Free Water Witch by Amelia Bishop

just a happy domestic scene.
    “Identify your emotions.”
    I groaned. “I tried that already.”
    “You want to tell me what you saw? We can work it out together if you like.”
    No, not at all. “I…” I didn’t want to examine that vision, though I couldn’t say why. “Not really.”
    Salil’s gaze on me was intense, as if he was trying to read me. When I scowled at him he turned back to look at the water, and softly suggested, “Try another, then. Something completely different.”
    “Okay.” With my gaze on Salil, I focused on him, and tried to picture something really far in the future.
    The first vision I had was no good. The beach, rocks, and lawn behind him shimmered into a forest background, but he was clearly not much older than he was today. I wanted to go farther. I tried to picture him with wrinkled skin, or silver hair. Did Fae even age that way? Concentrate .
    The next picture was better. He was definitely older. His skin remained soft and smooth, but clusters of wrinkles near his eyes and a hunch to his shoulders told me he’d aged. He still looked elegant and slightly feminine, wearing a loose white shirt that was almost like a blouse. But his hair was shorter, cropped close to his head…it was thinning, the hairline pushed back and a circle of scalp visible near the top. Something tender and protective rose in me when I saw that. I noted the emotion but didn’t dwell on it, and tried to make out more details of the vision.
    He sat in a room, a beautiful room filled with flowers. Like a greenhouse? Maybe just a sun-room or enclosed patio; it was difficult to tell. His hands clasped a partially constructed wreath of herbs, and on his lap there were more sprigs ready to be added—lavender, lemon balm, yarrow. Another person walked into the room, a young woman, and sat next to a young man who was already there. I got the feeling there were several other people there, too, but my vision was limited to those sitting closest to Salil. When the woman sat, he smiled and resumed crafting the wreath. A demonstration. Or a workshop? He was holding up a small, neatly wrapped bundle of copper wire, showing the others how to properly form the wreath.
    Salil’s youthful face replaced the older one as I let the vision fade. His gaze flicked to mine, but he said nothing, just tilted his chin in a way that I knew meant he wanted an explanation. How do I know him so well already? I chuckled and shook my head.
    “What is it?”
    “Nothing. You make a good teacher, you know.”
    “And you make a fine student, when you put forth some effort. You were able to interpret this last vision, I assume?”
    “Yes, easily.”
    He sighed in annoyance. “And?”
    “I saw you, but older. I knew you were happy.” I didn’t add that I knew I was happy, too. That I loved that old, worn, version of his face. “Hey, how long do Fae live?”
    “Same as you. No magically-long lifespans, unless we remain always on the Fae plane.”
    Interesting. “Do some Fae do that?”
    “Very few. I never would.”
    Even more interesting. “Why not?”
    He pressed his lips together, as if to stop his immediate response from escaping. After a moment he said, “Only those with Fae blood are allowed to live there.”
    It took me a minute to realize what he meant: I couldn’t go with him. I didn’t know what to say to that. Was he so sure we were meant to be together? Or was I reading too much into his simple statement?
    He changed the subject before my silence grew awkward. “How about if you try to Journey again before I leave?”
    I smiled and shook my head in resignation. He’d encouraged me, built my confidence, and now he’d get what he came here for. I’d made some progress today. Maybe I’d get a new result if I tried Journeying again now. “Okay, fine. Well played, Fae.”
    He cracked a smile but said nothing.
    I shook out my hands and straightened my back. My legs ached to stretch, to stand, but I ignored the cramping