"Love"

“Come on, Jack, we have to go.” Amy knocked on the door as Jack was running the comb through his thinning hair. With one last look at his baggy-eyed face in the mirror, he grabbed the little red-stoppered vial from its hiding place, tucked it in his pocket, and stepped out.

“Finally.” Amy sighed in exasperation. She was still as trim as ever, unlike Jack, but the lines on her face couldn’t even be mostly hidden by makeup anymore. She was dressed in a nice charcoal gown, which complimented Jack’s dark blue suit coat rather well. “Come on, let’s go!”

“I’ll drive.” Jack grabbed the keys out of the bowl on the way out.

“No! The way you drive we’d be talking to the cops while the maitre’d gives our table away.” Amy took the keys from his hand. “I’ll drive.”

She did. At exactly eight o’clock, they handed the keys off to the valet and stepped inside. Van Piet’s was always booked solid, and tonight was no exception. Though many tables were empty, they all held little gold-bordered “reserved” cards.

Amy gave Jack a nudge, so he stepped forward to the podium. “Reservation for two.”

“Name, sir?” The maitre’d asked in a condescendingly british accent.

“Jack Holland.” Jack supplied.

The man flipped through a few pieces of paper. “I don’t see it here.”

“You forgot to book the table?” Amy growled. Jack cringed - this wasn’t his fault. He had. He knew his wife was on the boil now.

“There must be a mistake.” Jack reached into his pocket for the slip of paper, reaching past the little vial. “I have a - ”

“Confirmation slip.” The man supplied for Jack as the little piece of printed paper. “I will check it.” He took the slip and vanished off into the back.

“You forgot to reserve the table?” Amy hissed at Jack. “For our anniversary? Our twentieth anniversary?”

“I reserved it, dear, God as my witness.” Jack held up his hands. “I had the slip. He’ll give us a table.”

“He’d better.”

Jack tried not to look at his wife’s simmering anger until the maitre’d returned. “So sorry for the wait, sir and madam. The reservation was in our system. Right this way.”

Jack shot an “I told you so” look at Amy, who pretended not to see it.

Van Piet’s was fancy enough not to have menus, so Jack had nothing to hide behind to avoid Amy’s glare. He wasn’t sure if the cold annoyance for him being right (for once) was worse than the volcano of anger he’d have gotten if the maitre’d had not found the reservation. He sipped the water provided to him quietly, avoiding eye contact.

“Welcome to Van Piet’s, sir and madam.” The server’s approach behind Jack was so silent he jumped at the words.

“About time.” Amy beckoned the man over and asked him to list for her the menu options. For each, she asked how healthy that option was. Jack knew without asking - this was a place that used good old-fashioned quality unhealthy ingredients, but served smaller portions to compensate.

“I’ll have the alfredo, and Jack will probably want a steak. Isn’t that right, dear?” She finally included Jack in the conversation.

“Y-yes, thank you.” Jack said gratefully. She wasn’t trying to order for him, for once. The evening must have meant something to her if she was letting her husband eat what he wanted, not what was “good for him”. “Cooked medium, if you please.”

“Of course.” The server didn’t take notes. Jack knew the order was simple enough that it would be okay. Van Piet’s hired the best, in theory. “Anything to drink with that? We have a very nice wine selection, and I’d be happy to suggest - ”

“No, thank you, no wine.” Amy waved him off.

“Dear, it’s our anniversary. Surely one glass wouldn’t - ” Jack tried to interject.

“No.” Amy replied firmly. “We have to drive home.”

“One glass will have left our systems long before we leave...” But it was useless. She got that look in her eyes that Jack knew eant immobility. He couldn’t be right in front of anyone, especially not twice in a row. “”Or not.

“Uh, of course.” The server excused himself and retreated away, muttering something about the salad course coming out in a few minutes.

“Amy, why - ” Jack started, but she waved him off.

“Excuse me, dear, I will be right back.” She said, a hard edge behind her polite words. She stood and headed for the ladies’ room. Jack gave it even odds as to whether that would be to actually use the facilities or to come out looking truly heartbroken over the perceived slight of contradicting her in front of the server.

