Excerpt: Imoden's Quest, Book One, A Cup of Tea

He lay basking in the cool morning sun nestled in a blanket of pond rushes and lily pads. Small minnows nibbled at his toes and fled at the slightest twitch of a foot only to return once again as soon as the water’s calmed. It was times like this when the world was calm and still and the waters were gentle and sweet that he could almost forget his worries. It was only when he looked up and across the waters that he would remember once again the great anger that had made him into what he was now. The anger fled in a rush of frustration as behind him he could hear the autumn leaves rustling with movement.
He did not turn to look behind him, he already knew what he would see if he turned to look. She would be there, his annoyance and everlasting shadow. “So you haven’t grown bored yet?” He asked, “You haven’t given up? How long are you going to sit there breathing down my neck and haunting my every movement?”
“When will you grow tired of these endless questions? When will you realize that I am not going anywhere?” She replied.
“Ah, but you will,” he said, “You know I will. I always win,” he rolled over to lay on his belly in the water, floating just against the surface.
“I am sorry to disappoint when I say that I can assure you that I am going no where. I have express orders of which I will obey,” she said.
“Oh yes, your orders,” Fury said in distaste.
“Yes, my orders are, of course, well known to you,” she shifted and grinned. “I am not so easy to get rid of.”
“I am sure you are as easy to get rid of as the last guardian they sent.”
“Oh no I am not,” she said.
“Yes.”
“No,” she said firmly, her voice slightly raised and a mischievous grin on her face.
“Are you yelling at me?” Fury asked. It was a perfect name for him as it suited his short, explosive temper, that when let loose took ages to cool. If he had been a fire spirit the entire grove of trees around the pond would have been incinerated ages ago. As it was the poor pond he lived in was frothing and churning and the poor animals that inhabited it were tossed to and fro with the random, violent current.
Fury was a water spirit from the northern border. Normally water spirits were calm, gentle creatures, and more often than not their alternative form was a likeness to one of the creatures that they lived with. Fury was different. He had taken on a human form, the form of the thing he hated the most. He had gone rogue and defied his purpose in life and the wishes of the gods to take personal revenge against mankind. His waters had been cut down to only a sliver of their original size as the humans cut back his borders and filled him in until he was only the size of a rather small pond secluded off a beaten road by a copse of trees.
Rarely was he ever able to take revenge, but few who came ever escaped his clutches, at least not until his last victim. It had become a pain since his last victim had gotten away and warned people off of the Pond so that no one ever came to his water’s edge anymore. No one would dare risk the “Cursed” waters of the pond. They thought that it was haunted by the soul of someone who had drowned and not moved on. Pity the humans of this village weren’t very intelligent, if they had been they would know about the elemental spirits that shared their world.
Fury glared at the being who sat at the edges of his water. The forest Nymph Hydrangea sat staring at him from where she perched on a rock, a slight grin tilting up her full lips and humor causing her emerald eyes to sparkle. Hydrangea could have been scared of Fury but she was made of sterner things than the poor minnows that darted away in fear of the enraged water spirit foaming and frothing at the edges of his banks. No, she knew he could not hurt her and delighted in tormenting him. “No, Fury, I did not yell,” she said in a chiding tone, “I spoke very calmly, and very quietly unlike someone I know,” and she stretched and yawned, pretending innocence in the face of Fury.
If human she could have been considered beautiful. Her skin was a dusty brown flicked with shimmering gold, a testament to her immortality. Her eyes were a deep emerald green set in a petite face with tilting, heavily fringed eyes and over full lips. She was everything the opposite of Fury who was all masculinity tied into a horribly temper. Fury was forever annoyed by her presence which made him even more irritable and frustrated when he could not draw some hapless victim into his clutches. Hydrangea had been set by the goddess, Arowin, to keep Fury in line. Thus she had moved into the small copse of trees long vacated by any Nymphs and kept hapless victims away from the ponds edge.
“You know very well that you yelled!” Fury shook with- well, Fury. It described him so well, Hydrangea thought stifling a laugh as she rose to circle the waters. Fury glared from where he had been, so engrossed in their fight they did not even hear it at first; the steps of a human drifted through the copse from the road. “Hide!” Hydrangea said as she melted back into the trees just as Fury slipped back under the waters. She could not let Fury win this time!

Yes, today was definitely the day for her to visit, today was the perfect day for her to hide in the grove of trees and avoid the world. A grin tilted her lips as she stepped carefully to avoid tripping on the outlying roots to enter the clearing she knew was there. And there was the pond. So beautiful, so pristine, and so private!
A thousand tasks had yet to be done, a million words were yet to be heard by her dear step-mother, and not a care filled her mind beneath the shade of the willow where she lounged. Her boots, more like worn slippers than any other form of footwear suitable to her daily tasks, were thrown haphazardly across the way along with her apron and basket of goods. No, her step-mother would not find her here and thus no worry entered her thoughts. No one dared come here any longer, not after Emily Sue had disappeared in the waters depths.
