Chronicles Starter Pack (chronicles Of A Hero Books 1-3) 1o5e6f

Praise for Chronicles of a Hero

Jaime is an amazingly talented storyteller, artist, and illustrator. The first time I saw his work I was blown away -- and he’s only gotten better since.

International & NYTimes Best Selling Author, Barry Eisler

The writing in Prelude to a Hero was incredible. The narrating and inner thoughts of Wendell (the main character) were really amusing. You know that awkward guy who never tries to be funny, but everything he does and says just becomes hilarious? Wendell is that person.

Olivia, SWEDEN

My one regret? ... I want more of the story! I will be waiting...

Micah, USA

I must dedicate part of this review to the author, Jaime Buckley. This guy is a genius. The effort and heart he has obviously put into his work, the characters

and this world is mind-blowing. Although he claims to be 'just a boring human', this is definitely not the case.

Books That Spark, UK

It has been a very long time since I have been deeply moved by a book. And you know you have found a great book when you want to slap the author and give the author a hug at the same time, when you take some of the plot turns personally.

Nathan Dilts, USA

I must it that this fun tale had me giggling throughout. Jaime Buckley makes good use of Wendell's hilariously unaware and over-the-top personality. He says and thinks the most absurd things at opportune moments, making it difficult not to like him. The use of punctuation and general formatting also help to further emphasize the humor.

Lisa, Australia

Chuck manages hilarious insanity while being resourcefully aware of how to get out of situations either dangerous or downright scary! Dax is sorta... wellkinda... maybe a little... yeah. I’ll get back to you on that! As for the hero Wendell-- MY LIFE STORY!!! ‘Cept I’m a gal -and minus all the “worlds depend on what you accomplish” sort of pep talk he gets.

Olivia Ray, USA

Chronicles Starter Pack

Books 1-3 of Chronicles of a Hero series

Jaime Buckley

On The Fly Publications

Make sure the story doesn’t end with this book. Magic. Humor. Adventure. Get to know the crazy author behind the stories.

https://www.subscribepage.com/chronicles-email-list

Where To Find Everything

JaimeBuckley.com

CHRONICLES STARTER PACK

Chronicles of a Hero #1-3

Copyright © 2021 Jaime D. Buckley. All Rights Reserved.

Prelude to a Hero © 2010 Jaime D. Buckley.

Race to Til-Thorin © 2010 Jaime D. Buckley.

Into the Fire © 2011 by Jaime D Buckley.

You can find all the information about this book and series by visiting wantedhero.com

Published by On The Fly Publications

Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this

publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

Printed in the USA

This book is dedicated to those who want to find the hero in themselves. It’s there. I promise. You just need to know where to look!

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Introduction

BOOK ONE

Preface

1. Trust

2. Hero?

3. Bamph!

4. Reality

5. Ouch

6. Hell

7. Distracted

8. Vallen

9. Committed

Epilogue

BOOK TWO

Prologue

10. Kisses And Vomit

11. Chuck’s Cottage

12. Old As Dirt

13. Unexpected

14. Black Market

15. Bite Me

16. Next Stop

17. Roadkill Tavern

18. Escape

19. Council Meeting

20. Mahan

21. Tämä-Un

22. Ambush

23. Return Of The King

24. Law Of Dominion

25. Bad News

26. Run

BOOK THREE

Prologue

27. Dreams

28. No Choice

29. Discovered

30. Miracles

31. Evan

32. Breakout

33. Awake

34. Company

35. Urgent Message

36. Under Attack

37. Death In The Woods

38. Hiram

39. Joram

40. Hunting Party

41. Back On Track

42. The Naked Truth

43. Muscle And Sinew

44. The King And I

45. Rerun

46. Storm

47. Into The Fire

48. Shadows

49. Trapped

50. Voices

51. Post Script

52. Attack

53. Broken Glass

54. Misunderstanding

55. The Final Peace

56. Unforeseen Ending

Epilogue

the List

LEAVE A REVIEW

Authors Note

About the Author

Bonus Material

More Books by Jaime Buckley

Introduction

PSSST! Hey, you. Yes, you—reading this book. There is an unequivocal truth about you… and the world is going to do everything in its power to convince you otherwise. But I got to you first, thank goodness. That truth is:

You are MORE than you THINK you are!

That might sound simple, but it’s not. The world doesn’t want me to tell you that you have intrinsic value as an individual. The world doesn’t want me to tell you that your value doesn’t come from being smart, good looking, talented, wealthy, gifted, or popular. You have value because you exist! The world is going to try and isolate you…make you feel small, insignificant, scared, alone, and encourage you to walk away from responsibility and ability. Society wants you to blame others and play the victim, because society itself is designed to promote selfishness, arrogance, and to distract you, as it manipulates freedoms and limits your choices. The world doesn’t WANT you to know that you ARE amazing, powerful, strong,

full of brilliant potential… And that you are NOT a mistake! The Universe created you on purpose, for a purpose. It’s YOUR job to find out what that purpose is. To this adventure to find and create the very best YOU possible! Personally, I believe you are meant to be a HERO. To be the amazing person this world needs, by doing for others what they cannot do for themselves. …and I’m going to show you how. So sit back, turn the page…and let me tell you a story… ~The Narrator

BOOK ONE

PRELUDE TO A HERO

Preface

We knew we were the center of the universe. We knew the Earth was flat. We knew nothing existed smaller than the naked eye could see. We knew only birds and bugs could fly upon the wind. Yes, we knew so many things…even if it was only for a moment. There is so much more to see than our little world; a vast universe of conflicts and miracles to which we are blind. Limiting our imaginations by our perceptions, we would never believe the actual truth. What if both science and religion were right? If theology was mathematical perfection and science was the perfect religion? What if battles between good and evil were real…and so were gods and devils? And what if magic wasn’t an invention of fantasy, but a word used to describe principles not yet understood by the average mind? What if I told you we were unknowing benefactors of sacrifices made by valiant men, women, and children who defied the gaping jaws of Hell—while the blood of friends, neighbors, and family stained the ground at their feet. This story begins with a stranger. A self-proclaimed coward. A mere boy from a different world—who united the hearts of nations by accident. Some will say this is nothing but a tale of fiction. Let them think as they will. After all…I can’t fix stupid.

Chapter 1 Trust

Who are you? I am the storyteller. I’m the friend, the neighbor, the stranger on the street. I’m the one who watches, contemplates, and shares. But who are you?

Soon , he ed. Soon we will see his face! His stomach leaped. How many times had Shea heard his father speak those words? Hundreds? Thousands? He’d walked this scorched stone path with his arms tied over his chest, enduring the parched winds, while staring at the back of his father’s robe since he was nine. That’s when his father had discovered his gift for discerning truth. Then Shea’s father, as the High Elder, began instructing, requiring him to follow and observe. Just as predicted, the people and the Council had spoken… and his only son took the life pledge of service, ing him upon the Iskäri High Council.

Being only sixteen, Shea felt honored to be the youngest elder in the Council's history. Days later, Shea privately exulted as he received the crucial calling as the one who’d confirm the royal bloodline. Shea was discovered to be the only one who held the ability to look into the past and future of a life and discover the truth of one’s purpose. An exceedingly rare gift. But a perfect compliment to the very purpose of the Council. The bloodline would be presented to Shea, the birthright confirmed… and then the Ithäri bestowed upon the rightful heir. The Hero. Shea wondered as he trailed behind his father… how many generations of High Elders had walked this path of sagging steps, each hoping they might be the one to see the Hero face to face? Habitually ignoring the growing din, Shea allowed the rhythmic scratching of his father’s sandals to lull him as he scuffled along. Childhood memories he enjoyed of Dark Lord Mahan and the Hero tumbled from one to another in his mind. “Naughty children are sent to Unrest and given to Mahan,” his mother would tell him, yet the gentle threatenings tugged at the corner of his lips. All mothers warned their children of such things, encouraging obedience to the Iskari way of life. But Shea spent most of his childhood under the direct tutelage of his father. He cherished the long evenings as a child spent wrapped in thick arms, on his father’s lap. They’d sit in front of a popping fire, talking, while the scratchy fibers of his father’s robe made his cheek itch. Shea brought his hand to his face. He smiled as echoes of whispered tales and adoration filled his chest again.

Tales about the hero’s past. About the one hero yet to come. He knew now, as he always had. This time Mahan will fall. …and he would help make it happen! Childhood traditions had created an unfaltering bond between father and son, but Shea and his father spent much time in silence these days. Their views no longer united. Shea wanted to be a good son. Yet he also wanted to honor his calling. To fulfill his duty and find acceptance among Council . It seems I cannot have both, he sighed. It was time for the Hero to be retrieved. For hundreds of years, the Iskari High Council watched for signs of movement. Shadows, reaching across the seas, encroaching upon the peaceful inhabitants of this world. Signs of armies marching, the touch of dark magic upon the land. Signs of the enemy seeking their master once more. Because of this, Shea’s father dared suggest they act against tradition and reason! Often Council meetings adjourned following raised voices and conflicting views, without resolution. “We are being watched!” the High Elder would argue. “The Hero must be gathered and empowered in secret…” After all these years, and the proclaimed importance of his own purpose, Shea now felt… cheated.

Indignation threatened to suffocate him. He clenched his teeth; He thinks I’m still a child. It convinced Shea that he was being robbed of his greatest privilege and purpose by his own father. He doesn’t trust me. The uncaring wind whipped around him, wailing in vain as it snapped the hood from Shea’s naked skull. Blinking his watering eyes, he lowered his chaffed head and pushed on up the long callous path to the edge of the Pinnacle. The place of seeing. Mimicking his father, Shea stood erect on the ridge that thirstily lunged out over the boundless chasm. Just beyond his outstretched fingertips the chittering grains of sand whizzed and whirled and echoed from every direction, like swarms of angry hornets… yet only the scathing wind assaulted him. This was the beginning power of the Pinnacle. The violent ballet beckoned as Shea peered over the ridge, always curious to catch a glance of the seemingly endless gorge… where millions of worlds dwelt together within the raging storm. It was here that those who had the eyes to see and the ability to command, could look upon the inhabitants of distant lands. It was here that the High Elder collected his knowledge. Knowledge only he could both witness and understand. Shea stood back as the High Elder drew in a deep breath through wide nostrils, closing his wrinkled eyes. The sands before them pulsed, gathering in trails as if magnets attracting sand were dancing in the chaos. Pouring in from the storm, the sand quickly organized

itself into many conversing figures. Once, Shea had questioned his father about why they came up to the Pinnacle. He answered, “There is one in the sand with a rosy aura. This is the life and movements of a young man, placed upon a strange world, called Earth, to hide him. “He is the one I observe. “It is my calling to protect him.” Shea pondered those words. Protect him? Is this what all this plotting and rebellion is about? Years of bedtime tales and dreams suddenly took root and sprang to life in his young soul. Shea leaned forward, squinting in vain to peer deeper into the wondrous magic, hoping to see the boy’s face—to look into his eyes. It never happened. Not growing up… and not now. Generations of High Elders had been watching over the young Hero since he was a helpless infant. Placed in the arms of adoring parents, they would never know where he really came from. Elders who continued waiting for the day when the Hero would awaken Ithäri, the Gem of the Gods. It was time. The young man was needed now, to come home, reclaim his birthright… and save his people. Even now, for the hundredth time, Shea’s shoulders sagged, disappointed. He did not have his father’s gift and could not even see the coloring his father spoke of. Soon, Shea sighed. While the High Elder was engrossed, something peculiar caught Shea’s eye. Stray grains of sand slithered past his feet. His eyes drifted over the trail… sands

tumbling up the path, unaffected by the wind. That is… not right. A piercing apprehension seized his gut. An evil spirit? Here? How…..? Perplexed, he watched the slithering strands accumulate into a churning mound behind his father. He had been warned years ago not to break the concentration of one calling forth the sands. To do so could risk the mind… and life… of the summoner. Should I…? His mind went blank. The sands tumbled forward, seeping into a dark, blood-red mud, gathering and molding, taking shape. Slowly rising from the ground, stretched the form of a giant asp, its tongue flickering to taste the wind. I-it can’t be, Shea blinked. The Pinnacle is protected. Only those who command the sands may … or allow age! Only when it slithered around the body of his father, encoming the High Elder just beyond touch… rising to meet the sands of Earth… did Shea find his voice. “Father!” he warned, yelling above the din. Startled, the High Elder’s narrowed eyes flickered open and darted questioningly to his son and back to the sand. Calmly stretching out his hand, he quickly waved through the scene before him, severing the link to Earth. In an instant, the figures collapsed into swirling streams, launching themselves back into the chasm once more.

All except for the asp. Unaffected, it twisted and turned, gripping the old man’s chest. Shea gagged at the metallic odor of blood steaming from the sand, smothering the air while the snake probed, flicking its tongue around his father’s face and brow. Waiting desperately, Shea held his breath. Why is he not reacting? The High Elder concentrated with a lifetime of practiced skill to clear all thoughts from his consciousness. He knew why the creature had come. The snake lingered, tasting the air, waiting for some weakness to snatch— something that would betray the Hero’s location. The moments stretched past. Then minutes. Exploding with repressed uncertainty, Shea thrust his hands through the sleeves of his robe and commanded, “Ish-Krothi Umbällä!” Fingers gripping an invisible sphere now stretched and forcefully hurled the collected energy at his father. The asp sparked, bursting into flames as the impact knocked it to the edge of the Pinnacle. Thousands of scales fell, tinkling to the unyielding stone as red glass. “No!” cried the High Elder, eyes narrowing and face flushed. “Now the Dark Lord will know we hide something from him!” He looked at the small shards of glass around his feet, the red residue slowly fading from the shiny surfaces. The creases in his forehead deepened, his lips pressed together in a tight line. Instantly Shea realized, too late, the consequences of his actions. As a boy, he had waited long hours for his father to return from Council

meetings specifically designated to protect the Hero. Now, as a member of the High Council, he learned the challenges of weaving intricate deceptions of ignorance or complacency kept the prying eyes of shadow at bay. Now, in one hasty breath, the methodically orchestrated plans of both his father and the Council had been compromised. This will not bode well, he sighed inwardly. A deep frown on his face, the High Elder turned sharply, yanking the hood over his head. Without a word, he attacked the steep winding path. Shea anxiously kept pace with the High Elder’s lengthy stride until they were just outside Sanctuary’s walls. “Father, I…” Raising a hand, the High Elder neither slowed nor turned. “Control and unity, young man,” he cut in a cool tone. “This is always about self-control and unity. That is how we will defeat the enemy. Not with a careless display of personal power and… parlor tricks!” “I’m sorry, Father,” Shea justified, bowing his head. The High Elder slowed, the edgy tone causing his rigid pace to falter. He stopped to study Shea’s face with a piercing gaze. Moments ed, but he said nothing. “Truly,” Shea insisted softly, looking up meekly. “I sought only to keep the boy… and you, safe.” The small wrinkles in the corner of his eyes offered a faint smile as the High Elder slowly exhaled. Shea was young. Sixteen was too young, in his opinion, to carry such a burden as the Council. The High Elder’s role, as a father, was now secondary to the calling of an Elder. However, youth and inexperience were no excuse for irrational behavior and stepping outside one’s calling.

“Young elder, you have forgotten your place, doubted my calling, and challenged my stewardship.” At the formal address, Shea squared his shoulders, pain flickering in his eyes. “High Elder, I do not doubt your position, NOR would I dare to challenge your stewardship,” he emphasized in lowered tones. “I have only opposed your decisions on retrieving the boy. There is too much risk involved. Thus, I believe this important task should only be entrusted to the Council as a whole. The bloodline will need protection. Our protection.” It was the same argument. “We are too arrogant in our own abilities because we have knowledge and powers,” replied the High Elder, fortifying his point with volume. “Insanity!” Shea watched his father turn his head from side to side, then raising his hands to the sky, anguishing, “Mahan has already enslaved half… HALF!… of this world! And he was banished over 600 years ago!” Pleading, eye to eye, “Elder,…” he sighed patiently, “Son. Do you not he still lives because the last Hero had comion for his friend? Mahan is cunning and his influence grows in ways we can only measure by destruction and death. “Have you and the others truly convinced yourselves that we are beyond destruction? Or even worse… corruption?” Chin raised to the challenge, “And what of your plan, Father?” Spitting venomous condemnation into his words. “Will you really send a selfish, freewilled outcast to retrieve our last hope for all creation? One who shirks his responsibilities, subsisting in pubs to return so intoxicated that he often mistakes the pig pen for his cottage? “He can’t even find the bathroom in the dark!” The High Elder couldn’t help chuckling at his son’s accurate perception of one of Sanctuary’s oldest residents. “No. Dax can find the bathroom in the dark, Shea…he simply finds it

inconvenient when intoxicated and therefore, chooses not to.” Shea grimaced, “That’s just…sick.” “It does not disqualify him for the task at hand. We all have a purpose. how he suffers and what they have taken from him. It should soften your heart if nothing else. Trust me when I say he knows what’s expected and understands the gravity.” Shea was unconvinced. “You misplace your trust in a fool, father.” “No, son.” The High Elder smiled, placing a confident hand on his son’s chest, “I am placing my trust in a friend.” Resigned, the young elder lowered his head and closed his eyes. Patting his son’s shoulder, the High Elder grinned wide. “Have confidence. The Dark Lord will never suspect what is about to happen… and we will do what we have never done before.” Shea sighed, muttering under his breath, “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Chapter 2 Hero?

Now, distant worlds and exploding magic are pretty cool. Frankly, I quite like the bit about shape shifting sand. But don’t get distracted. Aren’t you wondering who the Council is watching?

Miniskirts, frosted hair, lipstick, and fingernails. Wendell shuttered as he moved through the crowd. Doesn’t she know how ridiculous that looks? Not that Wendell was a mean or cruel teenager…it was just such a shock!

Dodging a wild kick from an Asian girl being swung about by her exuberant father, Wendell had nearly collided with one of many mothers within the crowd. Wha—WOAH! Knees buckling, Wendell caught himself from smacking into the woman. The visual of her explosive, multi-colored hairdo, coupled with the orange skin, tight, faded jeans and sequin covered pockets, well…it made his eyes hurt. A lot. Maybe it was the neon green eyeshadow, bright red lipstick, and open mouth gun chewing that backhanded his senses? I’m going to need therapy. Luckily the woman hadn’t noticed his expression and Wendell could quickly scurry away without disturbing the joyful family occasion. Then again, he had to wonder—was this kind of makeup-meets-the-trowel technique something older men found attractive? Pushing the golden tassel from his face, Wendell bounced up again, trying to get a better view of the field which had instantly flooded with expectant parents after the ceremony. Hundreds of people hugging and squealing, cheering and whooping alongside their high school graduates. Another jump. Come on, mom—where ARE you? Timing was critical at this point. They would be looking. Hundreds of parents, wherever Wendell looked, smiled, laughed and took pictures of their high school children…all amidst a sea of black robes.

Wendell snorted to himself as he shifted through the crowd. We look like grim reapers at an old people buffet. The humor was fleeting. Time was running out. Just breathe, Wendell. Stay calm. As soon as you find mom, you can ditch this field of crazy people and never come back. You’ll never have to see any of them again. Another jump. Nothing. He pushed on. Principle Larsen stood in a small circle of teachers and smartly dressed parents, occasionally wiping the sweat from his chunky cheeks and a receding hairline. There was no secret that Larsen was more interested in securing his retirement than anything else, which meant creating and maintaining social connections in the community. If there was one path to job security, influential friends and benefactors were it. “Dipmier!” he snapped, seeing Wendell pop into view. Skidding to a halt, “Sir!” Larsen waved a pudgy finger in the opposite direction. “Your mother is looking for you, young man. I think she’s lost. Saw her four minutes ago.” Giving the principle a mock salute and a, “Thank you, SIR!” Wendell dashed off in the indicated direction. Principle Larsen was one of his least favorite people, but there was no doubt about the fat man’s timing and dedication to order. If you were ever caught late in the halls, Larsen could tell you by how many seconds, without looking at his watch or the wall clock, AND tell you exactly where you needed to go. Irritating, yes…but impressive…and something you could count on. Another minute of pushing, dodging and nearly being knocked over, Wendell skidded to a halt.

A familiar face shifted through the sea of bodies. Crap. Crap. CRAP! Eyes eagerly bouncing from each social cluster, the broad-shouldered youth, jaw clenched tight, growled to himself. Wendell backed away, ducking behind a family debating the best college or trade school alternatives. What do they do, breed these guys with dogs? How do they keep finding me? The young man hesitated for a moment, looking around him in a full circle before moving on. Wendell gave a sigh of relief. I’m never going to find mom in time! They’re going to find me snooping around here and then… He smirked to himself. Oh, for goodness…why didn’t I think of this before? Making his way back to the stage, Wendell hopped up onto the ledge. There we go! Just stay low enough so as not to draw too much attention and…. OKAY…now, where are you, mom? At first, it looked like little more than a mass of confusion. Hundreds of people swarming about made it difficult to focus on any one person for more than a few moments. Yet once Wendell let his eyes relax, he had to stifle his laughter. Amidst the layers of black were explosions of disorderly color. Hawaiian shirts, neon sunglasses, dangling shimmers of gold and silver-plated earrings, blue hair, hot pink lipstick, purple, pink and orange eyeshadow. He squinted. Stopping to speak with familiar faces in the crowd…was his mother. Gotcha! Even among the hundreds of people shifting about, Mrs. Dipmier stood out. In

her late forties, her long, curly hair was pulled back into a simple ponytail, the end resting gently over her shoulder. She didn’t wear thick eyeliner or mascara or even lipstick that you could see. Just a clean, smooth complexion, thin wireframe glasses, a simple white blouse with a powder blue sweater that stood out from among the bright colors and animal patterns, glittery handbags, Botox smiles, and bleached teeth. Truth be told, Mrs. Dipmier looked more like the attractive mother from a 50s television show than a mutant version of Britney Spears. Wendell smiled. I made it, mom. Actually survived and graduated high school. Then he frowned, Almost. Considering Wendell’s history, it was quite an achievement. School was tough enough for any teen, but high school? That was a whole new beast in and of itself. Social status was an important aspect of a youth’s survival. Status was won, earned or given by the elite (which usually meant genetically beautiful and strong), while the rest of the livestock fought for the crumbs…or got sacrificed for sport. Survival became a matter of who you knew, not what you knew. A teachers' approval, which you sought for in grade school, quickly became a death sentence in the wrong groups of high school…and once you left the protective vision of a teacher, anything could happen. For the last week of school, Wendell made it a point to collect as many memories as possible. Students, teachers, class settings and activities…all on his smartphone. Not because he wanted to keep them—but more for discarding them at specific moments of his future life. It was a way to remind himself of what he’d gone through…and survived. Not over fifty feet away an irate woman, at least 60lbs overweight in a grey business suit, snapped at a girl with pink hair and a black eye. The youth stood there, stunned…until the woman burst out laughing and gave the girl a hug. Looking on behind them was a calm and sympathetic old woman, dressed in a white outfit. After today, I’ll never have to see you again, Vice Principle Stacey…and thankfully, nurse Aubrey, either.

Wendell’s hand scratched the ridge of his nose subconsciously. Each challenge he had faced left him with scars…mostly emotional, but there were some physical doozies, too. He’d been a regular visitor of the school infirmary. Broken nose. Cut finger. Broken nose. Multiple staple removals. Sprained wrist. Broken nose. Broken arm. Tack punctures. Broken nose. Black eye. Broken nose. Split lip. He scratched the ridge of this nose again. This is not a place I will miss, but… Pulling his phone from his pocket, Wendell snuck a peek at his #1 golden memory…and slapped a hand over his mouth as he laughed. Jeffery Chapman was a football linebacker and widely known as San Ramon High School’s #1 bully. For nearly three years he’d been the bane of Wendell’s existence. Exploding lockers, countless flat bike tires and even being chased from the locker room showers across campus in his underwear.

Wendell had endured it all. The picture displayed Chapman lunging, towel almost revealing the teen's unmentionables, while chunks of foaming hair dripped down his face and shoulders, revealing large bald spots across his scalp. Eyes narrow in a rage, hands reaching for the camera…while boys laughed hysterically in the background. “Now you know what happens when you mix ladies' hair remover with shampoo, Jeffery,” Wendell snickered triumphantly. The risk had been worth all the humiliation he’d received over the years. Luckily, it had been the last day of P.E. class and Jeffrey’s personal items were sitting on the half wall of the showers. No one ever messed with the equipment of a football player. All Wendell had to do was fake a nose bleed, run back to the locker room, add his mother's hair remover to the shampoo bottle, shake it up and re the class on the field. It had been that simple. Once he got dressed, the damage was already done. Seeing Wendell as the only person NOT laughing, Jeffrey had guessed what they had done and lunged at Wendell as he ran. All he had to do was avoid Jeffery and his minions for the last 48 hours. That meant the whole of the graduation ceremony. Not wanting to call further attention to himself, Wendell located his mother once more and jumped from the stage. She’d stopped to talk with their neighbors, the Matthews. Keep talking until I get to you. Pushing and weaving, Wendell made his way quickly through compacted bodies and private conversations. Come on, Wendell, he prodded himself, faster…FASTER! High school hadn’t all bad, though.

Sure, there had been the bullies and the constant challenge of fitting in, but something…or someone usually made the experience worth it. At least eventually. He jumped up, making sure his mother hadn’t moved from her spot. “Wendell!” “WHA!?!” Wendell shrieked, nearly falling over as he spun around, hands whipping up in defensive positions. “Woah! WOAH there, buddy!” chuckled William, lifting his own hands in response. Heart pounding, Wendell slapped a hand over his chest in relief. “S-sorry, William. You scared the crud out of me! Can’t…stop right now. Gotta, ya know —find my mom, take some pictures…she’s so proud.” “Yeah, okay bud,” William grinned awkwardly, “congratz, right?” Nodding, “Absolutely. Gratz…for sure. Talk soon, okay?” and off Wendell dashed. William James was a quiet kid around most people—champion chess player and leader of the math team. Always kind…and always picked on. Wendell had met him during their first visit to the nurse's office…a broken nose versus a fat lip. Wendell pushed past Barry Compton, telling his new joke to anyone who would listen. Barry was known as the class comedian. Problem was, Barry never realized that people were laughing at him and rarely with him. Wendell ired the boy—who never spoke an unkind word…even when he found Barry in a ditch on his way home. Bruised face and torn jeans, Barry’s bike had been mangled, but all he would say about his attackers was, ‘They probably had a terrible day.’ “Have an awesome summer, Wendell!” Barry shouted after him. Wendell paused long enough to return the smile and wave.

There was Cory from economics class, Trent from history, even Julius from geography—who coughed aloud, then shoved his inhaler into his mouth like an auto-matron. All standing about with family and friends, smiling, laughing and congratulating one another. Nerds. That’s what they all were. Wendell wasn’t sure which was worse…that his only connections were considered rejects in popular society…or that none of them were close enough to officially be called ‘friends’? They were little more than fellow students who—didn’t beat him up. And now it’s over. Wendell’s pace slowed. Good or bad, the whole awkward process was about to start all over again…in the ‘real’ world. School was over, sure—but now the next test was staring him in the face. He was going to have to find a job, maybe start a career and learn how to survive on his own soon. Learn how to provide. Especially for his supermodel girlfriend. There had to be a reason girls didn’t go out with him, and his guess was maturity. High school girls felt…outclassed. His rugged looks, unusual confidence, overwhelming talents still waiting to be discovered—it was a lot for a girl to cope with! Supermodels had to be the answer. They knew talent and could smell the wealth. Which was why Wendell had to make sure he had a great job—to her in style. However, the only job Wendell had ever secured was being a waiter at the fish market cafe. Not the most luxurious of jobs. Suddenly the thought of leaving high school didn’t sound so appealing. He looked down at the rolled piece of paper in his hand…a golden ribbon wrapped around it. What did this diploma in hand mean?

What the crap am I going to do now? “Well hello there, DIPmier.” Wendell froze. Standing in his path, head smooth as a newborn’s butt, was Jeffrey Chapman. The near six-foot slab of muscle cracked his knuckles in his usual intimidating fashion (which always worked)…and did a quick shuffle in Wendell’s direction. Endowed with a superhuman fear to survive (that, and not wanting to cry in front of all these strangers), Wendell spun reactively on his back heel, while throwing his arms out to avoid Jeffrey’s strategic grab attempt and…ran into two more jocks. A wall of irritated muscle and aftershave slid together in a black curtain in front of him, closing off Wendell’s escape route. Uhhhhhh, Wendell moaned internally. This is gonna hurt. Strong arms wrapped around him in a mock hug, smiling at onlooking parents, while locking the nerd into place between them. For all people knew, they were just a group of friends saying their last goodbyes. Smiling as authentically as he knew how, Wendell squeaked, “Jeffery, look…I,” but a sharp jab to the ribs knocked the wind from him. “What? Were you leaving without saying goodbye, DIPmier?” the bully grinned to show his gleaming white teeth…his canines looking a bit too big and pointed for any ‘normal’ kid. “That hurts me,” Jeffrey said softer, placing an open palm over his chest, “Truly. I’ll miss all the quality time we spent together over the years.” Looking to his partners in crime, his smile flashed to a scowl, “I think we should have one more private party, don’t you boys?” Both nodded with a low chuckle. If Wendell had actually believed in Deja Vu, there should have been a legion of black cats dancing across the grass about now, with top hats and canes…but he didn’t. This just happened to be a consistent event with Jeffery and his ever-

present minions, grabbing Wendell at the most opportune times (for them). They would find a secure location, away from prying eyes…and proceed to damage the gawky youth physically, requiring anywhere from 3 days to 6 weeks of healing time. Considering this was the last time they would likely see one another, Wendell guessed that the three boys would want to make this final experience last. Crap, crap…CRAP!! What do I do now? The easiest thing to do would be to scream HELP, being surrounded by hundreds of adults. Teenage pride, however…and the fact that the last thing Wendell wanted to be ed for was screaming like some nerd pansy at graduation…meant it wasn’t an option. With a firm yank on both arms, the jocks lifted Wendell onto his tippy toes, dragging him towards the snack shack at the opposite end of the field. I could yell, ‘He’s not my daddy! He’s not my daddy!’…but he sighed, Yeah, THAT would go over well. What are you, THREE, Wendell? Think…THINK!! A smile slithered across his face. Wendell had learned in a community self-defense class that people doing what they weren’t supposed to be doing, always dreaded one thing above all else: attention. So what was the one thing that ALWAYS got people’s attention? One…two… Wendell took the deepest breath he could manage and screamed. “FIRRRRRRE!!!!!” The shriek was so loud, it would have made a B movie bimbo proud. All three jocks spun around, trying to find the location of the fire…along with most of the parents and students.

Stomping the closest foot, Wendell yanked his arms free and bolted across the grass. It didn’t matter what people thought at this point. They’ll think I’m running towards the fire, not running away from bullies trying to pound my face into the concrete. Run, Wendell…ruuuuunnnn!! Lungs burning, Wendell pushed himself harder than ever before…which was saying something. He wasn’t a jock, nor was he above average in strength, but four years of running from bullies had developed some serious long-distance stamina. In less than five seconds, the gap opened up between lions and gazelle. It was useless to hide and waiting around for his mother to appear was a stupid plan. This was escape time. School was over. This part of his life complete. “We’re gonna GET you, DIPmier!” Jeffrey shouted from behind. … and ready to be discarded. Grabbing the top bar of the closed fence, Wendell jumped, using the wall to run up without losing his momentum and down onto the ground. He grinned to himself. If only there was a ‘getting away from bullies’ competition in the Olympics… Thoughts of gold medals flashed in the back of his mind. All three jocks slammed into the gate, rattling the chain. “Just bring your face closer to the chain, DIPmier!” seethed Jeffery. “I wanna pound that nose with my knuckles one more time.” Wendell grinned and took off. I’ve got maybe another minute to widen this gap. Dashing down the main hallway, past the front office—all he had to do was get off school property and onto the ading golf course. There were hundreds of places to hide within the perfectly grown and manicured forest of the Diablo Country Club. Jeffery would never find Wendell.

He smiled wide as an angry cry echoed from the hall behind. Make that two minutes head start…he stopped and leaned against the wall to catch his breath. Maybe ditching high school altogether isn’t such a bad thing. Life would change. The groups formed in school didn’t have much weight in a bigger world, and those who claimed their fame were just ordinary kids once they walked off campus. Wendell chuckled to himself and decided it would be better at this point to just walk home instead of trying to find where his mom was at this point. He pulled out his smartphone and started to dial. Just call my mom and… WHUFF! The impact of Jeffrey’s fist slammed Wendell back against the front office wall, knocking the wind from his lungs. “Unghhhh,” he moaned, sinking slowly to the ground. “Good…hit…Jeff.” The bully snarled, his two minions closing in on either side, “Though you’d get away from me this time?” He shook his head, “I don’t think so, sucker. I had to tell my girlfriend I shaved my head on purpose, you butthead! She hates it!!” A small bead of sweat trickled down the smooth surface of his scalp. Wendell coughed, then forced a grin to his face, “Technically, you’re the one who looks like the butthead.” Jefferey’s foot slammed into Wendell’s side. “OOFF!” Wendell grunted. “Enough!” boomed a deep voice. Large hands gripped shoulders, pulling the jocks apart. Jefferey backed away, hands upright. “Sure thing, Evan. We’ve got no beef with you, man.” “Maybe you don’t,” Evan growled, turning his attention slowly to Wendell upon

the ground, “But I have a beef with him.” Wendell blinked once. The huge figure stood in the direct sunlight, which created a bright white and yellow halo about them. “Y-you’re mad at me too?” Wendell gasped, trying to get his breath back. Large hands gripped him by the shoulders, lifting him from the ground effortlessly…and an angry face came into focus. “More than you know.” A furious face. Jefferey and his minions laughed. Wendell sighed heavily. Crap.

“You can’t do that!” “Why not?” “Because I don’t feel that way about her…you do, Wendell!” Wendell shrugged, “But she doesn’t know that…” Evan shook his head, rubbing a temple with a thumb. “That’s the point, buddy— you’re supposed to TELL her you like her. Not frame your best friend!” His face dropped into his palms with a heavy sigh of frustration. Girls were always an awkward subject between the two. Wendell pondered. True, he hadn’t totally thought the whole process through when it came to Mandie Sandmeier, his longtime crush. He’d had over 50% of his classes with her through high school, but never got further than offering her a replacement pen during all that time. Well, he had drawn some incredible pictures of her riding horses (one of her ions) and slipped it into her backpack one year. Unfortunately, Mandie asked the class ego and known artist, Daryl Ross, if he’d drawn them. …and the jerk actually took credit for them. Mandie and Daryl dated for that whole year…and most of the next. Wendell grunted at the painful memory. Don’t want to repeat THAT mistake again. For several minutes, Wendell watched Evan in silence. It was bad enough he’s screwed this up and put his buddy on the spot with a girl Evan wasn’t interested in—but even more so after being rescued from the clutches of Jeffrey Chapman and his thugs. This was supposed to be a perfect day. “Yeah, but girls always like you, so…” Evan ignored him.

Wendell shrugged, “I just figured, maybe we could invite Mandie and Susan over, then try the backup plan?” Evan sat abruptly upright, “What?!? Are you serious? That’s even worse!” Oh, good. He is listening. Wendell knew that locking the door behind the girls seemed…. well, serial killer. Even he could hear the sirens, see the blue and red lights flashing through the front window. He didn’t want to scare them, but he was feeling a little desperate. Wendell was determined to work out the details of ‘The Plan’. (Operation: GWG - Get Wendell a Girlfriend) - (Mission 101: Find a Girl) The invigorating energy in fresh-cut grass and cool, crisp chlorine filled Wendell’s nostrils as they lounged by the pool in Evan’s back yard. Looking past the back fence, the wild grass bowed to the playful persuasion of the warm summer breeze and the corn lilies and columbines bounced their jeweled heads, laughing and teasing butterflies. Even the Cooper’s hawk atop a nearby fence post, content with feasting on a woodpecker, knew it was a perfect day. When Wendell woke up this morning, he knew today was the day to turn plans into reality. High School and graduation were finally over and he wanted, no, he needed to play. He sat up in the creaky lounge chair, chatting away and waving his lanky arms to emphasize his ideas, while Evan stretched out, hands behind his head, showing off his bulky biceps barely contained in the white t-shirt, eyes closed and yawning. Evan didn’t understand how hard it was for Wendell to be his friend. They lived in separate universes. Everything Wendell wanted and worked for came so easily to Evan. Friends, relationships, grades, opportunities, you name it…the world seemed to revolve around the blonde hair, blue-eyed stud. Wendell was tired of being just ‘Evan’s friend, Wendell’. Evan was the hero. Always in the right place at the right time, with impeccable manners and bronzed, Greek-god, good looks. He already had a great job with

Mr. Stolsen at the nearby garage. The fact was, Evan always had options and prospects. Turns out his deep ion for engines and racing was exactly what Mr. Stolsen had been looking for. He’d been offered the mechanic’s job the moment Evan pulled up in a car he’d customized with his own two hands. Of course, Wendell had helped with the car too. Every time Evan needed to check the engine, Wendell was there to turn the key in the ignition. But did Wendell ask for recognition? Not once. Evan’s job gave him plenty of time to work on his roadster and hang out with the girls. Ahhh, the girls. Fact was, everybody wanted to be around Evan, especially the girls. It was one thing about him Wendell really enjoyed. There were always girls hanging around. Evan was the magnet. Course, none of them took notice of Wendell… Yet. Usually, Wendell felt grateful that his best friend wanted to hang out with him. Part of what made Evan so great is that he always shared and included Wendell in his own plans. It didn’t matter what other people thought. Somehow Evan made him feel as if Wendell were the great one, and Evan was lucky to have him as a friend. When they were eight years old, it really confused Wendell. Nothing was ever said between them at first—but the odd looks they’d receive from others, even parents, affected Wendell. It bothered him. but he learned to not think about it and be grateful. They had a lot of fun together, so did it really matter? It did to Wendell. “Why are we even friends, Evan…we’re nothing alike?!?” he’d asked one day. With a genuine smile, Evan had grasped Wendell’s hand in a firm handshake and replied, “Because buddy, when you’re around, I feel like we make a complete person.”

It sounded corny, but Evan Matthews had backed that very statement with 13 years of undeniable proof. Wendell looked over at his best friend. Silently frustrated, Wendell’s entire upper torso sagged. “But what if they just leave…again?” Evan took one glance and his expression softened. “No, man. Patience. We have ‘The Plan’. It’ll work. I promise. This is not the twisted social structure of high school. No more bullies, no more jocks and no more locker room pranks. And , Wendell, girls don’t care about blue ribbons from a belching contest or the latest victory at the role-playing conventions.” “Hey! That was a huge regional victory—team Brimstone hasn’t been beaten in over…” “Seriously?” “Ohhhhh,” Wendell resigned. “Can’t a guy hope to meet a girl with an imagination…and maybe throw in addiction to dragons and wizards?” With a wide grin, “You can hope, but I doubt you’ll get it.” Wendell folded his arms with a scowl, “Dream killer.” “Hey, I’m just calling it as I see it, buddy.” “Let’s have a pool party, then.” Evan peeked through cracked lids, “Yeah. Okay. What for?” “How about the first step completed in ‘The Plan’…to celebrate me getting my own place?” “What?” Now his eyes were wide open. “You didn’t tell me. Where? How? You haven’t even turned in that resume we’ve been working on. You actually moved out?” “Moved the last box in right before our graduation ceremony. I’m tellin’ ya, it feels real good to be on my own. I am…” he said with exaggerated conviction, “a man of the world.”

Evan chuckled. Wendell sat upright, frowning. “What? I thought that was a key part of our plan. Get our own place, ? When are you gonna break free?” Evan just shrugged. “Just figured I’d keep my options open for now. Not in a rush. Save some money, work towards some personal goals, that kind of stuff.” “Yeah. Okay….” Wendell made a mental note to ask about that later. He was bursting with good news. “I’ll tell ya’ Evan, it wasn’t easy breaking it to my mom like that, ‘cause I didn’t want to leave her on her own. You know, with dad being gone. But, let’s face it, moms never think there’s a right time to leave home. But a man needs his space! So, I walked into the kitchen and said, ‘Mom, I love you and you’re the greatest, but I’m not a child anymore. I’ve decided to move out into the trailer.” Wendell grinned widely. “She was all choked up, Evan. Laughing on the outside to hide the heartbreak on the inside. I will sure miss her.” Turning his face to the heat of the sun, Wendell pressed his lips together in a self-satisfied smirk and lifted his arms to link his fingers behind his head. Dumbstruck, Evan had to ask, “You’re moving into the trailer?” “Uh-huh.” “In the backyard?” “That’s right.” Evan was sitting up now, thick arms folded, staring at the concrete with one hand over his mouth. His eyebrows going up, then down, then together, then up again. There was a snort, a muffled gag and finally the unmistakable guffaw, “HAHAHAHAHA!” Evan couldn’t help it. “Does it come with maid service?” he taunted, but Wendell tried to ignore him. “How about free food or laundry options?” Wiping tears from his eyes, Evan wrapped a huge arm around his stomach as he gasped for breath. Wendell grit his teeth and glared, heat rising to his cheeks. What a dirtbag! I can’t believe he’s laughing at me! “Well,…technically I moved out,” Wendell

muttered with a weak sigh. Folding his arms across his chest, he sank into the chair like a deflated balloon. “I didn’t want to go TOO far.” Evan didn’t mean to hurt his feelings. Sometimes Wendell just didn’t get it. “I’m sorry, man,” he said soberly and jabbed Wendell in the shoulder. “Fact is, you already took a step ahead of me. Look at you, Mr. Adventure.” Wendell returned an over-enthusiastic slug to the gut. Truth was, he could never stay mad at Evan for long. The return jab was the sure sign that all was well. Best friends. Always had been—always would be. Evan bounced out of his chair, which creaked in protest, reaching out to jab Wendell in the shoulder again. “Alright, let’s have that party! What do you think, I’ll go make some phone calls?” He paused, expectantly. “Seriously?” asked Wendell. “Mission 101: Find the Girl?” “Of course. It’ll be great!” Wendell smiled to himself, “I can do the BBQ, or…OH! How about I make some of those liverwursts and potato chip sandwiches, like my dad used to make! Mom said they were always attention getters.” Evan shook his head, “Uhhhh, I’m not sure your mom meant that in a positive way, buddy.” But Wendell wasn’t listening. “Look, you stay here, relax, enjoy the day—I’ll go make a few calls, then we’ll drive over to the Burger Barn and have Emily make us a party plate.” Then with a nudge of a finger, “Sound good?” “What? Oh. Yeah. Yeah, sounds good! Maybe I can finally try some lines from the book I just bought: Geeks Guide to Getting Girlfriends.” Evan scratched the scruff on his face. “Hmmm, that’ll be interesting. Wendell started making a list of all the girls he wanted to invite as soon as the screen door screeched and clunked closed behind Evan. Man, I wonder if there is any way to get the girls from the Wiki-Tiki Ski Shop to

show up. We would be the talk of the town! There was no guarantee that Mandie would show up once she found out Evan wasn’t interested. Not to worry. A vision of the owner’s daughters, Ashley and Britney, lingered in his mind. The head cashier always smiles ear to ear when Evan walks through the door, and…oh, yeah!… BAMPH!

Chapter 3 Bamph!

It is a well-known fact that our subconscious mind cannot tell the difference between reality and fiction. In a world of amazing, even miraculous, things happening - what is real? We each have our own definition. This can pose a serious problem when confronted with an unsettling reality that grabs our definition by the tenders and says, “Oh, yeah?” Do you know what is real?

Wendell never saw it coming. The shock wave pummeled him in the chest, shoving him through the lounge chair. Defensively, he wrapped both arms around his head and ducked, failing to protect his ears from the shrieking that he thought would leave him deaf or the intense green flash that left him seeing spots. Either way, he was definitely shielding his face from the dirt and grass that flew up and across the yard. Eyes clenched, he waited for the pelting debris to stop. Small objects stung his exposed arms, plinking off the metal frame of the chair. He felt a few small rocks ricochet off his back and neck, and then all was still. The knots in his gut relaxed, and he loosened the grip around his head.

WHAT WAS THAT!?? Cautiously opening his eyes, he found knees in his face and feet in the air. His mind reeled with possibilities as he twisted, turned and stretched to see around his legs. The force of that blast pushed me right through the chair. No wonder I fell over. Ugh! I can’t see anything! His face was painfully pressed against the rough concrete, and he couldn’t move without scraping off skin. Twisted like a pretzel, he struggled to untangle his legs. Come on…allllmost…allllllmosssst….Ha! With a grunt and a few professionally executed yoga moves he saw on his mom’s fitness video, he gained some leverage. Unfortunately, when he paused to take a breath, Wendell lost his balance and fell over again. *Sigh* In that moment of silence, Wendell’s ears twitched to an odd sound. …a rustling in the bushes on the far side of the yard. Adrenalin flooded Wendell’s pulsing veins. He didn’t feel the scraping and tearing as he jerked his limbs loose and jumped to his feet. Stumbling back, Wendell blinked hard. The bush shook violently, losing a fist full of leaves. Bewildered, he reached up and felt around his head. Hmm. No bumps. Must have been out in the sun too long. Blinking hard again, Yeah. “Hehe.” Just turn and walk away. But he didn’t. He looked.

And he wished he hadn’t. Wendell froze. The bush was definitely shaking in sporadic eruptions. While weighing his options, (check it out or run screaming) another sound grew out of the bush. Grunting. Sharp bursts at first and then deep, cursing, and…well, pissed off. Run. Wendell’s stomach lurched into his throat. Run. Fear. Run! His mind was morbidly curious, intrigued even… Run!! …but every nerve recoiled. Maybe I should…run!?! With eyes riveted, he took a step back. Maybe it’s just a bear. Or a really large raccoon. Maybe I should go help it out… Yeah. He brushed at his jeans and t-shirt, hoping he looked calm, collected.

Then again,…it could have rabies or something. He took another step backward. Better to be safe than sorry. “What a load of crap!” the bush jerked. Wendell froze again, this time mid-step, jaw dropped. The bush is talking? Wendell blinked once, then again swallowing hard. THE BUSH IS TALKING!! Eyes darted from side to side, scanning the yard. It had to be a joke of some kind. Evan had to of come back out and…but there wasn’t anyone here. There weren’t any trees to hide behind…and the bushes were barely knee high. He took his index finger and wriggled it inside his ear. No, he knew there wasn’t anyone here. I must have hit my head really hard. Ah-ha! Someone is playing a JOKE on me! Careful not to move too much, he looked around the yard again using only his eyes. Probably hiding around a corner of the house with a camera, waiting for me to freak out. But there was no sign of anyone else. No hidden cords or speakers, not even cameras peeking around the corner of the house. He frowned. Dang! It was at that moment… the bush exploded. Leaves flew out at every angle, violently giving birth to a green, white, and purple mass.

It hit the dirt, rolling to a pair of enormous, hairy, green, bare feet. It was also short. Really short—like, not even up to Wendell’s waist short, and it looked like something from a role playing game that would likely give you nightmares. A goblin was the only thing that came to mind. An ugly brownish-green, poop colored creature with a lumpy head, thick arms that hung to the ground and abnormally huge hands and feet, carpeted with black hair. It was almost naked, too. All it had covering its lower extremities were purple polka-dotted boxer shorts that were obviously too big…and nothing else. The smashed cigar butt in its mouth was quickly spat to the ground. Unsatisfied with glaring and muttering vile insults at the plant that had bound him, the goblin shuffled up to the roots and gave it a swift, disgruntled kick. Then he turned those bulging, baseball-sized eyes, mapped by intense red veins and overshadowed by bushy tufts of eyebrow, on Wendell. The stare was so menacing, so penetrating, Wendell didn’t dare to look away. So there they stood, staring at each other for one endless moment, as Wendell’s heart stopped. “WHAT!?!” the goblin finally snapped, looking rather irritated. Once again, Wendell found himself paralyzed. No breathing, no moving, except his eyes—which grew wide as ping pong balls, and a mouth gaping so big a train could through it. Is… it talking to me? Wendell wanted to move.

I should run. He told his legs to run, but it didn’t work. All he could do was stare while the scary creature took a step closer. “EEEEAAAAARRRRGGGGHHH!” Wendell’s whole body jolted at the sound, arms and hands shooting out from his sides, head whipping all around. Screaming!! Who is screaming? The sound was awful—panicked, high-pitched, like a scared little girl. “E-E-E-E-EEEEAAR…” The scream trailed off as red hot humiliation set in. It’s me! Ugh! Wendell’s heart was pounding its way out of his chest and all he wanted to do was hide. The goblin stopped short. Scowling, he yelled to the skies with his hands raised, “SERIOUSLY??! Can I ever show up and have someone say, ‘Hey bub, what’s up? How ya doing? Yer lookin’ kinda sharp there in those new boxers,… But NO!! I gotta have peasants screamin’ their lungs out!” Squinting, he gave Wendell a critical once-over. “Whoa! And yer screamin’ at me? Hate ta break it to ya, kid, but you ain’t exactly a prized heifer yerself,” pity on its face. “Big, bugged out eyes, mouth hanging open—hollers like the women-folk and so…scrawny!” As the creature came closer and closer, Wendell could smell rancid ashtrays and rotten fish. “Ughhh!” he flinched.

Repulsed, he staggered back and slapped a hand over his nose. It was just shocking enough to trigger the ‘Wendellizer’, Wendell’s alter ego for when times got hard, crazy…and survival was first priority. Like now. Come on, Wendell. Pull your crap together! This could be it! Your moment. This is Hollywood come to life, man…and you’re in the center of it all! Buddy, this could be the moment that changes your life…and the world! Gripping his toes tightly, Wendell steadied himself with a deep breath and gulped hard. You can do this, Wendell. You’re the MAN! Drawing on his extensive alien knowledge from watching the Sci Fi channel and late night Google searches, he cleared his throat. Raising his right hand, he spread his middle fingers in the Vulcan gesture of peace. “Welcome to Earth,” Wendell squeaked with a tight toothy grin. “Live long and prosper.” The goblin’s mouth slowly stretched across its face, revealing a huge, intimidating maw of sharp, yellow teeth. Then, it raised its right hand, imitating Wendell’s Vulcan gesture with its four digits. “We have chosen you as the one and only perfect human specimen.” I knew it! Wendell trembled inside, I knew there was intelligent life out there!! YES!! The wide, yellow grin remained unnervingly frozen on the alien’s face. “Long have we awaited this opportunity, oh Great One. I have come to take you back.” Suddenly, reason set in… and Wendell’s feet were unglued. NO!! Arms flapping wildly, he lunged forward, sprinting for the back door of Evan’s

house. He didn’t know how the green goblin got here, and frankly—Wendell no longer cared. He simply had to escape. The creature watched for a moment before shaking its head and placing a hand to its forehead. “Why do they always hafta run?” Growling, “Get BACK here!” Before Wendell knew he was being yelled at, the thing had crossed the gap running on all four limbs like an ape and lunged. Thick fingers made and thick arms grabbed both of Wendell’s legs, tackling him to the ground. No, No, NO! Its hands twisted in Wendell’s shirt, flipping him over. Using its toes like secondary hands, the goblin climbed onto Wendell’s chest, knocking Wendell’s flailing arms to the side. Within moments, the creature had him pinned. It leaned in closer until their noses touched. “Look here, bub,” the goblin growled deeply, “I’ve come an awfully long way to find ya. Something like this takes a LOT o’ energy. I’m tired, very hungry…and I wanna get home. Now. So…,” it produced a mock smile, bearing the yellow teeth once more, “if you wouldn’t mind…shut yer face and hold STILL!” Wendell was suffocating under its shocking weight…and stench. Its hot, rancid breath was curling his nose hairs. Wendell’s world started to spin like that ride at the carnival that always makes you throw up. He wanted off. All he wanted to do was scream for help. An idea flashed in his mind. Evan! I need Evan’s help—HE can whoop this thing! But the urge to scream was pushed from his mind with a single realization…

Wait. Did it say it was…hungry? His body convulsed as he tried to breathe. The thought of being a main course at some alien table made him sick to his stomach. Scream Wendell. You have to scream! Do it…DO IT NOW! Wendell forced air into his tight lungs… The creature reached forward, grabbed Wendell by the back of the neck and grinned extra wide. “Clench yer teeth and hold on tight, kid,…we ain’t goin’ ta Oz.” Wendell opened his mouth and… BAMPH!

Chapter 4 Reality

Life has a complex plan that involves you and me. While we dream, work and organize, life makes its own tweaks and many times circumstances might not turn out as we hoped. But life is not the enemy. It is not against us. Life provides opportunities for growth and strength of character. Stop fighting against your greatest ally.

The sudden shock ripped through his body, up his spine to his skull, seizing every fiber of muscle in a flash. It was like peeing on an electric fence. Not that he’d ever done that. …often. A stabbing chill raced through his veins, overwhelming him, and he went limp. Then, like being pulled off the roof of an eighty-story building, he was falling. Faster and faster he fell in the blackness…with nothing to hold on to his heart and every other organ pounding in his throat. SMACK! Ouch! What the…!?! A residue of electricity trickled through his body, popping the pressure in his

ears. Lifting his head, silver sparks twinkled behind his eyelids and Wendell swooned. That was the weirdest things I’ve ever… Before he could gain full control of his senses, Wendell was pushed back to the ground with a thud. A brick wall landed on his chest, forcing all the air from his lungs. “Whuuuuu!” he wheezed. Thrashing and gasping, he struggled to get the heavy, smelly, green creature off him so he could breathe. “Welcome to Sanctuary, kid! Don’t worry, the pain’ll ,” the goblin said matter-of-factly. “Happens to everyone the first time ‘round.’” Swinging its leg over Wendell’s face and sliding off his chest, it leaned forward to pat him on the cheek. “Now you wait right here.” Coughing and hacking, Wendell couldn’t answer. He just rolled to his side. “Fwoooh!” he gasped. Calm down, Wendell. Inhale… Exhale… Inhale… It’s gone. The goblin’s gone. You’re safe now. He slowed his breathing until the pain subsided and opened his eyes. It surprised Wendell to notice that he was lying in the dark, and it was unnervingly cold. An unsettling contrast from the warm, summer sun moments ago. One moment he’d been in Evan’s back yard…and the next moment…not. He blinked repeatedly until his eyes adjusted. Was it moments ago? It wasn’t completely dark everywhere. Small circles of light glowing from iron sconces obliged Wendell with a faint view of his surroundings. It was a large room, not like anyplace he’d been before. No windows, no

furniture, nothing but stone walls, stone floors and stone pillars. He strained to listen, beyond his own ragged breathing and thumping heart, for sounds that would tell him where he might be. He waited…and strained. Nothing in the darkness but silence. His fingers softly traced the stones along the floor. The coarse edges felt chilled to the touch. Like a dungeon, he gulped. And he had fallen dead center into a cell. He squinted at the circles of light around him, searching for an edge of the room. No, this can’t be a dungeon. That’s…not possible. Hah. It’s STUPID! Where am I really? But was it so hard to believe? He hadn’t thought goblins could exist…but one had showed up and… A cold draft raised the hair on Wendell’s neck and he shivered, pulling his legs in close. Wait here, it said. He suddenly felt like a cornered mouse. Did that creep hit me? Using a hand, Wendell felt around the base of his skull and over his scalp for signs of a bump or wound. Drag me somewhere? This puzzle was missing too many pieces. How did I even GET here? He tugged on the collar of his shirt and sniffed. He used chloroform to knock me out, that’s what he…but his shirt smelled like chlorine from Evan’s pool. Maybe chloroform smells like chlorine? Wendell gulped. Oh, no! he whimpered, I’m on the Mothership!

He closed his eyes, squinting hard to force memories to the surface. Come on, Wendell—what happened? He tried to entering a shuttle or a teleportation device, but all he could was the sensation of falling. The electric shock! Wait…it tasered me and dragged me aboard!! But he never saw a weapon in the goblin’s hands. Where was he hiding it? Disgusted, he shuddered. Ugnh! Hiding. Hiding? Speaking of hiding…Wendell jerked up and flipped his head around, frantically looking for…that…that…that Thing! Wendell tried to sniff the air but couldn’t. He was holding his breath. Breathe. Don’t forget to breathe! Consciously opening his mouth, Wendell took a deep, exaggerated breath. There’s no way I’m gonna sit here waiting for that freak to come back. Pushing himself to his hands and knees, Wendell cursed his long limbs. Simple movements often got him into embarrassing tangles. He was as awkward as a newborn giraffe. Cringing as his sneakers squeaked against the hard surface, he scurried across the floor until he finally sat beneath a torch against the outer wall of his cell. Having his back to the cold wall made him feel a little less vulnerable…but sitting under a light just made the darkness darker. Not my best plan. Again, he pulled his legs into his chest. “Hello?” he called out, barely above a whisper. No answer. That could be good. Another cold draft wafted across the floor, carrying the smell of…

Wendell trembled. …the unforgettable stink of cigar smoke and rotten fish. He turned his head gradually to the side, looking harder this time for the little green attacker. Lifting his hand to shade his eyes, he squinted into the darkness. There, he found slits of red watching him from the blackness, then a menacing glow flickering across its grotesque face from the burning embers of a cigar. The creature was leaning against a pillar, arms folded. It smiled, baring its teeth.

Wendell knew in his gut, it’s waiting for me! Rolling his tongue around dry lips, Wendell slowly moved to his hands and knees again and crawled along the wall, away from the goblin and into the dark, keeping the glowing embers in his peripheral vision Why me? Why would a goblin want ME?? Who am I really? None of this makes any sense. His breathing matched his quickening pulse. I’m nobody! Just an eighteen-year-old kid who lives in a camping trailer at his mom’s house! I don’t have a job…I don’t have a car…I DON’T EVEN HAVE A GIRLFRIEND! What would aliens want with me? His left eye twitched. Green guys with sharp teeth are NEVER good! Then, with a wave of nausea, the answer hit him. Oh, crap—-didn’t it say it was hungry? Turning his mouth into his shoulder, he tried to stifle the coughing as he gagged in protest against the bile escaping his stomach and jumping to his mouth. The goblin shifted its position, so it stood directly in the light, watching Wendell. Heavy shadows draped across its angular face, which blackened out the eyes completely, giving the creature a look of the undead. It drew a short drag from the cigar and the red embers glowed to reveal a penetrating stare. The eyes fell once more into shadow. He can see me! Wendell almost shrieked out loud, Even through the darkness, he can see me! With a villainous grin, the goblin let the cigar fall from its mouth and pushing off the pillar, vanishing into the darkness. Ahh…AHHH! Wendell looked around with terror widened eyes, holding his breath. I don’t wanna die!

Then he saw it. A door! Less than fifty feet away, beyond the pillars and torches, stood a large arched doorway. The pillars were wide enough to hide behind and probably only ten feet apart. Just run for the door, Wendell. One pillar at a time. You can do this, man. Leaning back onto his knees and then to his feet. all the bullies you out ran when you streaked across the football field in your underwear? Jeffery Chapman’s got nothing on the Wendellizer…because you can run like the wind! Darting glances from side to side, Wendell listened for breathing and sniffed the air. Five. Four. Three more to go. I’m getting out of here!! Wendell took a quick breath, keeping his head low, and pivoted on the ball of his foot… “Boo!” “YEEEARGH!!” Wendell screamed at the sudden flash of red eyes and yellow fangs, accompanied by two monstrous hands in claw-like positions. As a thoughtless and frightened reflex, Wendell’s arm snapped out and slapped the creature squarely across the face. Both stood there in silent shock, each starring wide-eyed at the other. All the worst horror movies Wendell had ever seen now flashed through his mind in one continuous panorama of mindless terror, dismemberment and gore. Terrifying images of the goblin hunched in a corner, burping loudly as it tossed Wendell’s cleaned leg bone over its shoulder, now seemed a likely outcome. Sweat beading on his brow, Wendell forced out a weak smile of apology. The creature opened and closed its mouth, slowly shifting its jaw between thumb

and index finger. “Why you little…,” the goblin snapped. Growling, it kicked Wendell’s legs out from under him, sending the youth to floor with a deep and painful thud. An over-sized hand caught hold of Wendell’s hair, yanking him violently away from the pillar and pulling him towards the door Wendell had targeted for escape. “Ow! Ow! OW!” Wendell yelled, his voice vibrating throughout the hall. Wait… I don’t wanna go through that door now, then out loud, “I changed my mind!” Kicking and flailing, Wendell screamed repeatedly, his shrieks scraping at ear and stone. “I…HOPE YOU GET HEARTBURN!” he finally cried aloud, which received a deep chuckle from the goblin in reply. Ungh! Why can’t I ever think of good insults when it really counts?! Arching his back, Wendell twisted and turned, struggling with every bit of strength he had. He just couldn’t break free! Nooooo! I’m not ready to die!! Reaching out in desperation, he tried latching onto the shallow gaps between the stones of the floor while hooking both feet around a nearby pillar. …but he had no leverage. As usual, Wendell found himself at the mercy of his enemy out-matched. The goblin didn’t even look back as Wendell was effortlessly pulled free. His fingernails were bleeding from scraping frantically for something, anything, to stop the momentum towards death. But there was NOTHING. Nothing he could do as he was dragged across the cold, hard stone. It wasn’t as frightening as it was depressing and utterly discouraging. I should have tried harder to be popular, he thought to himself. Popular kids don’t get snatched up like the nerdy kids. We’re the experiments of the universe…

and you know why? “Why?” he asked himself out loud, whimpering as his butt dragged across the stone. Because even aliens are prejudiced! If you’re not popular, good looking or rich, you’re screwed. Was it true? Did anyone care about the nerds of the world? The ones who win blue ribbons at belching contests or gravitate to the role playing conventions? Sure, they might not get picked by the beautiful girls as a first choice,…or fifth…but nerds appreciate beauty more ionately and deeply than most! Nerds notice the details. Nerds notice the potential. NERDS HAVE GOOD HEARTS! I MUST be worth SOMEthing!? His mind flooded with fishing trips, nights working on dad’s old Indian motorcycle, and learning the piano together to impress mom. Dad thought I was someone special. Why couldn’t you be here, Dad? And Mom… Tortured by the thought of his mom pacing the house, alone and not knowing what happened to him, “I’m sorry, mom,” he whispered. She’ll be devastated! She’ll… Wait—we stopped! “Please! Don’t eat me!” Wendell’s head throbbed as he twisted to see. The goblin, unmoved, pulled a new cigar out of his boxer shorts with its free hand, sniffed and grunted while examining the tobacco and then magically produced a match. With a graceful flick of his wrist, the goblin lit the match off the stubble of its rough, pitted cheek, puffing furiously. Once satisfied, it reached back, grabbed the seat of Wendell’s pants and with a single motion…launched him through the partially open door. Boney knees, chest, and chin all bounced off the stone floor, his ears absorbing the impact of his teeth snapping together.

“UNGH!!” His body, limp with weariness, slid to a stop at a wall, face down. Owwwwww. The loneliness crept in on him. Wendell realized no one would be here to save him. Not his dad. Not his mom… Not even Evan. Wish you were here, buddy. You always know what to do. He whimpered. What do I do!? For a long moment, Wendell remained still, eyes closed, waiting for the end to come. It never did. Peeking with a single eye, then the other—he noticed the room was lighter, shadows dancing along the stone wall and drapes in front of him. The sudden change stung Wendell’s eyes and head, so he clenched his eyes tight once more. I’ll look in a minute. Besides, his ears were ringing along with the throbbing in his head—which was quickly morphing into a splitting headache that surged through his skull and into his left eye. Worse than that, a puddle of blood was growing under his face and he raised his hand to find its source. Reaching out to the curtains, he used the cloth to wipe his bloody nose. “Oh, my goodness—are you alright!?” Muscles sore, bones aching, Wendell tried once more to lift himself up.

Dad? Is it my time? Have you come to get me? It was just too much. Monsters. Being kidnapped. Dungeons. Being eaten… Though he was relieved to wait on that last one. Afraid to open his eyes to reality, he buried his face in the cloth of the drapes. “My boy, are you alright?” What a stupid question. I’ve just been kidnapped, hunted, thrown onto my delicate, tender, ruggedly handsome and under appreciated face…and now I’m about to be eaten. What do you think? Wendell timidly opened one eye, looking over his shoulder for the yellow teeth. They were nowhere to be seen. He breathed a sigh of relief, his body suddenly letting go of all the pent up fear and stress. Sniffing, needles shot to the front of his brain. “OW!” He flinched as the pressure behind his head and eyes released a fresh flow of blood. Reaching out to gather the once white drapes, he applied pressure to his nose. Sorry about the drapes. I know you taught me better, mom, but after how creature treated me—maybe you could overlook this one. Slowly turning over, Wendell kept a firm grip on his nose and rested his head on the cold floor. It felt good; the chill easing the throbbing discomfort of his skull. This is crazy. It just has to be a freaky dream, doesn’t it, dad? I mean, it’s too wild and frightening to be real. There’s no such thing as monsters! He sighed. This line of reasoning made him feel a little better. “Ahem.” The voice hovered directly over him.

Wait a minute. Dad? “Ahem!” repeated the voice. Da—Wendell’s eyes popped open. Old blue eyes…and a blue face…stared back. “EEEAAAAAHHHH!!!!” Wendell grabbed the folds of the drapes and like a pink ostrich, shoved his face under them, trembling. Wake up, Wendell, wake UP! This is just a crazy dream…IT’S JUST A DREAM! “Excuse me,” said the old man, “please take your head out from under my robe.” Wendell froze. What did he…? Then, peeking through one eye—yup…hairy, blue legs.

I didn’t mention the blue skin before? Hmmm. Sorry about that. Should have mentioned it in the first chapter. Yes, the Elders are blue. Not a sky blue, but a deeper ocean blue, which is created by a mineral in the soil. Now, where were we? Oh yes—hairy, blue legs and Wendell quickly getting to his feet.

The old man, glancing down at the mess Wendell had made of his robes, just shook his head, making a mental note to chastise Dax for handling the Hero so roughly. With a raised eyebrow, hands clasped behind his back (to minimize the excited fidgeting), the old man watched Wendell flounder, embarrassed to get to his feet. “My Lord,” he said respectfully, bowing deeply. Wendell whipped his head about, confused. The two of them were completely alone. At a loss, he stood upright, put an index finger to his chest and asked, “Are you talking to me?” The old man’s smile grew wider. “Yes, my Lord. I am talking to you.” Still uncertain, Wendell looked around a second time. “Okaaay.”

Shifting his weight backward a step, he stared at the old man warily. “Where’s the goblin thing with the pointy teeth?” “Dax? Oh, he isn’t a goblin, my Lord. He’s an ‘Evolu’…and he has retired to his quarters for the night.” Soooo, the monster has a name. Keeping his distance, Wendell watched the open archway skeptically, before glancing back at this new threat. “So…he’s NOT coming back to eat me?” “I beg your pardon?” Wendell held up his fingers, elbows, doing a show-and-tell of his worst scrapes, bumps and bruises, emphasizing the blood caked to his upper lip, trailing across his left cheek. “Oh, my goodness,” exclaimed the old man, who seemed visually disturbed by Wendell’s wounds. “You think Dax was…oh no, no. He would never do such a thing, I assure you! He may lack common manners, but he’s no monster.” Says you. Still skeptical, Wendell circled the room, slowly and deliberately putting as much space between them as possible. The room, though still encased in stone, was warm through its furnishings, which looked formal in its ornately adorned wooden desk and bookshelves. Though this room had windows, granting some natural light, it also had oil lamps hanging from chains attached to black metal hooks bolted to the walls. Higher up hung huge, brilliant tapestries with blue-faced figures weaved into calm poses of oration or studying. Seven of them dangled from heavy black chains attached to beams protruding from the ceiling. This must be an office or library. Wendell took a mental inventory of anything he could use to defend himself: a goblet, metal candlesticks, a small bag of rocks, a tall walking stick leaning against a bookcase, a spoon resting in a bowl of half-eaten fruit, and even daggers mounted to the wall. As a backup plan, there was also an enormous

spiral staircase behind the desk in the far corner of the room. I wonder where that goes? Wendell made his way to the far side of the large golden desk, which was situation in the center of the room. He was grateful to have an obstacle between himself and the reject from the Blue Man Group. It also got him closer to the stairs and an escape route. This really is getting ridiculous. Not a single thing so far made any sense. This wasn’t reality and the only explanation that Wendell could figure out was he’d fallen asleep in the sun and probably had too much to eat at the pool party. That’s it. Everything went awesome, like it usually does with Evan and I’m asleep by the pool, and this is all from too much pastrami and spicy cheese. I’m gonna have to sleep this off. Resigned to have to play this out a little longer, “I don’t know this…” “Dax.” “Yeah, Dax…I don’t know him…and I don’t know you. Heck, for all I know I’ve been taken out of the frying pan and thrown into the fire!” The blue man’s furrowed forehead and blank eyes showed a momentary confusion at the analogy. “I am the High Elder and you, my Lord, are in Sanctuary,” he said in a friendly tone. Wendell pointed boldly back at the stranger. “You’re blue.” The High Elder chuckled, “Yes.” “Yeah, but you’re blue. Like, not flesh-colored. Blue.” The High Elder scratched his head at the odd perception, looking thoughtful. “You’re pink.” Wendell shook his head, “But that’s normal.”

“Compared to what?” asked the High Elder. “I am blue, as are my people. Dax is green, you are pink and from what I , people from your world are also black, brown, red, and yellow…yes?” Wendell scratched his cheek, considering. “Ok, you have me there. Blue though, that’s…weird.” “The Universes are filled with variety.” Universes? Yup. Wendell, my boy, this HAS to be a dream. Everything looked, felt and sounded so real, but it was so far out of whack Wendell didn’t know where to start. It’s too weird NOT to be a dream! Yet, even in his weirdest dreams, he could find some connection to real life or had at least woken up when the situation became dangerous. Like the time when he was running naked through a forest, chased by commando monkeys brandishing paintball guns, he still woke up before he got shot. This was new. This one hurt! He looked down at the smeared, dried blood on his arms and hands—the sore and raw fingernails. If it is a dream, why don’t I wake up? “Um, I’m no Lord,” replied Wendell, looking at the old man squarely. “He kidnapped the wrong guy. That…Dax guy.” The old man did a double take. “Kidnapped? You were not kidnapped.” “Hello? The green guy grabbed me and took me from my home…against my will!! That’s the definition of kidnapping where I come, bucko. If I was a year younger, there’d be AMBER Alerts going off all over this place!” Wendell snorted, rubbing his sore cheek and wiping the remaining blood from his upper lip on his wrist. He raised an eyebrow at the High Elder, who shrugged slightly. “Um, right,” said the Elder thoughtfully. “Again, I am truly sorry for your

treatment by Dax, but there is no mistake. If you will come with me, my Lord, I will explain, but we really must be moving along.” Making an open-handed sweeping motion toward the stairs, he took a couple of steps forward, then paused for Wendell to follow. Stepping away from the High Elder and further from the stairs, Wendell asked, “Seriously, what’s with all the ‘Lord’ talk?” Okay, maybe I don’t want to go down those stairs after all… “Pardon?” queried the High Elder taking a few steps around to Wendell’s side of the desk. “Wendell. That’s my name. This ‘Lord’ thing is making me…uncomfortable,” he said as he sidestepped to keep the desk between them. I’m not going anywhere with you, blueberry, until I know what you’re up to! “Just call me Wendell.” His every move countered on the opposite side of the desk, the High Elder sighed and stopped. “Then let’s try this again, shall we…Wendell?” The High Elder looked overly uncomfortable using his first name, which amused Wendell, and he cracked a small grin. The High Elder smiled back politely and nodded, hopeful. “We have brought here you, from Earth, at my request. You have a special…” “Wait!” Wendell snapped out loud, “From Earth? As in…I’m not ON Earth anymore?” “Certainly not, my…,” but he caught himself, “Wendell.” Woah…woah. The freakiness just jumped a level. Wendell gulped, reminding himself that is was all just a dream, “Then…where am I, exactly?” “You are in Sanctuary, as I stated,” the High Elder replied calmly, nodding his head ever-so-slightly. “A small settlement of the Iskari people.” “Yeah. Sure.” Another gulp. “Of course.” “As I was saying, you have a special birthright, Wendell, and it is my privilege

and sacred duty to make sure we give you what rightfully belongs to you. A treasure beyond imagination. The duty of my Order has been to watch over your treasure, with our lives if necessary, until it is returned. That is why you are here.” Treasure? He just said treasure? Now this is more of the kind of dream I like. People telling me I’m special…and trying to give me money? Well, all right now! “So, if you would follow me.” …aaaaand then it gets creepy again. Wendell shook his head. “I don’t think so.” The High Elder said nothing. With a sigh, he placed his hands into the folds of his sleeves. Wendell watched with satisfaction the muscles in the High Elder’s jaw pulse as he slowly, silently, grit his teeth. It’s about time somebody besides me got upset about what’s going on here. “I told you already. I’m not your Lord. You’ve got the wrong guy.” Exasperated, Please, let me wake up. I’m gonna miss the rest of the pool party and the girls! “Seriously, this is crazy! Birthright? Privilege? Sacred duty? Treasure?” Maybe I smacked my head on the concrete…or…just losing my mind? “Whatever!! WHY am I standing here talking to a blue dude!?! Let’s call this a stalemate. Just let me walk out of here and go home.” Wendell watched closely as the High Elder cleared his throat and looked away. Withdrawing from the desk, the High Elder walked to a bookcase. He ran his slender blue fingers tenderly across the curious workmanship of the leather spines. “It’s a bit…complicated.” Wendell scoffed. Complicated is the word adults use when they don’t know what to do…or they’re hiding something and don’t want to tell the truth. He doubted things could be any more complicated. “Confuse me then. Don’t chicken out on me—explain this to me so I can understand, or I’m not budging.” The High Elder composed himself. “Very well,” he breathed, drawing a slim red book from the top shelf. Walking back to the desk, he laid the volume down on

the desk and opened the faded yellow pages. “You are not originally from Earth.” Wendell noticed the intricate penmanship, both in drawings along the edges of the entries and the handwriting itself. “We hid you there as an infant. As the last heir to a royal bloodline of privileged station and power, it was essential we kept you safe. Your mother, father, your very life there was all a carefully laid deception to protect you from the enemies of your family.” But the High Elder paused, reconsidering his words. “Actually, the enemy of this world.” Wendell burst into hysterical laughter. It was the wildest thing he had ever heard. The High Elder raised an eyebrow and waited while Wendell snorted, gasped, and pounded his fist repeatedly on the desk. “Seriously?!? So now you will tell me I’m some long-lost prince and you’ve brought me back to make me king?” he snorted. “A king? No. I would not dream of bestowing such a lowly station upon you, my Lord.” Wendell closed his mouth and…frowned. Lowly? Being a king is…lowly? “Really?” The High Elder stood motionless.“Really.” For nearly a minute the High Elder stood silently, staring back stoically. “Okay,” chimed Wendell breaking the silence, “So, now I’m the alien here… that’s not the alien? That’s funny! Soooo how come I’m not blue, then?” His laughter subsided, and the two stood with locked gazes. “The answer is simple, my Lord. You are not Iskari.” “I asked you to stop calling me that.” “I’m sorry, my Lord.” Wendell’s eyes narrowed to slits as the implication sank in.

“You lie,” he said coldly. “My parents would have told me, if I was adopted, or…dropped off by a stork, or…whatEVER happened to me! They never lied to me. Ever.” The whole concept was absurd. His parent…liars? No way. This joker has no clue who he’s talking about…Mom? Dad? Impossible!! The High Elder’s expression softened as he shook his head. “On the part of your Earthly guardians, you are correct, and I deeply apologize if I have offended you. There was never deception involved. They loved and adored you and believed you to be their own flesh and blood. They excelled beyond our expectations. You were indeed, a cherished child. It was specifically why they were chosen—the most tender hearts for a most delicate labor of love.” He paused to let Wendell take it all in. “Your real parents, however, are of a royal line from this Universe. From this world. You were switched with another child at birth.” He paused, Wendell already shaking his head. “I am sorry for your pain, Wendell, but it is true.” “Real parents?” he spat. Tears welled up in Wendell’s eyes. “‘Real’ parents are those who love you, care for you, teach you and protect you…not cast you off and leave you in the hands of strangers! I know who my parents are.” …and I’m glad this isn’t real, because this dream sucks! “Quite right,” whispered the High Elder. “However, you should know that sending you away was the only way to keep you safe. You were never ‘cast off’. Both your…,” he searched for a less offensive word, “natural parents perished protecting you, Wendell. Your bloodline, your genealogy, is unique…even to this world. Your family has been honored and revered for a thousand generations. You are the last of that precious line. In our world, Wendell, that makes you the most valuable man alive. You are the key to saving life.” “Life? …Who’s life?” he couldn’t resist asking, but his tone dripped with sarcasm. Now I know this has to be a dream! It’s complete crap. I’m just a kid!! He stared at the High Elder expectantly. “All life, my Lord,” said the High Elder, his voice dropping to a reverent tone. Making a motion towards the winding stairwell, “Please—there is so little time.” “Wendell. For crying out loud, call me Wendell!” He felt light-headed. None of this made any sense. It was crazy. Absurd. Lunatic. No one ever paid attention to

me before. Why now? “So, you send some creepy little monster to kidnap me? Take me from my home? For some treasure? To save life? What does that even mean?!? If this was about the Alien Publishers Clearinghouse Sweepstakes, why didn’t he just bring the treasure to me?” “It’s not that simple, my Lo…Wendell,” he corrected. “The treasure is so valuable that there are others who would have it for their own at any cost! It is the other key to saving life. That is why we stand watch over it diligently, with complete dedication--to hide it from sight and knowledge, here on this moon. That is our main purpose—to guard the treasure until the one of noble blood returns to reclaim what is rightfully his. Now please, Wendell, I beg of you,” he added urgently, taking a tentative step forward. “We must move quickly!” Heaving a deep helpless sigh, Wendell had to it, despite the frustration, he was feeling a little curious. After all these years of being someone else’s shadow, someone actually wanted HIM. Dream or not I guess it doesn’t hurt to see where this leads, right? Who knows how long this’ll last—might as well go along for the ride and enjoy the attention while it lasts. Besides, once I wake up, it’ll be boring…and irritating life as usual. I think I deserve some praise and wonder for a change! Yeah. Okay, let’s do this. Stepping around the table, he went with the blueberry. Relieved, the High Elder smiled and once more put out his arm to lead Wendell to the far corner of the room. The opening was carved into the merging stone, forming a smooth, rounding archway. Wendell, eager to see where he was being taken, glanced over the black metal railing, which looked like a black grapevine, the smaller vines and leaves weaving to connect the top and bottom bars. The center of the stairwell was a vast circle of blackness. Wendell couldn’t see the bottom. In fact, the whole stairwell , which wrapped around the inner walls, was swallowed up in the darkness. The light from the archway provided just enough light to see the first five steps. Okayyyy, Wendell gulped, this is a bit spooky. Without a word, the High Elder stepped confidently into the darkness. Uncertain, Wendell held back observing, rethinking.

It’s just a dream, Wendell, he reminded himself. What are you, three? This is just…darkness. Right? Right. Oh, yeah. Well, okay. Step. See? Nothing happened. Step again… He was only a couple steps into the darkness when he was taken aback by a sudden flood of light surrounding him and the High Elder. Torches firmly affixed to sconces, ignited of their own accord! The abrupt change…and the fact that one of the torches by Wendell’s head burst into flame, sent him stumbling back against the wall, hand over chest. The High Elder did not pause. Whew! That was…wooooah. The torches, though dramatic as they were, sent their paltry light outward, to be reflected by thousands of crystals embedded into the stones. Each crystal sparkled and shimmered, reflecting the dancing flames. Calling to one another, cheerfully casting rainbow prisms along the steps. Wendell couldn’t help iring. What is this place? The light followed them down the stairs, fading above them the deeper they went, never divulging the hidden secrets or depth of the well. “We are descending into the belly of the Key,” said the High Elder, his voice and brisk footsteps echoing through the tower. “Created specifically to guard and protect the greatest treasure of our world.” Wendell followed close behind. Fascinated by the lights, he stared at the various stones as he ed them. Unusual symbols began to appear, carved into what seemed to be random stones. Reaching out to run a finger over the black etching… It jumped away. The symbol, etched into the stone, had moved to the right, onto an ading stone! Wendell skidded to a halt. Waaaait a minute.

Leaning closer, he poked a finger at the symbol. This time it jumped to the stone above, avoiding his touch. Now, this is wild! Wendell turned while pointing to the symbol, wanting to ask a question…and found himself left behind. The High Elder had not slowed his decent, his robes flowing across each step. He really IS in a hurry. “Ward runes,” the Elder called back to him, without turning around, “and yes, they move. They are powerful magic that instantly informs the steward…which is myself…of any tampering or ill intent within its vicinity. They work with the crystals, which change color when a threat is detected.” Wendell hopped the steps two at a time, catching up, “Then you saw me…” “Swipe your finger across a rune, then stop to poke it once more? Yes.” Well, I’ll be, you sneaky old… “The symbols within this chamber are like a revolving lock. They prevent even the most skilled Mägo from breaching its defenses.” “Mägo. Right,” but Wendell wasn’t paying any attention to the conversation. “When the Key was first built, the Hero took the rarest of gems from the mines of Elämäkäs. It was a gift, from one of your ancestors. ” Sighing, hmmm, that again. After a few moments of silence, Wendell shook his head. Okay, I’ll bite. “Why me?” “Why you? You are the birthright child.” Rolling his eyes, “Yeah, you said that already. But—how do you know it’s me? You’re telling me I’m from another planet…that I’m not from Earth? Prove it. I’ve never been outside my home state except to travel to Idaho for family vacations. Now you’re telling me I’m from another Universe. Sure, whatever. Fact is, I’ve never been important to anyone other than my mom and dad…and maybe my best friend, Evan. I’m nobody. I know that, my neighbors know that…HECK, with all the weird contest I’ve entered over the years, most of the state knows that!” Wendell was blunt about his own life. No point in trying to lie

to his own subconscious. The High Elder halted and turned with his back to the inside railing. He did it so casually that Wendell almost reached out to grab him for fear of the old man flipping over and falling down the center of the tower. “Wendell, please listen carefully, because we are nearly out of time…” “Hold it, right there,” Wendell cut him off, holding up his hand. “I’m here. You snatched me, all right? What’s with all this hurry, hurry, out of time stuff?” The High Elder paused…and it was easy to see the tension of his arms under the near trembling sleeves. “You are the most important person in this set of creations. I understand this is a lot for you to believe on just my word, but you must trust me. My whole life has been to prepare for this very meeting. That being said, there are others…powerful individuals, Wendell, who would see you…” but he stopped, his gaze shifting. “Hurt?” The Elder’s eyes locked onto Wendell’s without blinking. “They would see you dead.” “Ouch,” gulped Wendell, “…and my mom always said I waste time.” Now I’m REALLY glad this is a a dream! The High Elder turned, ignoring the sarcasm and continued down the stairs. “You are the last in a royal line of a very special, privileged family, unique. They are the heroes of our legends—so loved and revered, that cultures were built in honor of them. That blood, my friend, is what runs through your veins. You being here to accept this treasure means the difference between freedom and slavery for all life everywhere.” Wendell snorted, “Good, no pressure then.” “This is no laughing matter, my L….Wendell,” the High Elder said firmly. “However, once you accept the treasure, you will receive greater protection than I or my brethren can provide.”

“So what, it’s a diamond crusted bullet-proof vest?” Looking over his shoulder, “A bullet…proof…I don’t understand.” Wendell shook his head, “Bad joke, never mind.” “All things will become perfectly clear once you take your proper place.” This could have had more impact on Wendell, had he been paying better attention. As it was, he thought he saw the shadow of something moving in the symbols across the wall and quickly looked over to see what it was, losing track of the conversation. “Uh-hmmm,” responded Wendell absentmindedly as he stared at the symbols. Nothing. But it happened again as soon as he looked away. They slithered like snakes in his peripheral vision. …these symbols were following them. It was eerie. The High Elder stopped again, waiting for Wendell’s reaction, looked back at him expectantly. “This will be the greatest adventure you will ever have, with rewards beyond your comprehension!” he said emphatically. “What? Oh, yeah. Me…hero…riiiight.” This was, after all, of no lasting consequence because it was just a dream. “I hope this isn’t one of those dreams I forget when I wake up. It’s turning out to be pretty awesome! Evan will have a riot when I tell him I was talking to a blue dude in a dress.” “You think this to be a dream!?” Finally, offended at Wendell’s casual attitude, the High Elder leaned in close enough to Wendell’s face for him to feel the warmth of his breath. “This is no dream!” he stammered. “Lives are at stake and I took great risk in following my own instincts to bring you here in this fashion!” Wendell just smiled, holding up a hand. “Okay, okay! Stay calm. Look, it doesn’t

really matter. Really. No love lost here. I was a nobody at home. No real hopes or potential, or so people told me day in and day out…and now a guy in a dress tells me I’m the end all, be all with a treasure just for showing up? Hey, sounds good to me, where do I sign?” Wendell mused, “Hey, maybe I’ll write a book about all this someday! I can call it Prelude to a Hero.” He nodded, “Hey, I kinda like that. Sounds epic.” He chuckled openly, “Then I just need to have another dream, where I sell 400 million copies…retire on a farm with a gorgeous wife and twelve kids.” With his jaw set in determination, the aged eyes squinted at Wendell trying to decide what to do. Then, with a flurry of cloth, throwing his arms out to the sides, he spun around and quickly continued his descent. “Robe,” he hollered over his shoulder, his voice echoing. “What?” “It’s not a dress,” the High Elder said firmly, “it’s a robe.” Fair play. Wendell smiled. Again, he noticed the odd symbols shifting, almost slithering along the walls out of the corner of his eye. Confused at his quickening heart rate and shallow breathing, his spine tingled and the hair on the back of his neck rose. That sensation only occurred right before something happened at school. Something terrible…warning him to be alert. It grew stronger as they reached the bottom of the tower. What am I doing? You know the feeling. The one you get when at first, nothing seems out of place and everyone is smiling…

Chapter 5 Ouch

Nothing is truly free. Every gift has a price, paid for by someone in coin, favors, expectations or goods. Things get a little sticky when Life shows up wanting to collect on something you thought was free. Always ask the price.

Wendell was standing at the bottom of a black well—the torches, for some reason, had gone out as they descended. What was I thinking? Oh, yeah, Stupid. This is just a dream. Dream or not—he didn’t expect all the lights to go out. The torches were fewer and fewer as they reached the last step, being stingy with the light and keeping all the warmth for themselves. Wendell wrapped his arms around his lean frame, rubbing his arms briskly to warm himself with the friction. It was obvious no one had been to the bottom of the Key in ages. The last dozen steps and railing were entombed in a thick layer of stringy grey. Maybe that’s why the lights dim - so nobody can see housekeeping hasn’t done their job? Stale and musty, it even smelled old…and his nose wrinkled. Covering his mouth with his hand, Wendell fought the urge to cough as the thick dust stirred with each swish of the High Elder’s robe. The High Elder walked slower as he left the steps, thoughtfully turning to face a dark archway underneath the stone staircase. Wendell paused on the last step, iring the curious, pale wood framing the

archway. It had been carved to look like a pair of trees had grown up from the stone, entwining themselves as they stretched across the opening in the wall. The delicately small limbs fanned out to embrace the stone, weaving and wedging their way into the cracks of the masonry. Desiring a closer look, Wendell stepped from the last stair, and was instantly swallowed in darkness. “Heeeey!” Wendell complained, hands groping in front of him. “Shhh!” the High Elder hissed. “Don’t shush me. It’s dark. Where’d the lights go?” “Shhh!” “Whatever,” Wendell sighed. He stood in place and resumed rubbing his arms. It’s freaking cold down here! “We must the sentry,” whispered the High Elder. “Remain still, young Wendell.” “Sentry? As in a…guard? I don’t see anything,” he muttered. “Be observant, my friend. And be very, very still.” Startled by a sharp crack, Wendell flinched. Blue sparks jumped upward, followed by a soft, cold glow emitting from the top of a long, thin staff held in the High Elder’s hand. “Cool,” Wendell drawled. “Wait, where’d you get that?” The High Elder glared at Wendell now, his brows furrowed in all seriousness. “Shhh!” he insisted. Whatever. Turning back to the archway, the High Elder stepped forward, holding out his free hand, palm up. Wendell watched him for several moments, frozen in place, hand outstretched to

the room…which seemed a bit—well, looney. That all changed when, from the archway, a deep, rumbling growl rolled through the room. Wendell’s stomach sank, and he gulped. Blinking, his eyes darted about the room…but there was nothing. At least nothing he could see. W-what’s going on…? The High Elder, still standing in the near center of the room, bowed, keeping his hand outstretched before him. “Dämä Omä, my brother,” he said softly, “I come with He who was spoken of. We seek permission to enter.” Squinting, Wendell couldn’t see anything. What is he doing….and WHO IS HE TALKING TO?? Even in the glow of the High Elder’s staff, there was no one there! Trouble was, Wendell could hear someone move. …or something. Whatever it was, it lurked in the shadows. Wendell suddenly felt grateful the old man was in front of him. He resolved to not feel bad if he had to leave his imaginary host in the dust to be eaten by the unknown to save his own skin. Another growl. Blast it! Gotta adjust to this blasted darkness! Closing his eyes, Wendell silently counted to five, then slowly opened them once more. The light from the staff burned brighter, the shadows fading somewhat, until he could make out the surrounding walls. There, now we can… Then he saw it. Well, sort of. A warped shadow, swaying…just inside the tunnel.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what he was looking at. In fact, Wendell wasn’t even sure he was looking at anything—but there was a flicker. Focusing on a single spot within the darkness, Wendell would catch a sudden blur of movement in his peripheral vision, but it would vanish as soon as he tried to focus on it. Again, there was a deep rumbling, as if from within the chest of…something huge. Something close. “Hold perfectly still,” warned the High Elder intensely, the softer, “Keep your head bowed.” What is going on?! The self-preservation personality whispered inside his head. How stupid ARE you, Wendell? Run, you idiot. RUN! Leave this old loon behind and RUN AWAY!! But the weighty apprehension of uncertainty glued Wendell’s shoes to the ground. Maybe I’m safer behind the elder? If something tries to get me, I can always shove the old guy into my escape path before I make a run for it. Pause. Not…like I can be guilty of murder in a dream, right? Something in his gut compelled him to obey the High Elder. This time. Moving through the dust in front of them, a chilling scrape across the stone caused Wendell to raise his eyes…just in time to see a massive paw mark, bigger than the whole of his chest, press through the grey layer of dust. …then another. Only closer. Wendell suddenly desperately needed to pee. The prints stopped directly in front of the High Elder, who then calmly…stepped aside. Oh, no, you don’t! Without lifting his head, Wendell slid one foot over and then another until he

was behind the High Elder again. Wendell felt the rumble from the floor through his feet, causing his legs to quiver. Surprised, the High Elder hissed, “What are you doing!?” “It’s my dream,” Wendell hissed back, “and you’re expendable!” The High Elder shifted once more. Wendell followed suit—keeping the blue man as a meat shield in front of him. The low growl seemed a little sharper, almost impatient this time. “Stop it!” the High Elder nearly shrieked. “You’ll anger him!” Wendell shook his head, “Then stop moving!” In one stunning motion, the High Elder spun, positioning himself directly behind Wendell and pushing him forward, holding him firmly by the shoulders. “Hey!…HEY!!” squeaked Wendell, struggling. “Stay there!” the High Elder warned. Wendell’s entire body convulsed in spasms as he heard…something coming closer. Why doesn’t anybody around here LIKE me? Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Scccraaaape. Wendell could see another paw print appear just inches from his own shoes. Though he felt like whimpering, he bit his own lip and trembled. Like the sound of a dog sniffing an open hand, intermittent bursts of humid air hit Wendell in the chest—leaving his hair and face feeling damp. Gritting his teeth, he turned his head to the side, clenching his eyes tight and curling his toes within his shoes. Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me. Please don’t eat me! AhhAHHHahhhh.

As he was being ‘sniffed’ it occurred to him that spending time with Dax might not be too frightening at this point. With a mild bump…which nearly knocked Wendell over…the huge prints retreated in the dust. Wendell gulped. Is…that it? He opened his eyes, watching the prints appear to the side of the tunnel where several small hanging oil lamps, dangling down its center, flickered to life. See? That wasn’t so bad after all. I knew I could do it. “Thank you, brother,” the High Elder smiled. “You have honored your covenant. We will keep our end of the agreement. May peace reign with you until your path ends.” Erupting in a deafening roar, the Key exploded with dust and cobwebs. “What’s happening?!?” Wendell screamed, stumbling backwards against the wall. The High Elder dashed to his side, raising an arm to shield his own face. “Prepare yourself!” The floor trembled beneath their feet. Both men cringed against the stone, covering their faces with upheld hands and arms. The sound of heavy wing fall rose up the stairs, each beat creating a vortex of air, whipping through the Key. A powerful suction pulled at them. Dust, pebbles, and cobwebs churned around them,…and with one fell swoop, were sucked straight up the center of the tower. Small flakes of dust, rock and sand rained down upon the floor from above. Moments later, Wendell heard another roar in the distance. Then it was gone. Smiling, the High Elder coughed, brushing off his robe. “That was exciting!” Then, gesturing towards the tunnel brightly, “We are free to proceed.” “Wha…wha…what in heaven's name…?” was all Wendell could say, standing

there as pebbles dropped from above, pelting his head. The High Elder brushed the falling dust from Wendell’s shoulders. “Heavens, indeed. We were able to witness a rare and powerful creature just now, fulfilling a very old agreement. A beautiful and noble story…for another time. We must move on. Quickly now,” he said softly, guiding Wendell into the tunnel. Wendell hesitated. This dream is more bizarre…and fanTAStic as we go! The tiny light from the oval lamps hanging overhead cast a soft glow on ornate glass mosaics, which lined the inner walls. Tiles so small and expertly places, the figures looked almost lifelike, each story compellingly beautiful…or terrifying. The mosaic was broken into three distinct scenes. To Wendell’s left was a landscape ravaged by warfare. Devastating destruction caused by an immense black dragon. Its muscular and armored body loomed over the fields, terrible claws ripping men to pieces, while its spiked tail exploded through tents and trebuchet. Its head reared back, spitting flame over its enemies as thousands of green creatures laid waste to surrounding villages, slaying people and ransacking buildings. To the right was a scene of more green creatures—arrayed in mighty armies, bringing other dragons down with ropes, nets and barbed hooks. White and silver serpents, of immense size and beauty, howled and struggled, bound by rope and chain. Footmen on the ground stabbed the beasts repeatedly with spears and pikes, or shot them with arrows—while others used sword and axe to hack wings from the mighty bodies. Wendell shuttered and winced in pain. The grasslands ran thick with blood as the black dragon, its red eyes mirrored the carnage, ablaze with anger and vengeance, watched from afar. Why hide pictures like this down here? How can anyone appreciate beautiful art like this at the bottom of a stinky, musty tower?? Each lamp hanging overhead gave enough light, mixed with shadow, to glitter across the tile surfaces, creating the illusion of smoke rising from fires and blood creeping through grass bending in the wind.

It all looks so…real. So…and he gasped. The ceiling overhead displayed a peaceful scene, however. It was here that Wendell’s attention lingered. Beautiful, fair skinned beings dressed in flowing robes. Twelve beings, male and female, paired, holding hands and walking through a tall, shimmering forest of silver trees. Wendell’s eyes were drawn to one female at the outer edge of the mosaic, all alone, on her knees in a grove. Her silver hair wrapped around her head and across her shoulders, glittering strands falling down her back. So long was her hair, that the strands fanned out behind her in a shimmering train across the grass and over the roots of trees. Delicate fingers intertwined and head bowed, the woman wept. Wendell couldn’t explain why his heart ached for the figure in the grove, but it did. He found it hard to breathe, swallowing loudly, his hand resting against the warfare scene to keep his balance as he gazed upward. The other twelve beings look so happy…so why is this woman all alone? He had an instant desire to comfort her. To tell her it would be alright, but that was foolish. It was, after all, only a picture. Yet Wendell stretched his hand up, fingers lightly stroking the ends of her hair. “What is all this? These scenes?” he asked aloud. The High Elder, who stood patiently, followed Wendell’s gaze to the woman. “That is a tragedy no heart should bear. In a once ancient tongue, they were called the Verrdrä. The word means ‘High’ or ‘Ruling’ Serpent.” Wendell looked to the black serpent, “You mean dragon, don’t you?” Nodding, “Dragons so intelligent, noble and loving, they were granted the ability to enjoy the blessings of humanity. To take the shapes of mortals and walk among mankind. Seven Lords and Seven Ladies, chosen to live and rule over the kingdom of animals. They and their offspring, forever.”

