Why is it so important to be a part of the popular crowd? Because for some reason, we allow other to make us feel isolated, on the outside, looking in.

Try a change of perspective.

The “in-crowd” is called that for a reason—because they’re confined to a little box, and won’t let you in.

Funny thing is…they happened to leave the rest of the world for you.

You’re welcome.

“Shouldn’t you be preparing?” Chuck asked, shuffling books from one pile to another. He seemed more chipper than usually, which was a good thing. Though he continued to mumble to himself, he was actively engaging in conversations and was now overly determined to get a hold on the chaotic state of the library. Books and papers were strewed across the floor, desks, shelves and chairs.

There was nowhere to sit without pushing a pile of…something…to the side.

The wizard gently pulled a book out from under Höbin’s heel and set it neatly on a shelf. The fishis had tuckered himself out and was spread eagle on a cot in the corner, snoring. His huge puffy beard rose and swayed like a dandelion with each breath.

Even Lili, who had isolated herself more and more from the group, had reached her limit. She was curled up in a large green leather chair near the fire, a book she’d been reading tucked neatly in her lap.

Wendell took a small blanket and draped it over the girl, “For what?” he whispered, “I’ve beat the video game more than a dozen times and Gnolaum’s programmed to follow the exact same combinations. Freak is reenforcing the armor and weapons to go up against Armored Ensemble and Darcy, and I’m not taking any side matches until after my fight. There’s not much left TO do.”

Chuck took the books from his arms and started organizing them alphabetically on the bookshelf. “Then what can I do for you?”

Wendell couldn’t help but feel ignored and, frankly, unwanted. He hadn’t felt like they were a team in weeks. With Chuck and Lili isolated in the library, he and Dax competed in the Trench games without much interaction or support of one another. It felt like a bold separation and the old wizard was someone Wendell liked to rely on. What I’m doing doesn’t really…He snatched up the book and handed it to the wizard, “Does it really matter?”

The wizard stopped and stared, “Excuse me?”

“The games. Me doing what I’m doing. Does it really matter? We’re not talking much anymore, me and Dax I mean. He’s so chummy with Alhannah and fixated on the fights that I don’t really get a chance to talk with him…and shouldn’t I be helping you find the last seal? That is, after all, my responsibility isn’t it?”

“And how do you propose to help me?”

Wendell bent over and picked up another stack of small books, “I don’t know. The shard powering the last seal in Til-Thorin talked to me. Maybe…” but he stopped. He had no clue how any of that had happened. It wasn’t as if he had a skill or power to reach out and locate the shards—it had found him. Called out to him. And that wasn’t happening now. He didn’t know how to find the seal or the shard and Wendell knew it. “Maybe I could ride around the city and…listen for…voices?” Oh man, did that sound as stupid out loud as I think it did?

Chuck smirked, “I think we might want to narrows down the possibilities before we hinge our success on you hearing things.”

“It worked last time.”

“Yes, and it got you killed.” Sliding the last book into place, Chuck lifted a pile from a chair and motioned Wendell to sit down.

Wendell sat. “Well,…” then he clamped his mouth shut.

The wizard stared at him patiently.

“I’m sorry, this is stupid. I’m just complaining and I shouldn’t, I know. It’s just that I don’t see how winning some game is going to do us any good. We’re here to get the seal, right? To keep it out of the hands of the enemy and hide it so Mahan can’t escape from his prison. So why bother with Trench Wars? We’re here. We have cool disguises—so why not use them and go looking? Besides, even if I did win, it’s not like we can announce what we’re looking for to enlist help.”

“Aren’t you enjoying yourself, son?” Chucks expression remained relaxed, like a patient parent letting their teenager vent.

Wendell paused. “Sure I am, but…”

“Alhannah says you’ve started acquiring some fans too. Becoming popular.”

“I guess so.”

“People that might listen to what you had to say? That is…if you had something to say?”

Wendell watched the expression shift on the wizards face. The smirk had vanished. His large, clear eyes held Wendell firmly and he was unable to look away, with a gaze that seemed to peer into his soul. Wendell swallowed hard and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. When he spoke, it was only above a whisper. “I guess so.”

