The Keystone (standard:fantasy, 852 words)
Author: Olygs	Added: Nov 10 2001	Views/Reads: 3581/1	Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)
Martin must try to retrieve the mysterious keystone.

The keystone 

Martin, dove under the table, listening out for Arnold with his small
spiky ears. He had spent nearly four days in the cupboard, listening 
out for a time when he could sneak through the wizard’s potion room and 
snatch the seemingly unimportant pebble from his desk. He had had his 
head forced down between his knees, an elbow up in the air supporting 
the weight of one of the shelves, which he had inadvertently pushed off 
balance when climbing in, and not a minute’s sleep for all the time he 
had been there. He felt pretty bad. 

On the other hand, he had found a small colony of woodlice in a crack in
the cupboard, and so had been kept full on one of his favourite foods. 
In Ambron, woodlice are a delicacy. You could pay up to 33 rounded 
stones for just 10-acorn weight’s worth. One of the richest elves in 
the country, Archiphon, had made his fortune by setting up a trade 
route between the Southern Rocks and Ambron, and working slaves in the 
mines there, to get the largest woodlice in the world. But it was a 
perilous job, for only the tiniest fairies could fit down the small 
winding tunnels, and often they came to fight woodlice that were 3 or 4 
times the size of them. Doing this everyday, weakened by hunger meant 
that there were thousands of deaths a year. Eventually the High Court 
intervened and this eventually led to slavery being made illegal, but 
through a skillfull bit of politics, Archiphon had managed to hold on 
to most of his fortune. But we digress. 

Anyway, Martin dove under the table and checked his watch. 3.00. He had
half-an-hour before the wizard returned. For sometime the wizard had 
got it into his head that he could learn to fly a broomstick, and now 
had begun stupidly leaving his house every afternoon for half-an-hour 
to try. Even though the elf knew that the house was empty, he was still 
petrified of being caught. Superstitiously, he felt the wizard could 
somehow read his mind. 

Martin jumped up, using his largest reach to try and grab the surface of
the desk. He tried seven or eight times before eventually deciding to 
use the table leg to climb up. Scrambling onto the top, he looked for 
the small pebble. Then he saw it, in the middle of the desk. It was 
deep blue, and the light shined through it, refracted across the table 
into all the colours of the rainbow. It was about three ornals 
diameter. It streaked like lightning on the inside, cracking and 
splitting from end to end. As he looked down on it he though he could 
see himself reflected. There, yes there, but he looked older, and 
sadder. And..and... He leaned forward closer to the stone, desperate to 
see more of what was inside. What was he looking at. Was it the future? 
Was it his father? His grandfather? He pulled away, remembering what 
Vinnie had said: ‘Don’t look to hard at what is inside, you must fight 
the temptation.’ Martin remembered, and took a step back. That was not 
what was important. What was important was to get it out. It was the 
keystone. He had no doubt about that. 

He looked around for a way of getting it down. A large pile of books, a
half eaten apple, a broomstick, a pot of ink. Wait. He looked back. A 
broomstick? Oh no. At the same moment the door opened, and there the 
wizard stood. Martin dived for cover, but it was too late. A wide 
purple beam screamed over Martins shoulders into the keystone. The beam 
bounced back towards Martin blinding him until all he could see was the 
blueness of the stone, and there, in the middle of the blueness, 
himself, old and frail, and now crying. And all Martin could do was get 
dragged towards the stone, his pathetic arms gripping the table top, 
but failing to make a difference. So then Martin knew what he was 
staring at, and knew he was destined to spend the rest of time watching 
himself get caught by the stone, over and over and over again. When he 
knew this he let out a terrible howl, and a tear fell from his face. 

Which fell to a pool of blue, a pool in which he could see himself,
climbing out of the cupboard, his worried expression shattered by the 
ripples formed by that drop of water. 

Martin, dove under the table, listening out for Arnold with his small
spiky ears. He had spent nearly four days in the cupboard, listening 
out for a time when he could sneak through the wizard’s potion room and 
snatch the seemingly unimportant pebble from his desk. He had had his 
head forced down between his knees, an elbow up in the air supporting 
the weight of one of the shelves, which he had inadvertently pushed off 
balance when climbing in, and not a minute’s sleep for all the time he 
had been there. He felt pretty bad... 


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