Wendell scanned the scene, “But there are only six couples here. That lady in the grove is alone. Where’s the seventh?” The High Elder nodded to the scene behind him. “He is the black serpent causing the surrounding destruction.” Pulling his hand from the wall, Wendell stared once more at the scene. It wasn’t long before he found himself staring into the creature's red eyes. So fierce. So devastating. So angry. There was no love in them. “Why is the black dragon destroying villages and cities? I thought you said the dragons received the ability to change because they were loving? This thing is destroying everything around him.” The High Elder sighed, “We really must be going….” “Humor me,” Wendell replied cooly. “I’ve come with you, as you asked me to, so tell me about these dragons.” He looked the High Elder straight in the face, his expression softening. “Please.” Something in the blue Elder gave in, and a smile appeared. “I am not well versed in the lore, but I…will share what I know from our own records.” Wendell nodded with a wide grin, “Cool.” Taking a place next to Wendell, he glanced upward. “Ages ago, during the first of the Heroes, when our world was yet young and the gods still interacted among the people more readily, there was a transformation. A time of great magic and wonder. When giants walked the lands freely and men knew the secrets of nature. This is the time when the dragon lords and ladies took upon themselves mortal form to walk and exist among mankind. “Even then, mortals were a wondrous people to behold. Capable of such love and comion, to which the Verrdrä were drawn. They had watched and envied the way we interacted, the way we laughed and danced, singing and making merry. So they desired to live out their days among those who ruled over this world. To become more than what they were.” The High Elder paused, a sadness seeping into his voice. “But in taking upon themselves the forms of mortals, they also fell subject to mortal ions. The mighty black dragon, known among his own kind as Vebränmiekkä—Dragon of

the Fiery Sword—coveted the lady Vekesäu, Dragon of Summer Moon. Only she was the covenant mate of the Lord of Lords, the Great Verdräskinn, The Hidden Dragon Lord.” Wendell frowned, “That doesn’t sound good.” The High Elder nodded, “Indeed it was not. The Verrdrä are unique creatures, but their mating rituals remain the same as all great serpents. They mate for life through what is referred to as a ‘heart song’. A connection that pulls at the mind, heart and the very soul of a dragon. Its call cannot be denied.” Wendell frowned, “I’m not seeing the problem. Then why is that dragon lady crying and alone?” “Because all gifts come with a price. We mortals choose our own path when it comes to the heart. The dragon lords and ladies, while in mortal flesh, were given agency.” “Agency? As in being able to choose?” “Precisely. The Verrdrä were given the ability to take on human form, but only for a time. A test, as you will, to see if they would give into ions they had never before experienced…to violate their own nature. One among them chose to give into that selfishness and follow another path. “Vebränmiekkä was rebuked by lady Vekesäu, whose heart belonged to her beloved Verdräskinn and branded a traitor by the Verrdrä as a whole. Both the betrayal and the judgement of Vebränmiekkä were…inconceivable. “The Verrdrä found themselves unable to comfort the pure affections and heart song of lady Veydänkev, Dragon Heart of Spring.” Wendell’s mind couldn’t help but think back to school, where it seemed connections were so casually made and cast aside by the teens he knew. Here he was, learning of mythical creatures, strict in their life connections, while his own culture revolved around the desires of the heart instead of something lasting or meaningful. A boyfriend or girlfriend every month, every week…trading places at a whim. It never occurred to Wendell how easily affections were given to one another,

rather than holding them close, private and sacred. We don’t even care about the consequences, so long as we get what we want, do we? I sounded horrible from that perspective, but it was true. What would that would do, playing with the emotions and the natural affections as teens got older? It wasn’t so surprising that divorce and teen pregnancy were so common. Too many people took relationships and bestowing affections as a minor thing. “Sounds pretty intense, for not loving someone back, doesn’t it?” The High Elder shrugged, “Perhaps, but there were only fourteen dragon lords and ladies. That was the whole of their species. Think about that. Only seven couples to carry on a whole species, Wendell. To deny the heart song was to deny the very survival of their race and jeopardized their place to rule over the whole of the animal kingdom.” Wendell’s fingers ran over the smooth surface of the mosaic. “So they, what— banished the black dragon? You can’t force someone to love…can you?” “No,” the High Elder replied softly, “You cannot. Yet the act could not go unpunished, either. In the eyes of those who heeded the nature of their kind, those who heeded the heart song, this was the ultimate betrayal to their kind.” Wendell stared back at the mosaic of the black serpent. “Soooo, what did they do?” Stepping around Wendell, the High Elder reached out and ran a finger over the black scales of the dragon heaving flames. “In much of the world, names have power, Wendell. Names have purpose. The Verrdrä were of the old ways. Verdräskinn called a council and unitedly, they renamed the black, BränmiekkäVe—which in their tongue, meant ‘dishonored’, ‘shamed and cast off’ or ‘one who betrays’…and then, collectively, ripped from BränmiekkäVe, his ability to take upon him a mortal form.” “Wait. That’s…killing him, isn’t it? They branded this guy a traitor, then executed him?” Shaking his head, “No. That was not their purpose. The hope of the Verrdrä, according to record, was to once more awaken and subject their brother to the heart song. The Verrdrä took away the privileges abused, securing the remainder of BränmiekkäVe’s immortal life to a dragon’s body. ”

Wendell turned from the scene and stared eagerly at the High Elder. “Did it work?” He shook his head. “His heart had already been changed. The evil ion was sealed in a body which could never see it fulfilled. An immortal being, trapped forever with a burning knowledge that you shall never have your greatest heart’s desire. It…sparked an unquenchable rage.” “But,” Wendell cut in, “what happened to the Dragon Heart of Spring?” “For centuries, she waited patiently. She loved alone, weeping, singing her beautiful song to the winds, hoping her love would come and claim her as his own, but he ignored it, abandoning the lady and setting her to an open shame.” Wendell, enthralled by the story, searched the mosaic for something he may have missed. The war, the pain…the heartache. “It sounds like black wasn’t the only one in hell.” The High Elder sighed deeply. “Fortunately for Veydänkev, the legends tell of a stranger…who visited her and,” he paused, his expression shifting to near confusion, “shared her pain.” Wendell’s brows furrowed, “Shared her pain? How did he…” “I don’t know. The records we have are few, but it says that this stranger healed her heart enough to bear the burden until the reckoning. A time when a final judgement occurs for all creatures. The stranger then took her away, to hide her shame from the world. To this day, no one knows where the Dragon Heart of Spring resides.” “Wow. What…about black?” Wendell asked, his attention drawn from the mosaics to the High Elder. Eyes thoughtful, his words were slow and deliberate, “He is now called Brann. A name given to him by his new master. Fueled by an endless rage against his own kind, Brann now takes his anger out upon the humans. What is worse, is in that rage, he has turned to hunting down the Verrdrä. Wendell scowled. “Wait. He didn’t get what he wanted, so he lashes out and

turns on his own people?” The High Elder nodded. “For over a century he tracked down brother and sister. Slaying lord, lady…and their offspring.” “What?” Wendell gasped, “Brann killed…children?” “He used the children to draw out the lords and ladies, setting traps to betray them at every turn. All but four have been perished. Verdräskinn, whom Brann has been unable to defeat—Veydänkev, whom he avoids lest the heart song overcome him…and Vekesäu, whom he desires to make his own at all costs, but cannot find.” Woah. “That’s gotta be one tense family reunion, huh?” The High Elder raised an eyebrow. Wendell’s smirk faded until he finally shrugged, “Forget it. Bad joke. So this fight, then, is still going on?” “As far as we are aware, yes. The dragon lords do not age as mortals do. All have faded into society, except for Brann, who we know to have retreated to Mällistädel after the capture of the Dark Lord.” Dark Lord? Mall-to-dell…huh?? “Wait, a minute…was that one of them back there?” whispered Wendell, looking back down the tunnel. “The thing that sniffed me and exploded up the Key?” “A Verrdrä? No. That was…something else. The creature has been here for generations, watching over this entrance.” “You mean it just sat down here? Waiting?” Incredible. Well, and boring. Wendell could not imagine what kind of treasure or promise that deserved that kind of devotion. “Yes. Waiting for today. Waiting for you.” Curiosity tugged at Wendell. “And what if…I wasn’t…you know, like I’ve been saying since I got here?”

“If you were not the hero we have been waiting for?” The High Elder gave Wendell a sideways glance, an almost indistinguishable smirk on his face. “Then your last moments would have been…unfortunate.” “Right,” Wendell gulped softly. “Good to know I checked out.” As they stepped from the tunnel the light in the lamps quickly dimmed, leaving them once more in heavy shadows. The sudden change caused Wendell to stumble. For a few minutes he forced himself forward, following the scuffling sound of the High Elders sandals as his fingers ran along the rough surface of the walls. Step. Step. Come on, Wendell, you can…ungh! Uneven tile. Step. Step. Good grief! I think someone has an issue about paying the power bill in this place. Then out loud, “Aren’t there any more lights around here?” With a sudden clack of the Elders’ staff upon the floor, black fire pots flared. “EEEaaagh!” jumped Wendell, stumbling backwards. Two glowing red eyes hovered in front of him, glaring through a giant, onyx dragon head. It leaned down into the center of the foyer with menacing white teeth exposed in a silent roar. “What is WRONG with you people around here!?” he snapped, his chest heaving. “What’s with all the special effects at every turn? For goodness sakes, if you want to get this crap over with so fast, consider installing an elevator instead of weaving people in and out of this madhouse!” He leaned against the wall and gasped for breath, irritated. “I apologize, my Lord,” but he sighed, “Wendell. This is not to make you uncomfortable. All things have a purpose.” Staring back at those red eyes, he frowned, “Now why would you have this—a huge black dragon, down here, pretending to guard something to precious? He looks like Brann!” Stepping up, the Elder ran a tender hand over the muscular neck of the statue. “It is.”

“That…doesn’t make any sense. Why have a statue of the enemy down here?” Delnar continued staring up at the statue, “But he was not always BränmiekkäVe. Once upon a time he was trusted and honored.” “Yeah,” he replied, “but that was long ago. Why is the statue still here?” With a sadness, the High Elder replied softly, “Because now he represents the darkness we must be willing to confront in order to reach the light on the other side.” Wendell looked up at the giant carving, eyes following the curvature of the broad neck to the shoulders where its enormous wings reached out, enveloping the entire chamber. Wouldn’t have thought of it that way. Learning from the example of what NOT to do, eh? Huh. Pushing himself upright, he decided to make a full turn around the room, studying the serpent. Wendell looked up to meet the glowing eyes, giant rubies glittering back. I wonder what you’d say to me if you could talk? he wondered. Probably just snap your huge mouth and eat me instead of talking. The powerful body curved around the room, its mighty chest looming before two giant doors at the top of seven wide steps. Giant arms, planted on either side of the steps like mighty oaks, ended in muscular hands, claws the size of spears raking the stones underneath. Giant lidless eyes started at him intensely. Well THAT’S not intimidating, now is it? Good grief! “Come now,” the High Elder beckoned, standing at the doors. Though there was plenty of room, Wendell found himself ducking under the dragon's body to avoid its touch. Step by step he shifted until he stood behind the serpent and in front of the curious doors now barring their way. Each door had inlaid a singular carved eye, larger than Wendell himself. The High Elder watched him with what seemed to be a mild amusement, but said nothing.

Wendell stood there, hands at his sides, motionless. Something felt…wrong. He couldn’t explain it—but something in his gut tugged at him over and over again. Something warning him not to go further. It’s just a dream, he reminded himself. Enjoy it while it lasts and let’s finally see what this treasure is! Then why were his hands clammy? It’s just a dream, he justified. Curiosity of what the ‘treasure’ might be was quickly overpowering any internal warnings. The High Elder walked past him then, slid the staff into a stone cylinder at the side of the stairs, and then placed his hands squarely on the surface of the doors. Though Wendell guessed the slabs of wood and metal to be at least twenty feet in height, they opened with seemingly little effort. The High Elder leaned his body against them, and they…opened. Wendell, expecting an exaggerated, ear-splitting creak, was surprised (and a little disappointed) that they moved in a boring, muffled silence. Thought my subconscious could pull off something more dramatic than that. Casually placing his hands back into the folds of his sleeves, the High Elder crossed the threshold into complete darkness. Wendell, hard on the High Elder’s heels, quickly followed him into the blackness. FWOOOOSH! Wendell nearly jumped out of his pants as a searing flame burst from the wall, stinging his face. Widened eyes looked quickly to the High Elder who, unfazed, was already leaving him behind.

FWOOOOSH! Wendell jumped again. As the High Elder ed each torch in the circular room, it burst to life with a lusty thrust of flames that would subside into a reasonable torch light. Overly sensitive by the day’s compilation of stresses, Wendell couldn’t help flinching with each new flare, and to the amusement of his guide. The High Elder kept Wendell in the corner of his eye while allowing each surge of strength from the ancient magic to fill his mind and heart. It is almost here, he thought to himself, hands trembling in his sleeves—the moment every High Elder before him had waited for, hoped for, even dreamed of. The purpose of the office of a High Elder was to watch over the treasure…to await the arrival of the Hero. Yet never had he imagined that this very event would happen in his lifetime. “Halt.” His voice boomed with authority. “If you would be so kind as to stand right there, young Wendell. Yes, right there.” Wendell stumbled to a stop by the doors. Looking down to see what was so important about that particular spot, he was suddenly overwhelmed with vertigo. The floor was moving. His eyes couldn’t focus and he reached out, hoping to lean against the wall, but it was farther away than he expected. Dizzily, Wendell stumbled again, the floor jumping up to meet each of his steps sooner than he expected or tricking his eyes by floating away altogether. Tripping over his own feet, tangled in his arms and legs, Wendell flung himself around, collapsing with a thud against the door frame and sank to the floor. That headache was making a vicious come back. Wendell rubbed his eyes trying to focus. All those jagged pieces and colors in the floor created an optical illusion. Ok, I’m not nuts….I DO know how to walk. What sick person thought a design like that would be a good idea? Sighing in patient exasperation, the High Elder moved to offer him a hand. “Are you alright?”

Wendell nodded, standing upright. Turning his back to Wendell, his undaunted heart was still pounding with excitement as he began the ritual movements. Pulling the hood over his head and rolling back the sleeves on his robe, the High Elder reverently stepped down into the very center of the chamber. Crafted with a thousand more fragments of crystal and stone, the steps and floor were shaped into an enormous living eye. The round, wet-looking pupil witnessing all within the chamber. Chanting in some unintelligible language, the High Elder began slowly waving and weaving his bare blue arms in intricate patterns. As he did so, the eye beneath his feet radiated a deep blue light. Seeping along the cracks of crystal, the colored light rose like smoke, swirling itself around the body of the High Elder as he continued to softly chant. Wendell listened closely to the strange guttural sound. It didn’t sound like any language he’d ever heard and he wanted to laugh at first. Yet between the rhythmic words and precise motions of the High Elders arms and hands in the midst of the swirling lights, Wendell soon found himself mesmerized. A ghostly echo of voices pulsed through the walls, ing their presence to the chant and filling the room around them. The High Elder, now swaying his upper torso to the words he uttered, spread his feet in a wider stance, and slowly raised his hands upward. Blue light continued to seep through the great eye, rolling up the High Elder’s robe, around his waist and up his arms until it reached his hands. There the light gathered around his fingers, slowly rotating into a sphere between his palms. The edge of his hood fell back…and Wendell noticed the High Elder was not observing the light at all, but looking past it. Wendell followed his gaze…and gasped quietly in awe. Suspended high overhead, were twelve monstrous carved hands. At first, Wendell believed them to be real. He couldn’t tell what they were made of. Maybe it was the color of the wood, or stain, or stone…or whatever the artist did to bring out the lifelike curves and color, but the arms and hands seemed aged, gentle and strong, stretching out from the stone walls to cradle something

—holding something in place. “Aläshä et Veyomä!” the High Elder shouted, startling Wendell. The blue light which had been collected into his palms, sprang from his hands, striking the stone carvings overhead with such force the floor and walls trembled. Wendell held tight to the doorframe, struggling to keep his balance. Behind the fingers a glorious, white light pulsed to life, rays escaping through the gaps between fingers and hands like sunshine cutting through dark clouds. “Behold,” a thundering voice, not at first recognized as the High Elders, pierced Wendell clear through, “the glorious Ithäri!” The rumble of stone vibrated in the walls. The hands unfolded, gently withdrawing from one another, carefully lowering and releasing their treasure without ever touching it. “HOLY FREAKIN’ COW!” Wendell burst, his mouth dropping open while he ran flapping and leaping to the High Elder’s side. The source of light filling the chamber, sparkling and shimmering to drown out the torches…was a diamond bigger than Wendell’s closed fists. Looking excitedly to the High Elder for permission first, he stepped forward and quickly flicked his hand out over and under the diamond. No strings. “It is yours,” said the High Elder. “It’s wha-huh?” replied Wendell, not taking his eyes off the diamond. “The Gem. It belongs to you.” Wendell blinked. Hard. His fingers twitched and trembled as he reached out towards the floating babe magnet. Yet he hesitated. “Mine? You’re serious? I know you said ‘treasure’, but I was expecting a stamp collection or something. Not this!”

The High Elder grinned. “You now behold the greatest gift a mortal can receive. All you have to do is accept the gift…and it is yours.” “SwEET!” squealed Wendell, snatching it out of the air. Even in his wildest imaginings Wendell never dreamed a diamond this size existed. It was HUGE! …and the blue guy says it’s all mine? Surprisingly, the gem was warm to the touch and heavier than he expected. He rubbed its surface with his fingers as he brought it to his cheek. This isn’t a bad dream after all! It was, in fact, the kind of dream you wanted to have and not wake up from. The High Elder raised an eyebrow, “Ahem.” “My presssciousss,” Wendell whispered, a stupid, goofy grin creeping across his face. Bringing his shoulders forward, he curled his body around the Gem, squeezing it tight to his chest, completely ignoring the High Elder. Wendell couldn’t believe his luck. He looked at the diamond, caressing, hugging, planning. This was The Supermodel Magnet! Oh, yes! Who needs ‘the Plan’? They will want to talk to me now! His mind raced. There’s a diamond bigger than any woman’s fantasy in the palm of my hand. IN MY HAND!! Man, oh, man! I could… He chuckled out loud,…buy anything I want with this thing! Cars, boats, a house, no…a MANSION… AHAHAHA!!! Anything I can imagine at the shopping mall back home! Heck—I can buy the shopping mall! Vivid thoughts of supermodel girlfriends, wrapping themselves around each arm teased his mind. Oh, yeah—I’m the man! “Wendell, do you accept the gift?” The High Elder’s words hit Wendell like ice water in the face, waking him from his model-induced daydream. The gift. Accept the…? He paused, clutching the gem tightly between his fingers and raising it to eye level.

It was beautiful. Why does that sound like a loaded question? His gut churned, aching…like the words had punched him. It’s that feeling, again. Something is about to happen…I just… It was a familiar feeling. One that had preserved him when he listened and left scars when he had not—especially in high school. Broken nose, broken fingers, humiliation, pain. I’m not doing this again. High school is out. Besides, this is a dream and I should be in charge of my dream…not manipulated by it, right? After a moments consideration, he glanced up. “What’s the catch?” he asked. “Catch?” replied the High Elder. “There’s no catch, my young friend…it belongs to you and you alone, Wendell. My duty is only to make sure you received what was rightfully yours, no more. You just have to be willing to accept the gift.” Yet, something in his casual tone whispered something else to Wendell. I think being called ‘friend’ is more uncomfortable than being called ‘Lord’. He shook his head. “No. There’s always a catch. Something you want. Something I have to give. There has to be something. People don’t do stuff for free—even when it’s with good intent.” Puffing up his chest, the High Elder looked offended. “The gem is not mine to bargain with. It belongs to you and you alone. My duty, and what my office as a High Elder specifically requires of me at this very moment, is to make sure you receive what is rightfully yours. I am not a judge. You are fulling in charge here. So I ask again, do you accept the gift?” Wendell snorted. “Are you joking?!” he laughed, glancing down at the gem gripped in his now white-knuckled grip. “Look buddy—if you’re willing to give me this thing, of COURSE I want it! Look at the SIZE of it!! I hang this around my neck and BA-BLING!! I’ll be the envy of every gold toothed rapper alive.” The High Elder shook his head. “No, you do not understand. You must, by the magical law which binds the Gem to this chamber, actually say that you ‘accept the gift’. Those exact words are what will allow it to leave this chamber and go with you.” Wendell tossed the Gem back and forth in between his hands like a softball.

“Okay.” Then waving the Gem at the elder, “I… accept…the gift,” his voice dripping in sarcasm. Before the last sounds left his lips, the Ithäri jumped from Wendell’s hands. Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Shimmering as it slowly rotated in midair, Wendell watched the gem pulse. Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Light flickered, mimicking his own heartbeat. “Hey, get back here!” Wendell muttered, raising a hand to snatch it back. But the gem shifted to the side, just out of reach. …and then started to spin. Wendell shied away. With each step back, the gem followed, like a synchronized magnet. When Wendell shifted to the side, the Ithari followed, pulsing brighter. Worried, he looked to the High Elder. Standing perfectly still in the doorway, he just smiled, displaying a rascally triumphant smile that would haunt Wendell for years, every time he closed his eyes.

“THIS SOUL IS GOOD.

WE ACCEPT THE HOST.”

The voice came from everywhere and nowhere. It clearly resonated in Wendell’s ears, reverberating in his bones and deeper. It called to his soul. “Woah! It talks?!” squeaked Wendell, stumbling away from the Gem and away from the High Elder. Reeling, he shouted at his feet to Run!…but somehow, in his heart, he knew. It was too late. Okay, this…uhhh, this is freaking me out now. Yup, gonna go home. Or wake up. Yeah. Time to leave, people. Starting to feel like the Wizard of Oz meets the Texas Chainsaw Massacre and I don’t have any ruby slippers. I’ve decided I don’t like this dream after all. I’m outta here… Yet Wendell lowered his eyes. A myriad of emotions paraded through his thoughts, crowding his mind. Flashes of his family, pictures of mother, father, siblings…vacations in Idaho and the trophy fish he knew dad had actually caught, but gave him credit for. Vacation time jumped to the long and painful walks in hospital halls, pushing his father in a wheelchair for the next in a seemingly endless series of chemotherapy treatments. The images of kissing his weak and frail father on the head shifted to standing with his mother, looking down upon his fathers coffin. No…I don’t want to see this again. Please, don’t show me this again. Wendell found himself yearning for the things he wished he’d done, regret for not making more of his life…and ashamed..for ever doing things that more than likely embarrassed Evan, and his parents. In an instant, he felt mentally spent, emotionally naked and utterly exposed. A hot wave coursed through his body, like water, ri over his skin, sapping his strength. Within moments Wendell dizzy, his bones aching and his legs losing their strength.

Wendell swayed on his feet. His stomach rolled, and he desperately fought a growing urge to vomit…while all his other organs seemed to develop wills of their own. Each organ shifted, pinched, stretched, and compressed. What’s going…on? What’s happening to me?!? His skin tingled, as if a thousand bugs crawled over his arms, legs, neck and face. Wendell shivered as he became aware of each and every hair on the surface of his body, air currents rolling over his exposed arms and neck. Every throbbing beat of his racing heart echoed through his skull, mirrored in the pulsing Gem. Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! “Urk!” he choked, then “Gak!” eyes widening. He doubled over in pain, the flesh of his chest burning. “ARRRGH!” he screamed. Wendell pulled at his shirt frantically, scratching, tearing. Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP! His temples pounded with the beat as it got harder to breathe. His heart ached as it labored intensely. Tha-THUMP! Tha-THUMP!

Tha-THUMP! His ribcage expanded, his organs pushing against them…the veins in his neck and head bulging under the pressure. Pain bombarded his body as Wendell wailed in agony. “WHAT’S HAPPENING? HELP ME…PLEASE!” But the High Elder was gone. The light grew brighter now, the pulsing rhythm keeping pace with his erratic heartbeat. Distracted by a disconcerting sensation, Wendell looked down at his feet. He was rising off the floor, the giant eye now looking up at him. “No, wait…this isn’t…right,” he grunted, “this is MY dream. I know I’m dreaming, so I’m in control!” Another wave of pain, his lungs pushed tightly against his ribs…and his head fell back. For the first time, Wendell glanced up. The gentle hands, which he had held the Ithari, though he had never seen them move, were now palm down, fingers spread wide. A stone cage. From the corner of his eye, Wendell discovered the High Elder. He stood motionless, arms folded in his robes, the eery smile still upon his face. “Wait!” screamed Wendell to him. “I’ve changed my mind—I don’t want it anymore! Did you hear me!? I DON’T WANT THE GEM!!” The High Elder just stood there…a smiling stone statue. “Please, sir!” cried Wendell, his eyes blood red, barely containing the internal pressure. His arms and legs seized so forcefully he felt his bones would snap. He wanted the dream to end…NOW! Squeaky and high-pitched, Wendell pleaded, “PLEASE!!”

“I would not change this even if I could, my Lord Wendell,” came the High Elders voice. There was no mockery or anger in the tone. In fact, he sounded calm, almost caring…even excited. “You have accepted the gift that will change all our lives forever.” “By the way,” the High Elder added, holding up a finger. “The next few moments may ‘sting’ a little.” Rings of light materialized, binding Wendell’s wrists and ankles, constricting his chest just under his arms as well as at his waist…forcing him to arch his back. The position made it nearly impossible to breathe. Wake up, Wendell. Wake up!! he screamed to himself. Incensed, fueled by lies, malicious abuse, confinement, and the High Elder’s apathy, Wendell bellowed “LET ME GO!!” With his last breath, he pulled, stretched and exerted every fiber of his being against the shackles. The rings of light held fast. What did I do to deserve this?? Wendell inwardly sobbed. Why can’t I wake up? The gem, he now noticed, had repositioned itself. Still matching his movements, it was tilted—the pointy underside of its surface aimed at him and…spinning. Spinning like a drill bit. Faster and faster. Squinting, Wendell tried to focus through the pulsing light. And then it was gone. Wendell didn’t have a chance to react. Blood sprayed in front of his face. Ribs snapped as it ed through his shirt, the flesh in his chest, and forced its way through bones. The world around him began to slow and then suddenly, he was free.

Fleetingly, his eyes flickered back and forth across the room–trying to find someone to help. His body shook with unspeakable pain. Blood, warm and sticky, covered his hands. Mesmerized by the deep nightmarish red, he just…stared. Wendell couldn’t feel his heart beating, just an echo of the pounding in his head. A thin whispered sigh escaped his lips. It was over. He felt cold, a hollow chill crawling from his heart through each organ, every vein, and fading in his fingers and toes. The dude in the dress killed me with the Gem from hell. Weary, he let his head roll back. I’m so sorry, mom—I never should have left home. Suddenly, Wendell realized with a refreshing clarity and disbelief, the terror of his new found truth. This was not a dream. …and then he fell.

Chapter 6 Hell

Is there a Hell? If you’ve ever been in a no-win situation, you might agree that there is. Sometimes our only choice in life is to endure. And though it may be Hell, it’s also the true test of one’s character.

You’re not dead, Wendell.

Great , Wendell thought, exasperated, voices in my head. And where’s the light? I thought you saw a light when you died.

You’re not dead.

What do you mean I’m not dead? A fist-sized diamond just went through my chest! I could hear it. I felt the bones snap, then it went dark! Of COURSE I’m dead!!

No. You are not. Not yet.

Not yet? He could even whimper in his thoughts.

Wake up, Wendell.

Wait—who is this?

We are you.

Then he saw it: the light. It was growing. No, not growing,…it was getting closer. Oh good, it’s coming to me…at least the pain is over.

Wendell, you need to wake up.

Tasered…kidnapped by an ugly, smelly, short, but very strong, mean, green monster…taken to another planet… His thoughts casually meandered through the events of his last hour in life. …meet a blue guy, hairy legs first, who wants to give me something…a treasure…a floating, TALKING diamond…the size of my fist. ‘Accept the gift, Wendell.’ All you have to do is ‘accept the gift’ and it can leave with you! Yeah, IN YOUR CHEST! The blue man lied to me. He tricked me! Just accept the biggest diamond I have ever seen in my life? He would have hyperventilated…if he was still breathing. I wish someone had pointed out the fine print on that agreement! [Those ‘accepting this “gift”’ may experience certain side effects that may

[Those ‘accepting this “gift”’ may experience certain side effects that may include levitation, being physically restrained by magic lights while being impaled in the chest with a cold, bloodsucking, talking diamond. Serious side effects may include broken bones, blood, gore, falling from extensive heights, loss of breath and loss of life.] I wasn’t dreaming. I was the chump. That thought lingered in his post death mind. I wasn’t dreaming? I wasn’t dreaming! …oh, crap. It was all real? SERIOUSLY?!? Suddenly the whole set of experiences took on a new level of creepy. I was really kidnapped. …by a green goblin…or, Evamu—or whatever the blue liar called him. And now, I’m dead.

You are not dead, Wendell.

Whatever. I’m not talking to you. Go away. Can’t you see how depressed I am? I wonder how Mom and Evan are going to take it? Will they know I was kidnapped or just think that I disappeared? he paused in his thoughts as an image of his mother’s face appeared in front of him. I hope they don’t worry for too long.

You are not dead, Wendell.

Stop saying that!

Be at peace, Wendell. You are putting a great deal of stress upon your body. We cannot heal as we should until the merging is complete.

Merging? As in…what, are you a Borg or something? Am I being assimilated? No, you’re too polite to be a Bor—WHO ARE YOU?!?

We are you, Wendell. Focus on something that brings you comfort. Something that will make you happy.

Something ‘happy’?

Yes. Concentrate. We will help you. Just focus…so you can wake up. You need to wake up.

Wendell drifted for a moment before reaching out to his favorite memory. The surrounding darkness faded to reveal a vast forest landscape expanding as far as he could see. They were camping in Island Park, Idaho, his favorite place in the whole world. Inhaling, Wendell could smell the slight hint of skunk mixed with pine and wild

grass in the fresh morning breeze. He had replayed this day in his mind many times and knew this moment well. He was sitting with his dad on the bank of the river, fishing poles in hand, taking turns telling jokes and laughing so hard his dad was choking and Wendell had to pee.

Good. Very good. Go to that memory, Wendell. We are almost complete.

It felt good, reliving this moment where the only things that mattered were his father and the peaceful world that God had created around them. Winking at him, his father boasted of how proud he was of his boy. Wendell searched his father’s face. It didn’t feel the same now, because the future had already played out. His father already knew. He was never going to tell Wendell about the cancer. All the doctor appointments, all the hidden treatments and mom telling him that dad had a really bad case of the stomach flu. Wendell knew now there was less than a month left and his father already looked weak and frail. The hero of Wendell’s life would soon be gone… …but there was always today. He smiled back with all the love his heart could muster, not wanting to spoil their time. Today was perfect. After his dad died, Wendell had ed this day, thinking divine hands crafted this moment just so he would have memories to help him heal.

That’s it Wendell…you’re moving in the right direction.

Distracted, the sounds began to fade, the moment slipping from his awareness. Wendell was being pulled away. Wait. I’m not ready. I want to stay here longer with my father. Please! Gathering his consciousness, he struggled, wishing he could resist, but it was too hard. An intense urgency pushed him away, stole his memory, leaving him momentarily bewildered. Abruptly, Wendell found himself thrust back on to the bank of the river. It was not as he had ed. He was alone. The day was no longer clear or warm. Dirty, odious clouds were advancing across the sky…and the whole scene made him…nervous. Wendall caught a flash of something from the corner of his eye. A glimpse of movement in the shadows. Eerily, only in his peripheral vision could he detect the shadow drawing closer, taunting him, before it vanished again. Something was hiding from him. Wendell’s heart beat faster as the shadow advanced on him, straining his ears to hear the sound of foot fall. Without warning, Wendell was thumped swiftly on the back, jolted toward the edge of the water. What’s going on!? He reached out to grab a limb from a nearby shrub and missed. Wait. Hold on here. Stop. Stop! Making his senses shrink, a foul, sticky breath caressed his neck, right before he struck the water. The clear, nefarious voice, laughing in cruel mockery.

THIS ISN’T YOUR FIGHT, BOY. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE? GO HOME…OR YOU AND THOSE WHO LOVE YOU WILL SUFFER.

Wendell was falling. But he never felt the cold splash of the river.

It is complete—we are one.

THUD! Instantly, with an unexpected clarity, Wendell was corporeally aware of being awake. It felt very similar to laying in bed, with his eyes closed. I’m alive! He felt alert and his mind clear. Wait. AM I alive? Hellooooo, anybody home? Yoohooooo. Voicy, voicy—are you there? You can tell me that I’m not dead now…I’ll believe you! Nothing. Whew! No extra voices.

Wendell opened his eyes to look around. Rather, that’s what he would have done, if he could. Why can’t I open my eyes? He panicked. Am I alive? Pausing in thought he waited. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-thump. Th-THUMP-Thump. Th-THUMP-Thump. Aroused at hearing his heart beat, Wendell felt exhilarated, the peculiar third beat pumping an unfamiliar vitality through his veins. A single tear rolled from his eye, across his temple. Ok, I am alive. My head is turned. I can feel the tear moving over my skin. Soooo, why can’t I open my eyes? Wendell inwardly struggled, first to lift his head and then his arms. Anything? Quickly, he tried to move ANY part of his body…but nothing wouldn’t respond. Nada. Limp as a rag doll, Wendell was without the ability to even twitch. Mentally, he groaned.

Paralyzed, with a splash of blindness. Great. Trapped inside himself, Wendell had no idea of where he was or what had happened. Think, think, think, Wendell—what happened? The gem stabbed you in the chest. Youuuuu fell. That’s right, you fell just before you blacked out. Hitting the floor. Hitting your….what’s with this third person craziness? I hit my head. Oh! Maybe I have brain damage! I’M RETARDED NOW! Ohhh nooooo. Wait. That’s stupid—though some people think I already was retarded—but I couldn’t reason this way with myself if there was that kind of brain damage? Could I? But my head doesn’t hurt. Actually, when he stopped to think about it, nothing hurts. Doing a quick mental check, not a single thing. His thoughts refocused on the extra beat of his heart. A diamond went through my chest! How can I be alive after that? He had a gnawing desire to look at his chest, feel the skin or hole but his arms felt as if they had been strapped down with lead to a cold floor. AAARGH! This blasted floor is so cold! Wait! I can FEEL the cold! WooHOO! Yet, his skin burned with irritation from an itchy sensation over the front of his body. SPIT!

He ached to scratch now—vigorously. With each ing moment, Wendell felt a growing awareness of his skin. This is good, good, good. I can feel…my bare butt. And it’s frozen to the floor. With a start, Wait a minute….I’M NAKED!?! WHERE ARE MY CLOTHES?! Wendell tried again to open his eyes. But they still didn’t want to respond. Being naked was embarrassing and frankly, cold, but he wanted to be able to move… that, and the helplessness was making him angry. Pushing and straining against his bondage, his thoughts were so noisy with sighs, grunts, and cursing, that he did not at first perceive the movement and conversing around him until it was right above his head. He was not alone. “Oh don’t look at me like that—I’m not the one who lied to the kid!” The rough, grisly voice sounded familiar to Wendell. It was pacing near his head. “Didja even bother to check the kids pulse?” it asked. “He looks like a dead fish. You sure ya didn’t kill ‘em?” “He’s not dead,” came the short reply. Wendell recognized that voice instantly as the blue liar, a.k.a. the High Elder. Yup, he lied to me, alright. This may STING a little? You said it like it was a bee sting, old man…AND IT WENT THROUGH MY CHEST!! “Just give him a few more minutes to complete the alignment—this is all part of the healing process. The blood and wounds are already gone. He will awaken soon, so please, finish your report. I am breaking the rules to allow you in here. You don’t belong in the Key.” Dax chuckled deeply. “That ain’t the only rule you’ve broken, bub. The Council’s a bit ticked at you for pulling this stunt. Your kid, especially.”

There was a brief pause. “They will eventually see the wisdom of my choice. If I did not send you as I did,” but the High Elder fell silent. Great, so I’ve been kidnapped by the rebel and his monster sidekick? “Hey, why you did what ya did—that’s yer business, bub. I don’t need ta know any more than I need ta know. I just don’t wanna get blamed, that’s all. I owed you a favor—but we’re even now, right?” “We are.” “Good. Then I don’t wanna hear about this again. Slates are clean. You got what you want, I got what I want. The last thing I need is to be in trouble with the old man.” Wendell found himself quite curious about this unusual relationship…and tidbits about things he was pretty sure he wasn’t supposed to overhear. Not like I would know what to do with the information. “Did you mention this to Morphiophelius?” Morphio…huh? What kind of name is that? Parents must have hated the kid… A snort, “Why wouldn’t I? You know he’s gonna find out as soon as he sees the kid. That is, unless you and the other blueberries discovered a way to open a port to other worlds?” The High Elder said nothing. “No, didn’t think so. Ya can’t use the Prime Gates you boys got out in the yard ‘cause they only work on the planet below, so who’s left that can port that far? Yours truly. So of course I told him.” There was a short pause, and then, “Ya know that crap ain’t easy for me to do.” “What did you say to him?” replied the High Elder, ignoring the statement. “Oh stop sweatin’—I didn’t incriminate you, if that’s what yer worried about. He doesn’t care about your rules or protocol around here, so deciding ta bend ‘em in spite of your buddies on the Council is no big deal. I just wanted to make sure he knew this wasn’t MY idea. Told him you were sending me to pick up the kid a

bit early, that’s it.” There was a heavy, open sigh. “Did he say anything once he knew?” “Yeah. He said, ‘It’s about time.’” Another snort, “Go figure. Probably knew you were gonna do this before you did. Hah!” The High Elder let out a long sigh of relief. Wendell, on the other hand, was growing more and more curious. So this blue guy isn’t the one in charge around here? …and this Dax, he doesn’t seem to be completely on anyone’s side. Sneaky. That’s…not very comforting. So who is this ‘old man’ they keep mentioning? Morph…morpi..feeyo…bah—the guy with the weird name… “Has Thule ceased his advance?” the High Elder asked bluntly. Again there was a short snorting noise in response. “Thule never stops, you know that…he just changes his tactics.” “Yes, I realize that,” the High Elder prodded impatiently. “His search for the seals has become more aggressive. They are running out of time. What I want to know is…are the reports true? We must know is if his forces are actually advancing on the Kutollum?” Kuto…oh boy, I’m going to need to get myself a note pad here to write this stuff down. Wonder if they have a dictionary or pronunciation guide for weird names? “If he’s moving on the Dwarves, I’d be stumped how he’d do it without us hearing about it. I saw the broken Prime Gate with my own eyes, which means Thule’d have to approach from land. The move would be suicide. With the exception of Clockworks City, those beards have the best defenses I know of. Thule is many things, but he ain’t stupid.” Wendell’s stomach churned as he recognized the voice of the little green monster known as Dax. “Naw, I think it’s a rumor, to distract us. That crafty scum bucket has something else going on, I know it. Just can’t figure out what.” Dwarves? As in…they’re REAL? COOL! Hey, …I wonder what Evolu’s are, then? But the only thing he could come up with would be short, rude, smell green

people who smell like dirty ashtrays and rotting fish. Dax paced back and forth next to Wendell’s head, his large, padded feet slapping on the stone floor. “He’s made several landings on foreign shores…but he doesn’t stay long and the attacks have been minimum. A few villages here and there, but only when he’s been opposed. Otherwise, he shows up, makes camp… then leaves within days. It just doesn’t make sense. Something big’s gonna happen when he pops up again, I can feel it down ta my hairy toes.” Wendell could feel scrutinizing eyes on him. “He really does look like crap, Delnar. Maybe I should just give him a swift kick and see if he flinches.” Finding his gumption, I may not be able to move, but I can still hear you! Still naked, limp and lifeless on the cold floor, Wendell focused indignantly all his attention inward. Come on body—MOVE, blast you! Not even a twitch. Sigh. “You will do no such thing, Daxänu!” barked the High Elder sharply. “This child represents our greatest hope. The Ithäri accepted him and as such, he will be treated with the respect his position deserves.” Respect? Respect?!? You KIDNAPPED me, LIED to me, FED ME TO A VAMPIRE DIAMOND…and now you’re talking about respect? WhatEVER! “Yeah. Whatever.” Turning away from the High Elder, Dax leaned over Wendell’s head, his immense ears straining to hear an almost non-existent sound. He smirked. “Hey—the kid’s mumbling to himself.” Wendell could smell the hot, nasty breath of…you guessed it, dirty ashtrays and rotting fish. His stomach heaved—and he clenched his eyes tighter. Ahhhh…movement! he thought with glee. He could feel his limbs begin to tingle and warm. Well, except for his BEhind.

…stimulation was good. Stimulation meant he was alive. All he had to do now was open his eyes. Wendell wasn’t all too sure he wanted to open his eyes, yet. Could this really be happening? Being transported to another planet, ugly green midgets, blue people in dresses…okay, robes…magic, invisible creatures? This only seemed a reality for his undisciplined imagination. As usual, whether or not he thought he was ready, something else took charge, throwing him into a mess. His hand, of its own accord, suddenly flipped up from his side and slapped down, fast and hard over his eyes. “WOAH!” cried Dax, falling backwards from Wendell’s immediate vicinity. His immense feet tangled together, sending him crashing to the ground. Staring back at the prone body, he smirked to himself. “Well, looks like you were right, blueberry…he’s waking up.” “Thank the Makers!” the High Elder exclaimed, sounding genuinely relieved. “I it that I was feeling a little anxious. The last recorded transformation was instantaneous, not 24 hours!” Wendell surprised himself when his own eyes abruptly popped open behind his fingers and “I’M ALIIIIVE!” erupted from his throat. “…AND I’M NAKED!” Dax fell back over his own feet once more in surprise. Blurting out curses, he gripped his chest to steady his pounding heart. “Little freak’s quite the firecracker!” he heaved. “Well, there he is!” the High Elder beamed, ignoring Dax’s comments. “Limbs starting to work again, I see?” Wendell wanted to sit up and look around. No sooner did he think it, then he compulsively felt his body being pulled forward until he was sitting upright. The

heavy woolish blanket that had been covering him fell into his lap. He was still in the stone room, lit by torches—the stone hands above his head were still palm down with fingers spread, both the High Elder and Dax standing next to him. “Watch yourself, my young friend,” the Elder said, kneeling at his side to steady him. “Try to relax. Take slow, deep breaths. Your muscles may twitch or even feel as if they’re burning as you start using them once more, but it will soon enough. They’re not used to the constant stimulation of the Gem’s natural regeneration. Immortality, after all, isn’t for the faint of heart.” “Immortality?” gulped Wendell, finding conscious breathing awkward. A life I’m already struggling with will last forever? Wonderful. The room seemed brighter. No, that wasn’t it. Clearer…more defined and crisp. The colors, shapes…it all seemed vibrant and filled with life. Raising his hand to his chest. At first, his fingertips twitched and pulled away. Breathe, Wendell. Just take it one moment at a time. Breathe in. Breathe out. Again he reached up…but this time, Wendell forced his fingers to linger on the warm surface of the gem. At first he traced the outer ring where his skin met the alien material. He flinched. The thin layer of skin was sensitive, but not… painful. This is soooo weird. Wendell fingered the diamond that was now buried in his chest. Yup, there it is. “It’s real,” he mumbled softly to himself, a small shudder falling through his

body and he swallowed the lump in his throat. Slowly, Wendell lowered his head and his eyes walked their way to the perfectly round object protruding slightly from the center of his chest. His mind was so preoccupied he barely noticed Dax taking his leave. “Let me know how the kid turns out,” he said casually. “I got me places to go and things to do.” The High Elder nodded to Dax before turning his full attention to Wendell. Dax’s snapping fingers drew Wendell’s full attention. A thin, vertical line appear in the doorway, right next to the Evolu. Having a purpose all its own, the line stretched, tearing and burning an oval hole in midair, expanding to reveal an unnatural and empty blackness. Dax paused for a moment in the doorway. He looked at the High Elder, shaking his head, then back at Wendell…his features softening. Wendell frowned. What is that…pity? Before anything more could be said, Dax stepped into the blackness and disappeared. The hole slammed shut behind him with a… BAMPH! “The transition can be strenuous,” informed the High Elder. “How do you feel?” “Strenuous?!?” Wendell choked, finding his voice. He looked down at the diamond. It caught the light as he moved, reflecting little rainbows onto the floor and walls. Great, I can hire myself out as a Disco Ball. He shook the image out of his head. “I feel naked for starters. What did you do with my clothes?” Chuckling, the High Elder explained patiently. “The old cloth was consumed. When the Ithäri merged with you,” he paused with raised eyebrows as Wendell snorted, “there was a purifying process that took place. In bringing a host’s existence up to her own level, your blood was altered and the heat of the

purification incinerated the cloth on your skin.” Pausing for maximum impact, he added, “For a time, it encomed you in flames.” Wendell thought the High Elder looked comical, nodding and raising his eyebrows waiting for him to be impressed. Thoughts of rolling around in agony and screaming for help popped into his head. Wendell examined his arms for burns. If it were true, he couldn’t tell. So, he shook that image out of his head, too. With a wave of the High Elder’s hand, stones in the floor near their feet shifted and swirled into a small tornado of sand. Wendell flinched and quickly scooted away. As the swirl grew in size, however, he watched in amazement as grain by grain the sand added to itself, forming into a simple trunk of deep brown wood, complete with tarnished metal hinges and latch. The High Elder knelt and opened the trunk, pulling out clothes, and tossed them over to Wendell. Both pants and shirt were pale yellow with brown trim, lightweight and thin. “See if those will do,” he said, turning back to the trunk. “I should have sandals in here as well.” Wendell, taking advantage of when the elder’s back was turned, jumped up and slipped the loose-fitting pants on under the blanket. He pulled the rope drawstring tight and slid into the shirt. Making a quick assessment, Wendell jiggled in his new clothes, surprised that he felt so good. He wiggled his fingers, palms wide, then flexed his arms and legs. He squatted, letting muscles stretch and ts bend, then quickly bounced back up. Wendell couldn’t help but grin from ear to ear. This must be how Evan feels. But the apprehension in his mind needed answers. He had no choice but to get answers from the man who had lied to him. Could he trust anything the blue man would say? Even his conversation with Dax proved he was a person of deception. Wendell didn’t like his options.

“Where am I?” he finally asked aloud. The High Elder looked at Wendell, dumbfounded. “Seriously. Where am I?” he repeated firmly. “Wendell, I don’t think you…” “LOOK,” he interrupted. “I don’t care what you think. I played by your rules, did what you said and look at me.” Wendell pulled at the neck of his shirt bitterly. “LOOK AT ME! I want to know where I am and how I got here. Answer my questions, please. Right now.” Sighing, the High Elder sat down heavily on the trunk. Sand once again rose into the air, forming miniature spheres above their heads. Taken aback, Wendell stared. Strange globes of various sizes and colors rotated around a white sun, forming a solar system unknown to Wendell. “You are on a planet very far from the home you knew. We call this planet Iskäri-Käläm,” he pointed to a small red sphere, spinning around a much larger blue and green one. “We are actually a moon revolving around the largest planet in our system, Elämä, along with our sister moon, Umbra-Gem. Earth has not even discovered our system in its skies yet.” Wendell watched the planet’s rotating, digesting in silence. “I chose Dax to bring you back because of his unique magical skill of teleportation.” Impatiently, Wendell tapped on his chest and asked, “What is this? …and don’t tell me ‘a treasure’.” “Her name is Ithäri,” the High Elder began. “The symbiotic relationship with each of the first-born male descendants of your bloodline goes back many, many generations to a covenant she made with Arödrin, your forefather, to protect the people against slavery and extinction.” “Wait, you said ‘host’. And did you say ‘altered’ before? My blood. What the heck did it alter?” He abruptly turned his back on the High Elder and did a self

check, patting himself down. He sighed with relief, Ok, all ed for. Wendell let his hand rest against the gem poking up under his shirt, “What’s an Ithäri?” The High Elder sighed, “Haven’t you been listening to what I have said?” Wendell gritted his teeth, “SURE, I’ve been paying attention! An old blue guy in a dress conned me into saying a magic sentence that woke up a blood sucking diamond that attacked me and then nested IN MY FREAKIN’ BODY! Oh, and the freakiest part is, I’M NOT DREAMING!!” His face flushed with anger, eyes becoming wild. “Forgive me for not drinking all this in and thanking you for it!” Wendell didn’t try to disguise his disgust. Raising an eyebrow, the High Elder cleared his throat, choosing his next words carefully. “Yes, well,…the Ithäri is the gem you carry. It is her name and as I said, she is alive.” Wendell pulled back the neck of his shirt and looked down at the gem again. He totally blew me off! Impulsively, he pulled his shirt up under his chin, scratching at the edges with his fingernails, trying to get a grip. No luck. So using both hands to push and pinch aggressively on either side, he tried to pop it out like a zit. Ouch! Again, no luck. His head flopped forward with a sigh of defeat. “So, I have a girly leech in my chest.” “What you have is power from the Gods through an ancient relic,” the High Elder emphasized. Wendell just stared at the gem. “So I have a really, really old girly leech in my chest. Ok, so how do I get it out?” “Get it out? You are missing the point, Wendell. The Gem is a conduit to provide you with knowledge, powers, and abilities unequaled! It originally bound itself to your ancestor before the Great Sundering.” As if all this information would

change the whole of the mood, the High Elder smiled wide. “I believe YOU’RE missing the point,” Wendell immediately snapped, exasperated, “that I’m just a kid who still doesn’t understand what the crud YOU’RE TALKING ABOUT! Gods? Ancient relic? Great Sundering?” Wendell repeated mockingly. “You talk like I’m supposed to know this stuff!! Or did you forget that someone’s parents left him by the side of the road…” Undaunted, the High Elder quickly composed himself. “Yes, well…these are things you will learn in due time. As long as you are the host, you can live… forever.” Standing upright, “You now have the greatest collection of wisdom, knowledge and power bestowed upon a mortal,” the High Elder continued. “You have access to the collective knowledge of all the previous Heroes ever connected to the Ithäri. The universe and all creation can now be saved!” Wendell was speechless. Not because he lacked something to say, but because he couldn’t choose what to say. Well, that and seriously wanting to punch the High Elder in the nose. None of this mattered the slightest bit, and it was wearing on him and he was quickly feeling more than a little frustrated. His tongue and imagination unhinged, “So, how do I get this thing out of my chest and get home?” Eyes wide with excitement, the High Elder slid up beside him and put an arm around Wendell, pulling him in close. The rascally triumphant smile, that Wendell was learning to hate, beamed upon his face. “BY FIGHTING THE FORCES OF DARKNESS!” he shouted, while shaking a fist in the air. “WOAH!!” Wendell coughed, pushing away and pointing an accusing finger. “You didn’t say anything about fighting,” he gasped. “Especially against any forces of darkness! YOU SAID THERE WAS NO CATCH!!” The High Elder shrugged his shoulders. “I said, the gem is not mine to bargain with. It belongs to you and you alone, Wendell. My duty is only to make sure you received what was rightfully yours, no more.” He was being manipulated. Wendell’s body started to shake uncontrollably, the heat rising to his face. He was furious. He glared at the High Elder, his fists clenched. If the old man was any closer, Wendell would have lunged at him and

taken a wild swing. Livid indecision possessed his thoughts, but as the silent moments ed he felt a warm, soothing strength flow through his body. Against his will his pulse slowed and the shaking stopped. What is happening to me!? “Y-you can’t do that! That’s WRONG!!” He could feel the heat rising again, turning his face red. Wendell quickly looked like a beet. The veins in his forehead throbbed with the pressure. “You,…aren’t you some kind of Holy Man or something?” “Actually, no,” said the High Elder calmly. “AAAARGHH!” Wendell screamed, clenched fists pumping. “Look, bucko—I want to go home!” “Nevertheless,” he whispered, “the task of battling the Dark Lord is now yours.” Again, infuriating Wendell with his calm tone. “Oh, no, you don’t!” Wendell stammered. “You can’t make me do this! I refuse to stand here with the wind blowing between my legs as your puppet!” “You have the power to do anything you want, Wendell,” smirked the High Elder. “Fine. I want to go home, live with my mom and forget all of this,” he said, proud of his clever retort. The High Elder raised an eyebrow. “Okay…almost anything you want.” “What if I don’t WANT to be your Hero? Doesn’t that matter?! Can’t we give this thing in my chest to someone else?” Pleading, Wendell slowly ran quivering fingers over his chest and traced the hard surface of the gem. It felt warm to the touch and the soothing strength poured through him again—but this time there was a comforting familiarity accompanying it. He quickly pulled his hand away. For a moment, Wendell could swear that the gem, the Ithari,. was trying to… befriend him. Appalled, the idea occurred to him that he may actually have to find a way out of this on his own. He turned to the High Elder, trying to soften his voice. “Does this thing have to use me?” he asked, hopeful that his personal skill at looking pathetic would gain

some sympathy. “I mean, isn’t there some kind of backup plan? Considering you’re a liar, you must realize that you’ll screw up eventually, right? So what’s Plan B? A way to get the gem to someone who actually cares about all this stuff you’re talking about?” “Well,” replied the High Elder, “in times of great peril the Gem does have the ability to accept an alternative to fulfill her purposes. There is only one record, where the hero was not of age and could merge with Ithari. His bodyguard was found worthy to take his place, but only for a very short duration. The man served well, but Ithari’s power was severely limited during that time, even hindered. The full measure of her power is reserved for the pure bloodline alone, through the covenant.” His face grew serious, “This is the end time, Wendell. It’s a period of our world where all the secrets, powers, knowledge…even evil, will come to its full fruition. This is the point in time all the prophets spoke of and wished they’d been born within. Where the fate of the world will be decided.” Wendell stood there, jaw open wide. He blinked. Then blinked again. Finally, he closed his mouth and gulped loudly. Then, in a soft whisper, “You guys are so screwed.” “Pardon me?” Louder, “Nothing.” The High Elders expression shifted, revealing a genuine concern. “Would you risk all this and walk away with so much at stake?” “Yeah, well, I’m not so sure I buy all that. How do I know you aren’t just lying to me again?” Wendell grumbled. “I have never lied to you.” The High Elder continued softly, “Nor would it be that simple. Once the Gem has accepted a host, it cannot be removed by any outside force.” He opened his arms in a helpless gesture, “I could not remove the

gem from you, even if I wanted to.” Wendell sighed. “Great. Just…great. Do I have any options? Any options at all?” The High Elder’s countenance fell and Wendell worried for him, but only for a moment. “There are three ways to remove the Gem—each of the choices rely on you own efforts, Wendell. You are, from this point forward, in complete control.” “Fine. Good. I can handle options.” Relieved, yet suspicious, Wendell’s stomach did a little flip before he managed to restore his composure. “What do I have to do?” The words weighed heavily on the High Elders heart. He stalled as he picked up the blanket and tossed it toward the trunk. Slowing in the air, it folded itself and landed softly in the trunk, the lid sealing before collapsing into a pile of sand and melting into the floor through the seams of stone. Okay, that was…very cool. I wonder if I can learn to do stuff like that? “There are three ways the Ithäri will release you,” said the High Elder. “The first is when evil is defeated and harmony can return to the cosmos. The Ithari only awakens when the balance between good and evil has leaned too far towards darkness. Her purpose is to correct that balance. The Gem will then return here to Sanctuary, once you release her, into the care of this Council until such a time as she may be needed once more. This is the reason you were brought here.” The High Elder paused and tossed a hopeful glance to Wendell. Wendell shook his head no. “Not going to happen. Next?” “The second method is if you reject the Hero mantle, the Gem will also reject you. In this case, you will have to wait for one revolution of the moon and then the Gem will fall from your chest. Hopefully, during that time you will feel a connection with the Ithäri and change your mind.” He looked over to find Wendell completely unemotional, his head lowered, eyes locked upon the Elder from under his creased brow. “Not likely,” he muttered, “but it sounds like the best plan so far. Wait, a month!?” The High Elder held up a finger and opened his mouth to speak, but

Wendell cut him off abruptly. “I don’t care about what you think about this!” “But you…” “No! I didn’t want to wait that long, but I could cope if this is going to get me home. Moving on! What’s the third way?” The High Elder let his hand drop and then paced in silence for a few moments, fingers pressed together in front of his chest. “Elder?” Wendell cleared his throat, trying to prompt him. “What’s the third way?” When he stopped moving, his expression was cold, eyes locked on Wendell’s, which made the teenager extremely uncomfortable. “The third way is death. If Ithari is unable to heal you and your body dies, she will require a new host.” The High Elder made his way to the doorway and motioned Wendell to follow. “That, of course, would make your journey home quite impossible.” Wendell gulped, “Yeah…that might put a damper on my plans.” A smile flashed across the High Elder’s face, “Shall we find something to eat? You must be hungry by now.” Slowly, Wendell followed the Elder out of the room and out to the long stairs leading up, out of the Key. It wasn’t the best plan and though it wasn’t technically his problem, Wendell had this annoying feeling that he could be making the wrong choice. He shook it off. It’s settled. I’ll bide my time for a month and then I’m outta here. Hope my mom will be okay until I get home.

Chapter 7 Distracted

To endure circumstances beyond our control, sometimes we need the right distraction.

“Y ou’re taking this well, considering I just dropped a bomb on your plans.” Wendell watched closely for a reaction. The High Elder was silent, waiting until they were climbing the stairs to answer. “I have done what my duty demands of me. That is enough.” Listening to the High Elder scuffle up the steps, Wendell had time to consider his situation. What now? I’m stuck on an alien planet for a month. Are they going to hide me in this dungeon? I wonder where the girls are. Do they come in an assortment of colors? Hmmm …I do have this huge diamond in my chest. Oooo, wait! It’s supposed to give me magic powers! Wendell was bouncing his head while raising an eyebrow and biting his bottom lip. Can I fly? That would be SO cool if I could fly!

No.

“What?” Wendell asked the High Elder. He stopped and turned, “Yes?” “Uh…” The High Elder waited. “Uh…never mind,” Wendell quickly amended.

The High Elder turned and resumed climbing the steps in silence. Weird. Maybe I can shoot lasers from my eyes? Or run at super speed?

No.

Wendell stared at the back of the High Elder’s head, perplexed. Well…can I…?

No.

“Why not?” The High Elder stopped once again and turned around. “Why not, what?” “Why can’t I do anything with this gem? Aren’t I supposed to have magical powers or something?” Nodding, the High Elder assured him, “Indeed, you are. Your blood, combined with the gem, can make you the most powerful of all Mägo.” “Mägo?”

Wizard.

“Wizard,” said the elder in unison.

Wendell flinched, looking behind him and then above. He stood there for several moments, staring at the High Elder. “Are you all right?” Flustered Wendell asked, “S-so you mean I can, or rather will be able…to actually do magic?”

OH, YES.

The High Elder’s lips never moved! Wendell’s mouth swung open. He yanked the collar of his shirt forward to stare at the Ithäri. A tiny light winked at him. “Yes, she can,” said the Elder softly. Wendell looked up, even more confused. “She can, what?” “Ithäri. You are wondering if she can talk to you. Yes, she can talk…and she will, when you need her. As for the magic, you will quickly learn there are many disciplines and you are one of the very few who can master every one of them.” Ok, now this is weird…the gem actually has a consciousness and it can communicate with me…and…coooool. Wait. Wait. I can do magic…like REAL magic!??

Yes, you can.

AWESOME! “How much time would it take for me to learn?” he asked hopefully. The High Elder shrugged his shoulders and continued on up the stairs, “Longer than you have, unfortunately.”

Wendell was beginning to think that this month could be a kind of summer camp experience. He would make a few new friends, learn some tricks, try some new foods, explore and then go home with some great stories. With his indignation diffused, Wendell felt confident. He could do this. “Can I ask another question?” The High Elder smiled to himself, “You may ask all the questions you desire. I do not know everything, but if I have the knowledge, it is yours.” Sweet. “What kind of magic are we talking about? Because I play a lot of role playing games, and if it’s anything like that, I really want to know more.” Pondering for a moment, “I’m not familiar with ‘role playing’, but whatever that is, I am grateful it has given you an eagerness to learn more.” “I mean, do you learn to throw fireballs and take over people’s minds, or…I don’t know, turn invisible?” Just the thought of doing magic had Wendell ready to cheer out loud. Four years in the roleplaying club after school had certainly prepared Wendell to be a wizard, even if he wasn’t actually a half-elf. For the first time, the High Elder chuckled out loud. “There is a very big world of magic out there, my Lord. My own powers are restricted to this community and my calling as a High Elder. However, I can tell you that there are those who do have power over flame and every other element. There are those who can breathe life into inanimate objects. There are some who speak with and command animals, while others still are able to become the very beasts they converse with.” Wendell beamed, “You’re kidding me! There are, what did you call them again?” “Mägo.” “Yeah, those,…who actually change their forms?” The High Elder nodded, “There are two upon my Council who can transform into any creature upon land or within water.”

“Seriously?” “Seriously.” “So, does everyone do magic around here, then? I mean, is it common?” The High Elder reached the top of the stairs and proceeded through the doorway and into his office chamber to the first door Wendell originally came through… on his face. “Common? No. I would not say that mägo are common, though it does tend to vary greatly depending upon the race and culture.” “Race and culture? I’m not following you.” Stopping to inspect, the Elder grinned, “You’re following just fine.” Wendell chuckled, “Right. Good to know.” “Magic is more openly accepted among my own people, the Evolu and many of the darker races. Then there are the Kutollum…” “Dwarves,” Wendell replied without thinking. The High Elder grinned wide, “Exactly. Very good, my lord. The dwarves are tolerant, but not overly active in the arts…and then you have the humans, who are either immersed in magical practice, or shun it like a disease. It depends greatly upon which continent you are standing on and who you are talking to. At the same time, the human mägo are by far the most powerful within the disciplines.” Suddenly the whole ‘lord’ thing didn’t sound so bad after all. Wendell let the few slips go by without opposition. “Uhhhh, where are we going?” Wendell’s natural curiosity came out of hiding. “We are to meet with the High Council pertaining to your arrival. I will return and report to my brethren and present you to them at that time.” “More Elders?” Wendell hesitated. “Are they blue, too?” “Yes,” he chuckled. “We are all blue.”

“Not Dax. He’s green.” “Dax is not one of our people, nor does he usually consume our food. His talents give him a rare freedom few enjoy.” “Oh. Like what?” “Mainly his teleportation. I know of no other who has his gift. While it takes you and I quite an effort to travel form one place to another, Dax is able to move about as quickly as a thought.” “Wow.” How would THAT be? “You…said he was a volu…” “Evolu.” “Right. What is that?” An awkward moment ed while the High Elder fumbled for the definition. “That is what some call an elf.” Wendell laughed, “Dax? An elf? Elves aren’t green!” But he immediately paused, looking concerned, “Are they?” “No, elves are not green. He is, I it, an anomaly—but Dax is an Evolu all the same. He looks like a Vallen, which in common tongue means ‘Troll’, but he has Evolu blood.” “Ee-vaw-loo?” Wendell asked slowly. “Correct. The Elves.” Trolls? Elves? Wendell’s head turned from side to side. Incredible. “Next, you’re going to tell me there are gnomes and giants, too.” Raising his shoulders, the High Elder kept walking and said nothing. “Seriously?!” This keeps getting cooler by the minute! “You said I’m from this universe. What am I?” “You, my young friend, are one of us. You are Iskäri.” His smile was genuine and friendly.

How can that be? “But, I’m not blue.” “Nor would you become so even in your mortal lifetime. The pigment of our skin comes from the minerals in our soil and it takes generations to manifest itself. Our brothers, who live in other lands, have the same fair skin as yourself, but we share the same ancestry.” “Oh.” With the pressure off, he was dying to ask. “Why do you guys need a hero? I mean, you have magic and dragons and, well…things like Dax. What do you need a kid like me for?” Turning to look directly at Wendell, he explained. “The races are weak and falling. Master Mahan, whom we call the Lord of Darkness, desires to rule over all living things. The lust for power is so all-consuming he would rather see entire civilizations tortured and destroyed than allow men to choose for themselves. The Nocturi were the first to experience his insatiable hunger for dominion.” He lowered his eyes. “They fought against Mahan at every turn… and now the Nocturi are no more.” As the High Elder let out a heavy sigh, Wendell felt the tangible weight of sadness bearing on the man’s shoulders. “Hundreds of years ago, the last Hero only succeeded in locking Mahan away, instead of taking his life. Even banished from this world, the Dark Lord’s influences are growing. Six of the great nations have already fallen.” “How can he have power when he isn’t even here?” Wendell questioned. “That doesn’t even make sense.” “It does when distance is irrelevant and you have influence with the unembodied.” Wendell frowned, “Okay, now you shifted from creepy to outright bizarre. The unem—what?” “Unembodied, which are spirits which were never born—never received a body of their own and seek to steak them from mortals.” Wendell shivered. “Okaaaay. Ew.” “My fears are being confirmed that Mahan has gained considerable influence

over certain mortals among the nations and is sowing more discord, more anger, distrust, and we are struggling to save this generation.” The High Elder looked at Wendell and spoke in a firm tone. “There are many hopes built upon the prophecy that the Hero will come and only through him will the Ithäri defeat the evil descending upon us.” “And you think that guy is me.” “I have been watching over you since I was a young elder,” he said with a confident smile. Then gently, “Wendell, I know this is hard to accept, but you were hidden on Earth for a reason. You were in danger and so your loving parents made that difficult decision to send you away, where you would be safe. Mahan wanted to find you and destroy you.” The High Elder found himself reaching out in an intense ion to grab Wendell’s forearm, emphasizing his point. “My efforts were hurried so you would have the protection of the gem. I didn’t want to go through the traditional pomp and display, leaving you potentially open for attack.” Wendell gulped, “You mean assassination, don’t you.” The high Elder nodded. “Wow. Hadn’t really thought of it that way. Guess…I should be thanking you for that one at least.” “Unfortunately, you are still very vulnerable, because you have decided not to accept this mantle…and the evil is still striving to find and destroy you.” “Well, here I am,” Wendell challenged, being deliberately obtuse. The feigned plea was beginning to grate on his nerves. “Closer than I ever wanted to be, thanks to you. Did this bloodline and Ithäri also agree to put themselves at the mercy of your Council? Give up any independent thought or choice?” Understanding Wendell’s implication, the High Elder spoke firmly. “You made your choice. I may have rushed you. I may have encouraged you. But I did not choose for you.” Of all the things that could have been thrown in his face, those words stung. He didn’t choose for you. YOU said the words. Your stupid greed and

assumption, Wendell, not willing to wait—to think things through, like mom and dad always taught you to do. THAT’S why you’re here now. Stuck with a King Kong engagement ring jammed between your ribs. You chose. That’s the truth of it. All his life Wendell wanted to be a somebody. Just this once, can’t I be the guy with everything? He didn’t like itting, even to himself, that secretly, he really was willing to take the chance. That even though something in his mind still screamed no, he actually wanted to do it, anyway. Just in case… He didn’t have to believe anything the High Elder said because he had already made the decision to go home. And because he was going home, he knew the High Elder had no reason to lie anymore. Did he? Everything was different now. The High Elder’s stories were told with such sincerity, they appealed to Wendell’s inner ‘Defender of the Nerd’. He was reluctant to it it, but there was no seizing in his gut or impulse to run…just a deep calmness and resolve. Wendell stood quietly with his eyes down when the High Elder placed a hand on his arm, interrupting his thoughts. “Come with me, Wendell. I want you to see something.” Thoughtfully, he followed as they left the quarters and walked through a large, square hall with rows of pillars ing an intricate web of chiseled arches. Except for small mounted sconces, the hall was bare. Yup, this is where I came in. He looked down at his fingers. Where there should have been scabs and torn nails from clawing at the floor, his hands were pink and unblemished. He looked around expecting to find blood or some evidence of the struggle with Dax and found nothing. “Does…Ithäri heal my wounds?” Wendell asked meekly, curious. “I mean, if I get hurt?” Yes, I will. The High Elder smiled as they moved between the pillars, “You are her greatest treasure. No one is more important. She will use all her power to keep you alive,

healthy and strong at all times.” Just the mention of this sent a warm sensation through his body. Wow, he mused. The hall narrowed as they ed underneath an arch and looked to the next. They were going outside! Wendell could see the light, hear the birds chirping. Enticing him, the scent of freedom quickened his pulse, rushing Wendell forward. Air! He burst through the doorway, inhaling so sharply, he became lightheaded and reached out to the stone archway for . It was so unexpected, so gratifying, to revel entirely in the fresh air and natural light, Wendell didn’t care to hold back his tears. I am alive. The cool mist in the breeze danced on his skin, enlivening each nerve. Closing his eyes, Wendell leaned over, hands on his knees to take in another deep breath, surrendering all conscious thought and will to relishing in the sensation. Wendell had forgotten about the High Elder until scuffled footsteps paused next to him. He squeezed his eyes tight and exhaled. “Behold…Sanctuary,” the High Elder said with reverence. “A gift from your family to our people.” Wendell stood up slowly, opening his eyes. He was standing on an immense stone terrace, awestruck by the statues of men and warriors ing the dome overhead. Wendell tilted his head as he looked from one to the next. Each one seemed to reach out, sharing his story. Some old, some young, faces stared back at him while dressed in robes, leather, plate mail and even animal skins. One armor clad warrior in particular had obviously seen many battles. The worn creases on his face would have made him seem old and sad if it weren’t for the eyes. Rich with hope in their gentle smiling crinkles, they pierced Wendell’s heart as they stared right through him.

Shaking his head, he tried to rid himself of the swelling in his chest, of a deep brotherly bond connecting him to this man as if they had known one another once. I wonder what his story is, Wendell mused. Walking to the balustrade, the vast city impressed him beyond the terrace which wrapped itself along the mountainsides and enveloped the whole of the valley in between. Thousands of white buildings and domed cathedrals stretched out before him. His eyes followed the intricate waterways, saturated with flowers, trees, vines, and grass, between, around and even through the buildings constructed on a grid. At the center was a small, football-shaped park surrounded by a lake of crystal blue water. Five small bridges ed the park to the city and a much larger, white bridge arched over the buildings and waterways extending to the terrace, just to Wendell’s left. It was beautiful. No war, no destruction. Just light and life…everywhere. Wendell felt so small. Just a tiny bug in an awesome and gigantic world. Wendell noticed a rumbling under his feet. Leaning over the railing, he discovered it came from two enormous waterfalls, one on either side of the terrace. The waters, spraying out of giant dragon heads, plunged hundreds of feet to a pool below. White foam glistened as it sprayed into the breeze, carrying the cool moisture up to Wendell’s nostrils. Content in this moment, he closed his eyes again, smiled, and inhaled deeply. Letting his eyes wander, Wendell considered exploring the glinting green forest just beyond the city, when… Whoa! His whole body snapped to attention. Gradually raising his head higher and higher, he flinched again. Whoa!!

Taken aback, he stared with widened eyes at the incredible sight on either side of the valley and above them. Jagged stone stretched upward in two monstrous glowing waves of earth, curving over the entire valley like vigilant guards to the white city. Through the narrow crevice was a deep blue and white planet, nearly engulfing the sliver of exposed sky. “Magnificent, isn’t it?” whispered the High Elder. “This is my favorite view.” “What is THAT!?” gasped Wendell as he looked around awkwardly for the High Elder while pointing. The Elder stepped closer. “That, my lord, is the planet of Elämä. It is the battlefield, the prize, and where you were born.” “And what about the…the…mountains?” Wendell glanced back at the monoliths while making awkward curving motions with his hands. He looked at the planet, then at the mountains again. “We…really are on a moon?” The High Elder chuckled quietly, pleased with Wendell’s curiosity. “We are, indeed. Shifted and shaped by the Ithäri, those shields of stone, ore and crystal help protect us from the high planetary winds and dangerous sands. An enchantment, through the crystals, regulates our days and nights.” Wendell couldn’t take his eyes off the planet below…or was it above? I am a loooong way from home. His heart raced as his breathing became shallow. He just stared. There wasn’t anything else to do. How is this even possible? His brain hurt trying to take in the possibilities he couldn’t explain. A long way from home. “Go explore,” the High Elder encouraged with a gentle, fatherly kind of smile. “You will be safe.” Wendell had to yank his thoughts and eyes back to the city, back to the High

Elder. “What?” “Take some time and explore our magnificent city,” he grinned. For the first time, Wendell noticed small figures moving about the white city. There were people…everywhere. Thousands of them busily about daily life. But I’m…pink. Wendell watched them walking the streets, shouting and waving to one another, or working among the plants. Several were working upon a nearby roof. He was not altogether confident about being left alone. “What about that meeting with the Council?” “Meet me at the Prime Gate at even. That will give you some time to ponder and explore your temporary home. You have the whole day to enjoy yourself. Find yourself something to eat.” Then noticing Wendell’s raised eyebrows and confusion, he pointed. “That structure in the middle of the park. The three big fingers, curled upward? That is the Prime Gate. Meet me there…at dark. All the main roads lead back here, so you can’t get lost.” He raised an eyebrow at Wendell to make sure he understood. Then he tucked his arms into his robe, turned and walked away. For several minutes, Wendell stood still, staring hard at the doorway where the High Elder had vanished. I’m all alone. He stood there, not knowing what he dared do. He just…left me? I don’t even KNOW anybody here! Wendell walked to the bridge. Hmmm… Shuffling slowly to the side, he looked over the edge. It was a long way down and a long way across. Maybe I should just hang out here, take in all the sights. Besides, people are

busy with their daily…stuff. Don’t want to interrupt them, right? His stomach growled loudly in protest. Right. I am hungry. Might as well start walking, he thought, and took his first step out into the direct sunlight. Sunlight? That stimulated an interesting question. Where is the light and warmth coming from? Wendell looked all around him and did not see a sun. His eyes went to the glowing…mountains? Oh, yeah. He said something about enchanted crystals regulating stuff. Maybe that includes the heat? Glancing down over the movements of the city, he wondered why there wasn’t anyone else on this bridge. Is this thing even safe? Maybe there was an advantage. That he wasn’t blue like everyone else? Well, that’s stupid. Don’t start acting racist, idiot. You’re a guest here. He paused. Sort of. With each step, Wendell’s mind flooded with possibilities he might have to deal with. What if they don’t speak my language? Oh, crap—what if I don’t speak THEIRS? Oh, wait. Duh. What if they don’t like me? What if the last white guy ticked them off? Wait. I’m not actually a white guy anymore…I’m pink!

Are there white guys? What other colors are there? Is there a customary greeting I should be aware of? Can I introduce myself, or does someone else have to do that for me? Maybe the High Elder is setting me up for a serious fall so he can save me! Oh, what a dirtbag! I knew I couldn’t trust him… The butterflies in his stomach fluttered for a split second before he mentally caged them. Working his way over the giant arch in the bridge, Wendell made it to the end and stepped off onto lush, green grass. Mom always said you were likable, and so did Evan. So that’s what we’re going with. Charm. Cuteness. Vulnerable. If that doesn’t work, we’ll claim ignorance and blame the High Elder. He nodded to himself. It was a good plan. The park’s rim was thickly wooded. The bridge’s base met with a wide, wellused path which Wendell followed directly to the Prime Gate. Though he’d expected to see something crazy and new, the trees looked like aspens and willows and if he wasn’t mistaken, a few cherry trees. Huh. Just like home. The Prime Gate, however, was something new altogether. The giant triangular structure was much larger than Wendell thought it would be. Standing at what he guessed to be a good thirty feet tall, the structure loomed over him, sitting smack dab in the center of the park, just like the High Elder said. From each of the three sides, stone ramps led to the center where one large eye was carved into the platform. Three black claws jutted out from each corner…a white eye scratched into each base,. The claws stretched up from the corners, tapering off to points as they hooked over the platform. Peering closely at the nearest claw Wendell saw there were other carvings,

smaller, almost translucent symbols on the claws, but they looked messy, randomly placed, almost accidental. Strange sort of statue to put out here. It looked…out of place, sorely standing out against the beautiful white structures of the city. He tried to imagine what its purpose could be among the grass and birds and butterflies. Circling the base, he stopped short. A few people were leaning casually against it, watching him. They looked young, late teens, maybe early twenties, all dressed in tan and white, which made the blue of their skin almost glow. He opened his mouth to say hi, forgetting his feet were still in motion, and he stumbled. A couple of them chuckled, but most just started on. Hot faced, Wendell tucked his head between his shoulders, offering half a smile, and walked in the opposite direction. Unghhhhh. That was horrible, Wendell! Why didn’t you say hello? Stupid, stupid. STUPID. A shout and then loud laughing in the distance caught Wendell’s attention. Right. Mistakes happen. , you’re a nice guy. People will like you. Have confidence. This’ll work. Moving on. Refocusing, he could hear the bustle of people. Children laughed. Flutes and small drums played a merry tune, and frolicking on the breeze was the potent aroma of grilled meats, fresh-baked breads and sweet stuff. The scents turned his stomach into a growling beast. Alright, alright! We’re going!! It sounded like a celebration. Plan. I need a plan.

Where there was a celebration, there was food. Wendell smiled. He followed the path to the far side of the park, hesitating at the edge of a small bridge. He could see them now. A street full of busy blue people. Just breathe, Wendell. In, out. In, out. You are going to be okay. It was, in fact, not a celebration at all, but what looked a lot like a farmers market back home. Shops lined both sides of a deep cobblestone street. Facing the established shops, smaller cart vendors lined themselves along the center island, which showcased an abundance of blooming flowers and small benches to sit on. Hundreds of people were busy in conversation, wandering about, looking at wares and gathering food in their baskets. Too busy, Wendell soon realized, to notice him. He felt comforted. With the exception of the patron’s skin color, the market looked a lot like something he might find on Earth, in any small town or inner city—with breads, meats, and the abundance of vegetables. At least they looked like vegetables, anyway. Mouth now watering and stomach aching, Wendell walked timidly to the center of the street. To his utter surprise, people smiled politely at him without pausing. As he ed couples or mothers walking with their kids, they nodded, some waved and a few small children pointing with open mouths for which the parents would apologize. Yet every single person smiled and said, ‘Good Morning’, as he ed them. Wendell was surprised at their lack of interest in an obvious stranger wandering in their midst. Is this normal? Ahhh, maybe they get visitors like me and I’m not an oddity! Huh. Well, the High Elder did say there were other Iskari who had pink skin too, so… Barging into Wendell’s thoughts, a stout man at the corner shop hollered,

“Would you like to try the sugar buns?” He stepped out of the doorway, wiping his fat hands on an apron, beaming directly at Wendell. At first glance, he wasn’t sure the shop owner was talking to him. Wendell looked behind, then pointed at himself, “Are you talking to m-me?” The man grinned wide, “Of course I’m talking to you! “ Waving a hand to motion Wendell closer, he said with pride, “Come, come, see what we’ve created today! We received an extra shipment of cream this morning, so I made good use of it all. Be the first to enjoy the tasty treats we have to offer!” Wendell hovered over the cart, smelling the bread and cinnamon, staring as he reached for a back pocket that wasn’t there. Oh…crap! The High Elder didn’t give me anything to pay for food with. His stomach whimpered with another growl. It’s gonna be a looooong day. “No, thank you,” he said sheepishly, his stomach protesting with a loud moan, “Uh…I…don’t have any money.” The man’s jovial belly jiggled as he laughed, “Ah, you’re new here!” He reached out to Wendell’s arm and pulled him close. “We don’t deal in coin, boy. No, no, no. The blessing of working together is being able to do what you love for those you love. So, come. Try one of my beauties!!” In one swift motion the fat fingers snatched up a moist, sugar coated bite-sized roll from the cart and pushed it into Wendell’s mouth before he could object. It was tender, the buttery caramel covered bread melting in his mouth “Mm…Mmmmm…Mmmmmmmm!!” It was good. And not just because he was famished. Embarrassed, Wendell lowered his eyes and quickly wiped at his mouth. The old man laughed openly. “I’ll take THAT as a true testimony of success!” he beamed. “More?” With an eager nod and a muffled thank you, Wendell sampled everything in the display. When he had had his fill, the kind baker wrapped a small dark loaf of sour bread in a white cloth and grinned wide.

“Now be off with you. There’s far more than my goods you should sample at market!” Then, having a second thought, he patted Wendell on the back and offered his advice. “When you have need, my young friend, you ask when among the Iskari people. Understand?” Wendell nodded, mouth still full and chewing, so he raised his hand in grateful thanks as he walked away. Wow, what a nice man! One kind interaction was all it took to break the cycle of fear. Feeling more comfortable, Wendell wandered from shop to shop and cart to cart, exploring and asking questions as he nibbled on his dark loaf. It turned out it wasn’t so odd for a complete stranger to walk among them after all. Wendell learned that the Iskari people traded with other communities from the world below at certain times of the year. No one was bothered by his pale skin and before long Wendell didn’t feel alone…or self-conscious. The market fascinated him. Wendell tasted samples of anything offered to him. Each vendor had a similar attitude and countenance as the baker, always eager to share and please others. He enjoyed purple fruit that looked like melon and tasted like tart oranges as well as bread stuffed with something that tasted like spiced pork and potatoes. He nibbled on what looked like grapes, but tasted more like blueberries and long, hard fruits which looked like cucumbers, but tasted exactly like an apple. Some of the experiences made him laugh and his genuine shocks of delight brought smiles to everyone around Wendell. It’s like everything I’ve ever experienced with food has been put in a bag and jumbled up. He grinned as he bit into something that looked like a cherry tomato…which turned out to taste exactly like a cherry tomato. His eyes grew wide, and he smiled. I have absolutely no idea what to expect! He watched as large baskets were filled with vegetables, fruits, meats, breads and spices, but never an exchange of coin. These people…take care of each other. No money exchanges, just service. Each and every one of them doing what they love to do and giving the best of what

they have for the benefit of others. It’s amazing. Wendell was used to greed and selfishness, where people sought to get gain and make as much money as possible. Holidays were means of filling the pockets of big businesses and corporations were concerned with ‘bottom lines’, not people. Yet here he was, in a clean, beautiful and obviously wealthy city…and there was no such thing as coin. The Iskari focused on caring for the needs of others, knowing full well that their own needs would, in turn, be cared for as well. What could the communities of Earth learn from such a shift in focus and perspective? Wendell was especially fascinated with the dried and seasoned meats. Toman? Shelf Cat? He cringed. They eat cats? Eww. Finding blue meat a bit more adventurous than his nerve, Wendell tried to politely withdraw himself from the eager merchant, claiming that he was overly full as he backed away. “Watch it!” a feminine voice hollered with a climbing trill. Too late. As Wendell turned from the merchant, he collided head-on with a large basket filled with produce. Knocked from the young girl’s hands, it flipped to the ground, sending the contents rolling across the marketplace. “Oh no! Sorry. Sorry!” she cried to those skipping and hopping to avoid trampling the small silver fruits. She quickly sank to the ground. Wendell knelt down beside her, turning the basket aright. “I’m so sorry. It’s my fault. I should have looked where I was going!” He set about grabbing the escaping produce before it could roll out of reach. The young girl sighed in frustration. “No, my mother always told me not to carry the baskets so full.” Reaching for an escaping piece she stopped short when she noticed Wendell’s hands getting to it first. “Goodness! What’s wrong with your skin!?” she exclaimed.

Looking up, her eyes widened, and she pulled back in surprise. Smoothing her wavy, black hair out of her face and back into the loose ribbon of her ponytail, she quickly composed herself. Amused, Wendell watched as she gently refashioned her surprise into an enveloping broad smile flattered by full glossy lips and a dimple in her left cheek. Her bright azure eyes crinkled at the corners, turning up slightly like they were smiling at him, too. “Well, hello!” she said, freely studying him. Her smile grew as she waited for him to respond. W…w…wow. She’s….wowww. Nervously, he stammered, “Really, I…I’m sorry about this. C…can I carry it for you?” Wendell found himself smiling a big toothy grin right back as he lifted the basket from her arms. “Where’s your shop?” “Right behind you, boy,” came a burly, protective voice. Smiling, the tall man rolled his eyes at the transfixed girl. Taking the basket from Wendell, he gently placed the silver fruit into the display cart. “Thank you, Kyliene. Give my fondest regards to your grandmother.” “You’re welcome, Alor,” she sang cheerfully, without taking her gaze from Wendell. “Nana said she hopes the salve is working for you.” Alor cleared his throat and averted his eyes. “Uh, …yes.” He set the empty basket down between Wendell and Kyliene and turned back to his shop. “Good day, dear.” Wendell watched the exchange between the two. He was enchanted with the melodic way she put words together. It was like listening to a wind chime being tickled by a spring breeze. Every time he looked to her, she was still watching him. Wow. He wasn’t used to attention from girls. Why won’t she stop staring? Wendell smiled back, his face flushing. Do I have food on my face? He got up, turning a bit to the side so that he could swipe a hand across his mouth. Probably have fruit stains on my lips!

Kyliene watched him, still smiling without a word, which…didn’t bother Wendell as much as he thought it would. She’s adorable! The soft bouncing black curls reminded him of a playful puppy and he had to resist the urge to scoop her up and squeeze her. Wow. He gulped out loud. Wendell guessed she was close to his age and for some reason, it didn’t matter one bit that she was blue. His smile broadened to match her own. Oh I am SO glad I’m stuck here for a month! Besides the fact that she was talking to him and not, you know, running away… there was something about her. Holding out his hand, “Kyliene?” Then, like a delayed firecracker, “You know my name?” she piqued. “Wow.” He smiled, jerking his thumb over his shoulder. “No, the guy who took the fruit said…” “Fruit!” she squeaked, grabbing his hand and popping to her feet. “Nana! I need to get back to Nana.” She looked confused turning in circles. “Yes. She can’t see, you know, and I left her in the orchard while I delivered these.” She suddenly paused, “…And you are?” She leaned in closer to Wendell, tilting her head to the side, waiting for his answer, again with that intoxicating smile. For some apparent reason, Wendell’s knees suddenly wobbled, and he was forced to reach out to the cart beside him to steady himself. He quickly changed his expression on his face, hoping to look nonchalant. “Um…Wendell?” he gulped. Kyliene giggled. “Are you sure?” she asked sweetly, batting her long eyelashes. “Uh…,” with an awkward, dopey laugh, “yup, I am…I am Wendell.” His face flushed. Where’s Evan when I need him? What do I do now?? “Okay,” she chimed. “Do you like silveens, Wendell?” she asked picking up the empty basket and putting the handle over her arm.

Wendell cleared his throat. “Uh, silveens? I, uh…” “Silver fruit, small, beautiful, super sweet…” Just like you? Before he could answer, Kyliene slipped her arm through his, taking his breath away and pulling him down the road. “I really could use a strong, handsome man to help me lift this heavy basket so I don’t ruin the fruit we’ve worked so long to grow!” Wendell only knew one thing right now—he wanted to stay with this girl. “Okay…” He felt jittery, the butterflies zipping around between his stomach and heart. Oh yeah, they’re talkin’ to me now. It was thrilling! As they walked down the street, Wendell listened attentively to the girl on his arm, charmed by the musical way she spoke. He tried not to stare, he didn’t want to scare her, but he loved the way her curls kept falling across her eyes. And if he leaned in toward her, ever so slightly, he was rewarded with the warm sweet scent of her hair on the breeze. STOP IT, Wendell! You’re smelling her! You don’t SMELL girls—what’s WRONG with you!?! That’s weird. DON’T BE WEIRD!! You don’t want to blow this…so FOCUS. He smiled to himself, Yeah? Then why do girls work so hard to be so pretty and smell so good, if not to be appreciated? Then, SHUT UP! FOCUS!! They were going to the orchards just outside the city. Kyliene pointed out to furrows branching out from intricate waterways built with stone, explaining how the entire city and orchards were watered by the propulsion from the waterfalls. Wendell found the whole system used fascinating, as no one here used electricity. There were no light bulbs, TV’s, cars or generators…only the use of mundane materials combined with nature. All along the side of the streets were small grooves, barely six inches deep, routing fresh water from various pools, to the orchards and fields. Kyliene explained that the water was controlled by the workers, who opened numbered gates to fill a field well. It was a huge stone container used to hold water, to be distributed to the trees by smaller grooves cut into laid stone pathways. Once the field well was full, the gate was closed and the water immediately channeled to the next field.

It was a fascinating invention. Wendell learned that Nana, Kyliene’s grandmother, was a third generation ‘head steward’ of the orchards. Apparently, being a steward was a great honor, and the station was ed on first, to family—if they desired the job. Again, this was about doing what one loved more than anything else. When asked, Kyliene simply stated, “You’ll always be better at and more loyal to something you love, won’t you?” Nana had been raising Kyliene to take her place. The woman had been raising Kyliene and her brother, Caleb, since their parents died. Twice Wendell stopped, asking questions about the building of the city. He was intrigued by the seemingly simple structure, how they ed and enhanced the beauty of the nature around them. Everything in harmony. Wendell wasn’t surprised to find that each building had a unique history of its own. One of the great halls was constructed in trade between Sir Barrow, a famous Iskäri painter, and Galep Bombul, head of the Dwarf Masons. Galep had commissioned Sir Barrow to paint his not-so-lovely, shrewish wife Hindel in a desirable, captivating light. When she beheld the finished painting, she was overwhelmed with adoring gratitude to her husband. The wealthy mason in turn, insisted on building a mansion as a monument to Barrow’s genius. Wendell asked about the elaborate benches equally spaced throughout the city. One wouldn’t usually ask about benches, but these were made of white stone, virtually glowing along the pathway. Kyliene grinned and told him about Merchant Tip. Generations ago an off-world merchant, who was only known as ‘Tip’, was so fat he could hardly walk—yet insisted on delivering his goods to his fellow citizens personally. Unable to his own weight for long, he had benches constructed along his delivery routes. The entire city eventually adopted the ‘tip’ measurement as the proper distance between benches. As they meandered out of the city, they ed tiered platforms of growing crops. Wendell skidded to a halt, completely fascinated by what looked at first to be a lot like a cement parking garage. Huge slabs of stone, ed by pillars and

strategically placed arches, which held lush gardens and grain crops. Large rotating wheels lifted buckets of water up to the higher levels. From there the water trickled along grooves cut in the stone, dripping out into the soil. As excess water drained from the soil, the mineral enriched moisture dripped through tiny holes in the stone slabs, running along etched grooves to the side walls, where it was collected and redistributed to the next level of growth. This process repeated through the whole of the structure, providing moisture and concentrated nourishment to the plants without wasting any water. Seeing Wendell’s excitement, Kyliene shared the story of Caleb, a young man whom her brother was named after. Pondering the flow of the great waterfalls and watering system of the orchards, Caleb sought to improve the farming of his community. By creating reinforced tiered fields, the young Iskäri tripled the crop growth by capturing the mineral runoff from one field to another, feeding the crops below through the unique irrigation drip system. As Wendell listened, he marveled at the clever nature of the Iskäri. Stopping abruptly, Kyliene tugged on Wendell’s arm. She glanced back in the direction of the Keep and then looked up at Wendell with a big grin. “Can you keep a secret?” she said in a low tone. After glancing conspiratorially from side to side, Wendell nodded. She leaned in close as she whispered, “Caleb, my little brother, he’s a page to the High Elder.” She paused to look around before continuing. “Well, he’s been sent on a secret errand outside the valley! I think that the Gnolaum…is coming.” She grabbed his shirt sleeve tightly in both fists. “The GNOLAUM. Isn’t that exciting!?” Kyliene bounced on the balls of her feet. “We’ve waited hundreds of years for the Hero of the Gem to return!” No-lum? What’s…and his heart sunk. She’s talking about…me! What? Does everyone know about this stuff around here? Oh crap. Wendell tried to look appropriately excited by raising his eyebrows over widened eyes and smiling really big, then nodded his head again. He secretly wished he could share that same excitement as Kyliene lapsed into an enthralled silence. The cobblestone street narrowed as they reached the end of the city, where

buildings stopped and rows of trees began. A twinkling orchard lay before them, and a succulent, sweet, fragrance beckoned like an intimate friend to come closer. Kyliene squeezed Wendell’s arm again, bringing a fresh flutter of butterflies to his stomach and pulled him into the orchard. “Come on!” she beamed. Gnarly, white trunks bore branches heavy with clusters of small silver fruit and radiant green leaves. Wendell watched and listened to the chatter and laughing of young people who were busy working throughout the orchard, dragging wood boxes, carts and baskets from tree to tree. “Nana, I’m back!” Kyliene called out in her singing way. The only grown-up he could see was a little white-haired woman with a cane, sitting on a bench along the main path. Kyliene smiled brightly as they made their way to the bench. Kyliene knelt beside her, taking an old wrinkled hand and placing it against her cheek. The Grandmother wiggled her gnarled thumb against the soft flesh and smiled. “I was starting to worry. You took longer than usual, Kyliene and that’s saying a great deal!” Looking up at Wendell through those long lashes, she leaned closer to her grandmother’s ear and whispered, “I was distracted.” Kyliene reached out for Wendell’s hand. When he hesitated, she reached out, grabbed him and pulled him near with a nod of her head, placing his hand within her grandmother’s. “This is Wendell, Nana. He’s offered to help us today.” Nana laughed knowingly “Did you now?” and patted Wendell’s hand gingerly. Without waiting for a response she added, “Then be about the field, the day’s waning.” “Yes, Nana,” Kyliene smirked. Taking Wendell’s hand from Nana’s, she squeezed it tight, motioning him to follow. “What…am I going to be doing?” Wendell asked, puzzled. Kyliene slid closer to him, wrapped both arms around one of his and smiled up at him. “You’re going to spend the rest of the day with me. That is, if you don’t mind.” Her head suddenly popped upright. “Oh! I’m so sorry! I didn’t even ask you if you had plans…or if you were waiting for someone else….,” she frowned,

“or if that someone else was a girl.” Letting go of his arm, “Ungh! Kyliene, you idiot! You’ve gotten in the way of another girl…” Wendell opened his mouth in a gasp, “No—wait…” “Here I am, jumping in where I don’t belong and she’s probably back there, in the market, wondering where you’ve gone!” Shifting in front of Wendell, she pleaded, “Forgive me, please! You’ve been SO kind and wonderful—walking with me, listening to my rants and jabbering, being so polite while your girlfriend is left, stranded on her own…” “But I don’t have a…” Tears welled up in her eyes, which seemed to amplify how adorable she really was, “I should have been more thoughtful.” Gazing into his eyes, “I should have asked before assuming you were free to spend time with a stranger like me. I…” “Kyliene!” Wendell jumped in, his smile wide with glee. “I’m not waiting for anyone.” She paused, stunned. She blinked once. “But…your girlfriend, back at the market…” He chuckled, “doesn’t exist.” Kyliene frowned, “Wendell, that’s not a very nice thing to say about her.” “No, no! She doesn’t exist, because I wasn’t waiting for anyone…I was alone when we met. I’ve been wandering through the market all by myself.” Kyliene’s eyes popped open wide, “Oh!” She sniffed and wiped her forming tears away. “So, I wasn’t being rude?” Grinning still, “Nope.” “Annnnd, would you like to spend the day helping me in the orchards?” she asked sheepishly.

He nodded. “I really would.” Kyliene leaned in a bit closer and whispered, “Is there a girl waiting OUTside the market, somewhere…anywhere…for you?” Laughing, “Nope.” She gave a big, open sigh and wrapped her arms around his once more, “Ohhhh good.” Wendell beamed. Youuuuu said it! *Sigh*…this has turned out to be the best day ever. Kyliene introduced him to some of the other youth workers who eagerly welcomed his help without a single comment about skin color. The girls waved and smiled politely, while the boys grunted with nods, grateful for more help. A few rolled their eyes, noticing Kyliene’s smitten countenance. While she gathered a few baskets to place under a tall tree, Wendell stared at the other boys across the path rapidly filling crates. He worried. Okay, this looks simple enough, but the truth was, Wendell had always been awkward when it came to coordination. He didn’t know of any other teen who could trip themselves using a rake or considered games like volleyball or bton as an elaborate ritual of self humiliation. The thought of trying to help now, in front of all the other teens…and most especially in front of Kyliene, seems daunting. He signed inwardly. But I already said I would. Can’t back out now… Reaching up to a low-hanging branch and pulled at one of the small, round silver fruits. It wouldn’t come free. Come on, Wendell. She’s watching you! He yanked harder, shaking so hard the leaves started to off the branch, but nothing else. You have GOT to be kidding me! Here I am trying to be Mr. Cool and I get the mutant fruit tree to make me look like a fool?

Kyliene stood there, watching patiently, one eyebrow raised. Wendell scratched his head and glanced between the pretty girl and the annoyingly tough fruit. “I’ve never, uh…” Swallowing his pride, he decided to try the humble approach. “I’ve never done this before. How do you get them off the tree?” Kyliene smiled slyly. “With magic.” Wendell perked up with curiosity. “Magic? Seriously?” She nodded soberly. “Absolutely. It’s a magic every steward before me has used and everyone who labors with us must master.” She drew closer, lowering her voice to a near whisper, “Are you willing to abide by what you’ll be taught?” “I am,” he soberly replied, clearing his throat. “And do you promise to show other stewards of the grove in the proper use of this magic, should you be called upon?” she added. “Yes. Absolutely,” Wendell grinned. Wow! I’m going to learn magic!! Heck, yeah! “Then I shall teach you the ancient lore of silveen harvesting.” Biting her bottom lip, Kyliene held up a small blade with a wooden handle. “This is called a knife. If you draw it across the stem of the fruit, it magically drops into your hand.” She held it out to him, handle first. Wendell rolled his eyes and sighed, “So THAT’S how they do it around here, huh?” Kyliene winked up at him and they both laughed. Wendell was grateful for the gentle teasing that dispelled his discomfort. As the day grew, he found the sweet scent of the ripened sloven like adrenaline in his veins. He worked hard and was surprised at how easy his hands seemed to work for the first time in his life. The blade moved swiftly and with precision, from fruit to fruit, without worry or hinderance. In fact, Wendell discovered he

enjoyed harvesting. The simple work among good company and good conversation. At noon, the crew stopped and had lunch together, seated in a wide circle under the shade of the silveen trees. Nana provided sandwiches and chilled water, while desert was made of what was picked from the grove. The taste of the silveen was something between a grape and a very juicy pomegranate. The skin was like a hard membrane, yet once bitten through, gave way easily to further bites. Even the black seeds at the center tasted good to Wendell, like salted pecans. “So, Wendell,” started Tyra, a young girl with tight frizzy hair and big, piercing blue eyes, “did you come to visit with the merchants?” The other kids looked at him expectantly. Uhhh. What do I say? Am I supposed to keep this…why I’m here….a secret? The High Elder hadn’t said anything about keeping secrets. In fact, he’d done the exact opposite—wanting Wendell to explore and mix with the people. The thought suddenly occurred to him that perhaps that was the plan: get him to mix with the people in the hopes of convincing him to stay. Wendell smiled and then gave a short nod, “Something like that.” Better not get myself trapped into a corner here. Don’t want to lie to anyone…but I sure don’t want people thinking that I’m staying here! He looked over at Kyliene…and found her staring at him again. She fluttered her eyelashes. Sighhhhh. Then again… Wendell caught on quickly, uncharacteristically adept to the steady rhythm of moving from tree to tree. Before long, he was quickly filling box after box, sliding them to the path to be picked up by the next crew. “Looks like we have a cutter among us!” cried one of the younger boys. “We’ll see about that!” replied another, picking up his pace.

“Now don’t go cutting yourself, Bram,” Kyliene chimed, “just because you want to be the fastest.” “But I AM the fastest,” Bram chided back, picking up speed, as all the kids laughed. It became a contest. The younger boys egged on Wendell the newcomer, racing from tree to tree on the other side of the path. The packers paused and started chanting Wendell’s name as Bram kept pace, then lurched ahead, only to be outmatched once more. All the while Kyliene, sitting in the middle of the lane of trees, described the events to her Nana, as the old woman laughed. Pushing himself faster and faster, Wendell decided not to use the ladders provided and simply jump from tree to tree. Placing the knife in his mouth, Wendell grabbed a limb and prepared to lunge. “Wendell, I wouldn’t…,” Kyliene started to say, but it was too late. Wendell was suddenly airborne… …and then not. Underestimating the jump, he caught hold of the next tree with a single hand. The momentum of his body pulled down, the knife flipping from Wendell’s lips with an, “Oh no,” and the anchor to the tree flung him onto his backside, across the bench below. Landing squarely against his forearm, Wendell cried out as bones snapped. “WENDELL!” Kyliene cried aloud and the cheering stopped. Dashing to his side, she grabbed hold of Wendell arm to help him up. “OW! Ow, ow, ow!” he yelped, “Arms hurt. Landed on it wrong, blast it.” “Bring him here, child,” Nana called out. “Let’s have a look.” Wendell sat still, bitting his lip as the blind woman gently inspected the bones with experienced fingers.

