{Originally shared as an entry to the crypto coven Tree of Echoes story contest in May 2022}
zinnia, the deep beach, ever a sifter of the sands of time, picked up a prismatic hourglass from among the many glass vessels that lined each surface of the solarium. They turned it over thoughtfully, and the oolitic sand that glistened inside began to tumble inexorably down. Oolite, the smoothest of all sands, is formed on the seafloor. While underwater, the surface of each tiny grain teems with bacteria who have shaped their world for millennia with this limestone substrate. So now does zinnia shape their little corner of the wilds with the bacteria’s sandy remains: if a storm brews outside, you can be sure they intend to transfigure the oolite gleaming on the beach into precious glass.
“I feel the onset of a Mood Indigo,” remarked zinnia as they turned to fix their blindfolded gaze to the east, toward the obsidian clouds which roiled like hot liquid over the sea. Meanwhile, their sistren, apricot the absorbant and persimmon sky attended the scrying glass. Every so often, this trinity met at the intertidal fissure where mountains and sea enmesh. You see, they desired to conjure a bolt of lightning from that foreboding sky. They wished to channel their unified will to direct it precisely where their kiln-fired ooid moulds lay buried beneath the sand.
“Big storm beckoning!” replied apricot and persimmon in unison. The three SEERS shared the same strange black, sightless eyes, lined in glowing white, a mark of their affinity for this kind of alchemical magic, since a SEER possesses a sight far beyond what the ordinary eye can perceive. zinnia joined their sistren at the flat scrying mirror made of highly polished black tourmaline, which balanced at waist height on the point of a three-sided glass pyramid. They laced their hands and voices together and a low, almost visible humming began to emanate from them. When you seek to create with their dark materials, the weird wilds require a show of respect—some recognition of their deadly paradox: After Creation, Destruction. After Destruction, Creation. The SEERS entwined their minds around a single mantra, repeating:
No Mud,
No Lotus
Suddenly an earsplitting peal of thunder rang out that shook the glass panels of the solarium. A blinding flash of light and....
~~~~~
They pierced across the moonlit shore, eager to find the spoils of their lightning spell. The sky and sea had grown quiet, and the only sounds were muffled giggles and the soft swish of sand beneath slippers. zinnia stopped dead when the scent of hot beeswax alerted their nostrils that their prize was close at hand, and persimmon quickly bent to dig where a thin wisp of smoke streamed from the ground. apricot unfurled a thick blanket of braided turquoise fibers in the sand beside them, its woven lattice of glass beads each reflecting the full moon like so many tiny eyes. They howled their joy as they uncovered the cache of pearlescent pitchers, pipes and figurines, placing each one gingerly onto the mat. Though some of the pieces emerged from their moulds missing handles or lopsided, they rejoiced not in their perfection, but in their uniqueness—for a SEER does not seek perfection, knowing it is an illusion as fleeting as lightning.