For the next few weeks, I’ll be posting short scenes from unfinished stories. Some of these scenes are part of larger works that remain unfinished. Others are a solitary, a single scene from a story that hasn’t come to me in any shape or form…yet.

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The cup sat on the table before him, and he hung his face over it, willing the smoke from the candle in his hand down into its contents, to dance on the surface of the brown water it contained. The smoke glided up, not down, and he silently cursed for what felt like the hundredth time. He tried again, this time concentrated on the flame, directing it down, down down. Yes, good, this is good, he thought as he watched the way the flame dipped into the cup. The smoke began filling the vessel, but most of it escaped. He doubled his concentration, speaking to the smoke now, and smiled to himself as it started to descend, responding to his command be heavy and his plea show me what I seek.

When the smoke was dancing, swirling, hovering over the water within the cup, he blew out the flame on the taper and placed it on the table. Then he lift the cup to his face with two hands and peered into the smoke, watching how it formed shapes and pictures on the surface of the water, staining the surface of the liquid dark as ink. He smiled as he saw a girl dancing, before she was whisked away by friends, covered in a veil, presented as a bride. A slow chuckle burbled from inside him as he imagined it. He, a novice sorcerer, and her, a girl who kept the geese.

The door of the house creaked open loudly before it banged against the wall. he was so startled that his jump of surprise caused the water in the cup to splash up into his face. He could taste the dirt and the smoke in it as it ran over his lips. He blinked stupidly before looking towards the door, to see his teacher, Hargin, who was a real sorcerer, hauling in a load of firewood. He was grunting from effort as he moved towards the fire place. He spilled the load all over the floor of the house before he got to the place where the few logs that were already inside were neatly stacked. Hargin was muttering as he picked up the logs one by one, huffing and puffing as he placed them into the stack next to the hearth. Then, finally, he turned at looked right at Beagus, sitting at the table with smoke and water and shock still covering his face.

“What did you see?” Hargin asked as he stomped towards the door to close it. The man was huge; Beagus wondered why he hadn’t built a bigger house.

“The goose girl is getting married,” Beagus said.

“To who?” Hargin asked, shutting the door with more force that was probably necessary.

“Oh…” Beagus. He hadn’t thought it anyone other than him.

Hargin put his hands on his hips, and Beagus thought he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or frown.

“Next time don’t use dirty water,” he said. “You can’t see as well if it’s full of dirt.”

Beagus wondered why he hadn’t thought of that.