Mercury, Passage Three

Charlie Homerding
3 min readApr 18, 2017

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Photo Credit: Pixabay

A smirk curled onto Mercury’s face, and she would have burst out into laughter if she didn’t feel that her life might be endangered. The blue-faced creature tied her up well. She would need a very sharp object to cut through the rope that wrapped around her wrists and ankles. Despite the dire circumstances, Mercury was amused by the question of whether or not she was a witch.

“If I knew magic,” she quipped, “I’d be outta here already.”

“Hmmmmm!! Hm, hm, hm!” the old creature expelled. “True, true, true. If you knew magic, I would probably be dead by now. Unless… you need something from me?”

“I’d like to be untied.”

“No, no, no, no, no! Not yet. I haven’t yet cut you up into little pieces for my evening stew!”

Mercury’s heart sank. The old woman cackled away and began to prepare a meal. She couldn’t tell if her new acquaintance was serious or had a morbid sense of humor.

“I — I know how to fight,” Mercury stammered. The old woman’s cackle silenced. Her face grew solemn, and she stared directly into Mercury’s eyes, as if psychically reading her soul.

“You are…” the old woman spoke, continuing to peer into her eyes, “…a spunky little sprite! What is your name?”

“Mercury,” the fugitive revealed, second guessing if she should have revealed her identity. What did it matter though? She figured only one of them was getting out of that cave alive anyway.

“AH! Ah, yes, yes, yes,” the old woman erupted, and then began to mumble to herself. “A girl of the old elements. Shall control the dark energy. To harvest the light. Ahhhh, yes. She could be it. It does make sense. I see… I should ask her about the flouros.”

“Look lady,” Mercury barked. “I don’t know what you’re all about. But you either let me go, or only one of us is getting out of here!”

“Why were you touching the black flouros?” the old woman asked.

“The what?” Mercury replied, utterly confused.

“She doesn’t know,” the old woman muttered to herself again. “She can’t be the girl. Or she might be. But she doesn’t know who she is. Both are equal possibilities. Or probabilities. Either, or. I guess.”

“I will cast a spell on you if you don’t let me go!” Mercury shouted. She may not have known any magic, but maybe she could pretend her way out of this situation, like she did many times in the past. The old woman again peered directly into Mercury’s eyes, analyzing the wavelengths of color in her iris. And again, the old woman expelled into a fit of giggles.

“There’s no such thing as magic!” she announced.

“Of course there is,” Mercury attempted to concoct an elaborate lie. “That’s what I was doing in the jungle before you hit me on the head. I needed to recharge from my, um… magic ball of… darkness.”

“Hmmmm, yes,” the old woman replied. “I guess only a witch would be putting her hand into a gooey black ball hovering in the jungle.”

“A very powerful witch,” added Mercury.

“Or a very unaware, young woman who was transfixed by the power of a dark energy that she has yet to fully comprehend.” The old woman smiled. She closed her eyes, and extended her hand forward. After a slight moment, Mercury felt her body lift from the table. The thick ropes around her wrists and ankles began to unravel, and she floated toward the stalagmites overhead.

“Please, don’t drop me,” Mercury pleaded.

“I won’t,” the old woman answered. “On the other hand, I still need to put something in my stew.” She did have a morbid sense of humor. Mercury laughed, nervously.

“I could get you a rodent from the jungle,” she offered.

“Not necessary,” the old woman said as she softly lowered Mercury to the ground.

“So… where did you learn that spell?”

“Ugh! I told you,” spat the old woman. “Magic isn’t real. That is the power of the flouros.”

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