Children of the Glimmer Pool - Obstinate Anarchist (pocket ebook reader TXT) 📗

There was no doubt he was without company and probably ingested all sorts of things that he didn't know the effects of. Frederick most likely stumbled into the cave hopped up on hallucinogenics –and who knows what else– and drowned in the pool.”

This explanation seemed to annoy Vanessa because she let out a sigh. “You have no imagination.”

Nova frowned and shook her head. “You're unbelievable. When we find Iris and Farren, I'm getting their views on that stupid story,” she muttered.

“Fine.”

“Fine!”

And with that, the two girls continued following the riverbank in silence; Nova tried desperately to hope that she would come across Iris and Farren as soon as possible while Vanessa quietly thought about Frederick's tale.

Chapter 8: It Keeps Happening

 

While Nova and Vanessa walked on in silence, Farren was having a little less of an interesting time. For a few hours now, she had been making her way through the dense forest, hoping that she would come across... well, anyone.

Her hair that she had halfheartedly pulled into looped pigtails had been tugged at and pulled on by stray branches. They looked a little messy but still managed to stay looped. Farren let out a sigh and continued to trudge across the thick grass, her clothes, still more or less soaking wet, were clinging loosely to her.

Farren had not had the luxury of being out in the sun as Nova had been, and the fault of this was her own, but it wasn't like it mattered all that much. The brunette girl glanced about her surroundings. On the bright side, none of the things around her looked the same, which meant she had managed not to make a complete circle just yet.

“Find a village. Get supplies. Stay safe. Find a village. Get supplies. Stay safe,” she repeated the words over and over again. Really, they were motivating her. This had been a habitual process of Farren's. Whenever she was left alone in an uncomfortable situation, she felt the need to try and calm herself down.

In her anxiety-fueled mumbling, her boots, slick and muddied from the ground, slipped on a rock. Immediately, Farren tried to regain her balance by grabbing for the closest thing to her, which just so happened to be a tree branch. As her fist closed around the limb, it snapped from the base and Farren hit the ground, knocking all of the air from her lungs.

As she lie on the ground, gasping for air, she saw a dark shadow out of the corner of her eye. Farren let out a sigh and closed her eyes, thinking she had hit her head so hard that she was blacking out. She lie there for a few moments and probably would have fallen asleep had she not heard a few leaves on the ground to the side of her shuffle about.

Her calf brown eyes snapped open, shot over to the source of the noise. At first, she couldn't quite comprehend what it was that she was seeing. She thought perhaps the girl was Iris because of the scuffed and damp mountain boots, but as she fully observed the stranger, she came to realize she had no idea who it was.

On instinct and driven on by adrenaline, Farren managed to scramble into a semi-sitting position and do a sort of backwards crab-walk until her back met a tree. The person, whoever it was, took a few steps toward her. This immediately threw Farren into a type of panic and just as she was preparing to get to her feet and run as fast as her legs would carry her, the stranger stopped progressing, prompting Farren to take a closer look at her adversary.

Long, wavy locks the color of a deep maroon framed the girl's face. Her skin was a pale fleshy tone close to the color that a watermelon might be had it been bleached. She wore a plaid shirt similar to the grass and jeans the color of bronze. Two pairs of big brown eyes met and immediately, Farren felt more at ease.

Whoever the stranger happened to be smiled at Farren when she relaxed her muscles a little. “You look a little muddy,” the girl stated bluntly, though her expression showed that she more or less meant well.

Farren felt a little embarrassed by this comment and slowly rose up from the muddied and dirty ground. She vainly tried to brush away any traces of dirt from her body and clothes, which really only smudged them and made things worse.

The other girl was vaguely amused by this and slid her hands into her pockets. She disturbed a few coffee mugs that had been loosely hanging from strings on her belts, causing a faint clinking sound to echo through the forest. Before Farren could even bother to question as to why the other girl wore mugs, she spoke again.

“You sort of made the whole muddy thing worse. I can take you back to the place I've set up shop. It's in the Forest Village. We're not all that far from it, just a mile or so from here. You can get cleaned up and get something to eat if you want,” she offered, taking a few steps away from Farren.

Farren was unaccustomed to this sort of kindly treatment from total strangers, and as such, she was hesitant to give a reply. In this time of silence, the other girl grimaced and started to walk away from the muddied and soaking girl. “You don't have to come if you don't want. I was just offering.”

