“Calm down, boy! Stop yer yappin’!”
Gaius waves a hand and glares at Enrik.
“Or maybe it’s a new set of heatin’ crystals! Or maybe an enchanted hammer!” Enrik clenches his fists, eyes wide with anticipation.
His aura brightens the otherwise dreary space—the town hall’s cellar.
Our party crowds around a long wooden table cutting down the center. The chamber is encased in gray brick, crates of potatoes and onions lining the walls. There are bookshelves too. Packed tight with tomes and documents, they stand as silent witnesses to history being made.
After retrieving the final keystone, we trekked back into town. We stopped by the tavern to pick up Viktor, then headed straight for Gaius’ living quarters in the town hall.
The old mayor was shocked to see us with Lady Varian, but he didn’t ask questions. He led us into the basement, rolling his eyes while Enrik rattled off treasure guesses.
“Or maybe the goddess has enemies! The heads of her foes!” Enrik slams his fist on the table. “Or maybe jewels! Diamond lanterns from the first garden! They’re real, you know. I heard about ‘em at the chapel.”
“Ah, but her lanterns were lost before humans settled the valley.” A man’s deep voice radiates from the corner.
Clad in a pristine white robe embroidered with gold flowers, he’s a tall fellow with kind eyes. Little Rala stands at his side, dressed in her own tiny white cloak.
Marcus and Rala, the town priest and his daughter.
They were already here with Gaius when we arrived—planning for the Lantern Festival next season. It seems our party grows even larger. Might as well invite the entire village at this point…
“Now let’s see.” Gaius squints and approaches a bookshelf. “All sorts of rubbish down here. Mayors of Verda aren’t known for organization…”
He crouches, sifting through boxes and bottles on the floor.
“Nope.” He tosses a pair of old boots. “Nope.” He tosses a bottle filled with faintly glowing, bright pink slime. “Nope.” He tosses a box filled with collectible goblin trading cards.
Enrik and Rala eye the cards, discreetly moving in.
“Ah! What about this?” Gaius turns, lifting a wooden box.
Worn and stained by water damage, the wood exterior splinters around iron hinges. The front bears no latches or keyholes. Instead, three spherical grooves sit carved like empty eye sockets. They stare into the darkness…staring into our souls.
“By the gods.” Ivan shakes his head. “It was really here the whole time—waiting for this moment.”
“Will there be gold inside, Father? I hope there’s gold inside.” Viktor perks up. “Or perhaps the smith boy is right. Maybe the heads of gods are inside…could those be sold too?”
Ivan flashes him a concerned glance.
“Now then. Who has the keystones?” Gaius places the chest on the table.
Clara approaches. She nearly trips over Crag. The ball of fur lies curled on the stone floor, napping. Ivy lounges on his back, her single eye droopy and sleepy.
They’ve earned a nap.
“Right here.” Clara reaches into her pocket.
One by one, she sets the keys on the table. Everyone crowds in, Viktor and Rala on their tiptoes.
“Petrified seeds of the pine.” Gaius takes the stone pinecone. “From the valley’s first tree, touched by the goddess herself.”
He carefully presses the stone into a groove. It’s a perfect fit. A faint click radiates inside the box.
The air grows heavy. Tension hangs.
“Her favored pets. Her finest creations.” Gaius lifts the bear cub. Its beady eyes peer with eerie intensity. “Sentinels of the forest.”
He inserts the artifact. Another click.
My blood pressure rises. My heart pounds so hard I can hear it. Sweaty palms…weak knees…
“Crystal from her grandest spring—waters that fed her garden.” Gaius takes the bubble crystal. It glimmers with a rainbow sheen. “The source of our valley’s life.”
It slips into the final keyhole. For a moment, every breath stops. Every body freezes. We watch and wait.
*click.*
The box vibrates, rattling and wobbling while the grinding of gears permeates the air. The old table shakes while Clara and I exchange nervous glances.
It never occurred to me before this moment, but could this be…a trap?
The sound stops. As quickly as it began, it ends. There’s nought but a final tap from somewhere deep inside.
It unlocks.
“A gift to the village…” Gaius reaches out, his gnarled hands trembling with excitement.
