The Water Spirit

Hey all.

I'd like to begin by saying that when I registered I got this:

http://img3.imageshack.us/img3/5386/wtftyd.jpg

Pretty funny isn't it...

Anyways.

I wrote a short fantasy story and I'd really appreciate any criticism you guys could give me. Its a bit weird, I tried to be overly descriptive about visual things, in order to ignite the imagination, and overly vague about the actual plot, again in order to leave things for the readers.

I was mainly inspired by Studio Ghibli's films I think. I believe these films use the same principles as I described above.

I divided it into several parts using ------- markers, just to make it more readable, but remember that I inserted those on the spot, so they don't really mean anything in terms of mini-chapters or anything, they're just there so you can take breaks and easily come back to where you started at.


Anyways enjoy the read and thanks!

The Water Spirit

By Tom Segal

Soft trails of silvery smoke spiraled their way upward as the boiling water from the kettle met the
crushed herbs inside the bowl.
A magical aroma quickly spread in the air, reminding Deminoth of images from his past…
Suddenly he heard the sound of old hinges screaming, and looking down from the arrow slit that served as a window in his tower room, he saw a robed figure striding confidently over a lowered wooden bridge, thick mist covering the water seventeen feet below it.
Beyond the bridge were only the shadows of wild branches and the screech of a frightened owl.
Now it reached The Sentinel Gate, a metal work of curving black thorns embracing tiny red crystal
eyes, although in this gloom all appeared equally colorless.
Passing through the gate, it vanished from Deminoth's narrow line of sight, and so he continued his work.

Now the liquid gained a golden aura, and it looked like silver silks floating in a pool of grey.
He could stare in its intricacies for hours on end…
A cold knife of air sliced into the room through the arrow slit, tormenting the half-melted candle's
flame, twisting and dying in agony as if it was never there.
Annoyed, Deminoth made to the fire stones resting on his table blindly, but as he did so he saw a thin line of soft light forming on the wall infront of him.
He did not turn in time; A brown shadow has already sprung towards his table from the opened door and snatched the bowl from its place, crescent green eyes flashing for half a moment beneath a dark hood. The Thief then vanished back down the tower stairs.
The door was creaking innocently, left half-open.

Deminoth frantically made to chase the man, rushing through the spiraling stairs down, pictures of long-lost legends flashing around him in the gloom, and the painting of the dread Wasugari, towering over the village of Setu with its gargantuan form each night.
Its shape was so immense and terrifying that its night visits were considered inevitable, and those it took were considered to have died a natural death, mourned for only as long as one mourns a beloved dying of old age. The village was left in awe when one night, the horror did not come to haunt them. Death had only one form from that night on…
And then he reached the bottom of the stairs, panting.

Fresh breath was flowing from the opened double doors, and moonlight melted on a broken chair and a dusty stone floor. Outside, the stars danced and their stark robes sparkled and shone.
A sea of lavender crystals was flying lazily above, covering most of the moon.
The Crescent Gate of the Round Gardens stood not far from here, its connecting walls made of complex silver shapes.
The side of his stomach burning, Deminoth strode as quickly as he could towards the half open portal.
Beyond was a tranquil garden of purple and black, with spiraling roads and short lamps shaped in the form of trees. Verdant foliage hanged from arches made of wood painted orange and purple, and fat pale butterflies were hovering in the moon's light.

Beneath one of the arches sat a grey-robed man. Around him were scattered many devices made of copper and iron, among them a seeing cone and an oversized scroll bound by purple lining.
Tranquility grew like moss all around him.
"Did you see someone passing around here?" Deminoth asked in urgent tones.
"I was watching the stars, Deminoth." The man replied patiently. His hair was silver, his skin bronze, his eyes copper, with expression as steady and firm as logic.
"I have no time, Meadrick", Deminoth flashed angrily. "Tell me, have you seen anyone?"
"It left Starpass through the Sentinel Gate", Meadrick said, pointing with a robed hand towards Deminoth's tower and the black metalwork beyond, marking the end of the village.
A rush of purple leaves flew the opposite way as he did so.
Deminoth never left the village, save once, but he could not afford losing his Artifact.
Ever since he found it in the mouth of a tidal pool, it served as an instrument for his rituals and
experiments, granting him constant success and luck in his work. Without it he would be lost in this world.

