A New Story Most Thursdays

This Edition of Thursday Stories Features Fantasy Adventure!

Happy New Year, Friends and Neighbors, and welcome to Thursday Stories. Looking back over my herd of short stories, I realize that more than three dozen of the little rascals have appeared only in print. Some of you may have forked over the dough for this or that literary review, but I don’t expect everyone to buy all of the reviews all of the time. And so, drumroll please, I give you Thursday Stories. I’m not guaranteeing a new story every Thursday, but I will do my best until all the print-only tales have been set free.

You can find all of my stories and more at the Marco Etheridge Fiction Website:

Marco Etheridge Fiction

This week’s edition of Thursday Stories features A Pair of Amulets, the tale of a sister and brother, twins born under the curse of their village. Orphaned by the death of their father, they set out on a journey. This story first appeared in Livina Press, published in 2025. Now, without further ado, I give you another edition of Thursday Stories. I hope you enjoy it.

A Pair of Amulets

by Marco Etheridge

When he died, their father made two requests. The dying man’s children knelt beside the deathbed, heads bent low, listening. Sister and brother, Diane and Paul. The siblings stared into each other’s eyes, noses almost touching, twin reflections in a single mirror.

Their father groaned. Illness reduced his voice to a whisper.

“A paving stone in the cellar, shaped like no other. Lift the stone… something buried there.”

Then, silence. They thought their father dead, but he spoke once more.

“When you find… buried… get far away from here.”

With a last ragged hiss, their father passed beyond the veil. They were orphaned, brother and sister, not yet adults, and no longer children.

Their mother had died at their birth. Their father seldom spoke of her except to say she was beautiful and came from another land. The siblings asked many questions. If their mother came from far away, how did their father meet her? Later, he would say, when you are older. Now, later would never come.

No mourners would attend. No old women to wash the corpse or lay it on the cooling board. The villagers shunned the dead father and his children. Paul and Diane were born twins and thus outcasts at birth and a curse on the village. Their mother’s death proved the curse.

Diane and Paul bore their father into the forest and laid him in a hidden grave. The twins said what words they knew over the raw earth. They scattered leaves and twigs. The rectangle of black soil disappeared.

The siblings left the forest and returned to their empty cottage. Standing on the threshold, they looked past terraced paddocks, up to the stone wall that ringed the village. The villagers appeared as silhouettes behind the wall, a row of shadows glaring down at the orphans.

Paul turned to his sister.

“Why do they hate us?”

Without shifting her eyes, Diane slid her hand under his fair hair and cupped the nape of his neck.

“It’s not hate, it’s fear. They’re afraid of us. Fear is a burden, so they trade it for hate.”

“And now Father is dead.”

“Yes, but we’re still alive. To the villagers, we’re the evil twins who killed their mother.”

Paul turned to Diane. She stood in profile, tall, lean, and fair. He saw himself in her as he always did. Then she shrugged, and her smile was his smile. He loved her with all his heart, and she loved him.

Diane faced him, her mouth grim.

“The villagers will hate us forever. Father spoke the truth. We must leave.”

Paul knew she was right. The birth of twins was evil, an age-old superstition. The villagers would never allow twins to remain on this land. He and Diane were in danger, and the danger would only grow.

To the unfamiliar eye, Paul and Diane were mirror images of each other. They stood tall and lean, with wheat-colored hair and eyes of blue. Seventeen years old, Diane the eldest by a few bloody minutes. Where others saw twins, they knew themselves to be distinct as night and day.

Diane’s strength lay in swift action, Paul’s in deliberation. His vision looked to the future, and hers to the past. She was water to his stone, he earth to her fire. Diane hunted with a bow while Paul carried a sling and an oak stave.

Turning away from the glaring villagers, Paul waved a hand at their humble cottage.

“This is the only home we’ve ever known. Where will we go?”

“Somewhere far from here. Father’s presence held the villagers at bay. Now that he’s dead, they will try to kill us.”

“Yes, in my mind, I see them coming for us.”

Diane took Paul’s hand.

“We must search the cellar.”

The cellar door opened onto a dark cave beneath the earth. Diane and Paul descended the creaking stairs. She held a lantern. He carried a small spade. Shadows pooled on the flagstone floor.

Diane’s voice filled the silent space.

“A stone shaped like no other.”