Jack waited until she was out of sight, then flagged down the server, who was delivering salads to another table. “My wife doesn’t want to go overboard on the cost, but it is our twentieth anniversary, I think we can afford to celebrate.” Jack told him. “I want to get a bottle of something. What would you recommend?”

“I have a nice merlot that should suit.” The man replied. “Reasonably priced, pairs acceptably with both your dishes. I’ll get you a taste in a moment.”

Jack thanked the man, and when the taste came out he didn’t have to think too hard before buying the bottle. It and two glasses came out in moments.

Jack poured both glasses. As soon as the server’s back was turned, Jack pulled the little vial out of his pocket. The label was small, but it only held four letters: LOVE. The liquid inside was a darker red than the wine, and had an oily swirling film on top. Jack shook it gently, then uncorked it. The smell was like roses and lavender and summer rain. It hadn’t been cheap, but if it worked it would save his marriage. It was clear to him that Amy no longer loved him, and he had long since stopped loving her.

But he hesitated before tipping the vial into Amy’s glass. Was this wrong? Yes. Would there be hell to pay if she found out? Yes. But Jack remembered all those years ago, when their love was new, and Amy was all smiles and laughter and Jack was all confidence and tenderness and it seemed like the world couldn’t possibly tear them apart in a million years. He remembered the look on his own face and hers on their wedding day, in the picture on the mantle, just beginning to fade and gather dust now, in the silence left when the twins went to college. They had been so happy just to be together. When had that gone?

Blinking back a tear, Jack tipped half the vial into her glass, then the other into his. If he was going to do this to Amy, he would do it to himself as well. It would work, or fail, on them both, and their marriage would live, or it would die.

Amy came out of the restroom at last, looking more composed. She scowled at the bottle.

“Sorry, dear. But this is our twentieth anniversary. We can afford a little celebration.” Jack picked up both glasses and set one in her hand. “Come on. A toast to our life these twenty years, and to the next twenty.” He raised his glass.

“Oh, all right. ”Amy reluctantly raised hers to his.

“To life, and to love.” Jack said, coaxing a small smile out of his wife. That was the toast Jack, nervous out of his mind and not one for words, had given at the wedding, as she well knew.

Jack smiled back, the crystal clinked, and they drank.

 This story is part of my attempt to finish the 100 prompts challenge posted in the short story competition at RPGCrossing.com.

"Introduction"

“I’d like you to meet someone, Rick.” Tom said. I was still at work, not that it ever mattered to him what I was doing when he called. “A new business partner.” He said the phrase with an odd inflexion I didn’t really understand the meaning of.

“Uhh...” I ducked my head below the cubicle walls. I wasn’t technically allowed to have a second job, it was against my contract. What Tom and I were working on was strictly speaking a violation, and I could be fired for it. “Sure. Whatever. Later. After work.”

“Sounds good. Donovan’s at seven?” He replied smoothly.

Tom was always trying to get me to drink on the weeknights, like we had in college. I suppose I’d grown up a little, and he never had. We were both thirty now, and Tom didn’t seem to know we weren’t twenty-one anymore. “Fine. But it can’t be a late night.” I agreed wearily.

“Sure thing, Rick. See you there. Seven o’clock.”

“Seven o’clock.” I repeated to satisfy him. “See you there, Tom.”

I hung up and went back to my computer. My boss walked by, probably making sure I kept the personal call as brief as possible, and I pretended not to notice his scowl.

Three and a half hours later I walked into Donovan’s. The aging wood-paneled pub was within walking distance of Tom’s apartment, which made it his only watering hole since he wrecked his car in July. The place was pretty sparsely populated, given that it was a Tuesday evening. I saw Tom at the bar, with two empty beer bottles already in front of him. I took the stool next to him.

“Rick buddy!” Tom shook my hand wildly before scooping up his third beer just as it was deposited in front of him. “Glad you could come.”

“Based on what you said on the phone, I didn’t expect to find you drinking alone.” I said pointedly, then turned to the bartender and ordered a root beer, one of the local craft brands that comes in a brown glass bottle. With any luck, Tom wouldn’t pay enough attention to the label to see that it wasn’t real beer.

“Should be here any minute.” Tom replied as I was ordering. “You’ll like this one, Rick.”

