💚🟨 THE WITNESS AT THE THIRD STONE
OZ~QZ Storytime | Thursday, October 22, 2026
An Adventure Along the Borders of Burzee
I. THE INSTRUCTION
The parchment lay upon the table between three people who had reached three different conclusions about it.
Commander Brine believed it was an instruction.
The keeper’s sister believed it was a warning.
And the Scarecrow, who had spent a considerable part of his life discovering how easily instructions could become warnings, suspected that it was both.
Beyond the open window, the morning bells of Thumbumbia sounded across the harbor.
Four ships rested at anchor.
The Evergreen.
The Hare.
The Lionheart.
And the Swallow.
Their flags moved in the same wind, though the captains aboard them had not yet agreed upon the significance of yesterday’s discovery.
The keeper’s sister read the words once more.
WHEN THE OFFICE CANNOT BE NAMED, CONSULT THE WITNESS AT THE THIRD STONE.
“Notice what it doesn’t say,” she remarked.
Brine folded his arms.
“It doesn’t tell us who the witness is.”
“Nor does it say to summon the witness.”
The Scarecrow considered that.
“It tells us where to consult.”
“Precisely.”
“Then we should go there.”
“Perhaps,” she said. “But a witness may be consulted without being disturbed.”
Brine gave a short, reluctant nod.
“I begin to think every sentence in this village has a second sentence hiding underneath it.”
“That,” said the Scarecrow, “may be why the old people wrote so little.”
II. THE ROAD OF THREE STONES
They departed after breakfast.
The keeper’s sister led them through the narrow lane beyond the last clustered houses.
White Rabbit accompanied the party with a notebook and an expression of professional caution.
Hatta came because he had been told the destination involved a stone.
He wished to know whether it had anything interesting to say.
The road curved eastward, passing walls built of old fieldstone, then gardens, then an orchard whose leaves were already turning gold.
Beyond the orchard, the land opened.
And farther still, under the high autumn sky, stood the dark green beginning of the Forest of Burzee.
The road was quiet.
No travelers passed them.
No carts moved between the village and the woodland.
It was not an abandoned road.
But it was a road upon which people had learned to move carefully.
They passed the first marker stone.
Then the second.
Both had been reset during a winter remembered for its severity.
The third stood farther along, exactly where it had remained when the others were moved.
There was nothing imposing about it.
It was neither the tallest nor the broadest.
Its upper surface had weathered into an irregular slope, and a narrow opening remained visible along one side.
But beneath it lay something the old records forbade anyone to disturb.
THE THIRD STONE SHALL NOT BE MOVED.
Commander Brine halted before it.
“No tools,” he reminded the party.
“No digging,” added White Rabbit.
“No guessing that something buried ought to belong to us,” said the keeper’s sister.
Hatta regarded the stone.
“Then this is the politest expedition I have ever attended.”
III. AN UNEXPECTED DIFFICULTY
For several minutes they examined the marker without touching it.
The Scarecrow studied the worn inscription.
Brine examined the surrounding ground.
White Rabbit compared the stone’s position with the road survey.
Hatta stood with his hands behind his back.
The keeper’s sister looked toward the forest.
And nothing happened.
“Well,” said Hatta at last, “the witness appears to be remarkably discreet.”
The Rabbit gave him a warning glance.
“We have not yet established that the witness is a person.”
“Then perhaps the stone itself is the witness.”
“A stone cannot answer questions.”
“That depends upon the question.”
White Rabbit sighed.
The Scarecrow crouched to examine a faint line near the base.
It was not writing.
Nor was it a crack.
Rather, it was a shallow groove in the earth, nearly hidden among the grasses.
The groove curved away from the road.
Toward the trees.
Brine saw it too.
“An old drainage channel?”
“Possibly,” said the Scarecrow.
The keeper’s sister shook her head.
“That channel has been here longer than anyone remembers.”
“Where does it lead?”
She looked toward the forest.
