At the Del Fenwickian border, 410 days after a wizard cursed the REALM…
Current Version:
Alisha never had children of her own, due to a bit of dumb luck, a quirk of biology, and a whole lot of poor timing. But she’d eagerly thrown herself into the role of caretaker for the children of others. Many of the children in the medical pavilion were known to her from before the refugee camp was settled, before NIGHTfall, and even before the Word Wizard’s curse had first descended on Wordler Village.
In happier times, she’d been a babysitter, a teacher, a coach, a cook, and a counselor. But now, the only role left was for her to play ineffectually at being a nurse.
From sun-up to sundown, Alisha flitted from child to child like a hummingbird tending an ailing garden of slowly dying flowers. There wasn’t enough food, barely enough water, and no medicine at all. All Alisha could provide was an outward optimism that kept her charges smiling, laughing, and looking forward to a better day.
Then, a miracle occurred, followed by the delivery of a note.
Two days before Alisha received her note, one of the mothers, Belinda, had strode into the pavilion with fresh-baked bread and sweets for all. Belinda had then consulted with the healers and, later that same day, had returned with an armful of medicinal herbs.
Belinda’s son, six-year-old Timmy, had been so close to death’s doorstep that the angels may well have requested him to start wiping his feet. Now, the rose was returning to Timmy’s cheeks, and he even egged Alisha into leading all of the children in a singing contest, just as she had often done back in their village.
One day before Alisha received her note, Belinda had brought a selection of small toys. She passed out tiny dolls, spinny tops, and beanbags, enough for each child to have a little hand-sized treasure of their own. Those who were well enough could even play with a friend.
No one else questioned this benevolence. And although Alisha had never been one to reject a turn of good luck, this windfall was too much for her to accept on faith. There had to be a catch. A cost. An accounting. A bill that would come due and need to be paid.
In the desert of their need, Belinda had become an unending oasis of material goods, but the mystery didn’t stop there. Overnight, Belinda’s posture had become more erect than it has ever been back in the village. Her movements had become more fluid. She’d taken to wearing a cowl that shaded her face, except for her eyes, that seemed to glow like a matched set of embers.
Then came the day on which Alisha received her note. “Children.” That was the only word printed on the blue notepaper that Alisha found on her when she woke up. She instantly knew what the paper was, and what it meant. The prospect of receiving such a message was the only reason for anyone in the camp to keep track of the days. By Alisha’s reckoning, she’d just become Wordler 410.
Becoming Wordler 410 placed a new weight of responsibility on Alisha’s shoulders. She carried the future of all of her people, especially the children, and so she became more determined than ever to demand some answers.
But when she asked Belinda what had happened to her, Belinda deflected the conversation. “Does anybody have a birthday coming up?” she asked.
“It’s my birthday today,” announced now-eight-year-old Larissa.
“Then we shall have cake,” Belinda stated.
“How can you make such a promise?” Alisha sputtered. “Shall we borrow a cup of sugar from the Del Fenwickian garrison? Do you have an invisible cow for us to milk? Are you hiding a bag of flour under your cloak?”
“Oh, look, someone has misplaced their beanbag.” Belinda stooped to pick up the toy. “Whose is this?” she asked, traveling around the room until she had reunited the toy with its owner.
Alisha was left to stew in her unanswered questions, crumpling the blue notepaper with one hand in her pocket.
When Belinda left the medical pavilion, Alisha followed her through the squalor of the refugee camp, remaining at a distance until they’d reached a musty tent that looked like any other. At the entrance to the tent, Belinda was greeted by Victor, a guy who’d been trailing after Belinda for years, no matter how much Belinda had ignored him. Their lack-of-relationship was a running joke among the Villagers, and an endless source of gossipy derision.
Which made it so jaw-dropping when Alisha watched them embrace, then kiss, then vanish together into the tent. This, Alisha decided, was even more unexplainable than Belinda’s unexplainable provenance of food, medicine, and gifts.
A black shape crawled through the tent’s vent flap. On fluttering wings, it arced into the sky toward the well-guarded border that separated the camp from the Regency of Del Fenwick. Alisha shuddered with a sudden suspicion. She raced from her position of concealment, through the tent flap, into the open space beyond.
Victor was startled by her arrival. He appeared to be alone although, in the unfurnished tent, there was nowhere Belinda could have gone.
“Belinda is a vampire!” Alisha exclaimed. She waited for Victor to deny or contradict her, but he didn’t.
“Do you have something against vampires?” he asked.
“No—I don’t—as long as they’re—” Alisha sputtered. She steadied herself with a long breath. “She’s turned herself into a bat!”
“Bats play an important role in the ecosystem,” Victor stated. “They control pestilent insects, pollinate fruit trees, and spread seeds and nuts across the REALM. I don’t see how Belinda being a bat could be anything but a net-positive for our community.”
“And you–kissed her!”
“Yeah.” Victor looked away, coyly.
Outside the tent, there was a commotion. Alisha and Victor poked their heads out of the tent, and found people rushing by, chased by Del Fenwickian soldiers.
“Search every tent! Conduct interrogations!” one of the squad leaders told his men. “No more bat-people can be allowed to violate our sovereignty!”
Victor and Alisha looked at each other. “Belinda,” Victor stated.
“The children!” Alisha exclaimed, and the two of them ran off in separate directions.
Web3 Draft:
- Listed on OpenSea
- Listed on Rarible
- Pinned to IPFS
Revision Notes:
To be added.
