Panic
Sol had said goodbye to Sam about an hour earlier while she was heading off towards Mosel. Before she left, she had said to Sol for what seemed like the one hundredth time, “I don’t want you to do my work for me,” or “I could probably go this weekend…” But Sol had insisted she should go and assured her that he would be fine without her, and that he knew what he was doing.
When he had finally convinced her to get going, she clambered onto her bike, put on her helmet, and looked back worriedly. Sol had smiled and waved her off and tried to hide his confusion. But why had she looked so worried? Was he that incompetent?
Now he was standing in the middle of the fledgling forest with trimmers in his hands, tirelessly working to clear the trail before Sam returned later today. He knew she wouldn’t be angry if she came back to an incomplete project. In fact, maybe she even expected it. But Sol wanted to show he could be trusted with responsibility.
For one thing, he wanted to observe the rituals Sam performed again, and maybe if she saw that he was competent, she would listen to him that there wasn’t any danger. He also wanted to show Sam and Mo that he wasn’t immature or helpless. Sol had heard Mo referring to him as ‘the boy’ more often than not when he thought Sol was out of earshot. Sometimes he even said it to Sam while Sol was in the room. He hated it.
“I’m not a child,” he muttered to himself while he worked fast with the trimmers to clear the trail. Sweat accumulated on his brow, and he kept working despite the stinging in his eyes that intensified every time he wiped the moisture off his face with his shirt. Slowly, the edges of the trail became more distinct until the overgrown trail transformed into a tunnel like path that meandered through the woods towards the clearing.
He made one final cut and decided he had crossed the arbitrary line in this sort of work that dictated he was finished. He stood in the tall grass of the clearing and realized that now with the foliage cut back he could make out the tiny hole that was the entrance of the path, and beyond it the fields outside the forested area.
The silence of the woods unsettled him, and the memories of him waking up in these empty woods started forcing their way to the front of his mind. Before they could find purchase, he shoved them back down and focused on something else.
Having completed the work he had promised Sam yesterday, he looked up at the sun shining from directly above him, and knew he probably still had a few hours before Sam returned from Mosel. He decided that he would surprise Sam by also cutting back the grass inside the clearing, that way she wouldn’t have anything left to do when she returned.
Sol made his way back towards Mo’s inn and the chest full of landscaping tools that sat behind it. When he arrived at the inn, he was surprised to see a small wagon in front of the inn carrying a couple luggage bags, as well as some children’s stuffed animals and some kitchen utensils. He heard Mo’s familiar voice ringing through the doorway as well as a woman’s voice chatting with him in the same jovial tone.
To try and avoid talking to anyone, Sol went around to the back of the building by going through the gate that led to the back patio and to the chest where the landscaping supplies were held. He exchanged his trimmers for the sickle with a brown sheath covering its blade that Sam had been using the day before.
He pulled off the sheath slightly to look at the razor-sharp blade beneath it. It could cut through grass with ease… and probably cut a deep gash into his skin if he wasn’t careful. He became very aware at that moment of the numerous times he had injured himself over the course of the past few days, and realized he would need to be very careful. And even if he was very careful, he still might cut himself accidentally. He should go get some first aid supplies from Sam’s room, just in case.
Sam’s room. Ugh. That meant upstairs, and upstairs meant he would have to walk through the bar. He picked up the sickle and walked around to the front of the inn. When he approached the door, he could hear the voices more clearly.
“John is going to be bringing the kids back tomorrow evening, Mo. You’d better be right about this new ritualist. We weren’t planning on coming back ‘til next year.” The woman’s tone was light and friendly, but behind the friendliness there was a tone of seriousness.
“I’m telling you, there’s a night and day difference between her and Tim, the poor bloke. She’s even pretty much adopted that kid I told you about.”
There that word was again. kid. Sol tried to walk quickly along the edge of the room to the stairs without being noticed.
“Speak of the devil, there he is now!”
Sol immediately straightened his back and stood a bit taller, trying to give the impression he hadn’t been trying to avoid the conversation entirely. “Hey, Mo,” he said sheepishly, his voice cracking because he hadn’t yet talked to anyone that day. Of course it would crack, only worsening the perception he knew Mo already had of him. He touched the back of his head nervously.
Now that he couldn’t avoid eye contact any longer, he looked at the pair of them. They were sitting in front of the bar, both with a drink in their hands. The woman was slightly heavy set, but with strong arms and legs that clearly showed that she had a laborious profession and worked hard doing it.
Sol tried to brush off any attention and continued upstairs. “I was just getting some things from the room… I need to finish up a couple things before Sam gets back.” He took a couple steps sideways towards the stairs.
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Luckily, the two had already moved on to happily chatting about other news from the other residents of Shoehorn and their extended stay in Mosel and were paying no attention to Sol as he slipped away and climbed up the stairs.
It didn’t take long for him to find what he was looking for. Sam kept the items that she frequently used scattered across her desk, filling any and all flat surfaces. The small green box with Peter’s Protections embossed in silver on the top side was sitting exactly where it should be next to the other frequently accessed supplies on her desk. He went to pick it up, but hesitated, remembering what Sam had said about how much they cost.