“That is not the question the records ask.”
The Scarecrow rose.
“What do they ask?”
“Whether the witness has heard.”
IV. THE TWO KINDS OF WITNESS
The keeper’s sister withdrew a folded paper from her coat.
It was older than the parchment found the previous day, though not so old as the agreement bearing the three circles.
“My grandmother kept this separately,” she said.
“Why separately?” asked Brine.
“Perhaps because it was not meant to be read as part of the agreement.”
She unfolded it.
The handwriting was narrow and deliberate.
A WITNESS MAY ATTEST TO WHAT HAS HAPPENED.
Beneath it, in smaller letters:
BUT A WITNESS WHO IS TO BE CONSULTED MUST FIRST BE GIVEN THE OPPORTUNITY TO HEAR.
The Professor was not present to explain the distinction.
Hatta, fortunately, was.
“An excellent arrangement,” he announced. “Before asking someone what they think, we allow them to discover what they are being asked.”
White Rabbit looked startled.
“That is surprisingly sensible.”
“I have moments,” said Hatta.
Brine read the paper again.
“Then we need to announce ourselves.”
“Perhaps,” said the keeper’s sister. “But not to the whole forest.”
The Scarecrow turned slowly toward the third stone.
“Only here.”
V. THE DECLARATION
Commander Brine had spent his life giving orders.
He had spoken over the roar of cannon.
Through the violence of storms.
Across decks where frightened sailors needed clear instructions more than comforting speeches.
But standing before the third boundary stone, he found himself unexpectedly uncertain.
“What exactly am I supposed to say?”
“The truth,” answered the Scarecrow.
“The whole truth?”
“As much of it as belongs to us.”
The keeper’s sister stood beside the marker.
“State who has come. State what has been found. State what has not been done.”
Brine removed his hat.
The others became silent.
He spoke plainly.
“We have come from the ships at Thumbumbia.
“We have examined records concerning the old boundary between the road and the woodland.
“We have found references to an office whose holder cannot presently be named.
“We have discovered an instruction directing us to consult the witness at the third stone.
“We have not moved the stone.
“We have not entered the woodland.
“And we do not claim that silence grants us permission to do either.”
A breeze stirred the grass.
Nothing else changed.
Brine waited.
Then he replaced his hat.
“Now what?”
“Now,” said the keeper’s sister, “we listen.”
VI. WHAT THE RABBIT HEARD
They waited.
The wind shifted.
A distant bird called from the orchard behind them.
Far away, a bell sounded from Thumbumbia.
White Rabbit studied the narrow channel beside the stone.
At first he thought the grass was moving with the breeze.
Then he noticed that the movement came in intervals.
A small disturbance.
A pause.
Another disturbance.
He crouched beside the groove.
“Commander.”
Brine approached.
“Yes?”
“I hear something.”
“Water?”
“No.”
“An animal?”
“I cannot tell.”
The Scarecrow knelt beside him.
The sound was faint enough to vanish whenever the wind rose.
But during the still intervals, it returned.
Three soft taps.
A pause.
Then two.
Hatta leaned closer.
“Someone is knocking?”
“Perhaps,” said the Rabbit.
“Or something is striking against the earth.”
The keeper’s sister became very still.
“What did you hear?”
The Rabbit repeated the pattern.
Three taps.
Then two.
She closed her eyes.
“Again?”
The sound returned.
Three.
Pause.
Two.
“No,” she whispered.
Brine looked at her.
“What is it?”
“I don’t know.”
But she was no longer looking at the groove.
She was looking toward the old road.
VII. A WARNING FROM THE PAST
The keeper’s sister took another small paper from her pocket.
This one had been folded so many times that its edges were soft.
“My grandmother used to say that the third stone did not protect a thing.”
The Scarecrow looked at her.
“What did it protect?”
“A decision.”
Brine frowned.
“A decision about what?”
“Whether something should pass.”
“Into the forest?”
“Perhaps.”
