Where the River Meets the Soul
Excerpt from Chapter 1

by S. Nicole

The rains of Vyelan had run dry and the devastating drought laid the Nafsi River a barren ditch. The waters brought life to the land for centuries, its strength reflecting that of Vyelan’s people. The elders of the land, to ensure the health of their people, ventured out for a solution. After years of searching, they came upon a mystic of nature by the name of Kofir.

Kofir was a kind man and, though only in his twentieth year, offered to help the elders of Vyelan. He traveled with them to the Trosthek Mountains and conjured an infinite snowstorm atop them, the melting snow creating a steady source of water for the river. Overjoyed, they offered the nomadic mystic a place in their land and Kofir agreed, enchanted by the bountiful greenery the land possessed.

Each year, the land grew stronger and so did Kofir. He traveled from one end of the Nafsi to the other, spreading his knowledge and blessing the plants and herbs with unique and wondrous magic. The people loved him dearly as his knowledge brought them new understanding of the nature around them.

In his thirtieth year, he came upon a woman collecting water and began a conversation with her as he would with anyone else. Though he had come to be revered by the people, he was merely a man. While most had forgotten, she hadn’t. She treated him with kindness as if he was no more than a passerby on the street. The sun shone brighter that day and something about the way she spoke enraptured him. He found himself returning to the river bank in hopes of finding her again. Days later, she returned and again they spoke. The peace he felt in her company was nothing like he’d ever experienced before.

When he departed from her village, they continued to speak through letters she would send to the villages he would stop in during his journey. Each letter would bring him unspeakable joy, the sound of her name a melody on his lips: Elysi.

After a year, he finally returned to her village and found her at the bank of the Nafsi once more. This time, however, he could not bear to leave. Their love was unbreakable. They were soon wed and settled in a valley to live out the rest of their days. They lived twelve long and happy years together until one day, she suddenly fell ill from Bloodroot. A vicious berry disguised under innocent blooms. Kofir spent the day caring for his wife and the night creating a plant with strong enough healing properties to save her. After endless toil, he had finally done it. He grew the flower in the dead of winter and revealed his work to Elysi, but it was too late. The bloodroot had found its way to her heart and the flower he’d created could only slow its effects. He was grateful that the bloom allowed him a few more weeks with his beloved before she passed.

Kofir was heartbroken. A month flew by, but his heart could not be healed. He spent that time traveling the land and eradicating bloodroot from Vyelan’s soil so no one would ever suffer the same fate as Elysi. Though he loved the people, each day without her was torture. Suffering he could not bear for a lifetime. With nothing left, he returned home. He took the seeds from his creation and planted them atop her grave, affectionately naming them Elysir. After paying his respects, he traveled to the head of the river in the Trosthek Mountains.

In that cave, under the light of the moon, he stepped into the waters and spoke a vow:

“Surely as our love is unending, so shall this river be. May the souls united here be reborn and reunite. My eyes shall be opened by a mark in the valley where life begins and ends.”

With that, he summoned all the power he could muster and bound both his and Elysi’s souls to the Nafsi. The tears from his eyes formed a magical gem known as the Water Stone, connecting their souls to the river and providing strength to the land. With his life force physically bound, he went on to join his lover in the afterlife.

The flower bloomed each year and the seeds spread across the land, growing along the bank of the Nafsi from one end to the other. It is said that to this day their souls continue to reincarnate and find each other, providing magic to the land.

Their love a steady and ever-flowing stream.

I shut the book with a blissful sigh as I stare up at the ceiling of my home. Years and years of being read this tale and it never gets old. My head rolls to the side and I catch a glimpse of the clock on the bedroom wall. Just in time.

I hop out of bed and change into my work attire before bouncing over to the bathroom. I tie my shoulder-length locs up into two messy ponytails and pick at the ends until they shoot out like a firework. The white seashells woven into them complement my large white birthmark. Its irregular borders mimic any natural land mass and act as a unique feature I’ve come to love. The lack of color starts at the center of my hairline and slopes down the side of my nose, wrapping around to the back left side of my jaw. I trace over it gently, a grin tugging at my lips. Blowing myself a kiss in the mirror, I exit the house and follow the beaten path.

The sun is rising over Duskwick village and the streets are busy as usual. The sounds and smells bring me joy as I walk to the Herbal Clinic. People move between vine and moss-covered buildings to take care of business. Those running stalls on the main road shout today’s prices and the freshness of the produce for sale. I wave hello to many of the stall owners as I pass by, receiving smiles in return.

Arriving at the clinic, I find Miss Merilla, the head herbalist, already taking inventory. Her gray hair sits in a bun atop her head, the bells on her sleeve jingling as she adjusts her glasses.

“Good Morning, Miss Merilla.”

“Good Morning, Heriath. You’re right on time. I assume that’s what I asked for?” she asks, pointing to the basket on my arm.

“You can add these to your count,” I nod, setting my basket on the counter. “This is everything from the list you gave me. I even waited until this morning to pick the windroot so the healing properties would be at their peak for use.”

“Very good, Heriath. You’ve always been a fast learner. I’ll take these down,” she says as she observes the basket’s contents. “You can help me take count of the herbs on the bottom shelf before we get busy.”

I nod, “Sure.”

I survey the containers on the shelves. Each one holds an herb or an herbal mixture that makes it faster to make simple medicines. I jot down how many we have of each one and finish in a few minutes. Checking over my work, I frown at the results. “Hey, Miss Merilla? When does our next shipment from Mysticane City come in?”

“In a few days. Why?”

I bring her the clipboard to point out the issue, “We are low on gilliflower. I need it to make the next batch of medicine for at least three patients today.”

“Oh my, that is a problem, isn’t it? Do you think you’ll have enough to fill those three orders?”

“Maybe. I can try,” I say, unsure. “I hate that we have to rely on shipments.”

Miss Merilla places a hand on my shoulder as I stare down at the clipboard, “I know dear, but the land can only keep up with demands for so long.” I sigh in frustration. The way things are going, we’ll soon be forced to choose who to give medicine to.

“Can’t I use some of the-”

“No, Heriath,” she says sternly.

“Just a little, Miss Merilla?”

“You know we can’t use it unless it’s an emergency.”

“That flower, even a tiny bit, can help people. It can cure people.”

“And that is why we save it. We are lucky to have any at all, you know that.”

I take in a deep breath as I set down the clipboard. She’s right. Even with the shipments, less and less has been coming in, which means even the big cities are running low.

“I’m sorry,” I apologize. “I didn’t mean to fight you on it.”

She gives me a warm smile, “It’s alright. I know it’s hard, but our job is to do our best with what we’ve got.” I nod and return her smile as the bell over the front door chimes.

“Well, let’s get to work.”

--

Listen to the Moxie Press Podcast now:

Moxie Press does not own the work showcased in our monthly author spotlights nor does Moxie Press make any commission on the sale of the author’s work. All works are sole property of their authors.