Chapter 10: Curiosity
1424 Words
For three nights, Elanor did not touch the pen.
She kept the sketchbook closed beneath a stack of folded fabric and tried to convince herself that leaving it alone was the sensible thing to do.
It was easier said than done.
Every morning, she woke thinking about the dry fields.
Every afternoon, she heard villagers discussing the weather.
Every evening, she watched people carry smaller and smaller buckets from the fountain.
No one was panicking yet.
But Elanor could feel the uneasiness spreading.
It moved quietly through Willowlight.
A farmer would stand longer than usual at the edge of his field.
A mother would count the food in her pantry twice.
A child would ask when the rain was coming.
People were beginning to notice.
And Elanor had noticed first.
That was the part she couldn’t ignore.
She stood outside her cottage one morning, watching Mrs. Vale struggle to draw water from the village well.
The bucket came up only halfway full.
Mrs. Vale stared into it.
“That can’t be right.”
She lowered it again.
Pulled.
Nothing.
She tried a third time.
The bucket returned with barely enough water to wet the bottom.
Elanor’s stomach tightened.
“Mrs. Vale?”
The older woman turned.
“Oh, Elanor.”
“Is the well broken?”
“No.”
She looked down.
“It has never done this before.”
Elanor glanced toward the village.
People were beginning to gather.
A farmer approached the well.
Then another.
Someone called for the council.
Within minutes, several villagers were standing around the stone opening.
“Perhaps the underground stream has shifted.”
“It hasn’t rained.”
“It will.”
“When?”
Nobody answered.
Elanor stood at the edge of the crowd.
She said nothing.
Her hand rested against the sketchbook hidden beneath her shawl.
She could feel its weight.
A strange thought entered her mind.
I can fix this.
She immediately pushed it away.
No.
She couldn’t.
She had promised.
Then a little girl began crying.
“My mother needs water.”
Elanor looked at her.
The girl clutched an empty cup.
Something inside Elanor cracked.
She remembered the little boy from the field.
She remembered the woman in her vision holding an empty bowl.
She remembered the King.
She remembered what happened when she saved him.
Her mind told her to walk away.
Her heart told her otherwise.
She left.
Not because she had decided to interfere.
At least, that was what she told herself.
She walked beyond the village.
Far beyond the fields.
The further she went, the quieter it became.
Willowlight disappeared behind the trees.
Elanor stopped beside a narrow stream.
It was almost dry.
Only a thin ribbon of water moved between the stones.
She crouched.
“What is happening?”
The stream offered no answer.
She looked around.
There was nobody nearby.
No one to judge her.
No one to stop her.
She pulled out the sketchbook.
Her fingers trembled.
She opened it.
Blank pages.
Elanor stared.
“What if I only look?”
Nothing happened.
She turned the page.
Still nothing.
She took out her pen.
The moment its tip touched the paper, warmth spread through her fingers.
Elanor inhaled sharply.
She began to draw.
A river.
She drew water rushing through the village.
She drew full wells.
Green fields.
Heavy clouds.
Rain.
She paused.
Her heart raced.
This was different from drawing clothes.
She knew that.
She was not creating fabric.
She was not repairing a torn sleeve.
She was changing something she could not touch.
She added one final line.
Rain falling over Willowlight.
The ink shimmered.
Elanor froze.
The page darkened.
Then the water she had drawn began moving.
It spilled across the paper.
Not physically.
But somehow, she could see it flowing.
She watched the rain fall.
The fields became green.
The wells filled.
The villagers smiled.
Elanor smiled too.
She had done it.
She hadn’t changed a person.
She hadn’t chosen who lived or died.
She had only changed the weather.
Surely that couldn’t hurt anyone.
Could it?
The warmth beneath her fingers disappeared.
Elanor closed the sketchbook.
For a moment, she felt nothing.
Then—
a drop of water landed on her cheek.
She looked up.