Deminoth turned towards the many eyed portal.
"Be mindful, Master Silvaerie", the man said calmly. "A strange sickness has been spreading over the village since nightfall, affecting many in its wake. By now only a handful of us are left untouched by its cursed claws."
Leaving the garden was difficult for Deminoth, but once he got out of the gates into the dusty road leading to The Sentinel Gate his strides became more confident.

The ruby eyes of the gate were gleaming with anticipation, the moon reflected in a thousand tiny facets. Thorns sprouted from the wings of the gate, one of them smeared in dark blood.
Either clumsy or a coward, thought Deminoth, successfully resisting the sickening feel in his stomach.
Sprawled on the ground was a pale guard clad in brown leather, his expression blank and eyes
colorless. His hair had gone completely white, and a bucket of water was spilled beside him, the lake shining innocently behind it.
Inspecting the guard, Deminoth noticed his heart was still pounding, if very slowly. His skin was intact and his tongue reminded Deminoth of the fat white butterflies of the Round Gardens, only wingless.
Poison, Deminoth decided. Dedicating not a further thought to the affair, he focused on the task at hand.

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Beyond the gates was the darkness of the forest separated by a silvery road leading to an ominous grey shadow called The Lonely Mountain. The Mad Mountain, it is often called, Deminoth thought. It is a marvel how one thing can lead to another.
An owl shrieked in the distance. The moon broke free of the clouds, slanting ardent rays over the forest.
A fox could now be seen alongside the road heading towards The Mad Mountain.
He must be heading there as well, thought Deminoth, illuminated by sudden intuition.
The ache in his legs diminished somewhat, Deminoth decided to follow, this time keeping a steady
climbing pace.
No sense in chasing him up the mountain only to die breathless at the top, he thought.

The road was covered with dust, then ice, then patches of snow.
Although by now the thief was leaving footprints, Deminoth could not discern his far shadow from that of the great earthmound rising before him. The night air was fresh and invigorating, and Deminoth formed animals and faces in his mind out of the things he saw on the way.

Finally after a long climb he reached a snow-covered plateau shining pure in the moon's light.
The forest to the east could be seen from here, its farthest trees gleaming with a purple hue from a sunrise yet to come. Bending to the left was the road to the mountain's top, writhed in mist like a hideout for gods.
Before Deminoth lay a massive cave, old and frozen, its mouth filled with icy fangs jutting out from above. Ice shards and broken bones were scattered over the entrance, as well as a patch of purple leaves and some dirty owl feathers.
Intrigued, he made to inspect them, and as he did so, images floated in his mind of a lost hall of black and red marble. Thin windows casted lights over walls coated with works of fabulous art, depicting white crystals and colorful gemstones. A snake-shaped pedestal stood at the hall's end, holding a precious artifact in its opened mouth, its eyes shining lapis lazuli.
How alive the bowl seemed then, how vibrant and beckoning… Although nowdays it was just as bright and glowing as in that first day, he thought.

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Someone stood near the cave's entrance. Turning sharply, Deminoth saw it was but a monument,
A statue in the shape of a tall woman with the head of a fox, raised skyward in a heavenly manner.
Stars shone in her eyes and gleamed in her long hair, which fell like a frozen river across her shoulders, all the way down to her lower back.
Cupping her clawed hands together, she held The Whispering Bowl.

"It is cold up here, is it not?" asked a raspy voice from the gloom of the cave.
Deminoth took a step back, and the shadows of the cavern conjured a haggard man in his thirties,
wearing a tattered forest cloak, heavily bearded and with fierce green eyes.
Deminoth stared at the man suspiciously.
"He is killing them, you know. Even your friend will succumb to him eventually."
Bathed in a mixture of moonlight and the faintest daylight, the stranger's dirty cloak could now be seen more clearly; it was covered in layers of mud and dried blood.
Is he insane?
"What are you talking about?" Deminoth asked, irritated and feeling a bit faint.
"People are dying in your village. This is not an ordinary disease, no. It is that mad creature, residing at the top of the mountain, covered in clouds like some god. He found a way to steal-"
"You are the one who stole my bowl". The sudden realization made Deminoth angry.
"To touch a burning coal, one must have the proper glove", the man said cryptically.
Deminoth made to reply when a great howl was heard from inside the cave.