“You, my dear boy, are a reckless harvester!” she scolded him openly. Wendell’s head drooped forward, feeling the weight of his stupidity in trying to impress. Nana leaned forward with a smirk on her face and added, “You should practice a bit more before trying to fly like a squirrel! HAHA!” Wendell chuckled…then flinched. “Feels like you have a cracked bone. Not quite broken, but if jarred enough, you’ll certainly finish the job. It needs to be protected. Kyliene, fetch me some pruned branches for a splint.” The young Iskari did as she was told and before long, Wendell’s forearm was securely wrapped with a couple of Nana’s handkerchiefs. “That should do it, for now.” “Thank you,” Wendell replied. Then looking over the the concerned youth standing about, he grinned. “Looks like Bram is DEFINITELY the fastest!” The older boys whooped and hollered, bouncing the exhausted worker on their collective shoulders. Wendell cheered with them, chanting Bram’s name. When Kyliene shot Wendell a questioning look, he simply winked. Sweat rolling down his brow, Wendell realized he wanted to do this every day. I’m…actually good at this! Come to work, be with good friends, have a simple meal, work hard to accomplish something everyone around you appreciates? What could be better? It sounded like heaven to Wendell. But I don’t belong here, nagged the thought. Yet no one had questioned him. Not a single person he’d met all day had shunned him from their presence or treated him with anything less than utter kindness and generosity. Once the fruit was gathered, half the youth went off with their carts to deliver the harvest throughout the city, while the other half cleaned the tools and packed

them away. They take care of each other here. I…could be happy here. Safe…here. Something tugged at his heart, which he didn’t altogether fight. I’m supposed to be with these people…to protect them. That was the point. He was being asked to give up his own life, to serve these people. People he didn’t know. To fight on their behalf. He wasn’t even sure it was his fight. Wendell was still having a hard time believing he was actually the hero the High Elder kept talking about. Pshaw! Yeah, not like I can see me wearing chain mail armor, waving a sword around or standing on a field of battle. Swinging. Hacking. Stabbing. A wave of nausea hit his stomach. Oh yeah…they got the wrong guy. But what if he was wrong? What if he was, in fact, the hero the people had been waiting for? Wouldn’t he be turning his back on his responsibilities? To make matters even more confusing, in less than an hour, the pain in his arm had completely vanished. Moments after Nana had braced the wound, his entire arm had flooded with a deep, comforting warmth, washing the pain away. Even now, Wendell could not only wiggle his fingers, but make a tight fist and even bend his wrist without the least amount of pain! Is this what it is to be the hero? That the Ithari will heal me, even when I do something…stupid? Yes. “Where are you staying, Wendell?” asked Kyliene, breaking his mode of thought. She stacked another empty box into the supply cart. “Uh…I’m supposed to meet the High Elder at the Prime Gate at even.” Why did I say that? He felt goofy using the High Elder’s words. Did she notice? “Oh. Good,” she replied, her eyes smiling back at him, “Then you have time to

walk me and Nana home.” She paused, “That is…if you don’t mind?” A strange, almost annoying goober laugh ran up Wendell throat and escaped before he could stop it. What was THAT? He slapped a hand over his mouth with a ‘WHAP!’…eyes wide with embarrassment, his face turned beet red. Kyliene giggled and grabbed his hand, slipping her fingers between his. She tugged softly. “Come on.” With Kyliene on one arm and Nana on the other, the three strolled back towards the market. It was near the end of the day and the shops were closing down. Display carts had been removed and only a few merchants remained outside, most were sweeping the cobblestone street. Suggestively, Kyliene asked with an impish grin, “So, you’re new around here and you’re meeting the High Elder?” Wendell bit his bottom lip, not sure what to say. “Mind your own business, young lady,” Nana interrupted. “Besides, its my turn.” She grinned up at him and Wendell could see where Kyliene got here smiling eyes and spunk from. Pleased by the attention, he exaggeratedly turned his complete focus to Nana. The grandmother, this time, did most of the talking. “We have a wonderful history, the Iskari people. We are still grateful for the gift of Erimuri.” There was an unmistakable reverence in her tone. “Erimuri?” “The streets you now walk upon, Wendell, though more commonly called Sanctuary by other races. There has not been a time where our influence was not felt by the world below, through continent or community, by example or through precept. I think…it’s not so much what we do, Wendell, but who we are that endures…that in the end, makes the difference.” Nana continued, but Wendell’s mind was soon pulled from the old woman’s

voice as he gazed ahead. The shape of the valley and the gentle slope of the city streets allowed him to see the small black claws of the Prime Gate poking up above the tree line. In the distance, the large white rainbow of a bridge that lead back to the Keep arched high above the park. Yet the biggest distraction of all stood boldly above the ground…the shimmering castle of white stone floating upon the mist of the waterfalls, reflecting the dimming light of the crystals overhead. The large castle which earlier looked to be born out of the very stone it rested upon, now hovered gracefully without foundation. “Stunning, isn’t it?” whispered Kyliene. “Erimuri in the ancient tongue means desert flower,” chimed Nana, feeling Wendell’s pace slow. “It became a great haven for our people. There are fifteen valleys, each one named for the fifteen cycles which make up our year. This valley is called Tamku. Each of the elders preside over a valley as their stewardship. The High Elder is the Head Steward of all Sanctuary, and steward of Tamku.” Nodding toward the castle, “The Keep of Tamku was always my favorite.” “I’ve never seen anything like it,” he whispered. They waited patiently until Wendell was ready to move on and then Kyliene guided them down a side road. Their home was beautifully situated, facing the lake and trees around the park for a great view, as well as conveniently located next to the market, practically on Wendell’s way. The home stood out from the others with its bold red door adorned with violet-blue and white Bellflowers, the window beds bursting with rosy-pink Geraniums. Wendell smiled at this boisterous display of Kyliene’s cheery disposition. As she took the full basket into the house Wendell helped Nana up the small steps. The old woman took his hand, tenderly kissed it at the door and held it tight. “You are a good boy,” she said gently. “I haven’t heard my granddaughter laugh this much since her parents ed. For that, my dear, you have my deepest

gratitude.” For just a moment Wendell was confused to see a blue hand upon a white hand. He had become so comfortable that he’d forgotten the Iskari were blue and he was not. It seemed strange to him that in a place where he was so obviously the outsider, he felt more ‘normal’ in a day here than he had his whole life at home. Wendell didn’t know what to say, so he simply leaned down and gave the old woman a gentle hug. “Awww,” Kyliene cooed in her trilling way. The old woman waved her hand over her head in submission, “I’m leaving, I’m leaving. Goodnight, Wendell, my dear boy! You come see us again soon, yes? Come back to return my handkerchiefs.” Then she hobbled past her granddaughter and into the house. Wendell’s heart began to pound as Kyliene leaned in the doorway with that smile. For a moment the two just watched each other shyly, stringing out the moments. Kyliene brushed the black hair from her face, tucking it over her ear. Even the small flecks of dirt from the days labors looked lovely on her. “I have to go,” he said, hating to hear that phrase come from his own lips. “I’m supposed to meet the High Elder by sundown.” He frowned, “That’s…even, right?” “Uh-huh.” Her soft hand slid into his, entwining their fingers. She stared at the woven colors of flesh for the longest moment, a smile crawling across her face. “Then I better make sure you don’t get lost.” They didn’t walk so much as stroll along, saying very little. Wendell had never felt this way before. Heck, he didn’t even know he could feel the way he did…which was amazing, loved and very eager to walk Kyliene back to her house, just so he could spend more time with her.

She’s perfect. In every way he could think of, Kyliene was a perfect person. For the first time in his life, Wendell felt…whole. Yes, she was lovely and no, the blue skin didn’t matter at all. In fact, the color made her amazing green eyes and black hair stand out even more. There was something about her very nature. Her words, the way she moved, her kindness, intelligence, her sense of humor…all of it rolled into one package. She’s perfect. He couldn’t help but grin. I’m going to like staying here for the next month. But then what? The thought hit him like a fist to the gut. Wendell hadn’t thought that far. “Wendell?” she whispered, “What’s wrong?” Flustered, he forced a sudden smile to his face. “Oh nothing. Everything’s wonderful.” He turned slightly away, as if glancing off in the distance. I’ve been so caught up in the here and now, I never considered what it’s going to feel like to leave once the month is over. To say that he would miss Kyliene was…inadequate. Oh come on…you just met her today! You can’t possibly… but all it took was a single glance, and he knew. Maybe staying here is the right decision after all. The crystals were dimming but not so much so that Wendell couldn’t see the annoyingly large smile on the High Elder’s face as they approached the ramp. Embarrassed, Wendell slowly let go of Kyliene’s hand. The High Elder stepped forward, put an arm around her and squeezed, leaning his cheek tenderly against her forehead. “Hello, Kyliene. I’m glad to see young Wendell has made friends with one of our more responsible youth. And how is Moira this evening?” “Nana is very well. It was a fruitful day,” she smirked, her eyes drifting back to

Wendell. The Elder chuckled at the pun and placed a hand on Wendell’s shoulder. “Please let her know that Caleb should be home within the hour. If you’ll excuse us, my dear, Wendell and I have an appointment to keep.” “Of course. Goodbye, Wendell.” Her smile was bright, but the expression was questioning. “Will I see you again?” Wendell looked to the High Elder for an answer to Kyliene’s question…but the Elder simply shrugged his shoulders. “Count on it,” Wendell replied with a smile. Then Wendell allowed the High Elder to lead him up the path toward the bridge.

Chapter 8 Vallen

There comes a moment in every life when the Universe presents you with an opportunity to rise to your potential. An open door that only requires the heart to walk through, seize it, and hang on. The choice is never simple. It is never easy. It’s not supposed to be. But those who travel this path have always looked back and realized that the test was always about the heart. The rest is just practice.

“W hat do you think of Sanctuary?” the High Elder asked, stopping at the peak of the bridge to look over the last light in the valley. “Did you find food?” He tried to draw Wendell out of himself. “Uh-huh,” Wendell responded, distracted with the wonderful events of the day. “Your arm!” the High Elder exclaimed. “What happened?” Wendell looked down at the bandage and the wound, but all he did was smile. The valley looked so peaceful. High above them Elämä moved through the expanse of space, blotting out the last rays of the sun—a silent call to the glistening crystals of Erimuri to cast a soft blue glow over the white city. Twinkling lights gently lit the streets and paths. It’s so beautiful and peaceful here.

“Wendell?” “What? Oh. Sorry. I-I fell…out of a tree. Nana said I cracked the bone in my arm.” The distant orchards were now fading into the shadows. His attention drifted from his day’s labors over to the market, where kind people fed a complete stranger. “It…doesn’t hurt anymore,” he added lazily, caught up in his own thoughts. It was a really good day. Heh, best one I can , actually. He grinned. She liked me. Kyliene didn’t know who I was, or where I really came from…and she liked me. He grinned wider. Even when I made a dork of myself, and… he looked down at his bandage…fell out of a tree, trying to impress her. She still liked me. ing the small red door surrounded with flowers, his gaze lingered on the block of homes near the far side of the park. He couldn’t see Kyliene’s home from here, but he knew where to look. His stomach full of butterflies, he raised his hand to cover the grin on his face. “Today was wonderful,” he said out loud, looking over at the Elder. “Amazing, actually. I’ve never had a day like it.” But one thought nagged at him. “My mom and Evan would have liked meeting the friends I made today.” The High Elder grinned, “Especially Kyliene?” Wendell smirked. “Still, I’m worried about my mom.” There it was, the one fact that denied him contentment. “A month is a long time to be away.” The High Elder looked at him, surprised. “You won’t be gone a month.” Wendell stopped short. “What?” “You will not be gone a month. Far less than that.” Wendell, confused, shook his head. “You’re not making sense to me now. Not that you have made much sense from the moment I got here, but…you need to explain this to me.” Is there some kind of hope that I’ll be able to stay here

longer and have the best of both worlds? “You have been here almost two days now, but time does not at the same rate as Earth. What your world has yet to discover is that time is a relative thing…and specific to the sphere in which it is bound.” Wendell’s brows curved inward, “Yeeaaah, we’re still talking crazy here. In a way I can understand, please?” The High Elder laughed then, “This world moves much faster than Earth. What that means, is many generations have ed since you were born. You were taken to a world where time moves much slower, thus…have time.” Now that he had Wendell’s attention, he resumed a brisk pace towards the keep and the waiting Council . “Generations?” Wendell ran after the High Elder. “Wait. Wait. That’s… lifetimes!” “Correct.” Shock, confusion and realization battled for control of his face as he entered the torch lit terrace. This…doesn’t make any sense. He shrugged, Says the teenage kid trapped in a magical land with a diamond sticking out of his chest. Then a thought occurred to him. “How long could I live here and not…you know…be missed?” Wendell shrugged, itting, “If, suppose…I wanted to stay awhile?” The High Elder grinned and stopped, turning around to face Wendell. “Let’s take a look at that wound before we go in, shall we?” Frustrated, but not wanting to push the point to get on the blueberry’s bad side, Wendell stood still and raised his forearm. Unwrapping the handkerchief, the High Elder handed the sticks and cloth to Wendell and examined his arm. “Does this hurt?” he pressed his fingers into the skin. “Nope.”

“Uncomfortable?” he asked, running his thumbs up and down the length of the bone. Wendell shook his head, “Not in the least.” “You should have flinched if the bone was truly wounded.” Satisfied, he nodded. “The Ithari has performed her wonders. You are whole once more.” He smiled, then looked questioningly past Wendell’s shoulder. Wendell stared at his arm, flipping his palm back and forth. “I noticed that there was a warming sensation soon after the fall, but…wow, I did realize she was healing me!” From a far corner of the terrace, three robed men briskly approached. Two wore white robes, while the third, his face hidden in the shadow of his hood, wore black. Two nodded in polite, yet silent acknowledgment to the stranger as they ed, but one turned deliberately and looked right at Wendell. Their eyes meeting, his stare was intense, curious, accusing. In the torchlight, Wendell could see he was very young, probably even younger than himself. What’s his problem? Confused, Wendell avoided the stare and looked down at his feet. The High Elder turned to address the three. “Gaidred?” Bowing slightly, the one in black spoke clearly in low tones. “High Elder, we have yet to hear from Tiell. As we discussed in Council meeting, our situation becomes grave. In light of this, Brother Tursin and I would offer our services.” Looking to each robe and then back to Gaidred, deep furrows in his brow, the High Elder said, “Continue.” “We would go to Tämä-Un to discover why Tiell is delayed. Do you feel that it would be wise?” Watching as he slowly paced in front of them, stroking his beard, the three elders waited patiently for the High Elders’ response. A situation which the High Elder had given little thought to, had become serious.

Shea had approached the High Elder earlier in the day, speaking of a dark presence he had felt in Sanctuary. Later, as the Council convened, Shea was not the only one to reveal the experience of an intruder. Something cunning had breached the defenses of the protected city and was moving from valley to valley. …as if it were searching. The Council’s combined efforts to locate and identify the entity had been frustrated, the entity still roaming free in Erimuri. To make matters worse, Brother Tiell was long over due to return from what was considered a simple and routine excursion. Wendell was uncomfortable observing the anxious tension weighing upon these strangers. Quietly, he shifted his weight from one foot to another, keeping his hands at his side, his fingers fidgeting with the ends of his tunic. What’s going on? Does this have something to do with me? Trying so hard to be quiet, he even held his breath in spurts, exhaling slowly through his nose to muffle the sound of his breathing. Again the young elder looked over with aggressive eyes, questioning him. What the crap is his problem?! Wendell quickly turned his head away as if he didn’t notice, but he could still feel the burning in the back of his neck. He can’t not like me. He doesn’t even know me! “Tursin?” The High Elder motioned for the exceptionally broad elder to him, then walked to the edge of the terrace. “I ask that you rely on your instincts to give us some insight. What do your heightened senses tell you?” Everyone looked them to the muscular Elder. Gripping the balustrade with his pale hands, Tursin’s large, round eyes peered through the darkness with the clarity of an owl, ears twitching. He sniffed the air, detecting the odor of brimstone nearly imperceptible upon the wind. Tursin’s breathing deepened and slowed until he stopped moving altogether. No one spoke, all eyes waiting upon him. “Evil descends upon this valley,” Tursin finally whispered, breaking the silence.

“It moves among the shadows.” Decidedly, the High Elder turned to include the others. “As it has been spoken, wisdom would dictate we remain together, united and alert. Tiell must be retrieved immediately and Sanctuary fortified without delay. We must weed out…” Suddenly shadows stretched across the terrace as a bright light appeared in the night sky. It fell like a luminous drop of liquid upon the Prime Gate, silently striking the center eye of the platform. Runes on each black claw, pulsing to life in a patterned rhythm, glowing red, unmistakable even from the terrace. “Thank the Makers, Tiell has returned.” The High Elder, exhaling a sigh of relief, nodded to himself in satisfaction. “Now that we are whole, we can—” A gut wrenching scream ripped through the night. Wincing as if he had been struck across the face, the High Elder stopped short, his eyes flashing a moment of terror. “Kyliene!” Wendell barely heard the High Elder’s distressed whisper. No! Worried, he looked to the elders. All four men gazed out into the darkness, but it was too dark to see where it was coming from. The echo of the scream vibrated through the valley made it impossible to pinpoint. “TIELL!” gasped Tursin, his keen eyes spotting something the rest could not see. Diving headfirst over the balustrade, the man plunged into the darkness. An instant later, the searing screech of an eagle jolted everyone into motion. The remaining elders darted across the bridge, the young one taking a split second to send another piercing glance back at Wendell. A second scream, seizing the night, was hauntingly and abruptly silenced… propelling Wendell forward. Kyliene!

He had no proof, other than the clenching in his chest, that the terrible sounds came from her. Wendell sprinted after the elders as fast as his feet would carry him. They all followed the silhouette of the eagle as it circled the park, diving toward the Prime Gate. Running through the trees, Wendell’s thumping heart faltered when the deafening roar of an enraged beast assaulted his wits. Oh no…no, no, no! Stumbling, he instinctively raised his hands to his head as he plunged through the branches and into the open arena of the park. Wendell frantically scanned for Kyliene as he came into the clearing. No Kyliene, he sighed in relief. Thank goodness. Next to the base of the Gate a black grizzly bear stood enormous and erect, growling at an equally enormous green giant, crouching opposite him. Lying in between them, a torn heap of white cloth, caked in blood and dirt and a man’s head barely visible between the folds. There ARE giants here!? Alarmed, Wendell shuffled sideways, wanting to get a clear view of the bald giant’s face in the shadows. Hissing aggressively, it shook a long hammer gripped in his hand, challenging the bear. Already blood and a clump of dark fur stuck to the spike end of the weapon, while a gaping wound in the giant’s left shoulder, bled down heavily tattooed skin. His bulky arm limply flapped against his torso, smearing the oozing black liquid across its dirty leather jerkin and tros. Taunting, the giant made a shallow lunge toward the body between them, feigning with the hammer. Bellowing, the bear warned its enemy to stay away. “Ha!” the mocking laugh of the giant was barely audible before it roared back.

Lunging quickly, he swung the hammer with full intent, but it never met its mark. Dropping forward protectively over the fallen elder, the bear’s agile paw slashed across the enemy’s torso, tearing through clothing, flesh and sinew, sending the hammer spinning across the grass, just a few feet from where Wendell stood. From the sidelines, Wendell noticed the elders fanning outward, a black robe— the one they called Gaidred—walking calmly towards the fight. As the giant stumbled back, Gaidred saw his opportunity. Reaching into the folds of his sleeves, he threw a long slender knife with one fluid motion. Tumbling silently through the air, the blade stuck true, lodging in the giant’s throat and sinking to the hilt. In pained anger, the giant roared, flinging itself into the light to find its new enemy. Wendell recoiled as the giant came into the full light. It had a misshapen head, angular features, unusually thick black eyebrows, which reminded Wendell of another monster. He cringed at the sight of the morbid green face. Like Dax. But this one was much bigger and had seeping boils and odd hairy growths littering its forehead and down the left side of its face. Protruding from its lower jaw were two long, sharp teeth. Okay, not like Dax. The giant snarled as it stumbled again, but did not fall. Gurgling, the black liquid sputtered out of its mouth and down its chin. With a single, downward blow, the bear struck its opponent across the head. There was a sickening crunch on impact and the body collapsed lifeless to the ground. Wendell watched nervously as the bear lumbered over to its fallen enemy, rolling the body over with an immense paw. It hovered a few moments, sniffing and studying the grotesque face and then stood upright. As it stretched, Wendell heard bones shifting and popping, realigning themselves, claws softened into fingers as black fur lightened and retreated through open pores. He stood there gaping as the transformation, which took

only seconds, completed into a white robe and Elder Tursin. Wendell’s jaw dropped open. Shape…shifter. The High Elder was right! There are people who can actually change their shapes!! That is…so…COOL! Tursin walked slowly, panting heavily across the grass, sweat dripping from his brow. He knelt on one knee while thoughtfully picking up the blood stained hammer, turning it over in his hand. Wendell watched him, inwardly cringing at the red stain growing over his shoulder and down the left breast of the white robe. Tursin, noticing Wendell’s stare, smiled reassuringly. “Um,” Wendell gulped, pointing at the wound, “You’re bleeding.” “Come,” Tursin said softly as he leaned his head toward the others. Wendell followed Tursin, but kept his distance so as to not get in anyone’s way. Tiell, who was unconscious, had been rolled onto his back. Gaidred was already kneeling at his side, carefully examining the wounds. Both eyes were swollen shut, his bottom lip bloated and opened at one corner, torn nearly an inch toward his chin. Wendell noticed Tiell’s hands as the High Elder knelt beside the body, taking one gently upon his lap. The fingers were disfigured, darkened at the ts and bent in the wrong directions. Wendell was no warrior, but these did not look like battle wounds. “Shea,” called the High Elder. The young elder quickly knelt down at the side of his father. “We will need Jiin,” he whispered. “Gather our brothers as quickly as you can.” With a nod of understanding, Shea jumped up and sprinted right into Wendell, knocking them both off balance. Recovering more quickly than Wendell, who actually landed on his backside, Shea offered a hand to help him up.

Wendell was hesitant at first, He still looks irritated at me, but took the offered hand. Impatient for the imprudent delay, the High Elder hesitated…watching for the look of confirmation to cross Shea’s face. Even after Wendell had stood, Shea kept a firm grip on his hand, standing immovable as lightening flashes of certitude fired through his mind. …and Wendell’s. Why are you….WOAH! Wendell flinched as images forced their way into his mind. Dax dragging someone by the hair—a stranger suspended in the air while the Ithäri penetrates his chest—the stranger lying on the floor naked. That’s… ME. Why am I seeing… It dawned on him then, that the images weren’t being forced into his mind, but pulled from his mind. Again the images flashed with Dax…and then the painful experience with the Ithari…then all went dark. Like a movie being rewound, the images reversed until Wendell saw Dax tackling him outside Evan’s home. Then again, it went dark. Nothing else. No past, no future, no connection. When Wendell blinked, he noticed Shea had released his hand…and gazed upon him now in fear. Terror gripped Shea’s soul. Puzzled, the High Elder watched the erratic emotions on the young elder’s face. Shea visibly struggled to compose himself. Looking at Wendell horrified, he dropped his hand and backed away. “Shea?” the High Elder called out, to which his son looked upon him in anger. Deep lines cut into his brow, his eyes red, jaw locked and clenched. Shea looked to Wendell again, completely stupefied.

Wendell didn’t understand the silent exchange, and something in him prompted him to remain silent. He bit his bottom lip and looked back and forth between father and son. Tiell’s moaning brought them all back to the task at hand. “Shea!” the High Elder shouted. “We will discuss this later. We need Jiin now!” Shea, who had not taken his eyes off Wendell, turned to resume his errand and raced up the path. People began gathering in the park. Wendell’s anxiety grew as he listened to their intense whisperings. “What happened?” “Who was screaming?” Someone pointed accusingly at Wendell. “I saw Kyliene walking to the park with him.” “Is someone hurt? Should we help?” “What is that?!” a young lady said in disgust. “That’s a Vallen, my dear. Our enemy. Foul creatures!” answered an elderly man. “Is it dead?” “I thought the enchantments were supposed to keep them out,” a fearful woman wailed. “Take the children home—this is no place for them!” “How…how did that thing get through the Gate?!?” “It’s a sign!” yelled a man. “It’s the sign of the Gnolaum, I say!” cried another.

Wendell could hear the muffled sobs of a few who were afraid and confused. And then a timid voice asked a question that silenced the crowd, “Has Mahan escaped?” The High Elder glanced briefly at the growing number of people, before looking to Gaidred. The black robe nodded with understanding. With a gentle expression on his face, he opened his arms wide and walked toward the crowd. “Friends, calm yourselves and be at peace! Yes, I, too, believe this is a sign of the Gnolaum, for the time has come for his return.” Gaidred glanced pointedly at Wendell, who felt that familiar sinking in his gut again. The elders voice was firm and soothing as he walked among his fellow citizens, placing a gentle hand on a shoulder or gripping a forearm reassuringly. “, these valleys were created for our protection as a gift because of the faithfulness of our ancestors…with a promise that we, as a people, will survive the evil that will scourge the world and decimate the races. We were never promised we would survive the evil unscathed.” Gaidred paused to take a deep breath. “If the Lord of Darkness has escaped that prison built for him, it matters not.” Gaidred’s eyes once more lingering on Wendell before sweeping across the crowd. Now HE’s looking at me! Wendell complained. “Generations have lived in peace and prosperity for hundreds of years since he was banished by the Hero. The Ithäri is the key. We are a strong people. The Ithäri has always won. She will always win. The Gnolaum is coming. We will vanquish this evil and triumph at the last!” Is he talking about me? Wendell could hear his heart pounding in his ears. Oh, crap! I hope they’re not talking about me. Coughing lightly, Elder Tiell began to stir. Struggling to take a breath, his free hand gripped a fistful of cloth at his side as his body shuddered.

“My dear brother, this is a great shock,” the High Elder spoke fervently, leaning over his friend. Tursin came to kneel opposite the High Elder at Tiell’s side, the deep furrows in his brows darkening his scowl. “Who did this to you, little brother?” Tiell coughed again, harder this time, and winced as blood appeared at the corner of his mouth. “Vallen camp. Was discovered.” He tried to smile, causing a fresh crack in his dried lips, “I will live, Tursin. Thus I am, to return and report.” The High Elder smiled tenderly. “Not now, my friend. Rest. Jiin will be here soon to ease the pain.” Ignoring the High Elder, Tursin pressed on firmly. “Vallen? In Humär?” his expression now incredulous. Tiell nodded weakly. “The Prime Gate at Tämä-Un is being watched,” he groaned. “They have control of the Gate and have sent out scouts.” “Cursed be their paths,” the High Elder scowled under his breath. Blinking hard, his jaw became rigid. “It seems the enemy has found new paths into the human lands once more.” “The Gate…showed no signs…of activation,” Tiell whispered haltingly, breaking the silence with his slow, breathy speech. “The King is…safe for now…I locked…the Evolu out of Tämä-Un. ” The High Elder exhaled a sigh. “It sounds, my brothers, that we are being forced once more into the world of men.” Tursin nodded, his expression sober. “We knew our seclusion could not last forever.” Nodding his agreement, the High Elder turned his attention once more to the misshapen hand, limp and motionless on his lap. Lifting his arm to pull back his robe, Tiell flinched, grunting as muscles rebelled, his hand falling back to his side. “Here,” the High Elder whispered, “allow me.” Leaning forward, he gently lifted

the torn garment back. A broken arrow shaft protruded from Tiell’s shoulder. It was black and dirty. Tursin groaned. He was one of a few that knew Vallen left their arrows to rot in vats of their own blood, intent on spreading disease to their victims. Specifically those who did not die by the arrow alone. Tiell gulped, “Surprised me as…the gate closed…Could not protect…myself.” He paused, laboring to breathe. “Forced to run.” He smiled weakly. “Tros… would have been…convenient.” All three elders chuckled knowingly. “Uh…guys? I don’t mean to bother you, but…” Wendell stammered, pointing to the overturned body of the giant. “Is it…supposed to do that?” All turned in time to see the body rise unnaturally from the ground. The sight unnerved Wendell—like a puppet, lifted and pulled chest first by invisible strings, sputtering as its limbs convulsed. Its left eye dangled from a fractured socket, splintered bone puncturing flesh as brain matter fell to the ground, the bear inflicted wounds mushrooming the raw black meat. Anyone nearby the body quickly backed away. “Look!” yelled several from the crowd. Elder Gaidred turned to face the giant, placing himself instinctively between enemy and the innocent. “The intruder,” growled Tursin, jumping to his feet. “The shadow we have been searching for…is here.” “Get the people back!” shouted the High Elder, rising from Tiell’s side. It was too late. The possessed giant lunged outward at a group of Iskari citizens, snatching a young girl with bouncing black curls from the crowd. Its filthy hand wrapped

around her slender neck like a vice. Struggling and kicking wildly against the beast’s legs without effect, her eyes pleaded, tears streaking down her face. Her complexion slowly turned a deep purple, her lips gasping for air. “Kyliene!” Wendell shouted, running forward. With a powerful hand, Tursin grabbed Wendell and held him back. “Don’t,” he growled. “Keep your distance.” “But she has Kyliene!” he screeched, pushing against his iron grip. “I have to help her!!” The grip tightened, holding him in place. Wendell panicked. What can I do? I-I don’t know what to DO! There has to be SOMETHING!?? The giant pulled Kyliene tight against its blood drenched tunic like a tiny doll. Wendell pushed forward again but was immediately restrained by Tursin and now Gaidred’s stern look. “It wan’t you, my friend,” Tursin whispered. “That is what the evil is here for.” The giant also looked at Wendell, a sadistic grin on its mangled face as drops of blood trickled from its chin onto Kyliene’s cheek. “Then hand me over!” Wendell hissed behind gritted teeth. “He’s hurting her!” “You have nowhere to run, creature,” goaded the High Elder, stepping into the open. “Let her go and we will let you live.” “Oh, you know that’s not what it wants, Delnar,” a raspy voice called. The crowd parted, allowing a figure to . An old man in grey robes and a wide-rimmed, pointed hat emerged, leaning heavily on a gnarled walking staff. His bushy white eyebrows were only outdone

by the snow white mustache and beard that was so long, it brushed along the ground. He was followed by Dax and a young boy in red robes. Wendell stopped pushing against Tursin’s arm. He’s not blue! “Kyliene!” cried the child. He rushing forward haphazardly…only to be scooped up by a wrinkled old hand. “Stay still, Caleb,” the old man hissed, setting the boy down and moving him into the arms of a woman behind them. The old man, followed by Dax, moved to stand near the High Elder, elbowing him. “Looks like you found your unwelcome visitor.” The High Elder spared a grateful glance in the old man’s direction. “I’m glad you are here.” The old man frowned, “You won’t be.” “It doesn’t want to live?” questioned Dax, cracking his knuckles. “‘Cause I’m more than happy to help with that request!” His glare changed to a smile as he locked eyes with Kyliene. “Hang in there, sweetie. I’m comin’ for ya.” Swaying on the balls of his feet, ready to spring forward, he growled deep in his chest. “Tell me when, Chuck, and I’ll bite his throat out.” “No,” Chuck responded, eyeing the giant. “This is going to require a… gymnastic style solution.” A wicked grin crawled across Dax’s face. “Gotcha.” Taking a step forward, Chuck used the tip of his staff to tilt back the rim of his hat. “You’re not planning on leaving here alive, are you? You wouldn’t have animated a body so damaged, if you were.” With a widening smile, the giant licked the blood from Kyliene’s soft face, a lusty grumble in its chest. She cringed.

“Don’t think it can talk with that pig-sticker in its throat,” Dax smirked. “Gaidred’s been throwing toothpicks again.” Wendell jumped as a rush of movement exploded behind him. Shea had returned with the rest of the Council. Without a word, the robed elders spread out around the Prime Gate, placing themselves between the enemy and the people. Several of them drew closer, hands on weapons hidden beneath their sleeves. The old man glared as he leaned forward on his staff, studying the enemy. “Let her loose, velpä, and I’ll gladly send you back to your foul master.” “I shall be with my Master soon enough, Morphiophelius,” it swallowed roughly, “and all the…” he paused to look at Wendell “secrets I have collected in Erimuri will be his.” Gurgling in its own blood, the Vallen laughed as it pulled the knife free from its throat and cast it aside. Turning to stare at Wendell, he hissed familiarly, “You were warned, boy. Now, those who love you will suffer.” The words struck him breathless. Wendell panicked, Where have I heard that? The giant flinched as a small rock struck its collapsed skull. “LET HER GO!” screamed Caleb, looking for another rock around his feet. “Uncle Delnar, why don’t you do something!?” A woman dashed out and secured her grip upon him, pulling the child back into the crowd. He kicked and jerked fiercely as he screamed, “HELP HER!!” Chuck took another step towards the enemy. “Be forewarned, demon spawn— there’s enough knowledge here to keep you alive and trapped indefinitely. have you thought upon that?” A sly grin appeared under the frosty facial hair. “These Iskari can utterly destroy you.” The creature’s grin began to fade. “Think about that. You serve a master that cares for no one. Serves no one but himself…and if you harm this child, I can promise you pain never imagined by

your kind.” “Then let me secure your wrath upon me!” it gurgled. Wrapping its arm around Kyliene’s torso, hugging her firmly against its chest, the giant grabbed her head and… BAMPH! BAMPH! BAMPH! Flashes of light and bursts of air pummeled the crowd…as the giant howled in agony. Where the creature had held Kyliene secure against its body, now remained an exposed ribcage and stumps for arms. Blood drained from its organs, dripping down its legs and pooling in the grass between its feet. Kyliene’s body rolled up to the feet of the High Elder, along with an unconscious Dax…and several extra body parts. Both lay, unmoving…covered in the black blood of the vallen. Screams erupted through the crowd. Kyliene’s tear-stained face rolled to the side as the last breath of life ascended into the night. Wendell shoved his way forward and dropped to her side. No! he whimpered. No, no, no, no, no! Leaning over her lifeless body, Wendell pulled the caked curls from her cheek and pressed his face against hers. “This isn’t what’s supposed to happen,” he whispered softly in her ear. “Please get up, Kyliene. Please.” He choked, “Please don’t leave.” Please get up, Kyliene. Please! Reaching up, he tugged on the High Elder’s robe.

“H-heal her,” he stammered. “You have magic. All of you have magic. Use it on her. Heal her and bring her back.” Eyes wet and moist, the High Elder whispered, “I wish I could, my Lord.” He swallowed hard, “With all my heart…I wish I could.” Drowning in emptiness, Wendell fought to keep a grasp on reality. Th-THUMP-Thump. Th-THUMP-Thump. Th-THUMP-Thump. He couldn’t hear beyond the thumping in his ears, thoughts sluggish and unconnected, eyesight growing veiled and dull. Wendell tried to focus on the dragging movements around him, which seemed so far away now. He was watching through a long, foggy tunnel. The old man named Chuck reached out a hand, making a gripping motion in the air. The ground trembled…and then the trees along the perimeter of the park. Roots pierced the soil, shooting up around the murderous invader, wrestling free of the earth. One by one, the roots curled and wound themselves around the vallen. Thrashing violently, the giant was forced to its knees. “He’s all yours,” the old man yelled to the High Elder, shaking his walking staff in the air. “You don’t have long, I’m afraid, before the body dies and you lose your opportunity,” he growled. “Make it count.” Unrelenting, the possessed vallen smirked, foolishly glorifying in his victory. “You did not have to bind me. I will let you kill me!” Slowly, each step thoughtful and deliberate, the High Elder approached the giant. “No, this body will not serve your purposes. It will no longer transport you to your master in its death. You will not make a sacrifice of the Iskäri in Erimuri by

divulging any secrets.” Choking on his heartache he paused to clear his throat, composing himself, “You have killed one of our children. One that did no harm. One that loved and was deeply loved in return.” The creature laughed, snapping it teeth. “You are treacherous and cannot be allowed to return to your master. It is therefore your unfortunate lot to suffer the pain of a million deaths.” The laughing died. “Ah. I see you understand…now.” The giant trembled now, pulling and straining against its bonds. “You are condemned, traitor, as every molecule of your body and spirit repels another and tears away, while being consumed in unquenchable flame. You will pay, not only for her life but the generations stolen from us that were to be hers.” Turning his head, he addressed his fellow Council . “Elders, we must imprison his mortal substance, that his pain may not be alleviated in separation but compounded in its restraint, until he is no more.” Wendell tried to shake the growing fog in his head, rubbing his eyes. He wanted to see this. The Council gathered around the vallen in layered circles, three, then five and then six, each placing their hands upon the shoulders of the elder to each side. As they gathered, the High Elder leaned in, holding his mouth near the ear of the giant, “You think you know pain?” he whispered softly. He shook his head, “I assure you, you do not.” Leaning in even closer, he added, “…but you will.” Anxiously, Wendell watched as the Council closed their eyes in united concentration.

The surrounding air stirred. At first it seemed as if a light breeze had picked up. Then a mighty summer wind. It grew and grew, and with it, a radiating heat that couldn’t be contained within the circle. A huge hand gripped the sleeve of Wendell’s tunic. Dax, shaking the grogginess from his head, tugged, to which Wendell reacted with fierce objection. He flinched, attempting to pull free. “Oh, get a grip already, will ya?” Dax said irritated. Wendell was annoyed at being out-matched still…and struggled against being pulled back a safe distance. “Kyliene’s still there,” he cried. “I know,” Dax choked, then softer, “Wasn’t…fast enough.” Stopping to readjust his grip, he looked Wendell straight in the face. “She’ll be there when this is all over, kid. I promise. This is to keep you safe.” With a final tug, he propped Wendell down to sit near the old wizard. Glaring at the little monster, Wendell yanked his sleeve from Dax’s grip with a huff, and turned to the old man. “What’s happening?” “Something I never thought I’d see again.” The old man said casually, his eyes never leaving the spectacle before him. The growing wind whipped around those too close to the circle, biting and pushing them away. The Elders took wider stances as the wind, escaping at their feet, was circulated high above them…and then funneled forcefully back into the center of the circle. The ground shuddered under the force and pressure, light flaring from the point where the vallen knelt, restrained. No sound escaped the circle—other than the howling vexation of the wind. Finally glancing over at Wendell, Chuck smiled.

It was a gentle smile with knowing eyes that dispelled the fog. A sense of selfassured peace washed over Wendell and he immediately felt at ease. W-who is this guy? “Morphiophelius,” the old man said cheerfully, holding out his wrinkled hand. “I have other names, even some titles…but they’re usually not very nice, bestowed by people who don’t like me much. Best if you just call me Chuck. And you are?” “Wendell,” he said, shaking Chucks hand. Chuck looked at their hands clasped together, rotating Wendell’s wrist slightly, “Hmm. Firm grip. All five digits. A proper pink color.” He nodded approvingly, “Good. You’ll do nicely.” “Excuse me?” Wendell frowned, confused. “I said they’re throwing him back into the melting pot,” uttered the old man. “Pay attention boy, or you’ll miss it. Core elements can be used by the Universe for something else. A world, stars, a bookcase…even pancakes!” He thought for a moment, rolling his eyes and vigorously licking his lips, “Blueberry and chocolate chip pancakes…love those. ” Great. I found the local loon. Wendell looked back at the ring of elders, “So they’re ripping him apart?” “You got it, kiddo. Starting from scratch.” “Good,” Wendell snapped, “That foul creature deserves it!” “Deserves?” Chuck looked at him puzzled. “He killed Kyliene.” Turning fully to face Wendell, the old man placed a hand on his forearm. “Careful, son. Judging is a tricky business. Kyliene’s death is tragic, we all agree on that point—but she’ll live on, able to progress in another form. This poor fool will never have such a chance.”

Bursting from the center of the ring a shock wave thrust through the park and across the crystal lake, misting the surrounding buildings. Then all was still. …except for the sobbing of a young boy. Caleb had broken from the crowd and thrown himself over the body of his big sister. Chuck strolled over and gently put his hand on the boy’s shoulder. “Go away!” Caleb slapped it away, glaring up through a river of tears. “You could have helped her!” he cried. “Why didn’t any of you help her!? I hate you! I hate all of you for not saving my sister!” Dropping his head into his arms, he sobbed loudly. “Leave me alone!” Wendell looked on in silence, unable to turn away from Kyliene’s body, while the emptiness once again consumed him. He couldn’t cry. He wanted to, hearing the mourning of friends and loved ones around her frail body. He felt paralyzed —helpless, scared. Brushing past Wendell, the High Elder knelt at Kyliene’s side, leaning down he nuzzled his face in the curly black tresses. He inhaled the sweet scent of the silveen blossoms before tenderly kissing her head. Tormented eyes were transfixed on his weeping nephew and he rested a trembling hand on the back of Caleb’s neck, pulling him in closer. “Nana approaches, Father,” Shea quietly informed as he knelt opposite the High Elder. Guided by the fat baker Wendell had met earlier, Moira shuffled through the parted crowd, a white sheet draped over one arm. Her face was grave, eyes swollen from tears already shed. Guided to Kyliene’s head, Shea lifted his hand to her as his Nana knelt beside him. Her gnarled hands reached out, running her fingers through Kyliene’s hair. Reaching for her little grandson, Caleb eagerly grasped his Nana’s hand, bathing

it in tears. “Strength, my Caleb. You are the last of this house,” she choked, gripping his hand firmly. “Strength to our family, strength to our people.” Her head held erect, she looked about in blindness for those she knew would hold comion and for her plight. “Who will help a daughter of Iskäri?” she asked boldly. Standing, the High Elder removed Caleb, stepping back to make room for the necessary preparations, motioning for Shea to do the same. Wendell counted as twelve women came forward each offering, “I will help my sister,” as they wept. Sliding their hands under Kyliene’s body, they gingerly lifted her as Moira took the brilliantly white fabric from her arm and gracefully rolled it across the grass. The women gently laid Kyliene down once more, wrapping and tucking the edges to completely cover the body. Moira placed her hands on Kyliene’s head and wailed, “Never would I have thought this cloth we wove together would have been used for anyone but I!” Caleb reed her as the people gathered around them. Kneeling in silence, each Iskäri placed their hands upon the shoulders of those in front of them, creating a web of arms and bowed heads, every one reaching into the center towards Caleb and Moira. Each whispered prayers for the last of a family line, offering up all the love and strength of their people. They wept as one. A daughter of Erimuri had been taken. Wendell moved to stand next to the High Elder. His heart pulled at him—wanting to kneel down with the people who had accepted him so readily and mourn the loss of his friend. But he felt empty, like a fading echo.

Why didn’t I do something? His hand went to his chest feeling the small ridge under his tunic. Could I have done something to prevent this!? The idea tormented him. Isn’t this what you’re for? Should I have done something? An irrepressible rage was kindled in his chest, What was I supposed to do? “I’m sorry for your loss, Wendell,” whispered the High Elder. Alone in the dark, all at once, Wendell silently choked as a tear rolled down his cheek, but he never made a sound.

Chapter 9 Committed

The Earth rotates at 1000 mph, orbiting the sun at 66,500 mph, while the sun and its system are circling the core of the Milky Way galaxy at 600,000 mph, making one complete revolution in 200 million years. Now, the Milky Way in turn, orbits a super cluster of 2,500 nearby galaxies at over 1,000,000 mph and simultaneously moves outward through space at over 300,000 mph. So, if we take these calculations into consideration, we will always come to the exact same conclusion. We’re moving pretty fast. All of these celestial objects moving through space with such precision that it seems very silly to me, that some say it all happened by accident. Logistically speaking, one could look like a bug splattered against a windshield if one didn’t know what one was doing. It takes specific laws, organized minds, and invisible hands to direct the stellar traffic down the trackless highways of galactic space. Nothing happens by accident.

Those who love you will suffer. It wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Wendell was a nobody. No one every paid attention to him before. He didn’t have aspiring goals, not because he couldn’t think of them or desired them, but because life had shown him up until now that it didn’t matter what he wanted, he wouldn’t likely achieve them. So why bother? Beautiful, wonderful, amazing girls never had an interest in Wendell either. Just didn’t happen. Which meant the events of the last few minutes weren’t possible. It had to be a dream. …only it wasn’t a dream. A beautiful, wonderful, amazing girl…just had her life taken. Why does that sound familiar? Hunting through his memories, Wendell felt desperate. Why did it say that to me? Watching silently as dozens of loving hands carried Kyliene’s body away, he was not bound by time. A juxtaposition of a tormented mind and body. Frozen. Come on, Wendell, … blast you! A demon had brought a dead body to life, It looked right at me…and knew me! It talked right to me. He shivered. That look. What does it mean? Those who love you will suffer.

The words preyed on his mind. Is Kyliene’s death…my fault? Everyone around him seemed to have a purpose. Except Wendell. People helping one another up, comforting each other, softly consoling, encouraging…and wadding slowly back towards their homes. This is not your fight. A haunting whisper on the cold breeze seized his chest. Grasping at it, understanding was just on the edge of his mind. Wendell flinched as an elder moved in his peripheral vision. Shadows. It was a shadow…on the river bank. His pulse hesitated, his mind once more slinking into fog. Wendell felt the shove from behind, falling to his hands and knees. I was dead. That’s where I heard it first. That voice… Go home. Terror, ripped from his gut, erupted through his lips, “Ughaaaah!” as a muffled cry. His chest heaved, lungs gasping for breath as panic took him. Once again making his senses shrink, Wendell ed the foul, sticky breath caressing his neck, laughing in cruel mockery:

THIS ISN’T YOUR FIGHT, BOY. WHO DO YOU THINK YOU ARE?

GO HOME…OR YOU AND THOSE WHO LOVE YOU WILL SUFFER.

He didn’t know how…and he didn’t know why, but Wendell was painfully certain at that moment that somewhere between life and death, the Lord of Darkness had found him. This evil or person the High Elder had talked about…was afraid of, had found Wendell during his short time here. Whoever this Mahan was, he was making good on his threat. Kyliene was dead. The very thought nearly caused his heart to stop. Kyliene was dead. Wrapped in the white cloth, Kyliene’s body looked so tiny and delicate. Reverently the people bowed their heads as Caleb guided his grandmother at the head of the procession. Wendell wanted to follow. He wanted to run to Nana and ask her forgiveness for not doing something… anything, to save her. But guilt held him rooted in place. Goodbye, Kyliene. I’m so sorry. Leaving the people to their rituals, the elders gathered in small groups and began walking to the bridge. Elder Tiell still needed tending. Wendell shifted his attention in time to see a wood plank being carried by an animated plant, gliding across the ground. The writhing of the plant gave the impression of swirling green smoke, rolling across the grass and being attended

to by a slender, female elder. Probably Elder Jiin, his mind ed numbly. Others gathered around, working as one to shift the broken and unconscious body of elder Tiell onto the plank. Once situated, and with a few clicking noises from the woman’s mouth, the sentient plant lifted the plank and glided towards the arched bridge of the Keep. Even in the midst of all these people, Wendell was once more alone. It’s the way he’d felt all his life. He didn’t belong. Glancing to where he witnessed the vines pierce the ground and bind the vallen…nothing remained. His feet shuffled through the grass, stopping where the elders had performed their powerful magic. With such a show of force, Wendell expected to see some sort of charred spot burned into the ground. Yet there was not a mark, not a hole in the grass where the roots had shot through, not even a trace of blood from the creature. The grass looked freshly cut, each blade trembling and bending in the light breeze. It was as if the enemy had simply ceased to exist. Wendell stared intently at that spot, pictures of the vallen’s sadistic grin pummeling his mind. Was it really looking for me? Without warning, his legs wobbled and…gave out, sending him onto the grass. It was looking for me! I’m who knows how many miles o-or light years from home and some evil, crazy killer was looking…for ME! Heart pounding, he gasped for breath, hands tugging at his collar. I haven’t done anything to make people mad at me. Not yet, anyway—I haven’t been here long enough! But that wasn’t the most disturbing thought. What would

that thing have done to me if it had gotten its hand ON me? Surely it would have been better than that thing getting a hold of Kyliene! He looked down at the Ithari, poking it lightly with his index finger. “You would have protected me, right? I mean, that’s your job, correct?” He waited, but felt no response. I should have done something. Anything. Wendell felt overwhelmed by relief that the demon could not relay its secrets. What else lurks out there in the great I-don’t-know-how-flippin-huge-this-worldis that wants me dead as well? He sighed heavily. A heavy hand gripped Wendell firmly by the shoulder, causing him to start. “Do not dwell on this, Wendell,” whispered the High Elder, “as hard as it is. Better to the blessings enjoyed.” Is that all? Wendell was shocked. It must have shown on his face. The High Elder’s hands disappeared into his sleeves and he smiled thoughtfully, eyes moist. “He who committed the crime has paid the ultimate price. I take comfort in knowing that Kyliene’s soul lives on. “But there is nothing that will take the pain away. Not for me…and not for you. Kyliene touched our lives in her own, unique way, and she owns that part of our hearts. A part that is now gone. We will forever be incomplete without her…for she cannot be replaced, Wendell.” Standing tall, the High Elder waited until Wendell stood up and looked him directly in the eyes. “We will have good days and bad days…but we will never get better. We will simply learn to live with the pain of loss.” Placing a hand on Wendell’s shoulder, the High Elder said softly, “It is time, now, to meet with the Council.”

Wendell nodded and wrapped his arms around his lean frame, numbly placing one foot in front of another. The dull rhythm of the pace allowed him to cast his eyes on the path ahead of him and shut out the world. He glanced at the elders ahead of him—strangers quietly conversing as they walked through the darkness. Probably about me, he thought, hearing the swishing robes and catching the curious expressions with the occasional quick glance back. He didn’t bother acknowledging them, he just averted his stare. Is Kyliene’s death my fault? His mind couldn’t let go of the image of her lying lifeless upon the ground, or that knowing look from the possessed giant. This is not my fight? But it killed my friend. Shea bowed to the High Elder, cutting off their path. The look on his face was grave, nearly demanding the High Elder’s attention. “Father, it is urgent that we speak.” Falling into a sluggish rhythm, Wendell moved around them, without saying a word, without looking up and continued to shuffle up the bridge while the High Elder held back. What was I supposed to do? What could I have done? The questions kept coming to his mind. No, that’s not the right question, Wendell. If you’re expected to be some kind of hero, you have to know what you’re supposed to do! He could talk himself out of any responsibility—he had always been good at that. Keep it all in perspective, right? He was just a kid. A stranger. But, he possessed the Ithäri— the hero’s gem—expected to save all life…that’s what the High Elder had said. WHAT WAS I SUPPOSED TO DO? screamed over and over in his head. What will they do with me now? Am I to be punished? Is there some sort of training time for this thing in my chest…or is everyone my responsibility now? Is it too late for me to go home? But something new made him cringe inside. A conflict that made his heart ache and shrink.

Will more Iskäri die if I leave? …or will they suffer if I stay? The questions pricked his mind as a painful sting, swelling the longer they went unanswered. Wendell didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but the intensity of the whispers behind him disturbed the cocoon around his thoughts. Both the High Elder and his son had resumed walking, keeping pace behind. “Father, what have you done?” Wendell moaned. Please, wait until I’m farther away. I can still hear you. He quickened his step to get further from the escalating tension, but Wendell couldn’t block out all the pleading whispers of the young elder. “…reason for our traditions…” “…no connection to this people…” “…out of order…” “…what will we do now?” Is he talking about me? Wendell listened for the High Elder’s response, but the leader said very little. “We will resolve this in council,” is all. Reaching the terrace, Wendell lingered, not wanting to plunge into a confrontation with a room full of authority figures. Every part of his body hurt and he wanted to cry…to scream out loud or even to break something, but it simply lingered—hovering just close enough to sting, but not enough to resolve. “You alright, kid?” Dax and Chuck stood alone in a far corner of the terrace. The breeze had a chilly bite due to the waterfalls, and it swirled indecisively through the terrace, giving

the wizard’s long stringy beard a life of its own. The old man was engaged in an animated discussion with a hanging plant, while casually leaning against the balustrade. He puffed on a willowy pipe as Dax aggressively worked on a cigar. Dax was staring right at him. “It wasn’t your fault, you know that, right?” Dax said softly. At first glance, it seemed almost strange that words of comfort could come out of a being that looked so tough, so harsh and mean. The smoldering embers of the cigar lit up Dax’s face, creating a red tinge to his skin color in the night’s light. “No one else has said that,” Wendell replied, approaching with caution. The Evolu snorted, a smirk on his face. “Don’t put too much stock in these blueberries and their opinions. They’re a bunch of bureaucrats, driven by their own purposes.” “Isn’t everyone?” Wendell replied. “Maybe,” shrugging, “maybe not. Some of us just want a quiet life and are willing to go with the flow.” Wendell smirked, “Isn’t that still a purpose?” Dax pondered, then smirked himself, “You’re probably right.” Chuck excused himself from the conversation with the plant and politely tipped the brim of his hat. “Morphiophelius Smith, at your service. And you are?” Wendell raised an eyebrow. “It’s the kid, Chuck,” sighed Dax. “You met him in the park, not more than twenty minutes ago.” “I did?” Wendell nodded. The wizard looked confused, but quickly put a smile back onto his face. “Must

not have been much of a first impression!” Then, leaning closer, he whispered, “Good thing I’m senile…it’ll give you another shot to do so much better, eh?” Dax sighed. Grinning widely, Chuck gave Wendell a wink. “You look a bit lost, son.” “I’m…just waiting to go in and meet with the Council.” “That’s not what I mean,” the wizard replied. “Not outwardly lost…but on the inside. Conflicted. Confused. Distressed. Not knowing where you belong or where to go,” his grin grew wider, “…or what you’re supposed to do.” Wendell’s head perked up, “What did you say?” Chuck’s grin vanished in a flash. “I said pull up a seat and rest a spell! You look exhausted.” Tapping his staff on the ground, the stones of the terrace merged together, growing into a wide, brown leather recliner. “Sit.” Wendell had thought he felt completely numb until he flopped down into the chair. The weight of his impending decisions crashed in on him. Every muscle in his body ached, screaming in revolt. He pushed deeper into the chair, wrapping his arms tightly about him, he attempted to hide his shaking. Hearing footsteps, he looked up to see the High Elder and Shea deep in conversation, walking across the terrace and directly into the Keep. The High Elder barely paused to glance at Wendell and then, giving a nod to the wizard, resumed his course. Wendell rose to follow after them, but Chuck hooked his arm with his staff, holding him back. “I’d give them a few minutes, son. The blueberries need time to regroup before they meet as a Council. A lot’s happened tonight. They have more to discuss than they realize yet. Take a moment for yourself—they’ll come and get us when they’re ready.” “You’re going in too?”

The wizard nodded. “They sent notice to me as soon as you arrived.” Tapping his legs, “Don’t move as fast as I used to.” Nodding feebly, Wendell sat back down. “You look like me.” Chuck choked on the smoke from his pipe and started coughing. “I what?” He gave Dax an odd look, “I don’t look that bad….do I?” “You’re not blue, I mean,” Wendell clarified and then gave Dax a leery sideways glance, “…or green, like him.” “Oh, yeah,” the wizard nodded. “Pinkie. That’s me.” He leaned in closer with a wink. “It’s because I prefer cheeseburgers, fries, and a large chocolate malt to all their home grown fruit and fiber. Just cause I like eating blueberries doesn’t mean I want to grow up to be one, eh?” Wendell laughed lightly, surprised he had it in him. He was warming under the torchlight and enjoyed the distraction. Dax grunted, rolling his eyes. “Um, hey kid… I’m sorry,” he fumbled for the right words, “the High Elder said…well…for…ya know—whackin’ ya around like that.” He shrugged. “It was justa bit a fun.” He’s apologizing? Wendell’s eyebrows arched high in surprise. “Uh,…sure.” Dax shrugged again, quickly turning away. Chuck smirked, “Now doesn’t that feel better, when you say you’re sorry?” Dax glared at the wizard, grinding his teeth together, “Oodles.” “Say!” blurted Chuck, startling Wendell as he bounced forward. “Look what I just got!” The wizard swiftly pulled off his pointy hat, reached in up to his armpit and rummaged around. An amusing minute ed while Wendell attempted to not gawk. Sounds of books falling over, and metal upon metal… even glass crashing to the floor echoed as if from a large hall. All the while, the wizard mumbled and grunted to himself, tongue hanging from the side of his mouth. Did he just say Mahan’s pink panties?

“Ah, hah!” Chuck leaned over the chair and shoved a small, white, rectangular device into Wendell’s hands. It had a three inch screen and a set of earphones plugged into it. “Hey,” Wendell stared boggled. “This is an—” “uPod,” finished Chuck pointing excitedly, “I KNOW! And I got the latest season of Trench Wars!” Looking at the wizard suspiciously, he insisted, “No, I was going to say an—” “uPod. Useful Partitioning Of Data,” Chuck quickly clarified. “Great gadget for carrying songs and movies on the go! I keep it mainly for Trench Wars and my Break of Reality music collection. Incredible band from New York. Three cellos and a drummer.” He winked at Wendell again. “New York?” Wendell asked, barely above a whisper. “Oh, you wouldn’t know it. It’s a big city on a little, backwater planet,” then chuckling at his private joke, “in a galaxy far, far away.” Dax moaned. Momentarily speechless, Wendell looked between the uPod and Chuck’s grin while digesting. Unable to contain his exasperation, he almost yelled, “Who ARE you people!?! Are you from Earth? …Where are you FROM??” Cocking his head to the side with a raised eyebrow, Chuck drawled, “I’m from Elämä. Why? Where are YOU from?” Bending closer to Dax’s big ear, Chuck cupped his mouth and in a loud exaggerated whisper, “I think the boy just snapped a noodle.” Nudging Wendell, Dax rolled his eyes. “Don’t mind him, kid. I don’t understand what he says half the time.” Chuck shrugged, “That’s the public school system for you.” “Shut up, Chuck.”

“I’m just saying…” Ignoring Chuck, Dax changed the subject. “We have a friend competing in Trench Wars. It’s a TV show…and she made it to the finals!” Pointed to the uPod, “Just push the bottom of the wheel.” “TV show?” “Yeah.” Wendell blinked, “As in…television?” Dax scoffed, “Duh.” Wendell glanced around at the torches lighting up the terrace. “Right. Silly of me.” He pushed the play button and inserted one of the earphones, glancing between Dax and Chuck. Both grinned with excited anticipation. Spotlights flared across the floor of a dingy, dirty warehouse. Scraps of metal, crates, barrels and broken glass were strewn about while thousands of people screamed from the stands overhead. A resounding boom echoed through the warehouse as a giant robot flew into view, slamming into the corner, sparks and smoke fuming from its chest. The crowd cheered as a second robot smashed through crates and a half wall. It was smaller than the first, but it carried a large, spiked mace in one hand. Flames shooting from its feet propelled it into the air high over the prone robot. Preparing to strike again, it gripped the mace in both steel hands. Rotating its head forward, the prone robot was not helpless…and a wide barrel gun flipped forward, appearing where the face used to be. Flashing a brilliant red, a laser beam incinerated the attacker’s mace, sending the robot into a midair spin. The crowd went wild, cheering, screaming and rattling the protective chain-link fence separating the fans from the robots.

Dax was getting all worked up. He flashed a wide, toothy, freaky-looking grin. “Gnomes have the coolest sports on Elämä!” he exclaimed. Wendell stared at the screen and frowned. “What,” Dax started, “you don’t like it?” “No, it’s not that, I…” but he didn’t have the words. This was all too much to take in. Too much to understand. Robots? Television? Torches? Gnomes, giants…magic? He imagined hearing the crackling and smelling the burn. Definitely on sensory overload. Wendell dropped the uPod and gripped the sides of his head to contain the pounding in his temples. “You have science and technology here? I thought this was a world of magic. You know, like what I saw in the park today, or…you making this chair. You know…magic.” “Think of it this way, kid,” Dax replied, “If you were a backwoods farmer and had never seen more than the cow and plow you used all the days of your life, what would you call what you just saw? Red beams shooting from faces, jumping higher than a building…” Wendell pondered. He’d often wondered what a Hollywood movie like Star Wars or Lord of the Rings would look like to someone in the 1800s if you could go back in time. There was really only one solid answer. “Magic?” Dax grinned. “Exactly. It’s just a word for what we don’t understand, isn’t it?” pointing at the uPod, “Gnome ‘magic’. Neato stuff…IF you can get your hands on it. Though…don’t get caught with it by any of the decent folk around here… they consider it taboo.” Accepting that simple explanation, Wendell looked up at Chuck with a yearning expression. “You really have cheeseburgers and fries here?” He suddenly longed for the comfort of something simple, something easy, something familiar.

Chuck grinned wide and nodded. “Or deep-dish pizza, if you prefer. You name it and we could probably figure out how to make it or get it. The possibilities are almost endless. Well…when you have the right connections, if you know what I mean? Nudge, nudge, wink, wink.” Echoing through the archway, an angry yell emerged from inside the Keep. “DAAAAAAAAX!” All three of them froze, looking to the archway. “Sounds like they’re ready for us,” gulped Dax. Chuck gave him a sympathetic smile, patting him on the head, “Don’t stress. It’ll be fine. You’ll see.” Making their way through the Keep to the High Elder’s office, Chuck led them to the stairs Wendell had used earlier to descend into the Key. This time he ascended past the slim windows of stained glass and into a narrow hallway ending at a set of double doors. Chuck held Wendell back as they approached. “This is the Bedurrim, son. The private meeting chamber of the Iskäri High Council.” Leaning forward he dropped his tone to a whisper, “No matter what happens, you’ll do fine if you that you have two ears and one mouth. Got it?” Making a mental note, pay attention, don’t talk too much, got it. “Sure,” Wendell agreed. Chuck gave them all a grin, a nod and a, “He we go, boys,” before pushing open the doors. The Bedurrim was a large, round chamber thick with the smoke of incense—the sweet, woodsy scent welcoming them in. “Come forward, Wendell,” the High Elder’s voice was firm, reaching out from the haze, before they three could even see clearly in the room. Waving his hands in front of him Wendell peered through the smoke before

taking a couple tentative steps. Light was filling the chamber from a stone shelf of fire that encircled them high above their heads. The flicker of the flames cast dancing shadows playfully across the floor. Not sure what was expected of him, Wendell paid more attention to his feet as he stepped slowly out of the haze into the center of the room. Come on, Wendell. You can do this. It crossed his mind that he had said that to himself a lot since he got here. Unfortunately, he wasn’t all too sure anymore. They chose you, that. Fear of the unknown pumped fresh adrenaline through his veins. What are they going to think of me? Condemnation, retribution, pleading, bullying, disgust, hatred, mockery…? All the events leading up to this moment left each of these as justifiable reactions in Wendell’s mind. I’ve dealt with those before. I’m used to the abuse. Gem or no Gem, Hero or not—apparently, some things are consistent no matter what planet you’re on. Raising his head, his eyes found those of the High Elder seated straight ahead of him. On a platform raised two steps above the main floor, he sat in the center of a half circle of fifteen similar chairs—all but one occupied by robed elders. Six black robes, six white, and dividing the two groups were three golden robes of the High Elder and his two counselors. All had their hoods drawn, masking all but their mouths and a minor glimmer of eyes, hiding in shadows. Elder Tiell, bandaged and in a clean white robe, was lying on a cot near the unoccupied seat, observing silently through glazed eyes, his head propped up on a folded white blanket. Standing amongst them, Wendell almost felt naked and exposed as the heat of each stare burned into him. “My brothers and sisters of the Council, may I present the youth retrieved from the world Earth…Wendell.” There was little emotion in the High Elder’s tone,

though he did notice an edge to it, making Wendell nervous. I recognize that voice. That’s a ‘somebody is in trouble’ voice. “Thank you, Wendell.” The High Elder nodded to a bench aside the door. “Please take a seat.” That’s it? That’s…all I have to do? Well, THAT was easy! Looking around, Chuck caught his eye. The wizard seemed baffled, too, shrugging his shoulders. Wendell sat. “Dax, stand forth,” commanded the High Elder. Dax moved to the center of the Bedurrim, with a bemused smirk on his lips. Each step had a mild strut to it that whispered defiance and rebellion. The High Elder stood slowly, pulling back his hood to expose a sweating scalp that reflected the dancing flames above him. “You have failed this council in your responsibilities and have, by your own actions, placed not only our people, but a world at risk.” Dax frowned, “What are you talking abou…” “It is therefore my duty as the head of this body to charge you with treason, Daxänu. How do you plea?” “Say what!??” Dax snapped loudly, “What kinda crap is this?!?” His thick brows rolled forward as his finger rolled into fists. “I ain’t givin’ a plea to you, nor anyone else, unless you fully explain yourself. I’ve done nuthin’ BUT serve this room of jokers from the moment I moved here, so you better have a damn good reason for that charge!” Stepping down into the center of the room, the High Elder hovered over Dax, hands clenched into fists behind his back. “You were sent to retrieve the bloodline, were you not?”

Dax nodded calmly, “That’s right.” “You were given the exact time and exact coordinates as to when and where you should appear?” “Yup.” The High Elder loomed in closer, his voice dropping, “And did you appear at the exact time and exact coordinates, as instructed?” Staring defiantly up into the piercing blue eyes, Dax said loud and clear, “Yes, I did.” “LIAR!” the High Elder bellowed, arms shooting out and flailing in the air. “Our people…our world now hangs by a thread, because you GRABBED THE WRONG PERSON!” Wendell’s heart clenched tight, and he gasped for air. I knew it!…I told you so, I told you so!! Lurching out to a large potted plant, he fell to his knees and plunged his face over the lip…and puked. Dax had never seen the High Elder so angry. He flinched at the intensity, reflexively raising his hand to protect his face. “I—I don’t understand.” “The wrong person, Dax!” he fumed. “Bestowed with the power we cannot get BACK!” Dax lowered his hand. “But I did what you told me to! EXACTLY what you told me to!” Thinking through the events quickly, “I went to the kids’ house, arriving perfectly on time. The kid was sitting there, completely alone! There wasn’t anyone else ta grab, so I grabbed him and brought him to ya!!” Unprepared for this turn of events, all the blood drained from Wendell’s face. He also learned that sweet buns do not taste as good the second time around. It felt like someone had shoved a rag in his mouth—and he couldn’t breathe.

The kid’s house? But…I was at Evan’s house. All alone?…Evan had just gone inside. Slapped with the ultimate truth, he itted painfully, They wanted Evan. Wendell heaved and puked again. Shea stood up, throwing his hood back and pointing at Wendell, “Does he LOOK like a hero to you, Dax!?” Everyone looked over at the boy, heaving his guts out. “How am I supposed to know?!” Dax bellowed defensively. Then scratching his scruffy chin, “Do I look like an elf?” He turned his attention back to the High Elder, “By the way…if YOU’d let your kid do HIS job, you wouldn’t BE in this mess!” The High Elder said nothing. “Oh, now ya got nothing ta say? You want to go against your precious laws and regulations, to grab this kid in secret…so that’s exactly what I did. Even then this coulda been avoided if ya ed this puking puppy through customs and had yer kid check to see if he WAS the hero BEFORE you impaled him!” His green chest heaved, sharp teeth glaring. “Wasn’t my job to analyze the pup. My only direction was to pick him up!” For several moments he locked glares with the High Elder, but in the end, the council leader broke . Dax grinned, “I don’t know what all the fuss is about, anyway,” he continued, looking over at Wendell to give him a comical grin. “Besides his inability ta hold his cookies, the stone took ‘em, didn’t it? Whatcha so worried about!?” “He is not of the royal bloodline, Dax” hissed the High Elder, “which means he does not have the ability to harness the full measure of Ithäri’s power! You know this! We cannot defeat Mahan and his forces without her full power!” “It’s ok,” interrupted Wendell meekly. He stood up, wiping the vomit from his mouth with a sleeve. “You can have it back.” All eyes shifted to him, only the crackling of the fires overhead interrupting his

meek voice. Wendell sat back on the bench, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, barely lifting his head to look up at the Council. “I already talked it over with the High Elder earlier. A month isn’t that long. I can hang out here, in the Keep, so I won’t be any trouble or get in anyone’s way. When the time’s up, I can give you back the gem and Dax can pick up Evan when he takes me home. Simple.” Growling, Dax’s eyes narrowed to slits. “You didn’t tell him?” he hissed. Clearly incensed, he turned on the High Elder, his voice grew louder with each word. “You have the balls to accuse me of TREASON—and you didn’t tell him!” “Careful, Daxänu,” warned one of the black robes, “ to whom you speak.” Stepping around the High Elder, Dax glared at the council, pointing his finger at each of them. “And you where your jurisdiction ends! I ain’t one of you, bub. We had a deal, and I kept my end. Don’t want me here? Fine. No skin off my back, I’ll leave. Find yourself another messenger. I obey your little laws’ cause Chuck asked me to…not cause I give a monkey nutt!” “Tell me what?” the anxiety and contention lifted Wendell to his feet. Dax glared at the Council, waiting, but none of them moved. “Bloody cowards,” he grunted, then looked Wendell square in the face. “What these wusses didn’t tell ya, kid, is that you’re gonna be here a bit longer than a month before that stone drops outta yer chest.” “A bit?” Even those words didn’t sound like the truth to Wendell at this point. “How much longer is ‘a bit’?” Dax scratched his head awkwardly, “That thing don’t go by our calendar,…it goes by the cycle of its own world. Because the world is so much bigger than ours, their month is, naturally, longer than ours…” Wendell’s heart pounded like a jackhammer. Stomach sinking, he asked softly, “How much longer?” Nobody seemed to want to answer his question, each elder looking away or

turning their head. Dax shook in disgust, but his expression quickly softened. Taking a deep breath and slowly blowing it out through puckered lips, “A thousand years.” He shrugged, “…give or take a decade.” The floor slipped out from under his feet and Wendell fell off the bench. The general tenor of anger in the room dissipated as everyone anticipated Wendell’s reaction. A thousand years. A thousand years? A thousand years. Strained moments of silence stretched past. A thousand years. A thousand years? Wendell wasn’t surprised, he didn’t have the strength to be angry, he was simply sinking away. Lifting his head, the deep inconsolable hurt evident in his wincing eyes, fervently hoping someone would say something to make sense of this. You lied to me. You all lied to me. Every single one of you is guilty and the cause of me ending up here. The cause of me losing the rest of my life…for something I was never supposed to be involved in! He looked to Dax, then Chuck, and even the elders. Nobody would meet his gaze. Except the High Elder. His expression had completely changed. The lined faded in his forehead, eye widening in seeming concern…and he watched Wendell with a piercing intensity. Clearing his throat, the High Elder returned to his place in the ring and sat down in his chair. “There is an option.” All hoods turned to their leader of their Order—but his words were not for them. “We will send you home, Wendell.”

Increasing whispers and murmurs buzzed scandalously between the hooded elders. Yet the gaze of the High Elder remained on Wendell. A gaze that was peaceful, ive…even content. The High Elder tried to smile, but the sadness seeped through. “Go home, Wendell. Dax is right, the fault is mine.” Dax’s immense ear perked up, “Can I get that in writing?” “You’ve suffered enough and I owe you at least that much. So I want you to take the gem and return to your life, as it was.” His words brought fresh air to the room, allowing Wendell to breathe again without pain. “There is an illusion we can teach you, to conceal the gem from discovery. You will live a strong life without illness and in about forty of your years, the gem will return to her home, here.” Wendell didn’t know what to say. I can go home? For real? Chuck reached over and patted him on the shoulder. “See, son? It’s all worked out.” Wow. I can go… Listening to the fire fizz and crackle, the room waited for Wendell’s reply. The words didn’t take long to sink in. He had been hoping to hear them since he got here, of course. All the pressure, the weight, the pain—was gone. Invigorated, he jumped to his feet with a big grin on his face. I can go home! To see his mom and Evan and all his…friends? He might even get back in time for the pool party and the girls. All the girls that didn’t see him. The girls that couldn’t stand to be around him. Thoughts went out to the wonderful day he’d had earlier. Working hard, being

accepted…and ing her dimple, her smiling eyes and musical voice. The only girl who ever paid any attention to me was Kyliene. Wendell wasn’t used to that. The pool party had lost some of its appeal. His life and ‘The Plan’ felt a bit…pathetic, he itted ruefully. The kids in the orchard today seemed genuinely happy to have me around. Every single persona I met here has treated me with kindness and acceptance. But this wasn’t his fight. Was it? His mind was pulled to the image of Kyliene’s face…and hearing the last breath of life leave her. That demon killed her so that he could escape Sanctuary and carry word to his master about me. About me, he wailed internally. I didn’t kill her, I couldn’t have saved her, but I’m the reason she is dead. Not my fight? Go home?—or those who love you will suffer. Wendell couldn’t think of the words ‘go home’ without the others automatically following. They’re already suffering! Caleb wailing over the loss of his sister, the tear stained face of Nana, the whole community mourning the loss of a child. His thoughts went to his mother. No matter where I am, someone will suffer. The sinister smile of the vallen took its place in his memories. If I take the Ithäri…their only hope…and go home… Wendell didn’t finish that thought, but he felt as if Ithäri shriveled in his chest

and went cold. …those who love you will suffer. Looking to the High Elder, Wendell found it hard to swallow. After all this, he’s willing to send me home. To make things right. His mind went to ‘The Plan’. What was I really going to do with my life? Somehow all his plans back home seemed…limited, pointless…and selfish. Wendell’s eyes dropped to his chest, his hand tapping the surface of the Ithäri. Why did you accept me, if I wasn’t the right person? Did you see something no one else could see? He squeezed his eyes tight. If you’re willing to work with me, does that mean I CAN have a purpose…even if I’m the wrong guy? Th-THUMP-THUMP. Th-THUMP-THUMP. Th-THUMP-THUMP. Strength surged through his limbs, the extra beat of his heart louder than ever. Wendell smiled to himself. I’ll take that as a yes. Fixing his eyes on the High Elder once more, he said aloud, “I’m staying.” Tears welled up in the elders eyes. “Are you certain this is what you want, Wendell?” he asked hopefully. Then with a smirk, “I’m not rushing you or encouraging you to stay. Is this your own free will and choice?” “Yes,” Wendell said firmly, then rolling his eyes, “This is my choice. I’m not the one everyone was expecting, but,” he placed his hand over the Ithäri, “she accepted me.” Now he smiled, feeling the surge of strength from within. “I’m willing to find out why.”

Now it was the High Elder that smiled. Standing upright, the rest of the Council followed suit. “As you wish…my Lord Wendell,” and he bowed deeply. The High Council bowed with him. Straightening, the High Elder stepped down and motioned Wendell to him in the center of the Bedurrim. Placing an arm around Wendell shoulders he addressed the Council in a proud voice, “Brothers. Sisters. Wendell has chosen, of his own free will, to stay and serve with the Ithari. In truth, he has saved us from ourselves and will fight with us against the evil rising to enslave our world.” Looking directly at Wendell, the light of hope bright in his eyes, “I present to you…our Hero.” His face flushing, Wendell thought, I hope they don’t get their hopes up TOO high. A heavy set elder in black robes sat forward, “He will need protection, as well as instruction, training and assistance along the way, High Elder.” The High Elder nodded. “Agreed, Altorin. And I know the perfect companion for him.” Returning to his place in the half-circle, “Dax, stand forth!” Caught off guard, Dax let his foot drop to the floor and spit his toenail out with a loud Phhht! “Now what!?” He caught the stern looks from his reaction and begrudgingly ed Wendell before the Council. “Dax, first I would…apologize.” The High Elder didn’t look away, he simply opened his arms, palms up and added, “You were right, my friend. You have been a loyal and faithful messenger and a valuable part of our community since the day you…,” but he paused, “Well, for a very long time.” Dax smirked, “Sokay, I’ll take any compliment I can get at this point.” The High Elder’s smug half-smile got bigger, “The Council assigns you as Wendell’s companion…and guardian for the duration of his calling.” “WHAT!?” Dax choked. “You’re not…you are! You’re serious?! Awww, COME ON! Ain’t that a bit harsh, Delnar?”

A few elders sat forward in their chairs. The High Elder smiled coolly. “Your skills make you the perfect choice, Dax. You are older than any person in this room, but one. Your skills in battle are nearly unequalled. Your knowledge of the world and,” he tried to suppress a laugh, “it’s more seedy elements are an important skill we will require. That being said, I know of no other to equal your loyalty, determination or qualifications. You are, in my opinion, the perfect guardian for the boy.” The High Elder looked about the circle, “All in favor?” The room resounded with a united, “Aye!” Folding his arms, Dax grunted and rolled his eyes at Wendell with a heavy sigh. “Fairy Farts.” “Will you, Daxänu, accept this calling, of your own free will and choice?” Dax stood there, arms folded, a heavy scowl on his face. “Dax?” the High Elder prompted. “I’m thinkin! I’m thinkin’!!” The High Elder lowered his head, creating shadows to fall over his eyes. The gaze looked suddenly stern, his smirk whispering a hint of humor. “Daaaax.” “Oh all right!” he snapped, “But I want to renegotiate in a hundred years!” Laughter erupted in the room. “And what of his instruction concerning the Ithäri?” asked Shea openly. “The High Council’s function has been the keeping and bestowing of the Ithäri. We have no records of how she works, outside what is recorded through the acts of the other heroes!” Dax shook his head, casually taking another cigar from his waistband and lighting a match across his chin. “Then you’re gonna need a trainer that’s older than your records, kiddo. Someone who knows more about the gem than anyone else.”

“But no one’s older than…” trailing off Shea’s eyes grew wide as he made a connection. Gasps and muffled curses escaped the Council’s collective lips. Wendell, warily observed all the wide eyed expressions around him. Then all at once, the Bedurrim erupted into chaos, elders flying from their seats and throwing their hands in the air. “I don’t get it,” started Wendell, “What just happened?” Grinning mischievously, Dax puffed on his cigar a few times, casually flicking ashes onto the floor before laughing outright. “I think they just watched their redemption go down the crapper.” Wendell frowned. “I don’t understand.” Dax chuckled, amused at the growing stress and commotion. “Their hope doesn’t just rest on a noble kid willing to do whatever it takes. Now it also rests on the insane bantering of a senile old loon in a pointy hat.” Wendell scratched his head in confusion. “Who could possibly be that bad?” The startled chamber fell silent as a tomb as right on cue, Chuck shouted “SNOCKHOCKEY!” with a snort. All eyes turned to the old wizard, fidgeting on the bench, snoring contentedly in a deep sleep. A little brown bear was tucked under one arm as he sucked his thumb vigorously, knobby knee’s curled up to his chest. Dax gleefully grinned at Wendell. “I’ll give ya one guess.”

Epilogue

There is always another side to a story.

Head bowed, the muscular body trembled in the cold air of the tent. Candles strewn over books, desks and cloth-covered ground cast their pale light, the flicker of flames causing the shadows to quiver in fear. Hold, he told himself, the pain of the wound rippling through his palm and up his arm. Focus. It was an impossible task. To reach beyond the night, beyond the stars…beyond life itself. The smoke curled up between his fingers, like a captive violently escaping a prison, rising and collecting above the giant black orb. Though a breeze blew steadily through the tent, the smoke resisted, unaffected by natures breath. Focus! The smoke billowed, taking form. In the center of the sphere, flaming red embers appeared, two horns sprouting several inches above each eye. The deep voice uttered, and the ground rumbled.

IT IS DONE?

“Yes, my Master.” He gritted his teeth through the pain. “The Prime Gate is secure. The Iskari barred the way for the Evolu, as you predicted.”

A thin line ripped across the smoke, curling up at each end.

MOVE ON TIL-THORIN AS PLANNED. DOUBLE YOUR SCOUTS TO SECURE OUR FOOTHOLD.

He nodded, “Yes, my Master.” Then he added, “And the diversion?” The burning embers flared and then narrowed to slits, the grin growing wide, edges curling up past the glowing eyes.

THE BOY HAS DECIDED TO STAY.

Slowly he lifted his head to meet the piercing eyes of his Master. …and Thule laughed.

BOOK TWO

RACE TO TIL-THORIN

Prologue

All of life is an adventure. It’s full of excitement and joy, but at the same time riddled with disappointments, overwhelming challenges and bitter failures. The bad news is: this will never change. No matter how strong you are or smart you become—regardless of how much wealth or influence you acquire—the Universe will challenge you. It will meticulously design, craft and unleash trials and tribulations upon you. Challenges specifically created, to be equal to, if not seemingly greater than, your ability to overcome them. The good news is: this will never change. Only through trials and tribulations do you burn the dross that hides your true potential. Herein lies the ultimate wisdom: every pain, every barrier, every wound, tear and scar is specifically engineered to uncover the greatest secret of your life. You are more than you think you are.

Chapter 10 Kisses And Vomit

In the end, adults can only watch and hope that you will succeed where we fell short.

“W ait! Don’t go!” I call out, but she keeps running. She drops the purple light into the pouch flung across her shoulder. Her curls bounce across her tunic as she quickly disappears around the corner. The sudden darkness nearly swallows me. I’m forced to slow down until my eyes can adjust. The light from the scattered torches are barely enough to tell me what I can already smell—it’s damp and dusty down here, and it’s making the stone floor slippery. I need to hurry. The cellar is a veritable maze. She’ll lose me if I’m not careful…so I sprint after her. We’re taking a beating in the battle outside. The impacts of boulders smashing into the castle proves it. The foundation shudders under the soles of my feet. The enemy’s trebuchet are relentless, the bombardment echoing through the corridors. Dust, dirt and pebbles fall from the mortar onto my head and shoulders, getting into my eyes, and I have to blink through the coughs. Rounding the corner, I call out again, “Please! Let me help you!” Where are you? Come on, Wendell, run…RUN! When I finally catch up, she’s cowering at a juncture in the tunnels. What’s wrong with…

Her wild eyes widen like a cornered rabbit and she screams. I mean, I may not be the most handsome guy around, sure, but it’s a bit much to scream in terror… It’s then that I notice she’s not looking at me. Thank goodness. The robed figure emerges from the blackness, hunched over—the tattered cloth hanging from the boney figure beneath. The air is swallowed up by a pungent smell of rotting flesh so strong, I gag. A flash of movement catches my attention and I’m taken back. Hundreds of insects—cockroaches, flies, earwigs and things I can’t identify, scatter across the tiles—left behind with each step the figure takes. Footsteps of decay. The figure hisses, arms outstretched towards the girl, completely ignoring me. She recoils, screaming. My reaction is instantaneous. Reaching out with my hands to grip the air in front of me, I look at the torches on either side of the hallway. White light flares from my chest, the Ithari glowing beneath my tunic, and I can suddenly feel the flames. Warmth ripples under my skin, traveling from my chest out to my limbs. We become one…and the fire leaps from the wall sconces at my command. The flame expands and swirls, splitting into two forms, creating giant fingers… and then hands. Clapping my own together, the burning extensions of my will snatched the robe, yanking it back from the girl, holding it fast. The robe instantly bursts into flame.

Shrieks scrape at my ears and spine as the creature shakes violently, trying to escape my grasp. I hold it fast, squeezing my palms together, ever tighter. Smoke rolls out from between my fingers of flame, up along the ceiling in all directions…until there’s nothing left of my captive but falling ash. Oh yeah. The Wendellizer has saved the day! Uh-huh, uh-huh, uh-huh. With self-assured bravado, I roll my shoulders back as I stand upright. Pleased with myself, I prepare my ‘Prince Charming Smile’ (which I have diligently practiced), turning to the girl. …and just about lose it. Why do girls have to be so pretty!?! Not…that I mind, but…it always throws off my cool groove. And I don’t get those too often. Her features are finally revealed to me in the torch light and my heart skips a beat. *sigh* Make that two. A rumpled mane of long, dark curls frame the gentle curves of her face, her dark eyes locked onto mine. “You saved me!” she coos, batting her doe-eyes at me. Jumping to her feet, she avoids the pile of ash upon the ground and draws close. Her full lips part in an intoxicating smile and I, um, can’t …. What am I doing?

Oh. Right. Being cool. I smile back, “Yeah,…” but that doesn’t sound right… “I mean, ‘Why yes, I did.’” That’s better. I sound confident. She reaches over and squeezes my hand, her finger intermingling with my own. Without warning, my knees go weak—wanting to buckle under me, but I keep it together. Barely. Her touch is so soft, her skin warm—even in this dank cellar. I just smile…because, well…I have absolutely no idea what to do next. “Thank you,” she whispers. Goodness. Those full lips could utter complete nonsense and I’d turn to butter and agree with her anyway… An old apple shoots pineapples with a machinegun. Ooooo, say it again…. She steps closer and wraps her arms around me. Wow, ohhhhHHHH WOW! She lays her head on my chest. I bite my lip. Hard. Ow. Too hard.

She’s so close I can feel her breathing and I’m all too aware of her against me. It takes all the willpower I have not to panic. My body can’t decide whether to collapse…or melt under her warm touch. Luckily, the decision is made for me. She looks up into my eyes, reaches her hand around my neck and firmly pulls me closer. Leaning in, she closes her eyes and gently presses her soft lips to mine. YaHOOOOO! It only takes me a fraction of a millisecond to decide how to respond. I wrap my arms around her waist. My whole world starts spinning and I can feel my heart pounding out a new rhythm. Oh, please let this moment last forever! It doesn’t. Just as my own foot starts tapping the ground like Thumper the rabbit, a hiss from behind tears us apart. She pushes away quickly, her face contorted with terror. Luckily, it’s not because of my kiss. At least I hope not. I can still taste the salt on my lips as she stumbles back against the wall. “No!” she cries, “Don’t let them get me! PLEASE!!” Oh good…it’s not because of my kiss. The hair slowly rises on the back of my neck.

Maybe it’s her expression…but the scraping sound, echoing behind me like claws against stone, sends a shudder through the whole of my body. Turning, I see two more of the ghastly robes and I almost fall over in retreat. The hoods are empty! Hollow, vacant holes where faces should be…but they’re not. The things have shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, which reach out towards us. Like specters, they move slowly closer, crawling on all four limbs, prowling along the walls! “Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.” They pause as if considering, swaying in the shadows. Watching me. The tops of the hoods roll forward, bending at the center of the arch—skinless brows frowning at me. Arching their backs, the robes change positions, like beasts ready to pounce upon their prey. “Go home or ssshe will SSSUFFER!” The shout echoes in my mind and I stumble back. My hand reaches out to the wall to steady myself, legs feeling weak. She’ll suffer?….I am…..Wait. How can they be talking to me? I look deeply into the gaping black holes. They’re still crouched, swaying. Get out of my mind!! Shaking off unsettled doubt, I jump to her side and quickly look around me. There has to be a way out. The hallway is blocked by the vile specters. We’re cornered. Wait—we were at a juncture a moment ago…weren’t we? Focus.

Useless shelf to my right, two wood crates and three full gunny sacks—probably grain, a pile of someone’s forgotten laundry. No help there. To my left, a stained glass window. Window? What’s a window doing in a cellar?? Taking hold of the girl around her waist with one arm, I hold her head against my shoulder with the other, to protect her face and neck. The creatures launch themselves, claws outstretched. “Hold tight!” I yell, but she can’t hear me as I plunge through the glass. The cold wind stings my flesh, the glass shards tear my cheek and forearm. I’m all alone. …and plummeting to my death. The waves of the sea beckon as the rocky shore rushes up to meet me. ….and I didn’t even get her name. SMACK! Hmph. Wendell’s eyes popped open. For a long moment he just laid on his back, not moving. It was just a dream? He sighed, Dang! Kicking free of the bed sheets, he grabbed the pillow off his chest and threw it across the room. No wonder she felt so soft.

He sighed again, letting the back of his head flop against the floor. How much can one poor mind take? Then again, at least there weren’t any cold, stone floors, voices from inanimate objects or hairy blue legs. Wait, a minute. Pushing himself up, his elbows sank into the plush carpet. There was cool air blowing across his face from a nearby vent. Slivers of warm sunlight peeked through the wood blinds. Scratching his head, Wendell yawned as he picked up the pillow and blanket and plopped down on the corner of the bed. Hmph. He bounced. The mattress springs squeaked. Just like the old cart. He moaned. It was a long ride that he couldn’t much of…other than an overly sore backside. But he did that the wizard, Morphi…Morfeeo…uhhhh, Chuck, had a cart waiting when they came out of the council meeting. It was attached to a smelly old goat. It was huge, too, the goat. Bigger than any goat or even cow that Wendell had ever seen before. He’d flopped into the cart and dozed among a slew of clay pots during most of the bumpy ride. At some point in the night, he was guided through an open door, up some stairs, through another open door and on to… Ahh,…this bed. And gratefully, until he fell out of bed, he slept very soundly. In the daylight, this room was not what he expected. A bed, nightstand with lamp, tall dresser, painted walls, cozy patchwork quilt, fluffy white pillows… very Earthy.

Wait, a minute. That’s an electric lamp…plugged into the wall. This is carpet… as in plush, fluffy, have to use a vacuum carpet! Not exactly the fantasy, medieval feel of the Keep and…mmmmmm. It even smelled like…he took a deep breath. Clean linen. And just for one small, hopeful moment he wondered if he could be home on Earth—and that Sanctuary, the High Elder, and the green goblin had really been a crazy dream. Stretching, Wendell yawned again. Looking critically at the rumpled yellow tunic and tros he wore, he frowned, annoyed. Ok, these are not cool…and way…too breezy. It was the same outfit the High Elder had given him when he woke up from… Scratching a scruffy cheek, he let his hand fall to his chest and felt the hard knot under the fabric. Uhhhhhh. Letting his head drop back, he stared at the ceiling fan silently going round and round and listened to the strange new beat in his chest. Thu-THUMP-thump. Thu-THUMP-thump. Thu-THUMP-thump. “Right. What was I thinking?” he said softly. “I’m Wendell P. Dipmier—Earthboy gone Hero.” It’s not a dream, Wendell, so get over it. Move on. Pulling the escaping pillow from off the corner of the nightstand, he discovered a digital alarm clock.

It blinked 1:13pm. Yesterday had been the longest and worst day of his whole life. As reality sank in, a lump grew in his throat. It was a reality he still hadn’t figured how to accept. He’d never be able to go home again. The only life he’d ever known… was over. I wonder how long I’ve been away from home? The High Elder had said there was a time difference…and Wendell wondered how that would work. Hmm. Does Evan even know I’m gone yet? And…mom. I wonder when she’ll find out? Evan will probably break it to her…. He shook his head. By saying what? What can Evan possibly tell her? “I’m sorry, Mrs. Dipmier” he said out loud in a deeper voice. “I left him by the pool, but when I came back…he was gone.” Wendell smirked to himself, “Don’t know what happened to him, but my suspicion is that it was aliens. Green, irate, foul-smelling ones!” If you only knew. His fingers clawed at the thin fabric of his tros, gripping and tugging. He’d been there for his mother when his father had died, but now she was alone. …and there’s nothing I can do about it. Letting go of the material, he slowly smoothed it out across his thighs. I’m sorry, mom. I hope Evan looks out for you. Wendell immediately shook his head, feeling stupid. What am I saying? Of course he will. It’s the kind of guy he is. His shoulders slumped, and he exhaled with a shutter. He had to say it…out loud. Accept it—but he didn’t want to. Say it.

He sat, unmoving. Say it! “I’m never going to see my mom or Evan again,” he choked out loud. It hurt this reality. I always wanted to be Evan. That’s the real joke about all this. I thought about it, dreamed about it—WISHED for it…just never thought I would have to be— literally, have to be. He reached up and scratched his head vigorously. Should have wished for a dog. The pressure in his chest was starting to restrict his breathing. Wendell, what were you thinking? Oh, yeah. Temporary insanity. Adorable girl with a peculiar taste in guys gets killed by a…a…thing. So I jump in to save the day…for once. Was I having a noble moment? …or a momentary lack in judgement? He shrugged, Probably guilt, you idiot—you just watched Kyliene die at the hands a real life monster. He found his reflection in the mirror over the dresser. For long moments he stared at himself, studying the lines of his own face as if he were a complete stranger. Or was it just a desperate desire to believe that I could be a somebody? Because you WANT to be somebody…more. He shook his head at himself. You’re a fool, Wendell. You made a life-altering decision at an emotional moment, and now you’ve sealed your fate. What was the High Council thinking? I know I wasn’t their first choice…or the second. Sneering at his reflection, Alright, they probably wouldn’t have chosen

me at all…but I wanted to help. He couldn’t help thinking of Kyliene’s smile, her dimples making him smile in return. Right? The smile faded quickly. I had to help. Suddenly, he was up and pacing the floor, making a path around the bed, then the dresser and back again. Crap!…Wendell, you moron, what have you done!!? How am I going to pull this off? They’re crazy! I don’t know if I can do this. Can I really do this? He gulped, Do what? Crud, I don’t even know what they’re expecting me to do! I mean, really? They’ll…need me to be a leader! To…fight! He squeaked. Fight!? Wendell P. Dipmier, class clown, nerd, high-school streaker, Blue Ribbon Burping Champion and macaroni sculpting master. He looked down at his hands and found them shaking. Heck, even I know I’m a geek. He interlaced his fingers, clenching them tight, willing them to stop. But…I don’t know how to fight. I barely know how to play miniature golf! At that moment, Wendell took a wide step around the bed, catching the side of the dresser with his foot. There was a ‘snap’ and he bit his lip, his face flushing hot. He fell back onto the bed. “AAAAHHH!” he yelled in agony. Yanking his foot up towards his face, he inspected the damage. His little toe was twisted, pointing straight out from the side of his foot. It was already swelling and turning purple.

“Great,” he said exasperated, gritting his teeth, “Just flippin’ great! The Hero of the Gem has broken his PINKY TOE!!” Oh, they’re gonna love me! “And don’t forget to mention it was during his epic battle with self-confidence and a bedroom dresser.” He looked down at his chest and growled through clenched teeth, “And I thought you were supposed to…..” The pain immediately subsided. Wendell stared intensely at the twisted toe. It trembled. No—it spasmed…and he could feel a warm, tingly sensation from his ankle, down to the tip of the toenail. The digit slowly rotated, nail upwards…and repositioned itself with an audible ‘POP’. For long moments Wendell just gawked. Then he wiggled his toes. They felt…perfect. “Huh,” he said, amazed, setting his foot back onto the floor. “Right,” he said, looking back down at his chest, “Sorry about the complaint.” He wondered if talking to himself was going to be as much of a problem here as it would be back home. Scenes of being chased through the park by blue skinned men waving white straightjackets flashed through his mind. Right. Better be careful about that—just in case. The facts were simple. Wendell had made his decision to stay on this world, for whatever reason, and to play the part of the Hero. He had no idea how it was going to play out…and frankly, no clue how to pull it off, but he was promised help. Not going to figure it out staying in bed all day, that’s for sure.

He snorted, If only mom could hear THAT coming out of my mouth. Grabbing the pillows, Wendell started to make the bed. That was…until his eyes rediscovered the small envelope leaning between the alarm clock and the lamp. Tilted sideways, it had almost been invisible. His legs suddenly felt weak, and he had to sit down. The letter. The High Elder had pulled him aside and given it to him as they left the council meeting. “This has rested with the Ithari since she returned to the Keep,” he had told Wendell. “It was written by the last hero. A letter intended to accompany the bestowal of the Ithari. It might help.” “A letter to give his son direction,” Wendell whispered to himself. A son who isn’t coming back. Wendell reached out to pick it up, then hesitated. I can’t. He curled his fingers into a fist, his eyes lingering on the envelope with the scarlet wax seal. It doesn’t belong to me. It belongs to Evan. He glanced around the room again and sighed. This is stupid. I can’t keep making excuses. These people are depending on me now! It doesn’t matter what people thought of me before today. I have to be more. He tossed the pillow against the headboard, irritated. Easier said than done! What would Evan do?

Wendell smiled. He didn’t have to think very hard. From all the times Evan had come to his rescue, Wendell knew exactly what his best friend would say. “You might not have chosen this, Wendell,” he’d laugh, “but it may regret choosing you!” Then he’d tell me, “Make the best decisions you can and stick with them. No matter what, you stick to your word. That’s how you earn a good reputation with others. Always keep your word. You can do it! I know you can.” …yeah, that’s what he’d say. Well, that…and then he’d slug me in the shoulder. Staring at the folded cream paper on the nightstand, Wendell’s palms felt cold and clammy. The whirling sound of the fan overhead was challenged by the sudden hum of the air conditioner. He sat frozen on the edge of the bed, unblinking. The red wax seal staring back at him, daring him. Mocking him. This isn’t right. I’m not the hero’s son. He shifted uncomfortably, rubbing his palms against the fabric of his jeans. You should be here right now, Evan, not me. Saving all these people, dealing with all this pressure. All these expectations. But Evan was at the other end of the Universe, on Earth—and nothing Wendell did or said could change that. Then again, his eyebrows slowly lifted with the thought, What if the letter isn’t what I think? Maybe it has the answers to some great mystery that folks have been waiting for? Maybe he knew the gem would go to someone else?! He didn’t actually believe that, but the thought still made him grin widely. OOOH!—Maybe it’s instruction on how to use the Ithari! He looked around the room, then looked over his shoulder. The door was closed.

