The legionnaire swept forward in dead silence.
Eyes darted left, then right.
A boulder appeared. He vanished.
He pressed back to stone, fist to chest, sword at the ready.
Straw in his teeth, one hand wiped the salt from his brow.
"Trail is all clear, Commander."
A sharp nod was the reply.
"What is out there, sir?"
"Two beasts. One heading left. The second moving towards the woods on the right."
"The yellow one next to the trees is mine. The red one creeping through the grass, yours."
"Watch the claws and the poison, and remember our greater mission: secure the treasure, no matter the cost."
The legionnaire raised a hand against the sun. "Fang Faces?"
Another nod.
He spat out the straw. "My sword is yours."
It was a clear sunny day with minimal wind.
The commander raised his war-bow, muscles tightening as he pulled string to cheek.
The orange fletching held against his jaw.
A bead of sweat traced down his temple.
"Go, go, go!"
The legionnaire launched off the boulder, hit the ground shoulder-first, and coiled like a spring ready to strike.
He was one with the sword.
Dirt and grass clung to him.
"The Sword of Justice!"
The legion commander watched the front lines collide.
The plan, flawless.
String slapped his arm-guard as he released the arrow.
It flew straight and true.
Straight into the woods.
"Awww." Adam stood up. "That was my last arrow. Did you see where it went?"
Matt looked around. "What? No, I was way over here."
He tucked his wooden sword into the oversized belt at his waist.
"Adam, the hilt is loose again."
The Sword of Justice, as Matt had named it, was a broken yardstick fastened with blue duct tape. He had inherited it from Adam.
"We'll fix it later. Go see if you can find my arrow."
They were just past the meadow behind their house.
Matt kicked the dirt and headed towards the trees.
The dark, creepy woods. Better to wait for Adam.
"Why am I always the getter? I'm sick of being the getter."
"Well, I've got the backpack," Adam said, jogging toward Matt.
The trusty pack smelled of freshly eaten peanut butter and jelly sandwiches. Empty bottles clinked around the pockets: gentle reminders that they awaited new treasure.
Soon they were in the damp woods, turning over rocks.
Matt found a nice flat one and flipped it over. "Yuck."
An eastern red centipede slithered into the debris: a tiny red dragon with a domed head capsule and hundreds of feet.
Adam flipped over another rock. "Nice."
He snagged the end of a large nightcrawler. A definite keeper.
The pack was opened, and bait for the next fishing trip was safely deposited. He wiped his slime-coated hands on his shirt and moved on.
"Adam, quick, quick. Get a bottle!"
Adam was there, pack in hand. "Show me, what is it?"
Matt delicately held something within his fingers.
"Look at dis wittle fella."
It was a Blue-Spotted Salamander.
The rarest of the rare: a true treasure.
Matt gently transferred it to Adam's palms, then wiped the slime on his pants. "Should I get a bottle?"
"It tickles when it moves," Adam said, as the salamander wiggled to be free.
"Yeah, I know," said a beaming Matt.
Adam held it closer, his eyes moving over every detail of it.
"Hmm, I know we don't see these often…but I think we should let this little guy go."
Matt sighed. It was too special to be bottled.
He took it back from Adam, gently placed it on the damp leaves, and they watched it zig and zag away.
Then, without a word, they were back to the search.
That was just how it was with them. Nothing lingered.
Adam studied the woods. He looked where he had shot. He held his arm out, pointing back and then forward, calculating the arrow's trajectory.
Matt's stomach started to rumble. "Okay, Galileo, what do you think?"
"Hmm." Adam twirled his hair. "I think the arrow…must have gone towards Big Rock."
Big Rock was a massive boulder that you could walk right onto. The platform at the top was level with the tips of some of the birch and maple trees in the woods behind their house.
It was a place where a small person could stand and look out, and big things felt small.
They approached the rock.
Then they heard the most dreaded of calls.
"Aaaadam, Maaaathew, time for dinner!"
Matt started to climb, but Adam stopped him. "There's no time. Look around."
All they found was a small hole at the base of Big Rock.
Matt plopped down and peered in. "Looks like it's…in there. I can see something orange…I think."
He stretched his arm inward. "I…can…almost get it." When he pulled his arm back out, he had nothing but dirt, leaves, and cobwebs in his hair.
"Watch out, let me." Adam reached in with one long arm and banged his head.
"Stupid bugs," said Matt, swatting at the air.
"Matt, hold my feet so I don't bang my head again."
Matt knelt and grabbed Adam's ankles. A flash of golden light came from deep within the hole. Adam stared for a moment.
"Matt, did you see that?"
"Ow." Matt slapped a mosquito on his leg. "See what?"
"Aaaadam, Maaaathew, time for dinner. Now!"
Adam strained with all his might until he felt something solid in his grip. He withdrew his arm and wiped his brow, then looked at what he was holding: two golden chains, caked with dirt.
Both of them stared.
Matt watched as Adam grabbed the pack and withdrew a large bottle. The chains went safely in, the bottle tucked into a pocket. "Come on, we'll look at them later. We're already late." They sprinted back to the house with their treasure.
A quick scrub at the sink led to another discovery: salamander slime and worm slime did not cooperate with soap.
They abandoned the cleaning, rushed into their bedroom, and to their pack.
The bottle was carefully retrieved from where it rested in its pocket.
Adam held the chains under the warm glow of a table lamp next to their bunk beds.
He handed one to Matt and they began wiping them clean.
It didn't take the brothers very long to discover these weren't just chains. Each one held a gold medallion with strange writing hidden beneath the grime of its pendant.
One read Atha, and the other Tag.
Matt tilted his head. "Atha Tag…is it a game?"
Adam brought a medallion closer to the lamp.
"I don't know," he said, turning it over in his hand.
It seemed to shimmer in the light.
They looked at each other, the same look they had exchanged over the salamander, curious and certain. Without another word, each boy slipped one over his head.
The chains thrust forward and the medallions snapped together like magnets.
Golden light, alive, swirled around them.
The air roared in their ears as their bedroom walls began to spin, then dissolved into nothing.
Then darkness swallowed everything.
It wasn’t the absence of light, but something thicker, something with weight.
They seemed to fall through an endless void, and the void was not empty.
Something older than the dark moved within it.
Watching.
Waiting.