In a piece of timber your destruction lay,
By the woodland’s cave does it stay,
Finder’s call will it obey,
Every other mortal with death shall pay.
A lone hut lay hidden amidst the thickets beside Tadevia – the traveller’s route. It might appear abandoned to the villagers, but a sliver of moonlight betrayed his silhouette. The warlock screamed into the night as the bright blue liquid in his cauldron darkened. He had destroyed the only piece of wood he found in the cave after the prophecy. He needed the life aura of at least half a dozen people more to brew the potion of immortality. But lately, his victims always managed to escape, thus thwarting his plans.
The vault creaked as the warlock retrieved the ochre stone that spelt fate.
“Gem of destiny, reveal unto me:
The truth, the lies, the secrecy.”
The stone burned in shades of yellow and red, saying:
In a piece of timber your destruction lay,
By a shed beside the woodlands does it stay,
Finder’s call will it obey,
Every other mortal with death shall pay.
The stone clattered to the ground as the warlock sheathed his blade and set out into the night to find his next prey.
One week ago…
A cool breeze greeted the village of Mestere in the early hours of the morning, dropping the last scents of spring all around. Arlo and Avoc found themselves in a small clearing inside the forest, playing fetch and enjoying each other’s company before a long day of work. Arlo picked up a tree bark and threw it in the direction of a small cave. Avoc leapt forward and ran to fetch it. Avoc started running towards Arlo with the tree bark secured safely between his teeth. But the sight of a cave and the possibility of a new play area caught his attention. Arlo saw his four-legged friend excitedly running inside the cave, and he gave out a whistle. Avoc quickly returned to his human, presenting him with the tree bark in an attempt to avoid a scolding. Basking in the comfortable silence, both of them took slow, lazy steps towards the path leading to Arlo’s wood workshop.
The sun made its journey across the sky, and soon it was noon. Avoc started wagging his tail, nuzzling Arlo’s calf. The sun at the centre of the sky meant it was time for food. “Food is the only thing that makes you punctual and active,” said Arlo with a ghost of a smile. After giving Avoc some leftover meat pieces, he went back to work, but the tree bark from the morning caught his attention.
He picked up the oddly shaped wooden bark. It didn’t hold any resemblance to the trees around Mestere. After sanding and polishing, he thought that it would be fit to make a toy. He could sell it at a higher price too. And so started Arlo’s obsession with the peculiar wooden plank.
It was late at night, and Arlo had just finished polishing the plank. The markings on the wood—the concentric circles that tell the age of the tree it would have come from— were very intricate. He was confident he could see different shapes within them if he looked close enough, just like people see in clouds.
Exhaustion was catching up to him, and he could feel his eyelids droop. He reached up to put away his tools on the shelf but accidentally knocked down a few boxes and old jars. These were his father’s belongings. He always kept them around, feeling his presence seep through these trinkets all around the workshop. Suddenly, a glowing light lit up the piece of wood, chasing his exhaustion and sleep away.
Two dice from his father’s boxes lay on the board, both having symbols on all their faces. The wooden board had a bright spot at the centre, and the markings, arranged in words, jumbled up in his sleep-deprived brain.
Clothed in green is her sunny sheen,
He feeds many for a penny.
What is the meaning of all this? He kept thinking that this was all a dream and he would wake up soon with Avoc licking his face, eager to go out for a morning stroll. But the more he looked at the money bag and corn engraved in the dice and the confusing markings around the wooden plank, the more he felt himself falling into reality. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the glow on the board went out, and the markings went back to normal. Confused and horrified by what he had just witnessed, he stashed the board in a sack and put it with the rest of the waste materials.
The next day, Arlo made his regular trip to Coravil to sell his toys. The city centre was bustling with people, and as Arlo set up his goods in his spot, he noticed that a crowd had gathered around the farmers’ market. Curious, he set out to find what the commotion was all about. Burke, the farmer, lay unmoving on the ground with a clean slit across his throat. He looked frail and old, almost as if someone had sucked the life out of him. Another person had been murdered in the same manner in Mestere and no one was close to finding the perpetrator.
Someone muttered, “He was returning home after the corn harvest but never made it to his home. He was found dead here in the morning.”
Clothed in green is her sunny sheen,
He feeds many for a penny.
Arlo immediately snapped out of his thoughts and sprinted to his little abode at the edge of the Gren. The couplet was hinting at the victim, and the light had gone out from the board just around the time the murder would have taken place.
Arlo’s hands shook as he rolled the dice and it fell on the upper right-hand corner of the board. A fish and a torn mast on a boat appeared on its blank surface. The concentric circles rearranged themselves as before.
Woven veil lay still in wind’s tale,
Amongst the sapphire treasures he measures.
Sapphire treasures and the fish must indicate Lake Cerel. It was the only water body in Mestere. And the woven veil could be the mast. Arlo concluded that a boat would be sabotaged to get to the victim. He rushed to the Lake, hoping the killer’s target hadn’t already set sail. The sun was setting, and Arlo and Avoc couldn’t find a boat with a broken mast. Every fisherman had returned safely. Confused, Arlo decided to head back home but stopped in his tracks when he heard someone scream. People were gathering towards a desolated corner in the lakeside and Arlo followed suit. A young fisherman lay beside his boat. A neat slit marred his neck and he looked pale and bloodless, just like Burke. The mast in his boat lay half-mended.
Arlo returned home feeling defeated. Avoc seemed to pick up the cue. Usually, he would try to make him play fetch but today he tugged him towards the board lying in his workshop. The light from earlier had dimmed and Arlo held back a sob. Avoc’s playful bite wrenched him out of his misery and soon, Arlo rolled the dice again. This time, the dice stuck to the bottom left-hand corner of the board, lighting the spot before displaying a trail and a bullock cart. The circles shuffled to read:
At dawn footsteps sown at dusk she is alone,
Spindler of stories divine sits behind a one-horned bovine.
Arlo began to realise that the dice always lit up a specific point on the board. With Burke’s death, it lit up in the centre. For the fisherman, it was the upper right corner. It almost seemed as if the board was depicting a pattern — a map, perhaps? He set to work and carved out the three different points that glowed previously.
He started to think about the newest clue. The dice had shown a trail or a road and a travelling cart. There were many trade routes around the village and various merchants used carts to transport their goods. Arlo focussed on the clue. It was so cryptic that the only word he could latch on to was stories. He remembered a messenger boy shouting about an entertainment show planned for the afternoon at Coravil.
Storytellers frequented Mestere, and he knew the path they took from the village entrance to Coravil. He needed to find one on a cart pulled by a one-horned bullock. He quickly left with Avoc for the traveller’s route as the first rays of the sun lit the Gren. He was the next victim and Arlo was determined to save him.
Arlo reached the route with Avoc in tow. He tried to find the storyteller among throngs of travellers and merchants. He asked a group of travellers if they had seen a cart pulled by a one-horned bull. They pointed him to a place on the side of the road, and Arlo moved in that direction. In the distance, he could see an old man with a peculiar hat and flowing robes talking to what looked like a one-horned bull! He increased his pace, and from a few steps away he could listen to what the old man was saying, “…it’s just a few more paces, then we can rest, old friend. Hopefully, if the show goes well, we’ll have a nice dinner today.”
When Arlo was only a few steps away from the man, he realised he had no clue what he was supposed to do. Should he just tell him about the board and how he got here? I would probably be perceived as a rival storyteller. “Excuse me, good sir,” he called out to the man. “Are you lost, boy? If you are, you chose the worst person to ask for help,” replied the old man. Arlo seemed to be at a loss for words. Having no idea what to do, he nervously asked the man, “N-no sir, I am not lost. Uh- I was… just wondering if you need help with your cart?”
The old man told Arlo that Mitch—his very old bull— was just tired. Arlo thought this was a perfect opportunity to get them out of danger. He told him about a resting place for travellers down the road and escorted him there. Arlo had helped the inn owner last summer with making a new shed for animals. He knew the man would be safe there until the board stopped glowing.
Arlo and Avoc came back home, both releasing a deep sigh. Arlo took a look at the board and noticed that it had stopped glowing. The next morning, there was no news of another death in the village.
It had been a week since Arlo saw the board glow for the first time. He made it a part of his daily routine to throw the dice and see if the board glowed or not. Whenever it did, Arlo tried to solve the clue as fast as possible and made sure the person was safe until the light went off on the board. He kept carving the points that glowed, and the pattern was starting to take shape— it almost looked like a map of Mestere.
One late afternoon, Avoc and Arlo were sitting in front of the board, and Arlo was just about to roll the dice. As soon as he did, a corner of the board glowed— wooden logs and a dog came up in the two dice. Arlo immediately sat straight— a chill ran down his spine. He had solved enough riddles to know that the woods and a dog coming together was no coincidence. The lines on the board twisted into a different set of words.
The root meets an end as circles blend,
A friend in tow tricks a foe.
Arlo’s eyes fixated on only one word— friend. He had only one friend, who was sitting right beside him, nuzzling into his lap in a futile attempt to reassure Arlo. Avoc sensed Arlo’s panic, although he didn’t understand the reason behind the shift in his human’s mood.
Slowly, like the sun rising after a stormy night, the realisation hit Arlo. He had to go back to the place where they found the wooden piece. He got up and whistled at Avoc to follow him. They found themselves in the same clearing, this time without a playful wind welcoming them. For several long moments, they stood there, enveloped in the eerie silence of a summer afternoon. Arlo waited for any clue or movement that would help him understand what was happening. He thought he had learned how the board worked, but this was a unique situation. He should probably leave— he could be the next victim, but something told him Avoc was in danger too. He hoped he could get some answers in the clearing, or around the cave.
Avoc was getting restless, he wanted to go back home. The heat made him uncomfortable; he wanted to lie down on the cool stone ground under his human’s table, drifting off to sleep with the rhythmic sound of Arlo’s tools in the background. He started to tug at Arlo’s trousers, hoping he would listen and they would go home. Hopefully, there would be some extra treat for this arduous venture.
Arlo gave up after what seemed like two hours. He and Avoc were walking back to their home. As soon as they got near the edge of the forest, they could see the workshop’s entrance and the silhouette of someone standing in front of it. Arlo saw a man, no older than his father when he died, dressed in strange attire, but by the quality of the material, he guessed the man wasn’t from around— somewhere closer to the capital, perhaps. Upon reaching closer, Arlo saw the angriest face he had ever seen in his life.
“He-llo sir. May I… uh help you?” Arlo asked, his voice shaking.
“Yes. Most surely. I’m looking for— a piece of wood. Something special and out of the ordinary,” the warlock’s voice was laced with the threat of violence.
“I’m sorry, sir… I don’t know what you are talking about. I can help you with some toys. I work with wood I find in the Gren,” Arlo replied, hoping he would leave soon.
In a swift move, Arlo found himself pinned to the door of his shed, a silver blade glinting against his neck. Avoc’s bark became distant as the warlock’s cold whisper washed over.
“The wood bark you possess… where did you find it?”
“In… in the Gren. The cave.”
The warlock did not loosen his grip.
“If you want me to spare you and your little friend here… Relinquish your control over the bark by declaring me its rightful owner.”
Arlo stood silent for a moment. This was the man who had shed innocent blood, and the board was possibly the only thing that could stop him. Avoc’s bark grew louder as this realisation dawned on Arlo.
Rightful owner.
“Give me an oath that you would spare my dog and me, and I will do as you say,” Arlo replied.
“I promise not to harm you or that creature under my spell.” The warlock paused before continuing, “You’ve made a wise choice. Now, where is that piece of wood?”
“On the worktable inside the shed.”
As the warlock broke into the shed, Arlo rushed to check on Avoc, who had barely recovered from a bout of immobility. He growled but did not go after the warlock, almost like he wanted him to go after that wood bark.
Through the open door, the two watched as the warlock examined it. Turning his head slightly, he called to Arlo, “I believe a declaration is in order.”
Arlo took a deep breath, doubt and helplessness clouding his brain. He had no idea how much luck he had in his pockets. “I declare you the rightful owner of this enchanted wood.”
The warlock let out a menacing smile as he picked up the board, his blade poised over it, “Hmm. Unfortunately for you, your little drawings are going to be destroy—”
The board fell to the floor with a thud as the warlock was vaporised to fine dust and the first rays of the sun made it dance. Avoc silently fetched the board and placed it at Arlo’s feet. Avoc was the finder, the rightful owner. Arlo heaved out a sigh of relief as Avoc wagged his tail happily. Their trick worked. Mestere was finally free from cryptic clues, spooky boards and bloodthirsty wizards.
That night, they stood over the board and Arlo rolled the dice. There was no glow or engravings, and the dice remained mute. He replaced the dice in their rightful place with his father’s possessions. For some reason, the clue indicated that this little shed he inherited from his father was the root of these incidents. Maybe one day, he would figure that one out. His father was a mysterious man after all.
Arlo smoothed his palm over the board.
“We should keep something this powerful safe. Huh, buddy?”
Avoc barked in agreement.
“But before that, I need to do something.”
Arlo quickly picked up his tools and began working on the board. He held it out to his best friend. It read:
Property of Avoc, a Wise Dog.
They returned to the cave’s mouth and Avoc dug a hole in the ground where Arlo buried the wooden board. As the Gren turned a shade darker and the moon glowed against the purple sky, man and dog made their way back home.
Deep underground, the board shuddered for a moment before disappearing.
Written by Deepthi Priyanka C and Lavya Joshi for MTTN
Edited by Parva Mehrotra for MTTN
Featured Image by Chirag Bansal for MTTN
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