Draft 2 and although I had the idea going with YA character, it seemed to move towards a MG tale like story. I'm still not sure where I want to go by the end.
Night Cast
By Yara C.
It was past midnight, before the sun would rise, the older woman stirred the ladle spoon in the boiling pot. With weary eyes, she looked out the single window, fogged to anyone who walked by. But nobody ascended up the mountain to the single house by the fields. Not on a night like this or any night for that matter.
Isla sat at the center table plucking the peddles from the bundle of chamomile flowers. Her fingertips dusted in yellow separated the leaves from the peddles into two baskets. She looked over to her abuela, Carma, who threw another bundle of herbs into the bubbling pot. She hasn't moved from that spot in over an hour.
Isla was sure the basket filled to the brim was enough for Carma's brew. It had to be. They've been in the cabin since the sun set hours ago and Isla didn't think she could take another round of pollen slithering up her nose and crawling around her skin.
Any other night, Carma wouldn't need her. But tonight, she specifically asked Isla for help ? that's never happened before. On other nights, Isla would come along and watch, taking notes on how Carma moved around with the herbs. Within hours, a spell would be conjured and Carma would send it slithering down the mountains to those casting wishes, pleading to be answered.
It wasn't necessarily a wish and not all casts were answered. Isla still didn't get it. She didn't her any voices and she sure didn't see the spell slithering.
Isla walked over with the two baskets placing them close to Carma. "Should that be enough?" She hoped the answer was a yes as she began to wipe the powdery yellow from her face.
Carma did not answer. Her eyes moved from the boiling pot to the window, as if an untimed race was coming to an end.
"I mean, abuela, what would happen if we took a bit longer?" Isla asked. "A spell should still work even when the sun is up."
The ladle stopped moving. With tired eyes and a strip of lines like driftwood creasing her forehead, Carma looked defeated. "Tonight, is different." She repeated the same tune from earlier to Isla who still wanted to know more - like why.
"I cannot just hear a few but hundreds of casts urging to be answered." Carma paused looking over her inventory laid out on the wooden table. She closed her eyes and listened. Her head tilting one way to another as if she was navigating invisible lanes.
Isla closed her eyes and listened. The loud gulps from the boiling water flooded her thoughts instead. Still, she squeezed her eyes tighter, feeling her amber cheeks lifting. Where are the voices? Isla asked herself.
Carma said it took time to listen, to feel, and reach for the right one. Isla wanted to know how. She wanted to move freely among the spirited earth. The lively roots that seemed to still pulse as they prepped them for the young witches at the rise of the mountains.
Carma's movements nudged Isla to open her eyes. With a soft smile, she assured Isla, "Soon." Carma filled her hands with another handful of plucked leaves, dumping them into the pot. "But in the meantime, another round of the same roots?" She pointed to the few pale-gray roots laying on a single dish.
"Why are there so many calls tonight?"
Carma clucked her tongue and her fingers pointed to the pedals, roots, and herbs dancing together among the bubbles, "They speak - uneasy? trouble? and change."
"Well, how can I hear them? I want to help," Isla asked, still looking at the pedals flittering around the water.
"I've told you once before dear Isla, you are helping." Carma answered. "...and the roots?"
Isla turned and walked towards the large door. She would just be the help. She would not faithfully travel up the mountain as abuela did almost every night to answer the calls before her. Her own mother didn't even hear the calls. Carma's line of witches was fading out just like the moon tonight being taking over by the sun.
Stepping outside, Isla realized the boiling pot seemed to know exactly how she felt even though she couldn't tell what the brew was saying. Isla could have been down the mountains planning Friday night like a normal teen. Instead, Isla tightened the sweater around her to collect roots as the bitter winds of the mountain mocked her for wasting their time and it stung.
She squeezed the basket in one hand marching over to the field of flowers. Her other hand was hidden in the pocket trying to stay warm before they would dig into the ground for the roots over and over. It's not like Isla could take a shovel and rip them from the ground. Carma warned her of disfavoring the very elements that could answer the calls.
She found her march changing to a quick walk, silently apologizing to the ground. If only someone heard her. Isla laughed to herself. And laughed until she crumbled on top of the flower beds, dropping the basket and covering her face.
She couldn't do anything right.
Rolling over, she laid facing the stars above forgetting for a moment Carma's brew. Maybe the calls will never come. Just maybe, Isla would be Carma's help and that was, ok too.
Isla made quick work of digging out roots, filling the basket once more. She walked more carefully but in haste back to the house, noting the rays of the sun peeking from behind the clouds.
"Here." Isla said in a rush, hoping they still had time.
Carma already had a jug filled. She placed in Isla hands, "You're ready."
Topic: Night Cast draft 2 (Read 1545 times)