Beneath their feet lay a dull mosaic of grey slate, each stone alike. Then Paul pointed to a stone that reflected the lantern’s glow.

“There, do you see it?”

Diane stepped forward. The lantern illuminated a rough octagon set into the floor. Fragments of crystals gleamed on its surface. The surrounding flagstones had been cut to receive the shape. She placed the lantern on the floor and traced the outline with her fingers.

“I’ve never seen this stone before.”

“Nor have I, and we’ve been down here a thousand times.”

“What does it mean, Paul?”

“I don’t know. Perhaps Father’s death opened our eyes.”

Paul’s spade appeared in the pool of light. He fitted the blade to a gap and levered the handle. The flagstone tilted from the floor. While Paul held the spade, Diane thrust strong fingers beneath the stone and lifted it free.

There was no need to dig further. A metal box lay embedded in the earth, a hand’s breadth wide and twice that long. Diane lifted the box from the earth. It was no thicker than a man’s thumb. Paul squatted beside her.

“Don’t open it. Not in the dark.”

“You’re right. Better in the light. But we should replace the stone and hide the marks.”

Paul fitted the flagstone back into place. With the spade handle, he tapped the stone level, then brushed dirt and dust into the gaps.

The twins climbed from the cellar and entered the cottage. Diane placed the box atop a scarred table that stood near the kitchen hearth.

“Open it, Paul.”

Her brother thumbed a metal catch and lifted the lid. A leather purse nestled inside the box. The purse lay atop a folded parchment.

Diane lifted the purse, opened the drawstring, and poured the contents onto the plank table. A small pile of silver shillings, the sum of their father’s wealth.

“Money for travel, but not much. Now, the parchment.”

Paul lifted the paper and unfolded it on the table.

“It’s a map. There’s our cottage and the village. Look how wide the forest is. Has anyone ever crossed it, do you think?”

“No, the villagers say it’s haunted. I don’t believe that, but we’ve only hunted along the edge. Who knows?”

Paul traced a finger over the map. Beyond the forest, inked lines rose to jagged peaks.

“Mountains.”

“And a line of arrows. A path through the forest and then up over the mountains. But to where?”

“Who knows? It just ends. Here.”

Paul’s fingertip hovered over the mysterious spot. Diane raised her eyes.

“Father said to get far away. Is this our path?”

Paul looked to the forest beyond the open door.

“We’ve never been further than a half day’s walk from this spot. I’m afraid of the deep forest, but Father said to get far away.”

“I fear the villagers more than the trees. We must go together, as we always have.”

“If you go, I go with you.”

“Then let’s leave now. The sun is just past noon. We’ll be far away before sunset.”

They collected their possessions and what little food they could carry. Everything fit into two satchels. Paul took up his stave and sling, Diane her bow and quiver.

From beneath the eaves of the forest, the twins took one last look at their home. Diane voiced a shared thought.

“Will we ever see it again?”

Paul turned his face to the sky. He was still for a moment, then shook his head.

“No. My heart tells me the villagers will burn it to the ground before sundown.”

“Then let us find the path and be long gone when they do.”

***

At its fringes, the forest seemed familiar. Behind this log, they’d ambushed fat squirrels. They passed the glade where Diane had stalked her first deer. But the trees grew strange as they marched deeper into the wood, and their memories failed.

Just as they became sure they were lost, Paul spied a faint pathway wending between gnarled tree trunks. He called to Diane, and she hurried to his voice. Seeing the path, she smiled with relief.

“Well done, Brother!”

“It’s not much, maybe only a game trail.”

Diane took the map from her satchel and turned it to catch the failing light. After peering a moment, she shook her head.

“According to the map, the trail begins away from the edge of the forest. And this trail heads east, just as the map shows. I vote we follow it.”

Diane repacked the map and stepped onto the path. Paul followed in her footsteps. The trail led under dark boughs and past hoary boles. As it wound deeper into the woods, the path grew wider. Their hearts lifted even as they plunged deeper into the unknown.

No one lived in the deep forest. The villagers feared to venture beneath the dark trees, as they feared anything they did not understand. Tales told from the safety of warm hearths spoke of strange creatures and haunted woods.

The light grew dimmer and the shadows darker until they could barely see one another in the gloom. At last, they came to a small glade. A black wall of trees rose to frame a circle of sky and a few early stars.