“Out of it?”
“Perhaps that too.”
Hatta tilted his hat.
“That is a remarkably inconvenient answer.”
“It is the only one she ever gave me.”
The keeper’s sister opened the paper.
A single sentence appeared upon it.
THE WITNESS IS NOT THE KEEPER.
Below it was another.
AND THE KEEPER IS NOT THE OWNER.
The Scarecrow felt the words settle into place beside the discoveries of the previous days.
The road keeper could repair the road.
The boundary keeper must give consent.
But the witness possessed neither office.
The witness could hear.
The witness could remember.
And perhaps the witness could attest that an agreement had been honored.
But the witness could not simply grant passage.
“So,” said the Scarecrow quietly, “we have been asking the wrong question.”
Brine considered.
“We wanted to know who could let us through.”
“Yes.”
“But the record told us first to discover who could bear witness.”
“Exactly.”
VIII. THE THIRD CIRCLE
White Rabbit had returned to his notebook.
He opened the pages containing his copy of the recovered agreement.
There were three circles where the woodland signatures should have appeared.
Not three names.
Not three seals.
Three circles.
He examined them carefully.
Then he glanced at the groove beside the stone.
“May I make an observation?”
“Of course,” said the Scarecrow.
“Yesterday we assumed the circles represented three separate parties.”
“That remains possible,” Brine replied.
“Yes. But we do not know whether they refer to people, offices, stages of an agreement, or something else.”
Hatta peered over his shoulder.
“Three circles could be three cups of tea.”
“That is unlikely.”
“Unlikely things are my particular specialty.”
The Rabbit ignored him.
“My point is that we should not assign names to marks merely because we want the mystery solved.”
The keeper’s sister nodded.
“That is what my grandmother would have said.”
“Then what are the circles?” asked Brine.
“We don’t know,” said the Scarecrow.
And for once, nobody attempted to improve upon the answer.
IX. THE SILENCE
They remained at the third stone for another quarter of an hour.
The tapping did not return.
The breeze settled.
A pale cloud moved across the sun.
The forest beyond the road remained perfectly still.
At length Brine spoke.
“We have made our declaration. We have listened. We have received no clear answer.”
White Rabbit closed his notebook.
“Then the consultation is incomplete.”
“Or declined,” said the keeper’s sister.
“Can silence mean refusal?”
“It can mean that permission has not been given.”
The Scarecrow thought of the line in the agreement.
CONSENT SHALL NOT BE PRESUMED FROM SILENCE.
He looked beyond the third stone.
Nothing stood between the road and the first trees except a narrow stretch of grass.
It would be an easy thing to step forward.
One ordinary stride.
Perhaps two.
No wall would stop him.
No gate would swing shut.
No guard had appeared.
Yet he remained where he was.
Because a boundary did not cease to exist merely because it could not be seen.
“Then we return,” he said.
Brine looked disappointed.
But he did not object.
X. THE WOMAN AT THE WINDOW
They were halfway back to the village when they encountered an elderly woman standing beside a low stone wall.
She wore a dark shawl and carried a basket containing nothing but fallen apples.
The keeper’s sister greeted her.
The woman returned the greeting, then regarded the expedition.
“You’ve been to the third stone.”
It was not a question.
“Yes,” answered Brine.
“Did you move it?”
“No.”
“Did you enter?”
“No.”
“Did you speak?”
“We did.”
The woman looked from Brine to the Scarecrow.
“And did you listen?”
“We did.”
She nodded once.
“Good.”
Then she turned to go.
“Madam,” said the Scarecrow, “may I ask you something?”
She stopped.
“That depends upon what you intend to do with the answer.”
The Scarecrow smiled.
“I intend to think about it.”
“Then ask.”
“Do you know who the witness is?”
For the first time, the woman appeared uncertain.
She glanced toward the distant forest.
Then toward the road.
And finally back at the Scarecrow.
“I knew someone who waited there.”
“At the stone?”