Here was the pond, far from the reach of her step mother and a good walk from the village. Now it was her sanctuary and privacy was in abundance beneath the trees. She never did touch the water for she was as superstitious as the next but she could enjoy the sights. Oh, and what a site they were. Even now in late autumn a multitude of life could be found around the stretch of water known as the Enchanted Pond. Pond grasses swayed in rhythm with the wind as lily pads slowly made their way along the shore. The occasional call of the birds and the rustle of the trees were the only sound and the heavy scent of blossoms cast an ethereal feeling about this place.
It could not be seen from the road that was not so far away, and often times this place was completely forgotten by both the villagers and anyone who would pass by. Hidden by great oaks and willows it could be forgotten as easily as the coin that rolled beneath the floor boards when no one was looking. It was now hers and for that she was thankful.
Step-mother would be furious with her. She was supposed to have gone to market for bread and eggs and produce, and she would go much later when she was finished relaxing. Imoden had been up well before the sun had risen to feed the aging mare, and the stubborn gelding. Then she had to muck the stalls, weed the garden, clean the house, do the laundry, and when she thought she was finally finished her step-mother demanded she go to the market. She could remember her step-mothers words perfectly.
“I coulda thrown ye’re ugly behind out on the streets afore yer father even breathed his last, I coulda you ungrateful spineless worm, but I kept ye because yer father asked it of me, god rest his soul. But you, miss ‘Better than thou’ don’t deserve all I’ve given ye. Now get on with yeh and be quick about it. I will nah wait any longer!”
Oh yes, her step-mother was charming. The woman was illiterate and ill spoken, a trait her father had once thought the greatest of sins. The woman could not even remember her name. “It’s Imoden, dear step-mother,” she could remember saying this morning. “And you will get your produce, have no worries. But I shall bring it home no sooner than I wish to return. Do not forget, dear step-mother, that you did not have a choice in getting rid of me if you wanted to. You are stuck with me until I marry, or until I die and I can assure you neither will come soon.”
She regretted some of what she said. No one would really miss her should her mother decide to do away with her. No one in their sleepy little village cared one whit for another. Assuming that her Step-mother did not find any threat in her words Imoden would continue to have a roof over her head, even if it did leak when it rained, and chilled in the wind. She would find no supper for her tonight, and the cold stone floor would once again be her bed but at least she had won some small battle this morn.
As her thoughts continued in this strand the summer heat beat down, and even in the shade of the trees Imoden was beginning to feel it. Leaving the shade would do her no good and the village was too far to leave the cooler shade and tramp through the sun. Her eyes strayed towards the pond; surely a small swim would not matter? Perhaps the stories she had heard were but rumors and the truth was that no one cared to admit they couldn’t swim.
A small smile turned up the corners of her over generous mouth. A small dip could hurt no one. So with determined hands Imoden stripped from her simple brown gown down to her shift, kicking the clothing from her feet with impatience. The water looked so cool and inviting, why not take advantage of it while she was alone. A giggle erupted into laughter as she raced the few steps to the water and waded through the grass to the flat bottom just beyond. The water was crisp and cool and a wonderful contrast to the beating heat of the sun. She sank to her shoulders and lazily pushed herself backwards through the water. Only a few minutes and she would leave. Only a few minutes and her blessed moments of freedom would end, but she would enjoy it.
It could have been minutes or hours by the time Imoden turned about to head back to shore. A few strokes brought her to the flat bottom she knew was shallow enough to touch, but when she went to set her feet down to walk to shore nothing but empty water met them. She panicked for a moment and then laughed at herself. “You nincompoop, you didn’t go far enough,” she rationalized aloud to calm herself, but when she swam closer to shore she did not seem to get anywhere and the bottom came no nearer to her searching feet. Panic set in and she made a frantic attempt for shore. ‘This cannot be right!’ she thought as the shore came no closer. Fear engulfed her and a sickly feeling filled her gut.
“Just... just stay calm!” she told herself fiercely, paddling water to stay afloat. Perhaps it was her imagination, perhaps she was on shore dreaming? No reason to fret right? This rationalization worked to steady her thoughts, and would have continued to do so had a slight brush against her ankle startled her. A fish? But no, it happened again, and slimy tendrils wrapped themselves around her ankles. She screamed and kicked but they tightened and pulled and with great resistance she was pulled beneath the waters towards the bottom of the pool. She tried to swim away and when she could not she turned attempting to see what it was that pulled her. It looked like water grasses but none could live so far beneath, and none could wrap and pull as if they had a mind of her own.
‘Oh I am so foolish,’ she thought. Desperate she clawed at her ankles and freed herself enough to make a bid for the surface. ‘I can do it!’ Imoden felt it and went to break the surface, only to find a solid wall between her and blessed air. She pounded and pounded as her strength faded, her lungs shriveled and her mind and vision blackened until she gasped for air and met her doom. Now, only now, could she remember so clearly the stories she had heard before blackness overtook her and she knew no more.