Diane and Paul gathered fallen wood and built a fire. The crackling flames cheered them. They made a meal of dry bread and cheese washed down with water. Wrapped in blankets, they lay beside the fire and watched it burn to embers. They had often slept under the trees but never this far into the forest.

In the cold hours before dawn, Paul dreamed he heard soft laughter and whispered voices. He awoke from the dream, raised his head, and looked at the sleeping form of his sister. Nothing stirred in the glade, not even a breeze, yet still, he heard murmurings in the dark forest. He pinched himself and felt the sting.

Casting off his blanket, he rose and peered into the darkness. His sister did not stir. Paul crept across the glade, following the whispering voices. A moment later, he disappeared into the trees.

Diane woke to the grey light. Paul’s blanket lay empty beside the dead fire. In the blink of a sleepy eye, she was on her feet and wide awake. Pushing down the fear that rose in her throat, she forced herself to remain still. Her eyes searched the dark rim of the forest, and her ears strained for the faintest sound, but there was no trace of her brother. She was alone.

Paul would never leave her, but something might have taken her brother while he slept. In one practiced motion, Diane bent and strung her bow. She slipped the quiver over her shoulder, pulled an arrow to her bow, and notched it. Then she waited.

The light grew. Diane stood still as stone. Unseen birds twittered under the forest canopy. Then she heard the beast. A growl, the scratch of claws scuffling fallen leaves. She could not see the thing. Training the point of her arrow on the noise, she drew her bow. If she shot well, she could notch a second arrow before the beast pounced.

In the moment before her fingers loosed the arrow, a woman’s voice whispered in her ear.

“Do not shoot what you cannot see. That is not the way of the hunter.”

She turned to the voice but saw no one. In the same heartbeat, the stealthy movements of the beast became a loud thrashing in the undergrowth. Her brother stumbled into the glade, twigs sticking from his hair and vines trailing from his shoulders. His eyes were wild and staring.

Diane lowered her bow and ran to Paul. As she dashed across the glade, anger boiled up inside her.

Blocking his path, Diane grabbed Paul’s shoulders and shook him.

“What are you doing? I almost put an arrow into you.”

He blinked at her, his eyes glazed as if he were drunk.

“Sister?”

She dropped the bow and took his face in her hands.

“Paul, come back. I’m here.”

He raised his fingers to her cheek, and the light seemed to return to his eyes. As recognition spread over her brother’s face, Diane felt her anger drain away.

“Tell me what happened.”

Instead of speaking, Paul led her back to their campsite.

“I was sleeping here beside the fire. That’s right, isn’t it?”

“Yes, but when I woke, you were gone.”

“The voices told me to follow them. They promised to show me the way.”

“And are you awake now? Do you remember where we are?”

“Yes, I remember. The voices were trying to deceive me. I know that now, but while they were speaking, it all seemed so real.”

Diane grabbed Paul by the chin and held his eyes.

“Swear to me, Paul. Swear you will not leave my side until this journey is safely done.”

“I swear it, Diane.”

She let loose his chin and wrapped him in her arms.

***

The forest seemed endless. The path wandered but ran, for the most part, east and true. Paul and Diane spent the entire day trekking beneath the trees. Another night fell. They slept close beside the fire. No voices disturbed their dreams.

By late afternoon of the third day, the twins began to doubt the map. The sun slipped low behind them, and the shadows were long. They came to a place where a noisy stream ran through a narrow gap between the trees. Suddenly, they had their first glimpse of the mountains.

“Paul, I don’t like the look of those rocks.”

“Neither do I, but one thing at a time.

“First, we must get through this horrible forest. It must end somewhere.”

The path wandered back beneath the trees. The mountains were hidden from their eyes but not their thoughts. They tramped along for what seemed like hours. Their hopes faded as the day wore on.

When the forest finally ended, it felt as if they had stepped through a doorway. The trees fell way behind them as the trail ran across an open meadowland, following the course of a rocky brook.

A world of jagged rock crags rose to fill the eastern sky. Towering spires glowed in the sunset. The trail ran over the meadowland and straight on toward the mountains. Not far along the wandering path sat a log hut. Smoke rose from its chimney, and light glowed through the windows.

