fable 600

[eel.]

[eel.]

"well, I'll be."

Georgie peered over Dawnson's shoulder, studying the glimmering rock he had in his hand. "you just found that lying here in the riverbed?"

"yeah. isn't it pretty normal to find rocks in riverbeds?"

"not ones like this, kid."

Georgie took the rock from him and turned it over in her hand. it was a gorgeous thing, the colors of the sunset. it looked like a bead of lava, frozen in time. but, if Georgie was remembering her schooling correctly, lava blackened as it cooled - it didn't retain its flaming color. and besides, there were no volcanos out here anyway.

the rock was surprisingly warm for a stone that had just been submerged in water. and on that note...it wasn't wet at all.

Georgie hummed in thought, then handed the rock back to her younger coworker. "hold this a second." she rolled up her sleeves and crouched at the side of the river, reaching through the water to the rock and silt below. she came up with several pebbles, worn smooth by the water, but they were the normal greys and browns you'd expect from river stones. nothing like Dawson's rock.

"that didn't come from the river," Georgie said, dropping her handful of pebbles back into the water. "it must've fallen in somehow. maybe someone dropped it."

Dawson ran his thumb over the stone's smooth surface. "what d'you think it is? you're the rock expert."

Georgie wouldn't call herself a rock expert, but she supposed, of the two of them, it was true. she had a fondness for oddly shaped or colored rocks, and had several of them displayed around her home. this rock's striping reminded her of jasper, and its colors reminded her of carnelian, but neither seemed quite right.

Dawson handed her the rock again, and it hissed on contact with her hand. "what the - "

she dropped it, quite understandably, and it plopped back into the river. despite the noise, a noise like something burning, her hand was perfectly fine.

she shared a glance with Dawson, then crouched and retrieved the same rock. as she brought it up out of the water, it made the hissing noise again, and she watched the water evaporate off of it in small curls of steam. by the time she was standing straight again, the rock was completely dry.

she raised an eyebrow at Dawson. "you didn't notice it doing that the first time you picked it up?"

"I thought it was a trick of the light!"

"hmm." Georgie spun the stone between her fingers, and then held it up to the light. her eyes went wide.

the stone was sort of see through, much like a chicken's egg. in an even more alarming similarity to a chicken egg, there seemed to be a dark shadow curled up inside.

"oh," Dawson said, taking his hat off to run a hand through his hair. "that's not a rock. it's an egg."

"right," Georgie said, nodding like this was the most normal thing in the world. "I guess you're a proud father now, kid."

"please, no," Dawson said with a shake of his head. "I have my own daddy issues to work through. I can't be giving them to something else."

Georgie snorted. they both stared at the egg a while before Dawson asked, "you know of any bird or reptile that lays eggs like that?"

Georgie shook her head. "not that I can think of."

"maybe, like...a phoenix or something?"

"no, phoenix eggs are much larger. and ash-grey."

"then what...?"

Georgie didn't have an answer for him; but she thought she knew someone who might.

[eel.]

when Dawson rang the desk bell, Arjola appeared in a poof of smoke. "oh - Detective Roberts, Detective Williams. hello. what can I help you with? this isn't a follow up about the ghosts, is it?"

"no, no," Georgie said, and Dawson presented Arjola with the egg. "we have something else we were hoping you could help us with."

Arjola pushed her glasses up her nose and peered at the egg. "a rock?"

"it's an egg," Dawson corrected. "we found it out by the stream."

"an egg?" Arjola frowned, and gestured for Dawson to hand the egg over. he complied. Arjola held it up to the light. "it appears you're right."

"do you know what it is?"

"never seen anything like it." Arjola tilted her head. "I can't make out the shape of whatever is inside." she lowered her arm. "it's not very big, either. nor is it shaped like an egg. here, wait a moment." she handed back the egg and vanished into a back room.

Dawson raised his brows at Georgie. "what?" she asked with a good-humored shrug. "Arjola is the supernatural - and natural - expert in town."

