moni uddin

Mirror of Visions

Everyone in Mowton knew why they called it the Blue Mountain. That much was clear from the permanent clouds fixed at its peak, which, on a clear day, gave off a blueish haze. However, standing this close, Sable realised it wasn’t merely a haze but something more. Up close, the blue in the clouds appeared more like a faint teal, shifting and pulsing, as if the ancient mountain itself were breathing.

Sable smiled at the thought, and because he was finally out of the forest and so close to his goal. Now, the path to the not-so-distant horizon seemed to shorten with every step. Only open fields, green and dotted with patches of daisies and lilies stood between the little cat and his dream of seeing the stone. That mysterious object, impossibly beautiful and full of hope, had been the purpose of this entire journey.

At times, it felt strange to have left Mowton for this alone, but Sable had longed for adventure since kittenhood. He also couldn’t ignore the stone’s hum. It played over and over in his mind, filled with hope and belief, as if the stone itself were encouraging him onward.

Only one issue nagged at him. The pack of supplies felt light. Sable shook it, hearing the clatter of just a few items at the bottom. When he opened it, only his bedroll, tools, and bits of vine met him. Brushing them aside, he looked into the food pouch. One biscuit, wrapped in protective paper, rested on a bed of crumbs. His stomach growled as he closed the pack, saving the precious biscuit for later. 

Sable popped off the stopper from his bottle and began filling it in the nearby river. As it started to overflow, he stowed it away. Crouching, he took a few more sips of the freshwater.

“A village cat, this far out? Now I’ve seen it all,” a voice said.

Sable looked up, water dripping from the fur around his mouth. A tigress leaned against the rocks, clad in light leather armour. A sharp steel sword rested beside her.

Sable quickly wiped his mouth and stood. His ears flattened in shock as he slowly backed away. What was a tiger doing here? Sable’s fur stood on end, ready to flee if needed. 

“Cat got your tongue?” the tigress teased, standing tall to reveal the vast height difference between them. Her orange-striped coat was sleek and smooth, patterned in a way that dazzled her foes.

“Relax . . . I mean you no harm. I’m hunting something much worse than you—and much bigger,” she said as she went back to resting on the rocks. She reached into her large pack and tossed a fresh green apple toward the little cat. “Where are you headed?”

Sable caught it and took a hesitant bite. The juices filled his mouth with a sour sweetness, and he smiled faintly in thanks. He pointed toward the Blue Mountain, clearly visible in the distance.

“The Blue Mountain? Why in the world are you going there?” the tigress asked. “Well, you must have your reasons, and you made it this far, so I won’t pry. I wish you luck, small adventurer. The fields are safe enough if you stay on the path, but there are whispers of foul beasts. If you encounter one, don’t be brave.” She gave him a pointed look. “Run.”

Sable shivered at the thought. What kind of beast could get a tiger speaking like that? But he didn’t need to be told twice to run. That had been his plan all along.

The tigress reattached her pack and sheathed her sword, giving Sable one more curious glance before leaping across the river, landing with a soft thud on the other side. She began her powerful strides across the field until she began to fade into the distance. Sable looked on in admiration and wished for even a bit of her confidence in the journey ahead.

Sable turned his attention to the river, watching the strong currents drag the water with incredible force. He could not jump across like the tigress, but he spotted some rocks where the powerful water scattered around in defeat. That could be his way across.

Determined, he tied his pack tightly around him and paced the riverbank a few times, gathering courage and memorising where to jump. With a final deep breath and a glance at the horizon for comfort, he leapt to the first rock. 

One of his legs landed firmly, the other hovering for balance, but he had made it. The next rock was a bit farther away but still doable, so he leapt again. His paws slipped on the wet surface, sending him crashing into the water headfirst. 

The water surged into Sable’s open mouth and lungs as it dragged him along. Panic overwhelmed him as he flailed his arms and legs, desperately trying to surface for air. His body slammed into the jagged rocks as the water threw him around, indifferent to whatever lay in its path.

A log crashed downstream, and with a final, desperate effort, he dug his claws into it, hugging it tightly. Terrified and gasping for air, his vision began to blur as his strength faded, his eyes slowly closing. This couldn’t be the end. He hadn’t made it there yet.

In the fading moments, Sable glimpsed the Blue Mountain, shrinking as it returned to the horizon.

The next time Sable opened his eyes, he felt like he was lying on soft clouds as a warmth seeped through his fur. It almost felt like he was back in his bed in Mowton. But as his strength returned, he glanced around and found himself surrounded by great red and orange dunes that stretched endlessly in every direction. One dune towered above the rest, standing like a great wall, its golden surface glowing faintly in the fading light. 

The river that had brought him here now tumbled from the top of this massive dune, forming a waterfall of sand and water that shimmered as it fell into a calm pool beside him. From there, the water flowed gently toward the sea, reflecting the deep red of the setting sun. The wall of sand from this towering dune stretched endlessly, confining him to this strip of beach, with the sea stretching just as far in the opposite direction.

Sable groaned and smacked the sand. Not just because the pain from the river surfaced but because he had no idea where he was. The Blue Mountain was no longer on the horizon. Its presence was now just a memory. He brushed the sand off his fur as he got up. And just when he thought things couldn’t get worse, Sable spotted his pack in the distance, half-submerged in the pool of water, sodden and covered in sand. 

He ran towards it and dragged the pack onto the dry sand, its damp fabric heavy with water. Sable quickly placed a paw on the food pouch and felt the hollowness. His last biscuit was gone. He groaned softly, realising that with no food, not only would he not see the stone, but he might not make it back to Mowton. His thoughts began to spiral. Why had this happened to him? Things had been going so well. 

The map, however, was still there, though its colours had begun to bleed, the ink running like tears. Sable realised he could at least find out where he was. Despite the damage, he managed to trace the river’s path with a claw all the way to the very edge of the map until he met the art of the dunes. Written underneath were the words: the Tall Shores. 

The realisation of where Sable was provided little comfort. He was still in pain and hungry, with supplies that were down to a few crumbs. Another thought entered his mind: if he turned back now and followed the dune wall south, he could eventually circle back to Mowton. It might work, and there, he would find his warm bed, his friends, and plenty of food. He could forget about the stone and this whole journey. It wasn’t supposed to be this hard.

The idea lingered in his mind long into the night. The air had cooled, and a gentle breeze carried sand from the dunes toward the sea. A crescent moon hung high in the sky, its light reflecting in Sable’s eyes as he sat deep in thought. The longer he pondered his decision, the more uncertain he became.

A glint in the sand caught his eye. A shard of glass, unearthed by the wind, was embedded in the sand. The reflection was unnaturally clear on its surface. Intrigued, Sable picked it up. It had an irregular shape, cracked along its surface and edges, and small enough to fit comfortably in his paw. The reflection it cast on its surface, however, was puzzling. It didn’t show his ragged black-and-white fur in need of a good bath. Instead, it revealed a small figure in the sand, as though Sable was watching them from above.

Bringing it closer, he realised the figure in the glass was him. His mirror self sat in the same spot, holding the same piece of glass. The reflection shifted, showing him turning the glass and trying to view it from different angles—yet Sable wasn’t doing that now. Astonished by the moving images, he watched as his mirror self put the glass away and began walking north as if he had already made the decision to continue the journey.

The image in the mirror continued for a moment, showing his reflection moving ahead, when suddenly, a large fish jumped from the sea and onto the beach, wriggling at his mirror self’s feet. His mirror self crouched to observe the strange sight. Then, another fish leapt from the water, knocking Sable’s reflection to the ground. The mirror flickered, and two slits appeared, peering back at him. The reflection returned to normal, revealing Sable’s own bewildered face.

The waves lapped gently against the shore as he walked along, deep in thought. What had the mirror shown him? And why had he seen himself? The world beyond Mowton was far more mysterious than he could have imagined. Sable stowed the mirror in his pack, questions racing through his mind. 

His stomach growled loudly. Sable wasn’t sure he could even make it back to Mowton in this state. Just then, a sudden splash broke the silence as a fish leapt onto the beach—just as the mirror had shown. Its silvery body was slightly triangular, with a dull yellow patch at its centre. Before he could react, another splash followed. Sable stepped back, narrowly avoiding a larger but similar fish that landed near his feet. Dozens more soon flopped ashore, their shimmering triangle-shaped bodies glistening under the moonlight.

Farther out, the water swelled and parted as a colossal figure emerged. The force of its leap sent shockwaves rippling across the surface. Its massive shadow stretched over the horizon, blacker than the night sky. No fins or tail were visible, only the faint outline of sharp, towering spines which cut through the air as it briefly exposed its back. The creature’s mouth gaped open, spewing water and fish before crashing back beneath the waves. A loud, echoing whine pierced the night. Sable liked to think it was the sound of satisfaction.

The fish on the beach lay still as the warm sand dried their shimmering scales. Sable couldn’t believe his luck. It almost felt like a bounty offered by the sea creature. Driven by hunger, he grabbed his knife from his pack and cut into one of the fish. Its candy-red flesh, smooth on his paw, seemed soft and had a light bounce. A sweet, savoury flavour burst through his senses when he took a bite, sending a shiver of delight down his spine. The taste was unlike anything he had ever known. After the bite, and as Sable prepared to get another piece, he felt his stomach instantly calm, as though he had eaten a full meal.

Amazed at the effect and now feeling rejuvenated, Sable looked at the abundance of strange fish. He decided he would gather and smoke as much as he could carry. As he sliced into another, he couldn’t help but smile at the discovery. 

No one in Mowton had ever tasted anything like this—not even the travelling merchants with their exotic goods. It felt like he had stumbled upon a treasure, and the thought of returning to share it with his friends brought a smile to his face.

The Tall Shores, Spring.

I realise now that I’m much farther from the Blue Mountain than I was before the river set me back. At first, I cursed the river, but then I knew it hadn’t meant to do this to me. So, I cursed myself instead.

But then, I thought about it differently. The journey still continued. Falling into the river showed me a fantastical part of the world, one I never would have seen if I had stuck to those simple green fields leading to the mountains.

I got to see the Tall Shores and taste the wonderful fish, too. It still amazes me how such a small amount can satisfy me.

My bruises and cuts from the river have already started healing. They seem to be forming a tougher, more resilient layer. One that has endured those trials and come out stronger.

I still have the mirror. Most of the time, it just reflects my face, but sometimes it shows me things—visions, or at least that’s what I think they are. 

The mirror often reveals dangers ahead. I can’t deny it has saved me countless times from burrowed scorpions ready to strike, terrible birds hunting the smoking fish strapped to my pack, and hidden sinkholes waiting to swallow me up. Some of these dangers happened moments after I saw them; others took days. It’s protected me, but every vision ends the same way, with my demise . . . And I’ve had to watch it again and again.

But still, it has helped me get this far. The rolling hills of sand are beginning to flatten, and the towering dune wall has gradually lowered. On the horizon, I think I can actually see it disappear altogether. Small, brave patches of green have also started to dot the beach ahead like pioneers daring to colonise the sandy landscape.

When I’m not dodging scorpions or trying to stay warm at night, it almost feels like a holiday.

The mirror has also shown me another vision—one that made me smile and reminded me of the journey. It showed me approaching a steep path that cut through the dune wall. With each step, I saw the sand thinning. Then, as I reached the top, I saw it—faint within the mirror but undeniable.

The Blue Mountain was back on the horizon.