They pulled up short and stared. Before they could hide or flee, the figure of a woman appeared at the door of the hut. She looked to be young and dressed in white. The woman held aloft a glowing lantern. She beckoned to them with her free hand.

“This is strange, Paul. A woman alone in this wilderness. Do we take the chance?”

“It’s go forward or go back. Better one woman than an angry village. But mind your tongue and stick close. The less said, the better.”

They started down the path. As soon as they began walking, the white figure disappeared inside the doorway. They drew near the threshold as the last light faded from the mountaintops, and night fell. The doorway stood open, and in it, an old woman cloaked in gray. The crone’s voice husked and wheezed.

“Greetings, young travelers. The night grows dark, but the hearth is warm. Enter and be welcome.”

They peered past the old woman, trying to catch a glimpse of the maiden in white, but saw no one.

Paul pushed away his surprise and remembered his manners.

“Thank you for your welcome, ma’am. We seek shelter this night.”

The crone smiled a crooked smile.

“And shelter is granted. Now come inside and let us shut out the night.”

The old woman gave back, and the twins entered the single room. Embers glowed red in the hearth, and a pot hung from an iron hook. A plank table nearly filled the room.

“Shuck off your loads and have a seat.”

The twins leaned their satchels against the wall and stood side by side, uncertain.

“Look at the two of you. Peas in a pod, and no mistake. Well, what are you waiting for? Sit yourselves down.”

Paul and Diane sat at the table while the crone bustled about. She served them bowls of thick stew and slabs of bread slathered with butter. Once she had filled their bowls a second time, she sat herself down behind a jug of ale and a tankard. While the young travelers ate, the old crone drank and talked.

Wheezing and nodding, the old woman spoke of the dark forest and of the river sprites and tree spirits that dwelt there. Naiads and dryads, she named them. Between swallows of ale, she wove a tapestry of tales in which woodsmen became forever lost or wanderers spirited away.

“Not all of them bad, nor all good, but Old Clarissa reckons you have met some already.”

Paul swallowed a mouthful of bread and dared a question.

“Are you alone here, ma’am?”

Clarissa cackled, then took a long pull from the tankard.

“Aye, alone am I. Prefer it that way, truth be told.”

She caught the question on Paul’s face before he could ask it.

“You’re wondering how an old woman survives out here. I stay when it suits me and when I’ve a notion, I wander. Wise travelers are generous when they can afford to be. But I give what I have, even when my guests have naught to repay me.”

Her eyes glittered beneath wrinkled brows, first at Paul and then Diane.

“I know the boy can speak, but what of you, girlie?”

“Yes, ma’am. Thank you for the stew. It’s very good.”

“You are polite sprouts, I’ll grant you that. But it is not my stew you’re thinking on, but the mountains ahead of you.”

Diane nodded but said no more.

“Then mark my words. Sleep will come soon, for you have walked far this day. In the morning, you must go on. The path climbs up and over the mountains, but it is deceitful, as are the rocks themselves. The peaks have dark hearts and do not love travelers.”

Clarissa the crone looked into her guests’ young hearts and saw their fear.

“You’re right to be a-feared, but you must not let fear govern you. As you walk the high pathway, do not lose touch of each other, not even for a single heartbeat. Together, you are strong, but if you separate, you will be carried away.”

Even as Clarissa spoke these words, the twins felt sleep dragging at their eyelids. She smiled at them and rose from the table.

“Come now, you are weary. Climb to the loft and sleep. There is nothing to fear this night.”

Diane and Paul dragged themselves up a short ladder to a wooden platform slung below the timbered roof. There, they found a pallet of straw and warm blankets. Brother and sister burrowed into this comforting nest.

Before sleep washed over her, Diane peered over the edge of the loft. Moving around the table, gathering up the empty bowls and crocks, she thought she saw a young maiden clothed in white. Her eyes closed even as she watched. Then she lay back. Sleep took her, and she saw no more.

***

They woke to the song of birds beyond the log walls. Peeling back the blankets, they looked down from the loft. Nothing stirred below. The hut was empty.

Paul scrambled down the ladder, and Diane followed. They opened the plank door and looked to the East. The sun had not yet crested the ragged tops of the mountains. The meadowland around the hut was empty. Their eyes searched the dark edge of the forest to the West, but nothing stirred. They were alone.

“Was it all a dream?”

Paul looked back into the hut. He pointed to the table.

