CHAPTER 16

NO ONE’S LOOKING

No one can make you study. No one can make you smarter.

Not really.

Sure, you might be compelled to go through the motions of learning, but a rebellious or refusing mind and heart won’t absorb or take advantage of opportunities presented.

It’s sad, really.

Yet when you find something you’re curious about, that curiosity can transform into passion.

That’s when learning fades to the background and the adventure truly begins.

Tossing the split wood into the growing pile, Wendell used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his brow.

He’d never chopped wood before.

Not that a home heated with a natural gas furnace needed wood to cook or keep warm, but it would have been nice to have experienced this sooner.

The heft of the axe, the satisfaction of throwing your body behind a blow, to provide an end product that could be used.

Wendell found the whole process enjoyable.

Mouse sat quietly under a nearby tree, tongue hanging free in a deep pant. Giant brown eyes watched the hero with mild fascination.

“You know, I wouldn’t mind if you came over here and helped.”

The hound gave a loud and sarcastic snort, then dropped his huge head on top of his paws.

Fine, Wendell grunted, swinging again, you sit there. Do nothing. I’d rather be chopping firewood than having my own head on the chopping block.

When he’d finally woken, the village was in turmoil.

Though Elsa’s home was at the edge of the community, Wendell heard screams at several points during the night. Screams of women and the angry shouts of men. There was little doubt in his mind that people had found bodies after what happened.

He didn’t want to stick around to find out.

While the village was a mass of fear and confusion, Wendell took the opportunity to slip away.

Did I do the wrong thing? He wondered now. Not like I could do anything to help. He paused after splitting a log. His legs felt heavy and weak, stomach churning at remembering the warm splash of blood against his face, neck, and chest.

He shuttered.

But I didn’t see it happen. It was dark, the wolves moved so fast I—

It didn’t matter now.

No one would have listened.

Jan had strongly encouraged him to keep silent and go with him to Silas’s farm at first light.

“The attacks might have been wolves, Wendell—but they’ll be looking for someone to blame.”

“Blame? How could you blame someone for—wait, as in blaming me? For an attack…by wild animals?” He’d tried hard to follow the logic, but Wendell couldn’t find any logic behind it. “That’s…insane,” he’d complained to Jan, “It doesn’t even make sense! It’s not like they’re my pets.”

The lumberjack waved off Wendell’s confused expression, “I understand that,” he agreed, “but that doesn’t mean the paranoia won’t find you and brand you if you’re not careful. You’re still the outsider. This village still has it’s own stories. It’s own legends, lore, superstitions, and prejudicies.”

As tragic and terrifying as the attacks had been, the villagers were an overly suspicious lot. Even Elsa agreed with Jan’s opinions.

“I know first had of this village blaming innocent people, Wendell,” she’d confessed, “Don’t take any chances.”

The whole thing made Wendell sick to his stomach.

Yet that overly nagging voice of reason within him wanted to know what happened to the young men who had been attacked.

“Let’s get to the farm as quickly as we can, Wendell,” Jan had urged. “If there’s trouble, trust me—it’ll find us among this community. Come on.” He gave Wendell a hardy pat on the back, “Silas will have work for us to do, which will give us both a distraction and an alibi. Besides, I need to help him meet today’s deadlines.”

Jan led them both through the woods at a steady pace, while Wendell couldn’t help but look over his shoulder. When they’d come to the main road leading up to Silas’s farm, they stayed in the center of the tracks until the barn and cottage came into view.

Silas was already up, having a hot drink and morning pipe on the front porch. His gigantic hounds were resting peacefully at his feet. As they approached, the old man waved his pipe and gave Wendell an approving nod. Evidently it was considered a sign of good work ethics to show up at dawn.

Silas immediately put Wendell to task.

The other half of the giant loft had to be emptied, extensive cobwebs removed, not to mention a family of mice relocated before he could have a comfortable place to live. Silas shoved a broom into Wendell’s hands, turned, and walked away.

Once that was done, Wendell returned and reported to the old woodcarver.

Silas gave him a list of specific chores to perform.

A long list.

Jan nudged Wendell with his elbow in passing, “He’s testing you. Don’t give up. It’ll get easier.” Patting Wendell on the shoulder, he’d added, “Besides, the more you do, the less I have to do—which leaves more time for the important work.”

I don’t mind, Wendell told himself. Work with my hands, the fresh air—and for once, I know what’s expected of me.

It was a nice change.

He swept the barn and house, restocked the wood in the shop, gathered eggs, picked pine nuts, and finally chopped wood for the winter.

It was the most work he’d done in a single day for quite some time.

Okay, ever.

The only challenge he had to forgo was milking the goats.

They did NOT like Wendell.

Not that they could talk, but every time he placed the bucket down to milk them, they’d give him a single glance, and step into the container. No matter what he did or how he’d followed Silas’s directions, those goats were determined to spoil his labors.

Wendell was so frustrated, he couldn’t remember their names. So he renamed them BBQ and Side Dish.