The hinges screech while the lid rises. Ancient air leaves the vessel, sealed from somewhere long in this land’s past. Ivan instinctively grips the hilt of his sword. Clara’s fingertips glow with magical energy.
I fumble for the hammer in my dimensional pouch.
But none of it is necessary. Light floods the box, exposing neither gold nor gems. There’s only…a book.
“What?!” Disappointment crashes over Enrik’s face.
“Well now, how about that?” Gaius reaches inside, retrieving the dense, heavy tome.
It’s magnificent. Gold foil is embossed upon leather hide, showing columns, pedestals, and floating magical stones. It’s a sight I recognize.
The wellspring.
Long before its icons were lost.
Text rests above the image, written in flowing, ornate letters I struggle to read. It’s an olden vernacular.
20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡK6EHhuYs6z
DEH ROOK DAE BORMTAE
20Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡSL9D8OTdfR
“What does it mean?” I look to Ivan and Gaius, but they just shake their heads.
“I’ve seen this script before.” Clara moves in. “From Father’s studies.”
Her fingertips glide over the text. She closes her eyes and breathes deep, digging up long-forgotten memories.
“Well?” I lean in.
“Bounty’s Book. Wait, no. The Book of Bounty.” Her eyes open.
She cracks the tome, sending a musty, bizarre scent into the air. The yellowed pages are thin, brittle, and blanketed in handwritten text. The margins are filled with colorful, painstakingly intricate art. Beanstalks running beside paragraphs…dragons and little mushroom men…images of gods and goddesses in a dark world…plants, animals, dark elves, and humans…
“Incredible.” Marcus moves in, poring over the pages.
“Father, what is it?” Rala tugs his robe. “Storytime?”
“History, dear child. Memories of our land, long forgotten. Memories from the world before light.”
“Beautiful.” Ivan stares, awestruck.
“Beautiful is right!” Viktor’s voice grows loud and excited—almost shrill. “Worth its weight in gold! Well done, Father! Another haul! Another notch in the belt! Buy me that salamander I’ve had my eye on! Sell this filthy book to the first buyer!”
My jaw drops. Clara’s fists clench so hard the knuckles turn white—a rare display from the town’s schoolteacher.
“My son.” Ivan crouches, putting a hand on Viktor’s shoulder. “Some treasure is never meant to be sold. It belongs to the people of its land. It belongs to their culture. A hunter must never defile the past. Do you understand? This is part of our work.”
Viktor’s nose crinkles.
“R-really?” Livia’s eyes widen.
“Yes.” Ivan rises and turns to Gaius. “It wouldn’t be right to claim such a prize. You had it all along. I can’t say why, but it was given to your town for a reason. My creatures and I are no different than those keystones—tools brought here for this very moment.”
Enrik gazes up at the man with awe. Even Clara watches with respect.
“We all are.” Livia’s voice grows quiet. “Plows in the soil.”
“Thank you, Mr. Willem.” Rala looks up at me, holding the hem of my shirt.
I smile and nod.
“Well then, should it be stored in the chapel?” Marcus lifts the heavy tome. “I can begin study immediately. When the time is right, we’ll share its contents with the town. Perhaps at a festival…”
Excited chatter fills the space. I step back, watching smiling faces while my stomach flutters.
Visitors are rare in a town like Verda. In a place like this, the birth of a cow is big news. This is the birth of lost history…it’ll be the talk of the tavern for weeks. I wonder what we’ll find in the—
My thoughts cut off.
Crag lies snoozing on the floor, Ivy’s eye finally shut to join him in sleep. Two faint orange lights glow behind them…eyes and the silhouette of an owl. It cocks its head.
Breath gets caught in my throat. I blink.
Nothing.
Just a pile of old books and documents. Village tax records?
Sheesh, Willem. Get a grip. Too many fancy tales. All this excitement is gettin’ to ya.
Yeah…what I need is a warm glass of tea by the fire. Something nice to settle in before bed. A farmer’s work is never done. Sleep and rise with the sun. Sow the seeds, pull the weeds, dream of animals and plot my future.
Today was a nice diversion, but there’s much to do. Much to build.
No rest for the weary.
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