Chuck averted his gaze and resumed shuffling books, “Influence is a peculiar thing. We rarely notice how easily we can acquire it…and almost never understand how valuable it truly is—even when it’s sitting in our hands.” He paused to read the title of a tiny green book, then spun it effortlessly on his index finger. With a flick of his wrist, he flipping it over and slid it onto a shelf. “My first reason for being here was to save you, son.  We did that, thank goodness. The second goal is to find the seal. We’re working on that. But what we never anticipated was having these opportunities open up. Like the Gnome Resistance Revolutionaries.”

“You look at the G.R.R. as an opportunity?”

Chuck stopped in mid book-flip and the volume tumbled over his fingers onto floor. The sound muffled by the impact of bouncing off his beard. He frowned, “You’re brighter than this.”

Wow. That’s nice. “Apparently not. Why don’t you enlighten me?”

“Do you know how to use the Ithari?”

Wendell’s brows rolled forward, irritated, “You know I don’t.”

“Then how do you propose to defeat Mahan?”

“We’re finding the seal and we’ll keep it safe. If he can’t get to it, he can’t…”

Chuck shook his head, “That’s a delay tactic. We’re buying you time, son, nothing more. There are many prophecies that tell us the Dark Lord will eventually return—but even without them, I know it. He’s clever and relentless and it’s only a matter of time before he finds a way back. And when he does come back, he’ll find you.” Snatching the fallen book from the floor, he jabbed it in Wendell’s direction, “So how do you, Mr. Hero of the Gem, intend on defeating the greatest evil of this world if you don’t know how to use the power of the Ithari?”

Wendell slumped forward and said nothing. He let his eyes fall to the floor as his hands laced together. Just a delay tactic? So I am going to have to fight, no matter what. His chest heaved tightly under his t-shirt and the smiley face opened its mouth over and over, gasping for air it didn’t need.

With a light tap, Chuck lifted Wendell’s chin with a book. “Don’t tune out. Smile. This is what you need to learn, and something I’m seeing more and more in you as time passes. This isn’t about fighting, or combat or even magic. This is about you. I believe the Ithari chose you for your heart, Wendell. For the way you care about others and how you can and will affect the lives of those around you.” Pulling another chair over, the wizard brushed the scrolls and parchment onto the floor and sat down in front of him. “I was there when they defeated the Dark Lord. It wasn’t magic that did it so much as the power of individuals exerting their positive influence over others for good. The gathering of the kings came about because of the relationships High King Gaston had built over time with other leaders. The Nethinim won battle after battle, not because of their personal prowess on the field, but their ability to inspire courage and purpose in others! Even the Demoni Vankil came about because of the determination and personal influence of a single mägo clerk.”

Höbin snorted in his sleep, the cot squeaking as the gnome rolled across the metal springs. In response, Lili turned deeper into the chair she was sleeping on. Her book slipped from her lap and onto the floor.

Chuck smiled and jabbed Wendell’s knee with boney knuckles, “I think your influence is the key. You just need to realize that you have intrinsic value, Wendell.”

It wasn’t a word he was familiar with. “Intrinsic?”

The wizard gave him one of those knowing looks that Wendell appreciated. The grandfatherly, you-silly-little-boy-supportive look. “You, my young friend, have value. Just by existing. You don’t have to possess titles, own wealth or accomplish anything significant in the eyes of others to have that value. It came with you when you were born. There’s nothing like you in the universe and you play a critical roll in the world around you.” Then he smiled so wide his eyes seemed to smile too, “Best part is, no one can take that value from you.”

Wendell took a deep breath. Even the smiley face seemed to relax as he did so. It wasn’t until that moment that he realized the stress he was still carrying. The doubt and frustration that hadn’t actually been resolved—he’d just buried it so deep and ignored it, he didn’t feel the pain until it was scraped to the surface. I’ve lost myself in the moment, fighting in these games. Forgotten what I’m here for.

“So when Motherboard wanted you to become a spokesperson to the gnome population, I…”

“Saw it as an opportunity to build influence,” Wendell finished.

The wizard nodded, “Exactly.”