My whole future could be in that letter! He squeezed his eyes tight and let out a sharp breath. “Only one way to find out.” Snatching up the object of torment and desire, he quickly slid his thumb under the red wax seal, popped it up and unfolded the paper. His eyes eagerly ate each sentence. The handwriting was uniform and elegant, delicately written across the textured surface with care and precision. My Beloved Son, It feels like only moments ago that I placed you in the arms of another. I know they will love you and care for you as their own, but already I mourn my decision. You need to know that you were never cast off or abandoned. There wasn’t any other way to keep you safe, but to send you away. I have already laid your beloved mother to rest from this war—I could not lose you as well. Thus I had to send you away…to buy you time. My beloved child, I love you with all my soul. One day you will understand that. All I do…all I have done or will do, has been to provide you with an advantage over our enemy. To prepare you for that which is to come. Above all else, my son, you must protect the seals! Wendell gasped, seals? SEALS!? He flipped the paper over and stared at the mangled red wax, horrified. “CRAP!” No, wait—that can’t be right. “How would I be able to read the letter unless I…”

He shook his head and read on. Our enemy will eventually escape from the prison we are preparing, unless the seals are maintained. Protect them at all costs. Should Mahan escape, he will seek to destroy you, for you are the only true threat barring his path to absolute dominion over our world. Should he escape, you have until the shadows fall to prepare for war. The end war. It pangs my soul that you must bear the weight of my failure. For this, my son, I am sorry. I did not have the heart to kill the one called Mahan. Though he remains the blackest evil to walk these lands, he was first my friend. My brother. A brilliant mägo who sought the praise and glory of his own people. Only now do I see that the evil was always within him. It is his lust for power and hunger, to be worshipped, that corrupts his heart. Nothing but godhood—placing all others under his feet, will satisfy him. Even now, he seeks to rule over ‘lesser’ beings, destroying any who offend him. It was by Mahan’s own hand that your mother was murdered. Yet even then, I did not have it in me to take his life. My son, beware his power. The Lord of Darkness is cunning and patient. His true skills do not lay in might, but in the subtleties of the mind and heart. He is a great orator and can persuade men to do his will by taking a truth and twisting it in such a fashion that the lie will seem like truth. His influence seeps through the blood of generations, twisting and corrupting,

while hiding in plain sight. I have yet to uncover the spies woven into our society, but know that Mahan has no equal upon this world but Ithari herself. From her vision he cannot hide. Protect the seals. He cannot escape the frozen torment of Unrest unless they are broken. Be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk. Trust no one but the Gem. Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This is your only true protection. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to you. Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart. Though she manifests her power in many ways, this one lesson I give unto you— learn it well; She will not you in vain ambition, pride or revenge. As you love her, protect her, honor her…through your sacrifice for others, her abilities will unfold unto you. When your hearts become one, so will your power. You will speak with the elements, even the intelligence within the elements, and shape them to your will. Then and only then, can you be the hero our world requires and destroy our enemy. Until such time, protect the seals and seek Ithari’s children. Keep them safe or they will be used against you. All of my hopes rest with you, my son, as does the future of this world. Through Ithari, my heart is always with you.

Your Father. P.S. Make haste to Til-Thorin. It is there your journey will begin. The words lingered in Wendell’s mind as his fingers mechanically folded the paper. He tossed it onto the night stand without looking. Blinking robotically, “So now I know what’s expected of me.” He sat rigidly, staring at the wood blinds in front of him. His hand reached out and dragged a pillow from the bed into his lap. “That’s good.” Hands casually yanked the pillowcase free of its contents. …and Wendell promptly vomited into it.

Chapter 11 Chuck’s Cottage

Adventure is an enthusiastic perception of one’s activities and experiences.

Folding the vomit into the pillowcase, Wendell looked for a place to…deposit the mess. Opening the dresser drawers, he dropped the bundle of hot goo into the first empty one he found and slid it shut. “Right. I’m alone, I can’t trust anyone,” he stared at himself in the mirror, his fingers gripping the edges of the dresser, “…and I’m going to remain vulnerable and needy as long as I’m ignorant.” The image in the mirror nodded agreement, “Which means question asking is your new priority.” The unexpected sound of a toilet flushing in the next room jolted Wendell from his personal pep talk. Ears twitching, he could hear a ‘flap’ ‘flap’ ‘flap’ sound rolling across the wall… and then silence. When Wendell heard a long, deep burp from the other side of the door, he pounced to fling it open. “Woah!” he flinched. “AHH!” Dax yelped, followed by a nasty scowl. “What the crap is wrong with you, kid? Always screamin’ and jumpin’ in people's faces! Can’t you open a door like a normal person?” Wendell gulped, “S-sorry.” Dax was dripping wet, in a towel that could have wrapped around his entire body…twice. It was all bunched at his waist. Clearly annoyed, he added, “Shower’s free.” Leaning in, he sniffed loudly and wrinkled his nose, “You need it.”

Dax pointedly stuffed a cigar into his mouth before turning his floppy feet down the hall and waddling away. Amused, Wendell just watched Dax drag the towel out of view and shook his head. Whatever. Getting to know the little monster was going to be a challenge. Why did the High Council have to make him my guardian? Wendell’s concerns and line of thought were overcome, however, by something all too familiar. He sniffed the air. Mmmmmmmm… A mouth-watering aroma of fried bacon filled the hallway, making his stomach grumble. Food! That was all the invitation he needed to quietly follow his nose to the carpeted stairs. Wendell was comforted to see that this house, or wherever he was, looked ‘normal’ to him. There was no stone or torches about him. Even the wall wrapping around the stairs looked like any other house he’d find back home. It was plastered with pictures. Dozens of wood and metal frames displaying cute snapshots of people and events. Excessive, maybe, but still normal. Earth-like. Wendell frowned, But I’m not on Earth. There was one in particular, of the old wizard, that caught his eye. Chuck was holding an ugly baby, with enormous pointy ears, tugging on the long grey beard. Both were smiling. Well, Chuck seemed to be in a moderate

amount of pain from the rough yanking of his facial hair, but he still looked happy. Wendell smirked at that. Slowing his descent, his eyes rolled from one photo to the next. Most of them were of the wizard and someone else. He was easy to recognize because he was always in a robe and pointy hat, whether it was white or shades of grey and he couldn’t mistake that crazy long beard. “So many people,” he ired. Hundreds of different smiling faces beamed back at him. Wendell was able to identify the High Elder, his son, Shea…and even Dax in multiple settings. But that’s where the weird photos began. There were dragons and great serpents wrapped around the wizard’s neck and body, great cats so big they looked more like horses than felines. Wendell leaned in closer to study a picture of Chuck standing next to a giant so big, the wizard only reached the ankle bone of the creature. How many people does this guy know? he wondered. There were pictures of Chuck in formal dress, smiling while accepting awards, and photos of him standing on a field of battle in a pose of glory—his sandaled foot on a vallen’s chest. Another displayed nearly a dozen other wizards, all with their pointy hats and robes in various colors, sitting around a table, laughing, enjoying drinks. The staircase finally ended…opening up into the living room and… Wendell skidded to a halt. No way! “How is this…even possible?” he stammered out loud. Mounted on the center wall was a theater system, complete with the largest flat screen television Wendell had ever seen. Speakers were mounted on either side of the screen as well as in each corner of the room. Right below the TV were several video game systems and a library of games to go with it.

Wendell gasped at the setup and laughed to himself. Sooo…Who’s place is this? Pictures, say Chuck. Games, say…Dax maybe? “Oh, yeah. Uh-HUH!” came a voice, and Wendell glanced behind him. Along the opposite wall was a rather large archway, leading into a beautiful kitchen. The old wizard was busy cooking, in a rather unusual way, with a tiny cord hanging from each ear. “Yeah, baby…let’s DO this!” he sang aloud to himself, adding a nod and rhythmic shake of his hips. The abnormally long beard and mustache were stuffed into the pocket of a blue denim apron. Wielding a spatula in each hand, he flipped pancakes into a deep pan resting beside him and tossed hash browns about with the other. Surprisingly, the old guy was pretty spry and Wendell bit his lips together not to laugh. Though his stomach growled fiercely, Wendell didn’t want to be rude and interrupt the wizards…moment. At least not until he got a better look around. The letter created an itch in the back of Wendell’s mind—one he decided not to ignore. It had only been days since he arrived. He didn’t know these people, regardless of how nice they seemed. That meant being cautious. Unnoticed, Wendell turned back to the living room to take a closer look. Is this all for real? Everything reminded him of home, especially the grand piano in the bay window. Maybe not this exact house, of course, but the carpet, the games, a TV, even the furniture—it was all stuff he saw during a typical day on Earth. It’s so different from how the High Elder lives. Nothing like that Bedur-place we had the meeting in. Hmph.

Which reminded him—he was going to have to memorize some of these names before he looked like a fool. He stopped to pick at some of the magazines lying across the coffee table. Wizard’s Day? Monster Mystery Mayhem? Better Shacks and Gardens? Gnome Geographic? Fruit gardens, fire breathing creatures and models in static poses smiled from the glistening covers. Wendell scratched his head, confused. None of this was what he had expected. I thought there’d be cauldrons or vials of who-knows-what dead things lying around. Maybe stacks of ancient books and cobweb filled corners…not a flat screen TV with surround sound, indoor plumbing and…and… But he paused at that thought. Not everything looked so 21st Century Earth. A great stone fireplace carved a timeless niche in this modern room. Well, what do we have here? The artful masonry reached out to mold itself around the base of a bark-less tree on either side. Wendell couldn’t tell which was here first, the trees or the house —the trunks rose up through the foundation, piercing through the ceiling. In between the two posts was a robust wood mantle that the trees ed between them. Smaller branches reaching out, weaving their seemingly fragile limbs along the subtle curves and grooves of the mantle, giving the impression of embracing rather than ing it. Blinking, Wendell lifted his hand to the thin shadows in its twisted fibers. There, hiding in the surface of the wood, were the smiling faces and dancing

figures of tiny creatures. They looked familiar to Wendell—something he’d read in children’s books. Fairies and sprites. Each figure was present, frolicking within a deep forest, brought out in the natural growth of the plant. The scene whispered to him of a happy time long past, but not forgotten. Are these creatures real as well? Then Wendell noticed it. Sitting alone on the mantel was a small family portrait. The size alone explained why he’d nearly missed it, but the color of the delicate frame helped it blend into its surroundings. Unlike the mantle and elaborate decorations surrounding the picture, its frame was simple, clean, with straight lines. No clutter or distractions to take away from the smiling faces it held. Wendell stepped closer, squinting to make out the figures displayed, and recognized the man as a much younger Chuck. There was no crazy beard or mustache to divert your attention from the penetrating gaze and an expression of complete and total joy. His arms were wrapped protectively around a beautiful woman. Elegant in posture and expression, something about her was warm and inviting. Her long hair, woven with pearls, rested peacefully across a bare shoulder. Enchanted with an infant in her arms, she radiated the glow of an adoring mother. The baby was smiling, tiny hands gripping its mother’s fingers. The couple looked as if their greatest dreams had come true. Love. Family. Happiness. Wendell smiled.

Somehow, this felt like a very personal, intimate photo. He swallowed and quickly looked away. His thoughts went again to his own parents. It was a feeling that he was familiar with. Wendell worked his way around the room so that he could run his fingers over the piano. It had been a long time since Wendell last played. The memories threatened to overwhelm him after his father ed away. But there was a time when he expressed himself best at the piano. Wendell glanced at the kitchen door again, where he could still hear Chuck humming to himself. It was a beautiful glossy black, polished so fine Wendell could see his reflection in its luster. Quietly, he lifted the lid and let his hand rest on the cool, bumpy surface. The lid prop was up, though there wasn’t any music. Pulling out the bench, he sat down. Mom loved music and dad couldn’t sing, so he’d spent twenty years loving to play for her. Wendell learned to play, at first, to spend time with dad…and then to comfort mom when dad was gone. It was a bitter sweet talent. When Wendell looked up, he was very surprised to meet the gaze of Kyliene. On the wall next to the piano was a picture of Chuck, of course, with Moira, Caleb, and Kyliene. The photo was obviously taken a couple years ago, but her smiling eyes and dimples were still the same. There she was, staring at Wendell with that perfect smile, captured and framed in glass. He leaned forward and caressed the frame with his finger. Taking a long, deep breath, he looked down at the piano. With both hands, his fingers softly stroked the ivory keys. Then, finding their place, he slowly pressed a sad chord. He sat motionless, expecting the sadness to dissipate with the fading echo.

It didn’t. And he was glad. In that moment Wendell didn’t know what else to do, but play. At first, it was frustrating. His fingers felt fat and awkward, foreign to this instrument as they moved up the keyboard. But then, gently, her melody filled his mind, swelling in his chest, and the music coursed through him. He closed his eyes, filling the room with a richness and bittersweet joy. He followed the melody, pouring out his heart and his frustration. Letting the tender music swell inside him, it poured out his fingers, until with one last reprise and an evocative minor chord it stopped short. Sighing, Wendell rested his hands in his lap while staring down at the piano. Kyliene is gone. He was done. “That was beautiful, son,” said Chuck, startling Wendell. The wizard stood over him, wiping his hands on a small towel. He gave Wendell a kind smile, like a grandfather might give. “It may seem impossible, but there’s going to come a day when the pain will make sense. Hungry?” Wendell nodded. “Then come on, my boy. Breakfast’s waiting!” Wendell smirked, “It’s afternoon.” “Bah—any time is the right time for breakfast,” chimed the wizard. He squinted at Wendell, “You’re not one of those irritating…put-my-life-in-a-neat-tidy-littlebox-so-I-can-look-normal-to-everyone-else types are you?” He paused, then poked Wendell in the shoulder with a boney finger, “Cause you won’t find any of that ‘normal’ stuff around here, I can tell you that!” Wendell wasn’t sure whether to laugh or retreat—the wizard looked so serious.

“No, no!” he finally raised his hands in surrender, “Breakfast is my favorite meal!” Chucks face exploded into a grin, “Great! Then let’s eat!” Dax was already sitting at the table, plate piled high with pancakes, bacon, sausage, hash browns, cheese and honey. Wendell sighed loud in relief. “It’s comforting to see you eating normal…people food. Instead of people…” he jested. “What?” responded Dax, syrup drooling from his mouth onto his plate. “You know…people? Like me? When you grabbed me from Earth? I thought you were going to eat me?” A sausage link fell from Dax’s mouth. Looking over to Chuck in shock, the wizard shrugged back. “EWW!” he grunted, pancake and scrambled egg bits popping out, “Are you serious? What kinda freak ARE you, kid? That’s just…sick!” With a flick of his wrist, Dax scooted his plate further away from Wendell. “Never mind,” Wendell grumbled as he sat down. Letting his hunger take over, he eagerly filled his plate with pancakes, three different types of sausages, blueberry muffins, ham, hash browns, sourdough toast and eggs…which were fixed just about any way you could imagine. “Hope this is ok,” chimed the wizard, “I had no idea what you liked, but you were asleep…so I just made whatever we had.” “We need to find more strays if were gonna eat this good,” grunted Dax, shoving another pancake into his maw. Wendell smiled, ignoring the sarcasm. “This is fantastic. Thank you very much” A few bites later, his stomach was content enough that he could think of something other than food. He had questions. Lots of them. But he wasn’t sure of where to begin. Looking

from Chuck to Dax, Wendell decided to load his fork instead. I’ll just wait for an opportunity later. “Did you read the letter, son?” Chuck asked politely. Wendell swallowed hard, …orrr now. Chewing his food slowly, Wendell shook his head sheepishly. “I…,” he didn’t feel comfortable putting all his cards on the table. Not just yet. “…didn’t have the nerve,” he lied. Averting his eyes, he grabbed the jam to put on his toast. “It wasn’t meant for me…so it felt too weird,” which wasn’t a total lie, “like invading someone’s privacy.” The last part was true, anyway. Chuck raised one of his bushy white eyebrows. He watched Wendell for a time, silently, while he sipped his coffee. “Alright,” he said, pointing his long, bony finger. “But it could contain valuable information.” He paused again, watching Wendell, until the young hero looked up and smiled awkwardly at him. “Set it aside for the day, if you must—but make sure you read it before we meet with the Council again.” It wasn’t a suggestion. “Yes, sir,” he answered, but Wendell wasn’t so sure. He made a mental note to avoid the topic for as long as possible—at least until he got to know the old man. Get some questions answered. The meeting with the High Council had ended with quite an explosion…all revolving around Chuck. Though it was apparent he was well respected, there were serious reservations about him…even concerns. Why was that? Why was the Council so uptight when they discovered this wizard would have a direct hand in training me? Wendell glanced at Chuck as the old man helped himself to a waffle. Should I be worried? he pondered, though not nervously. There was something

about this man that put Wendell at ease…and with all that had happened since his arrival in this world, that was a good thing. “So, are we in…” he let the question trail off as he took another bite. Wendell waited for either of them to fill in the blank. Both Chuck and Dax paused, looking up at him,…but they said nothing. Wendell didn’t want to it that he didn’t exactly where he was. He even waved his hands around, trying to gesture to the house all around them, but it didn’t help. Eyebrows went up on both faces. Ugh! Fine. “Chucks house?” he asked politely. “This place? Oh, well,” the wizard hesitated, wobbling his head back and forth, considering, “you could say I’m…the estate manager. Not the actual owner.” He looked to Dax, who only shrugged, “Yes. That’s sounds about right.” Ok, whatever. “And this house is in…?” Wendell waited again for them to fill in the part he didn’t know. “In what?” Chuck leaned in, curious as to what Wendell was going to say next. Wendell finally sighed. “Where are we? Earth?” “Don’t be stupid, kid,” grunted Dax, not even looking up. He shoveled a huge, greasy, oozing sausage into his mouth, whole. Taken aback, Wendell frowned. “Someone got up on the wrong side of the bed this morn…afternoon.” What is this guy’s problem? Wendell shifted his attention back to Chuck. “Well, where then? All your stuff looks like it’s from Earth,” he said defensively. “Tsk. Tsk. Tsk,” Chuck clicked his tongue disapprovingly. “That’s small minded thinking! We’re going to have to do something about that.” Wendell looked at the wizard blankly, “I don’t understand.”

Chuck smiled, “Life’s too big, with no end of people, son. Unlimited planets with unlimited life forms. Don’t you know there’s no such thing as an original idea?” He winked at Wendell, “Did you actually think that the only people with a knowledge or development of electronics, indoor plumbing and reality TV shows was Earth?” “Well, I…” “People throughout the galaxy have discovered the pleasures of skiing, the polka, and the disturbing wardrobe pictures they can take on their smartphones at the local Walmart.” Wendell choked on his coffee. Walmart? You’ve got to be kid… Chuck waved a hand wildly, “Besides…I happen to know a few of the right gnomes.” “Gnomes? Really?” Wendell chuckled at that. “I know some gnomes, myself. My grandma puts them in her flower gardens. What does that have to do with where we are?” Dax chose that moment to grace Wendell with a very patronizing ‘that was so pathetic’ stare out of the corner of his eye. Wendell shifted in his seat. What? I thought it was funny. Chuck tied a napkin around his neck and beard and pulled a large plate of pancakes under his nose. “This estate is in the central forest of Erimūri.” “We’re in a forest?” Wendell didn’t seeing a forest when he looked over the valley yesterday. He had seen a beautiful, large city and, of course, the orchards beyond that. Of course, when he’d left the meeting last night, it had been late…and dark. the ride home was foggy at best. He could see huge trees through the kitchen window…so the pieces were starting to fit. “Erimūri? Isn’t that the name of the whole community of this place? Of Sanctuary? It means…” he recalled the conversation with Moira, “…flower, right?” It was hard to believe that so many life altering things happened just

yesterday. It seemed like such a long time ago that he was walking through the sweet smelling orchards with Kyliene and her grandmother. But the memories of yesterday were still sharp as razor blades. “No,” he corrected himself, “it means Desert Flower.” “Well done!” cheered the wizard “You’re already catching on.” Wendell refrained from rolling his eyes. Dax swallowed two eggs and burped loudly. Soooo, what’s the plan now?” Wendell blurted out, frowning at the goblin. The Council had talked about the next course of action last night, but Wendell had missed so much. Names he didn’t understand, and there was a great deal of conversation in which he was ignored. “We’re waiting for that elder to rest a bit, before Dax takes some of the Council to…” What’s the name of that place? Too much had happened in too short a length of time for him to have retained every detail, “…the other…Prime Gate,” he amended. “In Tämä-Un,” growled Dax, bits of meat and melted fat still dripping from his mouth. He gave Wendell an annoyed look and went back to gorging himself. “Yeah. I’ll try to that,” replied Wendell. The jabs were wearing on him, especially coming from the very kidnapper that started this mess in the first place. “I am new here, you know.” Dax shoved potatoes and half a pancake into his mouth. “Whatever,” he spat, pieces bouncing across the table. Chuck cringed, flicking a bacon bit back at Dax with precision. the piece bounced off the Evolu’s cheek. “Don’t be disgusting.” “How long do you think that will that take?” Wendell asked, also glaring at Dax. “Before the trip to this Tämä-Un place, I mean.” The wizard sighed, “That’s a bit difficult to tell.” “Why’s that?” Chuck shrugged, “Well, the council likes to take advantage of many points of

view. They’ll want to see what Elder, Tiell,” he emphasized for Wendell’s benefit, “saw before they risk traveling to the planet below. The best way to avoid interpretation, after all, is to see something for yourself. So, they’ll use their skills to draw the images from his mind for all to see. It’s a strenuous incantation—Tiell’s going to need his strength. That takes good old fashioned rest.” Wendell quickly chewed and swallowed. “Ok, so…is there something I can be doing until then?” “Ya mean, besides readin’ that letter from the last hero to the…new one?” Dax interjected snidely. The wizard shot him a disapproving glance. “Um, yeah…,” Wendell frowned, “besides that.” What a complete jerk. “The High Council won’t wait too long, son. Vallen wandering around in Humär is no small matter.” Chuck chewed another bite of food, shaking a finger in Wendell’s direction. “Under King Robert’s rule, the kingdom of Andilain has always been peaceful.” His finger slowed as his eyebrows raised, a thought overtaking him. With a sudden slap on the table, he burst out, grinning wide. “Field trip!” Startled, Wendell and Dax both turned on him. “What?!” they exclaimed in unison. Chuck shrugged, staring straight at Wendell. “Well, you do look terrible.” Dax stifled a laugh, pointing at Wendell’s hair. It was matted to one side of his head and looked like it exploded out the other. “What I mean is, would you like some new clothes?” Now Wendell had to stifle a laugh because Chucks eye’s were as big as an expectant child…and he was nodding, too. Embarrassed, he itted, “If…that wouldn’t be too much trouble?” Wendell tried to comb his hair down with his fingers. Relieved, he looked down at his

tunic, “This doesn’t really, well,…uh, it’s not what…I mean, I’m grateful and all for having something to wear, but…” “What’r ya up to, ol’ man?” Dax cut in. Clearly suspicious, he glared at Chuck. The wizard tapped his spoon on the table, “The Black Market!” “Absolutely not!” snapped Dax. His thick, black eyebrows collided together and rolled forward on his wide forehead, looking like angry thunder clouds. “No field trips! He’s got a lot a learnin’ ta do - people, cultures, history. The Council told ya to teach him some useful history! Just put that thought right outta yer head.” Chuck was completely undaunted by Dax’s reaction. “Why not? We have plenty of time. It’s the perfect place for a lesson or two and get some schooling in.” “Yeah, see, I just graduated high school…,” Wendell complained, “Id’ like to avoid more, ‘schooling’ if you don’t mind…” but neither of them were paying any attention. It was a stare-down. “Well, anyway. I was just hoping to…” Wendell tried once more. No luck. “No!” snapped Dax again, his chair rocking back and forth from waving his hands in protest. “It’s too dangerous!” “Well,…as his teacher, I say there’s no better place to give the boy a crash course in cultures or people, than going to—” “It’s too dangerous, I tell ya!” Dax bellowed. “And I may not be his teacher, but I am his guardian.” “That’s right…papa Dax…” “Don’t call me that!” “Oh, I think it’s cute.”

“IT AIN’T CUTE!” “Um, guys?” Wendell squeaked, “Go where?” Did they forget that I am sitting right here? “Bah!” scoffed the wizard, “Going to the market is no more dangerous than any other visit. He’ll be fine. We’ll all be fine.” He looked at Wendell and winked, “I’m petty sure we’ll be fine.” Pretty sure? Now we’re at pretty sure? Dax stood up in his chair, which didn’t actually help his height much, and slammed his massive knuckles on the table. “Look, ol’ man, I may not like being stuck baby sittin’ this kid…but I’ll be damned if I’m gonna throw caution down the crapper! You wanna waltz him and that rock into a den o’ beasts? Yer a FOOL!” “What’s too dangerous?” asked Wendell even louder, his eyes now bouncing between the two of them. “What kind of beasts??” Dax raised an eyebrow and tried not to move his lips…as if Wendell wouldn’t notice. “What about Thule?” he challenged through clenched teeth. “You know he’s looking, right?” “HELLLO!! You DO know I’m right here?” bellowed Wendell, quickly feeling ticked off. “I can hear you!” He hated being ignored. Both looked at him and smiled…just a bit…too…big. Wendell shook his head, disgusted. “Who’s this Thule?” Dax stubbornly turned his head, refusing to answer. Wendell focused his attention on the wizard, “Well?” Chuck hesitated, strumming his fingers on the table as an uncomfortable silence crept in. It lasted so long, Wendell was beginning to think that the conversation was over. When Chuck finally spoke, his voice was guarded.

“The Black Market—which is what we’ve been talking about here—is a hidden community in, well,…actually, people don’t know where it is.” Wendell sighed. “Ok, the Black Market. Fine. It’s an actual place? On Earth, it’s more of a conceptual term. Anyway, what makes it so dangerous? And what are they selling? And if you don’t know where it is, how do you get there? And Thule? Why does that sound like something I should know about?” “So many questions!” Chuck sounded exasperated. Before continuing, he shot a glance at Dax. “Just mind your own business and it’ll be plenty safe. I know a lot of good gypsies who live there.” “HAH!” scoffed Dax. This was all very confusing to Wendell, and something was triggering his selfpreservation mechanisms. The scary, green goblin that was supposed to protect him was saying not to go—actually protecting him. The funny old wizard, which his gut wanted to believe, was practically begging, like it wasn’t a big deal at all. At this point, Wendell only knew one thing for sure: if he could help it, he was never again going to let someone take him anywhere, or give him anything, without all the facts first. Never! That meant he needed more information. “And……?” Wendell prodded Chuck to go on. “Since all the races are welcome to trade, barter, and sell there,” Chuck cringed, watching Wendell carefully, “you might see a few lesssavorycreatureswanderingabout.” It took a moment for the point to sink in, but when it did, Wendell turned purple, choking on his own spit. “Woah, woah—do you mean to tell me that those, those, things, like the one that killed Kyliene? Those things are allowed into the Black Market?” “You’re making too much of this, son,” Chuck said placatingly. He gave a huge

grin. “He’ll be fine, Dax, as long as we keep an eye on him.” “I’m making too much of this!?” Wendell squeaked, “They let killers wander free in this Black Market…and nobody cares?” “Well of course they care. Don’t be daft. It’s not what you think,” the wizard argued, “You didn’t actually meet a vallen. That abomination was a demon spirit possessing a dead body. TOTALLY different. It’s completely…,” he paused, reconsidering, “unlikely to meet a possessed creature while we’re there. So it’ll be safe. Right?” He gave a singular nod, “Right.” Reaching into one of his sleeves, Chuck fiddled around for a moment, before pulling out a small silver chain. It had a circular emblem attached to the end. He handed it to Wendell. “That is a port key. So long as you have one, you have a way to get in and out of the Market.” Wendell looked closely at the small disc. It was roughly the size of a silver dollar. Inscribed on its tarnished surface was a circle encoming twelve stars and two smaller spheres. Each of the stars were connected to the smallest circle by thin lines. Around the rim of the disc were strange markings. Unlike the rest of the disc, the marking sparkled, as if they were freshly etched into the metal. As Wendell set the emblem down on the table between him and the wizard, he caught a glimpse of faint blue twinkling from the stars. “I don’t see how that’s supposed to make me feel better?” Chuck rolled his eyes. “The point, son, is that the port keys possessed by the dark races are far and few in between. Not everyone knows about the Market… and even fewer have the means to get there. They don’t give these out like candy. Keys are inherited, mostly. Some are sold, exchanged and on occasion, they get…lost.” He hesitated before muttering the last word. Wendell frowned. “Lost?” His questions were accumulating faster than the answers.

Dax grinned psychotically at Wendell and drew his finger across his own throat. He added the sound effect, “Kkkkkk!” The wizard threw his napkin at him. “It means there are dark races roaming the market, yes, but not many. The Gypsies have strict security. So any evil you’re likely to find, is of the greedy, selfish kind, which plagues every community… not the overly violent kind.” Overly violent? What, there’s an acceptable level for violence now?? It worried Wendell that ‘evil’ was quickly becoming a common word in his conversations. However, it disturbed him even more that Chuck, Dax and even the Iskari High Council seemed to avoid one subject in particular. “Who or what is Thule?” Wendell wasn’t going to let it go this time. “And don’t tell me it’s nothing,” he gave Dax a smirk, “I heard you mention the name to the High Elder.” Dax choked on his coffee, spurting it over his plate and the table. “Ahh,” Chuck breathed, his expression becoming serious. “Now that’s another matter altogether.” “Tell me,” he insisted. “I want to know.” The wizard stared back for a long moment, maybe to give him an opportunity to change his mind. Wendell held his gaze until Chuck nodded and pushed his plate back from the edge of the table. “As you wish.” Wendell waited as Chuck waved his hand and the coffee pot rose from the percolator. It floated across the kitchen and smoothly filled his mug with the hot liquid. The wizard waved it away, and it returned to its original location. He grinned during the whole process. Chuck leaned forward on his elbows, carefully wrapping his hands around the hot mug. Until now, his face looked old, but in the kind, grandfatherly sort of way. Wendell watched him as a worn expression fell across his countenance, which seemed to age the wizard a hundred years right before his eyes.

“Thule is the literal spawn of darkness, lusting for carnage and revenge.” Chuck spoke in a low, calm tone, picking his words with thoughtful deliberation. “Few have had the misfortune of meeting him and live to tell of the experience. We know him and judge him by the mischief and bloodshed that bear his mark.” “Have you ever met him?” Wendell cut in. The question must have shocked the wizard, because he flinched. “I’ve met a lot of people I wish I hadn’t,” he said soberly, averting his eyes and staring into the mug. “The vallen tell a story of ‘The Cunning One’ whose blood lust began with hunting his own siblings. His father was not a loyal man, nor was he able for his infidelity. In Thule’s demented pursuit of singular endowment, he was not wholly successful. There is one he missed. One beyond his reach. Nevertheless, he earned his father’s favor.” Chuck looked up from his coffee. “We’ve learned to be mindful of his movements. Some believe that Thule is responsible for the genocide of the Nocturi, a once bright and beautiful people. His flag was discovered, embedded in the altar of the Noctori’s most holy temple…along with the bodies of thousands.” His hands trembled, and he paused to clench them tight. “Men, women…children. “Since those devastating days, nearly 200 years ago, Thule has become more methodical, more organized and more dangerous.” Wendell choked, “200 years!? You mean he’s…,” but his voice trailed off and he held up a hand, “Never mind. Don’t answer that.” Not only are the time lines different here, they live longer? And now I’m expected to deal with enemies engaged in genocide? This is like the brutal histories of Earth! He waited until the wizard stopped shaking before asking his next question, his stomach slowly clenching tight. “Chuck, is Thule the Lord of Darkness that the High Elder told me about?” “No,” answered Chuck. “He’s Mahan’s son.” “Wait,” Wendell coughed, choking on a mouthful of pancake, “The Lord of Darkness is Mahan…and he has a son? There are two bad guys? A father and son team?!?” What the crap!? “This is starting to sound more impossible the

further down the rabbit hole we go…” The wizard cocked his head to the side, “Rabbit hole?” Wendell sighed, “Never mind. It’s not important.” Thoughtfully, Chuck answered, “The answer to your question, Wendell is yes… AND no. Mahan, who called the Lord of Darkness, has been banished to Unrest. It’s the farthest planet in this solar system. He’s been bound,” reassured Chuck. “Imprisoned for over six hundred years, by the use of three powerful, magical seals. One for his tongue, one for his body, and one to bind him to the planet.” “Seals? What’s a seal?” Wendell played stupid, though he was quickly feeling lost. “Because you guys seem pretty scared about an enemy, that’s supposed to be bound, or chained up, or whatever he is. What’s the big deal if he’s not around? I mean, what happens, say…if the seals were harmed? Can they be broken or destroyed? Where are the seals now? How can Mahan be doing terrible things here if he really is bound?” “You ask too many questions without waiting for answers,” rebuked the wizard, irritated. “He has a mutt,” snarled Dax. He sat frozen in his chair, one hand on the table, scratching the surface with his discolored nails. His bloodshot eyes locked on the wizard. “He who?” asked Wendell, confused. “Who are we talking about, now?” He quickly looked between Dax and Chuck. Dang—I almost had my answers. “Thule was too reckless to be an apprentice,” Chuck looked away, absorbed in his thoughts, he fell silent for several seconds. Almost to himself, he whispered, “It should have been impossible.” “But it ain’t,” Dax argued. “His cunning an genius’re uncharacteristic of a vallen. He’s a mägo. The bastard found a way ta communicate with his master and you know it, old man!” Chuck absentmindedly fidgeted with the mug, making a hollow tapping noise on the table. “Yes, well,” his voice faded, seeming uncertain. “Unless…”

“Unless what?” Wendell felt kind of bad for asking, it was obvious that the wizard really didn’t like talking about this, but Dax was prompting something that sounded important. Finally, the wizard nodded, still to himself, “Thule’s power has to have come from somewhere. A master and a disciple.” Then he snapped, a distant look in his eyes. “There are some who believe that in the destruction of the Nocturi, one of the three seals was found and also destroyed.” Wendell’s stomach lurched. A seal? Destroyed?! That means I’m already down by one! He put his hands on the table and forced himself to keep his composure. This isn’t good. I’m new to all this, completely lost in what to do, with a letter telling me that to prevent war, I have to make sure these seals are protected? Oh boy. “That would explain Thule’s…” Chuck looked to Dax nervously. “He’s trying to free his master.” “THANK you for finally coming to your senses, old man,” grumbled Dax. The words of the letter flashed through Wendell’s mind over and over again. Our enemy will eventually escape from the prison we are preparing, unless the seals are maintained. Protect them at all costs. “Which is why the Black Market is a very, very bad idea,” said Dax firmly. “We’re so lucky that that…..abomination last night didn’t get a chance to nark on the screamin’ pinky here!!” stopping to point a big fat finger at Wendell’s face. “Look at ‘em. He’s defenseless! And he’s carryin’ the Ithari. Do ya really wanna take her to the Black Market? Expose her?” Wendell’s hand went to his chest, his finger picking at the edge of the gem where she had wedged herself into his chest cavity. “It should be ok,” he volunteered, “I mean, Ithari can heal me if I get hurt.” That sounded…moderately confident. Not bad. Dax looked at him smugly, “She can heal ya, sure. Not resurrect ya.” Wendell looked between them. Okaaay…hadn’t thought of that one. He wasn’t oblivious to the fact he could, and most likely would, get hurt during all this

Hero business. But talking about him being dead, as if, in this particular endeavor, it was likely to happen? It was enough to give him second thoughts. Almost. Okay, I’m in danger. We knew that—especially when the whole adventure starts with some possessed monster wanting to hurt me. But the creature didn’t try to attack me—it attacked and killed…, he paused, …killed my friend. It wanted me to leave, not destroy me. Hmmm. Does that mean it can’t destroy me? Was it or…is it afraid? I can’t just sit around here hiding, can I? Besides, how dangerous could a market really be? The market in Sanctuary was friendly. How different would a secret market actually be, anyway? Bunch of violent grocers and fish-mongers? Plotting jewelers? Psychotic bakers? “Dax is right. You’re not indestructible,” Chuck shrugged, “not even close. We don’t want Thule to know you exist…” he paused, looking directly into Wendell’s eyes. “Seriously…at all…ever…which is unlikely, but it does mean we should be extra careful.” “Exactly!” Dax sighed in relief. “So the Black Market is completely out of the question.” “Don’t be silly, we’re not going to find Thule in the Market,” Chuck dismissed. “The Gypsies wouldn’t let him into the market. We’re going.” Dax opened his mouth, but Wendell cut in, “Don’t I get to vote? “No,” Chuck said. “Don’t be stupid, kid,” Dax said forcefully. “You don’t know enough about what you’re facing to have a valid opinion.” “Ok. I got it,” Wendell said deflated. “I’m the new guy who doesn’t know anything. But….” he emphasized, “it is my life and I do have a say, AND a veto in that.” He grinned defiantly at both of them, “I say we go. The sooner I learn this stuff, the better.”

The wizard folded his arms and leaned back in his chair, a wide grin spreading across his face. “Ohhhh, I like him.’ “Fine. I’m out-voted,” resigned Dax, pointing his finger at Chuck. “Then ya better teach him somethin’ to hide that rock. You’re just beggin’ fer trouble if ya don’t!” Grateful to be moving on, Wendell perked up, “As in magic?…or are we just talking about a thicker shirt?” “Hmmm,” Chuck pondered, “that’s a wise idea, monkey.” Scooting his chair closer to Wendell’s, the wizard tapped the gem through the tunic. “Dax is right about one thing—Ithari needs to be kept safe, just like you. Now, that’s your responsibility, son. No matter what else happens from this point forward, your first and foremost responsibility is to her. Not me, not Dax, not the Iskari High Council or even this world. Her. If we lose her, we lose everything, which means if we lose you, we lose everything.” Wendell, staring back wide eyed, gulped. “The moment Thule or anyone else who works for him, learn you have that gem, they’ll be looking for ways to carve it from your chest.” Wendell gulped again, louder. “Exactly,” Dax agreed. Reaching across the table, Chuck snatched a spoon and set it in the center of his open palm. “Now watch carefully, Wendell.” With a simple touch of his finger, he whispered, “Silmä inakmään.” Small holes appeared along the length of the metal, as if the air were taking miniature bites out of the utensil. The holes grew and in moments, the spoon vanished. “It’s gone!” Wendell gasped, looking closer at where the spoon once lay. “Well,” smirked Chuck, “not really. The spoon is still in my hand.” Wendell reached over and poked Chucks palm and instantly felt the cool metal under his index finger. “Huh. I can feel it.” He smiled wide, “Very cool, Chuck.”

Chuck’s smile widened, “Thank you. Now it’s your turn. Silmä inakmään.” He nodded to Wendell, “Try it.” Wendell cleared his throat and eagerly snatched his unused spoon from the table. He stared at the utensil intensely in his hand and breathed, “Sylll-muh eeNAWK-maaan!” Nothing happened. Chuck shook his head, “Not quite. Words have intent. Magic words use that intent. The strongest magic is formed by controlled emotions. I think our biggest problem here is your relationship to the spoon.” Wendell was puzzled. “I don’t have a relationship with the spoon.” “Exactly,” said Chuck. “So let’s try something else. Let’s try it on the gem. It may sound strange young man, but you must accept and even welcome your union with Ithari. You are the host, yes, but you need to think of this more as a marriage. She is your partner, your companion. Now act as her protector. Desire her safety. Know that should she be discovered, those who find her will kidnap her, abuse her, torture her and force her to do their bidding. Don’t allow them the chance. “Once you have that desire in you, to protect her, speak the words. Silmä inakmään. It’s NOK, as in knocking on a door. You’re drawing the emphasis out too long. Try again, but this time, focus your emotions as you touch the gem.” Wendell felt embarrassed. He had really expected to have a knack for this, because of the gem. Ithari did, after all, choose the nerd on purpose, right? He was disappointed that he’d have to work at this, like everything else in his life. Closing his eyes, Wendell let his fingertips rest on the hard surface of the gem. He cleared his throat—but all he could feel were Dax’s judging eyes boring a hole through his forehead. “I can’t do this with him watching me.” “Who? Dax?” inquired Chuck, surprised. “Who? Me?” mocked Dax. “Fine. I’m outta here. We’ll leave for the Market in a

half hour.” Making more noise than Wendell would have thought possible, Dax pushed his chair away from the table, jumped down and stormed out of the kitchen. Closing his eyes again, Wendell imagined people laughing at Ithari, pointing and mocking. Images of people trying to get their hands on her, clawing at his skin, trying to steal the gem for their own selfish reasons. A tinge of anger welled up inside Wendell. Out of all the people on this world, Ithari had chosen him… Wendell Percy Dipmier…to be the Hero. He would do everything in his power to protect her. “Sylll-mon in-OAK-maan!” he whispered and his eyes popped wide open. Chuck wrinkled his nose, then grinned. “You keep practicing,” he said cheerfully and patted Wendell on the shoulder. “No one gets it the first time. If you do it right, you’ll feel a slight tingle where she’s embedded herself.” Wendell sighed, “Sure.” He pulled at the buttons and looked down at his chest. I better get this right or we’re both going to be in danger. Chuck got up from the table. “Any other questions?” Resigned that he wasn’t going to become the Master of Magic in a single day, Wendell blurted out the one question he’d been dying to ask the wizard. “So, how old are you?”

Chapter 12 Old As Dirt

Asking someone’s age is just outright rude. You’re forcing the person to tell a lie.

The wizard got up from the table without a sound. Wendell watched him scoop up his plate and glass, then wander slowly across the kitchen floor to the sink. Wendell frowned, What’s wrong with him? “Did I say something wrong?” The ceramic objects thunked as they settled into the metal basin. “That’s not a very polite question to ask,” he replied. Wendell scratched his head. Not a polite… “If I was asking my aunt Glenna, or some old lady, yeah, sure—but I didn’t know that applied to guys.” He paused, “Does it?” It seemed a bit odd that such a simple question would be such a big deal. After all, this was Wendell’s first official day on the job. He didn’t know Chuck and Dax…yet here he was, staying in a virtual stranger’s home, eating food together… Chuck swayed softly in front of the sink for a few moments, then snatched the rubber plug resting on the corner. He leaned over and inserted it into the hole of the basin. With a light flick of his finger, he turned on the hot water. “No.” Wendell squinted. “No?” “Sorry,” the wizard sighed, “I meant no, it doesn’t—or rather it shouldn’t apply to us.” Like shaking a bad dream, he looked up and forced a smile to his lips. “Just haven’t had anyone ask me that question in a long time, that’s all.” “About how old you are?”

“Yeah.” Grabbing his own plates, Wendell took them to the sink and added to the pile. “I’m not trying to offend you. If you…” “I know that,” Chuck cut him off. Then shrugging, “I know. Don’t worry about it. We need to get to know one another. It’s important.” Then chuckling, “We’ll probably be together for a very long time, the three of us. Better start working out the kinks sooner rather than later, right?” “Wonderful,” Wendell replied between gritted teeth. The thought of spending more time with the green grouch didn’t sound appealing at all. Then again, I could be jumping to conclusions here. It’s only right to give both guys a chance, right? “So let me change my question a bit, then. Why would it NOT be polite to ask you, a…” he thought carefully before choosing the right word, “mature wizard…” “Ooo, nice one,” Chuck smirked. “Good save.” Nodding, “Thank you…how old you are—especially when others seem so forward in making reference to your age?” Bushy white eyebrows flopped forward over his eyes as his mustache and beard quivered in a frown. “Others? S-someone’s been talking about my age? Behind my back?” It was an odd change in his demeanor, and Wendell wasn’t sure if he should back away…or laugh. “Well yeah,” he started, “pretty much everyone. You were asleep when the…” but he immediately corrected himself, “I mean, everyone I’ve met. Obviously I don’t know everyone…not like you.” Not like you? What is wrong with you, Wendell? You’re stammering like an idiot. The wizard laughed out loud. “I think this took a sharp nose dive neither of us wanted to experience.” Wendell nodded vigorously and sighed. “Definitely.” Patting him on the shoulder, “Tell you what,” Chuck grinned, “you ask your questions and I’ll do my best to lower my personal defenses and answer them. Deal?”

“Deal.” “Alright,” he clapped his hands together. “Let’s take this into the other room… and I need to…,” he snapped his fingers. Before Wendell could blink, everything on the kitchen table came to life. Utensils and place settings stood at attention, while the pancakes shifted over, creating a perfect, uniform stack. To the left of where they stood, cupboard doors swung open wildly and clear containers leaped through the air towards the table. “Best not to let the food spoil. Don’t want to be wasteful, now, do we?” Wendell was in such shock, all he could do was slowly shake his head in agreement as the animated ballet continued. The container tops popped off and the food promptly jumped in, adjusting to make sure everything fit just right. Eggs slid over, sausages rolled into place, orange juice arched high into the air like a fountain, diving into the awaiting pitcher. Not a drop on the table, not a crumb on the floor. Within moments, everything was packaged nice and tight. Coooooooool. “Ok, help me,” Chuck stammered, dashing across the floor. He hastily grabbed the egg container and orange juice pitcher, turned, and shoved them into Wendell’s hands. “Here!” Dax rounded the corner, strutting back into the kitchen and immediately skidded to a halt. “Hey! I thought it was MY turn to put all the food away?” The wizard shook his head firmly, “Nope. You have dishes.” “I did them last time.” “Don’t think so,” Chuck replied. He stopped, placing a finger on his lower lip and staring at the ceiling, “Uhhhhhhh, nope. You have dishes. Besides, Wendell and I just put all the food away.” Dax looked between them warily, “No magic?” The wizard stood upright and placed a hand over his chest. “Me?” he huffed, “Why would I use magic when I have Wendell here to help me? Silly monkey.”

Grumbling, Dax yanked open a cabinet door and pulled out a stepping stool. “Good. If I have to do dishes manually, you better be doin’ the same.” Oh, you sneaky old… Wendell was about to say something, but, Why should I help the grouchy one? He decided to just grin instead. “Come on, son,” Chuck smirked, “I’ll show you where those go.”

With food put away and Dax dutifully working on the dishes, Wendell and Chuck wandered out into the living room. As they walked about, the wizard pointing at pictures and sharing casual stories. It was difficult not to glance over at the small picture on the mantle…or stare at Kyliene’s face, framed and sitting near the piano. “You sure know a lot of people,” he finally blurted out, cutting off the wizard in mid-story. It took a moment for Wendell to realize what he’d done. “Oh—I-I’m sorry. Didn’t mean to cut you off, I…” “Quite alright,” Chuck smirked, “You’ve had a lot on your plate.” He nudged, “And I don’t mean just with food. You’re full?” “Oh yeah,” he shrugged, “…and I have to it, it’s hard to take all this in.” “Then I’ll stop rambling.” “Oh, no, you don’t…” Chuck held up a hand and smiled, “Calm yourself. It’s alright. I am aware that I tend to ramble…occasionally.” He leaned closer and whispered, holding the back of his hand up to his mouth, “Genetics, I’m afraid. Get nervous and I start to ramble. Can’t help it most days.” Wendell laughed, “I know the feeling.” It felt good to have someone to relate to, even if it was over something as silly as a bad habit or nervous reaction. I’m going to need as many friends here as I can get. “Then start asking questions. Time is yours.” “What about Dax and getting ready in half an hour to leave?” The wizard laughed out loud then, “Him? On time? Might as well ask the moon to give you milk. Isn’t going to happen.” Nodding at the kitchen door, “I tricked him so we’d have a little time to talk, that’s all.”

So he’s clever. He pondered, “Any question?” Chuck scratched his cheek, “Well, I am bound by certain agreements, so I can’t just spill my guts here—but if I can tell you, I will tell you. Fair enough?” “Perfectly. Then…can I know how old you are?” “Wow. Right to the punchline, eh?” He wandered over to the sofa and with a kick of his sandals, hopped into the large leather chair with a poof. “Alright, take a seat—there are some things you should know about me.” Excellent, Wendell grinned, taking an opposite seat on the couch. Chuck really was a funny looking man. For all his surroundings, it was curious that the wizard sat there, obviously comfortable in dingy, tattered grey robes, small patches on his sleeves and hem. Yet his skin was clean…and there was always a faint scent of cinnamon around him. Though with all the white, out-ofcontrol facial hair that caught your immediate attention, he had a semi-deep, gentle rhythm of his voice that made all the difference. Chuck projected calmness, , kindness and acceptance. “You know the term as old as dirt?” he started off. Wendell nodded, “Sure, that’s an old Earth…” Shaking his head, “No such thing as an original idea, ? But here, they mean me.” “What?” Wendell laughed, “Now that’s rude, if it’s really what people say.” “Ok, not many say it other than the monkey, but he is right. I’m pretty crusty if I say so myself. Been around longer than most.” That caught Wendell’s attention. He sat forward, “Wait a minute. Are you saying there are people older? Like, what are we talking here…” Chuck rolled his eyes, “Let’s stick to one question at a time or we’ll never get out of here.” Wendell sat back and bit his lip.

“First off, I’ve been around longer than any human. At least that I know of.” He thought hard, his eyebrows doing a wavy dance across his forehead. “Yup. Pretty sure, but using magic like I have kinda fogs the brain at times. Which is what I wanted to mention.” he took a deep breath and as he did so, laced his fingers and rested them over his chest. “I’m not natural.” Wendell laughed aloud. “You’re what?” Dropping his forehead, the wizard sighed, “Mahan’s Pink…what I meant to say was that I’ve used most of my magical abilities to carefully maintain my life force. It’s no small feat to keep death at bay. He’s an irritating fellow with a determination to escort guests to his estate. I’ve extended my life much further than perhaps I should have.” Then, looking up, he gave Wendell an unusually sober glare, “I should be dead from old age, no question. I just…refuse to die.” Again, Wendell laughed, “That must be nice.” “I’m serious!” Chuck snapped, though there was an unmistakable smirk on his lips. “Food can’t nourish me anymore…air is a convenience, so I’m not gasping all the time, but I can hold my breath like no other.” His mouth twitched then, “I could bleed out I guess, but…what I’m trying to say is, magic is the only thing keeping me here. Well, that and sheer will.” Wow. Wendell sat there, stunned. The wizard held his gaze without blinking. That has to be one of the wildest… “But…why?” No, wait. That sounded stupid. Wendell corrected himself, “I mean, why are you trying to stay alive when…” but he stopped again. He felt almost compelled to look over the wizard’s shoulder. He glanced at the small photo over the mantle. A grin crept across Chucks face. The corners of his mustache rose slowly until the hairs brushed both sides of his nostrils. “When I’ve lost my family?” Wendell’s heart sank—his stomach tightening into knots. He’d been caught. “I’m…uh…” “It’s alright, son,” Chuck replied softly, but he hesitated. “Hope you don’t mind

me calling you that. I lost my family a long time ago, back before Mahan was defeated and captured by the last Hero.” He shifted slightly in his seat—enough to glance over his own shoulder. “That’s all I have remaining from my little family. My past life. Lost both my wife and only child that day—all my possessions burned to ash.” His eyes turned moist, hands shaking, “That photo was the only thing saved from the flames.” When he turned back around, he stared at Wendell without blinking. “The only link I have…a reminder of why I’m still here.” His sad expression shifted, again a hint of a smile resurfacing, “I always wonder what my boy would have looked like. It haunts me. When you showed up and I knew you had the Ithari, I…” “It’s alright,” Wendell smiled, “I don’t mind. Really.” It’s kind of comforting, but he didn’t say it out loud. Chuck grinned widely then. He wiped his eyes with a grey sleeve and cleared his throat. “Good.” Nodding at the kitchen door, “I raised that one in there. Not the easiest thing, being a single dad.” Snorting, “Would have been easier if he’d been a cute kid…to rope the women in, if you know what I mean?” Laughing, “I don’t have a clue what you mean, Chuck.” Frowning, “Oh. Right,” then, “So when I lost my family, I worked closely with the leaders of the time and with the last Hero. Even helped to defeat Mahan.” For long moments he fell silent—his eyes dropping down to stare at the coffee table between them. His eyes grew wide, as if reliving something shocking…or painful. “But they couldn’t kill him,” he breathed. “Evil incarnate, and the Hero didn’t have the ability, or heart, to kill him. All that effort—so many deaths…and we couldn’t wipe his sorry carcass from the face of this planet!” Alright then, Wendell gulped. He shifted uncomfortably in his seat. “I knew this time would come,” Chuck said, though it was just above a whisper. “I always knew it. So I prepared. Studied the ancient texts and even got permission to work within the Great Library for a time. Then I found it. A way to extend my own life, so I could be here to help the next Hero. The one destined to destroy Mahan from the face of the land.” Clear blue eyes rolled up to meet Wendell’s visual nervousness. “So I could be here for you.”

Wendell gulped again. “But…I wasn’t meant to be the Hero.” Like a waterfall, the sober expression of doom and gloom dropped from the wizard’s countenance and he sighed loudly, “So what. One out of two isn’t perfect, so we work with what we have, right?!” The sheer conviction in Chucks words in his every expression was… encouraging. Right. He’s endured all this—waiting all these years, so he could help? So what if it’s me…he’s still here, right here, right now, helping…me! What do you say to something like that? As if on cue, the wizard smiled wide and winked at him. “So you’re hundreds of years old then?” Wendell fished. “Older.” “A thousand?” “Older.” Wendell scoffed, “No way.” “Way.” “Two thousand?” Chuck sat forward and shook his head, “That’s as far as I’m going. My past and my future are not completely decided yet and frankly, son, I don’t want it to interfere with what you have to learn to do. You have a whole world of, I’m sorry to say it—weird—in front of you. So, let me put it this way: “I’m older than you. I know more than you and have some insight that may give you an advantage. No guarantees here, but I will help you. That’s why I’m still around.” Wendell wasn’t altogether sure what to say. “Thank you.” There was a loud crash from the kitchen. It was followed by what Wendell guessed was swearing in another language.

Nodding, Chuck stood up. “You’re welcome. Now go get showered while I rescue the elf with eight fingers.”

Chapter 13 Unexpected

Life will never turn out the way you think it will. Get used to it.

“C ome on, kid!” yelled Dax as he watched Wendell circle Chuck’s cottage for the second time. “ Can we go now?” “Oh, let him have his moment,” rebuked the wizard. The cottage was picturesque. Its thatched roof and rough timber framing matched the rickety picket fence encoming the yard. The stones of its foundation were poorly matched, and the weathered stucco featured finger-wide cracks running up the side wall. A chatty bird, perched on the chimney, was watching them with interest. There was a cow tethered to the fence post, and Wendell was chased out of the backyard by a territorial rooster and a couple of hens. Though it looked slightly off kilter, it was a quaint, fairytale home. Perfect for the peculiar old wizard. From the inside, Wendell had thought the house could be five or six thousand square feet. It was so spacious and there were so many doors down the long hallway outside his room. He never got a chance to explore the cottage, so in reality, Wendell had no clue how big the home really was. From the outside, it appeared to be only twenty feet square. A big difference. After Wendell had circled the house the first time, he ran to the front door and thrust his head in. “It really IS bigger on the inside!” he exclaimed, making Chuck laugh out loud. Then he had to run around the cottage again, touching the walls with his hands periodically, just to make sure his eye’s weren’t deceiving him. “This is awesome!” nodding his head in iration. “Chuck, how…is this even

possible?” Chuck was searching for something in a leather bag that was slung across his torso. “That’s a boring question,” he answered, eye locked onto the content. Unfazed, Wendell was content having a few minutes to take in his new surroundings. The cottage sat in a private grove that was safeguarded by the most curious and massive trees he had ever seen. The silent giants looked like clusters that had entwined and merged together over hundreds of years until just a single growth existed—with an amazing girth as large as Chuck’s little house. Others had numerous vines stretching from the branches to take root in the forest floor and bound the parent trees. The most fascinating ones wound together, forming latticed archways over the few paths that led away from the house. The cottage looked so tiny in comparison. So…fragile. “Wow,” Wendell breathed, staring at the surrounding trees. “Those have gotta be really old.” Chuck ignored the comment and Dax just rolled his eyes. Wendell stared at them for just a moment. The old wizard was still fumbling around in his bag. What could possibly get lost in a bag that small? It seemed humorous that this trip was to get him new clothes. Especially when his companions were so obviously desperate for clothes of their own. It made him wary about what might be considered acceptable attire here. He tried for a moment to picture himself in a long grey robe. The thought bothered him. Uh, no. No way. Chuck looked as if he hadn’t changed his clothes in weeks. Ok, years. His wrinkled, dingy-grey robe was littered with patches and small stains, mostly

around the knees and bottom hem. The unruly beard and bushy explosion for eyebrows were anomalies of their own. So, he doesn’t change his clothes or shave. With a raised eyebrow, he suppressed a laugh. He’s like an old man’s version of Rapunzel. But the two most prosaic features of this kind, old man, were the pointy hat and a gnarly dragon staff that stood as tall as the wizard himself. Chuck seemed fond of both,…particularly his staff. The hat was always on the wizard’s head. During meals, while cleaning, cooking, in fact, Wendell had yet to see Chuck take the hat from off his head. His staff, which stood next to him without aid, always seemed to be within reach. Rummaging through the bag, the wizard stopped at moments to talk… directly to the piece of carves wood—as if the thing were alive and, well, a person. Then there was the goblin. Dax didn’t seem to question his older companions’ insanity. There was nothing peculiar about Chuck having conversations with a staff…or a house plant for that matter, and he stood there in nothing more than boxer shorts, himself. Bold, purple polka-dots resting on over-sized, hairy feet. The guy runs around in underwear. Doesn’t this bother anyone else other than me? Wendell had already seen enough of his hairy back and miniature rotund belly. Why hasn’t anyone said anything to him…or get the guy a t-shirt, at least?? Then it dawned on him. Maybe no one makes clothes in his size? Would Dax insist on Wendell dressing like him? Suddenly grey robes didn’t sound so bad.There’s no way I’m going to walk around in just underwear! Not paying attention to where his feet were going, Wendell tripped over the sagging front steps of the cottage. It brought his eyes level with a large clay pot that had been smashed in the path, a young sapling snapped in half and trampled. He looked at the mess sideways and noticed tiny boot prints in the soil and across the leaves. It almost looked as if a leprechaun had jumped all over it with a great amount of hostility. “Chuck? There're tiny footprints here that…”

“What?” Chuck glanced over. He squinted, then waved his hand, “Oh, just leave it. Fred’s having another tantrum, just ignore him.” Dax snorted. Wendell frowned. Fred? Who the heck…is Fred? “Got it!” With a yank of his wrist, Chuck pulled the port key free with one hand and a small cloth pouch with the other. “Here,” he tossed the pouch at Wendell, “The High Elder said this was for you, son. Comes with the gig.” It was unusually heavy for being so small, and it jingled when he caught it. Wendell loosened the draw string. Something glimmered inside. Opening his palm, he tilted the pouch…and several coins flipped out. “T-that’s gold!” he blurted out, jaw dropping. The light danced off the beautiful coins. “Is it?! Actual gold??” “I believe so,” Chuck said plainly, readjusting the strap of his bag over his own shoulder. “Can’t very well go shopping without some coin.” “How much is in here!?” “Don’t do that!” burst Dax, yanking Wendell to his side. “Wha-” Wendell flinched, truly confused. He quickly dropped the coins back into their purse. “What did I do now?” “Time for the ground rules, kid,” Dax grumbled. “But I just…” “Shut up and listen,” he snapped. “Do ya wanna keep yer skin or not?” Wendell almost yelled back. But, what would that accomplish? Instead, he silently nodded his conditional submission. “First rule: don’t act like a tourist. The Market eats tourists. None of this…” Dax held up his hands and made a mocking expression of surprise, mouth open. “Ya

look like an idiot and every merchant there will empty yer pockets so fast yer head’ll spin.” Wendell looked at Chuck, Is he for real? The wizard nodded in silent confirmation. “Rule two: you stay in my direct line of sight at all times.” Wendell folded his arms, “Excuse me? I’m not five years old.” Dax grinned, bearing his pointed yellow teeth. “Do it, or you’re on your own,” he threatened. He was enjoying this sick power trip. “Rule three: Do what I say. No questions.” Dax stopped abruptly and leaned forward to glare at Wendell, his piercing, bloodshot eyes daring him to challenge rule number three. Wendell bit his lip. “Ya don’t know what yer dealin’ with, kid…and yer a paranoid little boy who squeals like a girl. There’s lots a different kinds of people at the market and they all got their own agenda. Ya gotta be street smart! Take the vallen. They’re like dogs—some of ‘em are constantly barking. That’s ok, it’s just talk. It’s the silent ones that should scare ya.” Wendell grit his teeth, frustrated—but kept silent. Fine. Dax sighed, “Look, kid, I can guarantee Thule’s got eyes and ears in the market. I still think this is a bad idea…but you two are determined. Fine. Then if I hafta watch ya, I make the rules. Got it?” Wendell stood there, fuming. He felt like a kindergartner on a field trip. This was humiliating, and Dax knew it. The wizard nudged Wendell in the arm. Wendell nodded, “Fine.” What else could he say? Wendell knew that right now, these two oddballs were his only relationships. His only friends and his only chance of getting around or even surviving while he learned about this new world. It was going to take some time to piece together this crazy puzzle. He had to trust them…at least for now, and at least in measure. He had to figure out what ‘the hero’ was supposed to do —and how to do it.

Wendell tucked the coin pouch into the single pocket stitched next to the draw string on his pants. The wizard draped the port key chain over his neck. Dax stood next to Chuck with a fistful of the robe in his hand. He motioned to Wendell. “The port key only works on the and those in direct , so hang on, kid.” Wendell stood behind the wizard, placing a hand on his shoulder. To think that I had a problem with riding the bus to the mall…now look at me! Holding the key in his open palm, a pulsing blue orb faded into view, floating above the disc. The glee was evident in Chuck’s voice as he said, “Take a breath.” And then he smirked and spoke into the orb.

“Twinkle, twinkle, little star, Take us three and take us far— Up above the world so high, To the Market so we can buy!”

Wendell braced himself, clutching Chuck’s shoulder as he squeezed one eye shut. “Easy there, son,” said the wizard, letting his shoulder drop under the pressure. “No need for the death grip.” “Oh, sorry.” Wendell immediately released his hold. “Fine. Let’s go .” It was only then that Wendell realized they were no longer in Chuck’s front yard,

and they were not alone. They were standing smack dab in the middle of a cave. Small groupings of men, women, children and even some sheep appeared around them, silently flashing into view…from nowhere. The circular patch of ground where they stood was nearly a hundred feet in diameter and cleared of the stalagmites and stalactites grouped around the perimeter. Tall lamp posts held flickering lights, casting odd shadows across the ground. What? How on Earth did we get here? That was like… Wendell was thinking, ‘magic’ but didn’t want to give Dax any more ammunition to mock him. “No electric shock, no falling sensation…just blink and we’re here?” He ed traveling with Dax. It was a painful experience. “What did you expect?” asked Chuck, nudging him toward a tunnel. “Not sure,” he itted. “Get moving, son. Don’t want anyone popping in on top of you, now do we?” He snorted, “Monkey here waiting too long once, lighting a cigar, and a yack popped right on his….” “That’s enough, old man!” Dax growled warningly. “I’m just sayin’…” They left the cave for the darkness of a tunnel which Wendell didn’t appreciate. He looked down at his feet, trying to put one foot in front of another on the uneven ground. People pushed forward, shoving him aside, and there wasn’t time to wait for his eyes to adjust. Wendell stumbled and twice bumped into a stalagmite, almost knocking over a sheep. “Sorry…,” he apologized to the farmer, “so sorry!” Chuck and Dax, on the other hand, didn’t seem to have any difficulty navigating the path. He wished he had a flashlight…or even a match at this point. “Don’t worry,” Wendell strained to hear Chuck’s words over the complaints of

the animals that echoed off the low ceiling. “The guard fires ahead will shed some light on the path. Just around the bend now.” Sure enough, a strong scent of wood smoke soon saturated the cool, moist air. Several small fires soon appeared in the distance, sharing their light with the travelers along the well-worn path. Wedged into nooks, men in dirty, faded yellow tunics sat around the fires, staring warily at all who ed. “Are they…homeless?” Wendell was curious, “I mean, I guess they don’t really look homeless—what with their matching outfits and...” “Don’t stare,” hissed Dax, pushing Wendell along. His tone had an uneasy edge. “What?” Wendell hesitated, eyeing the long blades strapped to each of their chests. Dax kicked Wendell in the shin. “Ow!” “SHHH!” Dax hissed again, “Rule three, kid,” this time adding a threatening look. “Geez! What’s the big secret?” Wendell asked, annoyed, though he did drop his volume to a whisper. “I’m not trying to hurt anyone. Maybe I should know about this—ever think of THAT!?” Clamping his mouth shut, he made a mental note to learn about the men around the campfires. The further they walked, the lighter the tunnel became, and Wendell found his anxiety levels rising. The thought of exploring a new place on a new world was one thing. He could think about that or contemplate it anywhere, alone, in safety—but he was actually here now and that meant being exposed. The talk over breakfast, specifically Dax’s concerns, were starting to take hold. Wendell suddenly paid more attention to those around him, who bumped into him, and what might be hiding in the shadows. He absentmindedly placed his hand over his chest, fingers feeling for the hard lump under the cloth.

Unusual swirly lights appeared along the cave walls and the stalactites. They moved slowly, like drips of glowing water, down the rock formations. A few of the shapes hung in the firelight, where Wendell could see them. Woah! He gasped. Slowly working their way over the rocky surface were giant bioluminescent snails the size of Wendell’s fist. Looking around him to make sure no one was watching, he leaned down and poked Dax in the side of the head. The Evolu looked up, annoyed. With his eyes and mouth open wide in an exaggerated expression of awe, he whispered, “What are those?” and thrust a pointed finger toward the lights. Dax sneered at him. “You ain’t funny.” Wendell’s snort echoed. The path gradually inclined as the tunnel widened. A large sign hung from above, which read: Port Authorities: You Keep the Law, We Keep the Peace. This is where the traffic slowed and eventually stopped. “Why’d we stop?” he asked Chuck in a whisper. The wizard pointed with his staff as they waddled forward among bodies and animals. Wendell peered ahead to a hanging sign in the distance: Deposit Keys: It’s the Law. Wendell tried desperately not to look like a kid on his first trip to the zoo, but it was nearly impossible. He stood on his toes to glance over shoulders to see what was happening…and he wanted to see the people. Thankfully, there was no vallen—but he was disappointed to realize that those around him looked…pretty normal.

Meaning, like him. Sure, their clothing might have been different, but take most of the faces he saw and put them in business suits or transform them into soccer moms, and they’d fit right in on Earth. None of the people he saw were blue, which was a change, but nothing truly out of the ordinary…which was disappointing. The tunnel opened into a crescent-shaped room, where the dirt path became smooth tile warmed with red rugs, though it mattered little to the animals. Actually, Wendell thought it looked a lot like a service window at a bank. A thin-fingered hand pressed firmly against his shoulder. “Wait,” commanded the man in a dirty yellow tunic. Dax and Chuck stood patiently as the party in front of them entered a roped line and walked up to the counter. “Wha..?” Wendell was about to ask why, when he heard a warning growl from behind him. He glanced at Dax and rolled his eyes. The expression of the man in yellow wasn’t unkind, but his solemn stare did command obedience. Ahhh, they’re guards! There was a man in yellow on either side of the entryway, as well as three along the path of ropes, standing at attention. All the men were olive skinned and dark eyed. Each had raven hair and some version of a goatee. They reminded Wendell of pirates, only cleaner…and without the eye patch or hooks. He also noticed they were all armed with long knives, which hung from a delicate looking scabbard across their chests. Trying to avoid looking too conspicuous, he turned slightly and glanced over his shoulder. The farmer next to him had two knives sticking out of his belt. Two robust men standing behind the farmer carried swords strapped to their backs. Does everyone have…he started to wonder, then noticed two older women talking in line, wrinkles under around their eyes and rapiers attached to their hips. Suddenly Wendell felt very nervous.

…and naked. Leaning forward, Wendell peered into the opening and counted seven more guards standing against the wall. Each of them armed with long blades of their own. This is not good. When a window became vacant, the guard gestured with his hand for them to move forward. Wendell followed Chuck and Dax to where a pretty girl stood behind the counter, a beautiful, broad smile on her face. Chuck lifted the silver chain from his neck and placed the port key into a small black box between the girl’s hands. The young lady nodded at him and closed the lid. Under the glass window the number three appeared. “A party of three?” the girl asked politely. “Fingers, please.” “That is correct, my dear,” the wizard smiled back and held out his hand. Tenderly taking a hold of his index finger, she drew a tiny knife from a wooden stand and pricked his finger. Chuck placed his finger on the glass lid and pressed, leaving a bloody fingerprint. The print slowly faded, leaving the surface spotless. Dax hopped up onto the counter and followed suit by offering his finger and then pressing his print onto the glass. Wendell looked at the young lady who smiled at him sweetly, holding out her hand for his own. “Well, I-” Wendell hesitated. Chuck nudged him forward, “It’s called a blood-lock. It s us as legal occupants of the Black Market and saves our key until we’re ready to leave. Security measures. Now give the girl the finger.” He paused. “Your finger, I mean. You don’t want to give ANYone around here the finger…so just,” he tried again, then huffed, “Oh, just give her your hand!” Wendell snickered and did as he was told. With a flinch and a single drop of

blood, he placed his print on the glass and watched it closely as it faded out of existence. He smirked, “Very cool.” When they left the line, Wendell tugged on the wizard’s tunic. “If they’re putting all the keys into the same boxes…how do they know which key is ours?” Chuck stopped. He looked at Wendell, then back at the counter. Flicking back the rim of his hat, he scratched his forehead. “You know, I never thought about that.” Shrugging at Wendell, he resumed walking, wagging an index finger, “But they do. I’ve always assumed that the magic tags the key with our blood…that way any one of us can come back and grab it. Gypsies are clever that way.” Wendell nodded, though he wasn’t completely certain it made sense and followed along, corralled to the official entry hall of the Black Market. It was a simple, square room, not much wider than the hallway—lit by dozens of candles on metal stands, stones and alcoves, forming waterfalls of wax that had built up over time and belt down from high places, now touching the floor. At the opposite end was a broad staircase of chiseled stone, leading up to double doors that were opened wide. It was dark, the doorway, with small flecks of starlight glimmering overhead. Two guards stood on either side of the stairs, barring entrance. At the base, angled in a corner, was a third. He stood lazily at a chest high podium, turning the page of a monstrous book. His tunic bright and clean, the bold yellow standing out in the candle light. One by one, he called the names of the people in line. A flowery sign hung from the front of the podium which read: Please Check In: It’s the Law. “Chuck. You’re back,” the man behind the book said dully. “How…wonderful,” he added, tight-lipped. Chuck stepped forward, his posture relaxed. With both hands, he leaned on his staff. “Lucian,” he nodded ever-so-slightly, equally tight-lipped.

Wendell wasn’t sure why, but his stomach tensed, a sudden urge to back away from this man at the podium. These two obviously don’t like each other. He scratched at his chest absentmindedly—feeling a little warm and constricted. “Business or pleasure?” pursued the guard. Wendell frowned, Huh. He didn’t ask that of the people before us. The wizard grinned, “My pleasure, as always. I’m surprised to see you descend from on high to meddle with the likes of common visitors.” “That is none of your business.” Lucian’s eyes narrowed, the corners of his mouth curled back tightly, “These are uncertain times, Morphiophelius. You never know who you can trust. Must keep my finger on the pulse of the Market, for security purposes, of course.” Chuck nodded, “Of course.” The wizard looked back to give Dax a nod and winked at Wendell. Lucian dismissed the wizard with a wave of his hand, turning his attention back to the book. Though Chuck looked calm, his gaze lingered on Lucian until he’d reached the top step and entered the Market. “Dax, son of Jahti of Asa-Illariu,” the guard sneered with palatable contempt. At the mention of the Evolu homeland, Wendell was sure he heard a few people in line behind him snicker in disbelief. What’s the deal? What do these people know that I don’t? Oh, yeah. Everything. Stuffing a cigar into his mouth, Dax sauntered forward boldly. “Moving up in the world, I see, Lucian! Good for you,…though I always thought ya did a fair job as Iyl-Maddok’s errand boy. Buffin’ boots and haulin’ pales of goat dung.” Snickering and mild chuckles arose in the line behind them. “Has it been 6 months already?” Lucian paused, “My, how time flies.” Leaning over the podium to stare down at Dax, in more ways than one, he considered his

words. “I better not hear of any trouble with your name on it. It would be a pleasure to strap you to the block.” Dax stared back without emotion, “I’d like to see ya try.” “Ahh,” Lucian breathed smugly, “you forget that you only enter on my good word, my friend. If you cannot abide our laws, I will personally see that you enjoy the full measure of our penalties.” Dax casually lit his cigar, then glared right back. “…and you forget, Lucy, that I go through this process out of courtesy. I don’t need one o’ yer damn port keys.” Lucian’s closed lips twitched at the ridicule of his name, quickly replaced with a smile. “Then,…we have an understanding?” Dax puffed furiously on his cigar. “Oh, I understand you perfectly.” “You may enter.” By this time, Wendell was beyond nervous, especially as his so-called guardian hopped up the stairs and disappeared through the doors, without looking back and leaving him completely alone in line. Lucian’s eyes were already upon him, the smile of a jackal spreading across his face as he looked up from the book on the pedestal. However, that smile vanished as the name left his lips. “Wendell…Percy…Dipmier?” he said, the surname in a hushed strain. He cringed. H-how did he know my name?? Wendell hated his middle name. His mom just couldn’t resist using the name Percy for her own precious little boy, which was after a helpful young bellhop his parents had met on a vacation one year. It was the last nail in the nerd coffin. If it wouldn’t have upset her, Wendell probably would have changed his name and eliminated the P. altogether. It’s just so embarrassing! Lucian paused, ignoring Wendell, and stared back at the words. His fingers trace the line in the giant book.

Confusion and dismay overcame his expression. He looked back at Wendell. “That’s…” he shook his head and immediately proceeded to fumble through the pages of the immense book. “…is there a problem,…sir?” Wendell asked meekly, his eyes darting to the doors. What’s going on? Oh man, there’s something wrong. There’s something wrong, and those jerks left me here, totally alone and without a clue of what to do if someone goes knife-happy on me! Please let me . Oh crap…is this what drug dealers feel like? I’m gonna get shot. No, wait, they don’t have guns. Oh CRAP—I’m gonna get KNIFED! He started gnawing on his bottom lip. The page turning became almost frantic until at last Lucian slammed the book closed. The Gypsy took several moments and slow, deep breaths before making eye . His lids narrowed and brows furrowed, lips curling back into a snarl. “I don’t know how you did it,” he hissed in a whisper so low, Wendell could hardly hear him. “But I’m watching you.” Wendell looked to the left, to the right, then behind him. Making eye once more, he pointed at himself while mouthing the word, ‘Me?’ Lucian pointed sharply at the stairs. “Enter.” Frozen in shock, Wendell couldn’t how to move his feet. What just happened? What…did I do? The farmer with sheep gave him a nudge from behind, one of his animals bumping the back of his legs. Suddenly, Wendell didn’t want to be there, under the scrupulous gaze of Lucian. He found his feet, took his window of opportunity, and scrambled up the stairs into the Market to find his companions. He couldn’t however, shake the unmistakable feeling that he was already in trouble. I haven’t even been here long enough to do something stupid!

Chapter 14 Black Market

During your travels through life, you may have experiences which seem random, even crazy or near impossible. A look, a comment, or even someone you may recognize. Some would say this is deja vu. Others might dismiss the experience altogether. Know that the Universe is talking to you, through every look and every experience you have--leading, guiding, and prompting you along your path. It is when we fail to recognize those gentler prompts that the Universe is forced to reach out to grab our attention.

Now Wendell understood why no one knew where the Black Market actually was. The entire enterprise was in an underground cavern. At first he thought they had come out the side of a mountain, into a giant valley. He thought they were staring into the night sky, which is what he’d expected. Far from it. They had just ed from a smaller cave into a much larger one. Scattered lanterns and fires poked through the thin haze of smoke, the bioluminescent snails feasting on stalactites overhead, bringing light from the ceiling above. Through the haze, it looked like thousands of stars in the distant sky. The Black Market’s private universe.

Looking out across the cavern, Wendell felt as if he were standing on the edge of a shallow bowl, the road under his feet sloping downward gradually, branching out to weave through the hovels and shacks of a lively city before rising again on the other side. The dim light lent an air of mystery, cloaking the details of the market in secrecy, just waiting to be explored. He inhaled deeply, savoring the moist air that clung to him with its smoky, meaty, earthy flavor. Everything moved to the rhythm of the rushing underground river, or pulsing to the twang of a blacksmith’s hammer. Chuck and Dax were waiting for Wendell just a few feet in. Being so fascinated by what he saw, he had stopped short. “Get moving, kid. You’re in the way,” a guard barked, pushing him away with the flat side of his drawn blade. “Sorry, Sir,” Wendell squeaked and quickly ed Chuck and a glaring Dax. “Rule four, kid—Don’t tick off the Sentry,” he growled, leaning his head in the direction of the guards. “They don’t give second chances.” Regardless of Dax’s pushing and prodding, Wendell couldn’t help himself. This was nothing like he had ever seen, and before long had stopped again to take it all in. Many of the new arrivals, especially those with animals, turned immediately to the left, driving their livestock towards a large building and corral which wore a sign that said: Exchange. “Exchange what?” Wendell asked, watching people in line with chickens, pigs, sheep and the like. “The Market deals in two currencies,” Chuck said, leaning in close to Wendell. “Gold and crystals. The Gypsies will trade almost anything if it’s valuable enough, but gold and crystals are the hard currency everyone will accept. Food is scarce down here, so animals fetch a fair amount of coin.” Then, taking note of Wendell’s enthralled expression, he whispered, “Welcome to the Black Market, son.” With a light grasp of his elbow, the wizard then guided him down the street. Wendell stared about him as men and women laughed, calling out to one another, ing briskly by with loaded baskets or pulling small carts. People of all types and unusual character buzzed around him, buying, haggling, and selling. Robes

and slacks, turbans and hats, clean shaven and woven beards accented with silver and gold…it was as if the societies of the world had collided together in friendship. All the while, children with dirty faces and unkempt hair raced through the streets, dodging through grown-up legs, laughing as if nothing in the world existed except the games they played. A lively woman covered in shawls and jewelry bowed to Chuck as she ed. The wizard tipped his hat in return, then bowed politely to an elderly couple after her. The man leaned heavily on his walking stick, hunched under the burden strapped to his back. The couple paused to smile and warmly greeted the wizard before hobbling on their way. Dax, all the while, bobbed his head from side to side and if looking for something. This doesn’t look scary at all, Wendell realized, Chuck was right. For the most part, Wendell thought the patrons seemed…normal. Well, almost. There were dwarves who looked like they’d just stepped out of the movies with their long, braided beards woven into their shoulder-length hair or tucked into belts around bulging bellies. Chain mail armor clanged as they strode with pride, wielding giant hammers and glistening axes. They grinned behind dirty faces as they inspected raw crystals and rough-cut gems in the candlelight. Wendell couldn’t help but stare. “Kutollum,” whispered Chuck over his shoulder, “The common tongue call them dwarves. Brilliant craftsmen and artisans…though I’d never want to see a female enter a swimsuit competition.” He shuddered. “It’s bad enough the men have backs like hairy goats, if you know what I mean.” A group of tiny people surprised Wendell as they ed. At first he thought they were children, but did a double take when one in their party turned around with a full beard and winked at him. “Gnomes,” the wizard grinned. “Lovely people, clever as they come.”

Gratefully, Wendell had yet to see a vallen. All the prior talk about Thule and the race that everyone seemed to fear, well…had him on edge. Luckily the market seemed giant-free. In fact, Wendell didn’t see a single blue person, anything he would qualify as a monster and no aliens. Well, except himself. Wendell also noticed that the people varied greatly in dress. A few appeared wealthy, with bright colored drapes, headdresses and jewelry. Others were lowly in dirty, worn clothing that hung on lean frames—but most were somewhere in the middle. Regardless of the dress, people continued to smile, speak kindly to one another and exchange goods and coin. Wendell smirked to himself. No matter how uncomfortable he felt, his outfit fit in here. No one looked oddly at the wizard, and no one laughed or even batted an eye at Dax’s boxer shorts or the fact that he walked about bare chested. Wendell shook his head, Weird. They pushed their way through the market, past haggling groups of women or merchants striving to get the best deal on goods or services. Well, Wendell had to push anyway. The sea of bodies seemed to flow around the wizard, being both aware and unaware of his presence at the same time. Wendell, on the other hand, was jostled and bumped every few steps, stepped on by whining sheep and goats as they were driven towards the holding pens. Women impatiently excused themselves as they moved around him with clay pots on their heads or poles with hanging flasks of who-knows-what. Wendell even moved aside for a small handcart clattering with swords, knives and shields, another close behind, crammed with bolts of coarse cloth and blankets. As long as he followed directly behind Chuck, Wendell was just fine. He just hated the limited view. Rounding a set of tents, a small crowd of children forced them to stop short. “What now?” Dax grunted, irritated.

The children were ooohing and aahhhing, clambering and bouncing around an old man, naked to the waste, dark skinned with scars down both back and arms. Draped over his shoulders was a lean, virtually glowing, yellow lizard. It’s long, slender tail wrapped around the man’s chest. The creature swayed its narrow, horn-crowned head forward and hissed at the small grasping hands, bearing its needle teeth and flexing its… …wings? Wendell gawked. It’s a dragon! A real dragon!?? He had always dreamed about dragons when he was a kid. He’d always wondered what it would be like to own such a mythical beast. A best friend to keep him company, protect him from the bullies at school and to share his loneliness. His best dreams that he could growing up always contained dragons. Sure, this one was a bit small to ride off into the sunset, but… That is so unbelievably AWESOME! Wendell took a step closer to the ring of youth, instantly enchanted by the glistening of the serpents scales and its emerald green eyes, which glowed brightly in the dim light. It’s so beautiful. So perfect. …and he reached for his coin pouch. Chuck patted Wendell’s forearm, “Dragon’s are not an impulse item, son.” He smiled then, “Those beasts are an exceedingly rare breed and to trifle with its life without being able to commit your time, attention and love as the serpent deserves, well…you might as well end its life and serve it up as soup. Wendell’s face scrunched, “Ew.” “Exactly. It’s simply not natural, son,…and neither would it be for you to own such a beast.” He smiled again, “They are meant to be free.” Wendell stared longingly at the dragon. Oh, but it’s so beautiful… Without warning, the beast turned from the children’s attention altogether and looked directly at Wendell. Their eyes met, and she stretched forth her head,

slightly cocking it to the side. Wendell’s brows crinkled forward in curiosity. It’s almost like you want me to pet you. The dragon shook its head. A reaction which caused Wendell’s head to pop upright. Did you…? Noooooo. That almost looked like you heard me. The old man was chastising a child, completely unaware as the dragon flicked her long tongue through the air, bobbing its chin, almost unnoticed. Wendell peered into her eyes. But I haven’t said anything, I’m just thinking! Which mean I’m just imagining this, right? The dragon gently shook it head. “Coolness!” he squeaked out loud, clasping his hands together. Dax glared up at him. “It’s just a stupid lizard.” Coughing, Wendell grinned wider. “Yeah. Sure.” Then, You CAN hear me, as in, my thoughts? The dragon swayed his head from side to side with the bouncing of its masters shoulders, then nodded once more. AWESOME!! At that moment, nothing in the world seemed to matter to Wendell. Not being on this world, not being stuck, not having a huge gem sticking out of his chest…and not even having Dax as a guardian. After a lifetime of dreaming and wishing, hoping that dragons could be real, here he was, face to face with success. “Can we GO now?” Dax complained. “Oh for goodness sakes,” hissed the wizard, “let the boy have his magical moments, monkey. I recall a young evolu who wanted to touch and taste everything that existed once upon a time.”

Dax snorted, “We if he’s gonna eat that thing, fine, but…” Chuck thumped his companion on the head with his staff, “Zip it.” Dax grumbled. For long moments Wendell and the dragon stared at one another, frozen in time. Wendell didn’t know why, but all he could think of at that moment was being controlled. His finger went to his wrists and absentmindedly scratched and then pulled at the collar of his tunic. He felt…trapped. “All you alright, son?” Chuck asked. “I,” he started to say, but stopped. No, it wasn’t him. The dragon was a captive. She wanted to be free. Wendell could feel her sorrow, and he gasped for breath. His throat hurt. It burned. His shoulders ached and he could feel the bruises along his back and legs. Trapped. Chained. Alone. Shaking her head, the dragon blinked, breaking eye . The head withdrew and turned away, pulling her wings and tail in closer to her body. “They are a noble race of creatures.” The iration was so strong in Chuck’s voice, the dragon’s spell over Wendell was broken. He took a shuddering breath, eyes blinking, but they still lingered on the creature draped over the human’s shoulder. “He beats her,” Wendell said softly. “I have little doubt,” the wizard replied in a solemn tone. “Such is the way with trappers and handlers in most of the world. There used to be a time when those with true skill won the affections of the beasts they sought to control. It was about friendship, confidence…and trust.” Wendell watched the man yank on the thin chain controlling the serpent. “And

now?” “Now,” Dax sighed, “it’s mostly through fear n’ pain…and repetition. No class if ya ask me.” The wizard sighed heavily, “This wouldn’t have happened back when the Verrdrä roamed free.” “The Dragon Lords?” Wendell asked, rubbing his temple. A tinge of pain trickled down the back of his skull to his spine. “You’ve heard of the Dragon Lords?” Chuck asked, “I’m impressed!” Wendell nodded, “The High Elder told me all about them right before,” he made a jabbing motion with his hand towards the center of his chest. Chuck nodded slowly. “Annnnnd now I’m less impressed.” “What? Why?” “The Iskari, as wonderful as they are as a whole, still lack personal reference. They have worlds of knowledge in their libraries, stored up for generations, but much of it is collected records from other people’s records, not first hand recordings. As for myself, well…I’m a hands on type of guy.” Dax snorted, “You call blasting someone on the opposite end of a field of battle with hailstones on fire ‘hands on’ old man?” Chuck frowned, “Well, no, but…and that only happened ONCE! The wind was shifting, so it didn’t count.” The evolu smirked. “And I PAID the farmer of his barn, AND his cow, AND his horses, IN FULL!” Adjusting his hat, “POINT being that I happen to KNOW the Verrdrä.” “BWAHAHA!” burst Dax, “You met one of them….once! What, now yer sayin’ ya BBQ together? WhatEVER!” “So why not…buy her and set free her, then?”

The wizard whipped his head back to the conversation. “What was that?” Wendell nodded towards the dragon, “Why can’t we buy her and then take her into the wild and set her free?” Chuck gently bit his bottom lip and placed a gentle hand on Wendell’s elbow. “We could, but we don’t know where she’s from, son, or whether she even knows how to care for herself. If she doesn’t know how to hunt, we could be the cause of starving her to death. You wouldn’t want that, would you?” “Of course not!” The wizard nodded in agreement, “Of course not. Neither would I, which means it’s probably better to leave her where she’s at, for now.” I’m so sorry, Wendell thought, giving the dragon a last glance. If there was something I could do, I would. Really. Reluctantly, he turned to follow the wizard away. Once past the initial shops and large, self-contained booths, the market opened to wider streets, where vendors behind carts swarmed like bees around honey. The first street vendor they came upon had many colorful jars in his small cart, shaded by a crude canopy strung up overhead. He was a gaunt, greying man, in worn clothing. He smiled brightly, as they stopped, dispelling the shadows of countenance, and waved his hands over the selection. “Could I interest you good sirs, in a snack ?” he offered. “Maybe fried Setana? It’s very fresh.” Wendell looked at Chuck. The wizard shrugged, pulling a funny face, but then he nodded approval. “Uh, sure,” Wendell leaned over the cart wanting to get a better look at the unusual food. It wouldn’t hurt to try a few new things, would it? It looked safe enough, kinda like popcorn…but green. “I gotta see this,” Dax chuckled, pushing his way to Wendell’s side. Reaching into the waistband of his shorts, he added, “This one’s on me, kid,” and handed the man a coin.

Wendell smiled half-heartedly as he took the folded paper with the small green pieces of…he still wasn’t sure. At home, he prided himself in having a strong constitution and usually, enjoyed trying new foods. If it weren’t for Dax making such a stink, he probably wouldn’t have thought much about this. Wendell picked up one of the bits and inspected it. It looked fine, well, other than being a sickly green. It really did smell a lot like popcorn. Buttered popcorn. Glancing down at Dax, bulging yellow eyes staring at him expectantly, Wendell popped it into his mouth. Hmmm. He chewed, the faint crunching sound escaping. Interesting. Salty, a little bitter, more substantial than popcorn and actually, it tastes a lot like shrimp. Wendell liked shrimp. Giving Dax a wide smirk, he popped another piece into his mouth. Dax stood there, watching him with disgust. “I don’t believe it. You…actually like that?” Sticking his tongue out, he made a hacking noise. The wizard snickered. “Setana is a young sun snail, chopped up and then dropped into hot fat until they burst.” Dax grinned mischievously, pointing to the stars shining above them. As if on cue, one of the small creatures fell from the ceiling and bounced off the cart. The vendor quickly picked it up and placed it in a wide mouth jar, pushing down more than a dozen glowing snails trying to escape. Wendell paused mid-chew, looked down at Dax, then shrugged. “Whatever,” he mumbled and continued chewing. “It’s not bad at all.” Turning to the vendor, “Thank you, very much, sir. It’s very good.” The vendor smiled and nodded gratefully. “Thank you.” He waved the coin between his fingers at Dax, “And thank you, sir!” Chuck shook his head from side to side, laughing. “There are many street foods I love, but escargot was never my thing. Upsets my delicate constitution.” He glanced around him, then leaned closer to Wendell and whispered, “…and truthfully, it makes my poop glow.” Wendell cringed, revolted.

Dax snorted. “I got somthin’ else I wantcha to try, then,” and he dove right into the crowd. For being so short and seemingly ignored, it was amazing how fast the evolu could maneuver through a dense crowd. “I guess we’re following him?” Wendell asked. Chuck smiled reassuringly, “Let’s humor him. Just this once.” Wherever they walked, Wendell would eventually be shuffled aside so people could greet and talk with Chuck. The wizard seemed to be on friendly with everyone. What made it even more interesting was that Chuck not only ed everyone’s name, he asked about family, mutual friends, illnesses they had gotten over or troubles they’d navigated. The old man truly cared about those he interacted with. …and so did Dax. Where the guardian snapped and was constantly critical and judgmental with Wendell, Dax smiled at and laughed with most of the people he talked with in the Market. He even bought several a dozen sugar treats and handed them out to the street urchins, while Chuck stood back and beamed with pride. “He’s really not a bad fellow, you know. I’ve known the boy for more than 600 years and I wouldn’t change a thing about him.” Wendell shrugged, “Not sure I can endure that long to find out.” The wizard chuckled, “Oh it won’t take long. You might not see it in him yet, but he likes you already.” “Likes me?” Wendell snorted, “Did you slip somewhere back there and hit your head? Dax can’t stand me!” “Bah. He’s grumpy and strict with you because he cares. You two have a lot in common. Stranded, without a home,” he grinned, “stuck with me.” Smiling, “Stuck, huh? Doesn’t sound so bad.”

Popping upright, “Oopah! Excuse me, son—be right back.” and Chuck dashed across the lane to engage a portly vendor, speaking in hushed tones. Wendell noticed twice, the wizard glancing over his shoulder at him, before taking small vials and placing them in his bag. I wonder what he’s up to? Stopping at the window of a charm shop, Wendell’s eye was caught by a delicate, gilded silveen blossom on a whisper of golden thread. He was about to ask Chuck about it when an unnatural hush descended around him. Heart thumping, he held his breath. Please don’t be a vallen. Please just be a fluffy buddy or a really ugly person everyone’s staring at! Using the reflections of the glass, he tried to find what was happening. The market around him had become very still, people halting mid-step, cutting off conversations in mid-sentence. Wendell turned to the street, where it wasn’t hard to discover the answer. Their movements flowed gracefully, barely rustling their identical green robes. Firelight glinted off the gold embroidered leaves at their necks, wrists and hem, accenting the radiating light from their porcelain complexions and long golden hair. Mesmerized by the eloquent posture of the strangers, Chuck caught Wendell staring. “Evolu,” he whispered, returning to Wendell’s side, “though some call them…” “Elves,” whispered Wendell to himself in awe. Patrons melted from the elves’ path, heads low and few making direct eye . Though they moved with obvious grace, Wendell was disappointed to see their manners left much to be desired. Not one of them hid their disdain of the humble merchants, who bowed deeply and held out their wares to be considered.

“Grumpy, stuffy things, those pointy-ears,” Chuck grumbled, “Hard to get them to look over the end of their noses or step down from their high societies nowadays.” The wizards forced tone caused Wendell to cringe. “Their progenitors would be ashamed of such conduct.” Dax, on the other hand, seemed almost hostile towards the slender foreigners. His hands clenched, making fists to tight his knuckles went white, puffing furiously on a cigar. A short, frumpy looking gentleman in a red robe and turban noticed Wendell through the window and came bursting out of his shop. He waved his hands above his head as he entered the street. “Ah, Morphiophelius, my opulent friend! My, my, my—what have we done to receive such an honor, I wonder? Here to seek out the best charms for the most measly of purposes, no doubt!” The little man spoke hastily in the worst Indian accent he’d ever heard and Wendell tried not to laugh. The huge sign overhead said Cassell’s Curious & Cunning Charms. Chuck smiled, clasping the man’s hand firmly, “Good day to you, Grazia! May I introduce you to my young friend, Wendell.” Grazia smiled broadly and bowed deeply. “Pleasure, my dear sir. Any friend of the finest sorcerer is always welcome in my humble hovel.” He looked from Wendell to the wizard, “My, my, my, so you’ve finally upgraded from short and green to tall and pink I see. Not a bad choice.” Then he leaned forward and whispered to Wendell, “I don’t even know you and I know I like you better!” and Wendell laughed. Dax grunted. “Nice.” With a tug on Chucks robes, he added, “While you talk to Mr. Cheap Goods, I’ll be back,” and he wandered off. “Would you care to purchase a most useful item?” perked up, grinning brightly at Wendell, “I see you noticed my notice charm.” Wendell looked between the shop keeper and the wizard, “You’re what?” “Notice charm!” he pointed through the window at the golden necklace. “Place

that around the neck of any person, no matter how plain, unsightly, repugnant or deformed she may be and they will be the LIFE of the party. OH yes! EVERYone will fawn over them, like the Queen of Asheeabakaman!!” Wendell looked at Chuck, again confused, “Who?” The wizard whispered, “Hottest monarch in history, son,” and then out loud, “Grazia is known for unique items imbued with clever enchantments.” “Would you like it, my young friend?” Grazia asked, waving his hands at the window display. “A handsome young man must be the hero of a beautiful lady’s heart.” “Uh, no,” Wendell hesitated. Grazia winked, “Then perhaps an eye on one NOT so beautiful? Though I have a charm bracelet to fix that as well.” Wendell tried no to laugh. “No thank you. It sounds wonderful, but…I don’t… have anyone I could give it to,” he took a short breath, “or to impress.” Grazia shrugged. “Shame. But that is good. I am a businessman, yes, but would loath to be parted from this particular item. Besides, to sell it would ruin my whole display. You noticed, did you not?” “We certainly did,” concluded Chuck, “Thank you Grazia. I’ll convince him to come back at another time. Perhaps to look through your ‘unique’ collection?” The merchant put his hands together and bowed ever so slowly. “I would be honored, my friend. May peace find you when you least expect it.” The wizard imitated the shop keepers motions, “…and the answers to troubles in the hands of friends.” Grazia stood in the street, smiling and waving at them until they disappeared from view. “That is one friendly guy,” said Wendell, still grinning as the accent sounded in his mind.

“He’s also a brilliant enchanter and one of the few honest people in this Market,” added the wizard. They had only walked a short distance before Dax was back. “Here,” he said as he flopped up to them with three small sticks. Each had smooth, round chunks stuck on the end, a thick purplish glaze clung to the mystery treat as well as the skewers. “Try it,” he grunted, shoving one up into Wendell’s face. Dax held a second out to Chuck, but the wizard politely declined. Suspicious, Wendell had to ask, even though he was sure he wouldn’t get a satisfactory answer. “What is it?” Wendell sniffed. It smelled like BBQ ribs. Sticking out his tongue, he licked the sauce. It tasted a lot like BBQ. Dax’s face was too occupied to give an answer, chomping away with a grin on his face. Closing his eyes, Wendell quickly bit all three chunks off the stick. …and instantly regretted it. Like a sausage, the casing was a bit tough. Wendell felt like a spectacle trying to rupture each piece. The inside was firm, juicy and sweet at first. Gross. Tastes like barbecued liver. Not one of Wendell’s favorites. He just couldn’t get past the congealed texture. Then it began to burn. Not hot burn, but like a hundred habaneros shoved down his throat and up his nose kind of burn. Ahhh! AHHH! And he ate all those like they were nothing! Whimpering and with eyes watering, Wendell turned his head away. The burn was fierce and persistent. He wanted to get himself under control before… “Whaddya think?” asked Dax, his tone smug. Fuming, Wendell started to cough and Dax rolled his eyes. “Never could get used to the thought of eating rotisserie bat-gut, myself,” said Chuck. “Oh, don’t worry,” the wizard reassured, “they stuff it with peppers and spices to kill the parasites.”

Wendell gagged and spat into the gravel on the side of the road. “Parasites?!? That was revolting!” “Yes, well, it’s not for everyone,” said Chuck, “but it is popular here. Let’s get moving. The clothing shop is just down this road.” Wendell wiped his mouth with his hand. It left an oily coating on his tongue and the burning lingered in his sinuses. “You’re an evil little creature.” He scowled down at Dax, who just laughed, pleased with himself. “Go ahead and laugh, buddy. It won’t happen again.” But his anger just spurred more laughter. “Whatever,” snorted Dax as he walked away. Wendell tried to laugh, to be a good sport…but there was a particular thought gnawing at his gut. Chuck is wrong. Dax doesn’t want to like me, that’s obvious. All he wants to do is taunt me and tease me or boss me around at every turn! Wendell wasn’t sure what to do about that and he had no clue how long this arrangement was going to last. Thing was, he could rebel or fight back—but what if Dax left him here? What if he betrayed Wendell and leaked his presence to an enemy. Someone like Thule? Does it really matter if he likes me or not? He’s obviously honoring the Iskari High Council’s decisions to some degree. I should be grateful for that. He glared after his ugly green babysitter and made a resolve to let it roll off his back, just like Evan would tell him to when they were in school. Dax is just another bully, that’s all. You can do this, Wendell. No matter what happens, you can last longer than he can. Sooner or later, Dax will have to confront you and when he does…when we know all we need to survive here, we can let him have it. Immersing themselves deeper into the Market, it wasn’t long before Wendell found it too dark to be cheerful. He ed dozens of small campfires scattered between the low, squat buildings that looked as weary and dirty as the people hiding in their shadows. The wood and stone shops felt crowded, each looking as if it had been wedged into place. It was here that Wendell could see the people sitting huddled along the pathways and alleys, completely ignored. Cold and wary eyes stared out from black-stained faces, watching each step he took. “Do they live there?” Wendell asked stiffly. The sunken faces and outstretched hands called to him, but Chuck held him back. “Don’t be fooled, son,” warned the wizard, “some of those Gypsies are the eyes

and ears of the Sentry. They’re paid quite well to play their part. Don’t worry, the Gypsies take good care of their own.” “But why would…” “There’s nothing in this place they don’t know about,” Dax shot in. He took his cigar butt and flicked it into a small group of beggars, who scrambled to snatch it up as soon as it hit the ground. “You can’t hide down here, no mater how dark the shadows are, kid. Justice is a biiiig deal to these folks. Doesn’t matter what you’ve done up top, they’ll forgive you—but put your toe over the line down here and you’ll lose your whole foot.” Wendell gulped loudly and moved so as to put the wizard between him and the Gypsy vagabonds. “Seems…a bit extreme, doesn’t it?” Dax snorted, then pulled out another cigar from his waistband and lit it up. “Depends on who ya ask, I guess. Considering this is one of the safest places on the planet, I don’t think you’ll find too many that complain.” Though he walked on, Wendell couldn’t help feeling an urge to go back and do…something. It was hard to believe that scenes of such destitution and hardship were an act. He looked over his shoulder just in time to see several pairs of eyes avert themselves. The tap, tap, tap of the wizards staff rung out with each step across the cobblestones underfoot. “I was here when they laid the first stone,” he glanced at Wendell with raised eyebrows. He grinned. There was a particular spring in his step. “My port key was one of the first charmed and given to me by Iyl-Tandril himself. That’s the leader of the Gypsies. ‘Iyl’ is a form of ‘sir’ in the old tongue, which is only used by leaders. These are good people, this lot, regardless of the reputation the world has given them.” “Are they not liked?” “They’re despised and hated,” sneered Dax. “That’s why they’re trapped in here.” “They’re not trapped, monkey,” corrected Chuck, “they have simply chosen to stay hidden from those who would harm them.”