After four attempts and nothin but muddy milk to show for it, Silas had lost his patience. He told Wendell to go chop more wood instead.

It’s also manly work, Wendell smirked to himself. There are muscles in my body I never knew existed. He couldn’t help but smile, though.

There were so many benefits of being the host to Ithari.

Yes, she would heal Wendell—but the normal functions of life just came easier to him now. Fatigue had almost become a thing of the past. He could walk, run, and exert himself in normal ways without stopping. The sore muscles in his arms, back and shoulders faded within moments of stopping to wipe the sweat from his brow.

He glanced down at the dog.

“It may not be easy work, but it sure does feel good to get it done.” He eyed the massive pile of split wood, now ready to be consumed as fuel.

Mouse gave him a rather loud yawn, his deep pink tongue curling and stretching from the center of the hounds mouth.

Wendell chuckled and swung the axe with a grunt, splitting a log cleanly into two.

“Well done.”

Silas hobbled up the path to the small mound of earth, pausing to catch his balance against a large tree. “Finished already?”

“Not quite, but I’ll get it done soon enough.”

The old man rapped his knuckles lightly against the bark of the tree. “I’m very impressed with you, Wendell. Not that I didn’t believe the kind words of Elsa, Jan, or my own gut for that matter, but I’ve been wrong before. You’re a hard worker and I like that.”

Wendell scratched his head, “Can I get that in writing? My mother would love to hear that I’m actually doing my chores for a change.”

Silas guffawed. “It’ll take more that a first day to get my recommendation, but I’ll keep it under consideration.”

“Sounds fair.”

“You’ve got endurance I’ve rarely seen, that’s for certain.”

“It’s in the blood.”

Silas scoffed, “So you say. But I’m here to let you know that I’ve got Downing with me to take a delivery into town. Daylights waning, so when you’re done here, look about the farm and cottage and get familiar with where things are. Wood, tools, books, paperwork, food, outhouse.”

Shifting his weight from one foot to the other, Silas leaned heavily against the nearest tree. “I can always use another set of hands while I’m working, and I want to keep Downing busy in the shop, not on the farm. So it’s helpful if you know where things are when I ask for them.” He leaned down and tapped one of the leg braces. “Saves time.”

Wendell nodded.

“You need anything from town while I’m there?” He raised an eyebrow, “Put a rumor or two to rest, perhaps?”

Wendell frowned. “Sir?”

Reaching down, Silas scratched the patch of fur between Mouse’s ears.

The hounds chest rumbled with delight, his long tail flapping from side to side.

“I’ve been around a sight longer than you, boy, and I know magic when I see it.” He looked up from the hound, his expression serious, but kind. “Don’t bother feeding me the line about healing mägoweave, either. Those suits are rare, cost close to a kingdom and they only have enough juice to keep one from dying until the victim can get to a true healer. So either you have connections with the University of Magic and they’ve designed something new in the way of magical cloth, or I’ve got a mägo living on the premises.”

Wendell gulped.

Silas stared just long enough to make him uncomfortable.

“If the idiots in the village learn you’re practicing magic, it won’t be from me.” Tapping his temple with his index finger, “But I’d be careful. The village may be idiots, but they’re not stupid. Do you understand the difference?”

Wendell paused. “I—I think so.”

“People tend to notice flares of bright white light in the night. If you’re not careful they’ll also notice a boy who heals faster than their own brats running into trees and bullies.”

Into trees? Wendell snorted. “Oh. Got it.”

“You seem to be a good youth, Wendell. You work hard, you have manners too rare to be a lie, and my hounds like you…a lot. You’re free to be whoever you are while you’re here on the farm, away from prying eyes—just be careful when you’re around others.”

Again he reached down to a leg brace, this time rubbing his damaged limb. “I can’t protect you once you leave my land.”

Silas straightened up slowly, patting Mouse on the head.

“Sir?”

“Hmmm?”

“Why?”

Silas cocked his head to the side, “Why?”

Wendell set down the axe and wiped the rest of the sweat from his brow. “Why keep my secret? Why even allow me to be here, knowing who or what I am? Why protect me?”

The curious look blended into one of amusement. “That’s a lot of why’s.”

“I don’t mean to sound rude or be so blunt, Silas, but I’ve trusted many people over the last year. Many of them haven’t been,” he paused, trying to find the right word.

“…kind.”

The woodcarver pondered for a moment, “You want to know my motivation.”

Wendell nodded.

Shifting his weight against the tree, he considered.

“Let’s say that I detest what the world has become. A place I once saw as beautiful and miraculous has grown cold and uninviting. Hurts my heart to see children growing up in a world that hardly resembles the one I knew when I was their age. Curiosity replaced hatred when I was younger. Other races were not only welcome, leaders on both sides encouraged interaction. Free trade not only produced open commerce, it created friendships, alliances and a safer, more secure world for everyone.”

His words faded off, his expression distant. Wendell watched him patiently, waiting.