It did make sense, in a far reaching, almost impossible way. Who is going to listen to me, other than my friends and those close to me? Wendell tried to envision standing before a billion gnomes and calling them to arms. It was so ridiculous he almost laughed. Huh. Then I guess the answer is to make more friends.

Chuck grinned wider, “Are you seeing the possibilities? All it takes for you to win over Mahan is influence with the good people of this world.”

“And a miracle,” Wendell added, with a hint of sarcasm.

Tapping his crooked nose, “Once you have planning, preparation, determination and consistency in place, trust me…miracles will appear like magic.”

Wendell perked up, sliding closer to the edge of his seat. “Speaking of magic, Chuck, I…was hoping to learn more.” Anxious to leave the subject of being a world leader and influencer behind, he shifted his attention. He’d spent a lot of time thinking about what little he’d learned and what he’d seen. “Magic doesn’t always have a rigid set of uses, does it?”

“No. Not rigid, but they are specific.”

Cool. “I wondered how many ways a mägo might apply the same spell?”

Chuck leaned back and stared firmly at the young hero, “Sounds like you have something specific in mind, young man. Why don’t you spit it out?”

Here goes nothing. “I’m wondering if maybe there are other elements I can use?”

The hard expression on the wizards face softened, “You’re the Gnolaum, Wendell. You’re capable of far more than you realize.” He stood up and scooped up another set of books. “Someday you’ll realize that.”

Wendell was quickly learning that the wizard wasn’t in the habit of volunteering information about magic. At least not to Wendell. He seemed to wait until asked a specific question before giving more. This was fine…but Wendell didn’t always know what questions to ask. Tossing out hints, was a waist of time. Better to just say what’s on your mind, Wendell. Spit it out. “Can I use magic with a S.L.A.G.?”

Chuck tossed a book onto the air, towards his desk. “Like what? A weapon?” It spun as it arched high, landing loudly on the surface and sliding to a stop between a scroll and a container of ink—a quill protruding from the crystal. “I’m not to sure that would be wise, you know.” The slapping sound made Höbin twitch and snort. Lili sat up for a moment and blinked a few times before falling back into slumber. “Gnomes are nearly as uncomfortable about magic as others are around technology. Makes for a delicate balance. Exposing yourself could put you in a nasty spotlight.”

Wendell hadn’t even considered that possibility. Gnomes are afraid of magic? Wouldn’t they be curious about everything? Then again, his exposure to gnomes, until coming to Clockworks was limited to Höbin and Alhannah. They didn’t seem to fit the norm of their society.

“There are techno-mägo in this city, but they’re few. Gnomes who use and understand both magic and technology without. Some would consider Höbin there a techno-mägo, but he only studies it and uses it—through things like his port key. He doesn’t shape it. The mägo are usually controlled or employed by the government here. Techno-mägo are considered extremely dangerous to society and kept isolated from the main body of people.”

It seemed strange. Something as simple and normal as a computer, or a video game, was taboo and shunned by the people of this world. Feared even. If people only knew how beneficial these devices could be! Which makes me wonder why the gnomes haven’t taken over the whole planet by now. With technology—especially devices like the S.L.A.G.s, why haven’t the gnomes expanded beyond the boarders of this island?

“However,” Chuck chimed, bringing Wendell’s thoughts back to the moment, “if you really want to learn more,” his mustache rose over his wide toothed grin, “I’m certainly not going to stop you.”

****

“I’m telling you, Red, taking these side fights is a bad idea.” Shamas said softly, shutting the door behind him. He left the light switch alone and leaned against the doorframe. The only light in the room was a glow through a broken window. It smelled dank and musty, making it challenging to breath deeply. He’d wanted privacy, so they’d grabbed the first abandoned room out of earshot from the hangar. The small puddle of water under the window was back and stank of rot. Broken crates were piled in a corner of the room, rusted nuts, bolts and screws poking out of decaying cardboard boxes. Shamas lowered his head, averting his eyes from the warrior. “I think it’s a set-up.”

Alhannah couldn’t hold still. Pacing in a circle around the perimeter of the room, her mind darted from the Trench competition to the sudden interest from the President himself. There was a lot more at stake than she’d realized and that meant good people in jeopardy. She stopped abruptly when the his words finally sank in. “A set up?”