A cloud had appeared overhead.
Another drop.
Then another.
Elanor stood.
Rain began falling.
At first, gently.
Then harder.
She laughed.
She lifted her face toward the sky.
“Thank you.”
The words escaped her before she realized how foolish they sounded.
She hurried back toward Willowlight.
The rain followed.
By the time Elanor reached the first houses, people were running into the streets.
Children screamed with excitement.
Women laughed.
Farmers stood beneath the rain with their arms raised.
Someone shouted:
“Rain!”
Another voice cried:
“The rain has come!”
Elanor stopped.
Her heart swelled.
She had done something good.
For once, she had changed something and no one had suffered.
No one had died.
No family had been destroyed.
She looked toward the fields.
Water was already soaking the dry earth.
The plants seemed to lift beneath it.
Elanor smiled.
Perhaps she had finally learned how to use her gift.
Perhaps she had been wrong about the King.
Perhaps the problem had not been changing fate.
Perhaps the problem had been changing the wrong thing.
She hurried home.
Her mother stood beneath the doorway.
“Elanor!”
Elanor ran toward her.
“It’s raining!”
“I can see that.”
Her mother laughed.
“Where were you?”
“Outside.”
“You went all the way out in this?”
“I wanted to see the fields.”
Her mother studied her.
Then she smiled.
“Come inside before you catch cold.”
Elanor followed her.
She did not mention the sketchbook.
She did not mention the drawing.
She did not mention that the rain had begun immediately after she changed the page.
For the first time in a long while, Elanor felt hopeful.
That night, Willowlight celebrated.
People gathered beneath covered porches.
Food was shared.
Children played in puddles.
The sound of rain against rooftops became music.
Elanor sat beside her parents, smiling.
Her father lifted his cup.
“To Willowlight.”
Her mother raised hers.
“To rain.”
Elanor laughed.
“To new beginnings.”
They drank.
Elanor looked toward the window.
Rain poured steadily outside.
Everything was beautiful.
Everything was right.
Yet sometime after midnight, Elanor woke.
She did not know why.
She sat up.
The cottage was dark.
The rain had stopped.
Silence filled the room.
She reached for her sketchbook.
It was warm.
Her smile disappeared.
Elanor opened it.
The drawing of Willowlight was still there.
But something had changed.
The rain she had drawn was gone.
The fields were black.
The wells were overflowing.
The river had swollen beyond its banks.
And at the edge of the village stood a house.
Water surrounded it.
Elanor stared.
Her blood went cold.
“No.”
She turned the page.
A family stood outside the house.
A mother.
A father.
Two children.
The water was rising around their feet.
Elanor’s hands began to shake.
She turned another page.
A bridge collapsing.
Another.
A field drowning beneath water.
Another.
The village road becoming a river.
Her breathing became uneven.
She had wanted rain.
She had wanted to save the crops.
She had wanted to fill the wells.
She had never thought about where all that water would go.
Elanor dropped the sketchbook.
It landed open on the floor.
The final drawing stared back at her.
A single sentence appeared beneath the flooded village.
YOU CHANGED THE WEATHER.
Elanor couldn’t breathe.
She stared at the words.
Then another line slowly appeared.
DID YOU THINK THE WORLD WOULD NOT CHANGE WITH IT?
Her eyes filled with tears.
She shook her head.
“No.”
The rain had been beautiful.
The villagers had been happy.
She had thought she had finally used her gift correctly.
But now—
she didn’t know what she had done.
Elanor reached for the sketchbook.
Her fingers hovered over the page.
She could change it again.
She could stop the rain.
She could redraw the river.
She could save the family.
She could fix everything.
Couldn’t she?
Her pen lay beside the sketchbook.
Waiting.
Elanor picked it up.
Her hands trembled.
She knew she should close the book.
She knew she should walk away.
Instead, she whispered:
“I can fix this.”
And that was the problem.
She still believed she could.
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