“Speak of the devil, and she will appear.” A woman’s voice, soft but commanding, said from behind me. Tom and I turned around. She was about my height, brunette, slim, wearing a blue windbreaker and jeans. Good looking, I decided.

“Ah, perfect timing!” Tom clapped me on the back. “Rick, meet Jen. I told you I’d find us a biochemist.”

I extended a hand, and Jen took it. “Jennifer Kerigan. You must be Rick Pattinson. Tom here has told me a lot about what you two have been working on.”

I released her hand, and frowned at the slight jolt of static electricity that passed between her palm and mine. I’d never known static to happen as things were separated, only when they were joined.

“Something wrong?” Jen asked, picking up on my frown.

“I’ll say. They brought you root beer!” Tom scowled, putting down my drink after having apparently decided to bum it. I didn’t mind that so much - the bartender knew us well enough to charge drinks to the person who actually consumed them and not to the person who ordered them. That meant that Tom’s tab was astronomical most nights.

I rolled my eyes, and Jen gave me a knowing glance. “I was trying not to drink on a weeknight.” I protested.

“And he was helping you out.” Jen pointed out. Tom and I both laughed a little at this. I slid over one stool so Jen could sit between Tom and I. She ordered a beer, one of the expensive kinds.

“Like I was saying earlier, Jen, Rick and I were thinking, technology has progressed to the point in both disciplines where it should be possible to build a machine that ‘compiles’ computer code down to DNA and RNA strands. We have been working on a prototype, but our sequences are so buggy we might as well just be putting in random values. I’ve been working hardware, and Rick’s got the software solid. But the best nanos on the commercial market just aren’t up to this. We need something better.”

Jen nodded. “And I mentioned I might have an idea. But first, the conditions. This could be a stepping stone toward the unification of computer science and the study of biological behavior. As such, I want to be an equal in this if it goes anywhere, one third share. And neither of you breathe a word about this project to anyone until we all agree to do so.”

“Done.” I agreed. I doubted it would go anywhere - this “side job” was more a hobby for me. A hobby that could get me fired.

Tom took a moment to consider, then agreed as well. “Let’s hear your idea.”

We moved to a booth at the corner and discussed the project for more than three hours. She knew her stuff - Jen impressed both of us with her ideas. She said first that we could try adding verification/disassembly nanos to the vat, but that this would slow the output considerably, and that a better solution would be to figure out a way to remove the unreliable nanos from the system entirely. How we’d do that, of course, none of us knew then. We parted ways just before midnight. Jen and I exchanged phone numbers. Apparently Tom already had hers.

I went home that night reeling from the possibilities. Could we really do it? Program cells? I started to believe, sitting in Donovan’s that night, that we could.

I called Jen the next day on impulse and asked her out to dinner. I expected her to say that she was dating Tom, or that she didn’t date business partners, or a million other things, but she surprised me by saying yes, and naming Friday night. I picked her up from her workplace, a bio lab on the south side, and took her to Jasmine Palace, a slightly upscale Indian restaurant that we had agreed upon. I asked quickly about her and Tom, and she said that while he had hit on her, Tom was not really her type. I relaxed after that, and we talked and laughed for over two hours, long after the plates had been cleared away. She was as charming as her first impression had indicated.

I couldn’t sleep that night, and got up early on Saturday to head over to Tom’s place to work on the prototype. When I got there, Jen and Tom were sipping coffee and talking, and I joined them for a few minutes before we got to work. By unspoken agreement, neither Jen nor I mentioned the date, and Tom didn’t ask.

He didn’t notice that Jen and I arrived together four weeks later, after our fifth date went a little farther than I think either of us anticipated. Or maybe he just didn’t mention it. He still hit on Jen once in a while, but this began to taper off as even he began to figure things out.

It took us nine weeks working with Jen to get a successful sequence fab. It was a simple sequence, which would instruct an amoebic cell to cease motion. We fed it into viruses and put them in a test culture, and were amazed to see perfectly healthy amoebas frozen as if they were dead. We celebrated with champagne. That night, Jen and I celebrated a second time.

I frowned at the slight jolt of static electricity as I released Jen’s hand, then started as I realized I was in Donovan’s. Jen was wearing a knowing smile. “Something wrong?” She asked, but her expression instead told me, “I know. Shh.”

“I’ll say. They brought you root beer!” Tom scowled, putting down my drink after having apparently decided to bum it.

“Uh...” I shook my head, returning to the present. “I was... trying not to drink on a weeknight.” I wondered if I already had been.

“And he was helping you out.” Jen pointed out. Tom laughed uproariously at this as he slid over one stool so Jen could sit between us. She ordered a beer, one of the expensive kinds.

“Like I was saying earlier, Jen...” Tom began.

That night I couldn’t sleep when I got home. I was still conscious when my cell phone rang at three in the morning. Caller ID said it was Jen. I picked it up. “Hello again, Jen.” I spoke.

“Do you want that?” She asked.

I knew what she was talking about. “Is that what it was? A preview?”

“In a way.”

I wanted to ask “how” but I was certain she wouldn’t answer, so I refrained. Instead, I asked the second most pressing question in my mind. “Dinner on Friday?”

She laughed. “You already know my answer.”

“It’s a date. See you then.” I was afraid of what I was getting into, but more afraid still of missing it.

“And you, Rick.” She hung up, and I spent four more hours utterly failing to explain in my mind what had happened before the alarm told me that I had to get up for work.

 This story is part of my attempt to finish the 100 prompts challenge posted in the short story competition at RPGCrossing.com.

"Wishing Stones"

He didn’t rein in his horse’s gallop until he was out of town, past the last of the outlying farmhouses. Even then, he slowed only to a brisk trot, still a dangerous speed for a horse to take at night. There was no moon, but the stars were painfully sharp, staring daggers down at his back as he rode.

He stopped and dismounted stiffly at the top of a rise in the land over which the road continued to the west. As his mount cropped a few mouthfuls of dew-dampened grass at the side of the road, he looked back in the direction he’d come. Even in the deadest part of night, the castle glowed brilliantly, the yellows and oranges of watch-fires reflecting off its smooth white stone walls and towers. The upper levels’ windows also glowed, but in the softer hue of hearths burning low. The early spring air was cool, but not cold enough to produce frost.

The rider’s eyes picked out a single glowing spark high in the castle, the light in a place he knew all too well. “I’m sorry, love. I must know.” He whispered. The words condensed into a visible vapor in front of his lips, then dissipated, and the only ears that heard them belonged to the horse.

He gave his mount a few more minutes to chomp away at the grass, then led it back onto the road, mounted, and rode on. The castle vanished behind the terrain, and the man was alone with just his horse and the accusing stars for company.

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The queen woke with a start, trying to determine what had awakened her. The fire had burned low, and it barely gave off enough light to illuminate the tiles of the floor around it. The rest of the opulent room was swallowed in darkness.

She turned over, reaching across the expansive bed to where her husband should have been, but he wasn’t there. “Kade?” She whispered into the darkness, but she didn’t need to wait for the silence to respond to know she was alone.

Not to worry, she told herself. The king had trouble sleeping sometimes, and would usually wander about a bit to settle his nerves. Caused by stress, perhaps. He’d be back.

She drew her hand back toward herself, and it brushed something stuck between the silk sheets. Something stiff and dry - paper?

The queen, now fully awake, and pulled the object toward her, then got up and lit a taper from the embers of the fire. It was an envelope, addressed to her. She broke the seal with her long, thin fingers, and started to read.

=============== | ԹӦֆӇՈҸ ՅӦӃԶҀ | ===============

I saw the stranger standing at the edge of town, right in front of the old dolmen gate that’s always been there. He was looking up at the pair of words there engraved. A lot of travelers do that. People love mysteries.

I almost sidled up to him to distract him, get a chance to snag that fat-looking purse at his side, but as I approached he turned in my direction and I saw the sword. I sent quick thanks to God for small mercies - even if I were desperate I wouldn’t try to cut the purse of a nobleman. They can do whatever they want with us lowly commonfolk, and they could make you die really slowly.

“You there.” The nobleman called across the street. I saw that he was of perhaps early middle age, with graying temples and beard. He was dressed in a well-made but worn blue cloak, held in place with a gold chain at his breastbone.

