The Magic Stones of the Woods

*Glad you are here for chapter one! Hope to see you at chapter two. This is a fantasy piece revolving around themes of family and societal expectations. It contains violence, monsters, magic, and many dark topics/themes.*

She scooped up a bucket from the river and carefully swung it up onto her head to rest. One hand steadied it while the other stretched out to find balance as she climbed back up the sandy bank. She would make this walk several times a day once the rainy season was past and their barrels stayed dry. Each time she would hear the voice of her mother cautiously screeching,

“Do not leave the spell guard. Stay within the marks no matter what. Do you hear me girl?”

Under the weight of the bucket, she groaned as she crested the top of the embankment before the ground leveled out. She had come barefoot, least sand get wedged deep into her boots. As her feet crunched onto the brown pine needles, she steadied herself with a deep breath against their jabs. Soon her feet would become used to the walk and harden again with the summer months; these first few days of cuts and splinters were simply the cost.

The path back was a lovely trail, cutting through the pine grove in winding turns, dancing shadows flickering in the gentle breeze. Along its edge mossy green stones glowed a faint blue, humming with the magic infused in them. Although Andria’s magic had yet to awaken, she could still sense the perimeter the spell marks formed. On occasion, she would close her eyes and walk along the trail with just that sense guiding her. She always felt like it was carrying her along to a grandiose quest. But, alas, she was always still here, deep in the Greth woods, surrounded by the chirping birds and lowling beasts.

As she continued down the trail, she let her free arm swing back and forth to a rhythm she hummed aloud. She recalled the dance steps in her head and resisted the swelling urge to place the bucket on the ground and skip along. Mother was waiting for the water and to prolong the trip back would only anger her.

It was surprising no one else was passing her along the path today, usually she would see other children she recognized, sent forth for the same tiresome task. Perhaps she had woken up too late or simply left too early today. She was unable to decide which, as she had not checked the sun’s position when she slipped from bed this morning and the forest enclosed her too tightly now to know.

A twig to her left snapped and she stopped, feeling a quick rush of blood flow through her cheeks. Though she was safe within the spell guard, her hand clutched the knife at her hip as she scanned the forest. Truth be told, she was not afraid but excited. There was little that frightened Andria in the wood. On occasion she would see one the many beasts of the forest out prowling and hunting, but they could not cross the spell guard. And thus, she found herself fascinated by the many odd creatures.

One morning she had been fortunate enough to watch a demon cat spring from a limb to catch a quail mid-flight. It had huffed proudly at her around the mouthful of feathers before bounding away to relish its meal.

So, as Andria’s eyes scanned the trees, it was not fear that made her clutch the knife, just habit from years of training at the weapon master’s side, and the red in her cheeks was accompanied by a slight grin.

Alas, her eyes found the source of the snap, and she gasped. Silver eyes stared back at her, catching the dim light on their edges. The body of the beast appeared human, save for the claws on his hands and the pointed ears on his head. He stood still as the trees around him, his tan skin cladded in brown pelts. She had heard rumors of the mountain goblins roaming the woods, and on occasion seen their leathery forms dart along the edges of the town as she was ushered away from them into hiding. The council members took no chance when monsters were feeling emboldened, though there had not been a breach since Andria was an infant.

With all those instances, and all the quick flashes of skin, she had still never seen one in its human guise. Until now, she had decided that such capabilities were just another cautionary tale to ensure she did not stray beyond the marks. The boy stared at her, his chest rising with a deep inhale. They stood there like that for a great length, neither moving nor speaking, till Andria’s arm began to burn from steadying the bucket and her shoulders protest from the strain. She dropped the arm and raised her other, and as if suddenly freed from a spell the boy opened his mouth to speak, revealing sharp canines.

“’Morning,” he called in a raspy voice, as if his chords were unused to the strain of speech. Andria could not decide what startled her more, that he appeared human or that his choice of dialect was civil. She continued to stare. In classes they had been warned that goblins would use many forms of trickery to coax their prey across the spell guard. Though it seemed odd that a creature so like herself in appearance would eat her, Andria was not ready to believe it was not a possibility either. All through childhood she had heard their angry snarls in the night and their savage screams from deep in the mountains. The sounds played in the back of her mind now as she held eye contact with the boy.

“Is it heavy?” He motioned toward the bucket. A line furrowed between Andria’s brows.

“No.” she lied.

“Looks tricky. Could I try?” The boy was becoming calmer, his voice less strained, his shoulders not pinned back so tightly. Andria took a step back.

“No.”

“You were humming a tune, what was it? Was it one of the songs humans like to dance to?” he asked, unbothered by her coldness.

“Why are you here?” She countered, not willing to entertain his barrage. Every cautionary nerve within her was alive and screaming to run.

“I was out walking and heard your tune. I stopped because I was curious,” he shrugged. “Your magic smells strong.”

