Unsolicited Talisman

Jarl had been having such a lovely morning before. The sun was shining, steadily warming the earth below. Birds were singing, the sun cueing them to wake the rest of the world.

He’d just stepped outside, collecting his mail and enjoying the beautiful sunrise as he sipped his morning coffee, when he heard something… strange. Looking up, he noticed a drone flying over to him, burdened down with a rather sizable looking package. Then he let out a yelp, jumping back as the drone suddenly let go of the package, dropping it unceremoniously in the dew damp grass before puttering along.

He didn’t react at first, simply staring at the cardboard box, now lying haphazardly upon the ground. Then, moving slowly, Jarl reached out to pick it up, startling at the deceptively heavy weight. Turning it over, he found no labels, no indication of who it was for or who’d sent it. At a loss for what to do, he took it inside.

Jarl set the box upon the kitchen table, grabbing a blade to open the box to try and see what was inside. He sliced open the tape, baulking when he found… more.

He found himself cutting through maybe a yard of tape, pulling box after box out. His unboxing momentum only slowed when he came to a small box, made with welded steel, and locked with a chain and padlock.

“Are you fucking kidding me?” Jarl muttered, pulling it from a sizable amount of bubble wrap. “How am I…”

He glanced over to a pile of wadded up newspapers that’s been used to pad the boxes. Maybe… sure, it was a bit silly, but… maybe? He began going through them all, carefully unfolding the crumpled papers. He didn’t recognize the news brand, though he could at least recognize the language. It’d been a while since he’d seen Danish. It’d been a long time since he moved.

Jarl could only guess that this was some small paper, perhaps from another country entirely. But that wasn’t what he was focused on now.

Hidden away in one of the wadded up papers was a small, silver coloured key. It was blank, no hints to be found in the metal. He took the key in hand and tried it on the lock, humming to himself when it opened with a click. He opened the lid and… why was there a lead box?

Jarl looked through the remaining wadded up newspapers, hoping to find some explanation for whatever was going on here, coming up with nothing but a sinking feeling in his stomach.

“This is radioactive, isn’t it?” He muttered, running a hand through his long hair. “Who the fuck sent me something radioactive?”

He never thought he’d find a use for the geiger counter his brother got him as a gag gift a few years back, but… well, he had a use now!

He grabbed the device, pausing to put on a pair of oven mitts. Not that they’d do much if this thing was really radioactive, but it made him feel a little better about the whole thing, okay?

Moving slowly, he moved the lid of the lead box, holding the geiger counter to it, heart in his mouth…

There was nothing. The radiation levels were completely normal.

“Why is this in a lead box then?” Jarl asked, feeling exasperated by the whole situation. He’d been at this all morning! He just wanted to know what was going on!

He removed the lid completely, finding a small bundle, wrapped in brown paper and twine, and a scrap of folded parchment. He pulled them both out, setting the bundle to the side before looking at the parchment.

ᚲᚨᚢᛏᛁᛟᚾ ᚨᚱᛏᛁᚠᚨᚲᛏ ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛖᛞ

ᛈᛚᛖᚨᛋᛖ ᚱᛖᛗᛟᚡᛖ ᚲᚢᚱᛋᛖ ᚨᚾᛞ ᛋᛏᚢᛞᚤ ᛁᛏ

ᛁ ᚹᛟᚢᛚᛞ ᛒᛖ ᛗᛟᛋᛏ ᚷᚱᚨᛏᛖᚠᚢᛚ

ᛏᚺᚨᚾᚴ ᚤᛟᚢ

Which was written in a language other than English and Danish. Which was… odd. He wasn’t expecting it to have been written in Elder Futhark. Why was it written in Futhark? What the fuck?

Getting to his feet, he went and grabbed a pen and paper, before taking a seat at the table to begin translating.

Caution, it began. Artifact cursed.

Jarl felt his mouth sour, eyes flicking over to the bundle. Great.

Please, the translation continued. Remove curse and study it. I would be most grateful. Thank you.

He paused, turning the parchment over in his hand, searching for a name, or some other hint as to who the sender was. But there was nothing.

“Who sent this?” He muttered, running a hand through his hair again.

He took a deep breath, trying to keep himself calm. Then, once he calmed a little more, he grabbed the bundle, baulking at just how warm it felt in his palm. He undid the twine, allowing the paper to fall away, to find a small stone talisman, warm in his hand.

It was shaped like a pear, with a figure being depicted. There were four arms that he could see. The lower two held a spear aloft, as if to guard, while the upper two were raised over the figure’s head, hands cradling what looked to be the sun. Huh, interesting.

Jarl turned it over to look at the back, finding it completely smooth to the touch. It was polished, reflecting the fluorescent light in his kitchen. He glanced over to the parchment and his translation.

“Cursed?” He muttered under his breath. “Certainly doesn’t feel cursed.”

The heat radiating was certainly strange, leading him to question what’d been done to the stone itself, but there was no oppressive air, no sense of foreboding. The weight of the stone was about what he’d expect.

But just in case, Jarl checked it over. And again, there was nothing. No curse that he could find.

“Okay, either the person who sent this is an idiot, or this was some stupid prank,” He growled, setting the talisman down.

He rubbed his face with his hands, his energy almost gone. He reached out and took up the talisman in his hands, feeling the warmth as he turned it over again and again.

“Leaning towards stupid here,” He chuckled, still turning it over. “This being warm doesn’t make it cursed. This is interesting though. No ssense tossing you away. Not like I can return this to whoever sent it in the first place.”

Tucking it in his pocket, Jarl got to his feet. There was still time in the day, and he had errands to attend to.

The scholar hurried about, searching his office frantically. The talisman hadn’t been in any of the artifact boxes, and he could only hope that it was somehow in his desk drawers.

But there was nothing, and the scholar could only bite his lip to keep from crying upon the realisation of what he must’ve done. He hurried to the post room and let out a sob when he saw that one of the drones was gone.

God damn it! How much tequila did he have last night?