Without a word, the stranger sprinted in Deminoth's direction, knocked him sideways, snatched the bowl from the statue's open paws, and with great stamina leaped off the plateau.
Slightly disoriented, Deminoth made to chase him, but then a great fox stepped out of the mouth of the cavern. Its thick fur was pure white, with thin honey-colored stripes around the eyes, and it was at least half again as big as any other fox Deminoth saw in his life.
She is female, judging by her slender body structure. Yet she might be just as aggressive as a male.
Deminoth froze in place, expecting the fox to charge at him at any moment.
Time passed and the fox merely stood in her place, brushing the ground nervously with her massive tail and staring at Deminoth with a pair of white-hot beacons.
Deminoth felt naked under these eyes, all his thoughts laid bare before the noble creature standing infront of him…

Then, with a great roar of outrage, a shadow leaped off from the side, umber fangs lashing at the white fox's throat. Springing to the side, she repositioned herself softly on the snow and charged right back, raking her claws at the other fox's head. It was larger than her, with fur made of shaggy brown darkness and crescent eyes shining malignly green.

Terrified, Deminoth stepped backwards until he felt the frozen rocks of the mountain at his back,
seeping all warmth through his heavy cloak. Shivering, he turned and sprinted towards the road to the clouded mountain summit, howls of defiance and pain emanating from behind.
Climbing, climbing, never stopping to rest or look back, Deminoth made his way, until at last he felt the air oddly dense. Looking back he saw a great deal of road falling downwards into a sea of blurry white fog. Shapes could be seen behind, but were they foxes or statues or rocks Deminoth could not tell.

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He now stood on another plateau, seemingly endless for all the dense fog covering ground and sky from all directions.
Several paces infront of him a rock stood out in a sea of white, shaped intricately into the shape of a large barn owl. Several green twigs grew on its head like broken horns, and below them several more heads smaller than the original sprouted out of his neck and chest.
Moving closer, Deminoth saw that it stood in a pool of the clearest crystal water, limited by a ring of twisted purple mushrooms.
These are quite rare to be found above the surface, thought Deminoth. Either the fog clouds them from the sun, or the icy waters balance their delicate temperature…

Somewhere nearby a river screamed as it crushed into unseen rocks.
The cries of the foxes were completely muffled in the roar of the falling water, so Deminoth could only guess at the battle's outcome. Something flickered at the edge of his vision, but turning he met only the owl's inquisitive stare.
"Beautiful, isn't it?" asked a familiar voice. Mist took form to reveal the man from the cave.
His cloths were dark, his face wrought in shadow.
"This is but a stone", Deminoth concluded. "Are you insane?"
The man outstretched his hands, revealing the Whispering Bowl, sparkling sea blue in his shadowy
hands. "Following me all the way here, for this little piece?" replied the man. "You must be mad, yourself." He laughed weakly at that.
"Who are you?"
"Oh, I was a great many things", he said thoughtfully.
He then swayed in place, made to reach Deminoth to steady himself, and collapsed on the airy ground.

Deminoth could now see his face more clearly. It was bloodied by scratches in half a dozen places,
and there was a large gash on the side of his forehead.
Blood, Deminoth thought wildly. No, not now, I need to stay focused… but even as he tried to keep his mind clear, the world begun swirling around him.
Feeling dizzy and disoriented, Deminoth tried to crouch and get to the stone.
Instead, he fell on his back, his head banging against a hard surface.
Red explosions blurred his sight, followed by a wave of heat that made Deminoth's entire body shudder…
Turning his head weakly, Deminoth found the whispering bowl resting on the ground not far from him. Bleach white fog was rising around it, swirling slowly at first and then wildly as if driven by a mad wind. Snow was reshaping constantly all around Deminoth like a painting drawn by a deranged artist, and below him poisonous mushrooms bowed before the wind.
I crushed some of them, he thought hazily.

The fog was forming, flowing in Deminoth's direction like a river.
Hidden within it were shapes and artifacts, a bucket of water, a laughing girl, a galloping horse,
a gilded chest, an image of the sky drawn onto an old scroll. There were others as well, all watery and ever-changing. The river of images formed lazily on the foggy ground, flowing towards Deminoth.
After a mere moment it connected with the circular pool Deminoth was sitting in.
His back felt warm. Looking above, he saw the magnificent statue shimmering in all the colors of
madness.
He could hear sounds, the voice of Meadrick echoing off his tower while giving a lecture, the sound of gold coins shaking in one's pocket, a joyful laughter, a living stream…

The sound of the stream became loud, and louder still, until it drowned all others.
Deminoth felt wet, and raising one of his robed hands, he saw his cloth was dark and soaked.
Was it blood or water?