“Which is everybody.” The wizard shrugged, “Oh poo. Everyone doesn’t hate the Gypsies.” “Really?” Dax challenged, “Name five groups of folks who wouldn’t like to take these folks and either lock ‘em up or wipe ‘em out.” Coming to a halt, the wizard frowned. “Well there’s you and I and the boy here.” Turning, he gave Wendell a stern look. “You don’t want to harm the Gypsies, DO you boy?” “I don’t want to harm anybody!” he squealed. Nodding satisfied, “Right then, that’s a no.” “We don’t count,” Dax snorted. Chuck puffed up his chest, “You’re wrong.” Holding up his empty hand, he raised each finger in turn, “One. Two. Three—Four—Five. See?” Dax sighed. “Fine. Four to go.” “The Iskari would never harm them.” “Doesn’t count either. They’re cousins. Of course they’re not going to harm the Gypsies!” Chuck snorted then, “You’ve had siblings want your head on a block!” “Alright!” Dax snapped, “That’s two.” “Then there’s Bobby-boy…” “He puts them in jail and isn’t allowed down here.” “The Evolu.” “Now allowed to step foot in their homeland.” “Kutollum?”

“Blamed for the Red Plague.” Dax smirked, “The humans won’t allow them lands to establish themselves, the Gnomes think them barbaric demons, the giants feared them as bringers of death and the Vallen, Therrin and Tauku kill them on sight. Did I miss anybody?” Chuck scowled. “What about the merchants?” Wendell jumped in, “They’re not all Gypsies.” “Most are from the outside,” replied Chuck, “many with prices on their heads for crimes committed. They find their way down here and start businesses. As those business grows, many live above their shops. Some strays from the outside find a place here, where they can belong, or sometimes just to hide. It’s a safe place, away from a world that rejects them.” “Or hunts them,” added Dax with a sneer. “So this is a community of criminals?” Wendell watched two men squabble over a piece of food roasting above a fire. “Something like that,” continued Chuck, his staff clacking on the stones of the road that they walked, “but you never really know, do you? People like to point fingers at one another, accusing, asg blame, justifying this and that, when the reality is we don’t know much about one another, do we? We THINK we do, but our views are always tainted with the glasses we wear. Some are colored, some are scratched…and no two are exactly the same. The Gypsies accept anyone willing to adhere to their laws, regardless of their past.” The three came upon a narrow age between two closed shops when a deep, fierce roar erupted from the darkness. “EEEEEP!” Wendell leapt backwards and then stumbled, grabbing his chest in fright. His fingers scratched the burning skin around the gem. I know that sound! He held his breath as his heart pounded furiously and he collapsed to the ground. Vallen! Dax immediately jumped in front of Wendell, becoming a short, but rather aggressive looking barrier, bearing a full set of teeth. When nothing happened, he slowly tilted his head, listening.

“He cradled it, mole-eyes! Watch his hands!” yelled a voice. “Call it fairly or I swear I’ll bring the Sentry in on this!!” threatened another. The noise died down at the obvious threat, spoiling the excitement. A rat ran across Wendell’s foot, squeaking as it dashed down the alley. Dax shook his head. “Rule number one, kid. Get up.” Patting the waistband of his shorts, he grinned, then pulled out a few coins.“Come on, looks like our luck is about to change for the better!” He turned to sprint into the alleyway. The hook in Chuck’s staff caught Dax around his nearly non-existent neck and yanked. “Oh, no you don’t!” the wizard snapped, “No unsavory activities. We have a child with us!” Wendell frowned. “Hey, I’m not…” The wizard glared fiercely, nostrils flaring, “Maybe you’ve forgotten the last time you played Bloodsticks?” Dax looked up sheepishly, shrugging his shoulders. “Kinda,” he muttered, barely audible. There was a short pause, then, “NO.” He jutted out his chin. Chuck placed a fist on his hip, his expression stern. “Don’t you look at ME like that, young man! I didn’t bet the shorts off my own body, now DID I!?!” Dax’s expression fell away to a hard scorn of frustration, “Fine.” “It’s one thing to find you in a garbage bin after a night out on the town,…” “Fine!” “…but I will never chase you through these streets with you drunk and naked again, do you hear me!? You do your intoxicated streaking on your OWN time!” “FINE! FINE! FINE!” Dax shouted. The two stood there, breathing heavily and fuming at one another. Content the point was made, and giving a final nod of parental satisfaction,

Chuck turned to Wendell. “Best not get hooked into gambling, least of all around here. Bad for the pocketbook AND the skin, if you know what I mean.” He nodded in Dax’s direction. The wizard knelt beside Wendell, “You alright?” Wendell stared back blankly, “I…think I’m having a heart attack.” Chuck rapped him on the head with his staff. “Nonsense. Get up.” Dax glanced back at Wendell disgusted, “Ya boob.” Yeah, and you’re worried about ME making a fool of myself, Mr. Skin? Wendell was irritated with Dax, but his greater concern at the moment was that his chest was truly hurting. So maybe I’m not really having a heart attack, but something is going wrong. His chest felt like it was in a flaming vice. It was hard to breathe, and Wendell struggled with each inhale, like he was sucking air through a straw. It was difficult not to panic. Whatever it is, Ithari will fix it. Right? ing rule number one and that there was a Vallen nearby, Wendell scrambled to his feet and brushed himself off, trying to act like everything was just fine. He slowly crept into the alley, timidly following after Chuck and Dax. Garbage was piled high between the building and the ally. It reeked heavily of rot and mold. Ack! Wendell held his sleeve over his mouth. A small group of vallen knelt in a half-circle near the wall and Wendell froze. There’s…more than one. A ring of glowing shells lit the ground, which was the only source of light. The haunting glow made the giants even more intimidating. Their massive size, hunched over, protruding canines jutting out from their bottom jaws. The shadows cast by their cheek bones gave them the appearance of the undead— gaping holes where eyes should be. His heart pounded, his knees trembled, and Wendell wanted to run or worse—collapse. Several giants sniffed the air and looked over, glaring at the newcomers. Wendell wanted to disappear. He started chanting silently to himself, “Silmuh Ikmon, …Sylmin …Ikaman ….Sullmah …Inackaman” Crap, crap, CRAP! How

do you SAY that!?? Breathe Wendell, stay calm, you’re just a regular here, they don’t know you. He forced himself to take a slower breath, trying to ignore the giants. “Please,” pleaded Wendell, grabbing hold of the wizard’s sleeves with shaky hands. “PLEASE, Chuck,” he whispered desperately. “Don’t make me go in there with those…things.” Chuck paused and considered the plea. His expression quickly changed. “Alright, we can go,” he smiled. “Perhaps another day,” he suggested, escorting Wendell back into the light of the street, a grumbling Dax close behind. “What were they doing down there?” Wendell asked, once they were far enough away that he didn’t have to worry about being heard. “Bloodsticks.” The sound of Chucks staff thumped loudly on the stone, “Most popular game of chance and quite addictive.” “They play it in alleys?” “They’ll play it anywhere they can get five unfortunate souls,” the wizard replied, shaking his head in disdain. “The biggest games are played at The Whipped Mule, a gaming house here in the market—but those who want to run their own games, can. Side games like the one back there are usually organized by players barred from the official circles.” “I could have made some money!” Dax complained. “Not today, monkey,” rebuked the wizard, “and we’re almost there.” The two erupted into another argument, oblivious of Wendell, who was still having a difficult time breathing. He fell behind a few steps. The further they traveled out from the center of the market, the darker the streets became. The ominous buildings seemed to lean and hover overhead, draping over the paths in a weak and sickening way. A withered hand shot out from the dark, grasping Wendell by the wrist, yanking him clean into the shadows.

It was impossible to pull away. The fingers, cold as steel, held Wendell fast— and he soon found himself staring into the vacant eyes of an old woman. His body shook—the void of her stare piercing his mind and heart. He couldn’t move…and the gripping fear kept him from calling for help. Her wrinkled lips curled between her gums, a lone tooth protruding through, her skeletal face long and sunken. “I see you,” she rasped, pointing a bony finger at Wendell’s face. “Evil has rooted itself.” He flinched as the pointed finger moved down to tap his chest. “The deed is done! Mahan is here!” Her broken nails bit into the flesh of Wendell’s arm. “You are…” she started to say—then recoiled as if she had been slapped. Blinking rapidly, she searched his eyes and then shouted, “You are not!” Wendell gasped, his seizing chest burning. “I—I don’t understand,” he stammered, afraid of the woman’s stare, but too terrified to look away. “Who are you? What do you want?” he choked, “I have money, you can have whatever you need, lady, just let go…” “Darkness rises again,” she hissed, spittle foaming and running over her bottom lip. “Man’s greatest work…for naught! We are vulnerable!” Wendell wanted to run, but his fear held him fast. Then she looked up, into his eyes…and grinned. “Weakness in your heart is the enemy of all.” With the final word, she released her grip and closed her eyes. She slumped over into a boney heap on the ground. Wendell stumbled backwards and into the hands of someone else yanking him. Dax snarled, “Are you determined to piss of all the locals?? I told ya…to stay within…” Dax stuttered, “…I told ya…..” his hands forming fists. Even under the green complexion, his face grew red as a beet. Obviously frustrated, he snorted like an angry bull, “Didn’t I SAY don’t be stupid? But no, you don’t listen to me. I try to create rules to keep you safe and to give you an advantage around here, but no, you don’t listen. Instead you go wandering off say who

knows WHAT to decrepit old women!” He slid up close to Wendell, waving an index finger op in his face, “Don’t think ya know better, cause ya don’t! I told ya —Rule two,” and he shoved Wendell forward into the wizard. “Your turn!” Wendell wasn’t even paying attention to his guardian’s tantrum. The woman’s raspy words burned into his mind. He glanced back as he was hauled away, but he never noticed her move form the spot where she’d fallen. What does she know? What did she see!? What if she’s right? What if I can’t do this and I’m too weak? What if I just make everything worse for this world?! How will I live with that? Suddenly, Wendell felt very tired. It was hard enough to deal with his own expectations. Being grilled by Dax was too much. It took all his strength just to put one foot in front of another. “Are you alright, son?” Wendell’s legs wanted to give out. With each step, his insides trembled, but he found himself nodding. He kept his eyes fixed on the cobblestone street as they walked, focusing on the rhythm of his steps, the sway of his hips. All Wendell could think of was… What if?

Chapter 15 Bite Me

Beware a pretty face. Anyone can wear a mask to hide their true intentions or lack of substance. It is what lies beneath the skin that matters most.

“A nd here we are!” Chuck said proudly, holding his arms out in a TA-DA fashion. Wendell looked up, confused. At first, he wasn’t sure if the wizard was referring to the obviously intoxicated merchant perched precariously on the stool, or the funny looking shop called Leilani’s behind him. The lopsided, two-story building exhibited a painting experiment gone awry. It looked like someone couldn’t decide what color to use, then stopped before it was half finished. Bright glowing splat marks drooled down one side, small fragments of shells still on the ground. Disconcerted, Wendell stared at the display window…full of female mannequins. “Here?” he hesitated. Wendells chest was still hurting, though it had lessened noticeably. Because of that creepy old lady and her empty black eyes, he was worried that everyone could tell he was, in truth, a fraud…and not the real hero. Who else knows things about me? It was a troubling thought and it took some effort to keep his imagination from taking over. Focus Wendell. You’re here. Be here. You can’t do anything about it now, so stop thinking of the negatives. You may not be a hero right now, but you can learn. He glanced at the wizard and managed a weak smile, “It looks like girl stuff to me.” Chuck held the door open for an old human couple, heavy laden with packages, leaving the shop. Oblivious to anything going on above his head, Dax shoved between them and pushed his way inside without so much as an excuse me.

Wendell watched Dax, disbelieving. What a jerk! Though a bit surprised, the couple patiently moved, as anyone would, out of the way of a head strong child. Then, bowing respectfully to Chuck, they smiled at Wendell standing aside and left the shop. Once inside, Wendell’s eyes hadn’t even fully adjusted to the change in the lighting before Dax was already growling at him. “Make it quick, we ain’t trying to impress anyone,” he snapped. Sniffing the air, Dax scanned the surroundings. Pulling himself onto a tall stool near the door, he warned, “I don’t like this place. Something ain’t…right.” The shop was cheerfully lit by globes suspended in silver webs and strategically placed at the best vantage points. Upon closer examination, Wendell saw that the blue light was emanating from a playful, caterpillar-shaped creature, flipping and twirling in the liquid. Thin curls of smoke escaped multiple incense burners throughout the shop, lightly caressing each guest in the scent of cedar, cinnamon and roses. Chuck and Wendell’s footsteps were muted in the vibrant rugs laid out over shiny wood floors. They seemed to be the only people here. Waiting, Wendell ired the lifelike mannequins on the display tables. Each modeled the clothing folded in neat piles at their bases, but he didn’t see anything he would be interested in wearing. Robes, dresses and long tunics that looked a little too close to miniskirts were all he could really see, which was disconcerting. Ugh! What was I thinking, letting Chuck—the wizard who only has one outfit in his entire wardrobe and Dax—the underwear zealot, take me to get new clothes??! There is no way they’re making me wear a dress…even if they do call it a ‘robe’! “May I help you?” came a soft and sultry voice from behind them. “Yes,” said Chuck turning. “My young friend here, needs…” and his voice skidded to a halt. Wow. Wendell gulped. He stared, blinking in disbelief and found it, once more,

very difficult to breathe…his chest burned, the skin around the gem itching. Her oiled skin was darker than a moonless night and it reflected the dancing lights within the room. Her green eyes smoldered under the silver-painted eyelashes as she patiently indulged in their iration. She wore a light silver dress with a high neck and long sleeves. The soft material flowed over her buxom figure, gently accentuating her feminine curves, the lengths gradually becoming a delicate white lace as it brushed across her fingertips and toes. “Good evening, gentlemen,” she curtsied ever so slightly. She glanced momentarily to include Dax, who was watching her suspiciously from the corner. She said, in the same sultry voice, “I am Leilani. How may I be of service?” Wendell opened his mouth to respond, found it impossible to utter anything intelligent and clamped it shut again. Walking between Wendell and the wizard, her fingers casually blazed a trail of fire up their arms, across their backs, to rest her palms between their shoulder blades. With the slightest pressure, she guided them deeper into the shop with a full lipped smile. “Which one of you is the ‘young friend?” Chuck laughed and winked at Wendell, “Oh, I like her.” Leilani placed a soft hand on Chucks chest, running her fingers over the worn fabric. “It looks like this poor robe has seen its fair share of wear.” The wizard swallowed nervously at her touch. She continued, “I have a magnificent sorcerers robe—high collar, sleeve compartments for vials and spell components.” She ran her index finger around the rim of Chucks hat, down his cheek, then twirled it in his beard. “I also have a small selection of distinct hats for discerning tastes.” She smiled, her perfect white teeth shining. Pulling her fingers free of his beard, Chuck gently patted her hand. “No, thank you, my dear. We’re here for young Wendell.” Leilani glanced at Wendell. “Are we now?” she whispered softly in his direction. While biting her lip, her gaze crawled up every inch of his body. Wendell shuddered.

In the front of the store, Dax watched warily as a young lady approached him. Blowing a loose strand of hair out of her flushed face, the young woman smiled politely. “Hello sir, can I help you find something?” She wore a nondescript cotton dress, her hair bound in a simple pony tail, her face worn, but friendly. “No. I’m here with those two. Just waiting ’til they’re done.” The girl glanced at Leilani talking to Wendell and Chuck in the back of the shop. “Oh…I see.” Dax caught a fleeting look of concern in her expression before she forced a polite smile back on her face. “Alright sir. Just…let me know if you need any help and…have a good day.” “Yeah,” Dax nodded. His attention went back to Leilani. He wasn’t sure what that was about, but he was definitely going to keep an eye on the shops proprietor. From out of nowhere, a measuring tape appeared in Leilani’s hand. She stepped behind Wendell. “If you would…,” she whispered in his ear, “…just hold your arms out to the side. Thaaaat’s right. Just…like…that. Mmmmm.” Butterflies beat against his stomach. She smelled of vanilla, her breath sweet. He winced at the fire in his chest. What’s wrong with me? Reaching around him with both arms, Leilani snuggled up next to Wendell and measured the circumference of his chest. Her fingers lingered, then dropped to measure around his hips. Wendell tried to hold perfectly still, but, embarrassed, he twitched. Grabbing his wrist, she drew the tape up his arm and, inhaling deeply, she ran her face along the cloth of his tunic. Wendell flinched. Did she just…smell me? Tha-THUMP-thump! Chuck took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from his brow. “I don’t recall shopping being this, uh,” he cleared his throat, “intense.” Dropping to one knee, Leilani ran her hand along the inside seam of Wendell’s

leg and he jumped forward, away from her. “O—Okay,” he stammered nervously, “I think that’s good.” Leilani rose effortlessly from the floor. Folding the measure tape into her hand, she leaned in, whispering at the back of his neck. “It certainly was.” Her eyes never leaving Wendell, “If you’ll follow me. I think you will find something to your liking right over here.” “I think we can take it from here, my dear,” said Chuck, stepping between them. He tipped his hat politely and grinned wide. “As you wish,” Leilani curtsied, taking the hint. “Please let me know if you require any assistance, gentlemen.” As she ed Wendell, she ran a single index finger up, over his shoulder and then winked. “Any assistance…at all.” She lingered, thoughtfully threaded a loose curl behind her ear—holding his attention as she did so, then walked away. Wendell was dumbfounded as he watched her leave. He hadn’t noticed how the gentle curls of her hair were woven into a long, loose braid, accented with small white flowers. It hung between the shoulder blades of her entirely bare back. Wendell watched Leilani move across the floor…the sway of her hips, the glistening light off the curves of her cobalt skin. It was hypnotizing and… flawless. He shook his head, almost violently. What’s the matter with you? Snap out of it, you dummy! Wendell abruptly grabbed the wizard and shook him by the shoulders. “Please tell me you saw that!?” He snorted, “Son, only a dead man would miss a woman like that.” “No, no,” he stammered, “Tell me you saw her smell me!” Wendell bit both his lips in denial and then scratched his chest again. It was burning, like an giant bee sting. “Come on, even in this place that has to be weird, right?” Wendell jumped at the sudden appearance of the troll at his side. “I saw it,” Dax looked to Chuck, his expression sober. “…and I don’t like it, I tell ya” he growled. He shot Wendell a blatant look of disgust and then rolled his

eyes. What NOW?!? “Nice girl. Very…helpful.” Chuck rubbed his hands together, surveying the merchandise, “So! Maybe it’s wise that we move this along?” The wizard guided Wendell to a display mannequin wearing a puffy white shirt with cuffs and ruffles down the chest. “How about that? It’s…kind of nice,” he said with a cringing smile. Dax smirked, “Yeah…and we could buy him some girly tights to go with ‘em.” “No, way!” Wendell gulped, but the wizard was not deterred. They looked through the neatly folded stacks of clothing around the tables and racks, moving slowly from one to another. It was the first time that Wendell truly felt he was on another world. Most of the garments looked like something he’d find from a fairy tale book or Pride and Prejudice movie. He whimpered, There HAS to be something here that I can wear. Chuck held up a sleek black mägo robe with silver lightning embroidered up the sleeves. “This is PERFECT!” he said with glee. Wendell cringed and shook his head. Chuck gave him a hurt look. “Wendell, you are destined to be the greatest magic of this generation.” Wendell rolled his eyes. “Ok, ok,” Chuck itted, “maybe not the greatest—but they’re going to record your name somewhere…” He held out the cloth, insistent. “At least try to look the part. Try it on.” “No,” said Wendell firmly. I am not wearing a dress. Chuck shook the robe at him, “Aww, come on, son—you’ll be way ahead of your time!” His expression seemed almost desperate and Wendell felt bad. But not bad enough.

“No thanks,” he said, trying to sound respectful. “Seriously,” the wizard pleaded, “you’ll look cool…like me.” Dax snorted. “No THANK you,” Wendell emphatically refused. Chuck frowned, disappointed, “Oh, alllllright. But just you wait,” he said, folding the robe tenderly and setting it back on the table, “someday you’ll prefer this to anything else.” Yeah…I don’t think so. “How about this?” asked Dax, holding up an orange and purple striped vest. Wendell cringed, “Seriously? It says Here Comes The Clown.” Dax grinned sarcastically, “I’m not seeing the problem.” “Try this…” said Chuck, holding up a long, brown…something. Wendell cocked his head to the side, “I can’t tell which side is…” he frowned, “I can’t even tell what it IS. .” After several arguments and declining many suggestions, Wendell reluctantly agreed to try on a heavy leather tunic and a pair of cotton breeches. After all, he resigned, I am on another planet. I guess it’s probably too much to expect to find a simple pair of jeans and a t-shirt. He stepped into the dressing stalls which were nothing more than four curtains on a light metal frame. “This just doesn’t feel right,” he whimpered from behind the curtain. “What do you mean?” argued the wizard, “That’ll look great…you’ll fit right in.” Sliding the curtain aside, he stepped out into the light. “No, I look like a reject lumberjack. What about that other outfit I chose.” Chuck frowned, “Not the leather jacket with spikes?”

“Well, yeah. I kinda like the biker look.” “Trust me, kid—you don’t look like a biker,” mocked Dax, “—you look more like the biker chick on the back.” Wendell sarcastically imitated Dax’s chuckle. “Funny, coming from the mutant underwear model.” Dax looked at the wizard, “What’s wrong with my shorts?” Chuck squinted, giving the troll an evil eye, “They’re clean?” “Of course they’re clean!” bellowed Dax, affronted. “Then there’s nothing wrong with them.” Wendell yanked at the wooden buttons, trying to take off the tunic. “Are you guys always going to be this ive? I know I’m new here and this is now my home, but I’d really like to find something I can feel comfortable in. Something that allows me to feel, I don’t know…” The wizard smiled brightly, “Normal?” “Exactly!” The smile vanished, “Won’t happen.” Wendell sighed. “I’m starving!” snapped Dax, “Forget this. Just wear whatcha came in…and let’s go get some chow.” Grumbling and frustrated, Wendell yanked harder at the buttons. Oh I get it, Leilani either charms you into buying something, or you try it on and get stuck. Ka-ching! Wendell wanted to scream. Spinning around with a grunt, he tripped over his own feet and sent himself tumbling forward. Unable to catch himself before the damage was done, he plunged through the side curtain of his stall and the one next to it…and the one next to that. Gratefully, the crashing stopped when something very large fell, to the accompaniment of a million buttons bouncing, sliding and rolling across the floor.

Crap, crap, CRAP! Pulling his arms and legs free from the dislodged curtain, Wendell scrambled to his hands and knees, frantically trying to snatch as many runaway buttons as possible. Why does this always happen? Why is it always me? Crashing and banging and being the center of the wrong kind of attention, I…and then saw it. The booth had fallen over, the main rod catching on a tarp-like sheet, pulling it free and revealing its prize. Hidden in the very back corner of the shop, underneath a heap of cloth and mismatched display supplies was a headless, wooden mannequin, sporting something Wendell thought he’d never see again. “Chuck!” he shouted in excitement. “Oh!” cried Leilani, rushing back with her assistant en route. “I’m so sorry!! I’ve been meaning to get rid of that.” She turned on the young girl, who flinched, “Clean that up! NOW!” Leilani helped Wendell to his feet, while her assistant grabbed a blanket and quickly threw it up over the broken mannequin. “Here, let me…help,” said Leilani. Grinning, her hands lingered as she brushed the dust off Wendell. “No…wait,” Wendell reached out ignoring the shop owner, “Wait! Don’t cover that up!” Barely able to contain his excitement, he grinned at the wizard, “I want that, Chuck.” He pointed at the covered mannequin. “I want what’s on the mannequin under that blanket!” “Well, there we go!” the wizard said cheerfully, “Let’s take a gander, shall we?” “NO!” Leilani shouted out, followed by uncertainty, “Really?” Even her assistant looked shocked. “I mean, “ she corrected, gaining her composure, “Of course.” She remained silent while Wendell eagerly cleared the area out and exposed the mannequin in full. “You’re serious,” said Chuck, pacing in front of the display, fingers combing his beard. “You want…that?” Wendell smiled from ear to ear, “Yes, please.”

The wizard turned to Leilani. “Why’s it back here?” “To preserve it,” she said confidently, eyeing Wendell’s reaction, “until it could be…appreciated.” Dax laughed mockingly, “In the back of the shop?” “To protect it.” “Behind a partition?” “To thwart unwanted handling.” “With a sheet thrown over it?” Leilani growled, “I didn’t know what to do with it!” Rubbing her temple, “It’s the most hideous thing I’ve ever sold.” “But it hasn’t sold,” Dax grinned. “Exactly!” Leilani snapped. Wendell pet the jeans in near disbelief. Blue, stone washed and a black t-shirt to go with it. It’s perfect, he sighed to himself. Plastered in the center of the t-shirt was a bold, yellow smiley face, grinning from eye to eye. Dax stepped closer to examine the outfit. “So what made you make it?” “Make it?” Leilani scoffed, “Are you insane? I didn’t make that! An old man came in, years ago, offering the finest Mägoweave I’d ever seen.” There was a distant look in her expression as she ed. Her intensity vanished, voice softening. “He was a kind man. Offered the whole inventory at a price I couldn’t resist.” “He…” she broke off, “…said these outfits were unique…ahead of their time. Unlike other Mägoweave, he said these were special.” Chuck eyed her curiously. “Special how?” and he ran his fingers over the fabric, examining the fibers. “I don’t know,” she continued, “he never really said.” She looked between them.

“I was so excited to have some quality inventory, I just didn’t ask.” She looked at Chuck longingly, “Mägoweave, as you know, is so rare and he was offering the finest of its kind for a handful of silver! Who would refuse such a bargain?” Chuck studied her closely. “Why would a stranger…” “I know!” Leilani cut him off. “Not that I complained…but I did wonder why someone would sell something so rare—and several times I questioned if it was true. He even included this mannequin…said it was charmed. Draws the right buyer to the outfit being displayed.” She looked back across her shop, iring the abundance. “I built this business around the profits I made from that very inventory. I used the mannequin with dozens of outfits. Always the right buyer, always the right price. I have made a literal fortune because of that man.” Her expression quickly faded, “Except with this.” She sneered at the jeans and t-shirt, “I unpacked one of these outfits and tried to put it on myself. Get it to reveal its true form. It wouldn’t fit, which is odd. Magical cloth is usually one-size-fits-all., but not this,” she waved a hand at the mannequin. “Once I put it on the mannequin, it took shape. I saw what it looked like and I….” she looked at them pleadingly, “Well look at it! It’s ghastly!! No one ever asked about it, not in the years that I’ve been here. It just became an eye sore.” Wendell shot Leilani an excited look. “Wait a minute—one of the outfits? As in…there’s more than one?” “Three identical sets,” she folded her arms, huffing in frustration. Her eyes narrowed at Chuck, “I will only sell them as a complete set, by the way.” “Of course.” Wendell, however, was psyched. “This is awesome! I don’t suppose you sell sneakers to go with them?” Leilani raised an eyebrow, confused. “Sneakers?” Wendell pointed to his feet. “He mean shoes, my dear,” clarified the wizard.

She shook her head. “No need. Mägoweave creates the accessories, such as footwear, belts and gloves. Always a perfect match,” she said matter-of-factly, “Another part of the appeal—especially for the ladies. Unequaled in durability, beauty, style and the life of a garment. It is the most remarkable cloth in existence and equally as rare.” She stared at the mannequin, “The least of these garments are fit for a king. I’ve always wondered where the man got so many outfits. A person would only need one set for the whole of their life.” “And there are three,” Wendell almost giggled to himself. “What enchantments do these pieces have on them?” asked Chuck, leaning down to gander at the smiley face. Leilani shook her head, “I told you, I don’t know. I never asked. It could be anything at all. Though my guess would be at least the common enchantments.” “And the cost is…?” “Very expensive,” confirmed Leilani. The wizard frowned, “Even if we’re doing you a favor by taking it off your hands?” Leilani ignored the wizard and knelt down at the base of the display. Pulling a copper knob, she retrieved a small coffer that looked like a jewelry box. She handed it to Wendell. It was smooth, red wood with an arched lid and a pearl latch on the front. “What’s this?” He asked, but Leilani only nodded to it. Lifting the latch, the lid lifted easily to reveal three square sections inlaid with silk, two of which contained a tiny patch of what looked to be black fabric. Is this what everyone’s talking about? These can’t be clothes. These aren’t much bigger than a band aid! Wendell’s brows furrowed as he looked up, “Are these…my clothes?” Leilani’s assistant nodded at him. This doesn’t make sense. Wendell peered closer at the cloth cubes and then started to laugh. “How the heck am I supposed to put this on? Glue?” Reaching over, Leilani pinched a corner of one of the squares. She paused and…

Is she…sniffing me, again?!? She grinned at Wendell as she lifted the fabric from the box, shaking it lightly at her fingertips. The square unfolded once, then again…and it kept growing and gaining mass until Leilani held a glistening black robe in her hand. The flowing, dark fabric looked wet, almost like rubber, yet swaying with the slightest movement of air. Wendell’s mouth dropped open. It’s a shiny black…robe? Well that sucks. “But,” Wendell started, “it doesn’t look anything like…I mean,…that’s not jeans and a t-shirt.” “It doesn’t take effect until it’s on the wearer. If you take off your tunic and try it on, you’ll see the true shape.” Leilani stepped closer, reaching for his tunic buttons, “Here, I can help you.” Unexpectedly, Dax slid between her and Wendell. A low rumbling broke through Dax’s lips. “Don’t touch the kid,” he growled. Eyes wide, Wendell instinctively took a step back. Shockingly, a feral snarl ripped from Leilani’s own lips, her nostrils flaring. But just as suddenly as her expression turned vicious as a mountain cat, it vanished. She looked up at Wendell with a tender smile as if nothing had happened. “Here,” and she held out the robe, completely ignoring Dax. “They look plain at first,” she explained in a saccharine tone. “Try it on,” she urged. With a nod, she added, “Just your tunic.” What was that? Wendell hesitated, unable to look away from her. The reaction had been instantaneous and vicious…not to mention unsettling. The lines on Leilani’s face smoothed out once more, but Wendell didn’t believe what he saw. There was something more behind that cobalt skin and ravishing smile. His chest continued to burn intensely to the point he had to grit his teeth. His hands were also shaking. That was some freaky crap! Chuck quickly stepped up, sliding between the woman and Wendell, taking the robe from her. “Excuse me my dear, he’s a good, modest boy. You can see how nervous he is, can’t you? Not something I want tainted, if you know what I mean.”

Leilani smirked, nodding gracefully as she backed away. Chuck handed the outfit to Wendell, then leaned closer, “Good thinking, son,” he whispered, stalling to make sure she didn’t see the Ithari. Quickly now, do you the words of the spell I taught you?” Wendell had been caught up in the cat woman explosion so much he'd completely forgotten about the gem. Taking off his tunic could have exposed not only the Ithari, but himself as the hero! He gulped. Gotta be more careful! Wendell blinked and then nodded, “I-I think so.” Chuck grinned, “Go on, then. Quickly.” Turning his back, Wendell opened his tunic wide and placed his trembling palm over the center of his chest. You can do this, Wendell. Just those crazy words and…he let his emotions take over. The fear inside him mixed with images of being discovered and taken away from Chuck and Dax. People or creatures wanting him dead and out of the way. Suddenly his only desire was to protect the gem and himself from being discovered. …those crazy words…With a quick intake of air, he clenched his eyes tight and whispered, “Silmä inakmään.” The words, surprisingly, appeared in his mind and flowed effortlessly to his lips in a single breath. A soothing, tingling sensation washed across his chest. “Awww, modesty. That’s so cute,” Leilani purred. “It’s alright Wendell, I’ve seen a bare chest before.” Understanding with new clarity, Wendell wasn’t going to be fooled by her. Not like this one, lady. All he heard were her mocking tones. “Why don’t you…” the wizard started to say, but when he glanced at Wendell’s chest, he grinned wide. “Well done, young man,” he whispered, “you’re first successful spell!” Pulling the tunic from Wendell’s shoulders, he said loudly, “… dressing stall, so you don’t make a mess.” “Oh, he’s perfectly alright,” Leilani sighed hungrily, eyeing Wendell’s bare back and licking her lips, “I don’t mind.” Dax growled deeply again.

“It’s okay, I can change right here.” Wendell slid an arm through the sleeve of the black cloth, which felt unlike anything he’d ever experienced before. It was smooth, like warm oil massaged over his skin. There was absolutely no friction. Hey, that’s kinda nice! He slid his other arm in and wrapped the cloth around his torso. “This is the most comfortable thing I’ve ever…” It immediately constricted, hugging his flesh. “Uh,…” Wendell stammered, his hands releasing his hold on the cloth. “Chuck?” he looked nervously at the wizard. “Is it supposed to do this? It’s… squeezing me.” “Well why wouldn’t it?” Leilani giggled. The robe rippled and shifted across Wendell’s skin, like dozens of fingers pulling and adjusting. The cloth separated at his hips, forming two pieces, each part sliding dow to each leg. Without stopping, the robe wrapped around each thigh, rolling down his legs. The sensation was odd enough, but it also forced the cotton tros Wendell was wearing down to his ankles! “WooOAAAHH!” Wendell blurted, his arms now shooting out to his sides, eyes wide as saucers. “Guys? It’s unDRESSING me!” With a blunt ‘chink’, the small pouch of coins jingled and hit the floor. Wendell flailed, trying to cover himself. “You alright there, son?” asked the wizard, stifling a laugh as Wendell fumbled about. “Oh for goodness,” Dax grunted annoyed, “You’re not exposed kid, just relax and let the mägoweave do it’s work!” “But it feels like I’m naked!” Wendell hissed. “That’s the brilliance of the magical cloth, son,” Chuck smirked. He gave his own hips a rotation in his dingy grey robes, “Light as a feather, strong as steel..yet let’s you feel free.” Wendell frowned, “Ew, Chuck.” “What?”

“Amazing,” Leilani clapped her hands together, “it’s actually taking to him!” Walking around Wendell slowly, “Just relax. It’s an unusual experience the first time, I know, but it’s perfectly safe.” “It’s changing!” Wendell clamored as the cloth shifted, pinched, twisted and moved over his skin. “No,” Leilani shook her head, “it’s learning.” “Learning?” “About you. About your shape, how you move, where you’re strong and where you’re not. The mägoweave will test the temperature of your skin and adjust the size of the gaps between the fibers to make sure you remain comfortable.” The sleeves shrank back from his wrists, up his arms and stopped over his biceps. The warm sensation tickled between his toes, molding around his feet and hardening into shoes. “Most importantly,” she continued, watching the cloth morph, “the true magic of mägoweave is its ability to know what you want to look like…and obey.” In minutes the robe had transformed into an identical set of jeans and the black tshirt worn by the mannequin. “Wow!” Wendell exclaimed. “This feels…great! They look just like my clothes back home.” He did a few deep knee bends and twists, then pulled on the shirt to look at the smiley. He even had a cool pair of black and white sneakers in double wide, with arch . “AWESOME!” He looked up at Leilani, “I’ll take it!” She grinned, triumphant, “Excellent choice.” Pulling the outfit from the mannequin, Leilani neatly folded it, pushing and squishing it until the cloth fit once more into the tiny box. Smiling at Wendell, she fluttered her eyes. “By the way, you look very handsome.” “Woah!” startled Dax, jumping back from Wendell. Whipping his hand up, he jabbed a thick finger in the direction of the smiley face. “Did you see that?” “See what?” asked Wendell.

“Your shirt—it moved!” Dax shot a warning glance at Chuck before looking more closely at Wendell. Wendell looked down. Sure enough, the eyes had gone starry and its tongue was hanging out, drooling. It was focused on Leilani. “Well, I’ll be,” whispered Chuck, “It’s an emoticon.” Poking Wendell’s shirt he warned, “You lucky dog, only seen a few of those in the whole of my life! Usually magic put into paintings to make them look alive, but it’s the same principle. Hmmm. Better be careful, son. That little guy could give away your secrets if you’re not careful.” Wendell frowned and the smiley frowned with him. “What do you mean?” The wizard tugged on the yellow portion of the cloth—the smiley making a mock attempt to bit his fingers. “I mean that everything you actually feel will be displayed by this thing on your shirt. See? You frown, it frowns. The trouble is, no matter what you look like on the outside, this emoticon will show the truth of what you’re feeling on the inside.” Wendell looked over at Dax and the smiley immediately turned red and scowled. “Great!” Dax grumbled, rolling his eyes. Shuffling his feet, Wendell spun around and quickly folded his arms across his chest. All the sudden, his face felt really hot. “Nuh-uh,” Dax was shaking his head. “This is a bad idea. I don’t like it. Take it off—we’ll find something else for you to wear.” “No way!” complained Wendell, “You brought me here, you said I got to pick, and this is what I want.” “We’ll take the set,” Chuck announced firmly. Snatching the coin purse from the floor, he pulled both Wendell and Dax to the front counter. Getting out a ledger, Leilani recorded the sale and leaned forward over the desk to accentuate her voluptuous bosom. She said, “That’ll be 60 gold.” She puckered her lips at Wendell as she said gold.

Wendell immediately averted his eyes, coughing uncomfortably. The smiley face blushed bright red. “See?!” snapped Dax, nearly swallowing his cigar. “Wait…60 GOLD?! As in COINS?? That’s robbery woman! We wanna set of clothes, not an entire herd of pixy-dust-sucking sheep to start our own ENTERPRISE!! ” But Wendell was already pulling out coins from the pouch and setting them on the counter. “One…two…three…” he counted. Leilani looked at Dax impatiently, “Let me remind you—that you are purchasing three sets! That’s only 20 gold an outfit…and that’s substantially lower than any other inventory!!” “She’s right, monkey.” Chuck ran a finger over the red wood of the small box. “Back in the day, the going rate for the robes I’m wearing now would be a 500 gold or more.” Dax coughed, “We are talking actual COINS here, right? Who in their right mind would…,” but he gave the wizard a single glance and shook his head. “Never mind.” Impatiently, he grabbed the pouch from Wendell’s hands and started shaking it upside down. But nothing came out. Dax shook the pouch harder. “What the…??” He pulled the string open and looked into the bag. It looked full and jingled when he rattled it from side to side, but nothing came out when he tipped it over. Shoving his fingers into the sack, Dax couldn’t feel anything but the cloth of the bag. “What the crap is going on!??” Leilani looked at him casually. “Is there a problem, gentlemen?” “Only with your prices,” he grumbled and shoved the bag back into Wendell’s hands. Smiling, Wendell casually tipped the tiny bag over and poured a pile of coins onto the counter—much more than the container should have been able to carry.

Leilani’s greedy eyes lit up, her smile unbecoming. Dax scowled and shook his head in disgust. “Wizards.” Well, that and something about the wiles of women and the damnable practices of sales people…but no one payed any attention. When the last coin was counted out loud, Dax looked at Leilani bitterly. “Take it, witch.” Grabbing Wendell by the seat of his pants, he shoved the teen out the door, the wizard in tow. As soon as they were across the walkway, Wendell pulled himself free. “What is wrong with you?!” he snapped. “What have I done to you, Dax? I’ve listened to your rules, I’m minding my own business and doing what I’m told—so why do you keep shoving me around like I’m some punk!?!” Dax yanked on the t-shirt and pulled Wendell’s face down to his own. Struggle as he did, Dax’s strength kept him in place. A gentle hand rested on Dax’s shoulder. “Force will never work,” Chuck whispered. “Not with this one, Monkey.” The sudden release of his shirt send Wendell stumbling backwards. “Fine. Fine!” Rubbing his temple with broad fingers, Dax took several deep breaths. “I’m sorry kid. I…I ain’t a babysitter, but I keep forgettin’ you got stuck as much as I did.” Wendell stood upright, brushing himself off. “Truth is, you ain’t done nuthin’ to me, and…” “Go on,” Chuck nudged him. “You’ve been doin’ good on the rules, kid. Takes practice anyway and we’re gonna be together a hell of a…” “Language.” Dax glared at the wizard. “You want the apology or the grammar? Cause ya

don’t get both.” Chuck raised both hands. “We’re gonna me together a long time, kid. That means learnin’ ta trust each other, an I can’t expect ya to trust if I’m pushin’ you around.” waving a hand, “So I’m sorry, okay?” Wendell just stared blankly. “Okay?” Dax repeated. Again, nothing. “Fine. Whatever. You be pissed at me, but I’m gonna do my job! First lesson— NEVER flirt with a female in the Black Market, unless you are sure what she is.” Dax sneered back at Leilani through the shop window. The woman was counting her coins, sparing an occasional glance in their direction. “Are your shorts in a bunch?” asked the wizard, “Because you do get ornery when…” “She’s Tioshian, Chuck. That’s why I’m on edge. Figured it out when the servant girl was lookin’ so worried ‘bout the kid. She played ya both—heavy incense, picking the right one, snarlin’ at me, sniffin’ him like he was dinner?” He glared at the wizard intensely, “She felt him up, too…seeing how much meat’s on him!” “What are you TALKING about?” gasped Wendell, his stomach suddenly knotting up. The conversation had turned from odd to downright disturbing. Dax walked up and poked Wendell’s shirt, “Crazy cult of broads batting their eyes at chumps like you. They find the rich ones, marry ‘em, rob ‘em and then gut ‘em for a BBQ!” “What?” Wendell’s stomach lurched, the smiley had suddenly turned putrid green. “You couldn’t just let me believe she liked me?” “Sure she liked ya…for dinner. She’s a cannibal, Wendell. A sexy one, sure…but a killer to the core.”

C..c..c…cannibal!?? Wendell looked back through the front window. Leilani had pulled out a small mirror and was examining her hair and face. She looped strands of hair behind an ear, then pouted her lips. Wendell stared as she blinked her eyelashes and finally gave the mirror a full smile for the first time. As if on cue, she looked up, made eye …and licked her rows of pointed teeth.

Chapter 16 Next Stop

There is a particular principle the Universe is constantly trying to teach us. It’s called timing. There is a time and a season for everything. A time to laugh, to cry, to celebrate, to love and to mourn. There’s even a time to act and a time for patience. The key is: The Universe is setting up the domino’s for you…you just have to see it.

Unappreciated, Perspicacious was one of the less frequented shops deep in the Black Market, but one of Chuck’s favorites. The shop proprietor, Dathern Istul had an obsession with knowledge and a talent for collecting extraordinary tidbits of information. It was no surprise that his shop was known for its unusual, rare and unequalled library. Wendell wasn’t sure how they ended up here. First, the wizard was speaking fondly of the shop owner and then all of a sudden he had a great idea. “Let’s get the boy some reading materials. He needs some schooling.” “Yeah,” Wendell said with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm, “I just graduated from High School a few days ago…what about my summer break?” but they ignored him. I was going to take a year off before I went to community college, he grumbled to himself, frustrated. Thoughts of psychotic grandmothers and cannibalistic supermodels continued to litter his mind and he shivered. Ever since the old woman had grabbed his arm,

Wendell couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched. He looked behind them and gratefully, found nothing. Coming up to the Perspicacious shop, there was a stubby little man pounding on the door. Wendell wouldn’t mistake him for a child, there was too much facial hair, but he couldn’t have been much more than three feet tall. “Höbin Luckyfeller!” shouted the wizard, “So good to see you!” The gnome turned to face them, wearing an agitated expression. Wendell did a double take. The left side of his bald skull was encased in metal. In place of his left eye was a telescopic-looking device and for an ear, a metal stub. A cyborg!? In stunning contrast to the metallic hardware and tanned skin, the snow white bundles of hair gave him a distinctively uncivilized look. The wild explosions over his ears could put Einstein’s to shame, a bushy mustache that rivaled any walrus, eyebrows like bloated, fuzzy caterpillars, sideburns like chipmunk cheeks and a comparatively tame beard that tapered off into two pony tails. And that was just his head. “Chuck, my friend.” The gnome leaned against the door, rattling it again. He looked at the wizard, concerned. “We had an appointment, Istul and I, but it’s locked.” Wendell could tell by the tone in Höbin’s voice that that was unusual. Chuck frowned, “What would possess that man to lock his doors? He hasn’t left the Market in over a decade.” “Ahem,” Wendell cleared his throat, looking for an introduction. Dax pushed between them, “Everyone shut up.” He placed a large ear against the door, the other ear twitched. After a moment, he glanced at the gnome, “You still got your tools?” Höbin rolled his eyes. “Then pick the lock. There’s definitely someone in there.” Extending his left hand, the tip of Höbin’s pinky finger popped back to reveal a tiny pick. In a snap, the lock clicked and the door swung open.

“Cool,” grinned Wendell. Cautiously stepping into the store, Chuck called out. “Istul?” “I’m c-closed this afternoon,” a faint voice called from the back, “P-please come b-back tomorrow.” In a flurry, the wizard wound through the narrow maze toward the voice, Wendell, Dax and Höbin close behind. It was plain to see Istul’s fervor for information. Each shelf, and there were many, was stacked full, even two rows deep in most places. That did not deter Istul from acquiring yet another and another and another volume—until he was quite literally swaddled tightly in neat towers of books. It was obvious that he treasured each one—not a speck of dust, nor cobweb could be found anywhere. As they worked deeper into the shop, Wendell ed a small nook nestled in the midst of Istul’s treasures, with a simple wood table and stool. The work space was laid out with a stack of parchment, an ink well and several newly cut quills. The only clutter in the shop being the shavings and knife that had been brushed aside. A single volume in faded brown leather lay open, a tattered bookmark in its folds and a candle lamp. In the shape of a young plant, the lamp extended a single leaf where the remaining nub of a candle waited. “Look,” whispered Wendell, pointing further into the shop where a dim light glowed. Several piles of books were strewn across the narrow way. A pair of spectacles glinted in the lamp light, twisted and smashed in the isle, fragments of glass littering the floor. Höbin and Dax rushed forward together. Chuck, however, stayed his ground and stomped his staff on the floor with a heavy thump. Light flared throughout the room. “ISTUL!” he boomed. “Here!” shouted Höbin, his voice anxious. “I found him!!” Chuck dashed off, the blaze of light following overhead. Wendell came around the last bookshelf and stopped short. In a back corner, a frail looking old man was reclining in a stuffed leather chair, taking the

handkerchief being offered to him by Chuck. He wiped the blood from a broken nose and swollen, split lip. Shocked, Wendell’s heart went out to him. The gentleman looked so very frail to begin with and he’d obviously taken a beating. Small scratched and cuts across his cheeks and brow, a heavy swelling under one eye. Who would do such a thing? The blood from his wounds was fresh and still glistened in his thin beard—dark shadows becoming visible across his cheek and throat. “Dathern Istul, I have not seen you so worn or battered in…” Reaching out, he patted the wizard’s hand. “T-thank you, friend,” he whispered, then coughed hoarsely into the handkerchief. Dathern then looked to the gnome. “I’m alright,” and tried to smile, but his attention was drawn away from them, old eyes searching the shelves. “Who did this?” demanded Höbin, his voice gruff. “Who in their right mind would attack one of the Market’s oldest citizens?” “That’s the point now, ain’t it,” fumed Dax, “Those who did this weren’t IN their right mind. I’ll grab the Sentry.” “They t-t-terrified T-Tilly,” Istul murmured, and Dax stopped in his tracks. “I ddon’t have my glasses to find her.” He looked to the wizard, overly distraught. “She hissed at t-them when they g-grabbed me,” he took a breath, “…and t-they threw her ac-cross the r-room!” He looked over their shoulders again, eyes searching blindly…desperately. “T-Tilly,” he called weakly, “where are you, my darling? P-please answer me!” The gnome leaned forward, gripping the old mans hand, then patted it lightly, “We’ll find her, Dathern,….but tell us—who did this to you?” Istul paused, taking each of them into his confidence. “It’s j-just like you said, Chuck,” he whispered, “It’s T-thule. He’s sent his men throughout the land…l-llooking for the Hero.” Trembling fingers rested upon his forehead. “They know the young man will be coming soon. How they know or what they know, I…” Wendell’s sharp intake of air caused Chuck to spin around and glare at him. It was a clear warning. But the wizard thought better of it and said firmly, “Dax, I want you to take the boy to the front of the store. See if there are any books that grab his attention.”

“T-Tilly,” repeated Istul, waving the bloody handkerchief, “p-please find her. She has to be hurt for her not to answer me.” Dax nodded and shoved Wendell out of view. Before Wendell could fully digest the fact that Thule was looking for him, at this very moment, and he was being redirected, like a child, to not participate in a conversation that directly involved him, Dax had pushed and shoved him to the front door. “Thule’s here?! In the Market?!” Wendell hissed down at Dax, panic swelling in his gut. “Lower your voice, kid,” warned Dax. Glancing at Wendell’s shirt, he was glad that whatever enchantment it possessed had the smarts to play dumb right now. The smiley was frozen in its original cheeky grin. “The BOY?” Wendell blurted in a tense whisper, incensed by the implication. “Is that all I am? Just some kid tagging along? Well I’m not just anybody, Dax, and you know it! I want to know what is going on. I should know what is going on!” “You don’t understand…” “No—I don’t!” Wendell snapped, forcing himself again to keep his volume low, “And I never will unless you two start including me in some of the decisions and gathering of information around here! There are goons out there looking for me to do who-knows-what to me and I’m being push out of the room to avoid having a conversation with the grownups! You have no right to…” Dax pounced at him, the movement so fast that Wendell recoiled. “Look!” Dax sneered, bearing his teeth in a snarl, “There’s a time and place for things—and this ain’t either, not for yer two-year old tantrum…GOT IT!? Now shut it and help me find Tilly!” Wendell fumed, his face flush. His fists clenched tight as his mind reeled with sharp, sarcastic rebuttals, but he held his tongue. Instead, he grit his teeth and turned away. Thule is here AND he’s looking for me, AND I’m being excused AND shushed! I

figured this was going to be tough—but I thought Chuck and Dax were supposed to help me! He glared over his shoulder at Dax, by the front door, shuffling around the stacks of books. The sooner I understand, the sooner I can protect myself and do this on my own. The letter was right, I can’t trust anyone. Right? Right. I mean, if someone is trying to kill me, shouldn’t I be the first to know? Thule even went so far as to beat up an old man to find out about me, in a hidden community where the laws are supposed to protect against such problems? The Black Market was a bad idea. His hands trembled. “Who’s Tilly?” he asked in a monotone. Dax worked his way down the isle next to Wendell. “Istul’s angel.” “His, huh? We’re looking for an…angel?” Now who’s gone from rude to stupid? Dax peeked around the end of the isle, searching. “Angels. Little furry creatures. Makes cute sounds. Very clever. Big eyes, about as big as your forearm…it’s Dathern’s pet.” Wendell stared back. “So, not like a person in white robes with wings sticking out of their back?” “What the crud are ya talkin’ about?” Wendell shook his head, “Never mind.” Dax rolled his huge eyes, “Did ya think that old man’s actually capable of keepin’ this place so spotless by himself? Look around, kid. There’s not a single speck of dust on these books.” “Hadn’t thought about it,” Wendell lied. He had to it it did seem rather amazing. He ran a finger along the top of a shelf. Spotless. “Maybe he uses magic,” he added. Dax scoffed, “Istul? Hah. Magic ain’t as common as ya might think, kid—and most human folk are afraid of it. Especially farmers, holy men and let’s not forget the politicians…people who don’t like what the don’t understand or can’t control. Those who use magic are under the protection of the King, but they’re careful about what they do and in front of who they do it. Dathern doesn’t touch the stuff if he can help it. Not that he’s afraid of it, though. He understands more

than most, but he stays clear of it whenever he can. Now pay attention—Tilly could be anywhere.” Wendell wandered through the narrow maze, trying to refocus his attention and cool down. It didn’t just annoy him to be ignored and pushed around, it angered him. The last thing I want is to start getting pushed around here from another set of bullies. Rounding a corner, a tiny blue spine caught Wendell’s attention. It was hiding among the thick, faded, black and brown volumes piled on the floor. A few specks of what looked to be dried blood were on the floor, next to the pile. Did they knock you around in here, Istul? Trying to avoid the goons who attached you maybe? The book looked completely out of place, practically glowing in its dark environment—standing out like a sore thumb. Just like me. Wendell pulled it from the dog pile formation and held the book up close to his face, having to squint at the small type. The Pilgrims Pocketbook of People, Places, Predicaments and Pain: The perfect panacea for prepubescent adventurers…by Höbin Luckyfeller? As in, the little cyborg guy I just met? He smirked. This ought to be interesting. Wendell turned to walk away, tapping the small book against his palm, but something caused him to stop mid-step. It was almost imperceptible. A soft, shuddering sound…breathing, he thought, then a high-pitched sobbing. Turning his head, Wendell strained his ears, listening. Sure enough, he heard it again. Sobbing. Stepping quietly, Wendell inched toward the sound. At the end of the isle, where the shelves met the wall, another pile of books littered the floor. This one was considerably bigger, volumes of reference books clumped together with cracked spines and torn pages laying about. Wendell looked closer. The largest book in the pile, an encyclopedia, slowly rose and fell in place. Kneeling down, Wendell crawled around the edge of the pile… and found a slender, blue tail jutting out from under the books.

“Tilly?” he whispered. The sobbing sounds immediately ceased. Ever-so-slowly, the tail curled up into a ball and slid under the books, disappeared from view. Wendell wasn’t sure what to do. What if the animal is in the habit of biting those it doesn’t know? What if, but he shook his head. This is stupid. Dathern is concerned for this little creature and loves it dearly. He seems harmless enough, which means it’s highly unlikely he’d have some ravenous pet, right? But he still hesitated. Right. He decided to risk it. “Tilly, it’s ok,” he said softly. Wendell took a deep breath. Reaching out, he slowly slide his fingers under the edge of the largest book on top. Please don’t be a creepy, ugly thing that bites. “Dathern asked me to find you.” At the mention of the merchants name, Wendell heard a tiny gasp, then the sobbing resumed. It turned out that Tilly…was a blue ball of fur—or at least she looked like one, at first. Trapped between the volumes of leather-bound knowledge, she was nearly folded in half, her limbs pinned under the weight of books almost twice her size and weight. Her body was long and sleek, with pink hands and feet that reminded Wendell a great deal of a spider monkey. Lifting her tiny head up at Wendell, the round crystal-clear eyes stared at him, capturing his full attention. They sparkled like diamonds. They also encomed most of her oval face, nestled between two cat-like ears. Tears matted the long lashes and the fur of her cheeks. Her nose, two pink, slittedstubs, poked out over her tiny mouth, quivering. As Wendell reached for her, she cringed. Her ears quickly laid flat against her head and small, slender hands grasped onto the corner of a book. Her fur ruffled in a wave, from head to the tip of her tail, instantly changing from blue to the cium yellow of the volume she clasped onto.

You poor thing… “It’s ok,” Wendell said softly with a smile, “I’m going to take you to Dathern, ok?” He was about to criticize himself for talking so plainly, when Tilly nodded. Wendell raised an eyebrow, curious, “You…understand me?” Big eyes blinked. Another nod. Her fur, like a setting sun over the horizon, faded from yellow back to blue. “Wow,” he gasped. “Ok then—I’m going to lift you up…try…not to move.” He reached down, sliding his fingers awkwardly between books, under her shoulders and hips, scooping Tilly out from the pile. She flinched and let out a sharp squeak as he lifted. “I’m sorry,” Wendell frowned, moving slower, “So sorry, Tily—I’ll try to be more careful.” Her fur was soft and warm to the touch. Cradling her tenderly in the crook of his arm, Wendell noticed her left leg was bent the wrong way. Her toes twitched and he could see they were darker than the digits on her good foot. Drat. That definitely looks broken. Hope Dathern will know what to do. Holding onto the shelves, Wendell use it to rise steadily. Maybe Chuck can heal her? Tilly looked up at Wendell, blinking repeatedly. “It’s going to be alright,” he said calmly, a coo escaping his lips. The corners of her small mouth curled up in an innocent smile. Turning her head inward, she snuggled against his chest, purring like a house cat—her long tail wrapping around Wendell’s wrist. He couldn’t help but smile. Oh, you are SO adorable! Working his way through the small labyrinth of shelves and scattered books, Wendell paused at the desk, nestled int he nook of the shop. Holding Tilly made Wendell happy. Maybe it was the innocence, or perhaps the

soft purring that appealed to him—he wasn’t quite sure. All Wendell knew, was that he adored this little creature and felt an urge to protect her. Laughter burst throughout the shop, startling Wendell. Tilly, surprisingly, didn’t react at all, staying neatly snuggled against his shirt. Chuck continued to laugh as Höbin said something unintelligible. The three men wandered up to the desk, Dathern Istul hobbling along with the help of a cane. The bruises had taken their place along his face, neck and arms now, showing their purple and black streaks across pale skin. The wizard waved Wendell forward. “Dathern, I’d like to introduce you to Wendell.” Reaching out, Dathern offered his hand, then pulled it back. “P-pleasure to mmeet…OH!” he exclaimed, gasping in delight. “Tilly, my b-baby girl!” He looked at Wendell appreciatively, “Where d-did you find her?” “Over in that isle, sir,” he started to say, “I think she’s…” but before he could finish, Tilly leapt up from Wendell’s arm and stood up on his shoulder. A tiny hand grasped a lock of his hair, her slender tail wrapping around his neck, the tip caressing Wendell’s chin. “…hurt,” Wendell finished, though no one took notice. Tilly let out several melodious notes, then rubbed her face against Wendell’s cheek, purring. Dathern laughed, “I see you’ve m-made a n-new friend, little one! I’m glad yyou were not harmed by those n-nasty people. N-now come h-help me.” She jumped from Wendell’s shoulder onto the table. Wendell’s mouth dropped open as he watched her move freely about. Her leg… it’s healed! But it was bent the wrong way!? Running to the corner of the desk, she hung off the edge and lifted up a slender brown ledger from a small pile stacked on the floor with her tail. Her nimble hands snatched up a small box nearby, flipped it open and struck a match. She lit the candle stub in the holder as she placed the book in front of her master and

flipped it open with the end of her tail. The old merchant scratched her behind her ears appreciatively, but when she looked up at Dathern, she cocked her head to the side. The shopkeeper smiled. “Missing something?” he whispered, tapping the end of his nose. Tilly trilled, her tiny teeth showing in her unique smile. Climbing onto his shoulder, she wrapped her tail around his neck and leaned forward. Hanging from the old man’s vest, her tiny hands pulled at the narrow front drawer of the table until it slid open. Shuffling around, Tilly found a small case, popped it open and pulled out a set of wire-rimmed glasses. Kicking the drawer shut with a hind foot, she scampered up Dathern’s arm and stood on his shoulder. With deft precision, she placed the glasses on his nose, adjusting them several times. Satisfied, she nodded and her fur turned a brilliant green. She kissed the old man’s cheek and hopped onto the table, sitting quietly at one corner. “Avid r-reader, I hope?” the shopkeeper asked, looking at Wendell over his spectacles. Wendell smiled, but only half-heartedly. “Yes sir. Love books.” Do I still have to be polite, he wondered, looking between them, my life is in danger and they ‘re all acting like this is just another happy day in the neighborhood. The shop keeper grinned and gave him a wink, “G-good lad. T-thank you for rescuing TTilly. D-didn’t mean to s-scare you b-back there—all the b-blood.” He smiled broadly, which made his eyes smile doubly so. “V-vallen,” he scoffed, eyebrows arched, “Who k-knew they could read?” He glanced at the small blue book in Wendell’s hands and pointed at it. “Good bbook, that is. One of my f-favorites. Out of p-print though. Gnomes refused to ddo a r-reprint. Shame. That’ll g-give you spot knowledge, but not a p-proper education.” “Isn’t Höbin…” “Brilliant, amazing and all around good looking?” chimed the gnome loudly. “Well,” he grinned and tapped the metal shell on his head with a knuckle, “two

outta three isn’t too bad.” He took the book from Wendell and shook his head, “Don’t bother with that rubbish,” he said scornfully, sliding it across the desk to Dathern. He looked at the shopkeeper with feigned sternness, “Why do you hang on to this garbage?” The merchant grinned, handing the book to Tilly, “C-collectibles. W-waiting for y-you to k-kick off before I c-collect.” He looked at Wendell and winked. “Bought fifty copies.” “Yes, well,” said Chuck, lifting his bag from his shoulder and plopping it onto the table, “Do you have my order ready, Istul?” “Y-yes,” he replied, plopping down onto the stool and letting out a sigh of relief. The old shopkeeper looked utterly exhausted. Tapping a tall collection at the side of the table, he asked, “Höbin, w-would you m-mind? Thank you.” The collection, when stacked, nearly reached the brim of the wizard’s hat. Istul looked around the volumes and grinned wide at Wendell, “Good t-thing you like b-books!” “What?” responded Wendell, confused. Those can’t all be for me, can it? Chuck wiggled in front of him, looking over the titles. “Sanctuary, Iskari & Gatelore,” and Höbin rolled his eyes. “The Black Market, A Comprehensive Guide, very useful for finding your way around here when you need to know which merchants to . Oh, good, you did find another copy of Humar— The Land of Seven Kings!” “Last one available, I’m afraid,” Dathern replied. “Does this need to be copied, then?” Dathern shook his head, “I have the original, this was a spare. You’re fine.” Chuck grinned, “Oh and here’s one of my absolute favorites, The Races We Love To Hate!” He beamed at Wendell, “Incredible histories, that one, just… don’t read it alone…in the dark. You’ll wet the bed with that one.” Wendell grimaced.

“Did you buy ANYthing that wasn’t written by me?” Höbin complained. “The poor kid’s going to think you’re partial, Morph.” “Nonsense,” Chuck laughed, “I like your aggressive view of the world, my little friend. You short change yourself too often.” “Whatever,” sighed the gnome. “You’ve been partial ever since I was five years old.” The wizard grinned, though he didn’t look up from the book he was thumbing through. “Clever and wise, Höbin Luckyfeller, not partial. I knew you’d be famous some day…and I was right.” Dax chuckled, “Let it go, Hob—you know you won’t win.” Chuck gave the elf a wink. One by one, the wizard placed the books into the thin bag, each volume disappearing entirely. “And for a little light reading, we’ll give the lad Prestidigitation & Legerdemain-Why Wands Are For Wusses & Brooms Are For Bums.” With a thunk, he dropped the giant volume into the bag, leaving the desk clear. Höbin flashed Chuck a wide grin, “Now that’s one even I like…and I didn’t write it.” “No one’s perfect,” the wizard shrugged. Wendell couldn’t help but poke the bag with a finger. It felt as empty as it looked. “How much do I owe you, my friend?” asked Chuck, flipping the strap back over his shoulder. Istul opened the ledger and did the math. “One,” he said casually. The wizard reached into his sleeve and pulled out three gold coins, placing them on the desk. “T-too m-much,” stammered Dathern, averting his eyes. He lightly shoved two

coins back in Chuck’s direction. “A deposit,” the wizard said calmly. “I want a copy of what was taken and what was asked about. Can you do that? If I owe you more, I’ll settle when the order is ready.” The merchant didn’t nod right away. When he finally did, Tilly snatched the coins from the edge of the table. Jumping to his shoulder, she placing them securely in her masters vest pocket. “Say,” blurted Höbin cheerfully, “why don’t you boys follow me back to the tavern!” He looked up at the wizard and over to Dax with a you know you want to look. “I’ll buy,” he grinned, displaying his yellow dentures. He tapped the table with his metal hand, “You too, Dathern. You certainly look like you could use a break…and some friendly company!” He poked the old merchant with a finger, “I’ll even buy Tilly some fruit.” The angel trilled softly at the offer, clapping her tiny hands. “T-thank you, but no,” Dathern answered, “I’ve got m-much work to d-do.” Höbin nodded, disappointed, but he knew not to push. “We should report what happened to you to the authorities,” Wendell said, jumping in, “the guards seems pretty strict around here—they…” “Won’t do a blasted thing,” Dax scoffed. Wendell looked between them. Dathern frowned, avoiding eye . Tilly, seeing the worry of her master, stroked his thinning hair with her tiny fingers. “But you said that the laws here were…” “They won’t do a blasted thing, kid,” Dax cut him off again, “because Dathern won’t let them.” Wendell opened his mouth, but caught Höbin shaking his head. Okay. Never mind. “My offer still stands, you know,” said the wizard. Chuck had a stern, yet not

unpleasant expression on his face. Wendell could have sworn Chuck looked concerned—his eyes studying the merchant’s every twitch. He stood there, one hand firmly around his staff, the other gripping the bag strap…unmoving, unblinking, waiting for a reply. Dathern looked tenderly at his furry little helper, but not at the wizard. His sigh was accompanied by hunching shoulders. “Thank you, b-but no.” He pulled the soiled handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his eyes. “All things happen for a reason.” “Then we’ll be off,” was Chucks only reply. He shook the merchants hand once more, “Take care of yourself, Istul. I’ll be back in a fortnight to check on that book order.” At the door, Wendell looked back, peering between the isles. Something’s not right here… Dathern pulled off his glasses and let them fall from his fingers to the table. Still hunched over—he slapped the cover shut and slid the brown ledger to his chest, gripping it tightly. He slowly, silently, rocked in place. “Come on, kid!” snapped Dax from down the path. Tilly turned her head towards the door, her crystal eyes reflecting the light of the waning candle stub. Tears rolled across her cheeks.

Chapter 17 Roadkill Tavern

There are times when you need to be heard. You have thoughts, you have feelings, you have opinions just like everyone else around you--but for some, annoying reason, you feel invisible. It’s hard when you’re a good-natured person, like Wendell, to stand up to those around you. But sometimes, that’s exactly what you have to do.

Wendell followed behind in silence, glaring at anyone who looked back. This ‘field trip’ was not going as he expected. Not a single apology…no explanation whatsoever. Just push me out of the way and move on. Right. That’s how it’s going to be, is it? Led by Höbin, they left Perspicacious and walked towards the heart of the Black Market. The Market was alive and buzzing, people laughing and talking merrily in the moist, smokey air. Höbin looked back and did a double-take at the contortions on Wendell’s face— deep in his mental complaining mode. What was even more disturbing, was the smiley face mimicking each expression on his shirt. The gnomes eyes grew wide as the yellow face grit its teeth, it’s cheeks turning crimson red. He poked Chuck, worried. “Is he…ok?” The wizard nodded, then leaned closer to the gnome. “Kids,” he muttered, “You can’t live with them,…can’t sell them off. He’ll be fine.” Dax started to laugh, then stopped abruptly. “Hey, was that a crack at me, old man?” “Course not monkey—you were the model teenager.”

Dax grinned to himself, “That’s what I thought.” “For a runaway convict.” Dax cringed, “Hey—I apologized for that!” Chuck threw his hands in the air, his staff floating beside him as he walked, “It was THE WHOLE VILLAGE, Dax! 65 years I’d been going there. I take you to an island paradise just once…and why? Because you begged and you PROMISED to be good, to BEHAVE and what did you do? You got me blacklisted!” “Wow,” grumbled Dax, “you ever gonna let that go? How was I supposed to know that a place, surrounded by water, would be so flammable?” “Helllloooo…,” Chuck cried, “GRASS SKIRTS?? Tribal fire dances aren’t intended for audience participation!!” Snarling to himself, he snatched the staff up with a free hand, “Burping cannon of fire, he says…still not funny.” Dax folded his arms, grumbling, “At least I ported us outta there.” “Bah!” scoffed the wizard, “You didn’t do me any favors!” A glazed look descended over the wizards face and he whimpered softly, “Oka l’a, Palusami, Taro Root, Green Banana’s, Fausi, Taisi Moa and Kava” he wiggled his fingers in the air, “…and little flower umbrella’s with every drink…” He sniffed, wiping his nose along his sleeve, trying to choke back the tears. “Now I have to eat like white people!” Wendell listened in irritated silence. His left eye…and the left eye of the smiley, started twitching in harmony. It’s like watching two children arguing in a sandbox, completely oblivious to the world around them! He jumped back as an oversized rat shot across his path, squeaking in fearful plight—a small, wiry dog snapping in hot pursuit. The air quickly changed, carrying the stink of ripe bodies, mixed with earth and hints of cloves, saffron and sage. A small sea of patrons crowded the circular courtyard at the heart of the Market, where the light was most concentrated from the colony of snails among the stalactites. Carts and canopies surrounded a raised platform, offering trinkets, food and salves, oblivious to the hatred restrained behind them.

A stockade was mounted in the center of the platform, where a woman snarled, spat and shrieked at the crowd. Her dirty hands made clawing motions, though her wrists were securely bound by the device. Matted hair covered half of her bruised face as she screamed obscenities at the merchants below. Wendell looked uncomfortably at the woman. Her greying hair made her look as old as his mother. What could she have done to deserve that? He stopped, staring, while Chuck, Dax and Höbin kept walking, deep in conversation, completely unaware that he had fallen behind. Wendell watched them wander out of view and shook his head, irritated. “They don’t even know I’m gone,” he muttered. “Unbelievable. Why should I even bother if they don’t?” But he looked about him nervously. Fear clawed at his chest, and rightly so. Thule’s somewhere in this crowd, looking for me. He glanced down at the smiley on his shirt, which had begun to sweat. Wendell was totally out of place. “Ok, jeans and a t-shirt might not have been the best choice—I stick out like a sore thumb.” Unfortunately, there wasn’t much he could do about it now. Keeping his eyes low, Wendell moved closer to the vendors, trying hard to blend in. Maybe I better catch up to the guys after all. “Get your hands OFF me!” came an angry cry, piercing the rumble of the market, immediately followed by the sound of a sharp slap. The voice yanked Wendell’s attention away from his immediate concerns. A fat merchant held up his hands to protect his already bright red face, finger streaks across one cheek. In front of him a young girl stood just outside arms distance, her hand clenched tight, raised to strike. Her hand slowly relaxed, pointing a finger of warning, her opposite hand on a large knife at her belt. “Those hands wander again, you sick little man, I’ll make sure you lose them!” Wendell blinked in disbelief. “No,” he gasped, “That’s not possible.” The curly hair, the smooth, perfect face with dark almond eyes and full lips.

How is this even possible? Both fear and excitement pulled at him. Without a thought, Wendell waded through the patrons. She moved slowly around the circle, inspecting the goods of vendors, while Wendell, keeping several paces behind her, stared unabashed. It’s IS her! How could this be happening? It was just a dream. Just a stupid, weird…but there she was. He couldn’t deny what he beheld. The long, braided hair across her back, the tan skin of her exposed arms were a great contrast to the grey fur vest she had on. She even had the large pouch he’d seen in his dream, slung across her shoulder and chest. The only thing different was that she carried a small buckler and pearl colored club across her back. She’s real. An actual girl…of my dreams. He looked around him. Right. This… this has to be destiny! His hand went to his chest, which once more burned under his skin. He took a deep breath, sucking in air painfully. I have got to find out if this world has antacids. The girl stopped at a merchant selling wooden beads when she finally looked up and noticed Wendell’s presence. He bobbed around the flow of patrons pushing past him, trying to keep her in sight. She’s so beautiful, and he started to smile. Her expression stopped him. At first he thought she might be looking past him. Something or someone over his shoulder that he couldn’t see. But he could feel her eye’s upon him. He quickly straightened his shoulders and stood tall. You need to make a good impression. Make sure she really notices and re you. Oh, that’s a good idea, he thought—forgetting the troubles of the day. I should say something. Say hello, so I don’t seem weird, tailing her like this. He never noticed the red hearts bubbling out of the eyes of the smiley face, nor its lips blowing silent kisses at the girl. …but she did. Her posture straightened abruptly as he took a step towards her. Her eyes quickly

narrowed in warning. Wendell stopped, daunted. The girls nostril’s flared and her face contorted with disgust. In that instant, Wendell felt less than a bug, trying to crawl upon the Market floor. …after a boot has squished it. Without a word, she broke eye , turned sharply and walked away. For a long moment, Wendell just stood there, completely confused and dejected. It had always been this way with girls, which he never understood. Wendell was nice, polite, had manners and respected girls—so why didn’t they like him? He watched the back of her head disappear into the crowd and sighed. You might like me. A hand gripped Wendell’s wrist roughly and yanked him backwards through the crowd. “This is NOT the place to wander off,” snapped Dax, fiercely irritated. “What the hell is wrong with you, kid?! Can’t you, for once today, just do what I ask you to do?” Wendell flailed about in protest, pointing in the direction where the mystery girl had vanished, but it was no use. “Let GO!” he yelled, “Get your grubby, green hands OFF me!” but Dax completely ignored him, pulling him along the path. He finally stopped struggling altogether. What’s the use? She didn’t recognize me, anyway. He shook his head, reality setting in. Of course she didn’t recognize you moron. She was in a dream…your dream, not hers. The look she’d given him made his chest ache, though. He’d been spurned,

countless times before—back home on Earth…but this, actually hurt. No matter where I turn, I’m nothing. Still nothing. Dax grunted, tightening his grip, pulling Wendell down the path like a child about to be disciplined. “Have ya already forgotten rule number two? Fairy farts, kid!! You’d think with all you were told at breakfast, you’d stay focused fer five freaking minutes!” But Wendell wasn’t listening. Dax’s arrogance was just another example of the insults and bullying throughout the day. The Roadkill Tavern looked dramatically different from every other building in the Black Market. It was a lodge, lovingly crafted, to reflect the personality of its owner and benefactor. Brought in and assembled, piece by piece, to resemble the rugged mountain taverns of the famed Humär woodsmen. It was, by far, the largest building in the Market—its irregular shaped logs peeled and tightly interwoven into a stupendous edifice of strength. The Roadkill sat partnerless within the cave as if patiently waiting to be returned to the native forest from which it was hewn. Two large fire pits of layered stone slabs blazed in the small courtyard outside the entrance. The firelight frolicked across the black iron hardware of the giant wooden door. A dried and cured boars head was nailed to its center, tusks protruding from its mouth. At least Wendell thought it was a boars head. The gaping eye sockets of the pig-like creature stared at Wendell, challenging him to enter. He didn’t want to. Dax opened the front door, pulling and pushing Wendell forward. He finally had to yank the young hero off his feet and through the doorway…confused at the less than motivated attitude towards such a fine establishment. They hadn’t taken more than three steps across the plank floor, before they were hedged off by an imible wall of greasy muscle, hair, soot and dirt. The smell of smoked meats and sour ale drifted past Dax and out the front door.

“Payment,” grunted a dark haired man looming in the hallway. Impossibly broad, he nudged closer, slowly wiping his large hands onto a dirty rag hanging at his hip. Dax looked up the worn apron covered in animal blood, gravy, specks of meat and sinew clinging to the fibers…and into the unemotional face of the Taverns owner. “Wood!” he beamed cheerfully, “My friend—how’s business?” Chiseled square, Woods chin and face was roughly shaven and scarred. His right eye was black, deep and dark as the void of the night sky…his left, covered with a soiled patch of brown leather. The patch fit snug against the burned flesh of his cheek. His eye remained locked on Dax, completely ignoring the young man who now stood there, dumbfounded. Letting the cloth fall against the stained cord holding his apron in place, Wood put both anvil sized fists on his hips. “Closed to you, unless you brought coin,” the words rumbling deep from his chest. Dax grinned weakly, “But it’s been six months…I’ve paid my time.” “But you never paid for damages,” Wood challenged, his biceps and forearms flexing, making his deep scars stand out. “It cost me nears three gold coin to repair the tables, the chairs, replace three casks of ale, forty plates, thirty two mugs, replace my front windows and buy me a new goat.” He bent forward at the hips, drawing close to Dax with a sneer. “I liked that goat.” “Is there a problem, Wood?” asked Chuck, appearing cheerfully behind the tavern owner. Wood didn’t bother looking back. “There is if he don’t have gold to settle his ,” he growled, eye still locked on Dax. “Hmmm,” replied the wizard, “and what if he humbly apologizes?” He considered. “Good idea,…add it in with the gold he owes.” Wendell had stopped fuming long enough to enjoy this moment. In fact, it was becoming quite entertaining. It was nice to see the tables turned on someone

other than himself…especially if it was focused on his sarcastic guardian. “Well don’t look at me, monkey,” rebuked the wizard, waving his hand, “I won’t pay for your mistakes this time.” And with that, he turned and walked back into the great hall. Oh yeah, thought Wendell, this is definitely funny. Dax gulped and patted around his waste, pretending to look for coin he knew wasn’t there. He edged towards the door. Sweat trickled down his brow and he smiled weakly, bumping into Wendell. The expression on his face immediately shifted. “Hey kid, can you loan me a little cash?” he whispered desperately, Wood looming closer. “I know ya got piles of coin in that sack ‘o yers. I’ll pay ya back…with interest—I swear!” Wendell scoffed, disgusted, “Seriously—after the crap you put me through? Taunting me, teasing me, roughing me up and now you want my help? You have got to be joking! Why would I help you?” Wendell could see the tinge of panic in his eyes. “Because I’ll…I’ll owe you,” Dax hissed, stressing the offer. As mad as he was, the deal did sound tempting. The green little devil will owe me? I…kinda like that thought. Hmmm. Might not be a bad idea, actually. He waited long enough to see the sweat trickle more fully down Dax’s brow before answering—just for fun. “My friend owes you money sir?” Wendell finally blurted. Wood’s good eye shifted to Wendell, who quickly stepped forward and offered his hand to shake. The tavern owner just stood there, staring. “Ok,…friend might be too strong a word,” he corrected himself, rubbing his hands together awkwardly. He did want to make this believable, after all. “Acquaintance, would be more accurate.”

Dax glared at him. Powerful arms, like two gnarled cottonwood trees, folded over the apron. “He does,” Wood said in his deep, gruffly voice. Right. Wendell mustered a smile. “Would it offend you, sir, if I paid his bill? Or do you need the payment to come directly from him?” He added, looking to Dax, “I could perfectly understand wanting to make someone of his questionable character, to suffer…” Dax bit his bottom lip and stared at Wood, eyebrows crunched together in a single arch of hope. Wood raised his own in surprise, the massive arms relaxing, somewhat. “Coin is coin,” he grumbled, “So long as it ain’t stolen, don’t matter where it come from…if it’s real enough.” Wendell grinned, as did the smiley—though the shirt looked a tad more cunning. Wood didn’t notice. “Very wise. I couldn’t agree more. Did you say three gold coins?” The tavern owner didn’t flinch, but his good eye went from Wendell to Dax and back again. “That was my cost,” he replied in a monotone. Wendell paused, considering. “And you’re in business to make money, not just exchange it, of course.” He tapped his chin with his index finger. “Would four gold coins suffice then?” “Four?” repeated Wood, somewhat taken back. “Gold?” Wendell shook his head, embarrassed. “You’re right, it should be five. What was I thinking? I do apologize, that wasn’t meant as an insult. I’m new around here.” Woods arms unfolded and lowered slowly to his sides. Wendell reached into his jeans pocket, pulled out the small magical coin sack and gingerly pulled on the string. Oh please don’t make me look stupid—have

enough, please have enough… Taking his time, as if digging into his life’s savings, Wendell slowly moved the coins around with his finger. The bag looked full and most of the coins were indeed gold. Whew. But Wendell still took his time—feigned a worried look, digging deeper into the pouch, then changed to a gleeful look of relief, picking each coin out…one at a time. “I believe I have five gold in here…” he said softly to himself, though loud enough to be heard. Dax shook his head. “Kid, just give him the…” he whispered. “When someone provides good service, Dax, you pay for that service,” Wendell said aloud, openly rebuking and milking the moment. Pausing, he smiled once more at Wood, who was leaning ever-so-slightly, trying to get a peek into the little bag. “Especially when you boast about this place so much. People will think you’re rude!” Wood jerked his head back, his face contorting between disbelief and confusion. “He…boasts?” The hint of a smile tried to wrestle control away from the frown chiseled upon his face, “…about my tavern?” Wendell sighed with satisfaction and took out a small handful of coins. “Are you kidding?” he said loudly, “This tavern is just about all Dax has talked about since we got here.” It wasn’t a complete lie—after all, Dax was hungry. “The food, the atmosphere and especially the,” he squinted his eyes, stuck in his bluff, “finest drink in the Market?” Ehhh…that sounded like a question, not a statement. “Blackseed Rum!” boasted Wood, puffing his chest out in pride. Wendell chuckled, quickly snapping his fingers. “That must be it! My apologizes, I’ve never had it myself. Never had rum at all, actually.” Whew… close one. He dropped the coins into Woods gigantic hand. “I hope that will cover Dax’s bill.” Wood counted the coins and looked up, wide-eyed. “Six?!” Wendell let his expression fall, “Not enough?”

“No—NO, this is fine,” the big man grinned wide, “fine indeed!” Wendell beamed, this time watching Dax from the corner of his eye. The goblin looked as if he was about to faint. “I’ve spent enough time with Dax to understand why you could be upset.” Wendell squinted and gave the tavern owner a nod, dropping his voice to a nearwhisper, “Let’s just call that interest for pain and suffering.” Woods barrel chest heaved as his laughter exploded through the tavern. Placing the coins in a pocket under the dirty rag, he patted his new treasure and stood aside, motioning Wendell and Dax into the tavern. “I thank you master…” “Wendell.” “Master Wendell,” Wood added. Wendell shook his head. “No. Just ‘Wendell’, please. My friends call me Wendell.” Wood considered, then grinned himself. “Then welcome…Wendell.” Pointing down at Dax, who was still shocked at the owners affected mood, he boomed loudly, “Any man who’s willing pay the tab of this lot is certainly a friend of mine!” This time it was Wood who extended a hand, and Wendell gladly accepted it. Dax started to walk off, when Wendell cleared his throat. “Ahem.” Dax stopped and looked back. He stared at Wendell until he finally snapped. “What!?” Wendell held a hand up towards Wood and grinned wide, “I believe you owe this man an apology…in addition to the gold?” He smirked, but the smiley face was already laughing hysterically.

Dax looked from Wood, to Wendell, then back to the tavern owner. His shoulders sagged. “I’m…sorry…Wood.” Wood snickered and shook his head in disbelief. “Oh—HO! Well don’t that just shock the tros right off ya!” He laughed boisterously. “You make yourselves comfortable and I’ll send Gwen over presently.” Striding across the wood floor, the tavern owner kept chuckling to himself, shaking his head, “I’ve seen it all, I have.” Dax breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks kid, I owe ya.” “Yes, you do,” chimed Wendell, quite proud of himself, then he added firmly, “with interest.” Dax had nothing further to say. The great hall was full that evening. Laughter and shouts for food and drink thundered through the smokey air and giant log beams overhead. Pipes burned with the scent of cherry and bourbon, jokes were told and a minstrel played soft tunes on his lute from a plush chair at the hearth. Platters overflowing with food, vegetables and meats smelling of butter and spices, carried by exuberant barmaids. Working their way from table to table, the ladies tried frantically to quench the endless thirst of their patrons with cider, ale and Wood’s famous rum —the main reason the Roadkill was usually full. Höbin and Chuck had already seated themselves in the last booth, next to the hearth, at the north end of the hall. It was as private as you could get in the tavern. Dax sat against the wall, the wizard next to him. Wendell sat at the edge of the booth, affording him a perfect view of all the lively patrons—the gnome sitting next to the young hero. Wendell’s attention was immediately drawn to the patrons. Though the Roadkill was filled mostly with humans, a group of Kutollum laughed merrily at two tables, while a small group drunkenly attempted to engage in a game of darts. Wiping their mouthes on their thick beards, they each belched their appreciation of both food and drink. Four Evolu sat in a booth near the door, their brilliant green robes stark contrast to the dark stain of the wood around them. They looked between themselves,

almost nervously, drinking a deep red liquid out of fluted glasses. Wendell wondered why they’d even come to such a place when they looked so uncomfortable. In the very center of the hall, long tables were pushed together where at least two dozen Gnomes engaged in aggressive conversation. Food and drink were spread over large, unrolled sketches and diagrams. Held open by mugs, plates and a few rear ends—they debated over concepts, building materials…and how many mugs you can balance on your nose while intoxicated. In the booth opposite Wendell was a single human male, middle-aged and balding. He sat quietly, reading a book while sipping tea from a tiny white cup. All seemed well and good at the Roadkill Tavern, except for the two tables closest to the bar. Wendell shuddered at the sight. Four Vallen at one table, mugs in hand, solemn and quiet—while two others sat alone, scarfing meat still raw and bloody, like animals, rending the flesh with their jagged teeth. The barmaids cringed as they set down fresh pints of drink and food, snatched up the coins and shuffled off as quickly as they could. Wendell swallowed with some difficulty, his hand scratching at the gem. “We’re alright, son.” Wendell blinked, “What?” Chuck grinned, “The giants at the table. Ignore them. They’re being watched as we speak, so don’t worry yourself.” Wood made sure Wendell’s booth became a priority, asg Gwen, an older woman, to their table personally. It eased some of the tension Wendell was feeling and even though it had to do with the money he’d given, it felt good to be acknowledged. “Do you like Käärunä, Wendell?” asked Höbin as they considered their orders. “Wood boils them first, then fries it with fresh butter, salt and herbs, then adds eggs…and ham, if any can be found in the market. It’s one of his best dishes.” Wendell looked to the wizard, “Käärunä?”

Chuck licked his lips at the description. “They’re similar to potatoes.” He nodded to Gwen, “I’ll take an order of that. Wendell?” “Sure,” he said coolly. Dax ignored the food suggestions and ordered four rounds of drink, all for himself. “Ya know kid, that was impressive,” he said, once the four were finally alone. “Ya have these buffoons eatin’ outta yer hand.” Wendell looked at Dax with disgust. “What are you talking about?” “Wood, the barmaid—ya got everyone thinking yer a decent guy, which is good.” “They’re not buffoons, Dax. They’re people trying to live life like you and me.” He reconsidered, “Well, me, anyway…and it has nothing to do with eating out of my hand. I just try to make friends by being decent, that’s all.” He grinned sarcastically at Dax, but the smiley glared over the lip of the table. “You should try it sometime.” “Right,” continued Dax, blowing off the insult, “I get it. Ya wanna make it all seem real. I’m impressed.” He raised his own mug in salute. “That’s not what I meant!” “Here, here,” added Höbin, raising his own mug. “A toast to polite young men with proper manners!” He winked at Wendell, “May we all learn from their good example.” Chuck smiled and raised his mug in agreement, but Dax scoffed. “Bleh,” he stuck out his tongue, “…wouldn’t go that far.” Wendell waited until Gwen had brought all the food and was out of earshot before he finally unleashed his frustration. “So Thule’s in the Market,” he blurted. Dax spit his drink all over the table…and into Wendell’s face. Both Chuck and Höbin started choking and the wizard had to smack the gnome on the back

repeatedly. Wiping his face and beard on the sleeve of his robe, the wizard slammed the mug onto the table. His first thought was to rebuke Wendell, but when their eyes met, Chuck found the sight a bit disconcerting. Wendell was sitting back, hands on the table with a serene expression. The smiley, however, was another story. Chuck knew to watch both. The emoticon had a slight red tinge to its cheeks, frowning at the wizard through narrow slits. “No,” he replied, trying to stay calm, “Thule is not in the market…and I’d appreciate it if you’d lower your voice, young man. You’ll start a riot.” The wizard frowned, trying to look stern, but when Wendell remained undaunted, he sighed. “I know that’s what you heard Dathern say, but that’s not what he meant.” Chuck glanced at Höbin. “No reason why you shouldn’t tell the boy,” urged the gnome. “Seeing the responsibility that’s been placed on the lad, he has every right to know.” When he looked to Wendell, it was with an expression similar to the wizard’s. Fatherly, but there was…something else. Respect. Wendell opened his mouth, but nothing came out. “Don’t worry, young man…I know exactly who you are.” Höbin’s eyes smiled as he knocked on the table with a knuckle, “You let it all out and don’t mind me. You accepted a job I wouldn’t wish on anyone. That takes stones.” He raised his mug, “The honor is all mine.” The words were unexpected, especially from a stranger. Wendell wasn’t sure what Höbin knew, but his kindness helped, soothing some of the sting. Wow. Finally, someone who understands…and noticed. He smiled at the gnome, “Thank you.” “Look, kid…” Dax cut in. “Pay up or shut up Dax,” snapped Wendell. The anger swelled immediately at the sound of his voice. “You don’t have anything right now that I want to hear, especially from a bully.”

Dax looked at the wizard, confounded, and slumped back on the bench. “You certainly sound upset.” Chuck took a bite of food. “Mmmmm—garlic.” Wendell leaned against the table, cocking his head towards the wizard. “Why shouldn’t I be? You’ve ignored me, pushing me aside and I’m the one who has to figure out how to save this freaking world!” His cheeks flushed, while the smiley went dormant. “I know you’re stuck with me and people have expectations of me. That’s WHY I’m upset, Chuck! How am I supposed to learn anything if I don’t matter enough to be included?” Chuck set his utensil down and gave Wendell his full attention. “Son, I…” “Let me finish!” Wendell snapped, frowning. “I’m just as uncomfortable having to be babysat as you are being stuck with me, ok? I GET it. I’m only here because I wanted to help, not to be a burden! If you —I had the chance to walk away.” He sank back against the seat, folding his arm across his chest. “But I didn’t.” He glared at Dax for a moment. The evolu met his gaze without blinking. “I don’t know the history of this world or anything about my enemies. I’m wandering about without any family or friends or people to rely on. Not a clue on who the good guys or bad guys are, other than Thule’s the king of creepy evil and at this point Dax is running a close second!” “Hey!” “I’m sitting in a world of magic, but don’t have a clue how to use it, yet you expect me to become one of the best magic s…” “Mägo.” “WhatEVER, Chuck!—I’m totally lost here. Don’t you get that? I’ve got a talking gem in my chest, a letter from a dead guy, animals who understand me, women who want to eat me, scary old people clawing at me from the shadows, chanting riddles I don’t understand…then I see the girl from a dream I just had!” He huffed and took a deep breath, “For crying out loud, Chuck,” he shot a pleading glance at the Dax then, “I’m already on overload and terrified of

failing…and you push me aside? How does that even make sense?” Trying to catch his breath, Wendell’s shoulders fell forward, his anger spent. “I have a hard enough time believing in myself, but now I have a literal world added to that pressure. I can’t do this alone, guys…can’t you see that?” “Wendell,” whispered Chuck, leaning against the table, “…look at me, son.” He looked up. The wizards bright eyes almost sparkled in the dim light and the stern expression was gone. In its place was concern. Even Dax put his drink down and quietly watched them. “I’m sorry,” the wizard breathed, “I should have explained myself better, so this miscommunication didn’t have to happen, but I was trying to calm a very old friend. This…” he wagged a finger back and forth between them, “is good. It’s communication and it’s all good. You should know—that even though I’m old, …and I don’t know how much longer I can actually keep this up, I plan to be with you for a long time to come. I’ve waited a very long time for you to show up.” He smirked, “Ok, maybe not you…but then again, here you are. I might be unsure, I might be a bit scared of the outcome…but I am not disappointed.” Chuck knocked on the table, “So this is a chance to learn about each other…and hopefully this doesn’t have to happen again. Alright?” Wendell nodded. “Wait,” the wizard frowned, suddenly catching on, “Did you say you saw a girl, from a dream you had? As in, an actual, living person, from a dream you have recently?” Wendell nodded again. “Last night, actually. You guys left me behind in the Market and I saw…,” he turned to point at the front door when his mouth dropped open. “That girl…right there!” he said, gulping. Sure enough, striding across the hall was the same girl from the Market square. With a confident stride, she weaved through the tables and patrons, gaining a few glances and made her way to the bar.

Opening her bag, she took out some coin and exchanged words with Wood. He nodded, took the coin, then vanished through a curtain, into the back. She sat down on a stool and let her attention drift over the sea of activity. Höbin leaned out of the booth, getting a glance over Wendell’s shoulder. “Well, you have good taste, I’ll give you that. Not a bad looking female…as far as your race goes.” Chuck frowned and tapped on the table surface, trying to bring the attention back to the conversation. “A dream, dream? Like you were asleep?…or were you awake and saw things in front of you?” “Wha-? Oh, uh, I was asleep,” but Wendell’s attention was fixed. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the only one. The two vallen seated together had also taken notice of the girl. Pointing and commenting while they gawked, Wendell strained his senses, but couldn’t hear what was being said. What’s going on? His chest suddenly burned so hot that he flinched and slapped a hand over his t-shirt. “What’s wrong?” asked the wizard, but Wendell’s attention was fixed on the girl. He waved a hand near the young hero’s face, “Son??” But Wendell couldn’t hear him. Wood came out from the curtain with a platter of food and a large mug. He set them on the counter in front of the girl. Wendell cringed. She’s all alone. Sliding from the stool, she walked around the tables towards an empty booth. No, no-no, that’s a bad idea! Her path led her past the vallen watching her. A giant hand reached out and grabbed the girls backside. Wendell’s hand closed around his thick, clay mug. It shattered, milk spraying across the table.

“Woah, kid!” Dax bellowed, shaking the milk from his hands, “Be a little more…,” but Chuck raised a finger to his lips. He nodded in Wendell’s direction. There was no scream, no yelling—only laughter between the two giants. That is, until the steaming vegetables, soup and piping hot tea were splashed into the cretin’s face, followed by both plate and mug being shattered over his head. The great hall bursted into laughter at the girls defiance. Kutollum and Gnomes raised their mugs and cheered, while others observed grimly. Roaring, the giant stood up abruptly, hands clawing at it’s burning face—his chair sliding across the floor. Before the girl could detach the club from her back, large fingers darted out and gripped her throat. “Gak!” she choked. Her body rose off the floor, while feet kicked and nails clawed at green flesh. Wood yelled from the bar, trying to get around the group of barmaids and through the crowd to intervene, but his shouts were swallowed up in the taverns energy. “Gonna learn your lesson, little wench,” the vallen snarled, spittle rising over its burned and swelling lips. “Go to hell,” she choked. The giant raised his fist to strike her. …but it never fell. Small fingers held the arm fast, digging into the muscular wrist. “Let…her…go,” Wendell whispered between clenched teeth. The large hall went silent. Wendell’s eyes were focused on his enemy, his face flushing a deep red, the veins in his forehead and neck bulging. “Let her go,” he repeated, this time

squeezing so hard, a stream of blood drizzled down the giants forearm. Wendell’s body trembled and his face looked as if it were about to explode from the pressure. Drips of black blood pooled under his fingertips. The scene looked impossible. A child against a giant…but the monster couldn’t pull free. “Now!” Wendell demanded. The girl fell to the floor, gasping for breath and Wendell smiled. There, that’s more like… Spinning on his heels, the giant punched Wendell in the face with his free hand. Wendell flew backwards, arching across the great hall and with a loud crunch, into the wall beside the hearth. He crumpled against the logs and with a thud, fell to the floor. Only the drunk cheered, then reconsidered. Dax was already on his feet, jumping up onto the table, ready to lunge into the fray, but the wizard held him back. “Look!” Chuck whispered. Wendell slowly lifted his head from the floor. It swayed from his shoulders as if attached by puppet strings. His vision was blurry, the ringing in his ears drowning out every sound. He coughed. Saliva mixed with blood trailed from his mouth onto the wooden floor. Owwwwwww. What hit me? He blinked. Got to look both ways before I cross the street. No, wait. You’re in a fight. He shook his head, The girl. Someone’s beating up a girl. Which girl? He blinked again. Doesn’t matter! You don’t hit girls!! Thu-THUMP-Thump! Get up! You’re the Wendellizer. She needs you! This is not happening again!

Thu-THUMP-Thump! NO MATTER WHAT. Like the wave of an ocean, Wendell’s mind cleared, his vision still blurry. I survived a hit from that guy? It seemed almost impossible, but it was true. He looked to the hearth and then to Chuck, Dax and Höbin. I did! I actually took a hit from a giant and lived! His glare locked onto the vallen, still a large mass of blurry shadows and shifting lines. The last moments of Kyliene’s life rolled through his memory. The enemy, smiling at him. Mocking him. He could feel his heart beating strong and wild. Thu-THUMP-Thump! Thu-THUMP-Thump! Thu-THUMP-Thump! Wendell blinked, again and again, trying to make sense of the shapes swirling in his field of vision. The small blurs suddenly became a big blur…right over him. A dark spot dove at him. Move! He rolled away from the wall, not knowing where to go next. A chair smashed where he had been, exploding into pieces, part of the leg ricocheting off his shoulder. Blinking again, he forced himself to his feet. You’ve taken a beating from bullies all your life, he told himself, but you never had the chance to hit back. His enemy was coming into focus. Big. Powerful. Scary. He preferred the blur. I know you can hear me Ithari. The vallen was, of course, much bigger and stronger than a high school football player, but Wendell hoped the beast was just as thick-headed. Help me survive this.

Sidestepping to place the wall at his back, Wendell grinned big and wide, adding a cheesy sneer for flavor. He had an idea. “Did your mother teach you to hit like that, ugly?” he taunted, “Can’t take a out a human child…cause you hit like a widdle girl!” He pouted, then laughed out loud—the smiley face sticking out its tongue. The roar was deafening. The giant ran at him and lunged, arms outstretched. That’s it, stupid. Wendell stood his ground until the last possible moment—then dove into the booth next to him. Grasping fingers brushed against his sneakers. There was a resounding crunch as the giants boil-riddled head kissed the log wall…and the body collapsed to the wood floor. The hall burst into cheers. Höbin cheered, “That boy does have stones!” The wizard tilted his hat back and snorted, “Well I’ll be,” he ired, “Not bad. Not bad at all.” Dax, however, wasn’t smiling. Jabbing at the wizard, he pointed at another table. “Looks like they’re impressed too.” While the whole of the tavern was cheering and hooting for the human kid, four giants looked on soberly. It was then that Dax noticed the polished armor, clean tabards and helmets set at their feet. These weren’t the everyday fodder used by Thule. These were scouts. Trained to observe, return and report. None of them seemed to take notice or care about their fallen comrade. Instead, they watched the young hero slide out of the booth and back to his feet. None of them commented or looked to one another. They just…stared. “I don’t like this,” grumbled Dax, sliding across the bench. “We need to leave, now.”