“I don’t want to leave this embarrassment of a society as an inheritance for your generation, Wendell. They’ve lost confidence in the adults—the people running this show, and it’s our fault. Maybe not for all the messes around us, but it is most certainly our fault for not correcting the problems we can see and identify.” He glanced over at Wendell, a weak smile trying to gain control of his apparent sadness, “So when I see a young man striving to be honest with himself, I want to help. That’s all.”

Wendell considered that.

In many ways Silas reminded him of Chuck. A good man who just wanted to support others and help them become the best person a person could be.

For a moment, he considered sharing the whole truth.

About who he was and what he carried.

…but his gut thought differently.

If anyone was going to change this world for the better, it was going to be through people like Silas. People like Chuck, Dax, Alhannah, Elsa, Jan, those Iskari who’d reached out to Wendell in Sanctuary…Wood.

People who had shown love, patience and acceptance without Wendell asking for it.

…because it was in their nature.

There seemed to be more people wanting to make a change in this world than he’d realized.

Maybe there were more.

Wendell discovered a lump in his throat and swallowed. “Thank you.”

Silas waved the comment away. “No, boy—thank you. For reminding me that the efforts and hopes of an old man still matter.” He pushed off the tree and straightened himself. “With all the sightings of wolves, best to leave Mouse here with you. We may be some time in town—a wagon is coming up from the valley to take that doublewide table. We’ll be waiting at The Den until they arrive.” He pointed to the chopping stump, “You just remember to put my favorite axe back in the barn when you’re done. Don’t leave it exposed to the elements.”

With that, Silas turned and walked back to the house.

Wendell sat down next to the giant canine, stretching his legs in front of him.

“He’s a good man.” Glancing at Mouse, who was still staring at Silas waddling down the path, “But you already knew that.”

That got the dogs attention. His big, rounded head turned, chocolate brown eyes looking up into Wendell’s.

“I can’t help but wonder how much you actually understand.” Wendell tapped the gem through his shirt, his nail making a solid ‘PLINK’ sound as he did. “The Ithari let me communicate with a small dragon once—but I already mentioned that.” He grinned wide, “It was amazing. Some kind of ESP, Vulcan mind meld thingy with an animal. I could almost,” and he looking into Mouse’s eyes.

Lingering.

Straining.

Mouse yawned.

Both hands finally reached out and scratched the dogs giant muzzle.

“Never mind. It’s silly. Dogs don’t talk and to be honest, I’m not completely sure if that happened or not.”

But that didn’t feel true.

Wendell had made a strong connection with the dragon, and when he was trying to escape with his life, that same dragon had sacrificed itself to save him.

Didn’t it?

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Okay, I’m not crazy then.

“That would be incredible though, wouldn’t it? To be able to speak with each other—you and me?” He scratched Mouse again behind an ear. One of his rear paws started thumping on the ground as he did so.

I gotta figure out how to tap into that ability of yours, Ithari. Talking with animals would be SO useful.

No answer.

Oh, come on. You and I are going to have to work on this introvert attitude you have. You know that, right?

Reaching into his pocket, Wendell pulled out his coin purse. During the early morning hours, Jacob and Kale had snuck out of the house and went looking for signs of the wolf attack. Both boys had complained to Elsa that punishing them hadn’t been fair.

They hadn’t found any dead bodies, to their disappointment.

What they had discovered was Wendell’s discarded coin purse. So bringing it back safe and sound, without being eaten themselves, the boys felt they should have been allowed to go hunting with their bows.

That courage and determination both shocked and impressed Wendell.

“It’s high time I start acting more like those two. Taking a few more chances. Throwing myself into the mix and…,” he fumbled in thought.

What should I be learning?

“I should be learning more about magic,” he said aloud.  Yeah, that’s right. Magic. “With an open invitation to be whoever I am, shouldn’t I do something more?”

He let his head droop forward, staring at Mouse, his voice dropping several octaves. “But Wendell, you don’t have a teacher to show you the way…”

His voice rose sharply, “That’s a great point, Mouse. Very perceptive of you. But what I haven’t told you, is that I discovered something more than just gold, silver and gems in my coin pouch.” His eyes grew wide in an over-exaggerated expression.

“What could that be?” he said in the deep voice.

“I discovered books the great Morphiophelius bought for my mägo education!”

Mouse yawned again.

Wendell wiggled one of the dogs ears. “Oh, you THINK this is boring, but within this tiny bag are the secrets of the magical universe…”

Opening the pouch, Wendell gave the inside a quick glance, then plunged his hand through the opening. Scraping at the coins, he dug deeper, pushing gold and silver aside until his arm sunk in past his elbow.

He’d watched Chuck push the thick publications into the bag when they’d visited Perspicacious, so he knew they fit.

Well, it fit by whatever method magic allowed it to fit—but it was IN there. And when he’d dumped all those coins out at Elsa’s home, those same books had fallen through the opening during his bag-shaking.

Wendell’s fingers brushed against something rounded and softer then coins. Using two fingers and his thumb, he gave the object a tug, pulling it up from the sea of wealth.

