The Crystal Chronicles: Cursed

Chapter 18: Treasure Trove

The door creaks open and I bolt up. Matt walks into the room carrying a box of supplies. It's filled to the brim with the pieces of arrows. Matt struggles with the heavy box as he kicks the door shut with his foot. Matt has sweat on his brow and his hair is a wild mess. He looks out of sorts. Concealing my laughter with my hand, Matt sets the box in front of me. Before I dig into my newly presented treasure box, I look at Matt with my eyebrows raised.

"Are you expecting me to arm all of your guards with arrows?" I sarcastically giggled while Matt tried to tame his hair.

"Well... I wasn't exactly sure what all you'd need. Honestly, my people use guns. I don't think very many people here even know how to use a bow. I mean other than some of the older people who used to bow hunt. But it's been ten years or more since they fired one. I doubt they would be any good." Matt admitted with a crooked smile.

"And the point of that story was...?" I boredly asked as I dug through the box.

"The point Ms. Sass, is we have a bunch of supplies to make arrows or other weapons, but my people don't know how." Matt simply stated with a shrug of his shoulders. "I'm sorry if I brought you too much."

"Nah, I was kidding. I'll be stuck here for the next two weeks anyway. The supplies will keep me busy. Not to mention I must fiddle with stuff when I can't sleep. It keeps my mind engaged." I looked up at him to find him staring at me. "Would you mind clearing the table for me?" Matt quickly breaks eye contact and nods his head. I can't help watching his movements as Matt cleans away the books, maps, and papers from the table. It's strange. Matt seems... I'm not sure... more relaxed than earlier. Gentler. However, before he's done discarding the materials on the recliner, I pull my gaze away and begin lining the supplies onto the wooden table.

Matt pulls up a chair and watches me work. I chose to ignore his incessant staring and instead focus on the goodies Matt brought me. My eyes brighten at the arsenal displayed before me. Wood and carbon fiber arrow rods. Multiple boxes of arrowheads. Plus, an assortment of colorful feathers, string, sandpaper, wires, and even a sharpening stone. Without a second to spare I begin weeding out the wooden arrow rods. Thankfully most are straight, but a few are warped and unusable. A bent arrow will never fly straight. No matter how hard one may try. No matter how good of a shot one may be. A bent arrow will never hit the dead center of a target. I set the straight arrow rods onto the coffee table and discard the warped ones back into the emptied box.

I quickly finish separating the rods and move onto the arrowheads. Grabbing the first box, excitement shot through me as I read the faded label: Broadhead. Sadly, most of the writing on the box has faded beyond recognition, but that doesn't diminish the craftsmanship. I quickly opened the box in my hand. My excitement dissipates and slowly transforms into disappointment. The arrowheads only have two blades. It's not an awful set up, but it's not what I was hoping for.

My disappointment solidifies when most of the boxes are filled with the same two blades set up. Even after opening all the boxes there is only a single box of three bladed arrowheads and thankfully one box of four bladed broadhead arrowheads. Finally! Though there aren't very many, four bladed arrowheads are by far my preference. They're the most accurate and inflict the most damage. I wish there were more, but I suppose I can't be picky. As my mind wanders, I forget Matt's in the room, watching my every move. I can't help being drawn into what Matt's given me. I accidentally let my disappointment show on my face.

"Is everything okay?" Matt asked. Realizing he's still here I quickly smile and bring my eyes to his. Matt's face is filled with concern. I instantly feel guilty for not controlling my emotions and try to sooth him.

"Oh yes." Matt raises his eyebrow at me in suspicion,

"Don't lie to me, I saw the way your face dropped when you opened the arrowhead boxes. What is wrong?" Matt interrogated me. His voice is riddled with concern: his eyes pleaded with me to tell him. Feeling extremely awkward, I subconsciously pick at my nails as his gaze bores holes into my skin. If he keeps looking at me this way, I might lock myself in the bathroom. I need to make it stop!