“Yes.”
“Was that person the witness?”
“I never knew what office they held.”
“Did they have a name?”
“Of course.”
“Will you tell us?”
She looked down at the apples in her basket.
“No.”
Brine stiffened.
“Why not?”
“Because the name was entrusted to me.”
The Scarecrow nodded slowly.
“And you were not given permission to share it.”
The woman’s eyes met his.
“Now you’re beginning to understand.”
She resumed her walk.
But after several steps, she paused.
Without turning around, she added:
“Do not mistake the one who remembers for the one who may answer.”
And then she was gone.
XI. BACK ABOARD THE EVERGREEN
By late afternoon, the expedition had returned to the harbor.
Captain Sawyer Salt received their report aboard the Evergreen.
The other captains were informed.
Captain Jasper Quill listened without interruption.
Captain Gideon Vale asked whether the third stone remained undisturbed.
Captain Ronan Flint wanted to know whether anyone had entered the woodland.
Both questions were answered plainly.
No stone had been moved.
No boundary had been crossed.
No permission had been claimed.
The little dark object from the hidden berth remained secured beneath its glass covering.
No one had planted it.
No one had identified it.
And no one had established any connection between it and the third stone.
The mysterious berth still bore its old instructions.
FOR ARRIVAL.
NOT COUNTED AMONG CREW.
THE PLACE IS FOR THE ONE WHO COMES AFTER.
The other records remained unresolved.
The first return remembered.
The second return recorded.
The third return recognized.
No one aboard the Evergreen could yet say what any return meant.
And no one could confirm that the third had occurred.
The mysteries had grown more numerous.
But they had also grown clearer in one important respect.
The travelers were not being asked merely to find something.
They were being asked to understand the obligations that came with finding it.
XII. THE LAST LIGHT
That evening, a mist settled over Thumbumbia.
Lanterns appeared along the harbor.
The four ships rode quietly at anchor.
Beyond the village, the old eastern road disappeared into gathering shadow.
And farther still, where the woodland began, a tiny amber light appeared.
It had been seen before.
No one had identified its source.
Tonight it glimmered once.
Then faded.
A moment later, it appeared again.
White Rabbit, standing at the harbor railing, noticed it first.
“Professor Parallax would insist upon recording the interval,” he murmured.
Hatta joined him.
“Did you bring your stopwatch?”
“Of course.”
“Then perhaps we should time the darkness rather than the light.”
The Rabbit glanced at him.
“Why?”
“Because we seem to have rather more of it.”
They watched in silence.
Then a third glimmer came from the distant road.
The Rabbit looked down at his watch.
But Hatta had stopped smiling.
“That,” he said quietly, “wasn’t where the other two appeared.”
White Rabbit looked up.
“Are you certain?”
“No.”
Hatta pointed into the mist.
“But I think we ought to tell the Scarecrow.”
And somewhere beyond the village, along a road whose third stone must never be moved, something made three soft taps.
A pause.
Then two.
TO BE CONTINUED...
Tomorrow in OZ~QZ Storytime #334:
THE NAME THAT MUST BE KEPT
The witness has been consulted.
The third stone remains untouched.
A woman remembers a name she has not been authorized to reveal.
And the travelers must decide how to proceed when even the truth they seek may belong to someone else.
💚 FROM THE YELLOW BRICK ROAD
There is a temptation that accompanies every discovery.
We want to know more.
We want the answer.
We want the door opened, the mystery solved, the next horizon revealed.
Curiosity has helped humanity explore oceans, investigate the heavens, develop technologies, and imagine worlds that once seemed impossible.
But curiosity is not ownership.
And discovery does not automatically create permission.
Sometimes the wisest explorer is the one who stops at the boundary and asks whether the next step belongs to them.
Respect is not the end of exploration. It is part of what makes exploration worthy of the journey.
The Yellow Brick Road continues.
One question.
One story.
One responsible step at a time.
💚🟨🎃♾️
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