…but it was too late. An anvil sized fist struck Wendell in the head with such force, his body spun around twice and he face-planted into the floor. The tavern went deathly quiet. The vallen scouts grinned. “Get up,” the beast sneered. Wendell had missed the movements of the second giant, who had apparently followed right behind his buddy. Wendell tried to lift himself off the floor, but his body felt like lead. Arms shaking violently, he struggled just to pull his knees up under him. The giant snarled, baring its teeth. “I’ll show you what mother taught me.” You…can…do… A fist pummeled him in the side of the head. His face bounced off the floor, breaking his nose. Blood shot across the floor on impact. When his chest followed his face, the impact knocked the wind from him. OW! That…REALLY hurt! He wanted to scream, but he needed more air. Mouth open, he gasped, trying to expand his lungs. The creature was too strong. Stabbing pain shot through his face, chest, spine and he was certain his jaw was broken—which, luckily, made him focus. Putting his hand out against the wall, he tried to stand up. “I’m taking this guy out!” growled Dax, leaping back onto the table, but Chuck grabbed the back of his shorts. “No,” said the wizard. Dax looked at him, dumbfounded. “Are you inSANE? That boy’s gonna get killed!” He slapped the wrinkled hand but Chuck held fast. “He’s my responsibility, old man!” Chuck shook his head, “Wendell wants to understand what he’s in for? Let him

find out. She’ll heal him and the beast hasn’t pulled a weapon. Let it go, for now.” Dax yanked free of the wizards grip and shot Höbin a concerned look. It was a look they shared. The gnome nodded almost imperceptibly, then slowly pulled back the two middle fingers on his metal hand. Wendell moaned as his jaw popped, shifted. His hair now damp with sweat and blood, he struggled to raise his head. Inhale…Exhale… He coughed and blinked again. The sounds around him spun in his mind—a carnival ride he wanted desperately to get off of. I know you’re there, Ithari. I can feel you. There was a snap and he flinched, his nose realigning. His ears stopped ringing enough to hear the laughter. The beast was taunting him. He swayed, holding onto the wall, but still hunched over. Wendell could see the blood dripping from his mouth—a small pool on the wood floor beneath him. Help me, Ithari. Please…I don’t know what I’m doing! Again his jaw popped, back into place. The pain was lessening, but he felt so tired…ached, everywhere. Sooner or later it’s just going to be you and me. Together. The giant was hovering over him, waiting for him to stand up. It howled, then barked—egging Wendell on, daring him to fight back. He looked to the side, glancing at the Vallen’s feet, please—give me strength. He looked up, to see his booth come into focus. Guide me. Dax and Höbin had worried looks on their faces, but the wizard, seemed…calm. Chuck smiled. Thu-THUMP-Thump! With a roar, the Vallen swung his immense arm downward, dropping its body into the blow.

Wendell caught it. Gasps and cheers exploded throughout the tavern. Even Wood boomed at the top of his lungs. “Chuck!” yelled Dax, jabbing a finger at the front door. The scouts were quietly leaving the tavern. Dark eyes lingered on young Wendell as they filed through the door. “Not good,” gulped the wizard, “Yup, time to leave!” Shocked at the unexpected outcome, the vallen yanked his fist away from Wendell and pulled a knife from his belt. “OH! DEFINITELY not good!!” Chuck stammered, pointing a shaking finger at the giant. “Foul! Not fair!!….Someone STOP him!” Hopping to the floor, Höbin pressed a button on his forearm and two needles shot from the tubing of his middle fingers. The metal sank into the exposed flesh of the giant’s arm. 50,000 volts traveled down the wires and into the target. Shaking violently, it turned and roared at the gnome…then yanked the needles from his arm. “Oh hell,” Höbin sighed—just before a fist sent him sailing through the air and into the base of the staircase. With a clang, the old gnome fell to the floor. “HÖBIN!” yelled Chuck and Dax simultaneously, the wizard bolted from the booth to his friend. Dax, on the other hand, threw his mug at the giant to grab its attention. The clay shattered against its jaw. “Hey!” Dax bellowed. Cracking his knuckles, an evil grin crawled across his face, his large eyes narrowing to slits. Circling around, he positioned himself between Wendell and the giant. “Bad move, ugly,” he said, baring his teeth, “now yer gonna get hurt.” The giant laughed. “By YOU!??” he bellowed, then threw his head back and roared.

Dax’s expression changed to a wily smirk. “Nope,” he said smugly, pointing behind the giant, “by her.” The vallen looked over his shoulder…then down. The gnome didn’t even reach the giant’s kneecap. Her face was cold, hands tapping the tiny swords on either hip. She wore a combination of chain mail and random pieces of plate armor with dark blue and red markings, black leather gloves and boots. The outfit made her red hair glow like fire, her green eyes standing out like portals to the abyss in a forest landscape of pale beauty. “You hit my father,” she said coldly. “Stupid move.” The creature didn’t get a chance to react. Both blades jumped from their sheaths and flashed, severing the achilles tendon of the closest leg. Blood sprayed and the giant howled—tables and chairs lurched as he collapsed upon the floor with a mighty boom. Leaping up onto the armored chest, the gnome poised both blades at the Vallen’s throat. “Alhannah!” shouted Höbin, “That’s enough!” Chuck was helping the old gnome sit upright, inspecting the seal of the metal plating around his skull. He raised a warning finger, “I tasered him first, young lady—leave him!” he ordered. Alhannah spat in the giants face, quickly slashing her blades across his right cheek, making a deep X. “If I see you again,” she whispered, “…ever…I’ll finish what I started.” She slid off. Dax helped Wendell to his feet. “We gotta get outta here, now!” he barked. Glancing over at Höbin, “You ok, bub?” “I’ll be fine,” said the gnome, waving away the concern. “That’s a new record, boys—only a mug and a chair to pay for? I’m impressed.” Wendell stood up straight, his shoulders and neck popping into place with a moan. He stumbled about, still trying to shake the experience—and stop the

world from spinning. Dax looked around nervously, “I’ll be impressed if we get out of here alive.” Höbin grinned, “Well, I have the bill covered. You boys run along.” He looked at his daughter sadly, “…and take Alhannah.” “What?” she exclaimed, “I just got here!” “…and now you need to leave. That wasn’t self-defense back there, sweetheart.” He lowered his voice, so it was nearly masked by the howling of the vallen. “The Sentry will be here soon and if you’re not gone, you’ll be lucky if you end up in the stockade.” “Screw them,” Alhannah cursed, but her father shook his head disapprovingly. She scowled, glancing at Dax, then Chuck and even shot a curious look at Wendell. Mouthing obscenities in silence, she finally gripped the hilts of her swords, rattling them in frustration. “Fine,” she scorned, then bent over to kiss her father on the head mechanically and marched away. Höbin just smiled. Alhannah’s shoulders slumped and she dashed back to her father. Kneeling at Höbin’s side, she hugged him tight and rubbed her forehead against his. “Ok, dad,” she whispered, “you win.” He smirked, “Always do.” Straightening her gloves and adjusting her belt, Alhannah Luckyfeller rounded her shoulders and looked up at the wizard. “Have room for a chick-warrior, Uncle Chuck?”

Chapter 18 Escape

When you’re on the run, just , you don’t necessarily have to be the fastest. …just faster than the last guy.

The popping noises resounded through Wendell’s head as the bones of his jaw and neck realigned. UNGH! With each pop, he sighed with relief. The pounding throb in his temples subsided and his vision finally came into perfect focus. Dax was hastily pulling him through the front door of the Roadkill Tavern, Alhannah and the wizard close at their heels. “Why are we running?” he asked, pulling from Dax’s grip. Wendell glanced back at the wizard, who wore a frantic expression. “What’s going on?” “Right,” Chuck sighed, “microwave version.” He ushered Wendell forward, guiding him between buildings, towards the Market exit. The wizard looked left and right, over his shoulder and even up at the ceiling. “I brushed you aside to hide your identity from Istul,” he started rapidly. “I’m sorry, my boy. Truly. Thule’s not here, but his henchmen are.” Wendell quickly followed without having to be prompted. “Four Vallen soldiers—scouts, sitting in the tavern, saw what you just did—then left without a word. That doesn’t bode well for us.” He flipped around suddenly and squeezed Wendell’s shoulders like an excited father, “Even though I’m SO proud of what I saw back there!” He quickly looked him up and down, “You ok? Any open wounds, missing fingers or toes?” “I’m good…” Wendell started, trying to put the pieces together. “Ya got yerself noticed,” grumbled Dax, peeking around a corner and waving them forward. “…and that means?” Wendell gulped.

“Were screwed.” He stopped and threw himself against a wall—each of them following Dax’s example. “If we’re lucky,” he whispered, “we can get out of here before they catch us and deny it ever happened.” “Right,” Wendell sighed, biting his lip. Then it hit him. “What happened to the girl?” Surely the girl from his dreams thought more of him by now. “Sorry son,” the wizard frowned, “she ran out of the tavern as soon as her feet hit the floor. Don’t think she noticed what you did.” Right, he thought, of course not. I get my face pounded in and she wasn’t even there to see the sacrifice—what was I thinking? The smiley face rolled its eyes, then gave a muted sigh. There had to be some way of finding out who she was. Alhannah kept pace, guarding their backs. “Question!” Dax skidded to a halt, looking back in a near panic. “What?” She jabbed a thumb in Wendell’s direction, “Who’s the kid?” Kid? scoffed Wendell, look who’s talking…a china doll with sushi knives. The smiley face laughed. “I’m sorry my dear,” said Chuck, ruffled, “Alhannah Luckyfeller, Wendell Dipmier…Wendell, Alhannah. Right, we good now? Come ON!” “He’s the Gnolaum, ‘Hannah.” Dax stopped behind a wall as Sentry ed by. She shook her head, red pig-tails bouncing. Looking Wendell up and down, she stifled a laugh. “I’m sorry—run that by me again? He’s the Gnolaum,…as in, prophecy?” She gawked at Wendell in disbelief. He smiled back awkwardly. Dax didn’t reply. “Sort of,” whispered Chuck. “That’s like kinda-pregnant. He is…or he’s not.” “He is,” replied Chuck and Dax simultaneously.

“You two been sniffing book adhesive?” The wizard’s brows rolled forward disapprovingly and the gnome gulped. “Sorry,” she apologized. “You’re serious?” Dax looked at Alhannah and scowled, “Deadly.” She took a few moment to study Wendell more closely, doing a double take when the smiley face winked at her. Wendell shifted in place, uncomfortably. Her eyebrows crinkled, “Well that’s disappointing.” Wendell gasped and opened his mouth to retort, but was shoved into an alleyway to avoid another set of Sentry quickly jogging towards the Tavern—led by Lucian. Chuck pulled off his hat and dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief. “That man is just aching to find a reason to put our heads on the chopping block!” The crowds were thickening the closer they got to the exit. Dax kept them to the shadows as much as possible, but they’d run out of buildings to hide behind. It was all open area from this point forward. The Exchange and its holding pens were all that stood between the party…and freedom. Wendell fidgeted. “We’re gonna get caught, Chuck,” Dax whispered. “Let me port us out of here. We don’t need the blasted key.” “No!” Chuck snapped, “You have to be strong enough to get us to Humär. Time is of the essence my boy.” He smiled reassuringly, “We’re almost there. We can do this.” He winked at Wendell and Alhannah. “Ready?” All three nodded. They waited for a large group to , then, slipping around the corner, blended in—walking casually with the patrons leaving the Market. The chatter was loud and energetic—women gabbed and compared fabrics and jewelry they’d purchased. Chuck fell in behind their downtrodden and utterly broke, male

counterparts. Wendell’s attention was glued on the hanging exit sign of the cave wall. Up the main road, past the holding pens—the sheep brayed loudly, then to the exit. Almost there…almost there! Dax stopped abruptly, nearly tripping his three companions. “Fairy-farts!” he whispered, pointing ahead.“They know!” Sure enough, standing on either side of the exit wall, two vallen scouts stood erect, watching the paths and the flow of patrons leaving the Black Market. Dax started shoving Wendell and Chuck in the opposite direction when one of them took notice. Both giants pushed off the wall without a word, walking briskly towards them. “Move it!” hissed Alhannah. Flipping the straps off her swords she backed down the path, ready to fight. “Plan B!” piped Chuck. With one swift motion, he hiked up the folds of his robe, pulling it to his knees…and took off sprinting like a man. “What the..?!?” squeaked Dax, shoving Wendell after him. “They’re not running after us!” Wendell huffed, looking over his shoulder. Chuck made an abrupt left turn. “That’s why!” he yelled, pointing ahead. Two more scouts appeared along a higher path…and these ones were running! Patrons were shoved aside as they barreled towards Wendell. “WoOOOah!” Wendell squawked, pouring on the speed. Within moments, he pulled ahead, leaving Dax and Alhannah behind. “Where are you going!?” he shouted after the wizard, who was trying hard not to trip on his robe. “Working on it,” Chuck called back, “…working on it!” His sandals flapped loudly against the path as he hurdled a cart effortlessly like an hurdling olympian. He instantly smiled to himself. “That’s a nice breeze…have to do this more often!” Through the market they dashed and weaved. Dax and Alhannah played

interference, knocking over displays and yanking down awnings to cover their tracks. “Looks like we’ll need to vanish for another six months,” she said with a giddy laugh. Dax guffawed, knocking over an entire cart of baked goods. “I say we make it a year!” Bolting through an alley, Chuck led them into the animal district. The old man Wendell had seen earlier with the yellow dragon, was still there, now playing a flute, seated on a stool along one side of the street. Children sat, watching in awe as the beautiful beast swayed to the rhythm of the music. Wendell dashed past them and looked back, trying to catch his breath. Dax and Alhannah slid around the corner, leaping over displays and knocking over several vendor carts. They charged down the street, the enemy in hot pursuit. Alhannah looked visually tired in her metal armor and Dax had a firm grip on his shorts. They’re going to get caught, his heart pounding in fear. A loud hiss arose above the music. Wendell watched the dragon’s head bobbing up an down to the movements of the vallen as they came into sight. When one roared, the lizard hissed, bearing its teeth. The old man played on, ignoring the irritation of the chained beast. I know you can hear me, Wendell thought. The dragon stopped bobbing its head and looked directly at him. Upon eye , he stumbled backwards— gasping…suffocating. His breathing became shallow, but he concentrated. I’m sorry I can’t free you, he resisted the uncontrollable yearning inside him to escape. A longing to see the light of day, to feel the wind under the wings he didn’t have. Wendell thought his heart might break. I need your help. The round, emerald eyes stared right through him, unblinking. Please, Wendell begged. The dragon’s golden head tilted slightly…and then nodded. Wendell broke the connection as Alhannah stumbled and Dax had to

knock over an armor rack to buy her time—throwing several shields at their pursuers. Wendell pointed at the giants, can you stop them, even for a moment, to give us time? There was a long pause…then another nod. Thank you. Wendell smiled silently, I’ll come back! He turned and ran after the wizard, just as Dax caught up to him. “What’re ya DOING, kid??!” he yelled. “MOVE YER BUTT!!” Alhannah shoved Wendell forward, just as the scouts crossed the dragons path. Bearing her needle teeth, the lizard reared upon the shoulders of her master, spreading her mighty wings and producing an ear-piercing shriek. Children fled for their lives, screaming. The merchant dropped his flute as the children scattered, trying to control the great lizard. He yanked on the chain around her throat, but she resisted, clawing his shoulders in the struggle to get at the scouts. The giants fell back when her tail whipped forward and sliced through one of their cheeks—from chin to ear, barely missing his throat. Bleeding himself, the merchant cursed. Forced to release the chain to free himself. He fled the street, wounds covering his torso. Glimmering in the waning light of the cave, the dragon opened her mouth…and blew. Green flame engulfed the scouts and set shop awnings ablaze. Leather tunics withered and fell from their chests. The smell of burning flesh quickly filled the cavern air and heated chain-mail melted into skin. Wendell saw a green light flare over the rooftops. Thank you! he shouted in his mind, hoping the dragon would be able to hear him. Chuck was stalled, trying desperately to push through a sea of drunk gnomes.

The crowd was coming back from the Roadkill Tavern, chittering about gears, micro-processors and whether or not a barmaid’s girdle would make an effective hammock. They cheered as Wendell ran up the path. Small hands patted him on arms and legs, congratulating him on a battle well fought against the reallybiguglyoneswithnastysharpteeth. The wizard motioned frantically, finally resorting to tripping the little men with his staff to get them out of his way. Their tiny bodies rolled down and street, while others took odds on which ones would throw up first. “Come on!” Chuck shouted above the cheering, “We’re not clear yet!!” A left, a right, another left and they all skidded to a halt. It was a dead end. An alley with three doors. Chuck quickly tried all three. Locked. “What are you DOING?!?” shouted Dax, “They’re right behind us!” “You and Alhannah cover the entrance,” he babbled, not looking back, “give me just a second.” Then, yanking his hat from his head, Chuck plunged his arm in up to his shoulder. Yanking out the leather bag he was carrying earlier, he tossed it at Wendell. “Don’t lose that,” he snapped, “Schoolwork.” “Hurry up!” warned Dax, “The other two found their buddies.” His ears twitched, “I can hear patrons screaming…here they come!” There was a jingling noise in the hat, followed by a squeak and then shattering glass. Chuck pulled his arm out, shaking a soaked hand. He gazed inside, heartbroken, “Awwww, that snow globe was a collectors item.” “CHUCK!”

“Right! Focus!!” Rummaging again, he pulled out an enormous set of keys. “AhHAH!” he cried triumphantly. The ring was at least six inches in diameter, with dozens of odd-looking keys attached. Flipping his hat back onto his head, Chuck pointed to each of the doors methodically. “Eeenie, meenie, min…” “CHUCK!!” screamed Dax. “Oh alRIGHT!!” he bellowed back. He looked at Wendell, frustrated. “He’s so impatient.” “Heard that!” Chuck mockingly imitated Dax in silence, selecting a door. “Of course you can hear me…you have radar dishes for ears.” With deft precision, he flipped through the keys and tried each one in the door. On the seventh try, Wendell heard a ‘click’. Chuck looked at him and shouted. “Everybody in!” Without warning, two vallen slammed into the opening, both fighting to get at the prey first. Dax shoved Alhannah down the alley. Momentarily wedged, the scouts roared, swords clanging and scraping against the sides of the buildings. Dax, Alhannah and Wendell jumped through the door, with Chuck bringing up the rear. The door slammed shut behind them. Wendell tumbled forward through the darkness…and onto the carpet, face first. A broom and mop fell forward, clunking him on the head with a double beat. Both Alhannah and Dax hopped over his prone body and landed lithely in front of him. “Good moves, squirt,” grinned Dax, giving the gnome a high-five. “Thank-YOU,” she bowed in return. “I learned from the best.” With a bang, a clatter and finally a ‘Mahan’s Pink Panties!’, Chuck stumbled backwards, out of the closet, hat over his eyes. “I’m hit!” he cried, “Blast those sniper wizards—I’ve been blinded!!” Tripping over Wendell, Chuck landed onto the carpet beside him. He pulled his hat up

over his eyes and looked around. “Did we make it?” “How? Where?…what?” Wendell squinted, blinking incessantly. The wizard shook his head, concerned, “Poor boy—must have hit your head too hard.” He leaned over and patted Wendell tenderly on the head. “We’ll get that speech impediment looked at right away.” Wendell snorted in disbelief. Pictures lined the walls, a black grand piano sat in the bay window and comfortable, leather furniture filled the center of the room, facing the big screen TV. They had fallen into the bright light of Chucks living room! He could still smell hints of the meal Chuck had cooked before they’d left. Wendell stumbled up onto his feet. “But how did we…?” Grabbing the door of the closet, he swung it wide open, the knob banging against the wall. Cleaning supplies, a coat rack, a few small boxes and several pairs of shoes, boots and sandals littered the floor. Wendell stepped in and ran his hands over the surface of the interior walls. No portal, no open tunnel to the Black Market—nothing. It didn’t make any sense. Nothing here at all. “How in the world did you do that?” he asked, bewildered. Wendell reached down and helped Chuck struggle to his feet, the wizard tugging and yanking at his twisted robe. “We didn’t have a port key. You said we needed a key?” Chuck grinned, “Some of us have a key or two of our own.” He held up the loop of keys and rattled them with a cheesy smirk. “Got mine, right here.” He frowned at Wendell and slapped him on the shoulder, “Oh don’t burn your last brain cell over it, my boy, it’s the simple mathematical calculations of the time space continuum, angular displacement and whether or not you left the toaster plugged in and the percolator going. I wonder if there’s any sausage left?” “The mathematical…huh?” Wendell’s face contorted in utter confusion.

Chuck whistled and laughed out loud, “Didn’t I tell you the Black Market would be exciting and educational!? WeeHAW!” He gave a youthful wiggle of his hips and then winked. “SO much fun! Good food, good clothes, cute cannibalistic chicks, fist fights with giants…then a narrow escape through the use of misdirection, blinding speed and the proper application of rolling gnomes.” “Hey!” grunted Alhannah. “Present company excluded of course, my dear.” He strutted across the floor looking overly pleased with himself. “I’d say that was a successful trip!” “And the help of a dragon,” Wendell added. Dax, Alhannah and the wizard all looked at him curiously. “Sorry?” asked Chuck. “We also had the help of a dragon, to get away. You know—the one we stopped to look at when we first arrived? I talked to it.” “You…talked to it?” repeated the wizard. His eyebrows crumpled together. Wendell sighed. Why doesn’t anyone listen? “I told you this when we were at the tavern, Chuck. Yes, I talked to it,” then he reconsidered. “Well, I was thinking about it and it seemed to hear my thoughts—” Dax rolled his eyes. “I didn’t actually say a word,” Wendell explained, “It…responded to what I said.” “Sure it did,” Dax grunted. Chuck and Alhannah seemed dumbfounded, while Dax plopped down into a recliner, completely uninterested. “So when I ed it,” Wendell continued, “I asked it to help Dax and Alhannah.” He grinned wide. He couldn’t help himself. It was so cool, to talk with a dragon. He knew it had happened, even if no one believed him.

Chuck sat down on the arm of Dax’s chair. “What did you ask it to do?” The smile was gone. He sat still for long moments, waiting for Wendell to answer. “What’s wrong?” “Just…tell me what you asked the creature to do, son.” Wendell hesitated. “I…asked it to stop the Vallen, so we could get away.” “Oh-ho-ho,” Dax scoffed, “Nice one, genius.” “Dax!” snapped the wizard. The reaction wasn’t the one Wendell was expecting. Dax closed his mouth with a scowl. Alhannah’s cold features softened. Her eyes watered. “I want to go back, Chuck,” Wendell continued, “As soon as possible. The way it projected its emotions—it was so sad.” He gripped his chest, scrunching his shirt at the memory. “It wants to be free. It longed to be free. So I thought, we could take it into the woods, or wherever it lives. Let it go into the wild.” Even now his heart ached as he thought about it. “I know that’s risky, but I think it would be the best thing. Better in the wild than in chains, right?” “I don’t think that’s going to be possible, son.” “Sure it is. We just wait a few days and go back. Thule’s men won’t wait that long, would they? You can use one of those key things and we can sneak in from the closet.” Chuck shook his head. “This doesn’t have anything to do with vallen or Market security.” “Then what?” The wizard’s expression was impossible to read. “I don’t care how much she costs, Chuck—if I have it, I’ll pay it. Then we can take her somewhere nice and set her free.” “The laws concerning livestock are absolute in the Market.” Wendell’s gut wrenched and he felt sick to his stomach. He slid down onto the end of the couch. “Are they going to hurt it?”

The wizard frowned. “I’m sorry. Beasts that harm any patron, even a vallen, are destroyed.” “Destroyed!?” Wendell stared back in horror. “As in killing it?” He blinked numbly, “You’re kidding, right?” “I’m afraid not.” Wendell’s head fell back against the couch as the room started to spin. The smiley turned a putrid green. I killed it. I killed a beautiful, enchanting, real life dragon… “I killed her,” he whispered to himself. Then an idea hit him. “We can go back,” he pleaded, “Right now. It wasn’t her fault—I asked her to help! That has to make a difference…” He looked to each of them for . “I can pay for damages. Right?” Only Chuck looked him in the face. “I’m sorry.” Wendell’s stomach churned. It was the heavy realization of the truth. He’d finally met a real life dragon—an intelligent creature and he sentenced it to death. Way to go Wendell. You screwed up…again. He huddled at the end of the sofa. “You got yerself another problem now, Chuck—ta add to the dragon killer over there.” Wendell flinched at the jeer. Dax smirked, his huge fingers interlaced behind his back. “Leave the boy alone, monkey,” replied Chuck, “I got us back, safe and sound. All we have to do is sit back and wait for the Council.” He watched Wendell pull his knees into his chest, wrapping his arms around them. Dax nodded towards Alhannah—sitting quietly, picking at her nails with a dagger. “…and then explain why ya brought back a Gnome…into Sanctuary.” “What’s wrong with me being here?” Alhannah asked, offended.

Chuck waved a hand at her. “Alhannah’s not technically IN Sanctuary, now is she? She’s in my home. No one can tell me who I can and cannot invite into my own home!” He sank down between Wendell and the gnome, then reached over and squeezed Alhannah’s hand, reassuringly. “So good to see you, by the way, my dear.” Snatching the wide brimmed hat from his head, Chuck flung it across the room. It sailed casually through the air, then hovered, like a feather suspended upon the wind…and landed on a peg by the front door. “Besides, now that she’s my employee, she’s required to stay near the boy—wherever he goes.” Both Wendell and Alhannah sat forward. “Excuse me?” they said in unison. “What do ya mean, employee?” asked Dax. “Bodyguard, of course.” Chuck smirked as he collected his massive beard and pulled it up onto his lap. He added, “Well, and trainer.” Wendell and Alhannah looked across at one another, confused. “Oh please,” Chuck huffed, looking between them, “am I the only one thinking ahead?” Pointing to Alhannah, “You obviously need a job or you wouldn’t have been visiting your father. No, don’t deny it—he normally comes to see you. Besides, you can’t go back to the Market for awhile after our little escapade, so why not make some coin? Do something important,” his gaze turned to Wendell, “like protecting this worlds interests.” The gnome sat back, considering. “How much coin?” Chuck ignored her and focused on Wendell. “You need to start learning how to defend yourself, son. There’s no doubt about that. You gave an amazing display at the tavern, but think of what you could do with instruction. Hardcore training! Alhannah here is quite talented, despite her gentile countenance.” Alhannah growled, “I am not gentile!?” “Got that right,” snickered Dax. Wendell hunched forward, letting his elbows rest on his knees. Now I’m going to be babysat by a red headed porcelain doll…and she’s going to do what? Teach

me how to use pocket knives? But it wasn’t true and he knew it. Alhannah proved herself dangerous and fearless against the vallen in the tavern,…it just didn’t sit well with him. As if on cue, Alhannah looked up at him and grinned, her two red piggy tails bouncing quite menacingly. She bobbed her eyebrows at him. How can this get any more embarrassing? Chuck glared at the troll, “And you certainly don’t want the job ANYway! it it, monkey!! You love and respect the boy as much as a boil on your butt.” Dax opened his mouth to retort, but the wizard held his hand up for silence. “You oversee the training, I’ll educate. Deal?” Dax bit his lip, considering. “There!” the wizard clapped his hands together, “Now we have concrete reason for showing up with a gnome. We have absolutely nothing to worry about.” And with that, Chuck kicked off his sandals and put his white feet up onto the coffee table. He laced his hands behind his head, letting out a sigh of satisfaction. A loud knock echoed at the front door. The room erupted in hysterics. Dax dove behind the armchair, Alhannah flipped over the back of the sofa and Chuck flung himself forward, spinning his body behind the curtains of the bay window. Only Wendell failed to react. He sat on the couch, rubbing his temple with a finger. “Right,” he sighed, “I’ll get it.” Crazy loons. An Iskari boy in red robes stood on the steps, taking deep gulps of air, his cheeks flushed purple. He bowed deeply, “Lord Wendell.” Handing him a small scroll of paper, the boy bowed again and immediately dashed back up the starlit path. Leaves rolled across the cobblestone path leading to the picket fence, the chittering sands echoing above. Even here, on a moon, Wendell could hear the familiar sound of crickets in the night. The crystals of Sanctuary were dimming. Wendell stood in the doorway, watching the page until he had vanished from

view altogether. Chuck slid up beside him. He looked sheepishly over Wendell’s shoulder. “What does it say?” Untying the red ribbon, Wendell unraveled the scroll and read. A knot formed in the pit of his stomach. Here we go… “The Council wants to see us within the hour.”

Chapter 19 Council Meeting

Sometimes, you just have to say it like it is…and let the chips fall where they may.

They’re going to ask me about the letter , Wendell pondered, shuffling one foot in front of the other. What am I going to say? Heck—what can I say? The walk to Tamku felt slow and laborious, though the trek through the forest was peaceful enough. It was when they entered the valley that Wendell started to panic. One of fifteen valleys in Sanctuary, Tamku was a painful reminder of Kyliene’s death. With each step closer towards the Prime Gate, the pain, sadness and hesitation grew. Will this ever become easier? The market and the ading streets were barren now, merchants and families had gone home, retiring for the night. The great crystals, embedded in the waves surrounding the city, glowed dim, simulating nightfall—while the crystal-lined streets and lamp posts burned bright. Wendell couldn’t help searching for hints of the bright red door. A strong urge nagged at him to knock on Moira’s door… to give his condolences to Kyliene’s grandmother and little brother. But his feet kept shuffling along. He remained silent and followed Chucks lead. The park was, of course, empty. The trees fluttered in the light breeze, their white bark glowing under the purple and blue lights of the crystal lamp posts. It may have been Wendell’s imagination, but the trees almost looked…sorrowful. Weighed down by the events the night before, leaning inward, towards the center of the park. Mourning. “This is where it all happened,” Wendell said to himself. Chuck and Dax remained silent when Wendell stopped in front of the Prime Gate. He drifted from them, wandering around the triangular structure nestled in the grass. The curved, black claws, growing up from the corners of the Gate’s platform, looked horribly out of place. Cold and lifeless—surrounded by the

beauty of shade trees, flowers, shrubs and the lush grass. The blood on the stone ramps was already gone. All evidence of the fight…of the deaths…cleaned away. No. I have to let this go. I didn’t know what to do. There wasn’t anything I could have done. But he wasn’t convinced. He stared long and hard at the monolith structure planted in the center of the park. An ancient looking yet it held the power to travel over long distances. How long Wendell had no clue, but the very concept fascinated him. A gateway to… where? How many of these gates exist? he wondered, resisting his darker thoughts. He didn’t want to think of what happened here, but what might happen. Being the ‘hero’ meant he’d have to travel. He’d always wanted to see the world. Not exactly the world I was expecting, but hey… Wendell ran a finger over the stone of the ramp. How many of these will I get the opportunity to use? Stepping through a magical doorway to…anywhere. Wendell let out a sigh. Daisies grew in thick patches along the base of the Prime Gate, sharing their light, fresh green scent—but it couldn’t mask the feelings of what Wendell had experienced. Where did that monster come from? The portal had opened from…what was it called? Humär. But where do these monsters actually come from? He knelt down and ran fingers through the very spot where the High Council had used their combined powers to, how did Chuck put it? …throw him back into the melting pot—until nothing had remained. Wendell twirled the grass around his index finger. The blades were tender and green. Not a mark to be found. “You haven’t said a thing about the letter, son,” interrupted Chuck. Wendell flinched. He hadn’t even noticed the old man standing over him. He blinked, his mind yanked back from the memories, “What?” “The letter. You did read it, didn’t you?”

Wendell stood up, brushing his hands together. “Uh…yeah. Yes, I did.” “Well?” the wizard prodded, guiding him back to the path towards the Keep, “Was there anything important in it—a hint, clue…something that can help us?” Wendell rubbed the back of his neck. “Not…really. It was pretty much like I thought it would be—a letter from a father to his son. It was filled with apologies. You know, being taken to Earth, leaving this problem on the son’s shoulders, stuff like that.” “That’s it?” exclaimed Chuck, “No insights? No diagrams or cheat-sheet manual of how to use Ithari? Pshhh—that’s a bummer.” But the wizard kept staring at Wendell, his eyes dropping to look at the smiley face on the black t-shirt. “Your shirt seems a tad nervous.” Wendell reacted like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar, averting his eyes. The smiley face continued to bite its bottom lip. “Anything…you’d like to share, perhaps?” Wrapping his arms uncomfortably around his midsection, Wendell shook his head. “No, not really,” but he had the distinct impression he wasn’t fooling anyone. “Let’s GO!” shouted Dax, “I ain’t takin’ the blame if we’re late!” Chuck gestured to the path, “After you.” The white stone of the great castle shimmered like diamonds in the light of the waning crystal sunset. It was the water, Wendell knew—the mists created by the waterfalls on either side of the magnificent structure. The rumbling sound of the falling water grew as they approached, the cool moisture carried on the light breeze. From a distance, the castle looked mystical—floating on the mist itself. But as they walked up the narrow, high arched bridge from the park, he could see the foundation jutting out of the water below. Wendell paid careful attention not to get too close to the edge. Instead, he kept his attention firmly focus on his feet, the height ever ready to steal his balance. Dax jogged ahead impatiently, across the terrace of the castle and wandering

through the Keep. Chuck and Wendell followed in silence. Only the sound of Dax’s flapping feet could be heard, echoing through the vacant corridors and halls. Wendell paid little attention to his surroundings. He followed numbly behind the wizard as they mounted the steps and through the High Elders office. Candles burned on the golden desk, casting shadows that drew his attention momentarily to the descending steps. Steps that led to the Key. The cold iron felt good to Wendell as he gripped the railing and ascended the steps. This I my life now. This is my choice. He stopped short when they reached the top. His feet suddenly developed minds of their own, refusing to go on. What am I afraid of? The hallway ahead felt too narrow. There’s no reason to be afraid here. Too dark. I can do this. He took several short, sharp breaths—but he couldn’t get the nagging feeling to leave him. Of all the places he’d been in Sanctuary, the Bedurrim was the most intimidating. Wendell wasn’t looking forward to another experience. Every detail of the chamber’s interior focused on whomever stood at its center. Aptly called ‘the hot spot’ by Dax, even Chuck described the rooms construction to be an intimidation tactic. Enormous sculptures of dragons, wrapping their tales around wood and stone overhead, digging claws into the framework. Their long necks hung down, each with piercing red eyes, focused on the unfortunate soul who stood before the High Council. I hate those things, staring…

All the while—the real eyes of the Elders, hidden under hoods, judged you in silence. Chuck noticed his hesitation and walked back for him. Leaning on his staff, he gave Wendell that calm, grandfatherly smile, then nudged him with an elbow. “You’re going to do just fine, Wendell.” Wendell nodded, then smiled to himself. “It’s nice to hear you say my name.” The wizard tilted his head to the side, “Pardon?” “You don’t say my name often,” he clarified, “You usually say ‘son’ or ‘my boy’…but it’s nice, to hear my name spoken calmly.” He shrugged, “I know it sounds stupid—but every time Dax says it, it sounds like a swear word.” “Heard that,” snorted Dax, from down the hall. Chuck smirked. “Hope you don’t mind me calling you ‘son’, I mean. I’ve been blessed, after losing my own family in the war, to help raise a few boys.” He glanced briefly at Dax, who bit off one of his fingernails and spat it onto the floor. “It’s not the same, I realize…but it certainly helps a lonely old man from feeling worse. So, if it makes you uncomfortable, I…” “It doesn’t,” Wendell cut him off. Chuck nodded, “Right then. Ready to do this?” Wendell took a deep breath and held it for as long as he could, before he let it out silently. This is stupid—there’s no reason for me to be nervous. But he still jumped when the double doors opened. The creak of wood, metal scraping against the stone frame and floor, grated against his nerves. Probably another tool to mess with you, Wendell. Ignore it. You’re going to do fine. Heavy smoke from burning incense rolled out into the hallway. Its sweet, woodsy scent curled around the three of them, overwhelming Wendell’s senses. His eyes watered. Following the wizards lead, Wendell stumbled into the Bedurrim, trying to blink them clear. Scattered in clusters, the Council was busily engaged in conversations and

ionate debate. Black, white and golden robes mixed in small groups. The ring of fire blazed in the alcove above their heads—illuminating the room with an ominous glow. Conversations quickly died down as the child from Earth entered. The sudden hush put Wendell on edge. Only the High Elder met him with a smile. His hood drawn back to reveal his bald, blue head. The old man walked across the floor to greet him. “Thank you for coming, Lord Wendell.” His blue within blue eyes were bright and warm, which was a considerable improvement from their last meeting. Wendell attributed this sudden acceptance to his decision to stay and help as the new hero. “Just…Wendell,” he corrected. “Of course,” Delnar bowed slightly, then pointed to the bench along the wall. “Please, be seated,” he said, and then called out louder, “we must be about our business.” Pulling his golden hood over his scalp, he took his place in the highback chair, at the center of the Council. Each elder silently took their seat—one of fifteen chairs on a raised, semi-circle platform. Five in black robes, five in white and the presiding three, which included the High Elder, were adorned in robes of gold. Only two seats remained unoccupied. They sat with hoods drawn, eyes hidden in obscurity, masked by darkness. The faceless. The smiley on Wendell’s shirt gulped nervously. Sitting next to Chuck and Dax, Wendell was relieved to see that he was not the focus of this meeting. In the center of the Bedurrim, lay the sleeping Elder Tiell. Dressed in his white robes, he rested on a wide cot, ed with pillows—his torso, head and hands wrapped in bandages. His chest rose and fell steadily. He looks peaceful. Standing over him was Elder Nurii. An older woman, dressed in black—she was the one who had suggested, at the previous meeting, that the Council perform this particular ritual.

With a nod from the High Elder, she knelt at the side of the cot. Moving meticulously, Nurii lit the contents of four small pots and placed them at each corner of Tiell’s resting place. Blue, green, white and red smoke pushed through the pinholes of the lids. Her black hood swayed as she whispered the incantation. Ascending, the smoke slowed. Wendell sat forward, curious. Within moments, the movement became almost imperceptible. The smoke looked more like four pillars of colored cotton. Nurii’s voice dropped to a whisper, her hands slowly tracing odd symbols in the air, her fingers gracefully twirling and folding. She placed one within each pillar. Her fingers pushed the fumes aside, creating clean trails within the smoke. As she did so, the symbols held their shape, hovering like obedient specters. As Nurii completed the forming of each symbol, it filled with a white light, as if poured within the smoke. At the completion of the last symbol, the ring of fire above their heads, abruptly died out. Only the symbols granted any semblance of light. The fear Wendell had felt, the apprehension he struggled with in the hallway had vanished. He watched, mesmerized, as the magic before him was performed. Each move of the Elder’s hands, every sway of her shoulders or word which left her lips, held Wendell’s attention. Fingers outstretched over Tiell’s chest, Nurii threw her hands outward, through the air. The smooth, precise motion sent the smoke billowing across the room, until it crashed against the walls like waves of an ocean against a reef. Wendell watched small strands of smoke fall from the symbols, like pots bubbling over, dripping onto the sleeping Elder. Strands wiggled along Tiell’s tunic and bandages, like hyperactive worms trying to escape, then quickly vanishing into the Iskari’s skin and robe. What is she doing? But Tiell didn’t flinch or look to be in any form of discomfort—his chest continued to rise and fall steadily. None of the Elders moved or spoke for that matter. Even Chuck and Dax sat perfectly still, watching in silence.

Wendell took it all as a hint and sat back against the wall, observant. Head bowed, Nurii continued to chant, her pitch now rising, until a single pinpoint of blue light came into existence over Tiell’s brow. It was hardly noticeable at first, but Nurri sang to it. Beckoned to it. At first it flickered. Then it pulsed, encouraged by the tones and attention given to it. Within moments it began to grow—a soft light, expanding into a halo from the center of Tiell’s forehead. Brighter and brighter it grew with each ing moment. Reaching out, the Elder Nurii delicately hooked her finger through the ring and pulled it from its position, gently through the air, until it hovered over Tiell’s chest. Leaning forward, Nurii drew a fifth symbol then, at the center of the halo, the motion of her fingers leaving a faint trail. Satisfied, her thin lips puckered…and she blew. Like a tiny ripple effect, the halo quivered and stretched. Larger and larger—expanding outward, across the room the halo rolled… through Nurii, through plants and chairs. It continued to spread, from ripple to wave, across the Bedurrim, leaving a thin, glowing sheet of light in its wake, following the same path as the smoke…until it collided with the circular walls of stone. Wow. Wendell reached up with a hand to touch the rippling surface—his fingers ing through the light. He felt nothing. Without warning, thin strands of light shot outward from the symbol at the rings center. Arching high into the air…they exploded. Trees and mountains formed across the doorway, clouds rolled into existence between the rafters. Some fragmented into smaller trails of light—flickering about wildly, transforming into birds, a deer grazing and two squirrels chasing one another across the lower limb of a tree. Even small ants and beetles lumbered over Wendell’s head, carrying their treasures back to their homes. Amazing! He watched in awe as the environment formed. A bright light flared overhead. It stretched, then it dulled, moving slowly across

the Bedurrim, finally settling in as fog. Within moments, the scene was complete. A forest valley…and in the distance, a platform with three black claws arcing towards the center. Wendell leaned forward from where he sat, squinting. Is that a Prime Gate? Though there were faded images of trees and other plant life in the way, from what he could tell, it looked identical to the one in Sanctuary. Nurii placed her slim hand over Tiell’s chest and the other across his brow and hairline. “Tiell,” she addressed him in a calm, yet firm command, “show us your experience at Tämä-Un.” The sleeping Elder gasped, taking in a sharp, jagged breath. Instantly, the scene within the room changed. Trees and mountains whipped around the Bedurrim. The room got brighter as the sun rose and quickly arched overhead, taking its place in the sky and then reversing its trajectory. Objects spun about and animals flashed before their eyes…the days activities reversed in moments. Everything moved so fast Wendell clamped his eyes shut, feeling motion sick. When he looked up again, the landscape had settled. The Prime Gate was no longer in view. Instead, not more than a hundred feet from him, were five vallen. Armored warriors with chain and plate mail, dented and worn. Markings covered the metal and exposed skin of the creatures, though Wendell had no idea what they might mean. The giants stood with their backs to him. Wendell’s hands shook with fear, but his curiosity was so strong, he almost reached out. They look so real! The vallen were in conversation, arguing…but the scene was moving. Shaking. The perspective was higher than before. It took Wendell a moment to realize that everyone in the Bedurrim was looking through Tiell’s perspective. They were looking through the elders eyes, standing on the platform of the Prime Gate itself! A vallen roared and Wendell nearly fell from his seat.

There’s sound!? The roar was answered by another and metal scraped against metal. Soldiers, drawing their weapons, ran towards the gate. The room abruptly spun again as Tiell jumped from the platform, sprinting for the tree line. Wendell sat up straight, heart racing, his attention focused on the sound of the Elder’s panting. He’s got to get out of there—find a place to hide! Occasionally Tiell looked over his shoulder and Wendell could see two of the giants in hot pursuit, barking at one another. Tiell dodged left and right, darting around the foliage while his pursuers barreled through the plant life, gaining ground. The sound of tree branches whipping past, the crunch of leaves and pine needles under foot resounded throughout the Bedurrim. A blue hand whipped into view and the point of view turned to look behind. Roots exploded from the ground, rising high, catching the closest pursuer unaware. The giant bellowed as he hit the ground, tripped by a plant. The second beast jumped over the obstacle. The panting grew louder and Wendell noticed some of the elders shifting in their seats. His own pulse quickened. Run, Tiell…RUN! It was several moment before he ed that the elder was laying right in front of him. Wait, I know how this turns out. He sighed. Okay, calm down, Wendell. It’s alright. He took a deep breath and shook off the fear. This has a good ending. Trees and shrubbery shot past in blurs. There’s nowhere to hide. He’s going to get caught. The movement suddenly stopped. Tiell dropped low behind a cluster of shrubs. Then lower still, he peered under small branches of a plant. The elder held his breath and Wendell did the same. Boots in the distance, pausing, then moving on…stomping through the trees. Wendell smiled, Tiell’s a quick one…even if he is wearing a dress. Several minutes ed before Tiell got up from the prone position. He looked around cautiously. Keeping low and behind the trees, he slowly crept back towards the Prime Gate. Wendell found himself mesmerized by the controlled breathing and rhythmic sound of each footfall.

Without warning, the perspective was whipped around and the entire chamber was engulfed by the face of the enemy. “AAAHH!” Wendell cried out loud with panic, throwing his hands up top protect his face. He peaked out from behind his fingers to find everyone in the room staring right at him. “Sorry,” Wendell mumbled, embarrassed. He gave Chuck a sideways glance and shrugged. “Sorry about that. This gives surround sound a whole new meaning.” The vallen’s laughter was deep and grating. A gauntlet struck the elder across the face and Wendell ducked. The image shuddered and slid out of focus, but Wendell could see the giant grinning wide. The Council watched as the long, broken canines poking out from its bottom jaw, loomed closer. Sliding across the cracked and misshaped lips, a black tongue mingled with the saliva dripping from the corner of its mouth. “Fresh meat,” it hissed. Wendell dry heaved. Small blue hands reached up, clawing at the face. A gauntlet wrapped around one of them and Tiell cried out. There was a violent shudder throughout the room. Wendell glanced at the cot and was surprised to see the Iskari twisting in the pillows. Is…he in pain? With each blow, his body shuttered and then collapsed deeper into the bedding. Wendell poked Chuck, concerned. “What are we doing to him?” he whispered, pointing at Tiell. The wizard patted his arm reassuringly. “It’s part of the process, I’m afraid,” he whispered quietly, “Poor Tiell must relive it all for us to see.” He frowned, “A considerable sacrifice—so let’s be quiet.” Wendell nodded silently and glanced up to see powerful hands locked around the Elder’s throat above them. A creeping darkness closed in. The walls of the Bedurrim grew dim, spreading over stone, chair and wood, the image of the vallen fading before them. He’s being choked to death! Wendell’s legs bounced atop the balls of his feet, his

palms clammy, fingers twitching. Mouth open wide, the misshapen fangs of the vallen closed in to bite, with a growl Wendell recognized, rumbling from its chest. Tiell’s raspy voice could barely be heard, gasping for the last sips of air. No! The scene trembled violently…and went black. No one in the chamber made a sound, though several glanced to Tiell on the cot. The four symbols continued to give their light in the absence of the scene above them. Wendell could still hear Tiell breathing all around him. Light slowly crept back into the chamber. It was blurry at first—but moments later, Wendell could make out the lower branches of a tree. He sat forward, Where’s the giant? What happened?? The perspective tumbled forward as Tiell sat up. The room spun around to look at the giant…dead. A daggers hilt was fixed under the giants chin. Blood ran down its thick neck and into the soil. A smaller trail ran from the top of the skull where the blade punctured through bone, down across the Vallen’s open eye. The fixed stare made Wendell shudder. Mangled fingers came into view, already swollen and turning dark. Wendell cringed as Tiell, with great difficulty, pulled the blade from the lifeless body and wiped it clean across his robe. For over an hour they watched the Elder work his way back to the Prime Gate, silently circling the rim of the trees, avoiding the searches and whispering incantations to hide his presence. Tiell eventually found a thick outcropping of plant life with a clear view of the Prime Gate. Nestling himself between the trees and rocks, he laid down, covering himself with leaves and pine needles. He settled in and watched Tämä-Un’s unwelcome visitors—now four alert guards, pacing the base of the Prime Gate. How is he going to get past them? How did he get past them?? A single drop of light fell from the sky and struck the Gate. The air upon the platform blurred. Shapes formed at its center, silhouettes of shadow converging.

The four guards positioned themselves at the ramps, swords drawn, shields raised and ready. And then altogether pushing through, the darkness gave birth. Creatures that looked like lizards crossed with panthers, jumped from the platform on six legs—thick tails hissing with fanged mouthes. Furry beasts with powerful arms and shoulders, swung their short, squat bodies across the ground —small heads turned warily from side to side, long black tongues tasting the air. Deformed men with deep scars and tattered vests, cracked long whips at the beasts, shouting commands while small dogs…or what Wendell thought were dogs, nipped at the heels of those in line. Yapping like hyena’s, their faces were marred and twisted, lacking eyelids or lips and Wendell recoiled in his seat. What ARE those things?! Bare-chested slaves guided beasts of burden through the use of spears, jabbing at necks and tugging on leashes. Mammoth humanoids, chained together in lines, lumbered forward, pulling heavy laden carts. Behind them came black wolves the size of grizzly bears. Muffled and harnessed, the wagons they pulled groaned under the weight of their cargo. And then there were soldiers. Line after line, pushing through the darkness. Giants in horned helmets, thick steel plate and rattling chain mail. The ground shook with their uniform march, pikes and spears stabbing the ground with each step. The invaders poured through like an open wound, black blood flooding into the open valley as if they would never stop. Terror gripped Wendell’s chest. An army of blood lusting freaks and monsters. He tried to count how many came through the portal at first, but he lost track, over and over again. There were too many. Nurii’s eyes searched the open vision before her. “Tiell, how did you escape?” The images shifted once more, darkness engulfing the room as the sun vanished. Stars took their place, shinning brilliantly overhead. A sea of diamonds. There was no longer any sign of the army. The valley was empty, except for the guards who remained behind. Tiell shifted cautiously through the trees, inching forward. Into the open he ventured. Crawling up behind the Prime Gate, he peered around the edge of the platform. The guards sat quietly around a small fire, engaged in eating and drinking—paying little attention.

Now’s his chance, Wendell knew, but the Elder hesitated. Both hands came into view. Swollen, broken fingers moving painfully across the engraved symbols of the black claw. The marking slid along the black surface, changing from single shapes to complex formations…the deep red changing to a dull blue. Wendell could hear Tiell’s breathing becoming shallow. Quickening. He’s scared. Crawling up the back ramp of the platform, Tiell crouched behind one of the claws and looked upward. A brilliant drop of light launched upward, vanishing into the heavens. Calling home. Jumping to the center of the platform, the Elder quickly wrote symbols in the air, whispering incantations. Light accumulated around him, casting pointed shadows from the platform. Magic. It’s too bright! The guards are going to… The soldiers were already on their feet, sprinting. Wendell could see one by the fire, lifting a crossbow. “Look out!” Wendell cried, caught up in the moment. Several Elders glanced at him and Chuck patted him on the back. Wendell sunk back into his seat, still transfixed on the scene. Light flared from the blue hands, just as Tiell cried out from the cot. Vallen fell to the ground, scattered and smoldering, but Tiell’s good arm fell like a dead trees to his side. A crossbow bolt protruded from his shoulder. The light around the Elder waned. Wendell looked at the Elder, lying their on the pillows, cleaned and dressed in white, wounds bandaged, bones reset. Even in the dim light, Wendell could see the glistening sweat along Tiell’s brow, tiny streams trickling across his temples. Above Wendell, the Elder drew his long dagger with broken fingers and threw. The blade flipped through the air, past an oncoming foe, and sunk into the face of the crossbowman. The body fell backwards into the flames. As the last standing soldier drew close, darting up the ramp, Wendell cringed. His heart thrashed in his chest as the enemy drew close enough to swung his war hammer. Wendell threw his arms up in defense as the hammer dropped. Tiell rolled with the blow too late.

The sound of cracking bones echoed throughout the Bedurrim. Images instantly flashed to the park in Sanctuary, flooding the chamber and Wendell blinked. The perspective spun about as Tiell’s body flew back, rolling down the steps of the ramp. A growl seeped from the lips of Elder Tūrsin. For a moment, the images didn’t move…and Wendell felt the fear creep up his spine. Get up Tiell. Get UP! He knew what was next. Kyliene was nearby. She had just walked him back to meet with Delnar, the High Elder. Wendell was standing on the terrace just a hundred yards away. A scream pierced the air and Wendell nearly came unglued. Get up Tiell!! …but it was useless. He knew the outcome. The Elder raised his head weakly. The young girl came into focus. Kyliene was cowering before the Vallen, retreating to the tree line of the park. NO! Wendell wanted to jump into the scene and attack the giant with his own fists. He nearly stood up to try. Grunting and breathing heavily, Tiell pulled his knees under him and started whispering words Wendell didn’t understand. Light once again began to gather around the Elder, his good hand limply tracing signs in the air. But it was too late. The giant charged at him and the hammer came down swiftly. The images vanished. Tiell was unconscious. Wendell sat wide eyed, his heart nearly refusing to beat. …and he killed her. That foul demon from hell killed her! His hands trembled, thinking of Kyliene’s body, lying upon the ground, wrapped in the white Iskari ceremonial cloth of death. His head fell forward. He killed her. The four symbols faded as the incantation ended. The flames in the Bedurrim rose once more, chasing away the haunting shadows of the brutal memories.

“That is all Tiell can show us,” Nurii said softly, gently raising and kissing Tiell’s hand. “Rest now, little brother,” she whispered, “you have done very well.” The prone Elder continued on in sleep, but Wendell noticed a line of blood from Tiell’s nose, trailing across his cheek. Nurii took a cloth from her sleeve and wiped the blood from his face. Wendell expected an outburst of comments or questions. At the very least, he expected noise—but it remained silent. Hoods turned this way and that, but no one spoke. Even Delnar sat in silence. His hood pulled back, the High Elder looked…frozen—a statue of cobalt, eyes locked on Chuck. The wizard sat next to Wendell, hands tightly gripping the neck of his staff. Wendell glanced between the two, seemingly locked in a muted conversation. The High Elder looked to have aged during the open vision. The lines in his face deepened in concern as the old wizard continued to gaze at him. Unblinking, unmoving. Only Shea, the youngest of the Council, seemed as confused as Wendell. A small light sparked as Dax lit a cigar, breaking the tension. “Decisions must be made,” said Elder Gaidred. His gloomy voice ending the silence and all hoods turned to him. “…and in haste I fear.” He stared at Tiell’s sleeping body, gently pulling at his black beard in contemplation. “I believe a bad situation just got worse. Our brother is wounded. We lack the royal bloodline. Now we have irrefutable proof that the enemy moves against the humans. We are wholly unprepared.” Several hoods nodded in agreement. A thin, pale Elder sat forward, leaning on the edge of his seat. He looked to Gaidred. “Will it do us any good to purge the Gate?” “It will buy us time, I believe,” Gaidred replied, “nothing more.” “Excuse me” interrupted Wendell timidly. He was determined to be included in this conversation. “Would you mind explaining what you’re talking about?” None of the Elders replied.

Chuck sat in silence, pondering. His staff hovering in the air next to him. Dax scoffed, flicking cigar ashes onto the floor. “We don’t know ‘nuthin. It’s just a buncha troll trash and their pets comin’ through the Gate. Big freakin’ deal. Let’s get some real men, a few mägo and deport their butts! Kick ‘em out, lock the Gate, secure the shores…problem solved.” Gaidred shook his head, “It’s not that simple, Dax. When was the last time you saw a Vallen open a Prime Gate?” Dax sneered, “They can’t! They’re too stupid to…” His face went pale. He dropped his head and started to pace. They’re disturbed by this. Seriously bothered…enough to make Dax shut up!? Wendell’s hand went to his front pocket, fingers resting against the letter he’d folded and tucked away. He raised his hand, awkwardly. “I’d sure like to know what you’ve all concluded,” he said nervously. But again, none of the Council replied. “Vallen can’t open Gates,” answered Chuck. “The Tauku however—a filthy, foul race of sadistic parasites—are masters of Gate Lore.” Wendell looked around the room. Then it hit him. Oh, crap, “They’ve teamed up.” “That’s…the theory at this point, anyway.” Chuck looked to Delnar, “But we won’t know for sure until we get involved.” Dax continued to pace across the floor, puffing the cigar aggressively and doing an excellent impression of a choo-choo train. “The Vallen and Tauku are bitter enemies, Lord Wendell.” A round bellied, heavy set Elder sat forward. “If left alone, they would eventually destroy one another without our help.” He pulled the Black robes about his legs, shifting in his chair. It creaked under his weight. “The only alliances we know of in our recorded history, have occurred when they engaged in war…under the direct rule of Mahan himself. The Tauku opening the gates may be an assumption,…but I am unaware of any other race with such knowledge.”

The High Elder raised his hand for silence. “Thank you Sulvan,” he said politely. He looked to Wendell. “The last alliance between these races was to destroy the Nocturi people.” “Here we go,” whispered Dax to himself. “You don’t know that Delnar,” countered Chuck, loudly. His blue eyes sat fixed under the bushy brows, unyielding, challenging. “It’s speculation at best,” he continued, and even louder, “we don’t actually know what happened.” “Are you serious?” scoffed Dax, stopping mid-step and shooting the wizard a glare of disgust. “After all this time, you still want to argue about this?” “Maybe so,” cut in the High Elder, “but tell me when the Vallen, regardless of how powerful and vicious they are in battle, have ever defeated the mägo? Let alone the greatest magic s that ever lived! There had to be magic…powerful magic, to subdue and destroy our brothers.” He looked around at his Council, most of them nodding. “When the Nocturi were destroyed, the very world trembled! We had peace for hundreds of years and then, suddenly, shadows reentered the world, Morphiophelius. Even you cannot deny this. Mahan’s whispers were heard once more.” The wizard shook his head, “No. …no, you don’t know…” Wendell flinched as the High Elder sprang to his feet, shouting, “No mere unembodied has the power to penetrate the defenses of Erimūri, Morphiophelius! Something aided that creature,” he grit his teeth, choking back the rage, “and it was not some Vallen spawn! It killed one of our CHILDREN!” Delnar fell back into this chair, fuming. “This is not a game, wizard,” he trembled, “…what other proof do we need?” Wendell watched the exchange closely. It was apparent that Delnar and Chuck didn’t always see eye to eye. The tension continued to rise in the chamber, though there were smiles, nods and manners used. So the bad guys get together when they really want to put the hurt on people. Lovely. This job keeps getting harder by the minute. He piped up again, “So, why Tämä-Un? Why humans?” He looked around the

room. “I mean, why not Gnomes, or Kutollum, or Evolu…even Gypsies.” A few mouths opened in surprise as he rattled off the names of the races. “The humans have been the greatest force against dark uprisings from the beginning,” answered Gaidred. “Destroy the humans, you break any serious foundation for a resistance. King Robert III has thwarted every major invasion for the past two centuries. His greatest effort of late has been to rebuild the old alliances, though he’s had little success.” Elder Nurii stirred in her seat. “Andilain’s government is crumbling. Nobles wage war against each other, poverty forces the citizens to rebel—they are ripe for destruction as a nation. Especially if King Robert is away.” Another Elder in white robes, interrupted, “Do we know if any other gates have been opened?” Wendell recognized him as Elder Tūrsin, the one who killed the Vallen in Sanctuary. He was a shape-shifter and defeated the giant by transforming into a bear. Tūrsin’s face contorted in anger, the crease of his brows so deep they looked like lightening. He gripped the arms of his chair, the knuckles of his wide hands turning white from the strain. “Not unless we travel there ourselves,” answered the Elder beside Tūrsin. He looked to be a thinner twin of the shapeshifting Elder, but only their faces were identical. A steady hand reached out and gripped Tūrsin’s forearm. He immediately relaxed. “But our decision here must be made with calm hearts and open eyes. Based upon what we do know, not our assumptions. What concerns me most, is if the enemy is once more organized, then its general is also involved and is most certainly on the move.” Dax closed his eyes tightly as if in pain. “Thule,” he whispered to himself, though Wendell could hear him well enough. “Mahan’s Pink Panties!” snapped Chuck, “This just get’s better and better!” He looked to Wendell and shook his head in disgust, “Poster child for birth defects if you ask me. Don’t think his mother took vitamins when she was pregnant, if you know what I mean.” “Lord…,” the High Elder paused as the young hero looked up. He tried to smile, but he looked worn. “Wendell. Have you had a chance to read the letter I gave to you?”

Wendell looked around sheepishly and nodded, “But I don’t think it’s going to help much. It was more of an apology than anything else.” “An apology?” repeated the High Elder. Wendell pulled the letter from his pocket and unfolded it. “It says the enemy’s going to escape. That it was his fault, the hero’s, because he couldn’t kill Mahan. He didn’t have the heart to.” Gasps and whispered comments erupted from the Council. “Give me that!” snapped Dax, yanking the paper from Wendell’s hands. Wendell scratched his head, “…and it says to find Ithari’s children…and keep them safe? Which seems kinda crazy, because a diamond can’t have kids.” He looked around at the stoic expressions on Delnar’s face. “Can it?” “Yer insane kid,” challenged Dax, “It doesn’t say anything! It’s just a blank sheet o’paper.” Wendell took the paper back and looked at it. “It’s all right here, Dax…see?” He tapped the paper with a finger. “Dax’s eyes are fine,” clarified the High Elder. “The letter was sealed by magic and given to the High Elder of the time. Only Ithari could break the enchantment upon it,” he smiled at Wendell, “and apparently read it.” “The children the letter speaks of,” added Gaidred, “would be the fragments of the original stone Ithari came from. The Lanthya. Eleven shards, and the heart stone, which you now wear in your chest.” At it’s mention, Wendell’s hand caressed the stone under his t-shirt. Now we’re getting somewhere! “Who has them?” Wendell asked. The High Elder shot Chuck a glance. The wizard nodded. “The first is here, within Sanctuary. The second was a gift, from the Evolu to the High Kings of Humär. It was placed in the hilt of Stonecleaver—the sword King Robert III now wears. The third, we believe is still with the Northern Kingdom of the Kutollum, hidden from all site.”

Wendell pondered. “That’s eight shards uned for.” Lost? Hidden? In the hands of Thule? “This is why we must act wisely,” added Delnar, “They could be anywhere.” The frustration on his face gave way to resolve—the spring sun melting the hold of a winter snow. “We cannot sit by and allow the enemy to tread on our ancient kin.” Addressing the High Council, “Brothers and sisters, I believe the time has come for the Iskari to once more walk among men.” “Then a strategy we must formulate,” answered Gaidred, “The Prime Gate must be purged and locked, to prevent further use by the enemy.” “…and to prevent their escape,” added another. Wendell’s mind kept flashing to the angry face of the Vallen, snapping its jagged teeth at Tiell. He did a double take when he noticed Chuck just standing there, a huge smirk on his face. Dax, however, still paced the floor. “And you, our young friend,” added the High Elder with a smile, “will stay here in Sanctuary and begin your studies.” Wendell blinked. “Excuse me?” “We must keep you isolated from danger,” added Delnar, maintaining his smile. “We cannot allow the gem to fall into the hands of the enemy.” “Woah, woah, woah…” Wendell couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “You must remain hidden,” Delnar stressed, “…for now.” The Council nodded their silent agreement. “It is the wisest course of action…and the final decision of this body.” When Wendell opened his mouth once more to object, the High Elder cut him off. “If Thule were to discover that you were here, he would stop at nothing to find you. He will hunt you down and destroy you. Every appearance you make, jeopardizes your life. You must prepare and develop your abilities. Keeping you confined to Erimūri is the only way we can ensure your safety. Once you’ve learned how to utilize the Ithari satisfactorily, we will find the best use for your abilities.”

Chuck nervously stepped forward. “Uh, gents—speaking of appearances…there may be a small prob…” “No,” said Wendell aloud. He blinked, unsure if it was actually his voice that had objected. No point in turning back now. He purposefully looked at each of the hoods in turn, then said firmly, “I will not stay in Sanctuary.” Mouth open, Chuck froze. All eyes shifted from Wendell, back to Chuck, expectantly. Even Dax stopped pacing. Patting the young hero on the back, the wizard grinned weakly, shoulders up around his ears. “Why…don’t we see what the boy has to say…” and he quickly sat down. All eyes were now on him. It was now or never. If he didn’t speak up, it was doubtful Wendell would get another chance. I can do this, he told himself. I have to do this. He had questions burning in his mind, but he knew he’d never find the answers confined or locked away. Our enemy will eventually escape from the prison we are preparing, unless the seals are maintained. Protect them at all costs. Elders stood up pointing, waving their hands about and talking, but Wendell couldn’t hear them. It was downed out by a soft rhythm, pulsing in his ears, in his chest—through the veins of his body, masking the sounds in the Bedurrim. The beat of his new heart. Ignoring the Council, he unfolded the letter and read it again. Be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk. Trust no one but the Gem. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to you. Not your own voice, but that voice that tells you only to do what is right, what is true and just. Only Delnar sat with his eyes transfixed on Wendell. Studying him, while his brothers and sisters seemingly came unglued.

Few will understand the path you will be forced to walk… “Why are you so troubled?” Wendell asked aloud. Silence quickly fell over the room. Be patient with others, he repeated to himself. He forced a smile to his face—which triggered the smiley on his t-shirt. It glanced around, scowling and shaking it’s head, disgusted. “I respect protocol and tradition, but could you please pull back those hoods? I’d really like to see your eyes for a change…” he shrugged, “and to tell you the truth, this whole grim reaper thing creeps me out.” Chuck stifled a laugh. Dax plopped back down on the bench, stifling one of his own. One by one the hoods fell, until Wendell could clearly see every set of eyes, every scowl and every frown of disapproval. Wendell smiled. Muuuuuch better! Keeping his tone calm, “I feel I’m lacking in understanding, High Elder. With your permission, may I ask a few questions?” Delnar’s expression didn’t change, nor did the intensity of his stare, “Most certainly.” Wendell looked around the semi-circle. “Thank you.” It occurred to him that this reaction by the Council was actually a good sign. These were people ionate about their beliefs, that’s all—about their duties and responsibilities. That wasn’t something to be afraid of or fight against. It was something to be respected, ired, and in truth…it meant that such ion, if pointed in the right direction—would be unstoppable. “I apologize if I’ve offended any of you. That was not my intention. The truth is, Elder’s, I’m confused. I volunteered for this responsibility—so I hope you can me in wanting to take this responsibility very seriously.” A few eyebrows raised. “I want to understand where my place is—to stand in my duty and not shirk my

responsibilities. Does that make sense?” No response. Right, then. He continued, “Am I correct to assume that this Council was set apart to guard the Ithari?” “That is correct,” replied the High Elder firmly. Wendell nodded. “And so I do understand correctly, in what areas does this Council rule over and direct Ithari?” Soft gasps escaped several Council . “We serve her, not direct her,” said Delnar, shocked. “That would be… blasphemy.” Wendell frowned, “But, you have to have some authority over Ithari, surely?” The High Elder frowned, “Never! Our ancestors received their commissions from the original hero himself! This Council was formed by Ithari…and has fulfilled its duties and responsibilities faithfully, throughout the ages. The created cannot control the creator—surely you can see this logic?” Delnar’s eyes suddenly narrowed as the smiley grinned smugly at him from eyebrow to eyebrow. “I’m truly confused, then, High Elder. Because if you have no authority over the Ithari, then by what authority do you confine its host to Sanctuary?” Delnar’s eyes popped open wide, as if he’d been slapped. Several Elders stood up, affronted. Ok Wendell, don’t push too hard…stay respectful—the last thing you want it to make enemies of these guys. He took a deep breath and held his palms up. “I’m sorry—that…was rude and disrespectful.” He bit his lip, looking around the circle pleadingly. “Did you even hear yourselves, though?” Then Wendell repeated in a softer tone, “Once you’ve learned how to utilize the Ithari satisfactorily, we will find the best use for your

abilities?” He looked each of the outraged Elders in the eyes, accepting their anger…and shrugged. “Really?” Slowly, one by one, the Elder’s sat down. “I’m just trying to serve Ithari, like this Council. She’s put thoughts in my mind, feelings in my heart and I can tell you—I’m already a new person from when I arrived. I know I’m not the hero you wanted.” Wendell looked over at Dax, “Heck—I don’t even know if I am a hero. The situation is dangerous, complicated, even desperate,…I get that.” The stone expressions were starting to crumble around him. “But I’m here now. The gem chose me…Wendell Percy Dipmier. Regardless of how you might feel about me or doubt me, the gem is in my chest—not yours.” The High Elder shifted uncomfortably in his chair as Wendell’s focus settled back on him. “I also have an inkling of what I’m capable of. The last thing you should do is try to shove me in a box or put a leash around my neck. That’s not wisdom, it’s insanity.” The smiley instantly turned a shade of orange, displaying a ferocious grin. “And I won’t let you.” For long moments Wendell waited, meeting every stare with boldness. No one spoke. No one rebuked him. No one challenged him. Lifting his t-shirt, he waved his hand over his ribcage and said aloud, “Silmä inakmään.” Ithari became visible, sparkling brightly in the firelight. Chuck started to applaud, then thought better of it. “Bloodline or not,” Wendell concluded, “I am the guardian of Ithari and I know what to do first.” He let the shirt fall over the gem. “…and she’s not staying here.” Fourteen blue faces stared back at him. What an impetuous, arrogant young man! That’s what you’re thinking about me, aren’t you—but he couldn’t help feeling a strong sense of satisfaction. Thu-THUMP-thump.

Wendell decided to accept the dumbfounded silence as a sign of . He smiled brightly at the High Elder. “Now that we have that settled—how do I get to a place called Til-Thorin?”

Chapter 20 Mahan

The true danger isn’t that evil exists. It’s that evil is organized, prepared and determined to convert you or wipe you out. That should have you worried.

Saturated leaves of red and yellow fell from the trees and tumbled across the mud and snow. Frost crystals chased along behind them, playing tag in the bitter wind. Charcoal black clouds pushed across the sky, flashing in anger and shouting challenges at the highlands below. The twin moons remained distant and unattached, fearful to get involved. Fire was not permitted, even though armor rattled and flesh cracked. Soldiers shivered under oily blankets, cursing the cold of nature mixed with magic. But the wind did not care. It continued to shriek and howl and bite exposed flesh. No one spoke within the camp. No one dared. Instead, all eyes watched with trepidation. The Tent of Sacrifice had been erected. For a fleeting moment, the moons slipped past the clouds, casting their pale light upon the twisted, deformed faces of the guard. Thirteen giants surrounding the red and black tent hunched behind them. Frost crystals clawed at the graven images, coating their green skin with a thin white blanket. Hands of stone gripped broadswords, teeth clenched under frozen helms…but they did not move. Disturbing the ritual meant death…or worse. Within the swaying tent, Chuur and Kapmim burned in pots of black onyx, polluting the air with its foul smoke. Red candles taunted with their feeble light as they sat, squatting over the severed skulls of human prisoners. Faces twisted

and deformed, preserved in the last moments of life and pain—their tongues black and swollen, sticking between broken teeth. Lord Thule knelt at the alter. Thick wedges of black iron stabbed into the ground, skeletal fingers reaching up from its center to hold its priceless treasure. A ruby without blemish. A ruby, red as blood. A ruby, the size of a mans chest. The Kala’iskul was a window between realms. It allowed a mägo, willing to sacrifice of himself, the power to speak with the unembodied. Tormented souls without flesh and bone—trapped upon within the world, without any hope of partaking of the experiences of mortality. Forever bound—watching, waiting and whispering to mortals—tempted by the flesh they can never attain. Thule was not interested in communicating with the damned. He sought the counsel of their King. Removing the studded leather gloves, he drew his dagger from his waist. Gripping the blade tightly, he slowly pulled his calloused palm and fingers slowly across its arc, unflinching. The blade bit deep. Blood seeped through his fingers and dripped down wrist and forearm. Satisfied, Thule laid the dagger upon the alter. Whispering the incantation, he rested his left hand upon the orb. Streams of red streaked across its smooth surface, almost imperceivable against the polished surface. The wicks burned low. Blood ran free. His lips turned pale. Thule continued his chant. A crack appeared within the gems center. Thin as a hair, black as night. Again and again Thule chanted the incantation, calling and reaching out with his mind.

Tentacles leapt from the center of the Kala’iskul, swirling, then reaching out to touch the hand making . Biting into Thule’s palm, the Kala’iskul feasted, eagerly accepting the sacrifice of blood—sucking, drinking, tugging at his veins for nourishment. “Why do you call me?” The candles sputtered. The voice was dark. Ominous. “Master,” whispered Thule, bowing his head low, “I believe the one you foretold of has come.” The blood trails darkened and bubbled, giving off smoke that defied the currents of air within the tent. It pulsed and churned, slowly rising over the alter until it curved back towards Thule, like the head of a snake ready to strike. Two wisps of smoke rolled forward, curling upward into horns. Black slits appeared in the red vapor. They opened. “Are you certain?” it asked coldly, the black voids studying the kneeling Vallen. Thule swayed. Blood trailed down his arm, soaking his tunic. The slits narrowed, “Speak.” “We have searched Master, as you commanded. My men discovered a boy within the Black Market. A human child.” Thule looked up to meet the demons gaze. “He was with the half-breed and the wizard.” Another slit appeared at the base of the smoke. It split, rolling upwards in opposite directions until it formed a grinning maw. “Have you captured them?” The Kala’iskul bit deeper still, lusting for blood to keep the link open. Thule’s hand had already lost its color, his fingers now pale as cotton. The skin

shriveled, though he never released its grip upon the orb. “No…Master,” he growled, gritting his canine teeth. “The wizard provided their escape.” The smile faded into the smoke. “Are the gates secure?” “They shall be yours within a fortnight, Master.” “Do not delay. Lay the seeds as I commanded and prepare for the ritual. I must have flesh upon the land.” Thule bowed his head once more. “As you command, my Master. And what of the boy?” The face vanished—the crimson smoke turning charcoal black. A brisk wind yanked back the entrance flap, extinguishing the candles. It carried away the voice as a fading whisper. “The boy will leave the protection of the Iskari…and he shall come to us.” Thule’s eyes rolled back into his head. Hand sliding from the Kala’iskul, his body slumping to the ground.

Chapter 21 Tämä-Un

You’ll have times when people will like you and times when they won’t. It’s not always in your power to change the way another feels about you. What matters most is standing upright, squaring your shoulders, and doing the job you agreed to do.

“F or the last time ,” Chuck yelled, “ she’s not IN Sanctuary! ” He was huffing and grunting in anger, his face flushed red. The wizard stepped forward, boney finger prepared to stab—but Dax pushed harder, keeping him out of swinging distance. The veins in Chucks forehead bulged between the snow white hair and bushy eyebrows like purple worms. “This house and garden are not PART of the Iskari community!” The wizard rolled up his sleeves and tried once again to jump at Gaidred, who stood, calm and unflinching, on the front doorstep of the cottage. The Elder kept his hands tucked in the wide sleeves of his tunic, which ticked off Chuck even more. “This estate was placed in Sanctuary’s forest before your great, great, GREAT, great, great, grandfather was a twinkle in his daddy’s eye!” he bellowed. “It was built for the hero and his lineage after him and I am the steward! Furthermore, I will not have some child tell me who I can and cannot have as a house guest OR whom I can employ!” Elder Altorin tried not to laugh, unsuccessfully, and finally tugged on Gaidred’s sleeve. “Oh leave him be, brother, the little girl isn’t going to hurt anything, surely.”

Alhannah sat patiently on the couch, arms folded, ankles crossed, bottom lip jutting out from her face in frustration. When she noticed the Elder staring at her, she glared back, throwing in a snarl for good measure. Gaidred shook his head and shot a wary glance at Alhannah. “I would not be so certain, Altorin. If you , his last gnome guest nearly caused an exodus of our people back to the surface of Elämä! It took us a week to find those dead sheep in the water ducts.” Chuck’s bottom lip quivered in anger, the scowl on his face just daring the Elder to push his luck. Dax grunted under the strain of the old man’s efforts to kick some blueberry butt. With a sigh, Gaidred finally backed out of the doorway. “Then again, there’s only one Höbin Luckyfeller.” He bowed ever-so-slightly to the wizard, “I apologize, Morphiophelius. I will keep the peace.” “Oh I’ll give you a piece…” Chuck grumbled, trying to kick as the Elder turned. Luckily, Dax deflected his leg and the wizard booted the door frame instead. At the negative mention of her father, Alhannah hopped from the couch and opened her mouth to retort. Dax growled at her so quickly, she bit her lip. “Can we get a move on?” he pleaded, stepping aside and letting Chuck stumble out the front door. “The sun’s risin’ down below—so if ya wanna surprise ‘em, we gotta go!” Wendell was already on the lawn, enjoying the morning light. A cool breeze rustled the leaves of the giant trees cuddling the grove. Bluejays picked at the peanut feeders hanging from low branches, while finches darted through the foliage, playing arial tag and chirping noisily at one another. The sun, the plants, …even the mowed lawn looked perfect. Wendell couldn’t figure out how…or when it had been done. He frowned. Another planter lay smashed, littering the path near the front gate. Wendell stooped down, fiddling with the clay fragments. Decimated Easter Lilies were ground into the soil. Once again, tiny footprints covered the

walkway. What the…? He decided not to ask. Life was feeling…better. No one seemed to be paying particular attention to Wendell this morning and that didn’t seem so bad. Not after last night, anyway. His outspoken attitude had dumbfounded the Iskari High Council…leaving them with little choice but to assist Wendell as best they could—or do without the gem and their replacement hero, altogether. Not the best solution, but it was one Wendell could live with. He bounced on the balls of his feet, anxious. I wonder what the planet looks like? Thoughts of imaginary creatures from fairy tales, flooded his mind. Giants, fairies, dragons, sprites, unicorns, centaurs, minotaurs? He slapped a hand over his own mouth. This is so exciting!…who knows what wonders await me down below?! Do the trees talk? Do the animals walk and talk with humans? Halflings…I would LOVE to meet some halflings! Ooooooooh!—maybe the land is under a spell of endless winter!! He rubbed his hands together eagerly. I’m gonna find out! The smiley on his T-shirt was grinning so wide, Dax stopped in his tracks. “Right then,” the troll bellowed, glaring back, “Come on you lot!” Leading them all out to the side pasture, he motioned to the Elders. “Gaidred, ya wanna go over the plan before we hit the road?” Wendell found it almost strange not to see the Council in robes. Both Gaidred and Altorin were dressed in brown tunics with extra wide sleeves, tros, and dark green cloaks with hoods. It made their blue skin almost look purple. Thick leather bands gripped their wrists, while both elders had pouches hanging from their wide belts and bags slung over their shoulders. What also seemed odd, were the weapons. Gaidred wore two short swords—one on each hip, while Altorin had a shield and mace strapped to his back. Both wore a long knife strapped to the front of their chests. Except for the color of their skin and lack of hair, they reminded Wendell of the Gypsy’s from the Black Market. “The Council has already sent Elder Lamier ahead of us, to the island of ÄsäIlläriu.” He looked to Wendell, “That is the homeland of the Evolu, the…”

“Elves,” finished Wendell. “Correct. He will speak with the High Lords and lay the situation before King Robert III. We are offering our assistance in securing the Prime Gate and any other matters the King may feel are of importance.” “What about going to Til-Thorin?” Wendell asked. The smiley face glared at each member of the group. Wendell was feeling particularly pleased with himself—feeling a determination to stay focused. He even felt a hunger to learn. Surprisingly, he even felt anxious about looking through the books Chuck had picked up from Perspicacious. He hoped the wizard thought to bring them along. “That is the other matter Lamier will address. At your request, Lord Wendell, we have not revealed who you actually are. To the King, or anyone else. You will be acknowledged as a special ward of the Iskari High Council—the last member of a family line, seeking further records of your people. ” “Which is dumber than a Tauku in a beauty contest,” grumbled Dax. Altorin coughed…and quickly looked away, covering the smirk on his face. Gaidred ignored them both. “The Iskari High Council has been given charge of wards over the ages, so this is not unheard of. It should satisfy any curiosity.” Wendell frowned, “But I’m not from here…and there aren’t any records to be found. Can’t we just introduce me as a…” he paused, unsure of how to address this himself, “I don’t know—just a foreigner? I really don’t want to deceive people and what you’re suggesting is a lie. ” “It’s not technically the truth,” Gaidred corrected him. “You are indeed a ward of the Council. You are indeed the last of your family…on this world, and, as an adopted host of Ithari, you are seeking more information which can assist you in your duties as hero. Thus, my answer is, technically, correct.” Wendell’s frown deepened. “It’s crap.” Gaidred smirked. “It’s perspective.” “It’s time to GO!” bellowed Dax.

Grabbing a stick from the ground the troll walked around the party, scraping a circle in the dirt. “I don’t see the smarts in keepin’ who ya are a secret. ‘Specially not to people who can help us! But I ain’t in charge, so what’s my opinion matter anyway—even though my own skin’s on the line…?” Wendell crossed his arms, irritated. “Until I learn how to do more than survive getting beaten up in bars…or pubs, or—whatever that place was, I don’t want anyone developing false expectations. This is going to be hard enough without others looking over my shoulder, pushing and prodding and judging me. That’s not right.” “No,” agreed Dax, tossing the stick away and spitting on the ground, “It’s called life, kid. Get used to it, cause ya ain’t gonna be able to avoid what it throws at ya. You can’t ask for time outs, replays, or hide from it, so ya should be making friends where ya can.” “Why,” scoffed Wendell, glaring at his green guardian, “should I add to the caliber of friends I already have? With so much love and , why would I ever need MORE?” Dax flinched and bit his bottom lip. Gaidred watched the exchange with dismay. “Let us stick to the plan. After that, we can make our way to Til-Thorin as the hero requires. Questions?” No one spoke. “Right then,” said Dax soberly, but he avoided looking at Wendell. “Everyone gather ‘round me. I never transported this many people before, so it should be… interesting.” He reached out and squeezed Alhannah’s hand, giving her a weak smile. Alhannah gulped. Even the Elders looked between them uncomfortably. Wendell was still fuming. “You’ll do fine, monkey,” said Chuck, thumping his walking staff upon the ground. “Try and get us as close to Tämä-Un as you can—but not the valley. Better to hike in, than finding an unwelcome surprise party waiting for us, eh?” “Agreed,” said Gaidred, ively.

Chuck glared at him. The Elder rolled his eyes and sighed. One by one, the party gathered around Dax, staying within the circle he’d scraped into the soil. “Here goes everything,” whispered Dax. Then, with a deep breath, he closed his eyes. Raising his arms out to his sides. Several long moments ed. Wendell was about to say something when Dax released the air in a steady exhale and clapped his hands together. There was a deafening BAMPH! Wendell didn’t have time to prepare. Just a flash—the blink of an eye…and everything changed. The ground, instantly uneven under his feet, threw Wendell off balance. He hit the ground, legs folding under him, falling forward against his will. He rolled downhill, trying desperately to control himself without luck. Throwing his arms outward, he stopped the spin and slid across the damp ground cover instead. With a last jolt, he smacked against the trunk of a tree. The impact jarred his back and ribs. Sipping air, Wendell grunted and forced himself up onto one elbow. A thick fog crept along the ground and enshrouded the forest. Thick grass and wildflowers, brambles, weeds, and the colorful leaves of autumn lay upon the ground around them. The few trees visible looked like thin, gnarled fingers in agony, desperately reaching for sunlight. The moist underbrush clung to Wendell’s clothes and arms. He shuddered. The forest looked like blurry, epileptic strokes of a brush over a white canvas. Wendell quickly got to his feet. The layered ground cover of leaves and needles crunching as they moved. Everyone but Alhannah had fallen upon impact…even Dax. The troll was laying up against two large boulders. He was face down, unmoving. “Chuck!” Wendell yelled and dashed to Dax’s side. The wizard knelt and pulled a small pouch from his sleeve, Altorin kneeling

opposite to him. Chuck rolled the small body over. Blood and leaves covered his lower face and chin. His eyelids fluttered repeatedly—fingers twitching. Snatching the hat from his head, Chuck put his ear to Dax’s chest. He sighed in relief. “Steady heartbeat.” “Just…tired, not dead,” the troll whispered. Moaning, he rolled to his side and spit the dirt from his mouth. “Feels like my head’s been used as a war drum.” Alhannah knelt down and lightly poked him in the shoulder. “Well get up old man—no excuses, we have some giants to hunt.” Dax smiled weakly and tried to stand. His arms flailed about as his legs rebelled and buckled under him. Before the wizard could steady him, the troll flopped backwards and into a nearby bush. “Fairy Farts,” he cursed, but he didn’t attempt to get up. Even Wendell was concerned. “You ok?” Chuck and the gnome pushed past him. “Is…he ok?” he asked again. “I’m…alright,” Dax grumbled, trying to sit up unsuccessfully. He slapped the wizards hands away and spat the leaves from his mouth. “I do this for a living, ?” “What,” teased Alhannah, “sitting on your backside and complaining?” “Huh?” “Look around,” she smirked, “—you did it! New record, uncle Dax. Six people!” He grinned triumphantly as he pulled himself up out of the bush with a “Hmph!” The expression immediately changed. Fresh blood, red as a pomegranate, streamed out his nose, down his chin and neck. Dax’s oversized head suddenly flopped backwards, eyes rolling back into his skull. “Dax!” screeched Alhannah, and she jumped forward to grab his arm.

Chuck was already in position and caught the troll by the shoulders. He laid Dax carefully upon the ground. “The strain was too much. He’ll need a little time to rest before we can move him.” “We can use the time to scout the area and get our bearings,” answered Gaidred. “Lord Wendell and Alhannah, would you mind accompanying Altorin and myself?” Wow, I’m actually being asked? “Sure,” Wendell answered. “Fine by me,” answered the gnome, but her attention lingered on Dax. “He’ll be just fine, dear one,” prodded the wizard. He smiled brightly at her. “He just needs a breather, that’s all.” With a shoo motion of his hand, he added, “I promise.” Alhannah looked at Dax, unsure, but nodded. “If you would accompany Altorin,” said Gaidred, “I will take Wendell with me.” The gnome gave him a rueful grin. “Wish I could, your counsel-ness, but no. Ain’t gonna happen. I work for Chuck. The kid’s my responsibility until I get fired or killed—so, I go where he goes. No exceptions.” Wendell smirked, the smiley openly laughing in silence. I’m starting to like this girl. Uh…gnome. Wendell tried not to show his amusement, but it had to be frustrating, having two people in less than twenty four hours, refuse to obey a request of the Iskari High Council. Wendell was surprised when the Elder bowed gracefully. “As you wish,” he said matter-of-fact, “Let’s secure the perimeter and pinpoint where we are while we wait for Dax to recover.” Gaidred looked at Wendell, “My Lord, if you and the Lady Alhannah would come with me.” Alhannah elbowed Wendell’s leg, “Lady…I like that.”

The land didn’t look much different than what Wendell had seen on Earth. In fact, except for the occasionally odd-looking plant, he could almost mistake the area for the back woods of Idaho or Oregon. There was a huge variety of tree life, most of which was covered in a thick green moss. Many of the trees looked like pine, oak, white fur and douglas fir. He found himself pulling leaves, needles and snapping small branches from specimens as they walked, examining them. “What are you doing?” asked the gnome. “Just…learning. These look like the kind of trees I have back home.” Alhannah looked at him as if he were crazy. “Whatever toots your horn.” It wasn’t what Wendell was expecting—the planet of Elämä was just like Earth. He found himself utterly disappointed. He’d seen giants, strange animals, magic, a dragon and even associated with blue-skinned people—but… Alhannah tossed a rock into the nearby bushes. Small birds that looked a great deal like bright orange Quail darted across their path. “Do you know where you’re going, Iskari?” Gaidred didn’t look back. “I do…and my name, Lady Alhannah, is Elder Gaidred.” The gnome stuck her tongue out. “Ok, Gaidy…where are you going?” The Elder shook his head, “Up.” Higher and higher they climbed, weaving between the trees and climbing over rock. The heavy fog and overcast sky made it nearly impossible to see more than a few yards ahead of them, which made Wendell nervous. He kept looking back over his shoulder. “Why do we have to climb so high?” he finally asked. Gaidred didn’t answer. The gnome sighed, “He probably wants to get an arial

view of the land,” she clarified. “Find land marks, you know, to show us where we are.” Speaking louder, “I’m assuming here, Elder, that you can identify land marks?” Gaidred didn’t stop or look back. “We will know soon enough.” Within the hour they had reached the top of the mountain and they all sat down to rest. The fog stretched out over the mountains like the soft foam of the sea, snuggling into the valley and crevices of the landscape. The sky was grey, painted with thin streaks of blue—the light of the sun hidden behind the thick layers of cotton overhead. The trees were thinner at the top of the mountain, affording them a panoramic view. Without a word, Gaidred knelt down and sifted through the grass and weeds. He lifted a small stone, roughly the size of his thumbnail and rubbed it against his tunic. Wendell looked to Alhannah, but she shrugged her shoulders. Whispering something into his palm, Gaidred tossed the stone into the air. Wendell was shocked to watch it slow and stop in midair. The Elder stood up, adjusted his tunic and brushed his hands together, rubbing the soil from his fingers and palms. Slowly turning around in place, the stone moved with him—floating in alignment with Gaidred’s forehead. Then it stopped. Gaidred continued to move, but it seemed the rock was stuck. Opening his hand, the rock fell into his palm. “Take a seat, my friends,” he said quietly, “this will take a little time.” “What are you doing?” Wendell asked. Gaidred settled himself upon the ground once more and rested his arms upon his knees. Closing his eyes, he said, “Looking for land marks.”

Wendell looked back at the gnome. “Why do you keep looking at me?” she snapped, “I don’t know any more about his apparently weird habits than you do!” Peering into the fog, “Come on—lets see if we can find something to eat while we’re waiting for Mr. Mysterious.”

“I’m not eating those.” Wendell turned his face into his arm as the gnome kicked open the log. The rotten, pungent smell made the putrid green and yellow grubs look even more intimidating as they wiggled, trying to work their way back into the dark recesses of the wood. “Why not?” Alhannah countered, “We can’t make a fire—we’d give ourselves away, so, if you’re hungry—just try it.” Wendell gagged. “Mmmph! …no thanks. not that hungry.” “Suit yourself,” and she popped the grub into her mouth, biting down hard. There was a pop…and a clump of milky-white puss, ran down the gnomes chin. Wendell turned his head away and shuddered to his toes. Alhannah smiled—which made the liquid ooz out from the side of her mouth. “I’ll tell you one thing,” she chomped away eagerly, “…it doesn’t taste anything like chicken, that’s for sure.” Wendell was about to reply, when the hair on his neck stood on end. He froze in place—allowing only his eyes to scan his surroundings. Alhannah wiped the goo from her mouth with her glove. “What’s the matter?” “The fog.” “What?” “Look around…the fog. It’s disappearing!” The gnome laughed, “It does that, you know. It gets warmer and then it goes away—it’s called NAture.” She emphasized the last word mockingly. Wendell shook his head, “Like this?” Sure enough, the mist in the air wasn’t dissipating…it was sinking. Sinking into the ground…or was the ground rising? Wendell couldn’t tell—but they sprinted

back to Gaidred. The Elder was looking out over the mountains, arms hidden in the wide sleeves of his tunic. The fog had lowered into the crevices of the valley below, revealing the mountain tops for miles around. “What happened?” Wendell asked curiously. Gaidred turned from his thoughts, his brows arched. “Pardon me?” “The fog,…it just, well, I don’t know,” Wendell tried to explain, “…sank away?” “NAture,” Alhannah said again, mockingly. Gaidred grinned, “I simply asked the elements if they would allow me the opportunity to get a better look around.” Wendell’s mouth opened in a dull expression, “Huh?” The Elder looked past the hero and down at the gnome. “Amazing things are possible when you use MAnners.” She smirked, “Heh. Point for blueberry.” “Tama-Un is there,” he pointed to the next ridge over. “How can you even tell,” Wendell asked, “All the mountains look the same.” “Not so,” said Gaidred, “Do you see the small, pointed rock formations? On the highest point of that peak?” Wendell squinted. “Yeah.” “That is tietä, or a path to all doors. A discreet marker for those who know where to look—marking the valley of Tämä-Un. And that,” the Elder said with a satisfied grin, “is where we travel to next.” By the time they returned to the camp, Dax was already up and walking around. He waved off any questions about how he felt. “Let’s get a move on,” was all he’d say.

Altorin had discovered tracks leading away from the valley. “Wide and newly worn. If it was from the enemy, they’re not trying to hide their presence.” “Good,” spat Dax, “Then they’ll be easier to round up and slaughter when Bob get’s back.” “They also split off,” added Altorin, “in several directions. The most worn tracks could lead to Til-Thorin, but several others definitely lead south. To the Southern Shores, maybe?” “What the flip would those monsters want to come to our land for, only to march to the beach? They ain’t likely ta be here ta make a summer home.” Wendell found Dax’s aggression curious. Does he really hate them for what they do…or maybe for how much he looks like them? For the first time, his curiosity nearly overwhelmed him. Why would the High Council choose an aggressive troll to be my guardian, when he so openly detests my very presence? Why not leave me in the care of the wizard? “Did anyone bring clippers?” hollered Chuck. He sat on a rock with his bare foot pulled up near his face. “Blasted ingrown toenail!” he cried aloud, then, seeing no one was paying any attention to him, he leaned forward and bit at his toe. “OWW!” he screamed, and fell backwards off the rock into the brush with a thud. Wendell stared as the wizard struggled to get to his feet, floundering around with his pointy hat over his face. “Right,” he muttered to himself, resolute, “Troll it is.”

Chapter 22 Ambush

There are dark and ominous people in this world who lack scruples, morals or even a shred of mercy. If it’s your misfortune to cross the path of such a person, tread quietly and use wisdom to avoid a confrontation. If a confrontation is inevitable, try a conversation as a course of action. Just be aware that violence could be the only language they actually understand. If such is the case, make sure you speak clearly.

Guided by Elder Gaidred, the party traveled back up the mountainside and across the peaks until they reached the ridge of Tämä-Un. Though the sun was hidden behind the thick clouds, sweat trickled down Wendell’s brow and neck, his hair matting to his forehead. The last hiking trip he’d been on was with his father—and that had gone badly. It was too difficult for him to keep up in the hot summer heat and his father, an avid hiker, was forced to stop repeatedly. This was different. Ever since the Ithari had taken him as a host, he’d had more energy than he could . Even through the gasps and hard breathing, Wendell could keep pace with the party without complaint. Only the wizard huffed and puffed loudly, which started to worry Wendell after a while. Chuck threw out an occasional “exercise Nazi” comment in the direction of Gaidred—but no one listened. No one but Wendell. The more he got to know the old wizard, the more he listened, the more he became convinced that Chuck knew things about Earth. Knew things he wasn’t sharing. At the same time, he was becoming increasingly fond of the old man.

Unlike Dax, Wendell felt grateful. He mattered to this grandfather figure. Chuck had a job to do—he’s here to help destroy Mahan, but—there was something else. The old man cared. Several times Wendell caught the wizard staring at him when they would rest. He never looked away, just smiled ecouragingly at Wendell and nodded. What are you up to, old man? The morning sun made it difficult to see much of the details in the small valley from above. The trees were thick along Tämä-Un’s peak, amply hiding the party, but they couldn’t locate the black claws of the Prime Gate through the mist either. “I don’t like this,” Chuck muttered uneasily, “we’ll be sitting in their laps before we can see them through this soup.” “There’s no other option, unless you want to use magic—but I wouldn’t advise it,” said Altorin, “too much of a change would alert the enemy—and they may have a mägo with them.” “If there is one,” replied the wizard. “We could be sitting here, worrying about nothing. Nothing at all.” Gaidred stood and adjusted the pouch on his belt. “There is little choice in the matter. We must get close enough to see for ourselves.” Even Wendell couldn’t argue with this line of logic. The further they descended into the valley, the thicker the mist became. The sweat on Wendell’s neck and forehead quickly became uncomfortably cold. The light from above cast strange shadows. Shadows which hung in the air. Trees and shrubs melded together, taking on a blue tint, until the shadows became one. A single mass of growing darkness that consumed the forest around them, its thin tentacles writhing out into the cold. Wendell found himself repeatedly looking about. “Your gonna be ok,” whispered Alhannah. Wendell looked at her wide-eyed. “What?” He looked over his shoulder again. The gnome reached out and patted his hand—which was scratching at his jeans. “You are going to be ok, Wendell. It’s just fog.”

“But what if theres something in the fog?” She grinned, “There’s always something in the fog. The real question is if the something is close or far away. If it’s close, trust me, Dax’ll hear it before it can hear us.” Wendell breathed a momentary sigh of relief and relaxed. “Thank you, Alhannah.” “No problem. You…reminded me of Green just then.” She adjusted her belt and her swords rattled lightly. “My little brother. He was always terrified of the mist, back home.” “So you’d soothe his feelings. That’s…nice.” She grinned, “Actually, I’d scream about seeing shapes in the mist and run like hell. Freaked him out.” Wendell stared at her, horrified. She shrugged, “I just said you looked like him.” “Shhht!” Dax signaled for the party to stop. Turning his head slowly from side to side, his ears twitched wildly. With a whisper to Gaidred, the Elder nodded and Dax vanished into the mist. “He says we’re close,” whispered the Elder. Moments later, the troll returned. He was frowning. “We’re here, but I can’t tell how much company we’ve got. It might be a good idea to scout the perimeter and see if the main path is being guarded. Just be careful—they could have their own scouts about.” Gaidred looked to Altorin and whispered, “Be in the mist.” Wendell was shocked at how silent the rotund Elder could move…and how fast. In moments, he’d vanished. Dax waved everyone forward. “Step lightly and follow me.”