“It’s still dormant,” she protested. Water sloshed from the top of her bucket.

“Uh, careful,” he cautioned, reaching out as if he could step across the marks and steady it. Andria rightened herself and tossed him a scowl.

He settled back on his heels and clasped his hands behind his back.

“Right,” he bit off the word sharply. “But dormant magic still has a smell.”

She offered no words in return. If the beast tricked her across the spell guard, with no magic to use, she would not be able to cross back. His words were weaving a careful map into danger, and she was not ready to be food for his fangs. He took another inhale and tilted his head.

“So, you do not wish to convey a conversation, yet you stare. My mother taught me better manners; I would presume yours would have as well. You do have a mother, don’t you?”

“Everyone has a mother,” Andria looked away. This was dangerous. She made busy gathering her skirt in her free hand and turned as if she would leave.

“Don’t go…. Please,” he reached out again, more slowly this time. “You may stare if you wish not to talk, but don’t go back that way just yet.”

Curiosity tugged at her heart. What could this beast want other than to trick her over to his teeth? Is this how the intelligent hunted? Surely, he would have better luck with the deer. She glanced at him from the corner of her eye, afraid if she turned back around, she might never pull away.

“You wish to trick me across the guard,” she accused.

“But you would merely cross back,” he countered. She turned back to facing him and began to lower the pail. Did the goblins not know? Surely, they did, and this was another trick.

Slowly, he knelt and plucked up a handful of blue fairy bells. The flowers tinkled slightly as their stems snapped. He held the hand of them out.

“They’re lovely and I never see them growing in the guard, surely you would like them.” Despite herself, Andria reached her hand out, but stopped just shy of the edge of the spell guard. Her foot brushed one of the stones.

“I give you my word, I mean no harm…” She interrupted him with a laugh.

“And a goblin’s word should mean something?” She stepped back behind the bucket, using it as a spacer between her and the boy. His eyes shimmered.

“A goblin never breaks his word, not even to a human.” He protested, with a bitter tone.

“But can you not twist it?” she kicked some of the dirt at her feet, plotting the ways in which he would trap her. “Perhaps you have a friend hidden from sight… Or it is as literal as you say and you mean me no harm, it just happens. Or maybe you mean no harm… for now.”

The more Andria spoke, the more aware she became of the situation she was currently in; she should collect her bucket and quickly return home and inform the guard. The longer she stalled, the more opportunity the goblin had to attack. The boy firmly crossed his arms, the flowers getting tucked under his elbow as a scowl formed on his face.

“And perhaps you humans are as my kind says, and feeble of mind. So feeble you can be tricked into any number of things, and that is why you cannot trust the word of a goblin.” He rattled, the bitter tones still leaking through.

“Well, you would presume so, offering me flowers as if I were a child that would be beguiled by such a thing.”

“I have not once asked you to cross the spell stones, merely to exchange items,” he outcried in exasperation. “Surely you can do that alone?”

Andria felt her face flush and she started to stammer a response then quieted at once. If the boy did not know how the guard worked, she was not sure she should explain it. Only water, soil, and plant matter could pass through the guard. Manmade objects or any number of living creatures would stop abruptly as if rammed into a wall. And once one started to exit the guard, they could not retreat from the endeavor. Should her arm pass through, the rest of her would have to follow.

She shook her head and instead offered a lie.

“You could pull me through. If you truly wish to hand me the flowers, throw them across.”

He inhaled deeply, as if tolerating her, but then he uncrossed his arms and furled back his arm before hurling the flowers high into the air. Some made it across the stones, but others did not. She laughed as they drifted down around her, and others landed close to his feet. Each flower tinkled a tune as it fell, some more chaotic than others.

“What a throw,” she chortled, her arms sweeping around her gut. His cheeks deepened in color beneath the tan hue.

“They are flowers, I don’t know what you expected,” he defended.

“I’m not sure, but it wasn’t that,” she squeaked as she knelt to collect the ones that had made it. Her own olive skin was flushed from laughter. “Honestly, I did not think you would throw them.”

He continued to stare at her, frowning. Andria tried to push the giggles back. She stood up, admiring the flowers with a little shake. They let out a merry tune.

“Thank you,” she managed. He nodded curtly and recrossed his arms, his features softening.

“Will you teach me the tune now?” he asked. Andria glanced back at the bucket; she had somehow moved in front of it.

“I have stayed too long; my mother is waiting. Surely you do not keep your own mother waiting?”

“Sometimes I do,” he protested gently. “Today seems like a good day to make yours wait too.” He took another step closer and sat cross legged. He waved to the disturbed dirt and needles before her. “Teach me the tune.” Though Andria did not retreat her steps, she shook her head.

