An Unexpected Visitor

Episode 2 - The World Stone

Apr 13, 2023

The chime of the bell echoed in Tasol’s mind. He knew what he needed to do, but was finding it hard to convince his mind to put down the tea. Instead, he took a long, slow draw from the tea cup until it emptied. He purposefully set the teacup down on the table, moved the soup pot from the fire, and reached for his machete, its dull metallic surface glinting in the light of the fire. Dinner would be a bit delayed tonight. Now, he had to go deal with his mistake from earlier in the day. He only hoped that it was a scout and not a full-on search party. Scouts can be dealt with quietly, hidden and forgotten. Search parties can’t, and the idea of keeping his little cave and its spring a secret would be sheer folly. He hated killing, but options were often limited and seldom within his control. Still, he would do what had to be done, nothing more, nothing less, just as he always did.

He paused at the door, pulling the hooded jacket from the peg. Buttoning it tightly, he secured all the buttons on the dingy black jacket, ensuring it fight tightly, minimizing the chances it would catch or snag on anything. No unwanted noises at unwanted times. He reached up to the shelf, taking a set of daggers, sliding one into a hidden sheath on each boot, and then placing the remaining blades in sheaths on his forearms, hidden inside the sleeves of the jacket. As he passed out the entrance of the cave, his hand moved to touch an old wooden carving of an acorn, the sacred symbol of the dryads, that hung above the entrance. The carving was smooth, well oiled from the countless touches over the years. Not only oiled by Tasol’s touch, but the touch of his father and his father’s father doing the same as they left their homes, seeking the safety and protection of the dryads of the forest. He’d been told stories of his family’s connection to the dryads, along with cryptic warnings that the family owed a debt to them that would have to be repaid in the future. Tasol’s parents had told them other stories of dryads, but like many others, he didn’t believe in them and paid the stories no mind. Still, he was superstitious and religiously hung the carved acorn above the door everywhere he moved.

He stepped out into the darkness, taking a moment for his eyes to adjust. It was darker than normal. The sky was overcast, blocking any light from the moon that would’ve shared more details. He nodded to himself, a small grin touching his lips as he adjusted his grip on the machete. The luck of the dryads was already in play, as it’d be much easier for him to hunt whatever was out there in this darkness on his home turf. He knew the surroundings by rote, giving him a distinct edge. With purpose, he headed out, slipping between trees until he was well hidden a hundred yards or so from the entrance of the cave, but still in full view of it, his eyes now fully adjusted to the darkness. Whoever had tripped his alarm would eventually smell the smoke from his fire and make their way to the cave, at least that is what he’d do if the tables were turned. Now, he hoped it was only a scout as he crouched down, staying hidden.

It seemed like an eternity had passed, and Tasol toyed with the idea that it might’ve been an animal that tripped the alarm. He was about to pack it in when, out of the shadows to the left of the cave opening, a slender, cloaked shadow appeared. Its head swiveled, looking in all directions as it smoothly stepped forward, immediately finding the entrance to the cave. The cloaked figure paused, tentatively looking around, and Tasol silently crept forward, convinced he’d found the scout who’d made the mistake of tripping his alarm. He was covering the space between himself and the cloaked figure quickly now, and was always amazed at his ability to move as he did, a clear nod to his father. The figure’s head snapped in his direction and went into a low crouch, its attention fixed in Tasol’s direction. Uncertain if he’d revealed himself, Tasol froze, hidden in the darkness, as he watched the figure’s hand slowly move to its belt. It seemed like hours that the two were essentially looking at one another, until finally the cloaked figure lowered its hand, turning back to the cave opening. It stepped closer to the entrance, calling out in a muffled whisper, “Tasol? Are you here? We need to talk.”

Even in the darkness of the night, and at this distance, he immediately recognized the voice. It was his sister, but what was she doing out here, and how did she know exactly where he lived? They hadn’t spoken since their mother’s passing, and their last words were not pleasant. He stepped out of the shadows, warily coming up behind her.

“Myra,” he whispered in a raspy voice.

Startled, she turned, dark blade in hand, her eyes fixed on him. “Hello brother,” she said, her eyes now connecting with his.

“Quickly, inside,” Tasol said, surveying the forest from where she’d come.