The clearing was devoid of trees and underbrush—at least as far as Wendell could see, anyway. Near the center of the field, sitting in the white haze was the Prime Gate. It’s large, arcing claws sat defiantly—clearly visible from tip to base. A campfire crackled next to a small pond on the far side of the field. Three figures hunched near the flames, eagerly eating. Wendell could hear the soft trickling of water echo in the morning air. That can’t be all of them, he thought. A whole army came through the gate—why would they leave it unprotected? But that made Wendell think. Maybe the Prime Gates weren’t common knowledge. Dax had said that Dathern Istul didn’t use magic, or at least avoided it, if he could. According to the High Council, it took magical knowledge—gate lore—to even open a Prime Gate, which explained dark mägo being present. Maybe using magic—or at least using these gates, isn’t a common event. Maybe there’s no need to guard it. Thick trees and bushes provided an abundance of cover. Wendell could understand how Tiell would be able to hide for hours on end without being discovered—even without the fog. Gaidred surveyed the surrounding mountain tops through the occasional breaks in the mist. He tapped Altorin and pointed to the Prime Gate. Sitting on the ramp of the platform were two of the Vallen race, grunting and snorting between each other. Their dark green skin, heavily tattooed and scarred, intimidated Wendell. One had long hair, scraggly and braided, hanging down its back. It leaned on a pole-arm, which rattled with dozens of rings looped through the blade. The other beast was even larger, bald and sitting on the ramp of the platform, arms crossed and resting on a large two-handed axe. The other three, sitting around the fire, were more than fifty yards from the Prime Gate. The fog broke for an instant and Wendell could see the giants clearly, huddled near the fire. Something large was being cooked over the open flame and he almost shrieked—but Alhannah slapped her gloved hand over his mouth and knocked him to the ground. He couldn’t breath. All he could do exhale. Fingers clawing at his throat and chest, he pulled at the T-shirt. Even the smiley face was shaking from side to side, purple-faced with pupils the size of pinholes, screaming silently. Wendell’s

only impulse was to flee—to get away from this valley as fast as possible. We’re next! They’ll eat us. THEY’LL EAT US!! Dax crept near. “What’s wrong?” he whispered. Alhannah nodded in the direction of the campfire, but kept her hand firmly pinned against Wendell’s mouth. “The cooking fire.” Dax leaned down so Wendell could hear him clearly and whispered. “Wendell. Kid—look at me.” He tapped Wendell’s cheek until his eyes rolled over and focused. “You’re gonna see a lot of bad stuff. I can’t do nothin’ about that—but ‘Hannah and me are here. Our job is ta protect ya.” Then the impossible happened. Dax smiled. Not the tainted, scary, antagonizing smile or grin he’d shown until now. It was— genuine. The lines chiseled into his rough face smoothed out, his lips covered his canines and even his eyes seemed somewhat…normal—if that was even possible. Astonishing as it seemed, Dax almost looked…kind. “And I swear…they’ll have to kill us both to get to ya, ok?” Wendell nodded, air seeping back into his lungs. Alhannah slowly took her hand away. “Good,” she whispered, “then lets get this party started,” and slid off Wendell’s chest. Gaidred frowned at the two guards in conversation. “They are too close to the gate for us to work. A conflict is imminent.” Alhannah rested her hands on the small swords strapped to her hips and smirked. “Two of those beasts is hardly a challenge. If you’re leery about the job, I’ll gladly dispatch them myself. Just give me a few minutes.” “No,” Gaidred reached out and put a hand on her forearm, “It’s not the enemy that disturbs me, Lady Alhannah, but the lack of them. There were five watching the gate two days ago. Two of the guards have gone missing and they have only replaced them?” Gaidred looked across the field where pockets of the fog

opened up to give a better view. “This mist does not bode well for our success.” Altorin crawled up beside them. “The far rim of the valley is clear. The enemy is not watching the main path as far as I could discover.” Only Chuck seemed unconcerned. “It doesn’t really matter, now, does it?” the wizard posed, “The more time we waste, the further the enemy gets inland. The people need to be warned, the gate purged and the King escorted back to his people.” He jabbed his staff in Wendell’s direction, “And our young hero here needs to make his way to TilThorin if there’s any value in that letter.” “Then let’s get moving!” grumbled Dax, “I can port me and Gaidred right next to…” Without completing his sentence, blood issued from Dax’s nose. The Elder shook his head. “You won’t be porting anyone until you regain your strength, my friend.” “Fairy farts,” Dax grumbled, wiping the blood across his forearm. Wendell couldn’t help but stare at the Vallen near the gate. These were not the same creatures he ed from the Black Market. Even Thule’s scouts from the Tavern were smaller. These guys are huge! They have to be over seven feet tall…AT LEAST! Their very presence made him nervous. He quickly squatted lower to remain completely out of sight. Were these the things that beat up Tiell?? He closed his eyes and tried to slow his breathing. It’s going to be ok, Wendell. Seriously. Dax and Alhannah will…protect me. He looked at both of them, conversing quietly against a tree. I’ll be protected by a gnome…he gulped…and midget troll with a nose-bleed. Alhannah, Altorin and Gaidred were all armed, perhaps a dagger or two hidden in Chuck’s sleeves? He then looked out at the humongous weapons, wielded by the enemy. Broadswords and axes that could probably slice a cow in half. Wendell flinched, We’re screwed!! How can we possibly beat things that big!? Rippling muscles, tattooed skin, pierced and scarred faces with hooks, chains and bones protruding from their noses, cheeks and ears.

The moment we go out there, they’re going to try and kill us. Actually, literally KILL us! He looked down at his hands, which shook violently. Oh, man…I already suck at being a hero. An eagle screeched high overhead. Their oversized ears, riddled with metal rings and gauges, clinked together as heads snapped back to search the sky. Their jaws jutted so far forward with jagged teeth, it reminded Wendell of piranha. Or eat us. He startled as Chuck grabbed his shoulder and whispered, “Stay here. Don’t move.” “Not a problem,” Wendell swallowed, “Why, what’s the plan?” Turning to the wizard, he found he was alone. Completely alone. Hey. Whipping his head around and peering through the dense trees, Wendell couldn’t see any of his companions! HEY! A small bird chirped from a nest in a low branch of the trees. Dax? Alhannah? Gaidred? Altorin!?? Where did everyone go?!? Wendell dropped face down into the leaves, his stomach in knots. Don’t leave me! Painfully long minutes ed. Wendell struggled to hold perfectly still. The whole world had suddenly fallen into silence. Don’t breathe, Wendell. They’ll hear you. But the more he tried to keep perfectly still, the more his body ached and begged to shift and twist and run away. He clenched his eyes tight. Don’t find me. You can’t see me. I’m invisible. No one can see me. Ohhhhhh, they’re going to find me, I just know it! When he heard a loud grunt at the gate, Wendell lifted his head up to see the two giants jumping to their feet. A wobbling silhouette with a pointy hat and walking staff appeared through the mist, on the far side of the clearing, pulling his robes free from the grasping underbrush. “Let GO, you silly dogwood! Go grope a squirrel and leave me alone…” Oh no, CHUCK! What are you doing!?

The wizard looked up and froze. He looked between the enemies, then looked about, as if trying to find something. He finally let out a big sigh. “Oh poodle piddle!” he shouted nervously, “…I got my timing wrong again, didn’t I?” With a high-pitched scream, Alhannah lunged from the platform at the nearest giant, her black sword in a two-handed reverse grip. The creature had no time to react. The thin blade lodged in its throat, sinking to the hilt. As the Vallen’s polearm fell against the ramp, her forward momentum carried Alhannah’s body in a curving arc across the giants barrel chest, and down under it’s arm….opening flesh, muscle and bone. She rolled across the damp ground and up to her feet as the soldier collapsed with a gaping cavity wound. Black blood seeped across the grass. Alhannah pulled the blade from the body, wiping it across the beasts tunic. The second guard quickly slid across the stone ramp and lunged at the gnome. It exposed its jagged teeth in a sadistic grin. “Hannah, MOVE!” bellowed Dax, already dashing up the far ramp. Using his arms like an monkey to propel himself forward, he reaching the lip of the platform and leapt into the air. Wendell bit his lip as he watched Alhannah dive at the ground, curling her shoulder and rolling just in time to avoid being severed in half by an axe swing. The clang of metal rang through the air, small rocks and dirt exploding upon impact. Dax landed on the giants back. Without stopping his momentum, he grabbed an ear and a protruding canine, jutting out of the giants jaw. Kicking off the giants shoulder, Dax swung his body in an arc, around the soldiers face, to the opposite shoulder…and pulled. Hard. A loud snap resonated through the air. Dax rolled down the back of the Vallen as it fell to the ground, lifeless. Wendell’s jaw dropped open. Holy freaking….WOW! Exploding into the open, just beyond the tree line near the pond, six more giants charged from their hiding places. Two to the north and four to the south. Swords

and axes in hand, the soldiers from the campfire also charged across the grass. “Ambush!” Dax yelled. Creating some space between himself and the gnome, he snatched up the enemies weapon from the ground. Alhannah, however, just grinned. She drew her other blade from its sheath and found a level piece of ground and bounced in place. “COME ON!!” she screamed. Altorin and Gaidred also burst into the clearing, swords, mace and shield to the ready. Wendell was shocked to see them charge straight at the enemy. Altorin answered the bloodlust roars with a shout of his own, piercing the mist and sending chills down Wendell’s spine. The fat Elder met one of the beasts head on, shield held high. Broadsword struck the Elders shield. Light flared and Wendell winced, covering his eyes. When he could see again, he watched Altorin dashing between opponents, crushing kneecaps while deflecting swords and flails. Gaidred moved behind him, close as a shadow—running his blades over limbs and between armor and finding unprotected throats. With a spin, a pivot and a flick of his wrists, enemies bled to death within moments. The Elders moved in such unison, there were moments they appeared to be the same person. His attention was drawn away, however, by Alhannah’s incessant, psychotic giggling. She was running, jumping, rolling and dodging every blow her attacker could deliver with its mighty war hammer. Rocks exploded with each swing, but it never came close to the gnome. She taunted the beast with coo’s, smiles, blowing kisses or shaking her behind as it shrieked in rage. When the swings became wild, unfocused and desperate, she rolled across Dax’s path. Wendell almost jumped out from the trees in shock. Alhannah—what the heck are you doing!? The giant roared, mouth foaming in madness, like a wild dog chasing its prey, destroying everything in its path to get at her. Dax did a back flip out of harms

way—leaving his own foes exposed to the attack. The lesser vallen perished under the mindless rage of their comrade. Armor folded and bones shattered as the hammer fell again and again. With a final roll, Alhannah shot between the beasts feet, skillfully severing both hamstrings as Dax grabbed the hammer. Unlike Alhannah, Dax’s weight pulled the Vallen forward, spinning it off balance. Gripping the giants thick green neck, Dax flipped up and over the torso of the enemy, sending it crashing onto its face. In one swift motion, Dax reached down, grabbed its deformed head by the long hair and twisted sharply. No, no, no! Wendell jumped into the open, his high pitched voice piercing the air. “RUN, CHUCK!” he screamed frantically, “For crying out loud…RUN!!” Chuck had gotten himself backed up under a large pine tree on the far side of the clearing. Wendell could see his hands up in front of him. It looked as if he was trying to reason with the two soldiers converging on him. Dax and Alhannah bolted across the grass, but it was no use—thy were too far away to get there in time. His enemies momentarily distracted by the sudden shriek, Chuck turned to make his escape…and walked right into a low hanging branch. Reeling from the blow to the forehead, his tall pointy hat flipped forward over his eyes and nose. “AHHHH!!” he hollered in surprise, “Sniper wizard! Run for your lives! Run for your lives, I say!” Panicked, Chucks hands shot out to steady himself and he dropped his walking staff. It made a clunking sound, landing on an exposed tree root near his feet. He twisted and turned, reaching out, but missed the tree altogether and started walking towards the soldiers. They both grinned in amusement, raising their weapons to deliver the final blow. “Mahan’s pink panties!” Chuck bellowed, “Someone turn on the blasted lights!” Stepping forward, one of the soldiers swung his axe in a wide arc, intent on severing the old man’s head…and cleaved his comrade in half. Wendell watched as Chuck tripped over the end of his staff, the axe ing harmlessly over him. With a ‘chunk’ and a gasp, the Vallen crumpled to the ground, sword still tight in its grip. Chuck discovered the bottom end of his walking staff and grabbed it as he stood up, his free hand still reaching out for something stable to hold onto. “CHUCK…BEHIND YOU!” Wendell screamed, dashing across the field as fast

as his feet could carry him. “What’s that?” Chuck replied, turning towards Wendell’s voice and pulling the end of his walking staff with him. The hook of the staff cupped the back of the Vallen’s heel, yanking it off balance. The giant stumbled, tripped over a rock and fell backwards, impaling itself on the broadsword—propped up between his comrades dead body and a tree root. It gasped as its heavy body slid down the blade, the tip reemerging from the center of its chest. The body went limp. Tripping a second time, another low branch knocked Chucks hat back into its original position. “Oh!” he exclaimed, “Much better.” Looking about, he recoiled at the sight of the two bodies—the second giant, propped up on the sword with a frozen look of shock on its face. He cautiously leaned in…and poked it with his staff. He crinkled his nose. “Ew.” Hobbling across the field, Chuck poked each of the dead bodies with his staff. Wendell, Dax and Alhannah stared at him. “What?” the wizard asked innocently. Dax frowned, “You couldn’t pull off an ambush if your life depended on it!” Chuck frowned back, “I said I was sorry.” “No you didn’t.” “I didn’t?” Dax shook his head, “Nope.” The wizard threw his shoulders back and folded his arms, “Well I’m not going to. Leaving a frail old man all by himself like that, I could have been hurt! You have no consideration for the elderly.” Alhannah giggled and the smiley on Wendell’s shirt rolled its eyes.

“Wait!” Dax hissed. Twisting his head, his oversized ears twitched. Chuck frowned, “Don’t change the subject!” “Over there, in the trees!” At the mouth of the valley’s entrance, a lone soldier emerged from the brush. Clutching sword and shield, it sprinted towards the narrow forest opening. Dax and Alhannah took off in hot pursuit. “Oh let the big chicken go!” chided the wizard, “I certainly wouldn’t want to hang around after losing all of my friends, would you?” “But, won’t it go report to someone?” Wendell asked, nervously. The soldier disappeared around the bend. “Let them know that we’re here?” “Oh poo,” the wizard complained, “more running. I hate running you know. Why can’t people casually stroll after one another instead? I could do that all day long.” He bit his lip when he noticed Wendell suppressing a laugh. “Fine. Off we go then. I’m right behind you.” Quickly distancing himself from the wizard, Wendell sprinted with all his might. This is amazing! It was as if he’d been built for this all his life. He quickly caught up with Dax and Alhannah. Both sides of the valley narrowed and eventually met at a natural archway of rock. The forest grew thick with trees on either side of the doorway, nearly hiding its existence. “He’s…gonna…get…away,” gasped Dax, slowing down. A small trail of blood trickled down from his nose. Sweat beaded across his forehead, his face turning pale. “No…he’s not,” answered Alhannah, skidding to a halt. Pulling a long knife from her back, the gnome threw the blade with blinding speed. The thin blade hummed and tumbled through the air, and found its target —in the base of the giants skull. The beast crashed to the ground like a wet rag, sliding to a halt. “Wow, ‘Hannah…,” gasped Dax, hacking. He grabbed his ribs, “Now that was

impressive. Been practicing a bit, have we?” She grinned, also gasping for air, “A bit.” Though he was sweating, Wendell didn’t feel tired at all. He looked at both sides of the small valley that made up the mouth of Tämä-Un. “We probably need to get the body off the path, don’t we?” Dax nodded, swaying from side to side. “Don’t want…anyone knowing…we were here.” With considerable effort, the three dragged the body to the edge of the trees. A total of four feet. “He’s too heavy,” complained Wendell. Alhannah yanked the blade from the wound. “Bah, lets cut him into pieces.” Dax looked up along the mountainsides, “No. Just cover him with branches and leaves. This is good enough.” Stumbling to the side, he fell against the dead body. Wendell reached out to steady him. “You ok?” Dax slapped his hand away, “Of course I’m alright—don’t be stupid! Now get off me!” “What is your problem? I was only trying to help.” Even Alhannah frowned at the troll. “Lighten up, uncle Dax. The kid didn’t mean any harm.” “Stay out of it, squirt—I don’t need his freakin-fairy help!” Alhannah smiled weakly at Wendell. “Just blow it off,” she whispered. Wendell grit his teeth in silence. What is it that I do that makes him so mad at me? You’re a flippin’ jerk, Dax—you know that!? Once they’d covered the body with leaves and branches, they jogged back to the gate. Halfway there, they ed poor Chuck, who was hunched over, coughing, wheezing and purple with exhaustion.

“Come on, old fart,” teased Dax, poking the wizard in the arm as he jogged past. Chuck slumped down to the ground and tossed his hat to the side. “You children are plotting against me, I just know it,” he panted.

Chapter 23 Return Of The King

All creatures are created by the Universe, placed in a specific set of circumstances to assist in the intricate and ever expanding plan of life. A critical key to succeeding is knowing your place and then standing in it.

Wendell jogged back, which surprisingly, took no effort at all. He was beginning to enjoy this new health and strength. The fog was quickly dissipating, now that the sun was high overhead. He found Gaidred and Altorin standing on either side of a ramp, watching the Prime Gate dutifully. It had been activated. Its circular light hovered over the center of the platform. It was a hazy blue hue, with white blotches drifting in the background—like an animated oil painting. A dark grey strip stretched from mid-point to the bottom of the image. Wendell found himself mesmerized. So much talk of Prime Gates, but he had yet to see one work, except through Tiell’s perspective. It was incredible. Even… beautiful. Dax and Alhannah arrived next, huffing with exhaustion. They discovered a stack of small crates at the platforms base and pulled two over to sit on. Coughing and wheezing behind them stumbled Chuck. The wizard nearly collapsed, huffing and red-faced. With a poke of his staff, he confiscated Dax’s seat and plopped down like a sweaty sack of potatoes. “You kids…are…mean,” he gasped, flustered. Reaching into the sleeve of his robe, he pulled out a hand-held electric fan and held it in front of his face. Wendell continued to stare as several birds flew up and hovered in the pulse of the portal window, flapping wings out of focus. He smiled. That’s a sky! In the

distance, towers or domes, perhaps…buildings, or mountains?…huddled in clusters, perched on a darker, jagged landscape. Hints of green and browns swayed throughout. Trees, maybe?—bending in a wind he could neither hear, nor feel. For an instant, Wendell felt the strong urge to run past the Elders, and up the ramp. He wanted to touch the images, just to…know. He blinked as a spray of mist jumped through the rippling image and lightly covered his face. He licked his lips. The liquid was sweet. “The City of Many Waters,” said Altorin, seeing Wendell’s interest. “The home of the Evolu Lords.” “It’s…incredible,” Wendell whispered, more to himself than to Altorin. “It has been a long time since my people have been welcomed there. It is a… relationship I sorely miss.” The was a longing in the Elder’s voice. “So why didn’t you go instead of Lamier?” Wendell asked. Altorin lowered his gaze with an almost imperceptible shrug, “We opened the Gate without invitation. With such a bold action, we thought it wise to send a white robe into the Holy City.” He looked up and grinned, “Lamier volunteered to go to the Omethiä. He’s never visited before today.” Wendell frowned, “The what?” “The Omethiä,” repeated Gaidred, “The leader of the Evolu. You might call such a man a prophet, or perhaps a seer.” “He’s a jerk with a power complex,” added Dax with a sneer. He quickly followed with, “We’ll keep watch until the King returns,” and immediately wandered across the field. Snatching up one of the long knives of the Vallen, which looked like a short sword in his oversized hands—Dax plopped down on a log and turned his back to the group. Chuck stood up slowly and looked to Altorin, smiling weakly. “He’ll be fine.” Alhannah silently followed Dax’s example and quietly wandered off— eventually settling on a rock facing the entrance to the valley.

The wizard stretched his arms and back with a loud yawn, then moseyed over to the campfire. He started rummaging through the enemy’s supplies. “Nothing here to use,” he shouted over his shoulder. “Unless someone wants to try their luck at roasted villager.” Wendell cringed. He avoided looking directly at the cook fire. He didn’t want to experience another panic attack. Looking between the two Elders, he then glanced over at Alhannah. She sat quietly, inspecting her armor and weapons. “Dax likes the gnome,” Wendell said aloud, though it was more to himself, “… and there’s definitely some parent-child relationship between him and Chuck, I can see that, but…” he broke off. “But?” Gaidred replied, his gaze following the young hero’s. “I’m the odd man out,” Wendell complained, “the stranger, the outcast. I get the feeling I’ll never fit in or be accepted. I don’t know, maybe that’s crazy—but even you guys have to see how he reacts to me, don’t you? Explain to me why everything I do seems to tick Dax off to no end?” Gaidred and Altorin exchanged expressions in silence. Wendell noticed the silent debate between them, which didn’t last long. They turned their attention back to the Gate without answering. Wendell waited for a reply, but it didn’t come. “You know something.” The Elders kept their attention firmly on the sphere of lights. “Please,” he pleaded with Altorin. Reaching out, he gripped the Elders shoulder and the Elder shifted uncomfortably in place. “I’m not asking you to betray secrets—I’m asking for some understanding. Maybe a better perspective, so I can do the job you’ve asked me to. Isn’t that fair?” Instead of the smug, matter-of-fact expressions he’d learned to expect from Gaidred, or the mis-directing looks of the High Elder, Altorin appeared…sad. Eyebrows turned up, mouth in a frown and wide black eyes that looked closer to a wounded puppy than a human. Well,…Iskari, anyway.

Altorin opened his mouth to say something, then stopped, reconsidering his words. “It is not our place to divulge the experiences of another.” He looked over his shoulder at Dax, standing in the distance, “…when they choose to hide their pain.” Why do I even bother, Wendell thought, The letter was right…I really am on my own—and it’s about time I accept that I’ll have to figure all this out on my own. Even my relationships are an uphill battle! He started to turn, when Altorin grabbed his forearm firmly and held him fast. “…but know that you are not the only one who feels the way you do.” The Elder held Wendell’s gaze for a moment, then nodded to see if the young hero understood. Wendell didn’t understand, but he nodded anyway.

For two hours the group waited. Each remained in their separate locations, watching the trees, watching the portal, listening to the wind. That is, except for old Chuck, who pulled a sleeping bag from his hat and threw it across the thickest patch of grass he could find. The wizard tossed and turned, snorting and grunting…with an occasional kneejerk motion and a burst of “SNOCKHOCKEY!” But no one came through the portal. This is unnerving, thought Wendell, sitting up against the trunk of a large oak. We need to get out of Tämä-Un and out of sight…to get to this Til-Thorin the letter talks about. From time to time he watched the bodies of the slain Vallen, fearful that some of them might get back up. He let his head rest against the bark. The fog had vanished, completely revealing the magnificent mountains enveloping the small valley. The sound of chirping birds echoed through the trees. Reaching into his back pocket, Wendell pulled out the letter. He held it between his fingers, rubbing the creased corners tenderly with a thumb. It’s you and me now. He unfolded it. As he did so, he noticed the creases fading and straightening out, the dark lines melting away until all that was left were the original two folds made. He frowned. That’s odd. He held the letter closer to his face and ran his finger along the paper. Hmph. Curious, he folded the upper corner of the letter and pinched it tight. He waited and watched. The letter quivered, the folded corner slowly lifting and leaning outward, until the crease faded and disappeared altogether. Sure. Everything else is weird around me…why not a piece of paper. He read the words to himself once more. Trust no one but the Gem. Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This

is your only true protection. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to you. Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart. He let his head fall back against the tree. Without thinking, his hands gripped and crumpled the letter. You can do this Wendell. People are counting on you. Now’s your chance to prove you’re more than what people think you are. He looked at his companions. His attention lingered on Alhannah. You need to be brave, like them. You need to be the Wendellizer. None of them knew what we’d find here, but they came anyway. He sighed, pulling his knees into his chest and letting his chin drop forward, resting on top. But I’m not brave. I don’t even know how to be brave! His shoulders slumped forward heavily. Just because I have super powers now doesn’t mean this is any easier. It was a depressing thought. All his life he’d been picked on, pursued and slapped around. Now he was expected to be far more than the average joe. His forehead sank forward until it rested on his knees. He could feel the strong heartbeat in his chest. Tha-THUMP-thump! Tha-THUMP-thump! He sat up. Tugging at his collar, Wendell looked under his shirt at the Ithari. His fingers caressed the flat surface through the cloth. Ok,…maybe a little easier. But I can’t expect you to do everything, he thought, pretending Ithari could hear him. Hoping she did. He concentrated and whispered, “Silmä inakmään,” and the gem vanished. He looked over at the gnome perched on her rock. Hmmm, he thought. Alhannah was staring at the mouth of the valley. She looked like a small warrior china doll, which had been propped up on a rock and forgotten by a child. The gnome was running a stone over one of her sword blades. Wendell hastily folded the letter and shoved it back into his pocket. He hopped to his feet. It was time to change his circumstances. He wandered over to the gnome.

“Alhannah, may I…talk with you?” His hands dropped to his sides and slid behind his back, his feet turning inward. His eyes darted back and forth between the gnome and his sneakers. The smiley on his t-shirt turned red and bit its bottom lip. She was a gnome, but it didn’t change the fact that Alhannah was, in truth, a girl. A very cute girl, to be precise, despite her psychopathic-aggressive tendencies. The rosy complexion and bright green eyes that glowed when she looked at you, created a powerful contrast to her fire red hair in tight pigtails. It was her eyes that transformed his initial impression of a child into a small woman. She had tiny, yet full, almost pouting, red lips and long dark eyelashes, perfectly set under curved, thin eyebrows. She was as deadly as she was adorable. Wendell wondered, If I can learn to speak with Alhannah, maybe it will help me with girls a bit…taller? “Sure,” she said bluntly, spitting a loogey onto the grass beside her. “What’s up?” Sitting himself uncomfortably on the rock, he scratched his head. “I,” he paused, not altogether certain how to ask, “was…wondering…if you would teach me…” he gulped, here I go… “to fight?” The scraping of metal stopped. Alhannah looked up at Wendell, then turned her whole body around to face him. She studied him with a raised eyebrow. “Why me?” she asked flatly. “Why not Dax? He is, after all, you’re guardian, isn’t he? I’m just the bodyguard.” Wendell rolled his eyes, “Well, yes, but…he can’t stand me. No matter what I do, it’s always wrong.” “Don’t sell yourself short, Wendell…or Dax for that matter.” Wendell frowned, “I’m not interested in talking about Dax right now.” She held up a gloved hand, “Fine. Fine.”

Wendell swallowed uncomfortably. “I’ve watched you, Alhannah. How you use weapons, which I have to say is…kinda frightening. But you also fight for a living, don’t you?” She nodded, resuming the strokes across her sword. “So, I just thought, you know—that you might be willing to help me learn how to defend myself?” She scratched her cheek with the stone, considering, a small grey streak appearing across her cheek. “I’m not sure I’m the right one to…” “I don’t have a clue how to fight, Alhannah—at all. After the Black Market, now this, it’s obvious that I need to learn…something.” “If you want to keep breathing, I’d think so,” she chuckled. She set the sword and stone next to her. Pulling off her gloves, Alhannah rubbed her hands together briskly. “Give me your palm.” Nervously, Wendell did so. Turning his palm up, she studied the lines and textures of his skin, her small fingers tracing the natural curves and creases down his long, slender fingers and over his knuckles. His hand dwarfed hers in comparison. It looked like an infant examining the hand of its parent. Her own skin was rough and calloused, which felt like sandpaper over his palm. At last she patted his palm and let his hand drop. “You haven’t done a hard days work in your life,” she scoffed. “Your hands won’t look pretty like that if you want me to teach you. Training hurts you know. ” Wendell shrugged, “Dying would hurt more.” “Fair enough.” “Please, Alhannah?” She rolled her eyes and smiled. “I’ll talk with Chuck and Dax and see what they think—though I’ll recommend we start something soon. However,” she paused,

“—IF, for any reason, they say no, that’s it. We’re done, Wendell. You got that? I won’t go against them on any issue that doesn’t concern my own skin. Agreed?” Wendell nodded and grinned wide, “Thanks.” She smiled back, which was so cute it almost unnerved him. “No problem.” “They return!” shouted Gaidred. The party gathered around the Prime Gate, anxiously awaiting. Elder Lamier stepped through—his white robes glowing in the morning light. Wendell noticed it looked a great deal like someone coming out of the water— though in a horizontal fashion. The Elder’s skin looked wet, his hair heavy and dark…until he moved free of the window. The liquid, or whatever it was, rolled back, off his skin and fell into the pool of the portal. Lamier nodded to his brothers and stepped to the side. Wendell recognized him as the Elder who had brought the unusual plant on the night of Kyliene’s death. The plant had lifted and tenderly carried Elder Tiell from the park. Lamier stood quietly, hands in the sleeves of his robe—a small but distinguishable smile on his face. The next to walk through the blurry image was a tall, broad man. Definitely human, Wendell thought. He had a thick grey and black beard that swallowed the lower half of his face. He wore chain mail around his barrel chest, with a dark brown leather vest and tros. His forearms were also wrapped in dark leather, ending in thick gloves. A giant two-handed claymore hung from his back. “King Robert,” welcomed Gaidred with a respectful bow, “welcome home, sire.” “Elder Gaidred, always a pleasure,” replied the King with a grin. Striding down the ramp, he clasped Gaidred’s forearm in a firm grip. Wendell was a little startled to see the King spin and grasp the shorter Elder by the shoulders, pulling him into a hug. King Robert laughed out loud, “Altorin! Good to see you, my friend!” The Elder grinned back, seemingly embarrassed. “My heart warms to see you safe, Your Highness.”

Wendell suddenly found himself holding his breath. A beautiful raven haired woman strode gracefully through the portal. Leaf green and earth toned leather wrapped her lithe figure. The leather was cut in strips to resemble layered leaves about her shoulders and down her tunic. Her long and supple figure peaked out from under a flowing green cloak, draped around her shoulders. Her complexion was the color of cream, with evenly set almond shaped eyes of egyptian blue and thin red lips upturned at the corners. She stepped forward, stopping at the top of the ramp. Wow, she is so… “Psst,” whispered Alhannah, poking Wendell. “What?” he whispered back. The gnome whispered between muffled giggling. “Your shirt’s making googilyeyes at the brunette.” “Wha—?” Wendell looked down to see red hearts, floating across the black cloth on his chest. His face immediately flushed red and he flung his arms around his shirt. I should have invested in a hoodie! Behind the Evolu maiden emerged seven hooded figures, dressed in identical brown and green outfits. They stepped through in pairs, side by side. Like floating shadows, they came into focus and fanned out behind her. Each of the Evolu carried long bows, quivers strapped to their backs and long knives sheathed upon either hip. The last male walked through and took his place by the side of the maiden. The portal behind them faded as the gate silently closed. Wendell didn’t exactly know what a king was supposed to act like, but he was moderately sure it wasn’t like King Robert III. The large man laughed and grinned like he didn’t have a care in the world. He and Altorin conversed, laughing and nudging one another as they did so. The King looked more like the jovial uncle who finally stumbled his way into the family Christmas party. Wendell was guessing that he had to be in his late sixties, what with a thinning grey hairline—though what hair he did have was thick and fell down below his jaw line. Deep wrinkles sprouted around dark brown eyes, which were clear and observant. His movements showed youth and vigor, which reminded Wendell of the old wizard.

But there was something else… Wendell blinked several times, thinking it was just an illusion, but around the Kings head and neck was a faint purple halo. Wendell felt his pulse quicken and for a brief moment, thought he heard…giggling. Then the Kings gaze rested upon Wendell. For a moment, King Robert’s facial expressions froze—the smile still etched upon his face. Eyes dipped and rose, studying Wendell, including the odd smily face of his shirt. He said nothing. He simply continued to smile. It made Wendell deeply uncomfortable. What’s…wrong? Why…is he staring at me like that? Not sure what to do, Wendell abruptly bowed at the waist, nearly falling forward onto his face. Oh I hope I didn’t mess this up! No one told me I was supposed to bow…or am I supposed to kneel? Crap. Everyone fell silent. All eyes resting upon the young hero. Wendell tried with all his might not to fidget, waiting for permission to rise. Nervous, he kept his head low, avoiding eye . Did I bow low enough? Am I supposed to say something? Why doesn’t anyone HELP me!?? Crap—I probably look like a nut job to him, dressed in jeans and sneakers. This has to be long enough of a bow, even for the Queen of England…doesn’t it?? Slowly, Wendell took a chance and stood upright—though he held his breath while doing so. He was ready to drop to one knee at the first sign of his screwup. He looked up at the King. The purple glow was still there, pulsing out from his head and shoulders. Without a word, the King bowed, even lower…to Wendell. The Evolu maiden and several of her guards gasped out loud. “Well I’ll be,” whispered Dax. Alhannah smirked. “May I introduce…Lord Wendell, your Highness,” said Gaidred quickly, “a…

ward of the Iskari High Council.” The King stood upright, looking directly into the face of a very shocked and confused young Wendell. Cocking his head to the side, the King grinned again, this time showing his teeth. “Is he now.” “Hello Bobby-boy,” Chuck said, cutting in front of Wendell and opening his arms wide. He left his staff floating next to him. Without hesitating, the King quickly enveloped the wizard in his powerful arms. He rocked slightly from side to side, “I’ve missed you, father.” “You eating right?” asked Chuck, releasing the King and taking a step back. “Yes, Chuck.” “They treated you with respect—those pointy…” “Chuck, please…I was well cared for.” “Sleeping better?” “Much.” The wizard squinted at King Robert with a grin, “Got a sweetheart yet?” King Robert rolled his eyes. “Hey, what am I—road kill?” grunted Dax. The King stepped back abruptly. “I must say, this is quite the welcoming party!” Snapping to attention, he placed his gloved hand over his heart. “Dax, you are always welcome in my kingdom, old friend.” The troll nodded slightly as he puffed on his cigar, “Bob.” “And young Alhannah Luckyfeller…always a pleasure, my dear. Höbin is well I pray?” Alhannah gave a sarcastic grin to a dumbfounded Elder Gaidred. “My father is wonderful,…as always.”

The King stared at her curiously, placing a gloved finger to his lips, “I believe you’ve grown since I saw you last, young lady.” Alhannah curtsied in her armor proudly, clinking as she did so. “Almost an inch!” she said enthusiastically. Everyone laughed. The gnome blushed. “Thank you, daughter of the Evolu,” said Elder Lamier, “—we must hurry now, to escort the King to Til-Thorin. We will reopen the gate for your return.” “That will not be necessary,” replied the lady, stepping down from the ramp and taking her place by the Kings side. “The Rook have been commissioned by the Omethiä to see King Robert III safely escorted to the capital of Andilain.” She looked sternly between the Iskari, “Until such time, where he goes—we follow.” “Elders,” interrupted Robert, “may I introduce the Lady Tamorah, granddaughter of the Omethiä…and Rook Master.” Gaidred hesitated and then bowed. “Your help will be most appreciated, Lady Tamorah. The enemy will eventually discover our actions here and we should be as far away as possible. Unfortunately, a group this size will make us easier to track.” Wendell felt chills down his spine as the conversation blurred. He slowly turned around, staring up at the mountains surrounding them. Something’s not right. He felt strength coursing through his legs and he felt ready, willing…even eager, to sprint away from the Prime Gate. It was then that he heard it again. Giggling. Wendell looked at each in the group. Some of the Rook’s faces were shrouded in hoods, but they were too far away. The sound was near. Uncomfortably close. In his mind. Other’s were engaged in the conversation or listening quietly. No one was laughing or even had a jovial expression on their face. Where is it coming from? The voice sounded high-pitched, giddy…and young. A child’s voice.

Am I just hearing things? No one else seemed to be reacting to the sound. Wendell decided not to mention it. King Robert gave a momentary glance at Wendell, then turned back to Gaidred. “What do you suggest, master strategist?” “We should seal the gate, for now, to prevent further tampering until the land is rid of this invading plague. Your first line of defense, of course, is Til-Thorin— so we must travel swiftly. Lamier will return and report to the High Council. With your permission, sire, Altorin and I will accompany you, for there is much information we have to share.” “Your counsel is appreciated,” replied the King. While the three Elders worked their magic upon the black spires of the Gate, King Robert used the large rock Alhannah had sat upon. From a side pouch, under his cloak, the King produced a scroll and unrolled it. “If these beasts are in my lands, then we must make haste to Til-Thorin and send riders to the lords of the land for reinforcements. If they seek war upon the humans…it is war they shall have.” Wendell shuffled up behind them. The scroll was a map of a mountain range and dozens of valley’s. “Gaidred’s right, Bob,” said Dax, tracing his finger along a dotted line up the map, “there’s too many of us. We might as well strap targets to our backs. We can’t move about effectively without being noticed.” “Then we should split up,” replied Alhannah, “and we should take the least direct route, just to make sure.” “Make sure of what?” Wendell asked. “Make sure we steer clear of the invading forces,” answered Chuck. “We need to take odd paths to the Keep. Get there in one piece, instead of following in the enemy’s wake. If we take the common routes, there’s a good chance of bumping into the enemy along the way. But can we get there first?” Dax scoffed, “Let the pointy-ears and blueberries take Bob wherever he needs to

go. We have our own business to take care of.” “And what business would that be?” asked Lady Tamorah cooly. Dax looked up at her and sneered, but said nothing. The King looked mildly between them, then went back to studying the map. There seemed to be a particular interest on the part of the Evolu, when it came to Dax. The troll walked away—Chuck and Alhannah close behind. The Rook’s attention followed Dax, hoods turning to his every motion. Even the Lady Tamorah seemed drawn to Wendell’s guardian, though she tried to hide her lingering stares behind her long, silken hair. What’s the deal? Wendell wondered. Do they hate the thought of a troll in the party? Why didn’t the Elders defend him? Or Chuck, or… They don’t have the slightest idea what Dax is doing for the world. Dax would never tell them, either. On the other hand, he seemed completely oblivious to the attention he was getting. He was focused on another scroll he’d rolled out for the wizard and gnome to look at. Wendell found himself more than a little irritated at the Evolu’s behavior. Within the hour, Lamier walked through a distorted image of Sanctuary and the gate closed. Working from spire to spire, Gaidred and Altorin wove spells to hide the markings from view altogether. Wendell smirked to himself. Yup—that would be the Silmä inakmään spell. He looked around, nodding without a sound, but no one was paying any attention. ….I know that spell. Mägo in training here. The black claws looked cold and haunting, jutting out lifelessly from the stone platform. “It is done,” said Gaidred.

“We will travel in three parties,” replied the King. “Chuck, Lady Tamorah and one of the Rook can accompany myself and Gaidred. Lord Wendell, Dax and three of the Rook will travel together. The four remaining Rook can travel with Altorin and Lady Alhannah.” “No.” Dax shook his head, “That’s not alright—no offense kingy.” Tamorah looked offended, but King Robert kept his peace. “The gnome, wizard and kid stay with me. It ain’t up fer discussion. The rest ‘o you kids can choose yer own path.” Several of the Rook muttered to one another, their almond eyes resting on the troll, who sneered back. “We got’s us a job to do which ain’t got nothin to do with kings ‘r elves. We’re goin west to Irdu and up to Binmeer Lake. If ya want us ta warn the people along the way, Bob, we can do that.” King Robert nodded. “Then we’ll head northwest to Eberfalls. We’ll tip off villages along the way and as soon as I get my strength back, we’ll port ta Til-Thorin and meet ya there.” “A fortnight should be plenty of time,” replied King Robert. “Tamorah and Gaidred and two Rook with me, then…the others will travel with Altorin. You know these lands well enough, my friend?” Altorin nodded, “I do.” “We also have maps from your own hand, King Robert,” added a Rook. King Robert turned to the elf maiden, “Any objections?” “This is…acceptable,” she replied, though she sounded unsure. Wendell noticed an exchange of glares between the Evolu maiden and Dax. Tamorah’s gaze lingered on the troll, her large eyes becoming moist, while Dax’s lips rolled back to bear his yellow teeth at the maiden. He looked as if he’d rend the flesh from her bones, yet no one reacted—including the Rook.

Wendell frowned, confused. What’s going on?! “Then a fortnight it is,” replied Gaidred. Wendell startled at the sound of scraping metal and spun around to find Alhannah standing behind him, adjusting her swords. “Right then,” she beamed, “let’s hit the road. We got a long walk ahead of us.” Chuck hobbled up to stand next to Wendell. He sighed heavily, “At least it’s walking. I can do walking.” But something felt odd and Wendell just couldn’t place it. Again he heard the giggling. Sounding in the gaps of silence between conversations of the party. The hair raised on the back of Wendell’s neck. As they marched out of the valley, he found himself staring back at the charred torso over the Vallen campfire…

Chapter 24 Law Of Dominion

It is the hunger for power that tempts men to reach beyond their bounds. The insatiable desire to control another, placing the weak under foot, to abuse and neglect according to their whim. This is the perverted lust of all such beings. But even among the dogs, there is an order to evil.

Thule dismounted his horse on the snow-covered peak. The frost crunched loudly under his boots as he walked, surveying the landscape. The hidden valley was large enough to conceal the army. The surrounding forest would yield fresh meat and wood to burn. The mountain stream would also provide ample water for soldier and beast. Even the high altitude and cloud cover were an advantage. Dupël had chosen well once again. Wagons rolled slowly up the hill and into camp. Beasts whined and soldiers collapsed from the forced march. Slaves heaved supplies and tools to the ground, while others began building crude pens for the beasts of burden. If not for the powerful elixirs brewed by the Tauku alchemists, the forced march would have failed to meet his minimal expectations. Thule’s dark, unwavering gaze watched the train of death continue to push through the mist. Five thousand strong. Not likely to be sufficient for this campaign, but they would have to do. His wide nostrils sniffed the air. The clean, unadulterated air. Untamed nature. It disgusted him. Soon there would be true strength for him to command. Strength enough to do

the will of darkness—to lay siege to this land. Strength enough to purge the cursed human infestation. They will soon know their place. Soon, he thought, I will rule this land with an unyielding fist…and place every man, woman and child under my heel. A short-legged servant collapsed at Thule’s feet in exhaustion. Scraps of leather covered little of its body, which was riddled with burn marks and gouges. It shivered from the cold. The side of its head was red and blistered, its neck red and worn from the slave shackle pulling and tugging. It reached up and scratched a small stub…the only flesh remaining of a left ear. Thule kicked the slave in the ribs. The body flipped over and wheezed upon the ground. “Find me Dupël and prepare my tent.” The servant nodded and quickly scurried away. Yes, this is the place. We will strike the blow to cripple the humans and destroy this kingdom. “THULE!” The thunderous roar, cut through the mist. The sound echoed against the mountain caps. Soldiers and slaves unloading wagons and pitching tents ceased their labors. They looked to their leader in anticipation. Again the deep voice ripped through the moist air. “THUUULE!!” Thule turned towards the call, a sadistic smile on his face. Perhaps the day would not be a complete waste after all. Armored soldiers waded into view, marching up the hillside. They shoved all others aside, forming a semi-circle in front of their General. Six warriors, encased in steel and leather, weapons drawn. The leader stood three heads above the rest.

Thule knew this one. Gorack. Unrelenting in battle. Strong, fast…and not to be trusted. Good meat for the field. A giant among giants—the beast wielded a double handed sword with a blade twice the width of a mans arm. In the other hand…a heavy war shield. The shield, covered in the blood of enemies, landed at Thule’s feet in an open challenge. The Law of Dominion: a fight for the right to lead. A fight to the death. Thule looked at the stoic faces of the six behind Gorack. It required six to Second the challenge. Should Thule fall, any one of the six could take his place and finish off Gorack, claiming the title for his own. It was a cowards way of taking control. If Gorack were to lose, however, the six would be sacrificed as punishment for their treachery. Such was the Law. Thule’s grin stretched wider. He would soon need such a sacrifice. It would be a pity to waste so much blood. They were powerful warriors. Fearless. Thule regained his composure long enough to realize the cost. Before him were masterpieces of death and havoc. The loss of such animals would soon be felt upon the battlefield. He shook the momentary weakness from his mind. They had issued the challenge. They had made the error in stepping beyond their place and reached for what did not belong to them. No, they shall pay most painfully for their grasp at power. Their blood would serve another purpose. “You command us to run when we should fight!” spat Gorack. His muscular body heaved with rage. He paced as he spoke, a giant cat, hungry for the hunt. “There are villages to destroy, slaves for our bounty and women for our beds!

Instead you run like a whelp and hide like a worm!” Thule’s slave stumbled into view. His arms were wrapped around the folded black cloth of a tent. He stopped, eyes darting between the challenger and his master…and dropped the supplies. Running to Thule’s side, the slave quickly removed the chain mail and wrist guards. The Law demanded the opponents engage in combat without encumbrance or protection. Might against might, skill against skill. The armor fell to the dirt, revealing Thule’s perfectly chiseled torso. His skin riddled with the scars of war and ancient symbols tattooed into his flesh. Gorack threw his chain mail to the ground. Large veins pumped adrenaline tainted blood through the monolith. “It is MY time to lead, Thule!” he roared. “The dead cannot lead,” Thule answered cooly. He held the challengers gaze, unblinking, as he unstrapped his sword. He handed it to the slave. “Take up your sword and fight me!” Gorack bellowed, beating upon his chest with an anvil-sized fist. “I WILL cut you down,…coward!” Thule entered the forming circle of giants. Supplies were cast aside, horses left roped and tent left undone. The camp gathered in silence. Thule tilted his head forward, enough for his naked brows to cast a shadow over his eyes. His lips curled back to reveal his sharpened canine teeth. Lightly tapping the hilt of the small knife tucked into his belt, he said, “This will be enough.” A howling wind cut through the camp, biting flesh, cloth and plate. An eagle ed high overhead and shrieked. Gorack lunged across the circle, swinging the chilled blade of steel.

Thule hardly blinked before the gap between them had closed, his one good eye catching the blur of movement. Instinctively he threw his shoulders back and felt the hum of metal slice the air near his face. Snowflakes spun in its wake. Gorack was indeed fast. Twisting at the hips, Thule dodged a second attack…a blade thrust—allowing it to extend past his chest. He waited for the body to follow. Dropping towards his outside knee, Thule reversed his direction, allowing gravity to increase his momentum. Opening his hand, he struck the giants windpipe with such force, the challengers mouth flew open with a reverberating pop. Gorack’s head and shoulders stopped as his abdomen and legs continued their forward momentum. In an instant, the beast was prone on his back, unable to inhale. “Giving up so soon, Gorack?” taunted Thule. “I expected more.” Using the heel of his boot, he stepped on the giants unprotected fingers, grinding them into the snow and gravel. Hacking, the challenger snatched his hand back and rolled to his side. Pushing off his good hand, Gorack got to his feet, broken fingers clawing at his throat. Thule’s grin was unmistakable. “A leader must know when to move.” Upon the utterance of the last word, Gorack launched a muscular leg in an attempt to kick Thule’s midsection. Sliding his right side forward, Thule twisted once more. Letting the leg by, he scooped the calf with one arm and simultaneously delivered an elbow strike, just above the kneecap, with the other. There was a loud crunching sound. Gorack gagged, trying uselessly to yell in pain, his body falling forward onto the ground. Thule watched the pathetic spectacle drag itself through the mud, towards the fallen sword.

“A leader must know when to strike.” Forcing himself up onto his good knee, Gorack grabbed his sword and swung desperately in a backwards arc behind him. The motion was slow and clumsy. Thule easily ducked under the attack. Snatching the small rune blade from his belt, Thule stabbed Gorack’s forearm and ran the knife up the Vallen’s arm in one continuous motion. The blade melted through flesh like butter, opening the flesh wide from wrist to shoulder. Dropping the sword, Gorack’s broken fingers went from throat to arm, black blood cascading to the ground. Eyes bulging from exertion and lack of air, he wavered. Purple veins protruded from his neck and forehead, saliva and foam bubbling through clenched teeth. Thule slid behind his challenger and whispered in his ear. “But most importantly, Gorack, a leader must be the darkest animal of all.” Without hesitating, Thule sank his teeth into the giants neck. With a sharp twist of his head, flesh, muscle and the carotid artery tore free. Gorack slumped into the soil, shuddering and twitching. Thick streams of blood pumping across the ground, seeping through the snow like oil. Thule stood motionless. Arms held away from his body, he stood poised, ready for action. He waited for the Seconds in the circle to break the Law of Dominion. Waiting. Hoping. His eyes peered from the shadows of his brow. Weaklings. Slowly he opened his mouth and let Gorack’s hot flesh drop from his teeth. He sheathed the small blade and wiped the blood from his face with his forearm. Motioning to a nearby Tauku, it slithered up and bowed low. “Yessss, my Lord,” it hissed, “What isss thy command?”

Thule nodded to the Enforcers, standing at the ready. The soldiers elite knocked each of the traitors onto their bellies, binding them in chains. Thule looked back at the snake-headed mägo. “Prepare the tent and see that all things are prepared for the ritual.” He looked at the six Vallen traitors and grinned. “We just found our volunteers.”

Chapter 25 Bad News

Don’t be in such a hurry to judgement on another. You may think you know a little of their history, but that’s not what makes a person. Learning from their mistakes, breaking their prisons, refusing to give up and blazing new trails…that is what makes a person. That “little history” should soften your heart, evoke your comion and remind you of a single, inescapable fact: You have a history too.

The first two days of the journey weren’t as bad as Wendell thought they would be. He’d worked himself into a near mental frenzy, thinking they’d emerge from the valley and into the waiting clutches of the enemy. Running for days on end and barely escaping with their lives from a blood-thirsty horde laying in wait. Nothing had been further from the truth. The forest was quiet, paths empty—though there were ample signs of a large group moving north. Deep tracks, animal droppings and trampled foliage marked the way. Dax was particular about avoiding any paths normally traveled by merchants. “If it’s wide enough for a wagon, we ain’t usin’ it,” Dax said…and he meant it.

He even ignored the wizards complaints, though Wendell noticed Dax did slow their pace enough to accommodate the old man’s fatigue. This left hunting trails and blazing new paths of their own. He and Alhannah took turns scouting ahead while Chuck walked with Wendell. The brilliant colors of fall had already washed over the forest. Leaves were falling. The cool breeze during the day turned bitter cold at night, cutting through the trees like daggers of ice. The miserable experience was only exacerbated by Dax’s refusal to make anything but the smallest of fires. The magic properties of Wendell’s mägoweave kept him comfortable, much to the annoyance of Dax and Alhannah—who huddled together to keep from freezing. Chuck, however, was oblivious to the weather altogether—wrapped up in his winter hat, boots, gloves and parka. While his smaller companions slept near the fire, the wizard lay sprawled across the grass, fast asleep—his immense beard wrapped around his face once, then folded under his head as a pillow. His snoring was startling at first, but turned out to be a mixed blessing. It made it difficult to sleep…but it also kept the wild animals from wandering into camp. On the upside, the wizard seemed to have an endless supply of food. He assured Wendell it had to be rationed, but at every mealtime Chuck pulled out large portions of bread and butter, honey, dried meats, apples, pears and other fresh fruits from his side pouch. “How do you do that?” Wendell finally asked on the third night. Chuck stopped chewing, the juice of an orange dripping down his beard. He swallowed roughly, then wiped his lips across the sleeve of his robe. “Do what?” “Store so much stuff in such a small bag? You did the same thing at the book store.” Wendell pulled out his money pouch and jiggled it in his hand. “This does it too. I’ve already taken out more than it should hold, but every time I look in it—it’s still full. There might be an endless supply!”

The wizard shrugged, “I wouldn’t know about that.” “Come to think of it,” added Alhannah, “you do the same thing with your hat and robes, Uncle Chuck.” “What is this, analyze the food-bearer night?” “It’s just a question,” chimed Dax, who was working on his twentieth egg, “so tell ‘em.” “Oooo!” Chuck retorted, eyes wide, “Captain grumpy wants to play does he? Well then, play we shall! Give ’n Take, that’s the game. The boy can ask a question for a question. If you refuse to answer, you’re out.” Alhannah sat upright, “I’m in.” “Me too,” said Wendell. Chuck stared at the troll, the grin under his mustache unmistakable. “Grumpy?” Dax spat over his shoulder, “Fine.” “Fine is not ‘yes’. Yes is…” “YES! ….for crying out loud—just play the game, will ya?” The wizard wiggled his eyebrows at Wendell and smirked. Rubbing his hands together, he reached inside a sleeve and pulled out a small lantern. The candle was already lit. Placing it on the rock between himself and Wendell, he gestured to it. “It’s called a repository spell. Makes something bigger on the inside than on the outside. Works great for bags, barrels, hats, just about anything really, even a 1963 police box. However—I added a methodize twist to it. When I reach in, I think what I want and if it’s in there, it’ll be the first thing I feel.” Wendell grinned, “Wow.” Chuck grinned, “Yes, very clever. Alright, my turn.” He leaned back and folded his arms, “Tell me about your family back home.”

The smile faded from Wendell’s face. Personal information. He shrugged. “Not much to tell, really. I have a mom and a few older siblings. Never really knew them though. Everyone was already married and gone by the time I was born. Mistake child I guess.” “Doubt that,” said the wizard, “You seem to come from a loving home. People loved you, cared for you and that sort of thing?” “Well, yeah, I guess it was. Well, is. I mean…dad died a few years back—which kinda changed it all. Cancer.” Alhannah frowned. She looked at Dax, who shook his head and shrugged. “It’s a disease that grows—kills your body. It…grew in my dad’s…” Wendell trailed off to a whisper, placing a hand over the smiley face, feeling the hard surface of Ithari. “Chest.” The smiley whimpered silently. “Right!” chimed Chuck, “Your turn, son.” It took a moment for Wendell to gather his thoughts. He shrugged off the feelings of home and locked onto the bright smile of the gnome. “Alhannah, how did you ever get stuck with these two?” “Hey,” smirked Chuck. “Oh that’s easy,” she beamed, “my parents. Mom was a fighter, dad a researcher. When mom…vanished, we…I mean, I…” She looked into the fire, as she trailed off. She grit her teeth. After a few moments, Alhannah looked up at Wendell— her eyes moist. She cleared her throat. “Never mind, I’m out.” Wendell opened his mouth to apologize. “Right!” chimed the wizard again, “Ask Dax a question, then.” Wendell bit his lip as Alhannah wrapped her arms around herself and stared into the fire. He stared at the troll, slurping down raw eggs, one after another, making

loud smacking noises as he did so. Sure. Ask Dax a question. What could I possibly ask…and not tick him off? “Ok. Dax…if you could face any enemy of your choice…who would it be?” Wendell grinned at the wizard, quite proud of his thoughtful question and avoiding anything personal. Dax seemed to enjoy the physical discipline of combat. Chucks face looked unusually pale. Leaning towards Wendell, the dancing light of the fire created unnatural shadows above Dax’s cheekbones, blacking out his eyes. His thick, dark brows rolled forward into a single, solid, storm cloud. Egg shells rolled over his bottom lip and fell from his mouth. “My father,” he sneered through clenched teeth. Alhannah dropped her head forward into her lap, while Dax threw his last egg across the cave and stormed out. Wendell wrapped his arms around himself and rocked back and forth. “Well,” said Chuck, scratching his head, “…that sucked.”

On the forth day, they stumbled across signs of the enemy. A camp, down in a ravine, set back from any path. Trees had been chopped down and used as fuel. “What’s that stench!?” Wendell coughed, covering his mouth with his shirt. There was a foul, lingering smell. Dax jabbed at black piles of excrement under a tree with a stick. “Hound feces.” Wendell winced and tried not to vomit. “That’s one potent puppy.” Chuck knelt beside the tree and ran his fingers along a deep groove in the bark. “Chain marks,” he sighed. “Definitely hounds. And they’re big.” Alhannah knelt near the fire pit. “The coals are still warm. They’re not far ahead of us. Less than half a day. Twelve, maybe fifteen of them.” She scurried around the edge of the camp, until finally kneeling and examining markings in the ground. “The tracks lead south, southwest.” “I thought the bad guys were going north,” asked Wendell. He moved closer to his companions, shifting away from the woods as if they might snatch him up and carry him away. “How do you know it was, you know, …the bad guys?” Dax tossed the stick to the ground, ignoring Wendell’s question. “This isn’t the main group—and these guys are staying off the main roads AND they’ve got Hounds. What do they want this far west…’cause they sure ain’t followin’ us?” The rest of the day was traveled in silence. Keeping to the deeper parts of the forest, each remained wide-eyed and alert. Chuck was overly jumpy, reacting at anything out of the ordinary. A prolonged silence, startled birds taking to the sky overhead—it all caused the old man to hit the ground or hide behind the nearest tree. Wendell couldn’t sleep that night.

Dax wouldn’t allow a fire to be built, so Wendell had to be content with staring up into the night sky. A million diamonds thrown across a black sheet of silk. He wasn’t sure how to take all this mountain man information being gathered, but not explained. How close are they? Wendell had noticed Dax and Alhannah quietly exchanging information as they hiked through the hills. Are we lost? Do they actually know where we’re going?? The wizard wasn’t any help in belaying his growing fears, either. Chuck wandered aimlessly when left alone, or he would…if he wasn’t hitting the dirt in fear of chittering squirrels. How was it that we can be moving further south, away from the enemy, but still cross their trail? It just didn’t make sense. Then Dax and Chuck starting exchanging words in private, especially when they’d stopped for the night. No one said a word to Wendell. He kept staring at Dax’s shadow. The troll was sitting, leaning against a tree and staring into the dark woods. Can Dax be trusted? Wendell shook his head. It was a silly thought—of course he can. He’s been living with Chuck and the Iskari for who knows how long. He’s grouchy and sometimes mean spirited, but…Chuck trusts him. The wizard was softly snoring against a rock nearby, Alhannah peacefully curled up in a ball next to him. Surely the High Council trusts him too. Right? Besides, it was Dax who was sent to Earth to grab the hero… He hesitated. And he grabbed the wrong guy. Could he have done it on purpose? Grabbed me instead, so evil could win? He shuttered. No! That’s insane. The Council wouldn’t risk the gem falling into the wrong hands, would they? Right. He’s leading us away from the danger. Wendell shook his head again. Of course Dax is on our side. It wasn’t long before he’d worked himself into a profound headache. The last sliver of doubt tortured him all through the night. Breakfast the next morning was anything but. It consisted of a single, hardboiled egg and a small crust of stale bread. Apparently Chuck had told Wendell the truth…the supplies were not endless after all. “We’ll have to do some hunting soon,” said Alhannah. “We don’t have time,” replied Dax. “Well we either make time, or we go hungry,” she countered. “Besides, this’ll be

a good opportunity to teach Wendell some useful skills. Time well spent. A little hunting, a little survival…some self-defense. Whaddya say, Wendell?” He didn’t say a word. Wendell’s face had been frozen, eyes locked on something in the distance for most of the morning. “I think our boy snapped a noodle,” whispered the wizard. Chuck leaned over and tousled Wendell’s hair, like a little child, “We’re going to be just fine, son.” Wendell blinked, painfully. “There’s nowhere for us to run out here.” His voice was shaky, hands trembling. “If we get caught, they’ll kill us. Like dead, kill us.” His mind raced with horrible possibilities that made his stomach turn. Images of the severed torso rotating over the open campfire taunted him. This time his face was on the body. I’m in a forest with hidden cannibals. Lurking. Hunting. He looked at each of them helplessly, his gaze lingering on Chuck. And I’m being protected by the looney squad. His bottom lip quivered. “I’m not even ready to be fairly bruised,” he complained out loud, “I don’t want to be killed dead.” Alhannah smiled at him reassuringly. “First of all Wendell, in the woods, there’s all sorts of places to run. Secondly, I think it’s a good time to start some selfdefense lessons. Build some confidence.” “Right,” coughed the old wizard, shaking his beard clean of crumbs. “I’ve got this.” He stood up and did a few side bends, trunk twists and jumping jacks. “Chuck-Fu it is.” Taking a deep breath, the old wizard pulled his elbows back to his sides and took a shoulder-width stance. Pushing his knees outward, he squatted, exhaling. There was a pop…then a groan…then a thud as his legs buckled and he hit the ground, butt first. Dax laughed out loud, wiping a tear from his eye. “That looked more like Chuck-Fooey to me.” He laughed again, “Oh let’s get moving…” “Don’t you mock me,” snapped the wizard, “I will have you know I spent my life battling impossible odds, defying demons, dragons, death…and mild

uncomfortableness whenever possible. Wipe that smug look from your face, monkey—I’ve SEEN the plagues of every great civilization: GREED! LUST FOR POWER! IGNORANCE!…FAT WOMEN IN SPANDEX!!” He shuddered violently, “Trust me, belly fat shouldn’t be allowed that much freedom.” But Wendell wasn’t paying attention. His mind was taunting him again.

The day was long, the fog thick. Much to Wendell’s relief, it gave them plenty of cover as they traveled. Dax lead them higher and higher, until he stood above the dense moisture. The highlands poked through the clouds like great islands in the sky. Unfortunately, the thick cover came with a price. Bitter cold and the slush of an early snowfall at high altitudes made the experience utterly miserable for the gnome. Wendell listened to the clatter of Alhannah’s armor and weapons as she trudged on without complaining. By nightfall, they had worked their way back down near the valley. Dax discovered a sheltered outcropping to make camp. Wendell quickly set about to gather firewood, while the other three tried to warm up. Dax was too numb to use his fingers. Alhannah attempted to use her dagger and flint, to no avail. The blade fumbled from her fingers and flipped into the dirt. When Wendell finally stepped forward to take over, he was promptly shoved aside by the wizard. “This is taking too long,” Chuck said, his teeth chattering violently. He held out his walking staff and turned his head away. “I don’t care what you say, monkey…I’m cheating tonight.” Springing to his feet, Dax jumped back and threw his hands up over his face. Wendell had never really paid much attention to Chucks staff. It was certainly interesting to watch it come and go, floating and jumping in and out of the wizards hands—but he’d never taken a closer look. He stood next the wizard to get a glance. The grooves in the wood looked a great deal like scales, the knots like eyes, and the ripples and waves in the wood like the curvature of…skin. It was a tiny dragon! Slender wings folded back over its curved body and a long tail wrapped around the staff it perched on. Chuck shook the staff firmly, pointing it at the dry firewood. “Well…go on now —light it already,” he demanded. Reaching out with his other hand, he rapped

the dragon on the head with a knuckle. “Wake UP I say!” Wendell almost lost his balance when he noticed the rounded arch of wood flinch, then blink. Lifting its horned head, the staff…or the creature upon it, stretched its neck…and finally rotated its shoulders, spreading two paper-thin wings. The bulbous beak turned to its master, a small forked tongue flicking into the wind. Chuck shook the staff violently, “Get a move on, you lazy walking stick!” The dragon hissed and flipped its head abruptly, opening its mouth. Flame leapt from the staff, consuming the neatly arranged wood. Twigs and logs popped and crackled. The dragon turned back and hissed once more, before reverting back to its original inanimate form. Taken aback, “I don’t know where you learned such language, but just for that,” the wizard tossed it into a crevice of the rocks, “you go sit in the corner.” Alhannah put her hands near the flames, rubbing them in relief. Dax slowly opened his eyes and blinked. “Huh. You actually did it,” he scratched his head. “No one got hurt…and you still have your beard. Good job.” Chuck waved away the comments and plopped down next to the fire. Poking a couple marshmallows onto a stick, he ed the bag to Alhannah. “Don’t look so surprised. I have my moments.” “That you do,” Dax said politely. They ate what remained of their food near the warmth of the flames—the last scraps of bread and some aged cheese that Chuck found in the recesses of his hat. Moldy parts were handed to Dax, who eagerly scarfed them down. They also discovered a small stream nearby, which provided fresh water for their skins. Wendell and Alhannah took the time to clean the dirt and grime from their own skin.

The gnome returned with a collection of mook berries, gathered in her cloak, which she had quietly harvested near the waters edge. With little to no wind, all they had to content with was an occasional stray ember leaping out of the campfire. Washed, warm and somewhat fed, Alhannah began humming a tune to herself as she braided her hair. Dax sat upright. “Sing it out loud, Alhannah, or you won’t do it justice.” Wendell thought the gnome looked so very tiny, without her armor on—the pale color of her bare forearms like cream against the firelight. “You sing?” he asked. She shook her head, fingers lingering in her hair strands. “It’s my brother who has the talent in the family. Brilliant kid—he writes and performs all over, but there’s one he wrote for our people. It’s what I cling to when I’m far away from home.” “Then sing it,” Dax encouraged again. She looked almost embarrassed. “Not tonight.” It seemed odd to Wendell, this walking, talking, sword-slinging warrior. For all the rage and skill and fight in her, she seemed to have a softer side she was afraid to let out. Then again, she did show a nurturing side. At least as a sister and daughter. He couldn’t resist asking, “What made you decide to become a fighter, Alhannah?” Dax and Chuck stayed silent. She stared through the flames at Wendell, her eyes glowing aggressively, like polished emeralds. Wendell shifted in his seat, “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have…” “It was my mother.” Wendell frowned, “Your…”

“My mother,” Alhannah repeated, “She was part of the elite N.E.R.D.S. team.” Wendell stifled a laugh. Chuck shook his head vigorously. “I’m sorry,…nerds?” “National Environmental Recon Deployment Service,” she clarified, “charged with exploring new locations and resource acquisition for Clockworks City. She was a damage control specialist. Translation: a tarkin good fighter. My mother was…how did the government say it, Dax?” The troll stretched out on his bedroll and yawned. “Freakishly skilled.” Wendell’s eyebrows arched upward, “Really?” Alhannah smiled, “Yeah. Always loved that ‘official’ definition. She had a gift for pain. Dad was on contract and mom was second in command under Lieutenant Pickett.” She dropped her gaze into the flames, her hands lowering to her lap, her little fingers kneading warmth into her palms. “I always wanted to be like mom. Especially when she…” “Shhh!” hissed Dax his head popping up, ears twitching. “Dax,” chastised Chuck, “she was in the middle of bearing her soul, you nit!” Dax rolled up onto his hands and feet like a cat, turning his gargantuan head from side to side. “We’ve got company!” he whispered and scurried away, up between the rocks and into the night. Without a moments hesitation, Alhannah pulled on her vest and mail shirt over her head. Securing her armor with a belt, she grabbed her weapons and likewise dashed into the darkness. The wizard sighed. “I hope there won’t be running involved. Have I mentioned that I hate running?” Dax nimbly weaved through rocks and trees. Wendell trailed behind Alhannah, helping the wizard along. We’re running towards the danger? How does this make any sense? If there’s someone nearby—shouldn’t we be going the opposite direction!?? The gnome ran and hopped around obstacles without effort,

occasionally turning back to encourage the wizard forward. Chuck wasn’t amused, however, and openly objected to being taken so far from the warm fire he worked so hard to start. As the party reached the top of a small hill, Wendell’s legs nearly buckled under him. Tha-THUMP-Thump! Urrk!! Clutching his chest, Wendell pulled at the collar of the t-shirt, a burning sensation creeping up and into his throat like a backed up sink. What’s happening to me!? He fell forward, struggling for breath. He nearly took Chuck with him and had to catch himself against a tree. “You alright, son?” “Come on guys!” stressed Alhannah. Tha-THUMP-Thump! “I’m…fine,” Wendell lied, swallowing painfully, “I’m right behind you.” And then they all heard it. An echo rising above the fog. Thundering drums and the high-pitched ringing of metal. Clashing. The biting of steel. Screams. Shouts. Growing louder. They stopped where the jagged rocks met the forest below in what looked to be the rubble of an old avalanche. Giant boulders and fallen trees, intermingling and piled high just beyond a forest clearing. The tall trees grew up to meet the ledge they were perched on, creating a small fan of cover. On the other side, less than forty feet below, lights moved, fires blazed as the sounds of battle raged. Dax, lying on his belly atop the biggest boulder—motioned for them to do the same. He placed a finger to his lips. “What teams are playing?” whispered Alhannah, scooting close to Dax. She was grinning. She patted Wendell on the arm. “Hey—maybe you’ll get that training you asked for. Nothing like an unexpected, life-threatening event to gain some

experience.” Wendell looked at her aghast. Is she psychotic? A man screamed from somewhere in the distance and was abruptly cut short in silence. Wendell trembled. “You’re joking, right?” Alhannah elbowed him, as if she was being teased, completely unaffected by the horrid sounds of death. “What you need is some adrenaline pumping, Mahan’sPink-Panties-I’m-Gonna-Die conflict.” She winked, “It’ll clear your senses, I guarantee it.” A trickle of acid crept up the back of Wendell’s throat, coating his tongue. She loves this stuff, which is….disturbing. He tried to smile back, but could only manage it half-heartedly. …maybe I shouldn’t have asked for her help. “Let’s get a closer look,” Dax whispered…and pulled himself forward on his belly. “Closer!?” Wendell squeaked, but he immediately slapped a hand over his own mouth. He lowered his tone. “You’ve got to be kidding!” “Shhh!” Dax hissed back, shooting Wendell a warning glare. Keeping low, polka dotted behind in the air, he crept up to the ledge, staying behind the sparse weeds growing out from between the rocks. Alhannah and Chuck followed in like. Wendell followed, nervously, like an arthritic caterpillar—his butt rising and falling as he went. Not good…not good…not good. Burning wagons and tents lit the battlefield, illuminating the conflict between men and beasts. Swords flashed in the night, while screams of agony ripped the air. The mountain wall reverberated the sounds of battle across the landscape, repeating the sounds of pain and death. Hundreds of human soldiers formed tight ranks—most shoulder to shoulder— shields raised, spears thrusting. Wave after wave of deformed and enraged creatures, poured out of the darkness. Howling like banshees, they lunged and jumped, screaming, swinging with fist, claw and club. Soldiers stood their ground, defying the horde.

Wendell could hear their chants. A rising call of deep voices, shouting out as they pushed against the enemy: GIVE NO GROUND, LEAVE NO PREY, PROTECT THE BACKS OF MEN, FEAR NOT THE NIGHT, FOR WE ARE BRAVE, TURN AGAIN AND REND! TOGETHER MIGHTY SOLDIERS, CUT THEM, MAKE THEM FLEE! FOR BARDS SHALL SING OF ALL YOUR DEEDS, AND HEROES YOU SHALL BE! With each shout, the humans surged forward. Knocking the enemy aside, trampling them under foot. Spears pierced flesh, punctured chest and skull. Swords flashed and severed limbs. Wendell cringed, gripping the stone to keep from shaking. I don’t want to see this. I can’t see this. It’s going to give me a complex, I just know it. Animals with jagged teeth, curved tusks and thick fur lunged at the lines. They looked like giant puma’s, dark and sleek, with six legs…and scales. They tackled the humans, knocking a dozen or more to the ground. Thick claws raked away armor as if it were cloth—teeth sinking deep into exposed flesh. Some of the beasts found their demise at the end of spears and swords, while others howled victory.

The sounds seized Wendell. Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap. We need to go back. Need to hide, get some help! He wanted to vomit and he clenched his eyes tight. I don’t want to see anymore! Please don’t make me see anymore. “PLEASE!” he finally begged out loud in an strained whisper. “Shhh!” Alhannah said, quickly slapping a hand over Wendell’s mouth. She frowned in an are-you-insane-you-moron? look he couldn’t mistake. He yanked his head back. “What’s wrong with you guys?!” he wheezed, “You’re supposed to run in the opposite direction when you find people dying. You could be next!” With a frightfully firm grip on his arm, Chuck tugged at Wendell. “Now you listen to me, son. I know this isn’t easy. I know it’s frightful—but you’re not here for tea and biscuits. You’re here to make a difference! No, you don’t feel like you can do anything yet. Fine. But those men down there are doing their duty.” He tugged again on Wendell’s arm, “Doing their duty…despite the odds against them. This isn’t about fighting fights you can win, son. This is about fighting for other people who can’t. You…” Chuck jabbed Wendell hard with a boney thumb, “are our ultimate back-up plan!” Wendell’s stomach heaved. The wizard released his grip. “Get used to it.” Arrows flew across the field with deadly accuracy, impaling the cat-like beasts through neck and face. Shafts that hungered for soft leather, soft throats and open mouthes found their targets. Even an armored juggernaut fell to crossbowman, who targeted their heavy bolts at the Vallen’s protective chest plate and helmet. Chuck groaned. “That’s Til-Thorin’s flag.” “This far south?” whispered Dax. He flinched as a human crashed against the ledge. Bones snapped. The corpse slid off the slight incline and fell to the battlefield below. “That doesn’t make any sense…why would they leave the Keep?” The wizard bit his lip. He pulled at the weeds beneath his hands. “Govind,” he

whispered sadly. The dawn had already begun to reveal its light along the belly of the clouds. Near the center of the conflict, standing in a semi-circle, were a handful of knights surrounding their fallen leader. Several black shafts protruded from a mound of bright silver armor. Wendell couldn’t see a face or much detail. Only that standing over the silver knight was an old man in faded red robes. His long, white beard complimented the silver emblems along his sleeves, reflecting the firelight. “You know these men?” asked Wendell. “The mägo,” the wizard choked, “is a friend. Govind,” he repeated, “A…dear friend. I was hoping to take you to him. Ask him to begin your training.” Govind made sudden lifting motions with his hands, clawing through the air. Flames leapt from the burning wagons, arching through the trees in rolling pillars. Like serpents seeking mice, the flames lashed out, consuming enemies unwilling to retreat from the battlefield. Giants cried out in agony as armor melted, bubbling and turning to slag against their skin. Cheers rang out from the humans. Wendell watched, transfixed, as the mägo’s hands flared with a white intensity. This guy’s my teacher? The field lit up with the brilliance of a small star. Light also flared from Govind’s eyes. Trees burst into flames. The sparse grass withered and the few patches of early snow hissed, evaporating under its touch. Wendell grinned, Coooool. The Vallen had stopped advancing, but they didn’t retreat beyond the rim of the forest. A black robe, hobbling along, pushed its way through the ranks. Alhannah hissed like a cat. Wendell looked to the wizard in concern. “Tauku,” answered Dax. He reached over and squeezed Alhannah’s hand. “Ain’t nothing a gnome hates more.”

The hooded hunchback silently lumbered across the field, the flames flickering and dying out as it ed. The soldiers from both sides withdrew from the battlefield. Govind stepped down from the knoll and into the small clearing. He weaved his way through the mangled bodies of noble soldiers, light still flaring from his eyes. The ground shook. A tremor. Then another. Splitting at the feet of the Tauku, the rock and soil ripped open. The tremors continued as nature moaned in anger. The black robe stumbled backwards, hobbling to retreat, but the crack expanded, arcing wide until the robe was encircled, its escape route cut off. Govind’s very skin glowed with power and Wendell could hear the mägo chanting. With a final shudder, the ground heaved flame and molten rock out of the fissure, engulfing the Tauku. Deafening cheers exploded from the humans, swords banging against shields. The cheer, however, was short lived. Flames gathered and curled like the rolling waves of the sea, twisting and lifting above the black robes. The Tauku stood in the center of the isle…unscathed. A rapid succession of shrill sounds pierced the night. For a moment, Wendell swore that he saw snake heads flicking out from under the cloth of the mägo’s black hood. Wings stretched forth, claws formed and a long tail rolled out through the trees, setting them aflame. The dragon blinked its golden globes and launched itself into the air. A fanged maw opened in a silent roar, circling in the sky. It dove at the battlefield. Archers fired arrows, to no avail, some rolling to safety as others too slow to react were consumed. The dead fell in piles of ash. Wendell watched Govind— the light still shining brilliantly from his eyes. He caled out words Wendell didn’t understand, pointing at the serpent of flame.

The dragon rolled and dove, mouth agape, claws extended. Teeth snapped over Govind as the white light flared. The dragon vanished. Govind’s charred body collapsed to the ground. With a deafening roar, the horde launched themselves across the field, charging past the laughing Tauku. …and the slaughter commenced. Wendell bit his own tongue to keep from yelling out. The tavern was scary, but this!? His chest heaved, fear clawing the back of his mind. How can I do this…if that guy was supposed to be my teacher?! He looked up at Chuck. The wizard didn’t smile. He didn’t try to comfort Wendell at all. Wendell clenched his eyes tight, trying to block out the screams he could still hear on the battlefield below. This is nothing like the movies. Nothing like I imagined. Playing all those role playing games—watching so many action movies. He took a deep breath and slowly let the air out. Hold it together, Wendell. “Let’s get out of here before they start looking for us!” whispered Dax. He slowly backed away from the ledge. A finger poked him on the shoulder. Dax froze. Wendell, trembling, grabbed onto Chucks arm. “Woah! Careful now, son, or I might end up down there with…what’s the matter?” The wizard looked up and flinched so hard, he almost fell off the ledge. “MAHAN’S PINK PANTIES!”

Dax looked over his shoulder…just as the club struck him across the temple. “HEEL!” laughed the giant shadow, as Dax’s body flipped and rolled up against the cliff. “DON’T LET THE OLD ONE GET AWAY!” barked a second voice, but Wendell couldn’t tell where it was coming from. Chuck looked at him and sighed, “Did I mention I hate running?”

Chapter 26 Run

Life may force you into situations to hone that survival instinct in every living creature. This is a rare opportunity for you to asses the situation, dig deep within yourself and call upon your inner strength and courage. If that doesn’t work, run like hell.

Chain mail clinked and scraped against the boulder as the second Vallen stepped from the shadows. “Now boys, don’t be hasty,” Chuck stammered. “My, what BIG ARMS you have!” The giants converged upon him, laughing. The wizard shook a finger at them, “I’m guessin’ neither of you boys were breast fed as babies…?” Wendell fought with all his might not to scream in terror. …it didn’t work. His shriek pierced the air. It grabbed the attention of the two aggressors on the ledge, but it also caught the attention of the beasts in the field below. The beasts feasting upon the flesh of the dead. Luckily, it was just the kind of distraction Chuck needed. Before Wendell had finished exhaling his female rendition of distress, a light blinded him. No sound, no pain, no sight. Then Wendell heard a crack…then a yell. A deep yell…followed by a distant thud. The same sounds were repeated… and then a moment later, hands were grabbing at him aggressively. He screamed again. Swinging wildly, he tried to punch the invisible attacker. “Would you STOP THAT!??” growled Dax. He jumped up and slapped Wendell

across the face. “OW!” “Well quit fightin’ me, ya idjut—we gotta GO!” Yanked forward, Wendell was quickly shoved, prodded, kicked and pulled up the hillside. “You couldn’t have told the kid to shut his eyes?” “Oh, like I have to think of EVERYthing…” “We’d be moving faster without him blind, old man.” “Thank you would suffice, monkey.” “…sigh…thank you.” “Welcome. Where’s the gnome?” “Here!” Wendell felt a small hand slip into his, “Come on, Wendell, let’s get you out of here.” “Where did you go?” He hadn’t recalled seeing Alhannah when the Vallen burst into the clearing. She giggled, “Gnomes don’t have to be seen when we don’t want to be. I was about to jump off the rock overhead and skewer one, but…” “But the old man got to them first,” the wizard cut in, “Oh, yeah.” “Then Dax threw them off the ledge,” Wendell finished, “got it.” “No,” Chuck said, sounding a bit hurt. “I played a little baseball with my staff. Took out a little fat one below, too, poor fellow—he didn’t realize it was raining ugly.” Ithari was already healing Wendell’s vision. Shapes formed across the white landscape. Alhannah tugged him quickly around obstacles, adding verbal prompts as they went. “Step up—boulder to your left, run your hand along it as a

guide,…that’s it.” Tha-THUMP-Thump, Tha-THUMP-Thump, Tha-THUMP-Thump Something howled from the shadows behind them. Shapes became blurs with shadowy blurs attached. Again, a howl…followed by a second. Wendell could hear the rattling of metal. The clanging of weapons. They’re coming! “I don’t know what that was,” he trembled, puling his hand free from Alhannah, “but I want to go faster!” Dax hopped over rocks and stumps, the morning light creeping through the trees. Over the ridge they ran. Weaving through the brush and sliding down the rock embankment to their camp. They didn’t stop. Once they reached the valley’s floor, Dax dropped to all fours—swinging across the ground at top speed. It reminded Wendell of a chimpanzee. “Keep up!” Dax shouted. “If we can find a big enough clearing, we might be able to port!” Alhannah’s armor clinked as she sprinted, while Chuck held his robe up with both hands, running as fast as his boney knees could take him. Another howl ripped through the silence. Wendell looked over his shoulder with trepidation. They’re getting closer! Tha-THUMP-Thump! Tha-THUMP-Thump! A second howl erupted. The hair on Wendell’s neck rose. He bit his own tongue in panic as he ran. A brief glimmer of movement, pacing them, along the ridge to their right. The sounds were followed by snapping branches and sliding rocks to his left. They’re blocking us in! “Hounds!” Alhannah shouted. “They have our scent—MOVE IT!” Stop.

Wendell’s vision cleared. His mind raced as he looked for a place to run. Hide. Escape. The wizard wheezed, his pace slowed. The valley ahead bottlenecked into a grove of trees. We can’t keep running like this—Chuck won’t be able to keep up. “I hear the river,” Dax shouted back. With a leap off a fallen tree, he took off through the dense forest incline. “If we make it to the water, we have a chance— they can’t track what they can’t smell!” Stop. The pain in Wendell’s chest lessened. He looked over his shoulder, then at the wizard. “Did you he…” he started. “Move, boy!” Chuck snapped, shoving him through the edge of the grove. The trees had grown so tight, so interwoven, they could no longer walk side by side. Spaced slightly wider than the width of a man, Wendell was forced to turn his shoulders to navigate through. Roots rose from the soil, a sea of lifeless snakes, making it almost impossible to find sure footing. Wendell hopped and jumped over each obstacle. This is ridiculous—we’re going to get caught! It was even worse for the wizard. The brisk run had worn him to the point exhaustion and Chuck was already gasping for breath. His face looked horribly pale. Before he could get more than twenty feet into the grove, his hand slipped against the smooth bark of a tree, the flat of his sandal catching on a shoot. Chuck tumbled forward and slammed, head first, into the roots below.

“Chuck!” Wendell cried out. Without warning, a hound lunged, slamming into the outer trees of the grove. Saliva foamed over rows of jagged teeth that snapped incessantly. The trunks creaked and moaned as the beast frantically pushed, reaching, clawing at the air and raking the ground. Wendell nervously dragged Chuck deeper into the grove, the monster biting and clawing at the plants in its way. The light of dawn now afforded Wendell a clear glimpse of his pursuer…and it terrified him. The size of a grizzly bear, it was neither dog, nor cat, or even reptile, yet it had both scales and fur. Two paws desperately reached for its prey…while four hind legs pushed its barrel chest against the barrier of the grove. The jingling and clinking of metal rang through the forest, made by crude, rusted chains dangling from rings piercing the beasts face. Wendell set Chuck down between the roots, then propped his back against a trunk. Dax slid up to his side. “He ok?” The trolls brows rolled upwards as big eyes quickly scanned for wounds. The barking increased, growing louder as the gnome approached. The Hound snapped its jaws, steel traps with strings of saliva flinging about wildly. Alhannah snatched a rock and threw it—striking the beast square upon the nose. It shrieked and reeled its head. Chuck’s head flopped forward, his gnarled hand clutching his chest. His face was pale, his lips a powdered haze of blue. Dax lifted the wide brimmed hat off his head. Blood immediately trailed down his forehead from under his hairline. It ran across the hunched bridge of his nose, and branched across both cheeks. “Aww hell,” he cursed. “Here,” said Alhannah, “let me.” Her small fingers gently searched through the tuft of hair. “He’s going to have a nice egg, but the cut doesn’t look too bad. We need to wash it to get a better look.”

Chuck pushed her hands away. “Fly you fools!” he gasped dramatically. With a last cough, he slowly closed his eyes. “We’re not going anywhere without you, ya decrepit old twit,” retorted Dax. “And you’re not done for—you got clocked by a tree.” Chuck peeked up at Wendell, “Just a tree?” Wendell nodded. He leaned forward, glancing at the Hound, tearing at the grove with tooth and nail. “It didn’t get me as I used my body as a barrier to save Wendell’s life?” Alhannah shook her head. “Sorry.” “Hmph,” grunted the wizard. He held out both hands, “Well, I shouldn’t be too disappointed…” he winked at Wendell, “I was rather fond of myself, you know. Would have been a terrible waste of wit and charm.” Unfortunately they discovered the wound to be more real than imaginary. Chuck stumbled along with great difficulty. Both Dax and Alhannah helped him, with his staff as the main crutch. They could all hear the rushing sound of the river by now, echoing through the grove. At the same time, the second hound made its appearance along the back side of the grove, which now revealed itself to be but a pocket of trees. Both Hounds ran along the outer rim, looking for a way to take advantage of their breakfast. “We’re trapped,” cursed Dax. “The river is up and over that next ridge, but they’ve cut us off.” Wendell. “Can’t

you port us out of here?” Wendell asked. He watched the Hounds sniffing along the edge of the trees, looking for a wider opening to gain entrance. Dax shook his head. “I don’t even know if I got enough strength yet—but even if I did, I gotta have some open space. Otherwise I’d port the mass o’ trees with us. The more mass, the harder it gets…and I ain’t that good.” “But even if we get to the water…we still have to ditch the Hounds,” Alhannah added. The grove, Wendell. The grove ended abruptly at the base of a hillside. There was a small clearing—a gap between groves. The Hounds paced back and forth within the gap, waiting. “Can you use that clearing to port?” Wendell asked. Dax considered. “Yeah, but…” “But what?” “It takes a minute or so for me to carry this many people. Have to concentrate. I can pop outta here myself just fine, maybe with two…but not four. That takes time—and those pups ain’t gonna wait. Plus, if we do this wrong, it could be a day before I can try it again.” He patted Chucks hand tenderly, “The owners of those Hounds’ll be here soon, too. We got one shot at this. We need to make it to the water.” “We have to run,” Alhannah finished. Chuck coughed and sank down on a root, panting. Blood ran down over his beard. “Joy. More running.” A thought kept tickling the back of Wendell’s mind. Something big. Something

crazy. “I have an idea,” he said. “Kid, we don’t…” Dax started, but Wendell held up a hand, cutting him off. “Here me out. The water’s over that ridge. We need to get there—and I’m assuming to douse ourselves in it, to…lose the hounds, get rid of our scent?” “That’s the plan, yeah.” “So we need a diversion. Something to lure the Hounds away while the others make a break for the upper tree line. Am I getting it so far?” Dax frowned, “Yeah, but…” “Look,” Wendell cut in, “you have to get us to safety. You’re the only one who can port. Alhannah can fight and Chuck needs protection more than I do right now. I can heal, he can’t. The best option is to get you three over that ridge, through the water and find a clearing. You need to be ready to port all of us away...” Alhannah squeezed Wendell’s hand and looked at him sternly, “And where does that leave you?” It was then that Wendell realized that his idea wasn’t crazy…it was stupid. “As bait,” he gulped. Yup, that was me. I actually said it out loud. Oh boy—I hope this works. Dax and Alhannah looked at each other. Chuck moaned and fell backwards into Dax’s arms. “Trust me,” Wendell assured them, but there was a creak in his voice, “if there’s one thing I know how to do…it’s taunting bullies.” “Wendell,” Alhannah protested, but he smiled and knelt down in front of her. “I can’t fight. I know that, you know that—so I’m still depending on you guys to be ready for when I come running.” The words came calmly to his lips. His

breathing became steady. “I…trust you. I’m going to trust Ithari…so, please, trust me, ok?” He grinned wide, “I gotta good feeling.” Wendell stood up and, “Just stay low and when you see an opening, make for the water.” Without another word, he started running along the roots…straight for the pacing Hounds. Oh I hope you know what you’re doing, Wendell. The grove was oblong in shape and he soon noticed something useful—the trees were more dense at the outer rim that they were at the center. Even the roots were less dense near the center, allowing him to sprint from one side to the other without much hinderance. The Hounds had been pacing, watching the party, but as soon as Wendell sprinted away, they followed. Not just one of them. They both growled and barked, snapping their great jaws at the moving morsel, bouncing and hopping like a rabbit through the trees. Every so often, one of the beasts would jump at an opening in the grove, desperately trying to get at Wendell. It would reach and stretch, pawing at the ground, biting at the bark. When either of the Hounds turned away or looked uninterested, he would jump closer, laughing and yelling just beyond reach. It had its desired effect. Both creatures tore at the trees, possessed. More than once smaller plants were ripped from the ground and throw aside… but they couldn’t quite get to the prey they desired so desperately. It wasn’t long before Wendell realized the flaw in his plan. How am I supposed to get out of here? The pause in his stride was just long enough to give him the answer. Pushing and clawing, one of the Hounds managed to get past the first set of trees…then a second. It twisted and wiggled, but it was unable to stay horizontal. It didn’t care. The prey was near. Near.

Wendell looked about and snapped off a branch the length of his arm. He smiled. “Alright you puppy dogs, let’s play.” You can do this, he told himself firmly, you’re the Wendellizer…. “Come on ugly!” he taunted the Hound struggling to get through the grove. Mouth open, a giant, pink forked tongue flicked, followed by chomping teeth. “You want me, boy? Then COME AND GET ME!” and Wendell jabbed at a flailing paw with the stick. He weaved his way along the tighter set of trees. There was an explosion of movement. Wendell wasn’t sure if the Hound was shaking with anger, desperation, or having some kind of seizure. Leaves fell to the ground all around, but the beast couldn’t move. The barking slowly reduced and subsided. Barks changed to whimpers. Wendell sprinted away. The second Hound paced his movements, lightly trotting along the clearing. Unlike the first beast, this one didn’t make a lunge at every taunt Wendell made. Try as he did, Wendell couldn’t get the same reaction. So you’re the smart one. At the far side of the grove, Wendell discovered the perfect spot. The trees opened wider near the outer edge, but a virtual maze of roots and other plant life made it the perfect net. All he needed was a willing participant. The Hound paced back and forth at the mouth of the trap. Wendell stood in plain sight. He positioned himself in the opening, to give the animal an unobstructed view of the potential meal. Sweat trickled down his brow. He wondered if the Hound could smell the sweet. The thought made him nervous for some reason. Why won’t you take the bait? Come on, blast you—I don’t have all day. Wendell took a step closer.

Nothing happened. Wendell gripped the stick tighter in his hand. …and took a step closer. The Hound made no sound, but it slinked back and forth, again reminding Wendell of a giant cat. He took a step closer. Tha-THUMP-Thump! He took a step closer. Tha-THUMP-Thump! Tha-THUMP-Thump! Wendell wondered in that last moment if he was experiencing what the human soldiers had…as the Hounds darted onto the field. The blur of shadow solidifying into teeth and claws. Fire shot through his face and collarbone. Blood sprayed. Wendell’s blood. The Hound writhed in frustration among the trees. A single paw clawed the air in desperation. Yearning. It was the paw that sent Wendell flying backwards with torn shirt, chest and cheek. He landed hard, the small of his back slamming against a rooted snake. He moaned. He could taste blood in his mouth. Looking up at the great beast in complete and total shock, I did it. “I freaking DID it!” he laughed out loud, then flinched at the pain in his cheek. Slowly rising to his feet, he looked around. The glee on his face vanished. “…and no one saw a thing,” he sighed. Picking up the stick, he crept closer to the Hound. It too, was whimpering—but Wendell didn’t trust it.

“You really are an ugly sucker, aren’t you? Not that you can say anything back, of course, but…” He paused. “What did they do to you?” The animal had sores and boils along its neck and face. Rusted chains dangled from rings piercing its eyelids, nose and lips. Puss oozed from wounds unattended and the skin around each of the piercings was bloody and swollen. Even with the pain he was in, Wendell felt sorry for the beast. “You’re only doing what they taught you to do, aren’t you?” Probably starving. He cocked his head to the side, taking a step forward. Wait an minute…what is…that? Protruding from the side of the Hounds nose, near the ring piercing, was what looked to be some kind of clamp. Tiny, thin arms…holding a small three inch knob against the skin. Curious, Wendell reached out, grabbed the handle…and yanked. The howl was deafening. Wendell stumbled backwards against a tree, tripping over his own feet. He looked at the object in his hand. It looked like a small dagger. Metal, the blade not more than four inches in length, but instead of a hilt, it had bladed claws. Four curved, barbed claws, now with small pieces of flesh attached to them. Wendell looked back at the Hound, appalled. “What the crap did they do to you?” Blood poured from the open wound as the incessant barking began once more. Through the trees, Wendell saw more than a dozen soldiers running towards the grove. Wendell dropped the piece of metal onto the ground and started running.

“Did you find any way down?” Alhannah shouted. It was hard to hear above the roar of the waterfall. Her hair was already wet from the mist in the air and she brushed back the bangs from her eyes. “Any way across at all?” Dax stepped up through the bushes, shaking his head. “The ridge goes down as far as I can see.” She anxiously looked at the wizard, who had sunk to his hands and knees. A trail of vomit ran from his bottom lip, down his beard and into the wet grass. It mingled with the fresh blood dripping from the tip of his nose and over the edge of the cliff. Chucks face looked nearly as white as his beard. “Then what do we do?” “Currents too strong, too fast to wade through, ‘specially with Chuck. The fall from this height’d…well…” Dax squeezed the gnomes shoulders reassuringly. “We’ll find a way out of here, ‘Hannah. I promise. As soon as Wendell…” Dax was cut off by rustling in the bushes behind them. “The Vallen!” Wendell cried out, “Guys!! They found us!” Flinging the the branches aside, Wendell leapt into the open, tripped over the prone wizard…and plummeted over the cliff. Chuck’s bushy eyebrows poked over the lip of the cliff, Wendell’s scream following his vanishing body into the mist. The wizard coughed, then gagged, then spat the bile from his mouth. He looked up at Dax and Alhannah. “That’s not good.”

BOOK THREE

INTO THE FIRE

Prologue

Have you ever thought about what makes you…you? Is it the clothes you wear, the talents you have…or perhaps the connections you’ve made? Is it your popularity or the acceptance of others around you? No, it’s not. The older you get and the more experience you gain, you will realize that who you are is made of up of the tiny choices you make throughout your life. The seemingly insignificant things we do from day-to-day. To go forward when you could have gone back. To push on when you could have easily just given up. To get up one more time than you are knocked down. The people who discover who they truly are and what makes them unique…are the ones who don’t hesitate doing the right thing when painful choices must be made. The heroes are the ones willing to jump into the fire.

Chapter 27 Dreams

Dreams can teach you a great deal, especially when they repeat themselves. The trick with such experiences is to turn the dream to your advantage. Take notice of the details. You never know…they may come in handy.

Isit up in the night air and shake my head. …but it’s not night time. I’m not outside either. The light from the scattered torches are barely enough to tell me what I can already smell—it’s damp and dusty down here, and it’s making the stone floor slippery. That’s not right. I fell. Over a waterfall…didn’t I? Reflexively my hands go to my head, my face…chest, arms. I look down at my hands—no blood. I’m not even wet. I’ve been here before. We’re taking a beating in the battle outside. The impacts of boulders smashing into the castle proves it. The enemy’s trebuchet are relentless, the bombardment echoing through the corridors. Dust, dirt and pebbles fall from the mortar onto my head and shoulders, get in my eyes and I have to blink through the coughs. The foundation shudders under the soles of my feet. I pull at my shirt. The smiley is still there. It looks up and…winks at me. Never done that before! I hear scuffling up the hall…coming towards me.

The sound carries quite well in the sporadic silence of the cellar, which makes it all the more unnerving. The hair stands up on the back of my neck. Oh I hope it’s a lost fuzzy bunny…PLEASE let it be a lost fuzzy bunny! Gerbil’s would be ok too,…maybe a moderately annoyed groundhog…? I can hear footfalls—short sprints, stumbling, then there’s silence. Less than a minute later, the sounds of shuffling feet start up again, drawing closer. But this time, I hear panting. Strong and labored panting…as it approaches where I’m crouched in the dark. Crap. Crap-crap-crap….bunnies don’t pant! A soft glow appears, bobbing up and down, getting brighter as the sounds get louder with end step. But the movement slows. I clench my eyes tight and hold my breath. “Please,” says a soft voice, “give me strength.” Moments later I hear stumbling, then a distinct thud. There’s a clinking of glass or crystal against a hard surface. A soft glow suddenly pulses into view. Cautiously, I stand up and creep forward. I look around the corner. It’s a girl. She’s collapsed onto the floor, just feet away…face down on the stones. She’s not moving. The light’s coming from an elongated crystal, laying on the ground, just inches from her open hand. Her hair is long, dark and curly, pulled back into a pony tail—long bangs drape over her forehead and face. She’s wearing an animal skin jerkin and a rough woven tunic underneath. Her dark tros are worn, the left leg torn open at the calf. Kneeling down, I pick up the glowing crystal and crawl over to her. I hold it over her leg. There’s a deep gash across the shin. The blood is caked with dust and dirt, the outer flesh red. I’m not sure—but it looks infected. It has to hurt.

Walking the light over her, I look for any other wounds. Luckily, I don’t find a thing. Where did you come from? I hold the light close to her face and gently pull back the hair from her brow. She has the most beautiful face I could ever imagine. The girl from the Black Market! Life just got better…and I can’t help smiling to myself. Now I can assist her and she’ll how rude she was to me and… A hand reaches out and grabs at the crystal. “Don’t take that…” she mumbles, “It’s…mine.” She weakly tugs at my hand. “I…need it.” I place the crystal in her hand, closing her fingers around it. “I wasn’t taking it,” I tell her, “You’re hurt. I was only using it to look at that wound on your leg.” I can’t stop staring. Looking at her sends chills down my spine and butterflies to flight in my stomach. I sigh contentedly. Someone in charge likes me after all. “What’s your name?” I quickly ask. There’s no way I’m leaving without a name this time. I look back at her wounded leg. “My name is Li-….”, but she stops in mid-breath. Movement—just beyond the edge of the light. I can see it in her face…it’s behind me. There’s a faint wheezing sound, followed by a rapid succession of clicks. A raspy breathing which makes my skin crawl. Without hesitating, the girl sits upright and throws her arms around me, clinging. “Please don’t let them get me! PLEASE!!” Her body shakes so violently, I wrap

my arms around her for fear of her falling backwards and hitting her head. Her skin is cold and clammy. She look up at me pleadingly, “Please don’t let them take me.” Before I can answer, she grabs the crystal and shoves me back onto the floor. I can hear her grunts and gasps of pain, but she quickly hobbles away, leaning heavily against the wall. “Wait!” I yell, but she’s not listening. “Don’t go!” I turn to confront the darkness—what’s in it, but I’m alone. The bouncing light fades. I need to hurry. The cellar is a veritable maze. She’ll loose me if I’m not careful…so I sprint after her. Stupid dust has made the floor treacherous. I glance off a corner and slam into the opposite wall. She’s already made it to the end of the hallway. She’s grasping the purple crystal in her fingers. The cool glow throws her shadow against the stone. She pauses just long enough to drop the crystal into a pouch flung across her shoulder. Her curls bounce across her tunic. Run. Rounding the corner, I call out again, “Please! Let me help you!” When I catch up, she’s cowering at a juncture in the tunnels. Her eyes widen like a cornered rabbit and she screams. The echo is almost deafening. It’s then that I notice the robed figure emerging from the blackness—hunched over, the tattered cloth hanging from the boney figure beneath. The air has a pungent smell of rotten meat so strong, I gag. “Keep running!” I call out, but she doesn’t respond. A flash of movement catches my attention and I’m taken back. Hundreds of insects—cockroaches, flies, earwigs and things I can’t identify, scatter across the tiles—left behind with each step the figure takes. Footsteps of

decay. It hisses, arms outstretched towards the girl. She recoils and screams again. My reaction is instantaneous. I reach out to grip the air in front of me, looking to the torches on either side of the hallway. White light flares from my chest, glowing beneath my t-shirt and the fire leaps from the wall sconces. The flame expands and swirls, splitting, forming giant fingers. Clapping my hands together, the burning extensions of my will snatch the robe, holding it fast. Shrieks scrape at my ears and spine. The creature shakes violently, trying to escape, but I hold it fast, squeezing my palms together. Smoke rolls along the ceiling in all directions until there’s nothing left but falling ash. The Wendellizer has saved…Oh yeah, I’ve been here before. I jump over the ash and slide to her side. She’s sobbing. “Are you ok?” I look over my shoulder, but the hall is black. “We have to get out of here.” Wendell, Run! “We need to move, now!” “My knee,” she sobs, “I…I can’t get up.” “Show me with the light,” I say, “quickly.” With a short cry of pain, she twists and opens her bag. The area lights up under the glow of the crystal. Ahhhh, crap. A rumpled mane of long curls frame the gentle curves of her face. She so… perfect. Her hand reaches out to softly caress my own.