“No, not a dream. Look.”

They walked to the plank table. Someone had laid out their breakfast. Two mugs of cider, a platter of bread, and slices of dried fruit.

“We must eat and then make a start.”

The twins sat down and tucked into the food. They ate until there was nothing left. Only when the last morsel was gone did Diane speak.

“Last night, just as sleep carried me away, I looked down from our bed. I thought I saw a beautiful woman in white, but it may have been a dream.”

“Maybe not. Remember the young woman with the lantern?”

“Yes, but now there is no one, young or old. And it’s time for us to leave.”

Paul sat deep in thought.

“There’s something we must do before we go.”

He rose and walked to their satchels. He pulled a leather pouch from one of the bags and returned to the table.

“We must leave something for Clarissa. Remember what she said?”

Diane looked at the purse and replayed the crone’s words.

“Travelers are generous when they can afford to be.”

Paul nodded and poured silver coins onto the table. He counted them out, twenty in all. He pushed ten coins into a row, then swept the rest of the coins back into the purse.

“Half of what we have in the world.”

“Well done, Paul. Now we must go.”

***

The twins trudged across the open meadowlands. The mountains loomed before them. Behind them, the log hut was a dark speck on the edge of the forest. Diane shielded her eyes and squinted ahead.

“The map shows the mountains as a narrow band, a third the width of the forest. I hope that’s not a lie.”

“We’ll know before the day is out, Sister. Look, the path is already climbing.”

The rugged way seemed to rise into the sky, switching back and forth up rocky shoulders. Hand-in-hand, they plodded through a long morning, climbing ever higher. Above the peaks, the sun shone in a sky of darkling blue. And with every step, their fingers remained tight clasped.

Scrambling ever higher into the towering spires, they paused to rest. Their legs ached, and the thin air rasped in their throats. The path ran on and up until it disappeared into a swirling mass of seething clouds.

Diane squeezed Paul’s hand.

“Fear cannot govern us.”

Paul tightened his grip on his sister and the stave. Together, they staggered up the rocky path. Moments later, the mountain tops and sky disappeared. A howling wind rose from nowhere. Raging gusts tore at their limbs like clawed fingers, threatening to pull them apart. Lightning crackled out of gray nothingness.

 Alone in the grip of the terrible storm, Diane and Paul struggled on. The path beneath their feet ceased climbing. They had reached the highest pass but could see nothing of the land beyond. The fury of the storm blotted out the world and everything in it.

The twins forced their way forward as the wind fought to tear them apart. Gale winds screamed through unseen rocks and whipped their cloaks into their faces. Paul pulled Diane tight and wrapped one arm over her shoulder. He yelled into her ear.

“Throw your arm over my shoulder and hang on. Grab the stave, and do not let go!”

They leaned forward, clutching the oak stave and each other. Like a blind man with four legs and one cane, they hobbled into the clawing wind.

Time ceased in those fearsome mountains. Whether day or night, their eyes could not tell. The trail began to descend. Every step seemed like an eternity. The wind became an animal bellow. Paul felt Diane being wrenched away. A roar of defiance screamed from his throat.

“You will not have her, nor me!”

He clutched at his sister, pulled her tight to his side, and plunged on. Two steps, four, then ten more. Without warning, the path ran into a small hollow. As if stepping through a wall, the clouds parted. They were beyond the storm.

The twins sank to the ground, still clutching each other. They leaned their weary backs against a boulder that jutted from beside the path.

Below them lay tufted grassland that sloped down to a tilled valley. Above their heads, the sky shone blue once more. On the steep slopes behind them, the storm retreated to the high pass to lie in wait for the next unwary traveler.

Diane’s arm fell from her brother’s shoulder. She cradled her aching hands in her lap.

“I think it’s safe now. The old woman spoke true. These peaks do not love travelers.”

Paul stretched his aching legs and groaned.

“Any less love would have been the death of us. But look, flocks of sheep.”

“Yes, and a village further on.”

“What welcome will we receive, I wonder.”

“We have no choice, Paul. It’s forward or back over the mountains.”

“No, I’d rather face spears than that awful wind.”

 The twins groaned to their feet, muscles weary and aching. The path ran down across the pastureland and into a wide green valley. One foot in front of the other, they trudged along as best they could.