“Are you paying attention? The Church!” he spat. Then, rubbing his neck and struggling to take a deep breath, “That’s where I was, those few days I went missing. Checking on a lead I picked up from one of the local betting houses. The odds were rising against you, which seemed odd, considering your winning streaks. When I checked why, I discovered everyone favoring Trinity.” He looked up, the rings of exhaustion around his eyes like holes carved in his face. “Rumors were started that Steel and Stone wouldn’t make it to the finals. At first it was just like any babble—but more than one bookie said the Church was gonna make sure of it.”

“It’s not the first time idiot’s create rumors,” she groaned, folding her arms. “Won’t be the last. Just people trying to tip the scales to make extra credits.”

“Like I said, that’s what I thought at first,” Shamas agreed, “but I found one of the bookies spitting out more details than most. Turns out he worked for Cumberlain.”

“As in Cumberlain Exchange?”

“Yeah. So I followed him.” He flexed his hands, slowly curling his fingers into a fist. “I…encouraged him to share what he knew. Turns out the Trinity have been in the perfect position to win this season. One of their pilots would have taken the Grand Championship. The powers that be were so certain, in fact, that Cumberlain backed the Church, fully funding the team in exchange for insider information to sweeten their own betting pools. Then you showed up.”

Alhannah’s arms slid down to her sides.

“Didn’t you say you received an offer from the Church?”

She frowned, “Yeah.” It had seemed insignificant at the time. Stupid even. Trench Wars was picking up in popularity, gaining free publicity and more sponsors were lining up to back the newest sensations. Viewership jumped by tens of millions per fight, knocking al other programming out of the competition and creating an unequalled pool of wealth. By the finals in season two, there were rumors that the factions themselves wanted a piece. No one paid much attention, of course, because… “It was nonsense,” Alhannah said in a near whisper. Then louder, “No one believed the Church would get involved in a sport—ANY sport for that matter. For crying out loud—Trench pilots were being rebuked for encouraging violence, by religious leaders on national television!”

Shamas stepped closer, his eyes peering out from the shadows of his face, “Well there’s a bigger power struggle going on than we thought. Shrubs poodle showing up is a perfect example. They want control of the spotlight.”

Turning from him, Alhannah paced the room again, going over possibilities in her mind. Bellow’s had already hinted at the struggle among the factions and her father was always talking about how those in power always wanted more power. “So what else did you find out?” Pointing at him, “More than you’re telling—you came back pretty roughed up.”

Shamas grimaced, “I asked a few too many questions and didn’t watch my back. The dogs with Cumberlain don’t take kindly to their errand boys being roughed up. Ended up with a sack over my head and a club to the temple. When I woke up, I found myself in a shipping container. They roughed me up. Asked about you, Dax and Wendell. They wanted details about your S.L.A.G.s too.”

She scowled at him warily, “What did you tell them?”

“Can’t tell what I don’t know,” he said firmly. “Told ‘em my job was safety during transport and between games. Nothing more.”

“And they believed you?”

Now it was Shamas’s turn to scowl, “You ever known me to crack?”

She paused, then, “No.”

“They worked me over until they got tired. I let them hammer on me, then feigned unconsciousness. They were amateurs. Talked openly, thinking I was out cold. Even used names.”

Alhannah froze, “What names?”

****

Wendell scratched his head, “So, would it work on another S.L.A.G.?”

Chuck combed his beard with open fingers, “Not sure. Technology allows the machines to pick up on movement. They could use radar, sonar, heat…any number of ways to find you. Not all pilots rely on camera’s.”

“And the spell is only visual.”

“Well,” the wizard considered, “no. It’s a sensory thing, but we’re talking about organic senses. Yours and mine. At least that would be my own understanding. If you were invisible, the spell would hide you from sight, smell and muffles sounds…but not touch. You’re still there.”

Maybe it’s better to just drop it? It had been a fun thought, but Chuck had a good point—Trench Wars was a competition of machines, not just people. “Ok then, what’s the difference between power and, say, electricity?” he asked.

The wizard continued to wave his hands about as he talked. Books from around the room were dancing through the air and finding their appropriate places on the shelves or neatly stacking themselves on desks and tables. “Power is a general term.  Think about it. Power can come from any source, or it could refer to having influence or even dominion over others. It can be voluntary or it can be forced. You have to be specific.”