It was most definitely a book.

He adjusted his grip and tugged.

And tugged.

…and yanked, grunting under his breath.

For some reason the book would not slide past the rim of the bag and through the opening.

What is wrong with you? The money comes in and out without a problem, why can’t…

Placing one foot on the corner of the coin pouch and gripping the fabric of the opening with one hand, Wendell put his back into it and yanked again.

The book simply wouldn’t come out.

“How am I supposed to read a book I can’t get to, Chuck!?” He grunted again, trying to fold the volume, but it was a hard cover.

It wouldn’t bend.

There has to be a way to… he started to say to himself, then had an idea.

Reaching back into the bag, Wendell got a firm grip on the book. Picturing the publication to slide right through the opening without a problem whatsoever…he expected the book to come out.

Just like his mägoweave clothing, which changed according to his will, the coin purse reacted. A thick, greenish blue, cloth-covered book slid out of the pouch without a problem, and into his lap with a…

“Woof!” Wendell chuckled with triumph. “Now THAT’s a book.”

He hefted it in front of him with anticipation. “This thing has to weigh at least ten pounds!”

He gave a side-glance to Mouse, “Not sure I’m going to get used to that—doing the whole Tardis trick, but it looks fun, huh.”

Mouse yawned.

“You know, TARDIS…bigger on the inside? Okay, never mind. Used to be a great show, anyway.” Just thought I’d share some memories.

Setting the book gingerly on his lap, Wendell pulled the drawstring closed on the coin purse and slipped it back into his pocket.

This is it, he told himself. The next step in taking control of my own life.

Not that Wendell hadn’t made choices for himself.

He had.

But this was the first time he was committed to taking full responsibility for himself and working towards his Hero responsibilities, without the aide of others.

Like Chuck, for the book.

…and the coin purse.

…and the mägoweave.

…and the initial training.

Okay, I’m not as independent as I thought, but I’m here now and I’m taking the NEXT step on my own, right?

“Right,” he said with mock conviction.

Now that he had the magical book in front of him, it looked…intimidating.

With a deep breath, Wendell lifted the worn and stained cover to his face. “Prestidigitation & Legerdemain — Why Wands Are For Wusses & Brooms Are For Bums — by,” he squinted, “Can’t make out—woah.”

The cover had a silver embossed crest of a wand crossed with a broomstick, and a thick red line running diagonally through both of them. The title presented itself in a bold golden type, but the authors name looked more like a small set of uncomfortable worms.

Each time Wendell tried to read the name, the letters would suddenly shift and keep moving until he started to glance away. Only in his peripheral vision did he see a name, but it was too faded for him to make it out.

“These mägo sure are a paranoid group.”

The canine let our an enormous yawn.

“You can’t be bored—it’s time to learn some magic and expand our tool set!”

Gripping the volume by the top corners, he placed the volume squarely on his lap, and flipped open the front cover like an eager child who’d just ran away with the whole cookie jar.

****

The sun was sinking steadily behind the horizon when Wendell came to his realization.

I have no idea what any of this means.

“Seven Disciplines of magic? Intelligences? Bloodlines?” Wendell let out a snort of disgust. “Oh, and let’s not forget the words I can’t even pronounce! GAHHH!!”

Then again, Wendell quickly realized that he should be grateful he could even read a portion of what was contained in the book. Most of what he looked at was in plain English.

But was English even English?

Chuck was adamant about nothing being unique or original in the Universe—that everything had been done before except the actual labor you performed with your own hands.

By that logic it would mean that this language could be a repeat of the one he’d grown up learning back on earth.

Hmmmm.

That wasn’t too hard to except. But why couldn’t he read the rest of it?

Well, you don’t know how to speak Spanish, Greek or Russian either.

He sighed, frustrated.

Looks like school is a part of your future, no matter what.

Dropping the book on the rock beside him, Wendell stretched out in the sunlight.

You’re not exactly a lot of help, either. An index finger clinked the gem under his shirt.

Isn’t their some special ability that allows me to read anything in any language, even though I flunked Spanish class three times?

Tha-Thump-Thump.

I didn’t think so.

Mouse snored peacefully in the sunlight.

“What’s that you say, Wendell? YOU said you were smart enough to do this on your own, didn’t you? YOU said you couldn’t be the hero unless you did it withOUT help, didn’t you?”

He scowled.

Sounds stupid when I say it out loud.

What was wrong with getting help anyway? Especially when you actually need help?

The whole situation churned in Wendell’s mind. The more he thought about it, the more infuriating it seemed.

He’d been willing to do whatever it took to become the hero the people wanted. What the leaders of the people wanted—especially the Iskari High Council. After all, the greatest artifact in the history of this world had reached out and adopted him…

He shook his head, irritated.

We’ve been over and over this, Wendell. Countless times.

Welllll, that’s not true.

Wendell rested his hand over the center of his chest.

