The Cursed Crystal

Chapter Three

    Lark, a young man of nineteen, chopped wood by the outhouse of his parents’ farm with precision and strength. He didn’t have the greatest advantage like his two older brothers did. Lark was tall, lanky and had thick black hair that was starting to grow past his brows in choppy pieces. He was clumsy, indecisive and timid unlike his brothers who were outgoing, strong and brave. 

    But, the one thing that Lark did better than anyone in his village was chop firewood. His grandfather used to always call Lark into his bedroom when he was a young boy and say, “You say you are only good at chopping wood?”

    Lark used to nod his head with large tears welling up in his eyes after being teased and picked on by his brothers. 

    “Then you continue to do that one thing until you are a master at it.” 

    “But what if-” 

    His grandfather would point a finger at him and say, “Now, now, there’s no buts. You master it and become the greatest wood chopper there ever was. You hear me boy?”

    Lark, in present time grinned at the memory and whispered, “Yes sir,” as he chopped the last woodchuck and watched it fall on either side of the block in two perfect slices. 

    His grandfather had died last summer, bequeathing a peculiar box but he hadn’t opened it yet. Something about opening it, to Lark, meant that his grandfather’s death was real and he wasn’t ready to accept that just yet. 

    Lark collected the wood in his arms awkwardly and dumped them into the wheelbarrow, pushing it towards the house and taking two inside with him. 

    The door closed behind him and his mother finished putting the last bowl of stew on the table. “Oh good, you’ve finished,” she said. She gestured to the fire and added, “Hurry and throw those into the fire and come eat your food.”

    “Yes mam,” he muttered, doing as he was told and sitting down at the table. He was accompanied by his parents and two brothers. His oldest brother had just recently gotten married and the young woman sat at the table as well, quiet and timid as she was not comfortable around the family yet. 

    “What did you boys do today,” their father asked, breaking the loaf of bread into equal parts for everyone. 

    “The oldest son, Jaken, replied, “I traveled from two villages over to help some farmers with their crop.” He chewed heartily and said, “I was able to bring home two sacks of potatoes for you and Mother as payment.”

    Their father raised their brow and said, “That’s wonderful.” He glanced at his second oldest, Chiles, and asked, “How was your day spent?”

    Chiles grinned and said, “I think I’ve finally secured a spot in the next pickings for the king’s horsemanship race. If I can do that, I can meet a few knights and see if they’ll accept me as an apprentice.”

    Jaken rolled his eyes. “You have to be young to be considered for an apprenticeship. It takes years to train and learn how to be a knight.”

    “Oh, don’t be jealous, Jaken,” Chiles quipped. “You lost your chance long ago and now that it could happen for me-”

    “Enough boys,” their mother warned, raising a brow at them. When they were settled down, she glanced at Lark and asked, “How did you spend your day today, son?”

Lark swallowed his bread in a large gulp. When he went to answer, his older brothers answered for him, saying, “Chopping firewood.” 

    Lark glanced at his brothers with an aggravated look and looked back down at his food. 

    His brothers began chuckling with each other and nudged their shoulders. “If Lark hasn’t helped in the kitchen, he’s out chopping firewood,” Jaken said. 

    “Lark doesn’t do anything except chop wood,” Chiles laughed. 

    “I can do more than just one thing,” Lark protested, but his voice faltered and embarrassment settled in, reddening his cheeks as he looked away. 

    His brothers laughed harder until their father smacked the table in anger and demanded, “Enough! Can we eat one meal without the two of you picking on your brother?”

    The table quieted but Lark didn’t feel comfortable. He felt he would never be the men his brothers were. 

    “Lark, eat your food,” his mother insisted, furrowing her brow at him. 

    “I’m not really hungry,” he lied. “May I be excused?” 

    Everyone at the table glanced at each other warily. Their father nodded and Lark got up from the table, exiting the house to sit in the barn like he always did when he had a lot on his mind. 

    As he closed the door behind him, he heard his father reprimanding Jaken and Chiles while they protested at the table. 

    “It’s not our fault he gets his feelings hurt,” Chiles muttered, rolling his eyes. 

    “Should he not be stronger than us if all he does is chop wood?” Jaken asked in bewilderment. “Why are his arms still loose and lanky if all he does is-”

    “Enough!” Their mother snapped loudly, giving her sons her most dangerous death glare. “I’m about to line all three of you up and smack you the way I used to when you were younger if you can’t get along with each other for just one night.” Her eyes were wide with warning and asked, “Is that too much to ask for-one night of peace and the three of you actually liking each other?”

    Jaken and Chiles looked embarrassed as they muttered, “No, it’s not.” 

    Their mother settled down and their father got back to eating as Lark continued his way down to the barn after hearing the conversation. 

    If only he could be more assertive. If only he were stronger, Jaken and Chiles would respect him and see him as one of them, not ‘the frail, younger brother,’ they had to watch and care for. 

    Lark pulled open the barn doors, closed them and fell back into a pile of hay with his arms spread out. He let out a deep sigh with a groan at the end and closed his eyes. One day, he would be his brothers’ equal. One day he would prove to them and everyone that knew him that he was just as strong as his brothers. 

    “I should open Grandfather’s box,” he whispered to himself. “Perhaps that would make me feel better.” 

    He wanted to but his body was immobile; it didn’t want to sneak back into the house to open the gift he truly wasn’t ready to open just yet. 

    “Perhaps there’s another thing you can master if there is nothing else you can do but chop wood,” he remembered his grandfather muttering one night. He had been showing signs that his mind was loosening; he remembered random memories from his past but couldn’t remember what he had done during the day; everyone in the family knew he was close to passing and Lark took it extremely hard. 

