Mid-Week Flash Challenge - Week 201

This week's picture prompt was created by British photographer and artist Svetlana Sewell. She calls this The Door. She has a wealth of pictures, so I might be visiting her site again. She is defnitely worth checking out. 

Okay, as I am ramping up to writing Tricky's second book in June, I am getting snippets of the tale and how I am going to weave it. Here's a taster. (Last Tricky Tale was on Week 197)

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Portal

She could see it but she couldn’t get to it. Gah! She hated not being able to reach it. What a shame she didn’t have control over water instead of time. She’d be a hero if she could find a way to navigate the unsailable sea!

Tricky stood at the shore eyeing the door. Although was it a door? She squinted against the rising moon which reflected the last of the sun’s rays into her eyes, bouncing them off whatever that thing was in the water. It looked like an open door, but what the bloody hell was a door doing out there in the middle of the water? She had no idea – even though she suspected who had put it there.

She sat on the wet sand and pulled her boots and socks off, hoisted her skirts up and tucked them into the waist band and waded into the water. It was high and rough. Wave after wave came at her, with no rhythm or cycle. They crashed across each other, going in all directions with no ebb or flow. It’s why no one had managed to find a way to sail it again – that and the lack of materials to build something that could withstand the turbulence. She began to feel sick at the constant push and pull against her, but she pushed on, getting arms length away from the door.

And it was a door, oh yes that was certain now, and it was open.

She grasped the frame of it, using it to help her fight the last of the current and get close enough to step in. She felt the energy in it vibrate through her. Only two people could have made this: one was dead, and the other had vanished.

She breathed and pulled energy up from the seabed to help her lift up out of the water until she was standing on the foot of the doorframe. The light inside was intense, and in constant motion.

She took a deep breath and reached out with her mind. She couldn’t sense anything threatening, so she took a step inside. She felt the light pulsate through her, and kept walking until she heard a voice.

‘Finally, I was wondering how long it would take you.’

‘Dufray? Is that you? Why can’t I see you?’

‘Because my physical self is not here.’

‘Is this a trap?’ Tricky took a step back.

‘No, it’s a light portal. Your mother taught me how to make them as a means to have protected conversations.’

‘And we need to have one?’

‘Yes. I’m being held against my will.’

‘Where? By who?’

‘In an underground bunker, by Stanislov.’

‘Stanislov? But you’re working with him; I’ve uncovered that much.’

‘No, I work for Tumelo as a spy, undercover, trying to root out the rest of Vincent Linley’s cronies. But someone’s revealed my true allegiance, so now they’re keeping me captive.’

‘Who is that someone?’

‘I have my suspicions but I’m not 100% sure.’

Tricky’d heard Dufray spin all sorts of tales, especially to her. If she had a mirror she’d be pulling a face right now. ‘Why should I trust anything you say after what you did to me in Ballford?’

‘I had to do that to you, it was the only way I could get you out of there, because they had plans for you.’

‘They?’

‘Yes, Stanislov’s men – well they were Carter’s men at the time, but we dispatched him so they’re now with Stanislov. I was already in with them, as you know, and I had to make it believable otherwise you would have become suspicious. And if you’d stayed and stuck your nose in, you would have ended up like your mother.’

Whenever anyone referred to her mother’s death, Tricky always received an image of her burning on that pyre. She shuddered. ‘This all sounds a little far-fetched. How do I know it’s not some trap you’re setting for them?’

‘Can you still access my tower room in the castle in Clancy?’

‘Yes, if I have to.’

‘Then do it. And you will find not only something etched into the energy of your Obsidian, but correspondence with Tumelo.’

‘Is there enough time for me to do that?’

‘You can make time, Tricky, so of course there is.’

Tricky chuckled. ‘Oh yes. Silly me.’

‘I knew you’d struggle to trust me again, but you won’t doubt me after you find them.’

Tricky was sceptical, but she wasn’t stupid. Plus she’d get her Obsidian back.