"right." Dawson was not much for believing in unbelievable things. Arjola was eccentric, but not dangerous. at least, he didn't think so. "how'd she get to be such an expert on the 'supernatural'?"

"don't know. she's known since she got here, I think."

"when was that?"

Georgie opened her mouth to respond, then stopped. she frowned. "I don't actually remember."

Dawson drummed his fingers on the desk. he and Georgie lapsed into silence for the better part of ten minutes before Arjola reappeared with an open book in hand.

"alright," she said, setting the book on the desk and tapping its open page. "this is a warstone."

"that doesn't sound good," Dawson murmured.

"oh, it's perfectly fine. they're not supposed to be eggs, though, which is what's odd. usually, they get deposited at temples of Bellum."

Georgie shook her head slowly. "we don't have any of those in Weston."

"or in Mesa," Dawson added. he felt a little uneasy - the symbols of Pestilence they found two months ago, and now a symbol of War? he wasn't religious, but still. that felt like a strange coincidence.

"in the case a temple isn't near," Arjola said, reading, "you're to take the stone to the highest peak or the lowest trench in your area. it's all about hard journeys with War."

"not many peaks or trenches around here, either."

"Skytop," Georgie said.

"The highest mesa," Arjola agreed. "I can take it from here, if you'd like - it's not like we're getting much business around here, anyway."

"oh, please. we wouldn't want to impose - "

"nonsense! you two have jobs to do. I don't. well, not really. Bug can watch over the hotel while I'm gone."

"Bug?" asked Dawson

"my bellhop."

he frowned. that scrawny, tired little thing?

"I don't know what else to do with this egg other than treat it like a normal warstone and see what happens," Arjola said with a shrug.

"are you sure?" Georgie asked. "have you made the trip to Skytop before?"

"oh, it's only two days," Arjola said, waving her off. "and I've hiked to the top before. it's dusty, but it's not hard so long as you're not afraid of heights."

Dawson looked at Georgie, and she shrugged. "if you're sure..." he said, handing Arjola the egg.

"I'll be fine, Mr. Williams. it'll take more than a high mesa to kill me." her eyes darkened briefly, but she looked cheerful enough as Dawson and Georgie left that he was half-convinced he had imagined it.

[eel.]

it was exactly as Arjola had said - the journey to Skytop had been dusty, but not particularly difficult. she had settled herself and the strange warstone egg in a small cavern near the top of the mesa. it was quiet up here but for the sound of the wind and the occasional call of an eagle.

about three days into her stay, though, Arjola paused her notes to squint at the egg. it looked decidedly less luminous. she held it up to the sun in the mouth of the cave to be sure, and - yes, it wasn't shining quite so brightly.

maybe she wasn't incubating it correctly? she had packed some hot sand around it, and it still felt warm, but maybe it needed more. maybe she had been wrong about it being a weird warstone and it was something else entirely. maybe it was lonely. could eggs get lonely?

she tapped the corner of her journal, lost in thought. maybe she cold fix the incubation problem and the loneliness problem in one fell swoop. there was a roc's nest on one of the ledges jutting from the path up to the top of Skytop; she had seen it on the hike up. she had kept a lookout for the rocs the past few days because roc feathers made for nice jewelry, and could be used as talismans or in some spells, but neither parent had appeared. it was fairly likely they had abandoned the nest. why, she didn't know. bad hunting? another predator?

either way, she could move the eggs in here. the warm sand and warm warstone would probably do them some good, anyway. the eggs would need incubation if they weren't dead already. Arjola had lain a cloak over them two days ago, but she knew the cloak would be of little help to them compared to a roc's body heat.

besides, rocs were symbols of War, after all. real warbirds. maybe the goddess would approve.

the process of getting the roc eggs into the cave was tricky. the warstone was easily carried, the size of Arjola's palm, but the roc eggs were a third of her body size. to get them out of the nest and the rest of the way up the sheer cliff without dropping them or losing her footing was an exercise in caution and patience. good think Arjola had learned a lot of that.

four hours later, her cloak was back on her shoulders and the five roc eggs were nestled around the warstone, which had a decidedly happier glow. maybe it had been lonely, after all.