I realized after watching for a second or so that he was calling to me. “Me, m’lord?” I asked, not knowing what else to say.

“Aye. Come here a moment.” He beckoned in a friendly manner, but we both knew that was an order that could be enforced on pain of death. I trudged forward, keeping my head down, like we’re supposed to.

As soon as I got close, he pointed up to the words on the stone. “Tell me what they say about those runes.” He told me.

The man’s heavy purse swung within reach of my clasped hands, and though I knew it would be full of gold I dared not touch it. ”Many things, m’lord. There’s magic in the dolmen, to be sure. None have ever managed to break it, even with good tools. Some say it is a doorway to the fell realms, or to to lost Eden, or to another world, and the words are a spell of sealing.” I took a breath. Maybe if I gave him a good enough explanation I’d get a coin for my trouble, and if I cooperated he’d probably leave me alone, coin or no. “But others say it is an anti-spell, that the dolmen breaks all enchantments. It’s even said that our fair queen was under a terrible enchantment as a maiden, and that it was the power of this place that broke it. But I was only an infant at the time, m’lord.”

The man nodded. “Yes, I have heard that tale myself many times. But what do the runes mean?” He pressed.

I shrugged, keeping my eyes on the grassy space around the dolmen’s base. “I’m sorry, m’lord, I don’t know. Never heard anyone say they could read ‘em.”

He sighed. “All right.” His hand went into his pouch, and my heart leapt. He took out two coins - one silver, and one gold. The gold one would get me three weeks of good food and drink, at least, and the silver perhaps three or four days of the same. “For your trouble.” He tossed me the silver coin, and held up the gold one. “If you find me someone who claims to be able to read them by nightfall, I will be generous.”

I bowed several times and thanked him, backing away until he lost interest in me. That gold coin, still held loosely between his fingers, called to me. All I needed to do was find him some crazy old man, and he’d give that to me. Sure, noblemen are bad news, but I thought this was a simple matter. Get batty greybeard, get coin, get out of the vicinity. Eat for three weeks without working or cutting purses.

I darted around the bend and headed for the Three Timbers. The bar attracted plenty of crackpots and oddballs, I just needed to grab one and get him over to the dolmen by sundown. On the way there, though, I  heard hoofbeats approaching, and habitually dove out of the road and into a narrow alley - anyone on a horse was important enough not to stop to avoid trampling me.

The horses slowed and stopped not far from my alley, and I heard the clanking sounds of several mail-clad men dismounting. Probably not all knights - just one and his retainers. Though one is bad enough. A knight deprived of a war to go charging gloriously into is worse than said war, if he lives nearby.

“Gather them all.” A stern voice directed, and iron-shod feet stomped around to carry the orders out. What was it this time?

A few heads poked out of buildings, and at the direction of hostile voices people gathered. Probably an edict from on high to be told to the peasantfolk. Didn’t sound like they were being overly violent about it.

“Hear ye, hear ye, we bear a proclamation from the palace of His Imperial Magesty, Adonis the First!” The authoritative voice called out. “I regret to announce that his Imperial Majesty has disappeared! He vanished from his bed in the dead of night and has not been seen since! Since His Majesty is an accomplished warrior, it is likely that he left of his own accord, but none could be found who could explain his errand. Any peasant who brings to the court any news of his whereabouts will receive four coins of gold in payment, tripled if the information leads to the King’s return. Pray regularly for your monarch’s safety. That is all.” The knight fell silent, and the crowd began to murmur.

This was interesting. Missing king, reward for information. Why would a king run away? He lived a pampered life, married to a woman purported to be most beautiful in the realm, if not the world. He was wealthy beyond measure and literally owned not only the entire kingdom, but its inhabitants. Even the noblemen. I knew if I were in that position, I wouldn’t let anything take me away from it.

Then I remembered the strange nobleman by the old runed stones, and my heart leapt. Could I really be so fortunate?

As soon as I heard the knight and his retainers ride off, I snuck out of the alley and headed back to the dolmen. There was nobody there, of course. Probably off buying a house to spend the night in alone. I’d seen nobles do that before, and burn it to the ground when they were through. Strange people.