Then it occurred to him, he had the supplies he had planned on using yesterday in preparation for his biking practice, still unused. He went to the cupboard where he had stored them and took out the small cut of cured meat and the potato. After preparing the paste just like Sam had done, he emptied the mortar into a small travel container and placed it into a travel bag. He made sure to clean out the mortar and left it to dry on a rack next to the bathroom sink so that it would be ready for Sam next time she needed to use it. Feeling very prepared, he set off downstairs, out the door, and towards the forest and its overgrown clearing.
~
Sam had not actually gotten around to showing him how to cut the grass with the sickle. However, he had watched her perform the task and was confident he could replicate it. It didn’t seem difficult. He remembered her using a quick motion and flinging the grass to the side.
So, he took the first clump of grass in his right hand and carefully positioned the slightly oil-wet blade behind it, before pulling it through. The stalks of grass were cut cleanly as he pulled them across the curved surface. It didn’t require almost any pressure and the cut stalks of grass were cut into perfect sharp points.
He waded through the tall grass to the center of the clearing and began grabbing and cutting the grass that reached up to barely lick the edges of the steel bowl of the brazier. He gained confidence with the sickle quickly, and before long he was pulling and cutting the grass clumps in a rhythmic peacefulness that was almost meditative in its pleasing cadence.
He started not differentiating one stroke from another, and his mind started to wander once again. For just a moment, he was taken back to that morning when he woke up alone in the forest.
He was back in the forest where he woke up. His eyes flew open and then shut immediately again as he felt silt and dirt sting against his eyes. He coughed, and when he tried to inhale, dirt stuffed itself into his nose and mouth, and not a trace of air entered his lungs. He flailed, and as he pushed against the wall of dirt, his hands felt grassy roots and pulled. He was able to shove the dirt out of the way and force his head to the life-giving air above him. He gasped for breath, and his lungs complained as the dirt continued to push against his chest. When he opened his eyes, he saw nothing but black. He continued to struggle until he was able to pull himself out of his shallow grave.
He walked away from that place and didn’t turn back.
Sol snapped out of his daydream. His eyes focused back on the task he was performing and the sickle in his hand. He tried to shake his daymare but remained tense.
He had looped around the brazier around 4 times and was a bit less than halfway done with cutting the entire clearing. His right hand grabbed the next clump of grass, and he tried to pull the blade through it like he had with every other bundle. But it didn’t go through immediately. It caught on a small sapling that was growing up in between the grass, so Sol pulled harder on the handle. The curved blade suddenly found purchase, and with the increased force of Sol pulling on the blade, ripped its way through the small bundle, and directly into Sol’s arm.
Sol felt the sting and instinctively pulled his arm back and flung the sickle away from his body and into the tall grass. He stood there shocked for a moment, not breathing. He felt the wetness running down his forearm. He did not look down. He knew it was bleeding and he knew he needed to treat it quickly, so he walked back to the shelf next to the brazier where he had set the travel bag he borrowed from Sam’s room. He quickly and haphazardly dumped the contents onto the shelf.
Sol ripped off a piece of the bandage roll to wrap around his wound and looked at it for the first time. A wave of nausea climbed from his stomach through his throat, continuing into his head where it manifested as a pure panicking heat. This was no scraped-up hand on a dirt road. Slightly above his elbow he saw a wet red mess, which gushed in rhythm to the ever faster pulsing of his terrified heart.
Sol shook himself loose from the panic that seemed to bind his hands and began hastily wrapping the gauze around the wound. It soaked red instantly. He tried to get the bandage tight, but it curled in on itself and kept him from getting good purchase. He gave up, hoping it was good enough and turned to his other supplies.
He took the pink paste he had prepared and smeared it onto the wound. The blood made it difficult and much of it ran off with the flow of blood that was escaping his arm. He tried not to give in to despair. This had to be good enough. It had to work.
Sol’s head began feeling light, and a dark circle began closing in on his vision. He dumped the last ingredient onto the shelf, the single quartz crystal. He looked on the stone shelf for the pestle and mortar which he would use to grind the crystal the same way Sam had on the bar table two days ago, but he didn’t see it.
The rack. He’d left it to dry. He left it in the room.
Trying to ignore his own thoughts, screaming regrets of carelessness, he picked up the quartz crystal in his hand, which burningly stung his fingers as if it were biting him. He ignored it, and desperately held the crystal against the bloody paste covered bandage over his wound. As he held it there, the crystal burned his fingers even more than before, and he saw a distinct crack appear along its surface. There was a sudden pop, and the crystal was gone.
His only crystal had vanished.
Had he dropped it? Sol flung himself to his knees and desperately searched for the crystal among the over-grown grass of the clearing. Blood streamed onto the blades of grass below him.
His only crystal was gone.
Weakness, both emotional and physical, came over him. He fell backwards onto his back in the freshly cut grass. He stared up at the sky through the ominous dark ring that closed in around him.
Time seemed to slow down as his panic subdued and was replaced with dread. “You are an idiot kid,” he thought to himself. He let out several sobs as the pain faded and felt tears running from his eyes off the side of his head, sticking his hair to his face.
Sol fell silent. The darkness had enveloped him.