If we’re being honest, I think you were more like the Borg in a Star Trek movie.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Oh yes you were! I remember distinctly screaming for it you to stop, dangling in the air like some human piñata and you were all ‘YOU WILL BE ASSIMULATED’.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Wendell pondered on the adventures he’d already had.

How long has it been now? Close to a year? Longer?

And he’d seen and done things most people back home couldn’t even imagine.

“And you’ve been there with me the whole time, making sure I didn’t die.” He winced. “Permanently, I mean.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

It wasn’t all bad.

In fact, most of it wasn’t bad. Sure, there were bad people, and bad situations, but Wendell was starting to see most things as challenges, not problems.

That’s what Dax had said.

What Chuck had said as well.

Look at all this as challenges, not problems.

But how was he, a kid from Earth, supposed to become some mighty champion without direction and instruction?

“Each step forward seems to knock me five steps back,” he mumbled. “Or life yanks me in another direction, whether I want it to or not.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

“What the…,” he exclaimed, hands snapping out to steady himself.

Like curtains pulled over his eyes, the surrounding forest faded, replaced by memories flashing before him in vibrant color.

He watched himself getting split up from his party and nearly killed traveling to Til-Thorin by falling into a ravine.

The village invasion flashed before him next, where he’d met Evan there blacksmith.

In a flash, he stood by and watched himself being burned alive by magic.

Before he could question the even, the scene flashed to when he’d been revived in Clockworks City.

Learning to pilot a S.L.A.G..

Making friends,…only to be kidnapped and thrown down a garbage chute.

Then it got worse.

He’d helped a group of abandoned gnomes escape from the furnace, only to be kidnapped again, tortured, beaten…

Why are you showing me this? I get it. When I tried to play the part I was asked to play, bad things happened.

Until now.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

But that wasn’t the truth.

…and he knew it.

“I made my own choices,” he whispered, “Every time.”

Tha-Thump-Thump.

“And my friends chose to back me…every time.”

Tha-Thump-Thump!

Now he’d run away from his friends.

This is stupid. Stupid, stupid, STUPID, Wendell, he grumbled. Why would you leave the only group of people who have been there for you at every turn?

This wasn’t about taking responsibility for himself.

He shook his head with a snap. “STOP IT, Wendell. You read the letter. The words changed again and that thing is the only advice that’s been right every time. EVERY time! You’re just doing what it told you to do.”

Lies.

You’re lying to yourself Wendell.

There’s no one here.

No one to judge or blame you right here, right now—so stop lying!

All the self-motivation, the internal pep talks, the positive perspectives he tried to glean from those around him had been used to hide the truth.

Wendell was a coward, not a hero.

He didn’t want it to be true.

But it was.

“In not a fighter,” he admitted weakly. “I’m not even very good at running away.”

He was good at getting beat up.

A lot.

Sad thing was, now with the Ithari healing him, the Universe had the ability and opportunity to beat Wendell up even more.

Which it did.

But you can’t save a world by being a cosmic punching bag.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Stop it, Ithari. At some point, I’m going to have to actually win a fight. Not like last night—throwing cheap shots, but actually get in a fight and win that fight.

Tha-Thump-Thump.

Forget what the High Elder said, or the views of the Iskari High Council. Why did the Universe bring an 18 year old nerd from Earth to this planet?

That’s what still confused Wendell, and that confusion caused his face to crumple around it.

It didn’t make sense.

Even with all the miracles and amazing experiences, that lack of understanding the WHY…continued to plague his mind.

“Why am I here?”

The scenes faded and the forest appeared again before him.

“Why would you choose ME, Ithari?”

Wendell lifted the book onto his chest and stared at the cover.

“Honestly?”

Chuck knew.

He knows way too much to be innocent in all this.

Wendell recalled all the pop culture references that seemed to seep out when they’d talk causally.

It was a sign.

It had to be.

You always have a reason to do what you do, he smirked. I might not have a clue what that reason could possibly BE—but you always seem to have a reason.

So what are you going to do now, Wendell? Maybe you made the right choice in running. Maybe you didn’t.

Too late now. So what’s the next move??

He flipped to the table of contents.

“You bought me these books to help teach me about magic. You have also encouraged me to be a hero. There has to be something in here that…,” frowning, “The Overhand Shuffle, The Rifle Shuffle, The Palm…hmmm, or not.”

He let his fingers trace each chapter heading, page after page, until it stopped on, “Beyond Routines”

Wendell turned to the thick black paper separating sections of the book. It contained a large gold crest in the center of the page. Within the fold of golden bird wings, it read, ‘SECTION TWO: BEYOND ROUTINES’.

Turning the page, Wendell read aloud.

“The purpose of this volume has always been to encourage those who practice the true mysteries of magic. To go beyond the use of props as crutches and look instead to the foundations from which our noble profession came. Not in the use of wands and artifacts, for these things too often become crutches and hinder our potential as the workers of wonder.

“No, the purpose of this book is to assist the developing mägo mind and body, linking it to our fundamental knowledge of the elements. Only then can we even begin to unlock the secrets of the Seven Rings—and truly discover our place within them.”