    “What do you mean, Grandfather,” Lark asked. 

    “I think the reason you can’t seem to do simple things around here is because you’re destined to do even greater things in your life,” he answered. His old, tired eyes widened a bit, showing the old spark that used to sparkle every day when his grandfather was younger and stronger in his mind. 

    “I don’t understand that,” Lark admitted, looking away. “If I can’t even go down to the river for water and not be a clumsy fool, then how am I supposed to be destined for something greater?”

    His grandfather patted his head as if Lark were still a young boy and said, “I feel it in my old bones, boy. You remind me a lot of myself, which is why I think I know.” 

    “What does that mean,” Lark asked, almost pleading. He so desperately wanted to be told he was great at something, but his mother entered the room and squeezed Lark’s shoulder, whispering, “Let him sleep,    Lark. His mind isn’t right anymore.” 

    Grandfather’s death had affected Lark very much, but the one person that it deeply affected was his mother, Grandfather’s daughter. 

    Lark and his mother shared that bond together, which was why she came to Lark’s defense most of the time in his opinion but he was grateful for it. He’d rather have that kind of a mother than a heartless one. 

    “Is the baby in here crying,” he heard a voice ask from outside the barn. 

    Lark’s chest tightened as he quickly jumped from his spot in the hay and hid behind a large wooden banister. 

    “Jaken, please,” Lark heard his brother’s wife, Mim, plead, “Just leave your brother alone. I want to go back inside.”

    “If all you’re going to do is complain then you can go,” Jaken snapped. 

    Mim scoffed and said, “If I knew any better, I’d think the two of you were jealous of Lark for some reason.” 

    “What?” Jaken and Chiles asked together in utter shock. 

    “You two seem very obsessed with making him feel terrible about himself. You should be ashamed.” 

    “Now you listen here, woman,” Jaken said, pointing a finger at his wife. “You’re my wife and what I say goes. Now either go back inside and clean the kitchen with my mother or stay with us here at the barn to look for Lark.” 

    Mim scoffed angrily and stomped back towards the house. 

    Lark gulped as he hid; he wished he was anywhere else but there. Moments like this he couldn’t understand why his grandfather made him believe he was destined for greater things than chopping wood; he couldn’t even defend himself against his brothers. 

    What would he do if he could do greater things? 

    Lark knew; he’d want to disappear. 

                                                                                               *

    A witch always has a special name. It’s how the world will remember her for the rest of time. If it’s not a good name, it will fade into nothing just as everything else does and that’s how Elvanora came up with her name: The Eccentric Elvie. 

    Her lizard pet, Ralph, laughed in the background when Elvie stood in front of the mirror and repeated the name. When the laughing became irritating, Elvie whirled around with a tight lipped frown and snapped, “You know, I’m the witch here. I can turn you to stone if I wanted, Ralph.”

    Ralph, a lizard with two bright yellow horns on his head, a green scaly body and white clawed feet, didn’t try to hide his laughing, his thin, pink forked tongue flicking out as his yellow eyes closed tightly from laughing so hard. 

    “Oh trust me, stone would be preferable compared to sitting here and listening to you repeat that ghastly name.” He repeated the name she chose for herself and smacked his foot on the wooden perch he sat on, laughing uncontrollably. “Can you even call yourself a witch?”

    “As a matter of fact-yes,” she retorted, rolling her bright green eyes under her mane of curly, frizzy auburn colored hair. She absently pushed a thick, curly tendril of hair out of her face and huffed, “I know someone’s coming. Someone’s coming to see me.” 

    “Anyone could say that,” Ralph said with skepticism at her premonition.

    “No,” Elvie corrected, “I might not know who it will be but I know they’re coming in two days time, and they’ll be coming from there.” She pointed to the west wall of her small cottage. 

    Ralph made a face when he saw the wall and asked, “They’re coming through the wall?” 

    Elvie shrugged. “I don’t know. They’re coming from that direction is all I know. It was a dream I had and for some reason, I know I need to help whoever comes to me in two days' time.” 

    Ralph rolled his eyes and groaned with a lizard hiss at the end. “Ugh,” he complained. “I should have chosen another witch to serve.” 

    Elvie laughed as she grabbed a woven basket and her wand. “Well you’re stuck with me until the end of time.” 

    “Don’t remind me,” he groaned, lying on his belly and putting his two front legs over his large eyes to force a nap on himself. 

    Elvie closed the door quietly and headed towards the well a few paces in front of her house. She was situated in the middle of a forest believed by outsiders that it was haunted and dangerous. 

    They were right; there was a section of the forest where ghosts ran rampant through the trees, but only at night and everywhere were man-eating plants, man-eating wolves and man-eating sand holes that swallowed up anything that stepped onto them but Elvie had navigated carefully through the woods and found a perfect clearing in the forest where bright green grass grew under the sun from above. 

    The surrounded trees of the clearing produced beautiful colored flowers and fruit and bushes that grew    floral plants that made the clearing smell clean and wonderful. 

    It was the perfect place for Elvie to practice her magic, after all, she was a new witch at that one. Her parents came from a long line of witches, so it was no surprise when Elvie started showing signs that she had magic in her. 

    She had trained for three years under the most powerful sorceress, Yemil the Goddess, and was confident with her knowledge and power that she would make just as good a witch as Yemil. 

    Elvie pulled up the bucket of water from the well and carried it inside towards her cottage. She couldn’t help but glance back at the west wall when coming inside, feeling a stir of excitement within her as she prepared for her unknown guest.