"The Wishstones" - A Short Story

Copyright © 2021 - Cover art and written content by J.E. Maurice - All rights reserved by the creator. Reposting is permitted as long as proper credit is given (I.E., a link to the original story and/or links to the author's social sites.)

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The bonfire crackled in the darkness, its light reflecting off of the two sets of eyes that gazed into it. Alastair Gibson's shoulders slumped as he leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees. The human allowed himself a casual glance up at his guide, who sat in the dirt across from him. Alastair was not familiar with his companion's species—as he grew up in a small town called Elkbridge where only humans and dryads lived—but whatever species he was leastways had a certain charm to it, unlike trolls or gnomes. Triangular ears, a canid-like face, and a luxuriant tail adorned him, making him look endearingly canine.

"So, uh..." Alastair said slowly, causing his escort's turquoise gaze to flick up from the campfire. "How much further do we have to go? I don't think I've ever walked so far in my life."

Alastair's guide, who had introduced himself as Jayden, seemed disinterested in talking, but still obliged. His voice was surprisingly low for his small stature, though not quite baritone. He seemed strangely unfazed by the long trek, yet weary in a different aspect.

"If we keep this pace, we'll be there tomorrow at sundown," he said, sounding as though he was not pleased by the news he delivered. "You do know the risks of this, right? You know the Wishstones don't just give you what you want, they'll want to trade something of equal value?"

Alastair nodded sullenly. He had mixed feelings on the matter himself; they were traveling to the Wishstones, and neither of them relished the idea. Alastair had never once been to the enchanted grounds, and knew of them by reputation only. It had been merely serendipity that Jayden had been passing through Elkbridge at the moment Alastair needed a guide. Having visited the Wishstones previously, Jayden knew their location well, and his reluctance to escort Alastair there had only been trounced by a hefty monetary compensation.

Alastair knew that the risk was great, but felt that he had no choice but to pursue it. He was not the type to break his promises, especially promises made to family.

. . . . . . . .

Alastair solemnly passed through the curtained entry to his father's bedchamber. Godfrey Gibson lay back in his bed, propped up against several large pillows. A single lantern burned dimly by the bedside; incense filled the room with a smokey aroma. Alastair sat down on a footstool beside the lantern, taking his father's hand in his.

"I never thought... it would end like this," Godfrey said, half to himself, half to his son. "There is so much I've left... unfinished."

"Is there nothing the doctors can do?" Alastair asked.

"Nothing," Godfrey confirmed. "They say I'm too far gone to recover. There's no procedure that can help me now..."

They lapsed into thoughtful silence for a many minutes, both at a loss for words. Alastair shook his head forlornly; this was not the first time an untreatable ailment would pilfer a loved one from him. His late wife Veronica faced a similar fate decades previous, life ripped away from her while she was still youthful. More than anything, Alastair feared being left alone in this world, yet it appeared that that was destiny's ultimate destination for him.

"Unless..." Godfrey said slowly. "The Wishstones... they could be our answer, they could cure me."

Alastair began to protest, knowing the immense gamble that the stones presented, but Godfrey did not seem to hear him. He only continued.

"Alastair, you must travel to the Wishstones," he said. "Use the enchantment to give me more years here. I have far too much unfinished business here to go now, and I couldn't in good conscience leave your mother here without me. You must promise me, son."

"I... I..." stammered Alastair. "I promise. I'll find a way to the Wishstones somehow."

I'll find them for mother's sake, he thought to himself. Godfrey Gibson had a valid point. Phillipa—Alastair's mother—was far too frail to be left without her husband. The Wishstones were a last resort that had to be utilized.

It was a mere four hours later that his father had passed.

. . . . . . . .

The sun beat down upon the two wayfarers as they trudged towards their destination, hoping for an end to this interminable footslog through wetlands. The unfortunate Jayden kept misstepping, and finding his feet in unpleasantly cold puddles. Several times Alastair requested a brief halt to catch his breath, remarking that he was not as young as he used to be, though he neglected to mention he had barely crossed forty years of age; he did not know how old Jayden was, and did not care enough to inquire.

In time, they finally began to smell the strong scent of salt water long before they laid eyes on it. A conflicting rush of relief and anxiety coursed through the both of them as the border of land came into view. Sky-scraping cliffs overlooked the ocean before them, and moss-covered boulders soared high above the crashing waves just off the coast. Connected to nothing visible to the naked eye, the Wishstones–covered in lambent, cerulean carvings–levitated soundlessly in the air. According to legend, the boulders had been enchanted long ago, though the identity of the sorcerer was unknown; legend also told that they granted wishes, but not for free.

"Let me activate them," Jayden said, taking a few strides forward. Alastair took several paces back to give his companion some room, though for what, he did not know. The intense wind only grew, ruffling Jayden's fur as he stepped near the edge of the precipice. The rune-inscribed boulders hovered silently above the August Sea like ancient sentinels, unaffected by the great ocean breeze that cascaded in from the west. The water below the towering cliffsides was a warm green-blue, dotted with glittering sea-froth that shimmered in the sunlight. As high up on the face of the cliff as he was, Jayden could still feel a gentle spray of spindrift from the rushing waves far below. He lifted his hand towards the titanic stones as the runes etched into them began to glow with a cobalt light. The wind picked up, and the air felt electrified by the enchanted objects.

("The Wishstones (Alt.)" by J.E. Maurice)

Jayden turned to Alastair, gesturing for him to approach the ledge. Alastair walked forward, trading places with Jayden.

"Whatever you're about to wish for," Jayden murmured as they moved by one another. "I... I really hope it's worth the risk."

Alastair closed his eyes. Standing directly in the presence of the Wishstones, He felt as though they were watching him closely, scrutinizing him. He gathered his thoughts, and was about to make his wish when he hesitated.

Veronica, he thought. His late wife, taken so early in their marriage. Alastair had promised his father that he would locate the Wishstones, but he had not promised for what purpose he would utilize their power. Would it be so wrong to use his wish to resurrect his wife instead of his father? His mother would surely understand, would she not?

"I wish..." he spoke up, opening his eyes to stare piercingly at the enchanted boulders. "I wish to have my wife returned to life! Veronica, wherever you are, come home!"

"Oh, no," Jayden murmured. As the words left his mouth, the symbols upon the Wishstones shone brighter than the sun, blinding both him and Alastair. Simultaneously, a high-pitched ringing sound, and a deep, cosmic rumble deafened them; Jayden clasped his hands over his pointed ears, squeezing his eyes shut against the blisteringly vivid beam of light that enveloped everything around him.

When he next came to his senses, the intense noise had faded into a stillness that seemingly affected the surrounding environment. The thundering of the ocean waves, and the howling wind were hushed; the only bright light in view was the sun, the beam of light from the Wishstones having dwindled back to its former muted state. Unsurprisingly, the Wishstones resided in the same location they had always been, unmoved by the chaos they had caused.

"Alastair?" Jayden asked, using his hand to shield his eyes from the setting sun as he peered at the position his client had occupied mere moments ago. In Alastair's place was a beautiful, young woman. Her red hair flowed down over her back and shoulders like a waterfall kissed by a red sunrise; she looked about, bewildered at where she suddenly found herself. Jayden approached her as her attention was captured by the mystical stones in the air. The expression on her face became one of dawning realization as she recognized them for what they were. She heard Jayden drawing near to her from behind, and turned to face him.

"You must be Veronica," he said.

. . . . . . . .