After a long mile, they came upon a flock of sheep and one young shepherd. The boy’s eyes went wide with fright before he bolted for the village, running like a deer. Two sheepdogs remained with the flock. The dogs growled and circled but did not attack the exhausted twins.

The panicked lad disappeared into a fold of the ground, then reappeared on a lower slope. He ran as if the devil were on his heels.

Paul pointed his stave.

“Our arrival will be no surprise. Should we leave the path?”

“Where would we go? We need rest and food. Father’s map led us here. I say we see it through to the end.”

“I go where you go. We’ll find out soon enough.”

The siblings reached a stone wall that marked the west boundary of the village. A cluster of figures blocked the way. At their head stood a tall woman robed in gray. She stepped forward as Paul and Diane drew near.

The woman regarded them with ice-blue eyes. Her silver hair fell into a long braid. Her face was solemn, without a trace of fear.

“Welcome. I am called Martha.”

“I am Diane, and this is my brother Paul.”

The woman looked at the siblings, then raised her eyes to the mountains looming behind them.

“Truly, a hard road for two so young. You must be weary. Have no fear. You will stay with us until you are strong enough to continue.”

Diane caught Paul’s eye. A silent question passed between them. She turned to the woman.

“But our map ends here.”

“Did you think this the end of your journey?”

Paul took his sister’s hand.

“We don’t know, ma’am. Our father is dead. He left us a map and a few pieces of silver. And now we have followed the map to the end.”

“Yes, you were brave. I’m sure your father would be proud of you. He has given you a precious gift, a beginning. Much finer than an ending. But now come with me. I have something to show you, and a tale to tell.”

Martha held out a hand to each of them. She led them down the narrow. The villagers followed. The lane opened onto a small plaza. Stone benches formed a circle beneath an ancient olive tree.

“Sit and rest. The others will sit with you. Have no fear. You are welcome here.”

Martha disappeared into a dark doorway and returned a few moments later bearing a small wooden chest. She seated herself on a bench facing the others, the casket held in her lap.

“We welcome Diane and Paul to our village. We do not often host travelers, but they are not unknown to us. Many years ago, one such came from the East. He traveled alone, bearing gifts for his newborn grandchildren. Alas, the long journey had weakened the old man. Here in our village, he sickened and died.”

Martha lifted the casket so all could see it.

“Before the man died, he begged my mother to safeguard his gifts. My mother agreed. Fifteen years have passed. When my mother died, her task became my task.”

Martha placed the casket in her lap and beckoned Paul and Diane forward. With the siblings before her, she spoke again.

“Hear the old traveler’s dying words. Brother and sister born twins, light of hair and eyes of blue. Here we have two such, mirrors of each other. Yet are they the rightful heirs of a dead man’s gift? I believe there is a way to know the truth.”

She opened the lid of the casket, revealing two amulets formed of obsidian and crystal laid atop dark cloth. The amulets mirrored each other, volcanic glass and shining crystal bound in silver, light and dark reversed.

Martha lifted one amulet from the casket. It dangled from her hand on a silver lanyard.

“Paul, tell me what you see on the back.”

Paul cradled the amulet in his palm. An intricate design covered the silver backing, framing a single letter.

“It is marked with the letter D.”

Martha held up the other amulet.

“Now you, Diane.”

Diane examined the twin amulet.

“This one bears the letter P.”

Martha smiled.

“Take them. They are yours.”

Sister and brother received the amulets, D for Diane and P for Paul. Diane met Paul’s eyes. As one, they raised the lanyards over their heads.

***

A fortnight later, Diane and Paul departed the village, heading east. The villagers waved them off, Martha at their head. Brother and sister wore mirrored amulets that glistened in the morning sun. Their satchels were packed with food, and their hearts filled with the hope of an undiscovered family and a new home. And tucked inside Paul’s cloak was a freshly drawn map.

Fini

You can find Livina Press here:

https://www.livinapress.com/

That’s it for this week’s edition of Thursday Stories. More stories are coming your way. How will you know when a new story breaks? Glad you asked, Friends. Read On! Drumroll and… Meanwhile, don’t miss any upcoming stories. You can stay tuned for all the latest by following the MEF blog:

https://bro.uxw.mybluehost.me/whats-new-in-marcos-world-the-blog

And… if you desire more literary fiction, look no further than my collection U6 Stories: