Darkwood Hut

The clopping of horses outside his shop caught his attention. George, the middle-aged goldsmith of the Virka kingdom, looked up from his magnifying glass at his shop door. Through the windows, he could see the royal guards lining up, cavalry getting into position, and then a white coach came to a halt. The door swung open, and the king descended the steps.

George leaned back in his chair, adjusted his glasses, and watched the door intently as it was pulled open by a royal guard. Two guards marched in, followed by the king. He glanced around the shop as he walked to the goldsmith, not wasting any time. ‘Whatever it is, it must be urgent, for the king himself to come see me,’ George thought as he watched His Royal Highness approach the table behind which he sat.

“My liege? What brings you here?” he inquired, bowing with his head out of respect for the king who had brought peace and prosperity to their kingdom. The king glanced at the bracelet he had been weaving a moment prior and then shifted his gaze to the goldsmith.

“George Kerfin, your reputation precedes you,” he said, giving George a respectful nod.

“I’ve seen your work decorating the lovely forms of many court maidens.” George smiled.

“It is an honor to receive such a compliment, my liege. How may I serve the royal court?” The King glanced at amulets and necklaces on the left-hand wall.

“My eldest son, Prince Brook, is heading to the North with a delegation. I cannot afford to risk his life.” He looked George in the eyes.

“I seek for you to make a protective amulet for my dearest son, to keep him safe no matter the circumstances.”

George gulped.

“P…protective… I…” He hesitated.

“Is that a problem for the finest goldsmith in the kingdom?” George took a deep breath to steady himself.

“Not at all, my liege, it shall be done. How much time do I have?” The king gave him a slightly worried smile.

“Delegation departs in 15 days; you have 14.”

George shuddered slightly at the strict timeline. “It… shall be done.”

As the king departed, George flipped the sign on the front door to ‘closed‘ and ventured out to the Magistrate Library in search of clues and knowledge. The library, a fabulous tower of unknown height, stretched into the clouds that constantly covered its tip. Only a handful of men had ever had the pleasure of sitting atop this impressive structure.

Once inside, he was greeted at the front desk, and upon being inquired about his reason for the visit, he was assigned a spell-maker’s apprentice to guide him through the magistrate library.

“I’m Kevin by the way! So, a protective talisman for the royal prince, curious indeed. I know just the section for us to visit!”

He snapped his fingers as we came to a stop on top of a circular section on the floor. The platform beneath us began to hover; George lost his balance at first, but soon regained it and admired, in awe, the magical disk that carried them higher and higher. It slowed down and came to a halt beside a catwalk.

“Floor 32, the mythical gems,” Kevin announced as he stepped off the platform.

The following hours were spent on research as Kevin and George rummaged through tomes on magical and mythical gemstones.

“Oh, I think I got it!” exclaimed Kevin as he tapped a title on the page of his tome. “Protective Sapphire of the Indestructible Guardian.”

“Great! Sounds perfect! Where do we get it?”

“That… is problem #1…” Kevin advised.

“There… are more?” asked George curiously.

Kevin nodded. “At least 3… First, the gem belongs to an azure dragon; secondly, not even magisters can work with artifacts of the dragon rank; and lastly…” Suddenly, a book fell from a shelf behind them. Kevin walked over, picked it up, and wiped off the thick layer of dust that concealed its title, reading it out loud. “The rabbit cooking 1001, using real rabbit.” In a smaller font beneath it, the text read, “comes with a hat.”

“What comes with a hat, bunnies or the book?”

George asked curiously. Kevin, to George’s surprise, did not put the book back on the shelf; instead, he carried it to the table, glanced at his tome, and nodded at George.

“I have a couple of friends who, in theory, might be able to obtain the gem from the dragon…But I don’t know who could craft using a gem of such power.”

After a brief chat, Kevin ripped a page out of his journal and handed it to George. “This is a two-way magic paper, my creation by the way!” he bragged.

“Write on it and it’ll appear in my journal! In turn, my writing will appear on your page! This will allow us to communicate. I shall contact my friends to search for the gem, but you are on your own in search of the jewelcrafter.”

George squinted at the paper and nodded.

“Right, but perhaps…” he was suddenly standing at the information desk.

“Perhaps what, sir?” asked the librarian. George’s eyes widened, but he shook his head.

“Uh… nothing. Thanks for the assistance.” He gave the librarian a nod, and vacated the premises of the Magistrate Library. It had always been said that one should never try to force their stay at the library, for it had a will of its own, and when it decided you were done, you were done.

It was already late evening; he did not notice the time passing. Suddenly, tiredness took over, and it was time to sleep. That night, he had a dream he could not explain. He saw a boy in a dark, gloomy basement, shackled to a chain attached to a wall. The scrawny boy whimpered in pain, skinny to the bone. He sat on a raggedy old wooden stool at a table. Before him was a single light lily, some tools, an enchantment table, fabric, needles, and jewelry crafting utilities.

“Please… Let me go home!” The boy whimpered as he proceeded to carve a gem in his hands. The tool slipped and slit his hand, blood gushed out of the wound, only to get absorbed by the gem at the same instant. He tossed the gem aside, its color turned from yellow to ruby red, the wound closed, leaving a fresh scar.

“Damn you!” He screamed, watching as the gem cracked and strange symbols appeared upon it. Just then, the door creaked open.

Light bled into the room through the opening. The boy gasped and held his breath, sitting as still as he could; his body trembled. The door opened wider, and a person entered. It was a woman, judging by the lightness of her step. She stood tall, her posture almost perfect. Long hair, illuminated from behind by the light that blinded the boy, made it difficult to discern any details. She walked into the room, her gaze fixated on the gem that lay on the floor. She knelt down and picked it up.

The boy stood as still as he could, obviously terrified, not making a peep. She straightened back up and examined the cracked gem.

“Sam, do I not feed you, provide you with shelter and water?” He stayed silent, only a loud hiccup echoing through the room. His jaw trembled; he opened his mouth to speak, but no words came out – only whimpering.

“I FEED YOU, DO I NOT?” She shouted at him. Her high-pitched scream would shatter glass if there were any in the room. The boy fell off his stool and crawled under the table, blood dripping from his ears as he cried.

“Please… no… please… I’m… I’m…” He whined under the table.

“Ohh, my sweet child, I meant not to harm you,” she said in a sweet voice, barely audible to him as his eardrums suffered from her scream before. Her hand reached for him and forcefully pulled him from under the table; she squeezed the blood gem in her hand until it crumbled and then slapped him. Shards cut and pierced his skin. He fell to the floor, holding onto his bleeding cheek.

“Ten more, or no food!” she commanded and stormed out of the room.

George awoke; the dream was not normal. It felt too real, like a cry for help, as if someone was reaching for him. He told Kevin about the dream, who remained silent for a while. Then, a response appeared on paper: “That was no dream – it was a summon. The boy lives; his magic chose you for the reason you seek him. It sounds like he is a mixblood, a witchling – a son of a witch who can activate and handle magic gems.”

“It seemed that destiny had been set and predefined. George was to travel the lands in search of a boy he had never heard of before, to rescue him from the hands of an evil witch that used the boy for gems,” he wrote down, sitting on the ledge of the tavern roof.

“Now, George shall encounter a hunter that will lead him to the village where the boy is. Or perhaps he hears a rumor of the evil witch and her whereabouts? Oh, wait, no, I have a good one – he meets a talking otter,” said the man on the ledge.

“A rumor it is, thank you st

ranger!” said the man sitting on the ledge of the roof confidently, looking down at a pink-haired Elezen passing by. George sat at the tavern, talking with the owner.

“Have there recently been any child abduction cases?”

“Why? You a private-eye now, George?” The goldsmith shook his head.

“No, no, I’m searching for a… friend’s son… Heard anything?” The owner grunted in response.

“Mmhh… Those lads over there might know something, traveling hunters I hear.”

After a brief exchange, they informed him that they were there due to a missing boy who had disappeared. The city mayor had gathered hunters from the entire province to search far and wide, but the search had been in vain. George offered to pay them to escort him to the village where the boy was kidnapped; they agreed to depart the following morning. That night, another dream plagued George’s rest.

In tonight’s dream, the boy was at a market when a stray cat caught his attention. He chased the cat into an alley and watched it turn into a woman.

“You must be Sam?” she asked. Before him stood a beautiful, tall woman with white hair down to her waist, wearing a gorgeous lace dress featuring a spider-web design. Her slender body was truly head-turning. She smiled at him.

“I… am… not!” the boy lied.

“Not?” She appeared stumped for a moment. Suddenly, he was pulled toward her. Frozen in place from terror, he stayed still as she leaned down and whispered in his ear, “Not? Tsk tsk tsk… lying is bad, little Sam!” She slid her fingers through his hair and, grasping it, pulled his head back.

“LYING IS BAD!” She hissed at him. He closed his eyes in fear, and when he reopened them, he was in a forest, being carried. Behind him, he could see a field of purple and pink flowers. Then, he was dragged through a waterfall, down a cave, and into a hut.

George awoke; the trip commenced. Upon arriving in the village and left to his own devices, he ventured into the forest immediately, seeking clues he had glimpsed in his dreams. Discovering the flowers, he proceeded toward the sunset. A waterfall appeared before him, and from behind it emerged the woman he had seen in his dreams. Fear engulfed him; there he was, a day’s journey from home, risking his life to rescue a boy who had appeared in his dreams.

He pulled the paper and scribbled on it,

“How do I deal with a witch?” The response came quite hastily,

“Don’t; not even magisters and spellmakers would dare meddle with one. Their power is far beyond the limits of what average spellmakers can exert.” George smiled nervously,

“Great… don’t… on it…” He said nervously as he peered from behind the tree at the gorgeous girl calmly walking through the forest. He let out a sigh of relief.

She walked onward and soon disappeared amidst the forest’s wilderness. George nodded to himself; it was clear, this was his chance. He followed the narrow ledge, leaped through the waterfall, and found himself soaked inside a large cave. It was dark, the path winding, and each step he took echoed through the void of silence.

When darkness consumed him, and he could no longer see the floor beneath his feet or the walls he had been tracing with his hands, he was left to rely solely on his sense of touch. Nevertheless, he pressed on, feeling a desire to see this through. He felt the urge to save the boy, a rare jeweler who could handle magical gems. Bravely, he navigated the darkness of the cave.

George desired to save him, not only for the task at hand but also to acquire an apprentice who would open up new horizons. Excitedly, he grinned. Finally, he rounded a corner, and there stood a hut in the darkness. A flickering candlelight shone through the window, and he rejoiced at the sight, as if it beckoned him.

He approached the darkwood hut and stepped on the first stair. Pausing at the echoing creak that reverberated throughout the cave, he gritted his teeth and stood still. With no sign of movement, the cave remained silent. Step after step he continued, as the wood groaned and squeaked under his weight. Searching up and down for a handle, he eventually found a metallic shape filling the palm of his hand. As he began to turn it, a muffled voice startled him; then he screamed as something bit him.

“AAHH!” screamed George as he rubbed his hand.

“GET! YOUR! SWEATY! HANDS! OFF! OF! MEH!” demanded the door handle.

“Guuud! Now zat you aren’t molesting me, who art thou?”

George squinted into the darkness before him, the candlelight from within not enough to reveal what it was that was talking to him. He tried to lie, “I’m… here to feed the boy!”

“Za za za za!! NAoooppP! Mistress told me none shall enter!”

He pondered, “Well, she…”

“NAOOPP!!! Don’t care! Leave!” The handle spoke again.

“I have no time for this!” George responded nervously as he peered into the darkness of the cave. He thought he saw something shimmer in the darkness, but after a blink, it was gone.

Paying it no attention, he reached for a hammer in his bag and pressed it firmly against the handle. “Listen here, you piece of brass! I know how malleable you are! Now open up, lest you desire to be smashed into a flat disk!”

Silence, followed by a gentle cling. The handle did not respond. George snuck in past the kitchen, where he swooped up the lit handle in a holder and used it to navigate the squeaking, creaking, and groaning house. It felt as if every floorboard complained about his presence, as if the house was fast asleep and his appearance awoke it, causing it to grunt. Each creak of the floorboards was filled with misery that, for some reason, made his heart ache.

The door led to stairs that, in turn, led to the basement. Accidentally brushing against a light lily, it perked up, shook itself, and began glowing, illuminating the staircase for him. At the bottom of the stairs was the door he had seen in his dreams. As it creaked open, the hinges whined and screamed, struggling to bear the heavy weight of darkwood on their shoulders. Upon entering the room, he noticed its musty smell and glanced at the boy sitting at a desk, carving away at a ruby gem.

The boy’s face displayed a mixture of fright, surprise, and delight. His jaw trembled. George gave him a smile, then carefully set the candle on the floor. He held his hands out in a soothing gesture.

“Hey… Sam?” The boy trembled.

“N…no…” He lied, sniffling.

“It’s okay, I’m not with her!” George assured, approaching him. “I’m here to save you; it’ll be fine.” He explained.

“W…h…how… how’d you find me?” The skinny boy stuttered.

“Through my dreams.”

He explained that he had seen days out of Sam’s life in his dreams, and that spellmaker magisters had informed him it was the boy’s magic searching for a savior. Their meeting was destined, and he would ensure the boy’s safety. He inserted a couple of screwdrivers into the chain links and began hammering away. “Stay still; I’ll break this chain, and then we’ll leave.”

Each hit of the hammer sent echoes through the house and down the cave. He feared detection, and he feared she would return. The chain snapped at last, and he rejoiced. “Free!” In that moment, a hand landed on his shoulder, and a bone-chilling voice whispered in his ear. “Did you know that breaking into someone’s house is bad?” she whispered. The boy’s face froze in terror as he eyed the witch standing behind George.

“Stay a while,” she whispered again. “I’ll make the tea.” George gulped; his body did not listen to him, and he froze in place. Every instinct screamed for him to run, but he knew the effort would be futile.