Spirit of the Watercolour

I looked at my left hand. It was shaking. Drawing block paper, watercolour palette, a plastic bowl of tap water and a brush laid on the table. I knew I could never do this. But Derick, who was sitting opposite of me smiled, regarding me with his obsidian black eyes, as if telling me, You have to be brave.

With caution, my fingers curled around one of the Weapons of Mass Creation. The Realism Brush. From the outside, it looked like a normal brush, but if you see it closely, the brush was glowing with magic and imagination. It was passed down, as a family treasure from my grandfather, to my father, and now, me. Myths say that anything that you painted with this, it would come alive, but at a certain cost.

I didn’t know if it would help my right hand magically recover. But I wanted to try, no matter the cost. I dipped the brush into my watercolour palette and mixed the colours until I got a shade close to the human skin colour. Using the brush, I painted a figure of my right hand whilst observing my real right hand. 

All of a sudden, the tap water splashed by itself, even though there weren’t any forces around. It splashed gently at first, then more vigorously as seconds passed, as if someone—or something—was trying to burrow out of the water. Derick and I fixed our eyes on it, awestruck yet terrified at the same time. The air turned chilly, even though it was bright outside. Cherry blossom petals floated in. Derick touched one of them and said wide-eyed, “Something is awakening. The trees are saying.”

My eyebrows raised in disbelief at him. Just then, the water sort of morphed itself, and a woman-like figure, as tall as a pencil appeared. I examined her from head to toe…except there weren’t any toes. Her feet just fused with the water. Actually, her entire being was made of water, and I could see right through her. She had long hair swept to the right. Golden sparkles surrounded her. I froze in a mixture of awe and fear.

“W-Who are…you?” asked Derick and I in unison.

I am Fjord, spirit of the watercolour. It spoke in my mind.

“Spirit of the…watercolour?” I repeated in confusion.

“You can understand it?!” yelled Derick. 

He cannot understand the ways of our art. He is better suited for the earth. Fjord looked around at the pink petals scattered around us. Oh, it appears that my century-long friend, Linnaea, is good friends with him. 

“Lin..Linnaea?” I said.

“Jacklynn, how did you… Uh… That’s the trees’… You know, spirit,” Derick hesitated, trying to find the correct words.

“Fjord, if you’re the spirit of the watercolour, then Linnaea is, um, spirit of the trees that surround our school?”

Correct. And Jacklynn Morriet, I have awakened to meet you. I have been sleeping in this brush for a hundred years, until now, because I have found someone who is very intent in my powers. Do you want to regain your right hand’s ability?

I nodded solemnly, “Yes. Very much.”

Can you do me a favour?

I answered “yes” without hesitation.

Great. Please help me find Zoran, the spirit of light. He’s somewhere in this area. 

“Zoran? I don’t know—“

The school bell interrupted me, signaling high noon. 

The heat is too strong now. I must go. Do not worry, I will always reside in the brush, and I will always reappear in water.

“Hey, wait!”

But I was too late. Fjord had already disappeared with a splash back into the water, and I stared at it in disbelief. It took me twenty seconds to recognize the situation.

“…Jacklynn… you okay?” Derick asked in concern.

“Y-Yeah. But I have to find Zoran, the spirit of light first before Fjord will grant me my right hand’s ability back. Apparently, he or she’s in this school. Have you seen anyone named Zoran?” I asked nervously.

“No, not yet,” Derick furrowed his eyebrows. He picked up a petal. “Linnaea, are you still there? … Curses, we have lost connection. Jacklynn, I’ll go out to talk to the trees if they know of Zoran, okay? I’ll meet you back in the classroom later.” Then he ran out of the room and into the hallway. 

I stared helplessly outside at the sunlight streaming in through the windows. The cherry blossom trees stood there, pink petals floating in the breeze. Zoran… who exactly is Zoran? Although I know he’s the spirit of the light… What information am I missing on?

Hmm… spirit of the light… don’t light usually come from the Sun? The Sun… Apollo… The Greek god of the Sun…

Then it hit me. There was a person who reminded me of Apollo. It was a pretty weak evidence, but at least it was better than nothing.

Kyle Hiroman, the popular dude.