“I cannot sit and teach a goblin to sing!” Her voice raised with her own shock. What situation had she gotten herself into? Here she was alone in the woods, humoring a fanged monster. Even better, she was holding flowers he had picked for her. Yet, something in her wanted to; curiosity beckoned her.

Had anyone she known sat and talked to a goblin? Who could say from the village that they had seen a goblin in their human form picking flowers and singing? None. Surely such a peculiar incident should not be passed up. Perhaps it was the sweet scent of the flowers that swayed her judgement or that the boy appeared to be close to her own age. Children are much more easily lured in by other children. Regardless of the reason, she disobeyed her own warning and sat before the boy, keeping an arm length between her and the spell guard.

His voice was much too rough for the tune; its raspy edges got caught on the notes and drug them out or cut them off. But he tried to sing it, anyway, frowning more with each attempt.

“Perhaps just whistle it?” Andria suggested at last as his displeasure mounted. His lips parted to speak, but a shrill banshee scream sliced through the air. Andria’s back straightened. Her ears strained to hear more.

“What was….” She started. The boy quickly sprung to his feet, his eyes whirling.

“Go home now,” he ushered. His jaw set stubbornly. Andria felt a cold knot form in her stomach. The boy held up his hands, as if forming his own spell guard. “Please, it is time to go.”

“What did you do?” she accused. His skin shimmered and rippled.

“I have to go.” He snarled as his face began to contort. With a few quick steps, he was gone into the forest. Andria felt the knot harden and thought she might hurl. How foolish had she been? No longer feeling safe, she dropped the flowers back in the dirt, collected the pail, placed it back upon her head, and hastened her steps back.

She wanted to run, but they needed the water. The emptiness of the morning resettled upon her and the quiet of the wood felt as if it might consume her from the inside.

At last, the edges of the village poked out, the brick and straw corners of the first dwellings coming into sight as she neared the final bend in the trees. Furls of smoke drifted over with panicked cries as Andria rounded the final twist. Her feet drew to a halt. The village sat before her in a clutter of smoldering fires and red streaked bodies. Blood stained the streets. Members of the guard rushed about, waving their staffs and shouting. Crying children leaned against houses and carts. The women scurried about, screaming to each other, and carrying herbs and bandages alike. Many of the houses were ablaze. The older children of the village hurried with what little water they had to douse the fires.

Andria thought she saw a dead body, but before her eyes could focus, Mathias, a younger child, was at her side.

“You brought more water,” he croaked around smoke stain. Black soot smeared his face. She snapped to attention and lowered the bucket quickly.

“Yes, fetch the others to use it,” she ordered, her eyes hunting for her mother. “Have you seen…” Knowingly, Mathias pointed to a far corner of the village.

“She’s over there, by the gardens with Melia.”

Andria took off at a run. The ground felt soft beneath her feet, as if it were collapsing like the village around her, and her legs too heavy. She made it to her mother, out of breath and dizzy. She found her knelt by Melia, holding the woman’s leg while chanting a spell. Melia had fainted. Blood poured from a deep wound and covered her mother’s hand. Grethel looked up to see who approached and her face softened with relief.

“My child,” she cried, tears bursting forth. “I was so worried when you did not return right away.” Andria fell to her knees at her side and placed her hands over her mother’s.

“I am alright. I was distracted at the river by a great fish,” she lied. “Let me help.”

She pressed down, letting her mother pull her hands free to cast a stronger spell. Grethel quickly recited an enchantment, moving her hands to direct the magic to the open wound. Slowly, the flesh pulled shut by invisible threads and closed over itself. Andria pulled her hands back, trembling fervently as she stared at the red dripping down them.

“What happened?” she whispered.

“You mean you really do not know?” her mother bit down on her bottom lip with a tight frown. “I suppose tis the one day I’m glad for your scattered ways.” She wiped the blood from her hands on her apron.

“The goblins found a way around the spell guard.” Andria waited for more, but her mother simply began gathering back up the herbs from the garden in her skirts and tucking her shawl under Melia’s head.

“Are the goblins inside?” Andria pressed, panic riding her voice like a frantic wind. Grethel ignored her.

“Let her rest for now while we tend to others,” Grethel ordered.

“But how?” There had not been a breach to the spell guard of this magnitude since its erection two hundred years ago. Andria’s thoughts rushed back to the boy goblin trying to lure her into the woods. She felt her cheeks swim with red. Had he known all along how to cross the spell guard to her? Had she been that close to death? Why had he not?

Grethel turned to Andria, not attempting to hide her exasperation.

“There are wounded children running around Andria, now is not the time for this. Compose yourself and be useful.” Her mother thrust a handful of herbs into her arms and picked up more for herself.

“Yes, but what if they should cross again?” she pleaded, taking the herbs but not rising from her knees. This gave her mother pause.

“They found a way around it, not a way through. They cannot cross. Our magic holds. Now go and tend to the wounded.”