[eel.]

a week later, Arjola was studying the stars. she did that a lot. she wondered if it had been a hobby of hers before she had been torn apart and made anew. maybe. maybe not.

the stars spoke to her sometimes, but they had been silent the past few months. not aloof, not distant, just...silent. but now she could almost hear them in the wind. heaaaaaat, they seemed to hiss. waaaaarm.

was a heatwave coming to Weston? that would make sense - it was the right time of year for them, after all.

flaaame. fire. waaaarm.

many fables talked about having gut feelings, but Arjola found her instinct lay in her bones. she was having one of those bone feelings now. she followed it back into the cave.

fire. heat. WARM.

the warstone was positively glowing. whatever slept inside it seemed to be moving around, dark red against the sunset colors of its cage. right. so that was the egg speaking, then.

WARM. it said. it wasn't begging so much as it was giving a command.

Arjola followed those bone-deep instincts and gave it what it wanted. she tugged the roc eggs out of the nest to avoid burning them up, then started a small fire and dropped the warstone into it. it seemed to sigh.

more.

she had guessed as much already. she emptied her herbs and spell components from her pouches, taking a quick glance toward the entrance of the cave. a needless precaution - who else would be up here to see her practice magic? it's not like it was banned in Weston, anyway, mostly because no one there believed in it, but still. she knew how mages were treated elsewhere. she often wondered whether her preference for private magic came from her remaking or if she had been Eryllian, before; if she had come from the land where they hunted mages like it was a sport.

she added a couple of particularly flammable herbs to the small fire, which blazed higher. a little bit of salt for superstition, which caused the fire to momentarily flicker green, then a sprig of lavender for birth, which turned the fire the color of its namesake.

muttering under her breath, Arjola wrapped several small seeds in dried grass and soot, then crushed them over the makeshift nest, made mostly from straw and twig scavenged from the abandoned roc nest. where the seeds crumbled, small fires popped up, burning white. they snaked toward each other, and then toward the egg, which was glowing as bright as the flames.

she sprinkled ash around the cave and blow sand from Amora's Bone Desert into their air, and suddenly the room was unbearably hot. the roc eggs twitched. they were sufficiently far enough from the flames, but Arjola wasn't sure they were taking to the sudden heat of the world's driest desert nicely.

she had experience her fair share of being uncomfortable, but this was something else. the warstone seemed to be fanning the flames, and they'd turned from white to blue. combined with Mesa's natural heat and now the Bone Desert heat on top of that...it was certainly not an experience she'd ever recommend to anyone. she could almost feel her stitches unraveling.

good. the egg said. leave.

she studied it for a long moment, and then decided it was probably smart to do what the talking egg said. she paused in the entryway to the cave as the voice spoke once again. make a wish.

a wish?

she closed her eyes.

what did she wish for?

the voice felt more like a presence, and she leaned into it. its anger, its heat.

revenge, Arjola thought. for him to pay.

she thought she heard the voice make a low chuckle.

then she opened her eyes and left.

[eel.]

unseen by Arjola, the egg split open.

out came a fable, impossibly large for such as impossibly small stone. the fable glowed with the color of flame, though its eyes were black pits, only a pinpoint of light to indicate where it was looking. its wings spread, casting a shadow in the flickering light of the flames. the stone, the egg, seemed to grow around it, encasing it in a set of dark red armor. a shard of rock ripped itself from the floor, invisible tools scraping its shape into that of a blade. the roc eggs shuddered and hatched, the chicks crying out for food.

the fable, freed, folded its wings. the simple action made the fire die. it tilted its head, and crouched down to run a hand over one of the roc chicks. revenge. now that was something it could provide.

the fable grabbed the stone blade, and the cave fell suddenly silent. when sunlight crept in the next morning, it found the cave empty, the floor and walls scorched, only broken roc eggs left in the wreckage.