The world was little more than a blur of colors by now. The shadows around him gave way and a figure of mist appeared before him. She won the fight, he thought.
Red lines decorated her otherwise perfect fur, her eyes a pair of white-green orbs gazing to the depths of his soul, seeing him in his most honest form.
Bending, she ate something off the ground, gently but intently. No, not eating, he thought. Licking. She is licking the man's corpse.
How pure she looked, how clear, a beacon of white in a world of crazy hues and colors…

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The colors were gone now, leaving only a painful headache behind.
Deminoth felt wet and figured he should be freezing, yet his body was curiously numb and senseless. Was I asleep for a moment or for a day?
Slowly he rose, ignoring the waves of dizziness sweeping over him.
Snow drifted back to the ground as he did so. The whiteness around him reminded him of home
somehow, and brought him memories of sharp snowflakes falling around his tower at first light,
the scent of sunrise flowing through the thin window, heralding the beginning of a new day of research and enlightenment in Starpass Village…

Then she stared at Deminoth. Her eyes were brimming with determination, and Deminoth had a most unusual idea of what might happen next.
Looking towards it, he saw that the statue was changed; Its features had almost completely worn out, leaving a shaped rock with mere hints for eyes, beak and feathers.
The mushrooms that circled it were now nothing but rotten old trunks, and their waters had nearly run out, although what remained held a unique silvery color.
The fox went toward it, bowed her head and drank, guiding the liquid into her throat with the tip of her tongue.
Her ears twisted, her fur shivered, and then she froze in place, frightened.
She gave one quick glance at Deminoth and sprinted away, howling in fear.

Curious, Deminoth slowly approached the mysterious waters, the snow giving way ever so slowly as he walked. Finally he reached the small pool, and looking down at it, he thought he saw the reflection of the fox's head, if only for a second.
Quickly looking to the sides, Deminoth saw that he was alone.
Gazing down again, he saw clouds reflected in the pool, vaguely shaped in the form of a rabbit,
its fur torn and dirty, with half his ethereal flesh torn right off his feathery white bulk.
Other clouds were in the forms of two canine beasts, a misty bone, and a big shape that vaguely
resembled a cave, but these were escaping the pool's edges, replaced by what looked like a child,
and a white bucket dripping foggy droplets of water. Or was it a bag of coins?

More images were flowing in and out of the pool, but Deminoth paid them no more heed.
Taking the whispering bowl in both hands, he filled it until the silvery liquid covered the bowl's edges, and pressed it close to his lips, smiling.




THANK YOU for reading!

When I saw this title among the others, I thought, "This sounds like the title of a Miyazaki movie". So I opened it. (I am a huge Studio Ghibli junkie). ;)

While this is well written, I think a story this complex needs more length. The point of view makes the reader feel very distant from Deminoth, and somewhat confused as to what is going on. You've created your own magical world here, but in order for it to make sense to the reader, you have to establish a sense of familiarity with the main character, or add in a backround story to inconspicuously introduce the reader to these new ideas. In Spirited Away, they always find a way to describe what's going on without the viewer realizing that they're being spoonfed the story. For instance, when Chihiro first enters the bath house, everything is new to her, therefore new to the audience. Everytime something is explained to her, it is also explained to the audience. I don't know what my advice is exactly, maybe a bit more dialogue, or more of an introductory to the character before the action picks up... Just remember your initial idea for this story and go with that. Take or leave my advice, its only an opinion. Keep your opinions first and foremost. ;)

Despite my confusing rant, I really liked this story. :) Keep on writing. I'd love to read more from you.

Raff

Thanks for the cool and detailed comment, and thanks for reading my story.
I agree with you on how I made it too vague, I guess I should have elaborated more.

Anyways, while I think that writing is awesome, I'm more into CG at the moment, so I'll try to tell my stories using that :)

If theres one occupation I always knew I'm gonna have, though, is writing - I fully plan on writing a fantasy novel when I'm older. I don't even care if nobody will read it, but I'll write one for sure.

Again thanks for the cool comment!