“Because in magic, you have to be careful of the definitions.”

“Exactly.”

“Which means…,” Wendell pondered, “you create a foundation and then shape that foundation to your purpose.”

Chuck smiled, “I’m impressed, son. You’re picking this up much faster than I expected.”

He smiled. “Hard not to make progress when you’re having fun.”

The wizard smiled wider and nodded, “Agreed. I should thank you for getting my mind off my own frustrations.” He jabbed Wendell in the shoulder. Höbin snorted again and rolled over on his cot. “Now let’s do this one more time, before either of them wake up.”

“Alright.” Raising his hands in front of his chest, Wendell stretched his fingers as wide as he could and stared at the gap between his hands. The foundation of power that I want has to come from within me. Clearing his mind, he focused his awareness on the center of his palms. He let the weight of his feet and legs, arms and shoulders go. Only his hands existed. Energy is all around me. For a moment, he thought he could feel his hands growing warmer. His awareness latched onto the sensation and held tight. All I have to do is…gather it.

As the warmness spread across the surface of his skin, Wendell whispered softly, “Säko.”

Blue light slowly appeared, emanated from his palms. Thread-like pulses reached out from his skin from one hand to connect to similar threads from the other. The sensation tickled his hands and Wendell could feel the hair rising all over his body. He wrinkled his nose. He sniffed. There was a faint metallic oder on the air.

“Good,” Chuck beamed, “very good. Now to send that flow outward, keeping it between your hands, you say…”

“Virtä,” Wendell finished. His tongue rolled over the word as if he’d spoken it his whole life.

Between his palms, crackled light blue bolts of electricity. The tiny spikes popped as they danced between his fingers…but it didn’t hurt. This is amazing!  You’re doing it Wendell! You are actually becoming a mägo! All Wendell could feel was a constant tingling through his skin and bones. Almost as if the energy was caressing him…hugging him.

“Perfect!” cheered the wizard. He watched the bolts split off and grow between Wendell’s hands, spreading from finger to finger. Within moments it looked like a small electrical storm. “When you feel as if the electricity is part of your own body, you can increase what you already have in motion by amplifying it.”

“By using Teho, right?” The moment Wendell mentioned the magical word, the electricity cracked and arched between his hands—jumping up towards his chin.  He threw his head back from his hands. “Woah!”

“Careful now,” Chuck warned him. “When working with elements, focus and intent are critical. All elements have the desire to be free. Electricity, for example, wants to embraces, fire is always hungry…while wind wants to run. One slip of the tongue or concenrtration and you could cause something disastrous.

“Sorry,” Wendell muttered, embarrassed, then, “Läkätä.” The light faded from his hands. Even this was an incredible sensation—the pulsing through his skin faded like the ripples in a pool of water. Wendell could feel the power wanting to leap from him, to touch, no, embrace something near him. Like a hyperactive child, wanting to go play. The thought gave him an idea. “So, how would you focus electrical energy, Chuck? The same way you do light?”

The wizard shook his head, “No, mäjäkä with pull light to your center of focus, but the energy of a storm can’t be channeled that way. Lightening in destructive in nature. It’s wild. A mägo gives the energy a destination and then sets it free. It will hit it’s intended target, but there is little guarantee it won’t do harm along the way.”

“So I don’t use mäjäkä?”

“No. The command is sälämä.”

Wendell nodded. He could still feel the tingling sensation rippling under his skin as he rubbed his palms together. This is so cool! Need to remember that. He glanced over at Höbin, just as he repeated the magical command out loud, “Sälämä.”

Sparks ricocheted between his hands and leapt haphazardly into the air. Like a jagged whip, two small branches of the electricity broke off—one striking a small set of books nearby, setting them aflame, while the second knocked Chucks hat clean off his head. The main arc of energy, however, bounced across the room and struck the metal frame of Höbin’s cot.

SHRAK!

Höbin flipped from his slumber and onto the floor with a startled howl.

“NUTS AND BOLTS!” he cried, rubbing his good leg. His head whipped about scanning the room in a daze until he took full notice the both Wendell and Chucks guilty expressions. “What the blazes are you doing?!?” he snapped, “You could have killed me!”