Seven Rings? When did we get into Tolkien?

“Consider the use of a single element, such as fire. Much can be accomplished by using the delicate yet precise hand gestures with tuli.”

Tuli?

Flipping through the pages slowly, Wendell scanned the words surrounding small sketches until he found some that looked easier (a.k.a. ‘possible’) to pronounce.

“Paylo.”

“Paee-low,” he tried again, but shook his head. “That’s not right.” Flipping the page, he found another sketch—one with a person blowing or whistling.

“Imar—, what the…uhhh, Emarvvv—tra?” Scratching his head, “Well I butchered THAT one, eh?”

Th-THUMP-Thump.

“Be quiet, you. Unless you’re going to help me, here, I don’t need your criticism piggybacking my own self-flogging.”

I should try something. Anything for that matter.

Flipping through the pages, Wendell scanned for a word that might show an example in a sketch—much like the whistling or blowing one he’d found.

Tapping his finger against a sketch of a fire within a hearth, Wendell grinned with satisfaction. “Paylo it is.”

Other than the growing collection of chopped wood, the clearing was devoid of any fuel in which flames could destroy. Dirt, minor weeds… “Nothing here to get destroyed by trying a little experiment, right Mouse?”

Mouse rolled to his other side and snorted.

“Exactly.”

Wendell set aside the book and stood up.

“First things first.”

With a spark of will and a clear picture in mind, bluejeans, sneakers and that all-too familiar smiling face on a black t-shirt covered his body once more.

Wendell looked down to an excited smiley face, who gave him an encouraging wink of support.

He winked back. “I can use all the support I can get.”

Mouse gave them both a lazy glance, turned his head, and went back to sleep under the tree.

What do you think Ithari, should I give this a go?

Th-THUMP-Thump.

I agree. So long as you just said, ‘Wendell, I have the utmost confidence in you and think you should do whatever it takes to become the most powerful mägo in the world.’

Th-THUMP-Thump.

Sweet.

Putting some distance between himself, the woodpile, and the sleeping hound, Wendell did a little stretching to warm up.

Arms wide out.

Knee bends.

A dozen jumping jacks.

Where’s the Rocky soundtrack when you need it? “Alrighty then,” he rubbed his hands together. “Lets do a little test of the word, shall we?”

Looking down at a small splintered piece of wood on the ground, he whispered “Palo.”

Nothing happened.

“Huh.” Maybe I didn’t say that right.

He cleared his throat.

“Powlow.”

Nothing happened.

Wendell grunted and folded his arms, never taking his gaze from the target.

Why isn’t this going. Am I saying this correctly?

“Wait, wait. Isn’t there that little symbol over the ‘a’…those two dots? That didn’t say ‘ay’…it says ‘ah’. So that means—ah-HAH!”

Clearing his throat again, Wendell dug in his toes and prepared to run.

“Pälo.”

Nothing happened.

Head rolling back, “OH COME ON! I don’t even get credit for figuring out pronunciation ON MY OWN? Well that’s just—,” and then a smirk slithered across his face.

“Ohhh, waaaait a second.”

Chucks voice echoed inside Wendell’s head: Part of magic is directly connected the intent of the caster.

That made sense.

Wendell could only call forth light by speaking the word välo while holding a visual in his mind. If he changed that visual of how bright the light was and spoke the word teho he changed the intensity of that light.

So why would the new spell be any different?

“Right,” he mumbled, “let’s provide a little intent behind this, shall we?”

Focusing once more upon the small wood piece, Wendell imagined the heat of a flame, feeling it upon his own skin, the soft color and flickering movement of red and orange—all of it engulfing the wood. Once he had that image in place, he blurted, “PÄLO!”

…and everything burst into flame.

The wood, the grass, the rocks and even the dirt below it all combusted.

“YES!” Throwing both hands high above his head Wendell danced about the flame triumphantly. “NOW who needs Rocky theme music? Uh-HUH…I DO!” Punching up into the air, he shook his hips from side to side. “Duh-duh-duh-duh, duh-duh-duh-duh…

Gettin' strong now

Coming on, now

Gettin' strong now!”

The circle of fire looked EXACTLY like the picture he’d held in his mind.

Well, other than the size of it.

And the color of the flame—which was more of a blue tint, than a red and yellow one.

Or what it consumed.

…and it was a circle, not a single little flame.

But other than that, it was exactly the same.

“This is going to redefine the BBQ movement when the neighbors come over for dinner,” he smirked at Mouse.

Who rolled away from him in mid-snore.

Holding his hand out, Wendell could feel the flame giving off a heat—though not as great as he’d expect from such a large fire. The wind didn’t seem to bother it much either. The fire didn’t sway much, even in the light breeze. After several minutes of gawking at his grand creation of independent magic, Wendell noticed something strange.

It wasn’t going out.

Uhhhhh.

Minute after minute, the flames maintained their height and width…even after the small piece of wood itself had been consumed to ash.