Still, I went back to the Three Timbers and ducked inside. I asked around a bit, broke my silver coin up into a nice pile of coppers and half-coppers and passed a few around to loosen tongues. Everyone knew a guy with “the real story” of the ancient dolmen, but I had a devil of a time finding anyone willing to claim to know the meaning of the runes. Even my usual go-to crackpots, Jorg Halfgait and Moris Blackeyes, didn’t want to go there. Moris told me that even he knew the runes were unknowable. That was strange, because the week before Moris had been telling me how his great-grandpappy had married a true-to-life witch and that the magic in his blood made him capable of great and terrible things.

Eventually, I settled down across a corner table from an old, gray-bearded man in a hood. Hoods indoors aren’t that strange, what with all the smallpox survivors hiding their scars, and the veterans hiding their gaping eye sockets, so I didn’t think too much of not being able to see his face. He had a gnarled cane leaning against the table, and at my offer of a half-copper he took a rattling breath and spoke. “Sure, I know what they say.” He wheezed. “Didn’t think anyone cared to anymore. Who’s askin’?”

I shrugged. “A curious nobleman handing out coins. He’ll probably have at least a silver in it for you.” I said, not mentioning my own gold. Best not to have to share.

“Nobleman.” The old man replied thoughtfully. “Hmph. Finally...” He muttered to himself. “I’ll come along, but not until near sunset. Damn heat’s no good for old folks like me.”

It wasn’t hot that day, but I didn’t press the issue. That gold coin was practically mine. “Done.” I agreed.

“What’s your name, son?” He asked. I was twenty-four then, hardly a child, but one generally lets one’s elders use their own words for you.

“Bandt.” I replied. A lie. One never uses one’s own name in a town where one cuts purses.

“Good name, that. I’m Lifarne.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Lifarne.”

“And with you, Bandt.” The old man agreed, and I thought I saw a shadow of a toothless smile under the hood.

=============== | ԹӦֆӇՈҸ ՅӦӃԶҀ | ===============

I helped the old man to the dolmen just as the sun began to kiss the top of the hills. He seemed to know the way, I was just there to speed up the process and give him someone to lean on. The nobleman wasn’t there, and I wondered if he’d be coming at all. It was the middle of autumn, so I hoped the old man would make this quick. No theatrics. The night would soon get cold.

A lantern bobbed around the corner. I saw a worn blue cloak, and looked down submissively, waiting for the man to address me. I snuck a glance at the old man, and noticed he was pointedly doing no such thing. I cringed, hoping the noble was in a charitable mood.

“Aha, you came through.” The nobleman said, as if there was never any doubt. I muttered an agreement and stepped aside. “Well, old man, can you read the letters on the stone?” The noble asked impatiently. There was a gleam of metal in the lamplight, and something small and round landed on the ground near my feet. My fingers recognized the gold immediately, and I bent down to grab it, then backed away a few steps. I had meant to leave, but I was curious, too - I wanted to know what the runes meant.

The old man set his cane against one of the great uprights and cast off his hood. I winced as soon as I saw his face, because his eyes were milky and should have been sightless. But he was looking right at the nobleman. “I cannot read them, but I need no sight to tell you their meaning.” He offered. “That should suffice.”

The nobleman’s hand went to his sword. “If you plan on deceiving me...”

“Such as I are not capable of raw deception, little knight.” The old man intoned, and in the moment he was speaking he seemed to loom over the man in blue, though in reality the “little knight” was the taller. I thought I saw a spark of greenish light worm its way up the stone, but reasoned that it must have been a firefly. “We may trick, but the trick is always in your interpretation, not in our words.”

I suddenly sensed that of the two, I should be more frightened of the blind old man. And from the body language of the noble, he understood that as well.

“Very well.” The nobleman nodded, as if understanding the meaning of the old man’s cryptic words. Perhaps he did. I don’t know what all nobles know, only that it’s more than the rest of us. “Proceed.”

“The words there engraved for the ages are spoken thus: Lifarnae Belisothiar.” The words, with their unfamiliar inflections, seemed to be echoed by a second, whispered voice as Lifarne spoke them. Again, I saw greenish motes of light rush up the sides of the dolmen stones - perhaps six or seven. They were gone too quickly to count. “The literal meaning of the phrase is difficult to translate into this small language, but ‘wish-granted becomes guardian’ is close enough.”

