The Stone You Carry

The sharp breath was the only sound.

Traveller's head was turned away, a statue hidden in a hood. The quiet on the ledge was heavy. Bob did not move. He just waited.

Finally, Traveller turned back. The deep shadow of the hood faced Bob.

"Yes," the voice said. It was just a whisper. "A little."

The honest answer surprised Bob. He did not know what to say.

Traveller sat down on the edge of the rocky ledge. They picked up a small, flat stone from the ground. They held it in their palm.

"Imagine," Traveller said softly, looking at the stone. "Someone gives you a very important stone. You did not ask for it. But they tell you that you must carry it. All the way to the top of that mountain."

They looked at Bob. "You are not scared of the stone. The stone is good. You are scared... that you might drop it."

Bob looked at the small stone in Traveller's hand. Then he looked at his own chest, at the compass. The important stone. He understood. Not with his head. But with the hollow ache that was now gone from his chest.

Traveller closed their hand around the stone, then tossed it over the edge of the cliff. They watched it fall until it was gone.

"Thank you, Bob," they said.

The cold quiet was gone. Traveller was back.

When they started walking again, everything was different. They came to a place where the path was broken. Bob looked at the gap. He could jump it.

He looked at Traveller, expecting them to lift him.

But Traveller just stood back and nodded. "You can do it."

Bob took a running start and leaped. He landed safely on the other side. He looked back, a proud smile on his face. Traveller gave him a small nod of approval.

The heavy feeling was gone. The compass was not a burden anymore. It was just a compass. A job. His job.

He took out his stick-sword. He saw a tall, purple flower growing from a crack in a rock. He tapped it gently with the tip of his sword. Boop. The flower wiggled.

He was a leader again. A partner. A friend.

They climbed for the rest of the day. The air got colder. The rocks got sharper. But they climbed together.

Finally, they reached it.

It was not the very top of the mountain. It was a flat, wide shelf of stone just below the peak. And built into the side of the mountain was a door.

It was a huge door, made of a single slab of dark, polished stone. It had no handle. No hinges. It was covered in faded, swirling carvings. The same carvings from the wooden box. The same carvings from the cave wall.

In the very center of the door was a round, shallow hole. It was the exact size and shape of the silver compass.

Bob's compass pointed right at it.

They had arrived.