Telling Lies?

They sat around the kitchen table, with Berus sitting on a too-small stool which still worked thanks to his height. Mikkah, on the other hand, sat on an old and creaking chair, her posture rigid as if she was afraid the wood would break under her. Soon enough, the table was cramped with bowls and deep plates, the spoons mismatched and the soup barely enough for the four of them.

“And how much for you, Mister Berus?” Iuria beamed at him, the ladle dangling close to his bowl.

“Oh, um, just a little at first, please,” he answered.

He didn’t even know if he could eat or not.

“Don’t you want to take off your helmet at the table?” Phorok glared at him.

“No. I know it’s terribly rude, but I can’t. I… have a condition. I just can’t.”

“Humph.”

Of course, that answer didn’t make Phorok any more friendly towards him. But really, if he said he couldn’t take it off, he was basically telling them he was no holy knight, but a demonic automaton instead. And he couldn’t imagine a scenario where that would go down well.

So he simply put the spoon to the crack in his helmet, and let it dribble down into his system. He could feel the stares of everyone on him as he did so. The worst was Mikkah’s, as she clearly struggled to keep her elven facade up even when faced with horrible, mechanical blasphemies.

“Um, could you all stop staring?” he asked. “I’m getting quite insecure about this now.”

“I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…” Iuria said.

“He is peculiar, but nothing more,” Mikkah choked out.

Phorok, on the other hand, didn’t look convinced. Still, he turned to his own soup, his hunger winning over his curiosity for the moment.

For a moment, there was comfortable silence between them as they ate. Mikkah was clearly enjoying the food, and that enjoyment was only diminished by the times Berus put his spoon to the mouth. The soup vanished in there without any trace or damage, as far as he could tell. But it was a flimsy disguise. He should direct their attention to something different.

“So, what are you guys… um, people doing here?” He looked at Phorok as he said this. “You’re no ordinary farmer.”

Phorok glared at him. “I am a farmer.”

“No farmer swings a blade like that.”

He shrugged in acknowledgment. “I was an adventurer before I became a farmer.”

An adventurer, Berus thought. That at least makes more sense.

“But then, why keep those skills as sharp as you do? Are you still an adventurer?”

“No.” Phorok put his spoon down.

Iuria looked at him with hesitation in her eyes, as if she wanted to say something. She even opened her mouth, but Phorok was faster, and louder.

“I was an adventurer. Out on a stroll with… my young daughter. Iuria. When we stumbled across this place just like you did, it was abandoned. And when we wanted to leave, it wasn’t possible. The spell engraved in those stones prevented us all these years to leave.”

“Oh, I am so sorry to hear that,” Mikkah said, her gaze softening. “That must be hard for you. What about your wife? Your friends?”

Phorok twitched. “I don’t know,” he finally said, sounding more gruff than anything else.

“He’s right,” Iuria said. “And my dad.”

As she said it, her gaze became warmer, and Phorok looked away.

Something was still not adding up. Berus wished he could emote to Mikkah, somehow tell her those thoughts without the two overhearing them. But that was not possible, at least not at the moment.

“So, we cannot leave?”

“I doubt it,” Phorok said. “If your ‘elven magic’ can’t solve the magic, you’re stuck just like us.”

“Um, well… by Lucine, I shall give my all to solve this magic!” Mikkah declared.

She didn’t look all that convinced to Berus, though. Probably because he knew it wouldn’t work. How could he

“Wonderful! You are the heroes of prophecy, after all.” Iuria clapped her hands togehter.

***

Outside, the sky had turned a bright orange, with grey clouds slowly drifting over them. The forest, by now, was so dark they couldn’t make out any individual trees.

But they never got close enough to the forest to check. The stones were still brimming with strong magic, and when Mikkah held out her hand, it sparked with magic.

“Ouch!”

She let out a very non-elven scream of pain, before she caught herself again.

“Ahem.” She was still waving her hand. “The magic is quite strong, and quite arcane. I jmean, ancient. I doubt I can get rid of it.”

Iuria and Phorok exchanged a glance.

“What a shame…” She seemed genuinely disappointed.

“I told you. There is no way they would know.”
“I’m truly sorry,” Mikkah said. “But, um… what do we do now?”

“We only have one guest bed,” Iuria said. “Since, well… we do not get guests, usually.”

“Are you sure we can trust them?”

Iuria smiled at Phorok. “I think so.”

He didn’t seem fully convinced, but nodded. “Then, it’s fine with me.”

With that, he turned around, and got back to the house. “I’ll prepare the room for you.”

“Thank you,” Mikkah said with a smile. “We’re very grateful for your generosity.”

He turned around. “Iuria?”

“Yes?”

“Come with me, please.”
“Oh, of course!”

She smiled at them for a moment. “I hope we will get along.”

Then, she hurried after Phorok. Berus could see them talking to each other, the smile gone from Iuria’s face.

“Do you think we can trust them?” Mikkah echoed Phorok’s question.

“Do we have a choice?” He shrugged. “They are hiding something.”

“Just like us.”
“Yes, but we’re not doing anything harmful!”

He looked at them, and remembered his fight with Phorok. That man was dangerous, and if even only part of his story was true, and they stayed her for years, then he had kept those talents sharp all this time.

“Let’s hope they will see it like that,” Berus finally grumbled.