanted to stay with her long after his need of her was gone.

“Rennet.” She breathed, and he laughed back at her. Craw craw craw craw.

It was the name of one of the Old Gods. The one who causes mischief.

Sometimes, when he would look at her in a certain way, she thought she could hear his voice in her head, though she told herself that it was just her imagination.

By winter, he’d molted and new, shiny black feathers had grown in. He preened in a smug manner that Avi adored, and she even made a tiny woolen scarf for him (though he mostly picked at it and curled it up on her desk to sleep on).

By then, Avi’s small room was his room as well. Though Rennet annoyed her by waking her up with the sun and randomly putting her things in his sleeping basket, he never made a mess indoors. Somehow, he seemed to know that this would not be tolerated. He adored roosting by the fire on the high-backed wooden rocking chair that Avi’s mother always kept in the corner. Even when Avi’s mother sat in the chair, slowly rocking back and forth with her knitting needles clicking in time to her rocking, he would hold onto his perch and his body would sway back and forth gently until his little eyes drifted closed.

When Spring came, Avi began to teach Rennet things. He could approximate certain words to communicate with. Things like “Go out,” for when he needed to do his business but the window was closed, or “Yes” and “Nu-uh” to simple questions. He was also often quite the pest in the kitchen, looming on the shoulder of whoever decided to cook and saying “Just a bite! Just a bite!” until someone finally relented and gave him his much-anticipated treat.

Avi’s mother said that she could never really understand him when he said this, but Avi knew what he was saying as clearly as she could understand her mother.

Perhaps this simple life would have been enough for Avi, had things gone differently.

But the real world is never so simple.

Avi hadn’t thought much of it when she’d seen the hunters on horseback tromping down the deer trail that morning. They came into the forest from time to time, and she simply hid from them in the trees until they were gone again.

She’d come down from her hiding place after she was sure they’d moved on and brought out a small container filled with various things- a thimble, a coin, an acorn. She was teaching Rennet how to recognize objects, and part of that involved putting various objects on a stump and attempting to get him to pick the right one.

“Coin, Rennet! Coin!” she said brightly.

The raven looked at her with his head cocked to the side for a moment, his clawed feet grasping the fraying wood of the stump as he glanced down appraisingly at the three objects. First, he grabbed the thimble with the tip of his beak and dropped it.

“Imble!” he croaked.

“Yes, that’s right,” Avi replied, rolling her eyes, “But I didn’t say thimble, I said coin!”

Rennet looked back at Avi and bobbed his head with irritation.

“Try again, Rennet. I know you can do it, you silly bird brain.” Avi said, smirking as she crossed her arms, waiting for the raven to respond.

This time, he grabbed the coin in his beak for a moment before dropping it and saying “Coin!” rather sharply.

The inflection was all wrong for a human tongue, but Rennet had understood.

“Good job!” Avi cried, excited by his progress. She handed him a tiny bit of jerky and he gulped it down eagerly, making a tiny gurgling sigh of pleasure.

“Whatcha doin’?” A voice from behind Avi made her jump. She turned around immediately and backed away from the intruder, putting her body between Rennet and the newcomer.

A young man, probably a couple of years older than she was, stood there in the clearing, holding the bridle of a rather tall horse. He was tall for his age, but his face was still round and boyish. His eyebrows were thick and raised with surprise, and Avi could tell that under the blemishes, he would probably grow to be a rather handsome man, if her mother was to believed about those sorts of things.

“I...I...tricks, that’s all.” Avi said, more sharply than she’d intended. Her words always came out wrong around strangers. But it didn’t help that there were few and far between considering her treatment in town.

“Lemme see!” The stranger began to advance upon her and Avi found herself backing away, her voice going dead in her throat as a sense of panic began to fill her body.

Rennet eyed the young man warily, his wings half-extended as he puffed his feathers slightly.

“C’mon then, ya dumb beast!” the young man said with a brutish twinkle in his eye, “Show me the coin, then!”

Rennet looked at him for a long moment.

Then, he cocked his head to the side and very clearly said, “No.”

“What was that?”

“No, you moron.” Rennet looked rather pleased.

“Why you little-!” The young man advanced on the bird, pulling his knife. Rennet hopped backwards in an attempt at escape, but one of his claws had caught in the wood and he squawked loudly in surprise and fear.

“No! Don’t you dare hurt him!” Without thinking, Avi had run in front of Rennet, her feet carrying her as quickly as though she had wings of her own. It was only when he stopped short, his knife dropping onto the dirt floor in shock, that she noticed the tiny black pin feathers protruding unevenly from her wrist to her elbow on her left arm. Her fingers had grown long, scaly and dark with pointed black claws.

The stranger’s eyes went wide and he backed away, pointing at the bird and then at Avi, who still stood, paralyzed with her hands over her mouth.

“W...witch!” he cried fearfully, stumbling back against his horse and causing it to rear up slightly. He pulled himself up onto his saddle in one fluid motion and was galloping in the opposite direction as fast as his steed could carry him.

