Words of Warning

Episode 8 - The World Stone

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Tasol reached down, picking up the pebble. It looked dense, like a piece of granite, but as he lifted it, it had no weight to it at all. Running his fingers along the surface, it was etched with runes that were unfamiliar to him. Turning to Myra, he handed it to her, obvious she shared the same questions as him.

“Why is this so important?” she asked.

Tasol shrugged his shoulders. “I have no idea,” Tasol said, shrugging his shoulders, “but we both promised that if this day came, we would take it and find Belidor.”

Still holding the pebble, Myra picked up the letter from their father, reading it aloud.

I am sorry that this burden has fallen to you, and can only assume that since they’ve found you that your mother, Evra, has also passed. It was only her magical wards that kept us all hidden over the years. Mourn her passing–she was a sweet woman and one of the best Spellweavers that this world has ever known.

“Spellweaver?” Myra said, pausing as she looked at Tasol. Magic was a myth, a myth only held by the most fringe, radical people in Waterfell. It was rumored to exist long ago, but the King had put an end to that, hunting and killing all who claimed to wield magic. Even speaking of it could still get one in a great deal of trouble. Their father never spoken of magic, and anytime the topic was raised, he put it down as the beliefs of lunatics who chose fantasy rather than real-world concerns.

“Keep reading,” Tasol said, pointing to the vellum.

You may think this the rantings of an old man, but I have worked hard to protect our family, to protect the artifact for as long as I could. Now, it is your turn to take your place in this world, but I tell you now–magic is real, the artifact is real. They will be coming for it, for you, now that you can be seen. Keep it hidden in the iron box. Your mother made it, and its wards will keep the artifact hidden for a short time, perhaps at least until you can get to Belidor at Ward’s End. He is old and wise. Listen, to him, trust him. He will help you understand.

I love you both dearly. There is a ring for each of you Imbued by your mother. Take them, put them on and never take them off from this day forward. You will learn from them, and they will harness the true power of the blood that courses through your veins. My words are too many. Now it is time for you to get on with it. I just have one final warning. You should be scared, it will keep you alert, alive. Now, my children, you must run.

Love, Artus

They both looked up from the letter, their eyes connecting, mirroring a level of panic from their father’s ominous warning. Their father was a rational man, and always spoke the clear words of truth. For that reason, they knew they were in danger, they needed to go.

Tasol reached down, picking up the two rings, looking at them. They seemed to be made of a metal he hadn’t seen before. One was in the shape of an unopened tulip bud, the other an acorn. He handed the tulip ring to Myra, placing the acorn ring on his finger, as Myra did the same with her ring. A strange feeling surged through his body, his heart raced, his vision blurred momentarily, and then it resolved. He looked at Myra as she staggered backwards, placing her hand on the wall to steady herself.

“Do you feel it too?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said, shaking her head and regaining her composure, “that was strange, but somehow it feels, right.”

He knew what she meant. He reached down, taking the sealed letter to Belidor from the table and stowing the artifact in the iron box, locking it with the disc on his necklace. As he did that, Myra was rummaging through the Seeker’s backpack, removing the severed hand, using her short sword to cut the dark, black metal ring from his hand before placing it in her pocket. Tossing the backpack aside, a small coin shaped objected cascaded out, bouncing off the leg of the table. Tasol leaned over, picking it up. It was coin-shaped, but it wasn’t a coin. It was a blueish-black metal with smooth surfaces. He turned it over in his hand to see a shadowy blue light pulsing wildly in the center of the metal disc. It was cool to the touch, and nothing he did stopped the light from pulsing. The mystery of this device would have to wait, for now, they needed to leave. He placed the metal disc in his pocket and returned to preparing the packs for their escape.

Moments later, Tasol handed Myra a loaded pack, and she stowed her things in it while he did the same. He was always clever with his packs and showed her how they could carry two blades on their back, out of the way, unless needed. Tasol stowed his machetes, and Myra the two Seeker blades. Packed and ready to leave, they both reached up, touching the wooden acorn, and then Tasol took it from above the door, stowing it safely in his pack. When they stepped out, the moon was high over head and the rain had stopped. It was a quiet night and Tasol weighed the words of his father–scared and run–keeping his senses keen. Not missing the irony of it, they started the long journey to Ward’s End, heeding their father’s warnings to them. They were running from Bannion, the only place they had ever known, and were heading to find a man they didn’t know. Tasol thought about his mother, a Spellweaver? How could he not have seen it when now it seemed so obvious? There’d always been something oddly unique about her. He looked at Myra and could see she was turning the same thoughts in her head, trying to make sense of it all.

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