(1 of 1. Originally posted on March 01, 2024 for the prompt “If Stones Could Speak.”)
My late master left me with two directives. First, take care of the village. Second, don’t terrify the villagers. That’s how I came to be clearing debris from the river by the light of the moon that night.
If my magical extra sense could be compared to pain, the river debris felt like a thorn in my shoulder. Annoying, but not urgent. Not bad enough to risk breaking the second directive by being seen in daylight.
The village fire felt like an arrow in the chest. Life-threatening. Urgent. A clear case of the first directive taking precedence over the second. So, I ran. My stubby legs thumped into the dirt like drumbeats announcing my approach.
I entered the village on empty streets. Had I frightened them enough already to keep them indoors? Or were they all just heavy sleepers? No matter. Better this way. I followed the glow to a small house, its thatch roof burning like a candle. The door burst into splinters at my touch. A couple lay on the floor, unconscious. I scooped them up, one under each arm, and carried them outside to find that the villagers had awakened.
The murmuring crowd shifted from gaping at the fire to gaping at me. Someone screamed. Several ran in different directions, shouting about a monster attacking the village. I wanted to run away too, but I couldn’t. The sense of urgency had not diminished. My task was not done. I re-entered the burning house.
A bundle of rags in the corner moved. A baby. I tried to lift it, but it was too small for the stubs on the ends of my arms to get underneath it without crushing it. I focused my magical vision in a full circle around the room, searching for something to help. A blanket from the bed.
Pinching one end between my wrists, I dragged it over the child, then rolled it. After a couple of tries I managed to pinch a corner so I could drag the whole bundle, child and all, across the floor and outside. Clear of the house, I released the blanket. A villager ran up, snatched the child, and backed away from me, yelling at me to leave it alone. A dozen men formed a ring around me, brandishing axes and scythes and torches.
The urgent pain of the fire subsided, the danger over. My second directive, no longer repressed by the priority of the first, compelled me to flee. I pressed through the circle as gently as I could, taking a few blows to my arms and back. They chased me for a while, but I don’t get tired like they do.
I know the fear lingers. I feel it like burning coals in my chest. I wish I could go back and tell them what happened. Let them know I only live to help them. Maybe tomorrow night I can uproot some trees and leave them as a peace offering. Lumber for rebuilding.
Things would be so much simpler if I could just talk to them and explain. But a rock monster has no mouth.