With a swipe of a hand, Chuck flipped his smoldering hat back on his own head and smacked the back of Wendell’s.

****

While the rest of the team went about their daily business, no one noticed the tinkerer sulking down the hallways. Morty slid his ID card through the reader and pushed the door open. He left it open. Didn’t seem to be much sense in security when Ian and the government knew the rest of the group was here with him.

He walked sluggishly over to the equipment lockers and opened up 2C. On the top shelf sat his little black box and notebooks. The only true success he’d had in his whole career without someone else helping him was most likely going to be taken from him. He stared up at the cameras installed by the government…and for a moment, regretted ever allowing Chuck into his warehouse.

Pulling the small disc from his pocket, he turned to shield it from view.

“Cryo?” he whispered.

“Yes, Dr. Teedlebaum?” answered an equally quiet voice.

“Is there any way we can turn off these cameras without letting the government know we turned them off?”

A small blue face appeared over the disc. “I can route everything through the random feed we’ve been running. But if you make substantial changes in your tests, there will be no record of such progress.”

“I understand. Would you do that for me? I’d like privacy while I work.”

“Certainly.” And then, “Feeds are now rerouted as you desired. You make talk and move freely, Dr. Teedlebaum.”

“Thank you Cryo,” he said soberly.

“You are most welcome.” The blue face stared up at the tinkerer as he set the disc on the platform of his PROMIS project. “You look…concerned, Dr. Teedlebaum. Is there something I can do for you?”

Morty walked around the huge device, staring at his life’s work. “I’m not sure, Cryo,” he said flatly. There were few things the tinkerer loved more than Clockworks city. His own father had beamed with pride when they talked about the technological genius of the gnome people. Every brick, every steel girder and every copper wire was a testimony of brilliance. And yet, with all  the advancements, there was a cost.

There wasn’t enough power to sustain Clockworks indefinitely. For all their creativity and inventions, the tinkerers had never found a way to switch from natural resources such as coal, gas and wood. Resources that dwindled or no longer existed on the island of Pävärios. Morty’s father had seen the signs, as did his grandfather before him. The people were multiplying so fast and consuming every resource available, without thought to the future or future generations.

Shuffling back to the locker, Morty pulled the small black box from the shelf. He held the container gently, lightly rubbing his fingers over the cold surface of the metal. This was the answer to all the problems of the city. A secret his father had invented before Morty had been born. A form of perpetual power.

He set the box on the PROMIS platform and lifted the side latch, revealing a small hole. He opened the panel of the PROMIS and detached the primary electrical cables from the warehouse. Using a small adapter, he attached the cables to the small box.

Looking up at his device, he sighed.

“I have a dilemma, Cryo.” With the flick of a switch on the main dashboard, the huge machine he’d spent years of his life perfecting, hummed to life. The generator arms of PROMIS spun round at high speed, the primary power cell glowing brightly. He grinned at the sight, “My father found a way to create perpetual energy. It was to be his gift the Clockworks and to all Gnomekind.” The power cell pulsed, then flickered. “But after a lifetime of work…” Before Morty finished, the PROMIS seized up and froze, whining like a clogged garbage disposal.

He sighed again, “…he left me without a way to follow in his footsteps.”

Yanking the cable from the PROMIS, Morty detached the small cable from the black box. “This little thing produces enough energy to supply a computer,” he paused, “well, a laptop, with electricity, no more. When he passed away, I was left to work with it as the only example of the possibilities.” He patted the black box affectionately, “He said that if we worked hard, it could be the key to our city’s future.”

Cryo crackled, “So you are attempting to recreate the source of energy?”

Morty shook his head, “No. Not anymore. Nothing I have tried works—so I’ve dedicated my life to finding a way to amplify what my father has already created.”

A thin, flat beam of blue light emitted from the disc under Cryos face. It made several passes over the black box. Symbols appeared in the air around the AI’s head, spinning and connecting. At last the symbols vanished and the little blue face looked up at the tinkerer.

“If my calculations are correct, Dr. Teedlebaum, you may be a great deal closer to success than you realize.”