In fact, the small rocks were starting to look a little droopy, taking on a new orange glow.

That’s odd. Why isn’t it dying out?

With light, all he had to do was will the source to vanish and it would. Yet as hard as Wendell concentrated, he couldn’t get the flames to die down, let alone die out.

Now what?

With a small flick of his boot, Wendell kicked some fresh dirt over the flames.

Other than a momentary flicker, the flames kept going.

Picking up a handful of dirt, he held it over the flames and let the gravel and soil slowly drop into the circle.

Again a few sizzles and popping sounds, but the flames didn’t die down in the least.

“Okay, this isn’t good.” What was he supposed to tell Silas about the fire he’d started in the back woods of his property? What if the wind increased? Would the flames spread? But he guessed the answer to that—seeing the breeze wasn’t affecting the flames. But what if a tree fell down in a storm, crossing into the circle? Would the whole thing catch fire and eventually feed the flames to the whole forest?

“Great,” he sighed, “I’ve killed the forest.”

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Right. You’re right—this is crazy talk. I don’t even know if a tree would fall down over the circle.

Walking to the tree-line, Wendell scooped a double handful of muddied snow and dropped it into the circle.

With a loud PSHHHH…the flames blinked out.

“Maybe it’s the opposite needs to be applied. Fire needs water?”

Mouse yawned loudly and stretched out his legs.

You’re just guessing at this point, Wendell. There’s no way to know yet. You need to talk with someone who has experience or read more of this book. He let a huge grin encompass his face.

BUT WAY TO GO MR. MERLIN!

Not bad for your first solo magical adventure. He fixed his attention on the steaming pile of mud.

What about controlling it, though?

With light, Wendell could control the brightness and even the movement of light to coordinate with his will.

I wonder if that would work with flame?

Images of Til-Thorin seeped into his mind. The dark mägo, a race he now knew as Täuku, pulled fire from the torches around him. Wendell’s heart beat faster, fingers tugging at the collar of his shirt. Beads of sweat rolled over the yellow brow of the smiley, bright white teeth biting its upper lip nervously.

Flame had leapt from the scones and burned within the palms of that creature.

Fire that was captured, molded, controlled.

Hey, maybe that’s it?

Every time Wendell had watched Chuck perform magic there had been some kind of hand gesture or motion. Something in addition to the words, even if it was a wave or shake of his beloved staff.

Focusing his attention on the puddle of ash, Wendell held the image of the light-blue flame once more, but this time opened his hands wide, imitating a TV magician by making some elaborate motions with his fingers.

“Pälo,” he uttered with a heavy breath.

A rock sunk deeper into the muck.

“That doesn’t make sense. What happened?” Scratching his forehead, Wendell walked through the steps carefully.

I focused on the spot I wanted to flame to appear, then I created the mental image of flame leaping from my hands to the spot that I had chosen. Then I made the cool hand motions… and Wendell looked at his hands.

“Woah…WOAH, WOAH, UH-UH——AHHHHH!!!!”

His hands were completely engulfed in blue and orange flame.

“I’M ON FIRE!” he screamed, “I’M BURNING!!”

For several moments, he waved his arms about wildly, the flames making trails of light in the air, but not diminishing.

So he threw himself on the ground.

“STOP, DROP…” he hit the ground with a thud, “AND ROLL!!” Throwing his body into the motion, Wendell rolled around and around, his arms outstretched. “OW! OW! IT HURTS SO BADLY, IT HUR—”

He sat up.

“Wait a minute.”

Wendell looked down at his flaming blue hands.

And started laughing.

“IT DOESN’T HURT!”

Turning his palms over and over again, he studied the flames closely. Wendell could feel the slight warmth from them on his face, neck and chest, but not his hands.

This has to be one of the coolest things…ever.

He picked up a rock in his hand. Then with a spark of will, focused on burning the rock.

The blue light flared brighter—and the rock quickly turned from a dingy grey to bright orange, melting in his palm.

Drops of the magma hit the ground between his legs.

“Ow!” He scooted back. “That IS hot,” he exclaimed, and carefully dropped the rest of the magma away from his body.

So the magical flame can burn without hurting me, but the heat I create with it can harm me?

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

Wendell closed his eyes and imagined the flames diminishing and blinking out.

Nothing happened.

“Oh come on,” he grunted, wiggling his fingers in front of his face. “The visuals are connected, Wendell. But flames apparently don’t just go out, like light does.”

Water had affected the flames immediately, though.

Refocusing on his hands, Wendell imagined the flames becoming cold, as water ran over them.

The flames blinked out.

“WooHOO! Rocky may be the best boxer, but the Wendellizer is the only man in town with a flaming punch!”

Hopping to his feet, Wendell did a victory dance, which did not impress any of the forest creatures.

Panting and grinning to himself, “Okay, now to make sure I got all this right.”

With that, he concentrated.

“Pälo.”

Wendell’s hand burst into flame.

Dousing the flames in his mind, they blinked out.

Flames.