“Wait!” Avi cried, when her voice finally returned to her and he was long gone. “It...it isn’t what you think…”

When she glanced at her hand again, it seemed as normal as ever- normal skin, no feathers. Had the stranger not reacted so violently, she might have thought she’d dreamed it. A bad feeling began to grow in her belly, and somehow, she knew that she’d done something horrible, something that could not be undone.

Her mother had looked worried when Avi told her what had happened.

“I’ll go to town,” her mother said, “and explain. It’s just a simple misunderstanding.”

But the fearful look in her mother’s eyes told Avi that it was anything but simple.

“Mother, I...I didn’t mean to do it…” Avi said, looking at the floor, ashamed.

“I know, sweetheart, but just because you didn’t mean to do it doesn’t mean it never happened.” Her mother had given her a hug, and then, as she pulled the hood on her green cloak over her hair, she turned back looked her daughter straight in the eye and said, “If I do not return by sundown, you must pack a simple backpack and go into my room. Under my bed is a box. Open it. Read the letter and follow the directions. I pray that it will not come to such drastic measures, but if it does, my darling daughter, you must not hesitate. Will you swear to me that you will do as I have asked?”

“Yes, mother,” Avi replied, throwing her arms around her mother one last time, “Please, be safe.”

She never saw her mother again.

The smell of smoke reached her nostrils before the sun had set. The sound of terrified animals filled her ears as many feet stormed through the untamed forest and she knew that they were coming for her. She’d packed a satchel even though she’d told herself it was only because her mother had asked her to do it, not because she’d actually need it. In her heart of hearts, though, she knew that her mother would never have told her of the box if she had any hope of a different outcome.

Avi opened it, and for a moment, the light was so bright that it was nearly blinding.

Inside, was a silver pin shaped into a feathered wing that shone so brightly that it might as well have glowed of its own accord. Next to it was a piece of rich, purple silk wrapped around a small, spherical object and, finally, an envelope. She opened the letter and read:

My Dear Avianne,

I hope that you will never need to read this letter, and that our lives continue to be peaceful for the rest of our lives, but I know that such things are rarely ever possible. This pin is proof of our bond to those with a Calling in the City- if you travel there, you shall be accepted and provided for. Your father was my best friend, and when I told him that I wished for a child and a life outside of the City’s walls, he helped to make my dream come true. His name is Engen Nguyen. Find him and tell him who you are. Tell him that you are Nara Strecht’s daughter. He will explain all you need to know.

Take the glass orb in the box and twist it into the large mirror I keep in the root cellar. Go through with haste and take it with you so that none can follow. If I am not with you, I cannot return. Survive, my daughter. Survive and only return when you are even stronger than you are now.

All my love,

Mother

By then, she could hear the angry voices of the villagers in the air.

“Come with me, Rennet, please?” Avi said, turning to look at the dark feathered figure that rocked back and forth on the rocking chair by the cold fireplace.

“Rennet comes!” Rennet cried, spreading his wings and landing heavily on Avi’s shoulder. His claws dug into the thick strap on her satchel instead of her arm, and she was glad for his thoughtfulness.

She grabbed the bright blue sphere from its silky cover and rushed down into the cellar as the dust rained down on her with each heavy footfall of the villagers, who had obviously reached the cabin. She could smell fire as they set her childhood home ablaze and though she knew she had to hurry, hot tears poured down her cheeks as she imagined everything she had known going up in smoke.

The open hole in the top of the mirror’s frame had always looked as though it was supposed to have some sort of jewel or stone set in it, but now that she’d read the letter, it all made sense. The mirror itself wasn’t much to look at, as its surface was rather tarnished and warped-looking. But when Avi placed the sphere in the hole, two amazing things happened. First, the ball disappeared into the frame and secondly, the mirror seemed to ripple as though it were water and it became transparent. A dark passage appeared on the other side. Avi had to duck to get through the frame without hitting her head, and Rennet cawed disapprovingly at the darkness that now surrounded them, but Avi had come prepared, and she set to lighting the candle she’d placed in her pocket with her flintstone. A loud clanking noise signalled the approach of the glass blue sphere coming through the other side of the mirror, and Avi snatched it out of its placeholder just as a jet of black smoke billowed through the frame. She coughed, expecting flames and heat to follow, but surprisingly, the smoke cleared and instead, all she could see was a mirror before her.

She touched her fingers to the tarnished glass and felt the heat on the other side, though she knew that it was impossible for the cellar to have gone down this far. The subterranean air smelled strange, almost spicy, and as she turned to see with her candle held out in front of her, Avi wondered where the earthen stairs led.

“Up! Up! Go, Avi, go!” Rennet chortled, grabbing a strand of her long, black hair in his beak the way he always did when he needed reassurance, and Avi found herself smiling, despite herself.

“Yes, Rennet, we go up,” she replied finally, hoping she sounded more confident than she felt.

And so, she began to climb, for there was nowhere to go but onward.

#short story #raven