The noble nodded, as if this meant something to him.

“When first you came to this place, Kade Adonis, you were on a quest of great importance, and the least player in it. Your chances of coming home were small. You heard an old man speak of the power of wishing under the stones, so you stopped here and stood below the dolmen, and made a wish. Do you remember?”

The knight nodded. “I do. Twenty-five years ago.” I was busy thinking that the nobleman’s name was Adonis. As in, King Adonis. Could it really be?

“Twenty-five years ago to the day, in fact.” Lifarne wagged a bony finger at Sir Kade. “On the verge between equal day and night, you stood right there and wished to be the one to rescue the princess and break her curse, despite all the odds. Fate determined that you did. And fate has returned you here this night.”

“It has been nagging at me all these years.” Kade admitted. “Did I triumph because if the wish, or did I triumph because of my own skill?”

The old man chuckled. “No way to know, little knight.” As darkness grew, Lifarne seemed less and less frail. “But time is short, and you must know something else.”

“And what’s that?” Sir Kade asked impatiently.

“The cost of your wish, of your life these past years.” The old man exclaimed. “Wish-granted becomes guardian. The price is listed right there for all to see.” I saw a few more green sparks course along the stone, and this time Kade noticed it too.

The Knight backed away from the dolmen as a green spark made it all the way up to the runes, and stayed there.

“I am the guardian!” Lifarne exclaimed, tossing away his cane. “But not for much longer. You will take my place, and guard until another wishes, and returns. All who wish return in time.”

Kade tried to back away, but the old man cackled and made a tugging motion in the air, and the King fell to his knees. “You can’t leave now, little knight. It’s already begun.” More sparks coursed through the stones, not just green anymore - I saw yellows and whites and the occasional red. Most of them went up to the runes and stayed there, but a few popped out of the stone and drifted toward the knight.

I stood still, paralyzed by fear, just an observer. I didn’t want to call attention to myself.

“I have been the guardian for one hundred and twenty-two years and six months, little knight.” Lifarne said, and his voice cracked as he did. “I am long overdue my release.”

I looked over to Sir Kade in time to see two drifting white sparks approach him. He tried to cover his face, but they burrowed between his fingers and he fell writhing to the dirt, crying out in pain. “Your eyes will learn to see the strands of fate as they burn.” The Guardian intoned. I couldn’t think of him as Lifarne anymore.

The magic swirled so brightly it hurt my eyes, and I finally turned away, still hearing the agonized cries of the king. Then everything was black. I turned back around. The stones were dark, and Sir Kade was motionless on the ground. Lifarne, trembling, tried to lean against the stones, but missed and fell over into the grass. I rushed over to him.

“What are you?” I asked, kneeling down next to him. He was frail again, frailer perhaps than he was before, and I had a suspicion he wasn’t going to get back up.

“Nothing... anymore.” The Guardian gasped. “If you want...” I had to lean close to hear him. “There’s still... still time to wish tonight. You could be... anything. King... even. But I... don’t suggest... it. Price... is too...”

His head lolled to the side, and his breathing stopped. I stood, facing the stones. I could wish for something, and it would come true?

Despite everything in my rational mind screaming against it, I stepped forward, under the stones. As I did, Sir Kade Adonis stirred. I saw in his face unseeing, milky eyes, and wondered how long I could avoid the same.

“Don’t do it, man. That’s my life.” He called out, as if seeing into my very intentions. He tried to get up. “Don’t...”

I smiled wickedly. The man’s pleas had made up my mind for me. I imagined the queen of the kingdom, the most beautiful woman in all the world alone, weeping by herself in that giant palace, and something in me turned over. “But it looks like you’re going to be busy, Guardian.” I put a hand on each of the uprights. They felt warm to the touch. “I wish to be mistaken for King Adonis and take his place on the throne.” I said aloud.

The new Guardian, screamed in rage, and tried to get at me, but he was blind and still not even capable of standing. Laughing, I dodged past him and ran off into the night, somehow certain things were about to go my way.

This story written based on a prompt from Klazzform's Short Story Competition on rpgcrossing.com.