Out.

Flames.

Out.

…and one for the road… Holding the image of an arch, the flames leaping from his hand down to the original circle of flame, Wendell made a throwing motion with one hand.

A ball of blue flame lept from his hand, the size of a basketball, and struck the target with a…BOOM!

Wendell stumbled back and fell to the ground, while Mouse let out a loud yelp and jumped up into a defensive couch, growing.

In the center of the opening was a small indentation of ground, small flaming fragments scattered about. Blue flame was scattered everywhere.

“Alright,” he gulped, “cool, but stupid there, Wendell.” Waving his hand outward, the flames blinked out, including the those engulfing his hands. “I think that’s more than enough playing with fire today, don’t you think?”

Mouse relaxed slightly and gave a loud snort.

Grinning, “At least we know I’m not completely stupid. Right? I figured this out!” Wendell made a wiggle motion of excitement.

To which Mouse turned around in a circle and plopped back down under the tree. His gargantuan mouth opened wide in a yawn, his large pink tongue curling upward.

“Fine. You take another important nap, and I’ll figure this out all-on-my-own.” He scratched his head and pondered for a moment. “Let’s stay away from the destructive stuff. At least until we have a better grasp of what we’re doing. Yeahhhh, that’s probably a smart plan.”

Opening the book to where he’d been searching before, he found the sketch of the person doing what looked a lot like blowing a kiss at someone. The struggle here was most of the page was in the language he couldn’t actually read. The only word that looked pronounceable was the one directly under the sketch.

“Eemavertah,” he fumbled verbally. Crinkling his nose, “Ugh—that sounds horrible. Oh, crud, there’s an ‘L’ in there too.” Silently sounding out the word, Wendell tried to find the beat—or the emphasis.

The word also has two sets of those double dots.

Confident he had it somewhat close, Wendell made an open arm gesture, as if spreading seeds in a garden and called out, “EEL-mah-ver-tah!”

The moment the word left Wendell’s lips, a gust of wind ripped through the forest and pummeled him in the back.

Howling as it came through the trees, the force knocked him flat on his face with a ‘WOOF’ and sent Mouse rolling through the dirt to whack against the trunk of the tree he was lying under.

“Not…what I…had in…mind,” he choked out, though the sound of Wendell’s words was instantly swallowed up in the current.

It wasn’t what he’d expected.

Pushing against the wind, Wendell tried to get to his feet, but failed. Each attempt to stand up ended throwing him a few feet back to land on his rear, Mouse howling in the background.

Putting his head down, Wendell put his fingers into the ground, he crawled towards the book, which slid, inch by inch, towards the tree Mouse was under.

What’s the opposite of wind, he pondered. A vacuum? But that didn’t sound right.

Silence.

Clenching his eyes tight, Wendell imagined the wind dying down to a complete and near eerie silence.

…and the gust vanished.

Collapsing to the ground, Wendell took several heavy breaths and then rolled onto his back.

“I…,” he gasped, raising his forearm into the air, index finger extended, “am gonna call that a complete success.”

“I told you it was him,”…came a faint, yet high-pitched voice.

Wendell flipped his head about trying to locate the sound, but it was bouncing through the tree line.

“Hello? Who’s there!?”

After a short pause, “Don’t tell me to be quiet—I’m not some lackey you get to boss around. That’s the hero, I’m telling you!”

Wendell got up slowly, trying to pinpoint the sound, when suddenly Mouse uttered a sharp bark.

A high-pitch screeching erupted from the ground nearby.

The big hound had already gotten to his feet and was sniffing under a nearby tree, his tail perfectly still—slightly curled down between his legs.

Wendell dashed to his side. “What is it, boy?”

The remains of a nest lay upon the ground, completely crushed and torn apart. Scattered around the spotted grass and mud were the bodies of five small chicks and the larger body of their mother. In the center was a single chick, still squawking with a wing bent the opposite way.

Wendell gasped. “Ohhhh, no, no, no…I’m so—”

Kneeling down, he took each broken body and placed them in the center, within the remains of the nest. Once the mother was joined to her offspring, he tenderly scooped up the baby bird and held it close to his chest. “I am SO sorry, little one. It didn’t even occur to me that…” he looked up at Mouse. “Come on, boy—time to get back to the barn, and see if we can save our new friend.”

Mouse let out a short huff and then wandered over to scratch at the binding of Wendell’s book.

“You’re right. I can’t leave that here. Not that anyone would come wandering this way.” But he looked over his shoulder, scanning the tree line. “So I’ll tell you what, you take our new friend and I’ll carry the book.”

Another snort.

“Well I can’t carry both and attend to our friend properly. So I either leave the book, or I place Birdie on your back.”

Leaning down, Wendell placed the tiny bird within the folds of Mouse’s immense tuff of collar fur. The bird continued to chirp in bouts of pain. Maybe it was frustration.

Either way, the thing was hurting.

Snatching up the book of magic and giving the forest another wary glance, they quickly walked down the path towards the barn.