Farren stood with her back leaning up against the tree, brows furrowed in confusion. She hadn't quite understood all it was that the other girl had said until the moment after the girl had disappeared behind a tree. “Wait,” she called hoarsely. Then, realizing the girl wouldn't ever hear that, pushed herself away from the tree and started to follow the footprints. “Wait!” And just as Farren turned the tree she had seen the stranger disappear behind did the girl's voice startle her yet again.

“I knew you would agree. Someone in your state wouldn't turn down an offer like that. Though, you really had me going there for a minute,” the girl stepped out from behind a different tree, looking almost relieved.

This interested Farren and she might have looked into it further had she been willing to, but currently she was exhausted and didn't quite feel like questioning the others motives. The girl reached out, taking Farren's dirt covered hand and leading her through the forest. “My name's Maritza.”

Farren stared dumbly at Maritza, following after her blindly. “I...what...?” Her mind was foggy, much too clouded to allow her to clearly comprehend what it was that Maritza had even said to her.

Maritza frowned as she guided Farren along a very faint path. “I said my name was Maritza. What's yours?” She repeated, sounding mildly annoyed at having to do so.

Blinking owlishly at Maritza, Farren's eyes rounded slightly. “Marit... Maritza,” she murmured softly, trying to make a mental note of the name. She cleared her throat, finally aware that the other girl had asked her a question. “Oh. Um. Farren,” she replied, shuffling her feet a bit faster so that she could keep pace with Maritza.

“That's a nice name, Farren,” the other girl remarked, flashing her a warm smile.

Farren continued to stare blankly at Maritza and decided that if she had wanted to kill her, she'd have done so by now. So, she continued to follow the girl for what seemed like eons until the maroon headed girl started to slow her pace.

This caught Farren's attention and she turned her brown gaze to Maritza. “Why've we stopped?”

Maritza turned back to meet Farren's gaze and offered her a small smile. “We're here.” She gestured to a little building that had been concealed by numerous trees and foliage until Maritza had pointed out its position. The small stone cottage was something almost out of a fairytale with green moss crawling up the corners. The outside walls were more or less the same, overrun with ancient vines that curled and wrapped around themselves, the windows, the shutters, and the stones.

The roof, which was miraculously held together with layers upon layers of straw, was flanked by a stone chimney. At the moment, just a few wisps of smoke were escaping out of the top of it. On the left side of the cottage was a wooden waterwheel that looked so ancient that Farren was worried that if the wind blew too hard, the thing would crumble into dust.

What was probably a stream that broke off from the river Farren, Iris, and Nova had tried to cross ran just under the waterwheel. The level of the stream was low enough to be below the actual wheel, so it didn't turn whatsoever.

“It's been like that for a couple of weeks,” Maritza said abruptly, once again startling Farren.

“What d'you mean?” Farren inquired in return, habitually tilting her head to the side.

Maritza's expression seemed to turn almost grim, which seemed like an uncommon thing for her. “The water level. It's been kinda low like that for a few weeks. Used to turn the waterwheel just fine. But I guess the water's gotten clogged up somewhere back there. I tried to check it out, see what was going on back there. Thought maybe a log had fallen and blocked it, but I didn't really see anything,” she murmured quietly, making her way toward the cottage.

Farren followed right behind her, sliding her hands into the pockets of her jeans. “Oh. That sounds bad,” she commented in a sympathetic manner, dragging her feet in the dirt as she tried to keep pace with Maritza.

Apparently this irked Maritza and the girl whipped around to face Farren, quick as a whip, jingling the coffee mugs hanging around her waist. “Stop dragging your feet!” She snapped.

“I didn't –I'm sorry,” she apologized, flinching at the tone Maritza's voice held.

Maritza's expression, which could have been considered to be fury, softened a little. She cleared her throat and turned her head away, jammed her hands into her pockets, and continued onward. “Yeah. Well, don't do it again.”

And so once again, Farren followed Maritza in solemn silence. Maritza grabbed an old, rusted key from her shirt and shoved it into the lock on the wooden door. It took some effort, but she managed to get the door open. “Wipe your feet and take off your shoes,” she instructed, kicking the mud off of her boots before stepping out of them and setting them just to the side of the doorway.

Farren did as she was told, scraping away caked on layers of dirt and mud and then unlacing the mountain boots and putting them aside. She finally turned her gaze to the inside of the cottage and was a little startled by the interior's appearance. The walls were decorated with a hideously antique wallpaper a deep shade of green similar to that of vomit. And just to make things worse, it was trimmed in a deep rowan brown and gold. It had looked like someone had been inspired to create the wallpaper after tending to a child.

The room was vaguely furnished. By the far wall was the fireplace and positioned around