Trouble Brewing

Episode 3 - The World Stone

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Tasol stepped forward, ushering Myra into the cave, smoothly replacing the tarp that hid the entrance. Turning to Myra, he slid his machete into its sheath fastened to his pants leg. She stowed her blade as well, and milled about the small cave looking around and touching things before stopping in front of the small cistern that held the spring water.

“So, this is where you live now?” Myra asked, as she dipped her finger into the water, pressing it to her lips.

Ignoring her question, Tasol couldn’t hide his concern. “You were careless, coming here like this,” Tasol said, ignoring her question. “Were you followed? Did you cover your tracks?”

“Yes, I was careful. Just as father taught us–both of us.” Her words were crisp and laced with venom as she turned her attention back to him. There was history in that exchange, and her tone made it clear she didn’t appreciate the inference from her brother. She was his little sister, but he knew as well as she did that their father taught her everything that he’d taught Tasol, and she picked it up just as quickly as him, sometimes faster.

Tasol let out a deep breath as he turned away. Stepping to the fire, he removed the lid from the kettle, filling it with water from the spring. “Tea?” he asked, turning back to the fire, placing the kettle on the iron hook above it.

Myra’s shoulders drooped, the tension draining from her voice. “Yes, that would be nice.”

Tasol reached to the cabinet, taking a second cup and placing it next to his on the small table, still not looking her in the eyes. This second cup was her cup, and Myra hesitated, reaching out to touch it.

“Mother’s cup. Where did you find it?” she asked.

Again ignoring her question, Tasol stared blankly into the fire, leaning his head against the wall. “Why are you here, Myra?” he asked in a solemn voice. “Why have you come? Now?” They had not seen one another since their mother’s sudden passing, and they parted ways, both bitter and blaming the other for things out of their control. Little was spoken between them after their father’s death, and even less after their mother’s passing.

“Your little slip up today, with Saul,” she said.

Tasol leaned back, looking at the ceiling. “Shit,” he cursed, partially in disbelief, but mostly in disgust with himself. It was such a stupid mistake.

“It’s drawn some attention,” she continued. “They’ve been asking all over Bannion about you–about me.”

Tasol let out a sigh as his eyes lowered to the fire. “What about Getty?” he asked quietly.

“Well, you know Getty. He wanted me to sell you out. He’s still bitter about what happened when mother passed.”

“And you? Are you still bitter? Did you want to sell me out as well?” Tasol asked, now turning to meet Myra’s gaze.

“Bitter? No, not bitter,” she answered. “Sad, disgusted maybe, but mostly just disappointed. Disappointed that after all our parents did, you just abandoned us. She died with a broken heart because of it, because of you, Tasol. And sell you out? How can you even ask me that? I’m still your sister, your only remaining flesh and blood in this crappy world.”

“Sit,” Tasol said, motioning to the chair as he placed a small bundle of wild sage in each cup, pouring a bit of water over to steep them. “Would you like some soup?”

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Tasol? Would I like some soup?” she repeated his words in a raised voice. “I come out here telling you that you’re being hunted, that Getty wanted me to sell you out, and you just ask me if I want some soup?”

“I just thought you might be hungry,” he answered in a calm voice, “and it’s clear we have some things to talk about, so better to–”

“Do it on a full stomach,” she said, finishing his sentence, this time in a more restrained voice. “Yes, I know mother would’ve said that, but she’s not here anymore. You need to let the past be the past. Let it go and move on with your life.” She leaned forward, talking in a hushed tone. “This shit is real, brother, and you know the same things about our family as I do. Father told both of us. Remember?” She paused, looking intently in his eyes. “It falls on both of us. You cannot do it alone.”

As she finished, Tasol placed his hand gently on her shoulder, pressing her to sit in the chair. Turning, he spooned up two bowls of soup placing them on the table, handing her a wooden spoon.

“Eat. Then we talk,” he said.

Myra scoffed at Tasol, but she didn’t reject the food and they both sat in silence eating.

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