“You saved me!” she coos, batting her doe-eyes. She flinches as she draws close to me. Her full lips part in an intoxicating smile and I, um, can’t …. What am I doing? Oh. Right. Being cool. I smile back, “Yeah,…I mean, yes, I did.” That’s good. I sound…waaaiiiit a minute. Her touch is so soft, her skin warm—even in this dank cellar. “Thank you,” she whispers. “Right,” I say, numbly. She looks up into my eyes, reaches her hand around my neck and firmly pulls me closer. Leaning in, she closes her eyes and gently presses her soft lips to my…palm. “Not this time,” I grunt. She pulls her head back, looking at me, shocked. “Wh—what’s the matter?” It only takes me a fraction of a millisecond to decide how to respond. “I want this moment last forever,” I whisper, “with all my heart…but it won’t.” And it doesn’t. A hiss from behind tears us apart. She falls back onto her elbows, her face contorted with terror. I miss the taste of salt on my lips. “No!” she cries, “Don’t let them get me! PLEASE!!” Hair rises on the back of my neck. I know it’s not her expression…but the scraping sound, echoing behind me, like animal claws against stone, still causes me to shudder. Turning, I see the two ghastly robes and I gulp.

Hollow, vacant holes where faces should be, shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reaching out. Like specters, they move slowly towards us, crawling on all four limbs, prowling along the walls. “Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.” They pause…as if considering, swaying in the shadows. Watching me. The tops of the hoods roll forward, bend—skinless brows frowning at me. Arching their backs, they change their positions, like beasts, ready to pounce upon their prey. “Go home or ssshe will…” “Suffer,” I finish, scooping her into my arms. “I heard you the first time, bucketface.” The shouts echo in my mind and I can’t shut them out. Screaming, screeching, howling. “Get out of my mind!!” The hallway is blocked by the vile specters. We’re cornered. Focus. Useless shelf to my right, two wood crates and three full gunny sacks— probably grain, a pile of someones forgotten laundry. No help there. To my left, a stained glass window. Window? What’s a window doing in a cellar?? I pick her up and hold her body against me, but I can’t protect her face and neck. I need both hands. “Turn your face into my chest!” I yell. The creatures launch themselves, claws outstretched. I plunge backwards, through the glass. The cold wind stings my flesh, the glass shards tear my cheek and forearm. The fragments roll around me, over my bare skin, covering the girl. Then it happens again…

I’m all alone…and plummeting to my death. The waves of the sea beckon as the rocky shore rushes up to meet me. ….and I didn’t even get her name. AGAIN!! SMACK!

Chapter 28 No Choice

Someday you’ll be forced to make a tough decision. It will happen in a flash…and you can’t go back to change it. It won’t matter what your reasoning or intent is… someone’s going to hate you for it.

Dust and gravel exploded across the courtyard as the portal flashed open. BAMPH! The gaping hole, torn in the very fabric of space, vomited—spewing out water and three figures. An old man, a gnome…and a troll. Servants shrieked, children ran and armed guards lowered their spears. High overhead, the warning bells of Til-Thorin rang. “What did you do?” Alhannah coughed, choking. Her body was drenched and one of her swords was missing. Dax flopped onto the ground, hacking and blowing water from his nose. He crawled to the wizards side. “Help me roll him over, ‘Hannah.” “I said, what did you do?” “Alhannah!” he snapped, “Help me with Chuck…” The gnome grabbed the wizards legs and turned him onto his back. Dax placed his oversized ear on the old man’s chest. His eyes grew wide. “He’s not breathing!” Throwing the mass of facial hair out of the way, he turned the wizard head, cleared the airway and then tilted it back. Dax took a sharp breath and blew.

Sliding over, he laced his hands and started chest compressions. “One-one-thousand, two-one-thousand, three-one-thousand…” he counted. Chuck coughed loudly, his hands shaking spastically. Dax grabbed the old man by the shoulders and hugged him tightly. “My, my,” Chuck said weakly, “someone’s…feeling a bit emotional.” “You left him,” Alhannah said sternly. She stood just behind Dax, her fists clenched. “You left Wendell behind.” “What is she saying, monkey?” whispered Chuck. Dax gently laid him back on the ground, but didn’t answer either of them. “I’m talking to you, Dax!” The gnome started pacing, like a small jungle cat, her eyes fixed on the back of the bald, green head. Guards were running down the ramps of the catwalks, surrounding them. “Why did you leave him behind!?” Dax watched the guards descend upon them. He raised his hands and laced them behind his head. Alhannah yanked on Dax’s shoulder, spinning him around in the mud. Her tone was sharp, eyes narrow and focused. “We’re supposed to protect him! He TRUSTED US, Dax!!” He looked up. “What was I supposed to do?” Red, moist eyes searched her face, pleadingly. “He’d already fallen. I couldn’t see him! We had one shot at this Alhannah, Wendell knew it…and look at him,” he nodded at the wizard. “LOOK! He’s hurt.” Dax choked back a sob, “I’ve never seen him hurt before, Alhannah.” She stared at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?” “Hundreds of years we’ve run together. His magic was so strong, so focused…he was invulnerable and now suddenly…,” he stared at the prone, pale body, “he got old.” Spinning around at the gnome, the fierceness in his tone caused Alhannah to take a step back, “He needed a healer!” But it was an expression he

couldn’t maintain. The lines in his face softened as he whispered, “He’s all I got, ‘Hannah.” Several soldiers stepped forward with blades drawn. Dax sniffed, then looked at them boldly. He nodded toward Chuck. “That is the wizard Morphiophelius. This is his bodyguard, Lady Alhannah. They’re friends of the steward, Lord Garriff…and your King, Robert III, who is on his way to this Keep as we speak.” Dax was kicked forward, onto his face. Kneeling roughly onto his back, rough hands pulled his wrists behind him. Bound them tight with rope. “I ask that you treat the old man for his wounds and allow the gnome to accompany him.” A gloved fist struck him behind the ear. Dax swayed under the blow. “You’re in no position to make requests, beast,” smirked the guard. “Hey!” growled Alhannah, her hand going to her sword hilt. “Don’t do it child,” whispered Chuck. His white hand collapsed back to the ground. A dozen spears surrounding them…and three swords at her throat, made her reconsider. With a heavy sigh, she held up one hand and, unlatched her belt with the other. She tossed the sword and belt to the ground. Dax wiggled like a worm through the dirt and mud, desperate to get closer to the old wizard. “Don’t talk, Chuck…” he whispered. “Save your strength. I’ll get you help.” Citizens and servants stood near the outer curtain wall. “Place them in a cell,” ordered the commander. “I’ll inform Captain Joram we have…guests.” “Sir, the prison is full. The gallows are almost built, but…” “Then throw them under the Keep.”

The guard hesitated, “Sir…” “Do as you’re told!” snapped the commander. He glanced down at the wizard with disdain. Chuck smiled at him weakly. “And take that one too. I don’t trust a human who associates with trolls and gnomes. “Yes, sir.” “No,” pleaded Dax, now tugging against his bindings, “wait, please—he’s wounded! You HAVE to help him!!” The hilt of a sword struck fast and hard. Dax dropped into the mud, unconscious. “Why you piece of…” Alhannah barked. The crack of a club sent her slumping to the ground. Chuck closed his eyes and took a deep, shuddering breath.

Chapter 29 Discovered

Sometimes the Universe sends people to do nothing more than help us make it to the next chapter in our lives.

Amidst the swirling void of emptiness, where Wendell’s consciousness lingered, a twig snapped. “Shhhh. Do you want to scare it off?” “Look who’s talking.” The sounds of crunching leaves and grass drew closer. Breathing, controlled and steady. Then it stopped. “Evan!” hissed the young voice. “Shhhh! How many times do I have to tell you, Hiram? So help me, if we lose our dinner again, mother is going to skin US!” “…but Evan,” pleaded Hiram. The movement was muffled, but quick—shifting through the grass, and then it stopped short. For long moments there was complete silence and the emptiness rolled back in. “What do you think happened?” “I don’t know. That’s a lot of blood.” “Do you think it was a bear?” “No—there’s no maul marks on him. It looks more like he’s been beat up.”

“Why is there a branch sticking out of his side, Evan?” Again the sound of foot falls, slowly circling. “Look at the bark—it’s covered in moss. He must have fallen onto it…in the water. Hit something floating, maybe? I don’t know. Maybe someone threw him on it.” “What would make someone want to throw a person onto a log?” “Well I’m sure I don’t know, Hiram. I don’t usually find dead bodies in the forest, do you?” “Evan!” “For heaven’s sake, what?!!” “His hand…it…” “What about his…” “THERE,…did you see it!? It moved!” Cold hands. Rough, scratchy fibers against hot skin. “By The Makers…he is alive.” “But,…how could he be? Look at him Evan! And the branch sticking out…” “Open my sack, Hiram—get out my blanket.” “Why?” “Do as I say! He’s alive and we’re going to help him.” “I’m not touching him. He’s,…bloody and…yucky.” “What did you expect was going to happen when you started hunting with me? Did you think the animals will neatly fall upon the grass and roll into little packages for you to take home?”

“No. I thought that we’d shoot a deer, skin it and then go home—not find a dead boy in the forest with a tree growing out of his stomach!” “Well, he’s not dead, so give me that blanket already!” “Here.” “Alright—we can’t move him unless we pull that wood from his side.” “I don’t think that’s a good idea.” “If we don’t, Hiram, he’ll die.” “He hasn’t died so far…we could leave him here for someone else to find.” There was a long pause, followed by a sigh. “I know this is scary, Hiram, but if you were badly hurt and alone in a forest… and by a slim chance someone found you—wouldn’t you want to be helped?” There was another long pause, then a heavy sigh. “Yes.” “Then help me.” “Alright.” Rough hands once more, pulling and turning legs. “Why is he dressed so weird?” “Don’t know—maybe a jester…or worse, a foreigner. Doesn’t matter, he’s just a kid.” “He’s a lot older than me.” “Just…don’t think about it, ok?” The sound of cloth rending in two echoed in the blackness.

“Mom made that!” “…and now mom is going to help us save a life. Here, fold it into a thick square. I’ll make some strips so we can bind the wounds.” “How are we going to get him back to the village? It’s more than a days walk— you can’t carry him all that way, Evan.” “No…no, I can’t. Good point. We’ll have to use a couple of these branches, make a cot and drag him.” “I’ll get started collecting the wood.” “Thanks little brother.” The foot falls were louder now, twigs and limbs snapping, shifting, dragging of heavy things unseen. “Hey, Evan?” “Yeah.” “You think mom’s gonna skin us?” There was another pause and another sigh, “Probably.”

Chapter 30 Miracles

People have a tendency to fear what they don’t understand. That’s a shame, because it’s almost impossible educate a closed mind. What’s worse, is that such minds usually live in herds.

“W ell I don’t care why it’s happening, I’m just glad it is,” argued the old man, his knees barely holding him upright. He leaned heavily upon the railing in front of the bench, where his wife and three daughters sat. “It’s been nearly three seasons since my orchard has provided enough fruit. I was near to cuttin’ the cursed things down if I hadn’t seen it with mine own eyes.” “Then you better have those eyes checked, Gunthar,” said the portly butcher, “because that’s not a blessing if it’s unnatural!” Old Gunthar waved away the rebuttal and sat down with a huff. “Easy for you to say, Darrick,” called someone from the back of the hall, “we have to rely on your meats if our own fields don’t yield enough for the winter!” The angry rebuke set the room aflame. Villagers nodded to one another, sharing their complaints, comparing their concerns and forming unjust opinions. “I have had every opportunity to make a rich living by selling to surrounding villages!” Darrick rebuked. “Yet I have taken less in an effort to sustain our community.” He ended his statement with a softer tone, placing his hand over his heart. “Yes, yes,” added the Mayor, waving his gavel, “you’re quite the saint. Sit down. Can we have order, please? Order.” The room quieted down. “That’s it. Thank you.” The Mayor sighed, “Yes, Gelis…you have something to say?”

“Y-yes, M-mayor Shale,” replied the frightfully skinny man at the back, “I-I do.” “Well,…go on then,” and Shale leaned back in his chair, ready to take a nap. Gelis gripped his cap closely to his chest as all the attention in the room set upon him. His bulbous eyes looked around like a cornered mouse, ready to be devoured by cats. “I j-j-just w-wondered why the M-macKlam’s ain’t h-h-here?” He stopped talking, which everyone appreciated—but he looked about as if he’d shared the greatest secret in the Universe. He frowned. “D-don’t you see?” he clarified, “T-those cl-losest to M-macKlam’s have…” “He’s right!” shouted a rather plump woman sitting near the Mayor. The outburst nearly flipped Shale out of his chair. “Miriam’s trees are the greenest of all…” “So?” countered the Mayor. “So, you fat old sac of…” snarled his wife, but she stopped abruptly and composed herself. Unclenching her fist, she turned around and smiled at the rest of the local sheep. “The MacKlam farm hasn’t had a fruitful tree blossom on their land in near twelve years I recon. Back before Dearborn was taken from us.” Her lips quivered at the mention of the deceased Blacksmith. “That no good widow of his is practicing black magic…I just know it!” “Black magic?” scoffed old Gunthar, “To grow fruit?” he leaned over to his wife and whispered a bit too loudly, “That old cow is as dumb as her lazy husband.” The villagers laughed. The doors of the main hall creaked open, the fall wind charging over their heads, carrying stray leaves and the scent of burning wood. The young Blacksmith turned to close the doors behind him, when… “That’s him!” shouted the Butcher. “Daddy…please.” A young girl tugged on Darrick’s apron. She turned her slender neck to look back at the Blacksmith. Dark brown eyes watched the young man longingly, her grip tightening on her fathers apron. Darrick ignored her. “That’s the one we should be blaming for all this,” he

accused, “Evan MacKlam.” Evan froze as the sea of eyes turned to him. For a moment, he wished he’d left the door open. It would have been easier to run. “Oh piss on you AND your meats,” grumbled old Gunthar. He pulled himself up and smacked the Butcher in the forearm. “Move fat butt—I aim to thank the boy.” “What’s…going on?” asked Evan, confused. The old man, followed closely by his wife and daughters, grasped Evan’s thick arm and used the Blacksmith to steady himself. “Come on, son, we’re leaving this sea of stupid.” “This meeting has not been adjourned!” shouted the Mayors wife. “You ain’t in charge, cow,” yelled Gunthar over his shoulder and waving a boney hand, “and yer fat husband shouldn’t be.” Two of his daughters opened the doors and Gunthar walked out with his family, laughing as he did so. Evan looked back several times, nervously. The rumble of confusion and objections echoed from the town hall. He could hear the repeated beat of a gavel. “What was all that about?” Evan asked, “I know I was late for the meeting but I…” “You were late for nothing, boy,” Gunthar cut in, “They just want someone to blame.” Evan nodded, walking slowly beside the old man. He frowned. “Blame…for what?” Gunthar gripped Evan hard, pulling him to a stop. He looked around the village. The houses were plain, the dirt paths deep and sloped through generations of use. He glanced between two cottages and pointed at the apple orchard. “Do you see that?” “It’s a bunch of apple trees,” replied Evan.

“What’s on ‘em?” “Blossoms, what else would be on…” he stopped. Gunthar waited for the realization to sink in. Evan whipped his head about, looking at the trees, the raspberry bushes, mook berry bushes and even the two baby silveen trees planted by the center well. Every single plant was either blooming or starting to bear fruit. The leaves had cast off their fall colors—now vibrant and green. “How is this even…possible?” Evan said aloud, though to no one in particular. “It’s almost winter…” “Didn’t you notice, boy?” Evan shook his head, “Well, no, I…work with the forge, in the barn, so…” He spun around. “Why was everyone looking at me?” Gunthar grinned his wide, toothless grin, “Have ye taken a look at yer own place, boy?”

The door flung open so hard, the chipped stoneware rattled on the uneven shelves. Evan stopped, hands still shaking. He took a breath to calm himself. Shutting the door slowly, he frantically tried to think of the right thing to say. Something soothing, that didn’t sound like an excuse. He drew a blank. Kneeling down in front of his startled little sister, “I’m sorry Livi.” It was frustrating—that she always seemed to be in earshot whenever he lost his temper. Then again, she was always shadowing their father, reaching out and holding his hand. She hadn’t spoken a word since their father had died. Evan reached out and gently drew Livi to him and wrapped his muscular arms around her. She didn’t resist. “Truly. I didn’t mean to startle you.” The child said nothing. She didn’t even hug Evan back. Her arms hung limply at her sides, her stare distant. Evan brushed the stray hair from her face, tucking it neatly behind one of her ears. With a light kiss on her forehead, he rose and entered the bedroom nook. His mother sat by the bed. Wendell lay still, pale and feverish. “Did you know?” Evan asked bluntly. “Know what, dear?” His mother took the cloth from Wendell’s forehead and doused it in the cool water. She paused to look up at her son. “That he’s cursed.” He stared at the wounds, which, only two days previous, were gaping holes, gouges and even a broken collar bone. The wounds his mother had sewn shut were little more than tender scars. The hole in his side, which had been filled with fresh wood ash from the fire, was now a bright pink blemish. “Not only has he cost us the last of our money for food and herbs, he’s turned the town against us!” Miriam shook her head, “That’s absurd. How could he possibly do that? He’s been lying here, unconscious for days, Evan.” She wrung the cloth out and placed it tenderly across Wendell’s brow once more, then reached out for her son’s hand. She squeezed his thick fingers and smiled. “As for helping him,

Hiram has gathered enough of the primary herbs for my potions—so little was used from the purse. It is what your father would have done, Evan. You know that.” She pulled his dirty hand to her lips and kissed his calloused, cracked knuckles. “You, of all people, would know that. You have always honored your father’s beliefs…as have I. Seeing someone hurt and alone? I do only what my Dearbron would have called upon me to do.” “Not if it had to do with magic, mother,” he said, almost choking. The dark rings under her eyes constantly reminded Evan of his failure to provide his family with enough sustenance. To see his mother so tired, so sad, so…alone, clawed at his heart. “Have you seen the trees?” “Trees?” she repeated. “The plants, the orchards, our land.” He pulled his hand away in frustration. “Ever since I brought him here,…” he spat the words at Wendell’s prone body, “things have been happening. There are several trees in our orchard, mother, that are bearing fruit—right now!” The words settled over her tired face, and for a brief moment, Evan thought his mother hadn’t heard him. But the distant look was followed by a smile. A spark of hope. Rising quickly from her chair, Miriam strode to the shutters and pulled at the loops of rope to open them. Cold wind nipped at her face. She inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “Change,” she whispered. Leaning out, she stared at their orchard. Only days ago, the trees had been dead. Trees she thought would soon be used for firewood. Now they were full and bright with leaves, weighed heavy with bright, red apples. Tears welled up in her eyes. “It’s a miracle,” she whispered to herself. “It’s a curse!” Evan snapped. “The town thinks you’re working magic again, mother…” Miriam gripped the windowsill and clenched her eyes tight.

“Again…?” The word was bitter. It was difficult to swallow and she tried several times to clear her throat. “Mother, I…” Evan corrected himself, but he knew it was too late. Miriam slowly closed the shutter, plunging the room into shadow once more. “I cannot help the ignorance of others who shun the ways of the healing arts.” “Alchemy is not healing, mother.” “Nor is it magic.” Evan reached for Wendell’s arm. “This is his fault!” “Do not touch him!” she yelled. Evan froze in mid step. He couldn’t recall his mother ever raising her voice. He immediately shrunk back from the wounded youth on the bed. Miriam took her place by Wendell’s side. “I will not allow harm to come to anyone under my care…and it is expressly forbidden in my husbands house.” Evan’s head sunk forward, chin against chest. He knew that tone. The Matriarch had spoken. “Yes, Mother,” he whispered. No one had noticed the silent shadow slip into the room. Livi stood by the bedside, staring up at Wendell. “He’s cursed and magic is around him, mother.” Evan lingered in the doorway, his expression sorrowful. “There’s no other way to explain the healing wounds. You’re good…but not that good.” “I appreciate your vote of confidence.” “That’s not what I…” Evan grit his teeth, “Oh, never mind.” With an exasperated sigh, he marched out of the hut and slammed the door behind him. Miriam shook her head in disappointment.

Livi slowly reached out to touch Wendell’s hand, the paused. “It’s alright right, my love,” Miriam smiled down at her daughter, “We must care for this one. Other may fear him—but we mustn’t.” She leaned over Wendell, pulling the blanket up under his arms. “There nothing evil about this boy, Livi.” She tapped the tip of her fingernail against the center of Wendell’s chest. It made a distinct crystal ting sound. “Magic or no magic, I can feel it.”

Chapter 31 Evan

What others think does matter. There will come a time when you will be judged by others. Your heart…or perhaps your safety, may depend on the outcome. Know that what you do, not what you say, will be used to measure your character.

Sweat dripped from his brow with each blow. The heat of the forge always felt good. The resistance of the metal to his will, requiring his focus, his skill… sometimes his anger, to make it bend. He’d lost count how many times he’d shaped this particular piece of ore—the one his father had given him for his very first project. A true master shapes metal with his heart, Dearborn had said. It had been a cold winters morning. Evan spent many weeks sitting by the forge, listening to the tales of the freemen. Men of the Highlands, who served the kingdom by choice, not by obligation or compulsion. Men who came to his father for armor…and weapons. Again Evan let the hammer fall. Sparks flew and the metal folded. Turning it across the anvil, he dropped his body into each blow. Turn and strike. Turn and strike. Turn and strike. “But how will I know that it is ready, father?” Evan asked aloud, as if the spirits of those long gone could hear him, “…and not some imagination of my own heart?” He stopped his arm in mid-strike.

Because it will speak to you. The evening air pushed through the slats of wood, chilling the sweat on his neck. Evan could hear the deep rumble of his fathers voice around him. All things are alive my son…even the deepest wedged ores of this world. They have a purpose, to serve man. He gripped the tongs with steel fingers and held it aloft. The eyes of a ghost stared back, swimming in the glow of metal. It was almost complete. Trust your heart, my son. “Ready to do a man’s work?” snapped a voice from behind. Startled, the metal fell from the tongs and into the glowing coals of the forge. Sparks exploded into the air, singing Evan’s arms, hands, neck and face. “Argh!” he jumped back, shaking his head, brushing the burning embers from his skin. Darrick grinned, “I’m startin’ to think it unwise to leave my prized horses with a blacksmith who can’t handle metal.” He stood just inside the door of the barn, rope in his hand. Evan shot the butcher a glare of irritation. He quickly fished out his creation from the flames and plunged it into the barrel of water. It hissed and spat steam back at him in frustration. “What do you want, Darrick?” The butcher scoffed and pushed the barn door wide open. “Only that you shoe my prized possessions in a timely manner.” Attached to the ends of the rope were two horses. The larger beast dropped its black head forward and nudged the butcher with its white speckled muzzle. He stroked the thick neck affectionately, “Alright, you.” Evan found the animal utterly magnificent. The strong frame, thick white boots starting at the knees and forming a bell over the hooves. Darrick had named him King, which seemed appropriate—as the stallion attracted the attention of the mares in the village. The only two stallions that had challenged him in the open fields, had to be put down after the ensuing fights.

Behind King stood an almond colored mare. Her long blonde mane and tail shined like strands of gold in the waning light of the day. Darrick pulled a small sack out of his vest and tossed it into the dirt at Evan’s feet. The sound of coins chinked in the cool air. “Shoe them both.” Evan stared at the sack. He rubbed the blisters on his hands. “This is a first.” He slowly peered up at the butcher, “What do you really want?” “Your absence,” Darrick sneered. He twisted the ropes between his hands, pulling and tugging, as if trying to wring an invisible neck. His eyes narrowed to slits. “Leave Jess alone. I don’t want you seeing here again.” “I haven’t been improper. I haven’t even…” “I don’t care to know what you have and have not been, blacksmith. You’re not good enough for my daughter. I don’t care what her feelings may be for you. She deserve’s a better life than soot and metal shavings.” “Why don’t you let Jess decide what she wants?” Evan tried hard to keep his tone calm, but he was failing. Darrick shook his head. “She doesn’t know what she wants. I provide well for her. Keep her sheltered. Plenty of comforts…and you’ll give her what? A warm bed? Dead fields? Starvation?” He took a step into the barn and looked around, “How much do you make for your family, Evan? Do they want? Do your coffers overflow with enough to care for a wife? Children of your own…on top of your brother, sister and that woman you call a mother?” Evan squeezed the hot tongs in an iron grip, “Watch yourself, Darrick.” The butcher smiled, “You have spirit. I’ll give ya that, boy. But spirits not enough…not for my daughter.” He slung the ropes over the handle of a broken plow sitting in the corner. Without looking back, he patted the necks of both animals in turn. “Consider this a peace offering. Shoe the horses, stay away from Jess…there’s enough here for a comfortable winter.”

With that, Darrick rubbed his hands together and walked out of the barn. For several minutes Evan stared at the stallion and mare. The wind pushed against the doors, as if laughing at the butchers jest of civility. With a swift kick, the coin pouch flew across the barn and smacked against the wall. Coins exploded from the leather mouth, falling softly into the straw strewn across the floor.

The moons were out, casting their pale light across the deep paths. Routes walked for nearly a hundred years. Eläm had remained a small community—but had been prosperous. The direct access to a branch of the Irdu River made the small valley perfect for farming and orchards. The dense forests of Tilliman Highlands provided an abundance of game, wood for homes and fires during winter. As a blacksmith, Mount Angol stood over them with gifts of ore and coal. At least that’s the way it was a hundred years ago. Even fifty. Now most of the community had moved on. People sold their land during the lean years, hoping to make their way north, into Andilain to find their fortunes. No one ever came back. Except for the few who carved a living from trading with merchants or other nearby villages, families who remained had to scratch out their survival by their own skill. Each year required deeper trips into the forest to find food. The lands were barren of crops, orchards were dying and for a Master Blacksmith, there was little work. There was proportionately less work if you just happened to be a Blacksmith apprentice. Evan kept to the shadows under the trees along the main road as he walked carefully…quietly. A door opened, the dim candlelight creating a shadow across the center road. Evan froze. A little old man hummed a soft, merry tune as he hobbled around back, to the outhouse. Evan stepped off the main road and dashed through the widow Seebeck’s orchard. The two hay stacks sat motionless in the moonlight, giant beacons of hope. He smiled. Almost there. His hand went to his right front pocket, pushing two of his fingers through the slit. He fiddled with the small pebbles he’d collected. Sneaking up between the piles of hay, he crouched low and took aim. The first pebble felt short of the house. Better to have it land in the dirt than to hit the wrong window. The second shot was perfect, bouncing off the windowsill

with a soft tap sound. He could see the soft glow of a candle through the cloth drapes and bubbled glass. Evan got ready to throw another pebble when the window slowly opened and Jess poked her head outside. The light from the duelmoons made her skin glow. Her long, hair fell across her shoulders like rivers of gold, the breeze gently brushing the bangs from her face. Making sure the coast was clear, Evan crept to the windowsill. “You shouldn’t be here,” she whispered. Evan frowned, “You mean you don’t want me to see you?” “I never said that,” she corrected him with a smirk, “but I know father came to see you.” “How did you know?” She pointed to the field behind the haystacks. It was devoid of her father prized possessions. “Ah,” he grinned, “horses.” “I don’t want you to get in trouble, Evan.” She reached for him and he leaned forward. Her fingers gently brushed back a brown lock from his forehead. “I care too much about you.” She leaned forward and tenderly kissed his brow and eyelid. “Then run away with me,” he whispered. “There’s a brother in the next village… we can run to Angol Grove. He can seal us as husband and wife.” “Evan…” “I’ve got the skill to make a meager living right now, but I can find another apprenticeship and better my skills, Jess. There are dozens of Master Blacksmiths along the north ridge of the Highlands—we could even move to Sangil.” Her smile turned to a frown. “I can’t.” He pulled back. “You can’t…or won’t.”

Her tears shimmered like diamond dust in the moon light. “My father needs me, Evan.” She reached out to him, but he pulled further away. “I cannot dishonor him by running away like a thief in the night. How could you ask me to do such a thing?” “He got to you, didn’t he?” His words were cold, emotionless. Evan bit his bottom lip and let the pebbles fall from his hand. Without another word, he slipped away into the shadows. Jess gasped, reaching after him, but dared not call out. Head hung low and hand masking her sobs, she slowly pulled the window closed. Evan choked back his own emotions, grinding his teeth as he sprinted away. He’d barely made it around the corner of the butchers large house, when his foot got caught on a small tree root and fell forward onto his chest. “Oh,” said a shaky voice, “looks like that hurt.” Evan rolled over to find Jess’s grandmother sitting on a small barrel, leaning against the house. She took a last puff of the thin pipe and tapped it on the side of the barrel. The moons cast a strip of light across her lap, though her upper torso stayed neatly tucked in shadow. Her white hair framed her weathered, tan face, so it looked to Evan that he was talking to a featureless specter. He sat upright and sighed. “Ada.” “Got those horses shoed already?” she asked. She flipped her cane up and took hold of the hooked end, giving the ground a firm tap. “No, I didn’t think so. Looks more like you’re on a love-sick stroll to me.” “Look Ada, I have every right to…” The cane snapped out and jabbed Evan sharply in the chest. He winced. “You have no rights, boy…not when it comes to my granddaughter!” She leaned forward, into the light, putting pressure on the cane. “Oh don’t frown at me, child. You young men think you come of age and miraculously you’re granted free reign to do as you please…take what you please…” she jabbed him again,

“sneak around in the dark to speak sweet nothings to a mans daughter as you please! Bah!! You’re a damnable fool, Evan MacKlam, if you think this is the way to win the heart of any girl.” Evan stood up defiantly and brushed the dirt off his tros, “Just because I’m poor, doesn’t mean…” “I don’t give a fairy fart or cow knicker how much coin you have, child.” Evan hesitated. “You…don’t?” Even in the dim light, the ample excess of wrinkles in Ada’s frown made it look like her head was an old sac piled on her shoulders. “‘Course not, boy. Darrick’s forgotten why my beloved Jillian, bless her soul, fell in love with him in the first place. He was as poor as your dear family when he proposed.” Evan shook his head—not sure he was hearing correctly. “What was so important…if it wasn’t money?” The old woman smiled, which made her face look squat. “Of all people, young man, you should know. Your father, Dearborn, was the heart of this village. I watched him get his teeth, learn to walk, even fix his first plow…” she trailed off with a smile. “But have you ever wondered why this village, even our louse of a Mayor, listened when your father spoke?” Evan floundered. He had wondered that, ever since his father had died, nearly five years ago. He nodded. Ada raised her cane and poked it towards the sky. “Because he was a man of principle and honor! Willing to defend his family, friends, community in times of war…and them in times of peace. We could count on Dearborn MacKlam not to sway or tumble with the wind. His life was dedicated to principle, not personalities—and that made him GREAT!” She stood up slowly, her bones popping angrily at the unwelcome movement. Leaning heavily on the carved piece of wood, she walked up to Evan and placed a wrinkled, deformed hand on the center of his chest. Her eyes looked yellow and tired, even in the moonlight. “You have that blood and spirit in you, child, I feel it to my bones.” Her voice creaked and she choked back tears, “You come from good stock—both father AND mother.” Evan looked at her confused, to

which Ada grinned wide, strumming her fingers against his chest. “Not everyone hates your dear mother, least of all me. She’s an asset not a curse, and one this village has failed to appreciate. But that’s another story.” She made a fist and gave one pound on his tunic. “Show us your heart, boy, and I’ll be the greatest advocate you could ever hope for.” The old woman waved her index finger in the air as she turned to leave, “But until then, you have no rights.” Evan reached into his tunic and retrieved a coin purse. He handed it to Ada. “What’s this?” she asked, bewildered. “The bribe your son-in-law paid me to stay away,” he replied. “Tell him I kept the wages for the horses—no more. I’ll have the shoes done and return the animals by sunset tomorrow.”

Chapter 32 Breakout

When you need to get out of a tight spot, it’s always helpful to have the right friends. A king, a wizard…or a cute little redheaded gnome with a set of lock picks.

“W hat do you mean, you don’t know?” Dax asked, “I stood here and literally watched your head wound seal shut.” He brushed off the dirt and leaves from his hairy arms. Chuck had gained consciousness through the night, and by morning, could sit up. By the second day and with a little food, he’d gained his color back…as well as his spirits. The wizard slowly turned his head to one side until it popped, then to the other side. “Don’t have a clue.” He rotated his shoulders. “Fairy Farts,” Dax cursed, “there’s something ya ain’t tellin us.” The wizard carefully slid off the plank used for a bed and tested his legs. When he felt confident enough, he tried a single step. Success. He beamed. “There are LOTS of things I don’t tell you children…but this isn’t one of them. All I can tell you is that I feel…good down here.” Alhannah raised her eyebrows, “But we’re in a dungeon. It’s dank, dark and depressing, Chuck.” “Yes,” he grinned, “but other than that, it’s quite nice, don’t you think?” Dax ran his finger along the inside of his shorts—looking for a cigar, without luck. “If you feel better, then…why are we just sitting around?” “To buy time,” Alhannah said. “But they’re almost done building a gallows,” he challenged, rubbing his throat

unconsciously. “They’ll most likely hang us tomorrow.” Chuck completed his deep knee bends and threw a few punches in the air. “But we bought two more days for Bobby and the elves to get here.” Dax hopped down from the wooden bench, pacing the small cell, kicking up the fresh straw as he did so. “Explain to me how no one here knows us? You’d think they’d a two foot eight, handsome green stud like myself, but you Chuck…it’s hard for me ta understand why no one recognizes or, or can vouch for us.” The wizard did a couple pushups off the bench, then stretched his arms—wiping the sweat on his joggers wristband. “First of all, monkey, we haven’t been here for almost twenty years. That may be a blink in time for you and me, but most these folks weren’t likely to have been around.” He looked to Alhannah with a sorrowful glance, “Which leaves Lord Garriff and Govind…both dead.” Two guards appeared with a tray. It held a small loaf of bread, three apples and flask. They slid the tray under the bars. The wizard smiled. “Food! Why thank you, boys. Sure do appreciate it,” he said with a genuine grin. “Uh, sure,” said one. They looked back over their shoulders as they left. Alhannah grabbed the bars and poked her little face between the metal bars. She pouted her cute little lips. “Why don’t you guys just open this door and and look the other way?” she called after them, “I promise, we’ll vanish and never come back!” “And ruin my chance to see you squirm on the end of a rope?” a voice echoed down the stairs, followed by laughter. Alhannah turned around and slumped to the ground. “What a couple of dirtbags!” she huffed. “I gave them my sweetest look and they still want to hang me? Ouch. I’m losing my touch.” “And we have no idea where the kid is—or if he’s safe,” Dax stammered. He turned away from view. Chuck and Alhannah watched his shoulders rise and fall, shuddering. The gnome walked over and poked him.

“Are you,…crying?” Dax popped his head up and spun around with a scowl, eyes red, “Of COURSE not!” he growled. “I’m just…concerned! A guy can be manly and concerned, alright!??” The gnome backed away, hands up in surrender. Chuck patted Dax’s head reassuringly, “You wanted to protect Wendell. That’s understandable, and I’m quite impressed, if that counts for anything.” Alhannah scurried up the cell wall and hung from the window bars, letting her chin rest on the stone windowsill. Across the courtyard men worked diligently by torch light to build the gallows next to the front gate. Dax turned around, kicking the straw. “I shoulda used the strength I had ta port us three outta here. Just a few miles away, or maybe to the capital.” “Oh sure, surround us with thousands of armed knights who don’t know us at all,” answered Chuck, shaking the stiffness from his arms and legs, “That would make all this smooooth…” “You have a better idea?” Dax asked, frustrated. “No, but sulking won’t help anyone,” cheered the wizard. He stretched until he heard a small pop from his lower back, then sighed in relief. “What are you doing young lady?” Sliding down the wall, Alhannah took off a small, delicate looking bracelet from her forearm. “Well, the King isn’t here and those boys have proven they’re set on executing us. I think we’ve given them enough time.” She slid the round ts along the wire and twisted the metal, forming the pieces into a curious looking knife. “Once they complete construction on that bungie ride, we’re going to have a hard time getting out of this place. It’s dark and the guards are about the change shifts. The time to leave is now.” The blade was nearly four inches long, with unusual ridges along the blade. She beamed a satisfied look at the wizard, “Did I ever mention that there are advantages to being the daughter of the most famous fishis of Clockworks City?” Dax scratched the stubble on his face and shot Alhannah a sideways glance.

“Speaking of Clockworks, ‘Hannah,—what were you doing in the Black Market in the first place? Don’t tell me you were there for a visit, ‘cause I know ya hate ta sit still. Ya said you were outta work, but yer the reigning champion of Trench Wars—why aren’t ya back home, duking it out in yer S.L.A.G.? Gnomes chanting yer name, serious prize money…sounds a lot better’n this place.” He stopped talking as Alhannah’s fingers ceased their nimble work on the bracelet. “Blast,” she whispered, and glanced at the floor. She dropped onto her hands and knees, sifting through the straw. Chuck lowered himself onto the ground as well, “Is there a problem, my dear? You know we’ll help you in any way we can.” Alhannah shook her head, “It’s not like that.” Dax scoffed, “I know you ain’t scared of combat, so spit it out, shrimp—what’s the deal?” Finding the small round end-piece to her creation, she popped back up to her feet and screwed the knob onto the end. She tumbled the thin tool across her dainty fingers effortlessly, like a stage magician rolling coins across his knuckles. “Things have gotten…weird. I didn’t really have a reason to stay in Clockworks anymore. After dad was banned by President Shrub, things got a bit uncomfortable.” She tapped the blade against the palm of her hand. “The government faction isn’t listening to the people anymore. Taxes have increased, laws are being poured onto the books, including regulations on business and now the president can lock up anyone, for any reason without a trial. He’s handing out credits like they’re candy, which has all but crippled the economy—and to top it all off, my brother’s disappeared.” Dax rolled his eyes, “If Green took that stupid lute, I’m sure a lot of people appreciate the vanishing act.” “Dax!” snapped Chuck. “Sorry.” Alhannah smirked, “It’s ok—Huey grates on the nerves, I know. Without family to share my success with, living in Clockworks was…empty. Fun for awhile,

sure—fighting against some of the new talent from the streets. The games got so popular, Brothers Trench even opened a new sport division, called GEARS, taking team combat to a whole new level. Looked promising, but I lost interest once Green vanished. The constant spotlight and expectation for me to perform in the arena was too much. So…I decided to go back to work for dad.” “But you had all that money,” said Dax, more of a statement than a question. “Credits. It can’t be used outside of Clockworks and they won’t convert it to coin—so when I left, I was penniless.” She sighed, “Dad’s getting old. I hate saying that, but he is. He wants to keep having adventures, even with all those books and manuals under his belt.” She averted her eyes, embarrassed. “Working for him is more about reminding him to eat and take his supplements nowadays, than making sure he’s not eaten by something else. So I traded out my pilot shares to Wood for a room next to my dad’s. Figured I’d take care of him until something popped up,…and that’s when Dax showed up.” Dax shook his head, “Wait. Wait. Traded with Wood? What would he want with shares of a business in Clockworks? He’s not allowed on the island…” The gnome grinned, “No, but there are plenty of researchers in the Black Market who travel back and forth. They get paid in credits by Wood through my , which opens options and possibilities, like filters and metal parts for his Blackseed Rum vats to up production.” The troll whistled, “Now that’s a smart bartender. And you got what?” “The biggest room upstairs for nine months, including all my food, drink and a nightly bar tab for dad too.” Dax chuckled, “You mean just long enough to cover the time you can’t actually go back TO the Black Market.” She cringed. “Uh…yeah.” Sliding her arm through the bars, Alhannah reached up with her little tool and inserted it into the lock. Within moments, the door clicked open. “Nifty,” smirked Chuck, patting Alhannah on the head.

“I figured the tools daddy uses to acquire artifacts could also get me out of a jam if need be. Though, the bracelet was his idea.” She hesitated in the doorway, looking at Dax and Chuck. “You…don’t mind me hanging around, do you? Even though Wendell’s not here?” Sliding up to her, Dax swung his good arm around Alhannah’s shoulder and grinned his yellow toothy grin, “I’d rather hang with you, kiddo, than the finest people in the world.” Alhannah paused, “Thanks…I think.” Chuck cleared his throat in protest, “What about me?” Dax held his grin and looked back at Alhannah, “Like I said…”

Stealing a discarded cloak from the guard station, Alhannah took off her gloves and wrapped the cloth around her, hiding the armor and trying her best to appear more like a child than a gnome. She wiped off her lipstick, pinched her cheeks to rosy them up and covered her bright pink hair with the hood. Dax, on the other hand, had a more difficult task in trying to play the part of a hunchbacks…hump. “Stop squirming, you overweight toad!” grunted the wizard, leaning heavily on his staff. He was trying desperately to keep his footing and look natural as they walked into the moonlight. “We can’t leave if the kid shows up here all by himself, Chuck,” Dax pleaded in his ear, “We don’t know what they’ll do with him!” “Well we know for certain what they’ll do with us if we don’t get out of here.” The wizard paused. He let out a big sigh and patted the shifting growth on his shoulder. “We’ll think of something, alright? Besides, he’s a human boy, non threatening. Have you heard him scream? He’s more likely to be accepted than not.” “Shhh!” warned Alhannah, reaching up to take Chucks hand, “…grandpa.” The wizard gripped her hand tightly and hobbled past the guards. Two men, on their way to the prison—pushing a wheelbarrow of fresh hay. “We could have used that YESterday,” whispered the gnome, annoyed. She pulled the wizard forward, “They’re about to find we’ve escaped! Quick, to the front gate!” But Chuck stopped short. A crowd had gathered at the entrance. The officer who had arrested them, along with an architect, were surveying the galley. The wizard looked about quickly and finally pulled Alhannah towards several wagons filled with squash and pumpkins. The gnome instinctively ducked under one of them and vanished from view…just in time to avoid a young lady carrying a large pitcher of water. She side stepped to avoid crashing into the wizard. “Oh, do pardon me, sir.”

Chuck raised an eyebrow and casually leaned against the large wheel of a wagon, leaving his staff standing next to him. He stroked his beard in iration. “Well,…heLLO there, my dear,” he grinned. One of his bushy eyebrows bounced up and down. “Would you, perhaps, require some assistance carrying that obviously heavy pitcher of…whatever it contains? I’d be more than happy to go your way…wherever that may be.” The young lady giggled delightfully, then smiled at Chuck, “You don’t look like you’re in any condition to help me, sir, but thank you.” Affronted, the wizard stood up straight, pulling back one of his sleeves and displaying a pasty white arm. The abrupt motion nearly flipped Dax out the back of the robe. Chuck grunted and made a muscle…or at least tried to create some semblance of one. “I’ll have you know, I used to work in a rock quarry,” he paused, recalling the facts, filling in hazy details with whatever came to mind. “‘Course, that was a hundred years ago…but these muscles are granite, hard as a rock, I say!” He leaned forward, offering his arm for inspection. Dax lost his grip, rolled down the wizards back, and out the bottom of the robes. He looked up from between Chucks legs. He waved his fingers. “Uh…hiya.” The girl let out a horrendous screech. Chuck looked around nervously and then threw both hands up in the air. “I’m cured!” he cried with joy. Wrapping his arms around the girl, he danced her towards the inner gate of the keep. “I’ve suffered with that nasty, smelly tumor all my life and you, my darling girl, have cured me!! You should go into practice…start your own facility…there’s money in cancer research, you know.” “YOU! STOP!!” shouted the commander, running towards the wizard with guards at his heels. “SIEZE THEM!!” “Oh poo,” pouted Chuck with a sigh. Throwing his hands high in surrender, he sent the girl spinning until she tripped over her own feet and landed on her hindquarters.

Dax, on the other hand, dropped to the ground and curled into a ball, covering his head. “I give up! I give up!” he yelled. Grabbing the wizard by the beard, the commander yanked Chuck closer, his face flushed in anger. “Where is the gnome!” Chuck frowned, “Gnome?” “The GNOME!” The wizard looked down at Dax. “Have you lost her again?” With a sigh of disappointment, he shrugged, “They’re so little…easy to misplace, if you know what I mean. I’d check the troll’s pockets if I were you.” “What’s going on?” The guards fell back a few paces, making room for a shorter man, who wore the dark tunic of the Keep over his chain mail. The silhouette of a steer head across his chest. Gritting his teeth, the commander released Chucks beard. “Captain Joram, this old man and his accomplices have escaped from their cell. These are the ones I spoke to you about, sir.” Joram stepped closer, studying both Dax and the wizard, up and down again. “They are scheduled to swing from the gallows?” “Yes sir.” Giving one last glance at Chuck, Joram yelled, “BRING ME ROPE!” The commanders frustration quickly changing to a look of pleasure. “Since Lord Garrif is not here to sentence, the duty falls upon me.” Joram placed his boot on Dax’s shoulder and rolled him over onto his back. Dax gulped. “And since a Troll has attacked the Kings Keep, I sentence you to death, by hanging.” The captain emphasized the last word, his smile lingering over them as a guard ran up with rope. “Take them and hang them up until they’re lifeless,” Joram said aloud.

The commander snatched the rope from the guard, “AND FIND ME THAT GNOME!” “No one dies here today, captain,” came a voice from the portcullis. “Not in this Keep.” Chucks head popped up as spears and swords lowered. Men dropped to one knee and bowed their heads. “ALL HAIL KING ROBERT III!” shouted a guard, to which all ed in the overwhelming cheer. “LONG LIVE THE KING!” Once the cheers died down, a residue of whispers overtook the courtyard. The King was accompanied by ten hooded figures. The two Iskari placed themselves between Joram and Dax. “Good timing my boy” Chuck sighed, accepting the king’s arm as a . “That was a bit close for comfort.” Chuck looked down at Joram, who’s mouth was open in pure shock. The wizard grinned wide and winked, “My boy’s a big shot.” King Robert looked down at Dax. “Your laying down on the job?” Dax nodded sheepishly, “Yeah.” King Robert reached down, offering an open hand. “You alright, old friend?” Joram squinted in disbelief, “You…know these people, sire? This…,” he swallowed, “troll?” The King looked at Dax and grinned wide, “He is not a Vallen. An unusually charismatic Evolu and my personal guest, yes. But he is no troll.” Dax breathed a heavy sigh of relief. “See that their every need is provided for, captain…”

“Joram, sire.” “Joram, thank you.” King Robert pulled his gloves off and pointed to the closest tower. “Are there apartments available for myself and my guests at this time, or are you currently entertaining?” “All the apartments are available, sire.” The King looked around the courtyard, then turned abruptly to the wizard, “I don’t see Wendell.” Chuck cleared his throat, “We,…got separated. He should be along shortly.” He looked at Dax and whispered, “I hope.” The King walked past Joram and the kneeling guards. “Rise, my friends. See that the Evolu and our esteemed Iskari brothers are given the finest quarters we have to offer.” He turned and held out a hand to Lady Tamorah, her gaze ever locked on Dax. The King lead her towards the Great Hall. “Once the quarters are prepared Joram, have food sent immediately to the Hall. Cheese, bread and fruit if they are available…as well as meat and ale for my short, green friend.” Joram stood upright, still dumbfounded. “Yes…sire.” Chuck nudged Dax along and followed the King, leaving the excited procession of people in the outer ward. Alhannah dropped from the bottom of the cart, shot Joram a sly smile and dashed off after the party. As they walked away, Chuck skipped up beside Robert and patted the king’s stomach. “You’re getting enough to eat?” Tamorah turned her head away, stifling a laugh. Robert rolled his eyes, “Yes.” “Enough exercise?” “Yes, Chuck.” “So, back to my original question—Is there anyone…special in your…”

“Please don’t start.” “I’m just saying. Can’t catch a cold if you don’t expose yourself, know what I mean?” King Robert laughed. “Well,” the wizard argued, “someone around here needs to give me some grandkids!”

Built for large gatherings of the people, Til-Thorin’s Great Hall had a dozen thickwooded slabs, carved into tables. They created a half circle at the head of the room, near the master’s hearth, with high-back chairs. Two dozen smaller tables, with benches, lined the walls at the lower end of the hall, wrapped around a fire pit set in the floor. Torches burned bright along the walls, while wide circular chandeliers hung from the ceiling, adorned by hundreds of candles. King Robert briskly strode past the masters table, ignoring the bowing servants. He walked directly to one of the tall cabinets lining the walls on either side of the hearth. Metal reinforced the corners of the doors and drawers. The red wood had black steer heads burned into its surface. Tossing his gloves onto the table, the king pulled at a chain from around his neck. After a moment, he lifted a silver key from his tunic. The length of the kings forefinger, it had a small, narrow set of teeth at the end of its body and a wide, heart-shaped handle. He slipped it into the opening of the lock and turned. Something shifted and clicked in the large, heavy door. Pulling the iron ring handles, the doors swung open to reveal layer after layer of drawers and small slots, housing dozens of scrolls. Lady Tamorah and her Rook silently walked across the hall and took a place around the curved table nearest the King. Dax and Chuck entered the hall behind them, along with Gaidred and Altorin, Alhannah dashing through the opening as the guard shut the massive doors. They all watched the king in silence. Fingering the engravings on the slots, King Robert pulled out a large, yellowing scroll of paper and unrolled it—holding it aloft. He studied the contents. “Guard.” “Yes, your Highness?” answered one. “Is Lord Garrif still the steward of Til-Thorin?” The guard bowed. “Yes, your Highness.” Chuck shifted nervously, raising his hand, “Uh…Bobby-boy?”

“Please summon him at once.” “Sire, he and the garrison traveled south nearly a week ago.” King Robert paused and looked at the guard. “A week?” “Yes, sire. There was word of a small village being burned.” King Robert laid the parchment onto the table in front of Lady Tamorah. He unrolled its full width, placing candle holders at its corners. It was a map of the region with detailed paths throughout the Tilliman Highlands. The King traced his finger across a route through the forest to the east of the Keep. He glanced up at Chuck and the Elders. “The enemy has used the gate to gain footings here, so I thank you for sealing Tämä-Un to prevent further infection.” He looked back at Chuck—but the wizard continued to stare intensely at the map. The King pointed to a high mountain ridge. “We made our way west, just in time to intercept a welcoming party of our own. Scouts, heavily armed.” He tapped the map at the approximate location, “They’re getting a feel for the land,” and he pulled out a scrap of leather with charcoal scratches on it from a bag on his hip. “We found this,” Robert handed it to the wizard. Chuck flipped back the brim of his hat and scratched his head, studying the markings. “They’re making their own maps.” He looked up, his face drawn, “We stumbled across a large force engaged in combat against a Vallen army.” The wizard sighed, and tossed the leather onto the table, “They were slaughtered, Robert. They bore the banner of Til-Thorin.” He hesitated, and then added, “And I saw Garrif at its heart.” King Robert leaned heavily against the table, staring at the map in silence. “Robert,” he continued in lower tones, so only those around the table could hear him, “they have parties moving south as well. They have Tauku with them.” The King’s brows rolled forward, his face stern. “Thule.” Your Highness,” interrupted Gaidred, “we believe the enemy is here for you. You have defied Thule’s advances at every turn. You’re downfall could ensure

his victory over the humans.” He traced a slim, blue finger along the main path to Til-Thorin. “As Altorin and the Rook discovered, the main force is using the merchant route. We have four days at most to prepare.” He looked soberly to Tamorah and the Rook. “I’m sorry, my lady—I fear you may be here a bit longer than you originally anticipated.” Lady Tamorah gave him a soft smile. “We are here to serve,” she said, bowing her head ever-so-slightly. There was no fear in her demeanor, no hesitation or distress. The Rook, in one motion, stood at attention, each stomping a foot on the ground. “Sheu!” they barked as one. Dax rolled his eyes and shook his head. “Guards!” shouted the King. The soldiers by the doors stood at attention. One stepped forward, “Yes, your Highness?” “Bring me Captain Joram.”

Chapter 33 Awake

Making a good, first impression is as easy as a blind man winning an archery contest.

They’re coming. “Whuu..” Wendell muttered. They’re coming. “Whuu—huh!” repeated Wendell, his head flipping about. The candlelight flickered across the ceiling, the reeds of the thatch roof bending in the shadows. The wind whistled outside, yanking on the chattering shutters. Wendell stirred again. In the distance, the sound of metal rang. A pounding rhythm, piercing his sleep. Wendell’s eyes fluttered. They opened slowly. A chill draft ran over his bare shoulders. He shivered. Where…am I? He opened and closed his hands. Fingers felt stiff. The rough, wool blankets itched the skin of his chest. He shivered again. Willing his arm to move, he reached up to scratch. The ringing of metal on metal caught his attention. The reverberating echo hummed in his mind. Ping. Ping. Ping. It rang through the silence, helping him to focus. Wendell slapped a hand over his own mouth, and tried not to scream. The jolt nearly sent him flipping over the edge of the bed. Sitting motionless, barely an arms length from the cot, was a tiny child. A girl, he assumed, from the long hair. She sat on a stool, staring at Wendell, her dirty

face devoid of expression. Her round eyes peered at him through the dark, the whites of her eyes, glowing. Slowly he lowered his hand from his mouth. “Hello,” he said nervously, gulping air. “You scared me!” he exclaimed. The child said nothing. Wendell tried smiling. “I’m Wendell, what’s…your name?” The child stared back at him, unblinking. His eyebrows rolled up. “Cat got your tongue?” he asked, then bit his bottom lip. She wouldn’t understand that, would she? Which sparked a question. “Do you speak common?” Nothing. “Iskari? Evolu? Kutollum?” he sighed, “You wouldn’t happen to speak English, would you?” The candlelight flickered in the breeze, sparkling in her eyes, but she said nothing whatsoever. “Of course not,” Wendell sighed. “Alrighty then, would you mind going out, so I can get up?” He nodded towards the doorway, then waved his fingers, “Go on. SHOO!” She flinch at the last word. Sliding from the stool, she walked to the doorway and stopped. Grasping the door frame with tiny fingers, she turned to look at Wendell once more. He saw a tiny smile crept across her face, then she was gone. Wendell shook his head. Weird kid. His body felt stiff and tired—limbs heavy like lead. Wendell tired to sit up, but his head fell back agains the folded pillow. Pain jabbed him in the side, just below his ribcage. Ungh!

His opposite hand shot across his stomach and he immediately regretted it. AHHHH! he winced. Feels like I’ve been run over by a truck! He blinked again, clenching his lids tight. Wow, that smarts! The flesh under his fingers felt tender. The…tree. He ed the cold water, being tossed and knocked about over the rocks. Unable to stand, to swim or stay afloat—he was thrown over ledge after ledge, down the river. Until he hit a wedged tree. Probably would have been safe if my side was covered by my shirt, he thought. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself into a sitting position—letting his legs swing over the edge of the cot. It creaking under him as he moved. His stomach spasmed with the effort…forcing him to control his breathing or cry out in pain. “Chuck?” he whispered. Ping. Ping. Ping. “Dax? …’Hannah?” but there was no answer. He sniffed. Nothing smelled familiar either. Cows. Horses, maybe? Wendell looked down at his chest, his hand suddenly slapping over his sternum in alarm. All pink…and no sign of Ithari. His fingers wandered over the place he knew the gem was sitting. He could feel the ridges protruding from his skin. Closing his eyes, he squinted tightly and then opened his eyes again, glancing at his chest. Nothing but skin. Skin…skin. He gulped…and lifted the blanket across his lap. He sighed in relief. Pants on. We’re good. His shirt was folded on a small stool in the corner of the room. His socks resting neatly on top—his sneakers on the floor underneath the stool. He patted his hips and felt the shift of coins in his pocket. Everything’s here,…except for my protectors. Wendell scratched his head and yawned. It was night outside, he could tell that much. Crickets chirped their contentment in the cold breeze.

Again the ring of metal on metal sounded. Ping. Ping. Ping. What is that?And…where am I? He let his feet slide onto the floor and immediately pulled them back. He shivered at the cold jolt. Dirt? The whole floor was dirt. No carpet. No wood. He leaned forward and squinted through the candle light. The lower edges of the walls were layered rocks. Wendell could see grass or weeds poking through the slats in the walls. Huh. The building’s partially under ground. There were bundles of dried flowers and other plants, hanging along the walls or bunched together on shelves. Wendell heard a pop. Then another. He exhaled. The crackling of a fire. It was coming from the other room. Slipping on his shirt and socks, Wendell pulled back the cloth curtain, separating the room where he slept and the rest of the…? He started to step into the doorway—and hesitated. Asleep on a small mat of reeds, in front of the fire, was an older woman. Grey streaks adorned her dark hair, tightly wound into a bun. Her tattered dress was frayed, her hands and feet wrapped in dirty rags. Her arms were wrapped around two small children. A young boy and the little girl who had been watching him. Cuddled together, they slept. The woman’s torn shawl draped over them. Wendell looked back into the bedroom. The small, rickety bed had two blankets on it—a thin third folded into a makeshift pillow. An empty wooden bowl and a small cup sat under the side, along with a widerimmed bowl with water and several used rags. Ping. Ping. Ping. Wendell grabbed the blankets and gently placed them over his sleeping hosts. The girl, still awake, looked up at him. Wendell put a finger to his lips. She smiled and slowly nodded. Wendell grinned back, grabbed his shoes and gingerly slipped out the front door.

The brisk wind felt good over his skin. What do we do now, Wendell? Don’t know where we are or where to go. Knelling down, he slipped on his sneakers and tied the laces. He stretched his arms high and winced, a hand shooting to his side. Ok, you’re still working on me. He stopped and placed a hand on the center of his chest. “I don’t know how…but,…I hope…” Wendell hesitated, feeling self conscious. No. He still felt silly doing this. Talking to an oversized version of what women wore on their fingers. “Thank you,” he coughed, “For…saving me, I mean.” He waited, hoping to hear…something, but nothing happened. Right. What was I thinking… The stars were exceptionally bright, as were the twin moons, casting a blue glow over the village. It almost looked as if the whole valley was under water. Wendell could see the faint glow of Erimuri, the red and orange flower barely visible along the rim of the rotating moon of Iskari-Kalam. It was hard to believe he had been on another planet just…wait, how long has it been? He looked around him…and tried not to panic. Chuck, Alhannah, Dax…? They had been on their way to Til-Thorin, when he’d fallen over the waterfall. Images flashed through Wendell’s mind. Chuck, hurt, bleeding badly—the Hounds. Dax trying to find a clearing, so they could… The saliva went down his throat like gravel as he swallowed. He left me. Dax left me! Wendell stood outside what looked like a farming community. The people who had cared for him were on the outskirts of the village. A small shack, a few fruit trees and two barns with a well in between. He didn’t see any livestock. A broken, overturned plow lay under an apple tree, next to a pile of rocks. Ping. Ping. Ping. How am I going to get to Til-Thorin now? Heck, how am I supposed to find my friends. He stopped to consider that reference. Friends. Well, Chuck and Alhannah, definitely, but… I’ve got to get out of here. Get to Til-Thorin. That’s

where they’d go, wouldn’t they? He took a good look around him. Mountains everywhere. I grew up hiking and camping. I can do this. Just because there’s an army of flesh-eating men out there, looking for me, …it shouldn’t pose too much of a problem. He bit his lip and fought the oncoming panic attack. Keep cool, Wendell. You can do this. You just need some information. Tough things are ok. Bad things are… ok, SOME bad things are ok…but not knowing… being in the dark—that’s dangerous. Get your bearings…make for Til-Thorin ASAP. A light flickered from inside one of the barns—flashing through the slats of the walls. Ping. Ping. Ping. Right. Time to meet the neighbors. He wiped his hands against his jeans. Wendell hesitated outside the door. He had no idea what to say. What would Chuck say? He pondered, then smirked, “Hello would be a good start,” he whispered—thoughts of the wizards comical expressions filled his mind. It made him chuckle, which helped. “Well, it will help to know where I am. Maybe they have a map I can use? He certainly hoped he’d have more luck than he did with the little girl. He opened the barn with trepidation. “Hello?” Wendell called out, slowly pulling the rope handle. The hinges creaked loudly and he winced at the unexpected sound. “Keep that door shut,” said a burly voice, “or you’ll set this barn on fire.” Ping. Ping. Ping. Wendell dashed inside and pulled the door closed behind him. The barn was a post and beam rectangular building, with a stone laid floor— rocks set in the dirt and leveled out. At its center was a giant stone chimney, the mouth of which glowed…coals burning bright in the night. A forge, that gave off

enough light to work by. Flames crackled. Next to the forge was a trough and a huge tree stump—on top of which was nailed a giant anvil. A broad young man, sweating heavily, plunged a strip of metal into the trough. It popped and screeched in protest. He quickly plunged it back into the heat, turning over and over again in the coals. “What do you want?” the young man snapped. He did not turn around or even look up. Not a good start! Wendell stood uneasily, hands reaching into his pockets. “I… wanted to say thank you…for saving me. I probably would have died without your help.” The young man pulled the metal from the fire and turned, glancing at Wendell, then placing the glowing rod onto the anvil. A long metal rack hung from a wooden beam, its hooks holding various hammers, tongs and several leather aprons. He lifted a hammer down, tapped it against the metal of the anvil and then proceeded to strike the glowing section repeatedly, until it was flat. Wendell shifted uncomfortably in place, but said nothing. When the blacksmith stopped, he pointed at Wendell, using the hammer. “I doubt that.” “You…doubt what?,” Wendell asked aloud, though his palms were already starting to sweat again. His fingers went to his chest. He scratched. The blacksmith pounded the metal with renewed vigor. “There’s something not right about you.” Wendell smirked, rubbing the back of his neck, “You’re not the first one to say so, let me tell you..” “I mean it!” Plunging the metal back into the fire, he spun around and slammed the hammer down on the anvil. He walked around the stump, sliding the tongs over one of the hooks overhead. “When my brother and I found you, there was barely a spark of life in you.” He looked at Wendell carefully now, studying him. “That was three days ago,” he said in a whisper, though it sounded like a sneer. “Three DAYS! NOW look at you!!”

Wendell fidgeted, nervously, “I’m sorry, I…” “If my father were alive, he’d know what to do…and that’d likely be to throw you into the cold—taking no part in witchcraft or magic! But my mother,” he grit his teeth, “…she’s the kindest soul of this village. She watched over you, cleaned and bound your wounds, fed you, attended your burning fever…and then marveled as the hole in your side vanished!” He walked back around the stump, snatched a longer set of tongs and stabbed them into the fire. “Said you were a miracle.” Flinging the glowing strip over the horn of the anvil, he quickly snatched the hammer and pounded out a semi-circle. “Miracles?…bah!” He spat on the ground, “I stopped believing in miracles when my father died,” he choked. Wendell frowned. I know exactly what you mean. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve offended you, or anyone here for that matter.” He sat down on an old stool and started tying his shoe laces. “I got separated from some friends of mine and fell over a cliff, trying to escape some Vallen.” The blacksmith scoffed. “There haven’t been giants in these lands for generations.” “Well they’re here now, so you…” “So you say,” the blacksmith cut in. Wow. You really are bothered by me being here! “Ok, how about we start over: my name is Wendell…and your name is?” “Evan,” he said curtly. Wendell paused in tying his laces. He looked up, hands still gripping the string. “What did you say?” Evan looked up, annoyed. “My name is Evan.” Wendell sat upright and couldn’t help but smile, now. “You don’t say.” “I just DID say!” Evan snapped, “…have your great healing powers forgotten

your ears?!” “Right, about that…” Evan pointed the hammer at Wendell again, this time with anger plainly displayed on his face. His brows curled downward, lips curling back into a snarl. “I don’t want to know anything about you, except when you’ll be leaving!” Okaaay…wow. Wendell let out a quiet sigh, and rubbed his arms as if cold. “Well, if you could point me in the direction to Til-Thorin, I’ll leave now.” Evan glared, “Then I guess I can start believing in miracles once more.” “Sure. Til-Thorin? Know the way?” For several long moments, Evan just stared numbly at Wendell. His nostrils flared, his brows low over his eyes, which looked intimidating in the red light of the fire. When he finally spoke, Wendell flinched. “Outside those doors, turn to the right until you face the highest mountain peak. Start marching and keep the stream on your right side. Over that mountain, you’ll find the main river. Follow it up stream, staying IN the forest, until you come to Binmeer Lake. Follow the eastern edge of the lake, until you find the river pouring into the lake. Follow that north. A little over a week’s walk and you’ll be standing in front of Til-Thorin.” “A week?” Wendell’s head fell forward. “As in seven days?” “He’s a genius,” Evan mocked, shaking his head. He started striking the heated metal once again. “Anything else?” he yelled over the ringing. Wendell stood up and turned to leave, but he stopped with his hand on the door. He could feel the money pouch in his front pocket. “Actually yes, I’d like to leave…” “Then DO!” Evan yelled. With a snap of his arm, he threw the hammer at Wendell’s feet. It clanged against the stones of the floor, narrowly missing Wendell and slamming into the wall. “I don’t want your kind making any more trouble for my family than we already have…”

Wendell took a deep breath. Right. Off we go then. The blacksmith was still glaring at him as he pushed open the door and walked off into the night. A large owl glided silently overhead and landed in one of the fruit trees. Wendell slowed down at the edge of the field. The knots in his stomach twisted like pretzels and he felt a sudden surge of nausea. Wendell knew he couldn’t, in good conscience, walk away without trying one last time. “I owe you my life, Evan,” he called back, “so know that Vallen are in these mountains. If they’re not stopped, sooner or later, they’re going to show up in this village.” Wendell waited for a moment, then pushed on into the night when he heard the ring of metal on metal resume. It was many long minutes before Evan noticed his hammering had no affect on the steel laying across his anvil. It was cold and twisted, unyielding to its masters efforts to shape it. He couldn’t when he’d snatched another hammer, or why he was pounding on a broken plow blade. Sweat trickled down his brow, salt stinging his eyes. Throwing the hammer at the center beam of the barn, he let the tongs and broken metal clatter to the ground. Hands of steel reached out gripping the metal rack hanging above him. He let his head hang low. “Take my mothers bed, my sisters food and now I have to work my fingers to the bone just to survive this winter? Just to eat? Just to..” “Evan?” called a gentle voice over the whistling wind, “Evan, are you alright?” He sighed. “Yes mother,” he called back, “I’m…fine.” “Is the young man with you?” “His name is Wendell, mother,…and no—he left.” A small figure appeared in the barn opening. A very tired, but happy looking woman walked in. Miriam’s thin shawl was wrapped tightly around her, tiny fists clutched to her chest. She looked around the barn. “He left? Why would he leave?”

“Mother, it’s chill, please go inside,” Evan pulled the chain, stoking the fire once more. “Please, go back to bed…I have work to do. It’s going to take a great deal of work and a miracle to keep us fed this winter. ” Rounding the anvil, she reached out and took her son’s hand, gently lifting it to her lips. She kissed his rough, callused fingers and held it to her cheek. Tears fell from her eyes and streamed across her cheeks. She smiled brightly. Then she started crying through a nervous laughter. With her other hand, she opened the small pouch she’d made with her shawl. It was filled with gold coins. “No,” she beamed, “it won’t.”

Chapter 34 Company

When someone tries to apologize, let them. It’s already an uncomfortable situation, but they came to you anyway. That deserves comion. Resist the temptation to kick them in the teeth or slam the door in their face.

Wendell rubbed his arms out of habit. It wasn’t that he was cold…it just seemed like the thing to do. He knew there was a chill in the air as he worked his way up the mountain side—he could feel the cool movement across the hairs on his arm, but the mägoweave he wore kept him warm. The stars and moon definitely provided enough light to walk in, Wendell just hoped he was going in the right direction. Could have sent me in the opposite direction for all I know, he pondered, holding onto a branch as he worked his was down an embankment. The sound of the trickling water kept him company. It made the trip, alone, in the dark, more bearable, more…friendly. Leaping forward, he kicked a rock across the landscape. He almost regretted not staying long enough to thank Evan’s mother. Well, he mused, smiling to himself, at least they’ll have food this winter. He pondered, Hmmm—maybe I should have left more…so they could buy animals for their barn. He shook the thought from his mind. They know what they need, they don’t need my help. None of my business. The walk wasn’t too unbearable. The terrain continued to climb. It was easy enough to navigate in the open, the sky bright with stars, but there was another

group of trees ahead. The last grove had plunged Wendell into complete blackness. He’d almost fallen over on his face if it wasn’t for the density of trees —allowing him to catch himself. Without a torch or flashlight this wasn’t going to get easier until morning. The landscape behind him was incredible. The blue haze of the moonlight saturated the mountains, the forest areas, even the small village below. The thinning clouds snuck across the sky, trying to go unnoticed, as the twin moons sang their twilight song through the night. Wendell could see scattered lights throughout the village, candles, sharing their faint glow. I wonder if Chuck picked up a book on communication? Wendell sat down on a flat rock, and pulled off one of his sneakers into the pebbles irritating his heels. It seems like no matter who I talk to, no matter what I say, I tick someone off. “It’s not like I’m trying to,” he said to himself out loud. Thoughts of starting an international war over a dinner conversation popped into his mind. His ears twitched at the sound of a twig snapping. Wendell’s hair on the back of his neck stood up. What was that? Wendell waited, trying to ignore the sound of water. He gulped, holding perfectly still—his ears straining. Nothing. Just my imaginat… A rock tumbled down the embankment, clattering against the stone outcroppings. Wendell’s heart nearly leapt out of his chest. His pulse quickened. Crap, crap… what do I do? There wasn’t anywhere to hide. He was out in the open. Exposed. He looked up the mountainside. The trees! Sprinting as fast as he could, Wendell pushed himself through the aches and pains. The footing was poor and several times he stumbled on loose stones. He caught himself before falling backwards and tumbling down the mountainside. When he made it to the edge of the forest, he collapsed behind a tree a few yards in. He opened his mouth wide, trying to silence his panting—gripping his side under the t-shirt. Ow. Ow. Ow.

The path ahead was complete blackness, the dense trees blocking the moonlight. I’m never going to find my way through there. He let his head fall back against the bark of the tree and clenched his eyes tight. They’re going find me, they’re going to find me… “Wendell?” called an unfamiliar voice, one nearly out of breath. There was a pause, then a huff and grumble. “I’m too tired for this!” With a sigh of exasperation, Evan took a deep breath and, “Wendell!” “You found me,” he replied, startling the blacksmith. Evan threw up his fists as Wendell stepped out from behind the tree. “What do you want, Evan?” The blacksmith held up a finger and leaned over his knees, gulping air. “Sorry. Been,…a long…time since I’ve…run…that far.” “There was no need for you to come after me.” Wendell sat down against a sapling, wincing, “You made your intentions and feelings plain enough.” “Yeah,…about that,” Evan appeared nervous. He swayed in place, looking about and then rubbing his hands together. “Help me gather some wood, will you? It’s cold…and we should talk.” “Talk?” Again, the blacksmith averted his gaze. He knelt at the base of a tree, scooping up pine needles and twigs. “I, uh, shouldn’t have been so rude,” he paused, almost choking on the words. “So, I decided to come and and bring you back… until you’re properly rested.” Wendell gave a wry smile, “Because you feel guilty after finding gold?” Even in the shadows, Wendell could see Evan flinch. “Sorry—that was rude,” he added, “But I need to get to Til-Thorin as quickly as possible.” Evan cleared an area on the ground with his boot. “No, I deserved that.” He paused, looking over at Wendell. “I was unkind. I shouldn’t have been. But we helped you because we didn’t want you to die. My father would have wanted it that way…so it was wrong for me to…blame you for decisions we made.”

“Huh,” Wendell grunted, “so you ran all that way, just to apologize?” “No. I came all this way to make sure you get to Til-Thorin quickly and safely.” Wendell handed Evan the sticks lying near him. The young blacksmith had already pulled something from a pouch and was fiddling with a rope or string. “Well that’s awfully noble of you.” “Wrong again,” he smirked, “That’s from the guilt of seeing the gold.” Wendell laughed. Before long a fire was crackling and both young men found comfort in the heat and light of the flame. They sat in silence for some time, the sound of rushing water making the only conversation. “So are we going back then?” Wendell asked. Evan poked the embers with a stick, “If you’re in a rush to get to the keep, there’s no point really. Unless you have more of that gold to buy a horse. Not much point in going back just to go forward now, is there?” Wendell shrugged, “Not really.” “It’s late and I’ve been pounding metal all day—I could use a short nap by a warm fire, the start off at dawn. I know some hunting trails that should shave off close to a day if you don’t mind a faster pace?” Wendell rubbed his hands together, “Appreciate that.” Evan nodded, “Yup.” A few minutes ed, again in silence. “The gold isn’t…stollen, is it?” Wendell burst out laughing. Evan shrugged and pointed at Wendell with the stick, “You’re not exactly dressed like a rich man.” He stared at the smiley face, which had its eyes closed, enjoying the warmth. “Not sure what you’re dressed like, to be honest.” “No, it’s not stollen,” Wendell reassure him, “It’s…” How do I explain this? “…

a gift.” It was the only thing that popped into is mind. Evan frowned, “We didn’t find any gold on you.” Wendell scratched his cheek, “No.” Pulling the small coin purse from his pocket, he tossed it over to the blacksmith. “I got it from here.” Evan looked inside the purse then looked at Wendell curiously. Shaking the pouch upside down, “It’s empty.” And he tosses it back. Reaching in with two fingers, Wendell pulled out a silver coin and tossed it to Evan. “Only for you. It’s my, well…I guess you could say, my inheritance. Don’t have a clue how it works and don’t have a clue how much is in there. Could be nearly gone for all I know, but the money appears for me.” Evan scoffed, and tossed both the purse and the coin back at Wendell. Looking back to the fire, his smile turned to a near scowl. His jaw clenching tight. “Has to be nice to not have a care in the world.” It was Wendell’s turn to scoff. “Money doesn’t solve my problems.” “Can’t hurt,” Evan added. “How long…has your father been been gone?” Evan tossed the stick into the fire and laid on his side, turning his back to the flames. Bad question, Wendell. Hit a soft spot, I guess. After a minute Wendell did likewise, lying back on the ground. Thoughts of his own father, the funeral, holding his mother for days on end as she wept. Always unsure as to what they would do without his father’s strength, his wisdom and guidance. It was hell. “I lost my father a few years ago,” Wendell said softly, “It’s…never been the same since.” Evan didn’t respond. “Thing is, nothing has worked out like people said it would,” he continued, speaking out loud, more to himself than the blacksmith. “When we buried dad,

people would come to my mother and I and tell us things would be alright…or that time will heal the wound. But you know what? It’s all a lie.” The crackling of the fire sounded exceptionally loud in the midst of the trees, the rippling water playing a steady tempo. “It never gets better.” Wendell put his hands under his head, breathing deeply and exhaling slowly. “Ever.” Evan slowly rolled over to face Wendell, but he remained silent. “You know why?” Wendell continued, staring up at the sky, “Because my dad owns that part of my heart. It belongs to him and time can’t fill that hole. Not time, not a person, nothing. It belongs to him and so over time, I’ve learned that it won’t ever get better…I’ll just learn to cope.” He choked back the memories and sniffed loudly. “Some days are hell, and then others…not so bad.” Wendell flipped back over, putting his back to Evan and the fire. “Thanks for showing up, Evan, regardless of the reason. I’m pretty sure I would have gotten lost.” Minutes ed and Wendell drifted off to asleep. The warmth of the fire felt good. Now that he had company, he felt more confident that things would be ok. It wasn’t until he was at the verge of unconsciousness, that he heard Evan whisper. “You’re welcome.”

Chapter 35 Urgent Message

Sometimes it’s the heart, not the experience, that qualifies you for the job.

“A re you sure about this m’Lord?” the boy protested, “I’m only a squire.” It was one of the reasons Joram liked him so much. The squire was only fifteen, bright and alert, eager to be of service, but also ionate to do what was right. That’s what counts, Joram told himself. The boy kept shaking his head in disbelief, but continued to prepare the horse as ordered. It would not be right for a squire to take a job from someone more worthy or important, so it was natural he should hesitate. Joram placed a firm hand on the youths shoulder, “The King said I was to choose a man I can trust, not a man of station. You’re the only one I can trust implicitly, Josiah. So get that through your thick head.” The youth looked embarrassed, smiling sheepishly at the compliment, “I won’t let you down, my lord.” “Your job is ride hard and get to Andilain. Change horses at each village and ride through to the capital.” He handed the youth the paper, “This is a letter from the King, and it has the royal seal. If you have a need, or if anyone questions you, present this. Use it to get horses, supplies, anything. With Til-Thorin’s main force gone, we’ll need every man available if we’re to defend this keep, and the kingdom.” “But sir,” the squire pleaded, “the capital is more than a weeks ride in one direction. Even if I do get an army to return, it will take weeks to march back to Til-Thorin…” Joran smiled reassuringly and patted the youth on the shoulder. “We will defend the . Your job is to deliver this to the Head Steward. Don’t concern yourself with anything else, Josiah.” The boy hesitated, staring at the seal on the letter. A gust of wind ed between

them, and with it, the scent of bread from the keeps kitchen. “Do,…I come back?” Joram gave the youths forearm a firm squeeze, “Yes, Josiah, come back with the army.” Hesitation transformed into relief. Stepping back, Joram studied the boys outfit. Dressed warm, cloak, sword and a short bow strapped to the mount. He patted the small pouch of raw wheat attached to the saddle, “You won’t have time to eat, so suck on the wheat as you ride, chew it when it softens. I know it’s a hard ride, but you can do it.” He grabbed the youth by both shoulders, “You’ll have one of the Rook at your side until you reach the valley. I know you’ve never ridden through the night before, but trust the horse. You’ll do fine.” They both paused in the silence, then came together in a powerful embrace. “The Gods be with you,” whispered Joram. Josiah squeezed harder, “Have faith, father.” Without delay, the youth threw himself up onto the mare and rode away from the stables in a flurry of dust. Joram watched his son the waiting Rook at the front gate. The hooded elf raised a thin hand in gesture under the torchlight, then rode away. Joram’s heart beat heavy in his chest. “Your son?” the voice came from the shadows between stables. “Yes, sire,” said Joram. Josiah was gone from view, but Joram’s stare lingered on the gate. “Only fifteen and the finest man I have ever known.” The King remained in the shadow of the building, watching the countenance of Til-Thorin’s captain. “You could have sent someone else.” “Rumors of your betrayal among the people have grown over the years, sire. Whispers grew that you care more for the elves than you did for your own people. Rumors that have tainted the hearts of even the most stalwart of men.” The weight of the words caused the captain to round his shoulders and lower his

head. “There was a time, not long ago, when but two men were left in the Keep, besides Lord Garrif, who refused to yield to the whispers. Men who refused to participate in the backbiting, the arguments, the sedition spreading among your people. One who would die, rather than betray his king or shirk from his duty… the other, inexperienced in faith, yet determined to prove his loyalty and subjection to duty, until he could develop it.” The King shifted his stance, “So you send your son, that he may prove his loyalty to his King. I understand.” Joram finally turned to face King Robert, head held low. “No, Sire. I am afraid you do not understand. I sent Josiah, that I may prove my own.”

Chapter 36 Under Attack

You’d be surprised what you’re capable of doing when the situation is just right. Or wrong.

Wendell's hand reached up to scratch his nose, the faint buzz of mosquitos humming near his ear. He twitched. Rolling onto his back, he yawned, opening his eyes. He squinted, the flicker of firelight catching his attention. "I think you left too much wood on the fire," he started to say. He opened his eyes wider, frowning. He blinked. That’s…not the… It took him a few moments to realize what he was looking at. The faint cries and screams rode upon the chilled wind, floating up the hillside. "EVAN!" The blacksmith stirred. Wendell grabbed a stick and tossed it—hitting Evan in the shoulder, “The village is on fire!" "What...?" Wendell stumbled to his feet, rubbing his eyes. He hoped it was just a dream. It has to be a bad dream. He walked to the tree line, praying he was wrong. The small village below, nestled quietly in the valley between forest and river, was aflame. Black smoke billowed up from its center and Wendell could smell it. The burning homes illuminated the small specs—villagers, running to and fro. Wendell clenched his jaw tight, his teeth grinding. "EVAN!" The blacksmith drowsily sat up. “What!?” he barked back. He yawned, stretching the stiffness from his arms and

legs. "What are you yelling about?" Evan mumbled, stumbling to his feet. “Wait, did you say the…" but his voice trailed off as he ed Wendell at the tree line. His face went pale. "Mother." The blacksmith threw himself down the hillside, running at a pace that almost seemed inhuman. Wendell frantically tried to keep up. Evan dashed between trees, jumped over rocks and slid across embankments—until they found themselves at the edge of the village minutes later. “Evan,” Wendell called out, gripping his side, “wait!” Emerging from the forest edge and gasping for breath, Wendell could see flames rising high into the sky from the center of the community. The houses at the north end of the village, including Evan’s own home, were untouched. Screams grew louder. Women and children dashed into the fields and into the forest. Wendell followed the blacksmith as he ran across the orchard and to his own hovel. "MOTHER! HIRAM!—LIVI!!" Evan yelled, barging through the door. He dashed to the bedroom, quickly checked under the bed, then pushed past Wendell and ran back outside. Citizens frantically ran past Evan and Wendell. They carried or pulled children along, down the main path, through the fields. Women, children, the elderly— but there was no sign of Miriam or the children. “Where is everyone going?” Evan asked aloud. “The fire’s this way—why are they running?” Evan stared at the flames, ascending into the sky. "Come on! We have to put out these flames before they consume the whole town!" He tugged at Wendell's sleeve. Sliding up to the well between the two barns, Evan looked over the lip of the stone wall and into the blackness. “Our well is full—if we can get enough people together…form a line, we may be able to do this.” Yanking on the rope, the blacksmith pulled up the buckle and untied the knot securing the container. "Well need more than this,” he shouted, pushing the bucket into Wendell's arms. “I have a couple by my forge!”

They ran to the workshop and flung open the doors to the barn. The tall wood slats rattled loudly against the side of the barn, startling King and the mare. The glow of the village fire shined through the slats in the wall, illuminating the work area. “I have a couple right over…” the sound of shuffling feet and blur of movement were all the warning Evan received. “WOAH!” he stammered, stumbling backwards. A pitchfork stabbed past his face and into the barn door. The sharp tines missed Evan’s chest and neck by inches. Hiram stood in shock, looking between Wendell and his brother. Still gripping the handle of the pitchfork, his eyes immediately filled with tears. He jumped at Evan, clung to his brother. “I’m sorry!” he sobbed, “I’m so sorry Evan, I—I didn’t mean to!” He buried his face into the blacksmith’s tunic. "Hiram, what's going on? Why are you hiding in here? Where's mother?" "They're here,” Hiram cried, “MONSTERS!" body trembling violently. The blacksmith knelt down and gripped his brother by the shoulders. "Hiram, look at me," he said, pulling him close again, “what are you talking about? What do you mean…monsters?" A howl cut through the night. A shrill howl to make ones blood run cold. It lingered, the tone drawn out and slowly fading away. Evan’s head snapped up. "What was that?" Wendell gulped and the smiley face on his t-shirt cringed—wide-eyed pupils, shrinking to small dots. “They found your village." The blacksmith squeezed his little brother's shoulders tightly, "Hiram, where is Livi? Where's mother?" In a corner of the barn, a pile of straw rustled. A tiny girl, with a dirty face, pushed her way up and out, onto the floor. She pulled stray pieces from her mouth. Hiram tugged on his brother’s tunic, grabbing his attention again. “When mother

saw people running away, she told us to hide in here. To wait for her," he said. “But she never came back! Then they started burning things!” Evan looked up at Wendell. His breathing quickened. Strong hands cupped the back of his brothers head and pulled him into his chest. The blacksmith’s lips curled back into a snarl. “You brought them here." Wendell shook his head nervously, "I told you they were coming. My friends were following them. This is an invasion, Evan—it has nothing to do with me." Wendell’s stomach turned. Everything had to do with him now. He was the new hero and sooner or later, he was going to have to become the people’s protector. This may not have been his fault, but it certainly involved him. The blacksmith turned his glare to a smile, looking down at his terrified brother. “Well I’m not sitting here. The men of the village will fight.” He looked around the shop. He’d been practicing weapon making for years, but it wasn’t his talent. “What,” challenged Wendell, “farmers? Apple pickers? You’re kidding, right?” He looked at both of the children, “Evan, you gotta get out of here. Make for the hills, hide, just get away. I don’t know if you’ve seen these beasts before, but I can tell you, they scare the crap out of me.” He looked at Hiram, who was frowning. “What? They do!” Evan ignored him. He’d learned how to repair armor and how to craft a decent shield—just not weapons. It’s why he’d stuck to farm tools and horse shoes. Evan kicked over the heavy wooden barrel next to the cold forge. Metal clanged and rattled across the straw covered floor. He knelt down and sifted through the pieces—but all it contained were unfinished swords. Un-tempered metal in odd shapes. Blades without hilts and hilts without blades—it was all completely useless. He looked up at the forge. The only finished weapon he had, hung on a hook next to the anvil. He stared at it. A war hammer. It was an experiment with iron and other alloy. Metals his father had collected over the years. The weapon had been folded and reheated time and again, until

the shape revealed itself to the young blacksmith. He’d always thought about swords—but Evan knew how to swing a hammer. His hands were steel, wrapped in flesh—the result of thousands of blows of metal upon metal. Tens of thousands. The striking surface of the hammer was the width of his own closed fist—the opposite end forming a curved spike. Unlike the weapons his father had crafted, Evan gave his creation a solid metal handle, as long as his forearm. To balance the weapon, he enlarged the pommel, then wrapped the handle in thick leather. In strong hands, it would be a formidable weapon. He had strong hands. Snatching a heavy shield from the wall, Evan strapped it to his forearm. Grabbing the war hammer, he turned to his little brother. "Take Livi and follow the stream up the mountainside. Wait for me at the peak. I’ll find mother and come find you." He leaned forward and touched his forehead to his brothers, "Stay hidden, Hiram, do you understand?” Hiram nodded. He knelt down in front of his baby sister. Livi stood there, wide eyed and still, unblinking. “Livi, go with Hiram, ok?” He used high pitched, yet softer tones, but she didn’t respond. Evan leaned in and kissed her tenderly on the forehead. “I wish you’d say…something.” …then he got up and disappeared out the door. What the heck does he think he's doing? He has absolutely no idea what he’s up against! Wendell quickly looked for another weapon, stepping around Hiram. He kicked through the scattered blades on the floor. There was nothing. Not even a dang stick to use! He lifted a small, banged up shield from the wall and tried to secure it to his right arm. “I guess this will have to do.” It was old, dented and tarnished. It’d seen its share of conflict. Better than nothing…I guess, he thought. Less than satisfied, he ran after the blacksmith. Wendell weaved in and out of the fleeing citizens, making his way to the center of town.

“Evan!” he shouted, but it was no use. There was no sign of the blacksmith. The village was in chaos. Even the orchards were burning now, golden leaves turning to ash. Most of the smaller homes, closer to the center of village, were on fire— doors open wide. Wendell saw markings of blood across steps, spatters of red along walls. Bodies. Parts of bodies. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! His chest burned and his stomach heaved, but he stood fast. He looked about nervously. Where are you? I see the fire, I hear the people screaming….but where are you? Jolted by an old man running past him, Wendell caught a glimpse of Evan in the distance. He looked to be in a daze—both arms hanging limp at his sides. “Evan!” Wendell shouted as he sprinted. Flame rolled out a window and he cringed away from the blast. The heat was almost unbearable—the flames were consuming everything. He heard the sound of clashing metal. It reverberated in the air, meshed with the roaring echo of homes being consumed. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Standing dumbstruck, the young blacksmith watched the viscous fight in the center courtyard. The butcher was dancing between two Vallen soldiers. Darrick, a near giant himself, wielded a two-handed broadsword. He sidestepped blows and parried attacks, like a man born of war. Deflecting a strike to his midsection, Darrick launched a kick at the attackers knee, causing the beast to fall forward. The butcher twisted, swinging the hilt of his sword upwards, to his opposite shoulder…decapitating his enemy. The misshapen head, flip from the shoulder. The second attacker howled, swinging a morning star in a wide arc, at Darrick’s head. With a clang, the spiked ball met Evans shield. The blacksmith dropped to one knee and let the hammer fall, his full body weight behind it. The spike of the war hammer pierced the giants foot.

It howled. Whistling through the air, a crossbow bolt penetrated the giants cheekbone and upper skull. The body crumpled forward and collapsed onto the ground. "THAT will teach you to interrupt my dinner!" spat Gunthar. The old man had propped himself up in his doorway. Blood trickled down from a head wound, the crossbow quivering in his hands. "Nice shot," smirked Darrick. The old man sneered, "I was saving the boy, not you, fat butt.” Darrick ignored him and turned to Evan. "Gather as many of the villagers as you can find. Lead the women and the children to the hills.” He gave Wendell a momentary glance, “Caden says there’s a larger group marching towards the village. We have to flee. Our best bet is to get to Haden. They know many of us and have a town militia—experienced soldiers.” “I ain’t goin nowhere,” argued Gunthar. “This is my home!” “The you’ll die in your home,” snapped the butcher. Then softer, “and as much as I think you’re a pain, Gunthar—this village needs you. So think of your daughters. Think of Mary and get your carcass into the hills!” Gunthar spat on the ground. "Where's Jess?" Evan asked frantically. Darrick shoved him backwards abruptly. "There's no time for this, Evan! Do as I say—or people will die!" Wendell jumped as he heard a loud thunk. Old man Gunthar looked down. Blood leaked from his mouth down onto his hands holding the crossbow. “Damn,” he whispered. The village elder sunk forward onto the heavy spear protruding from his chest. The crossbow fell from lifeless hands and bounced down the front steps of his hovel.

Wendell blinked several times. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! The whole world shifted into slow-motion at that moment. Deformed figures, just smaller than a human, materialized through the black smoke billowing. A charcoal haze that poured out doors and windows, suffocating the village. Again Wendell heard the high pitched howl and he winced, pulling the shield tight against his chest. It came from these…things. He squinted through the smoke. Chains hung from hooks and pierced skin. Rings of metal wrapped around wrist, waist and neck, were adorned with bones, tongues, earlobes and severed fingers. Their skulls were stretched, with small jaws and high foreheads. Where eyes should have been, blackness prevailed. Pits of darkness where light had been forgotten. These were not Vallen, Wendell realized. At least not the beasts that he had seen up to now. Blood stained these faces, deep red, dripping from needle teeth,…trailing down chin and neck. They leapt into the open, heads snapping from side to side, black slits for nostrils sniffing for flesh. These creatures were smaller, faster and covered in black, oily leather. Demons, Wendell thought, that’s what they are. Or at least, that’s what they looked like—and it terrified him. It was a scream that pulled Wendell back to reality. For a long moment, all Wendell wanted to do was run. To grab a child or to lead an old person to safety…anything that would allow him a chance to flee. But his feet wouldn’t move. His eyes went back to the old man, hanging from the spear, pinning him to the door jam. Flashes of movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. Children fleeing. Mothers with small bundles of cloth, little hands and feet clutched tightly to their chests, pushing through smoke and fire. They were all running to the north end of the village, many of them barefoot. Wendell couldn’t inhale. He knew what was coming.

They would die. He bit his tongue. Please not that. In a blur of movement the demons darted across the courtyard, shrieking. Swinging across the ground, they looked like howling monkey’s. With an earpiercing shriek, one of them lunged at Wendell, bloody maw open wide. “Look out!” Evan thrust his shield in front of the young hero—deflecting the outstretched claws. He swung his hammer, caving in the cheekbone of the beast and knocking it to the ground. The body flipped violently in the dirt. The sight enraged its companions, and they all shrieked louder. Their gaze of emptiness now focused on the blacksmith. “Wake up!” he yelled at Wendell, side stepping and striking another demon in the shoulder as it lunged at him. Bones snapped. The butcher was swinging wildly as others lunged from the rooftops. Each swing severing an enemy in half. Wendell had no sword. He had no weapon that all. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! All he had was a shield. He looked at his hand. I have a shield. Movement blurred through the rolling smoke. Wendell looked up to see grey teeth amidst boils and yellow skin flying right at him. Two daggers in outstretched hands, ready to stab. Gripping the shield tightly in his right hand, he punched. The the rim of the disc entered the creature’s open mouth. The force of Wendell’s blow split the skull in two. The top half flipped backwards, over its body. Black goo sprayed across Wendell’s chest and arms. The corpse ed him by and hit the ground. The blood beaded and rolled off the smiley face.

Arms spasmed, legs twitched—then stopped. “Watch it,” yelled Darrick, jumping in front of the two young men. “YAHH!” His broadsword cleaved another from shoulder to hip. The butcher shoved Evan forcefully from behind, “Get our people out of here!” “They’ve scattered to the wind!” Evan yelled back. The butcher turned on him. His broad shoulder blocked out the direct light of the flames, creating a golden silhouette. The sword in his hands reflected the red and orange light between the streaks of blood. “Then you FIND them! Lead them to safety!!” Wendell could hear the sounds of marching—the clinking of armor…and the howl of a Hound. He pulled at the blacksmith’s tunic, “He’s right, Evan—we have to go!” “Get off me!” Evan snapped, yanking his arm free. He glared at the butcher, opening his mouth in rebuttal, when he heard…. “CHILDREN…RUN!” It was a woman’s voice, shrill and desperate. It was followed by several higher pitched screams. Evan bolted—vanishing between the houses. Several more creatures lurked in the open courtyard. “I’ve got these,” growled Darrick. He tightening his grip and widened his stance. Wendell chased after Evan, rounding a corner just in time to see the blacksmith charge at a fully geared vallen soldier. The giant had to weight five hundred pounds…or more. Its barrel chest was as thick as an oak. Broken canine teeth jutted out from a wide set, lower jaw, and yellow eyes peered out from under a rusted helmet. The rough-metal pauldrons and vambraces rattled as the enemy raised its weapon overhead. The flanged mace was almost as long as Wendell was tall. Oh crap.

Evan placed himself between his mother, the three children huddled behind her and the giant. “Mother, run!” raising his shield high. “Evan, MOVE!” Wendell shouted, but it was too late. The blow shattered the blacksmiths shield. Wood splinters and metal exploded like a grenade. The war hammer flew from Evan’s grip. His body flipped past Wendell, across the ground and slammed into a tree. Miriam screamed. The shrill sound cut through the air like a banshee. This caught the giants attention. A low rumble emanated from its chest plate. Smoldering embers like the sun, burned beneath the helm—saliva running over its lips and down its chin. Miriam pushed the children away from her. “Go!” she hissed, looking to the oldest of the three, “Take them past my house, Calista…and into the forest—up the mountainside! Find your parents!!” The children clasped hands and fled. “Flesshhh,” growled the Vallen, a grey tongue rolling over twisted teeth, followed by spittle. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell stared at Evan’s body transfixed. The blacksmith was crumpled upon the ground. Unmoving. He was always there for me. No matter who picked on me…no matter how many there were, Evan was always… Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Miriam screamed again, now huddled over her son—shielding him with her own

body. He never let me down. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell lunged forward and snapped up the war hammer. It was big. It was heavy. But he dug deep and put all his rage behind the swing. “ARRRGH!” he yelled, letting the weapon fly. The hammer sailed through the air, arching high. Unfortunately, it didn’t have the effect Wendell was hoping for. It thunked against the Vallens breastplate…and slid to the ground. Wendell looked at the weapon, lying in the dirt, dumbfounded. REALLY!? He looked up at the giant. Ohhhh—what a time to suck. The Vallen snarled—displaying its full set of jagged, yellow teeth. Wendell gulped loudly. He’d barely had a chance to turn around to start running, when the boot kicked him from behind. Air jumped from Wendell’s lungs and mouth, the impact sending him sprawling through the air. His arms flailed about…that is, until he hit the side of the butchers house. Bouncing off the logs, he landed in the dirt, face first. The shield snapped free of his arm and clattered to the ground next to him. “UNGH!” His head rattled inside—like something was loose. His skull felt like it weighed a ton. He tried to look up, but the world kept spinning round and round. Wendell struggled to suck in air. Oh…man…that hurt. He tried to pull his elbows under him, shoulders quivering. A shadow crept over Wendell’s prone body. The fires of the houses surrounding

them cast an evil silhouette over the Vallen—a messenger from hell. Wendell heard the slow, scraping sound of a knife being pulled from a sheath. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Get up, Wendell, he said to himself. He pulled his knees into his chest, forced himself onto his elbows, but it was slow…painful. Come ON! Roll, turn, run away, blast you!! But with all his effort, even using the wall for balance, all he could manage was to slump down on his backside. Propped up against the wall, Wendell had a front row seat to his own demise. At least the world had stopped spinning. A jagged smile appeared in the silhouette. “I’m gonna cut you, boy,” it whispered. There was a deliberate calmness to the voice. “Keep you alive, as I eat yer innards.” Wendell smiled. The giant hesitated and the wicked grin on its face turned to a frown. It wasn’t like a victim to smile when threatened with a violent death. But the frown transformed to a snarl as the spike of Evan’s war hammer pierced the Vallen’s breast plate. “I don’t think so,” hissed the blacksmith, tearing the hammer free. Black goo covered his hand and chest. His shield arm hung limp from his shoulder. The roar was deafening. The giant’s head rolled backwards. It dropped the knife…but the beast did not fall. An open hand swiped backwards while the other clenched its side, blood pouring from the wound. It staggered forward, reaching out to the wall for . Without thinking, Wendell kicked. The greave collapsed and Wendell heard a loud snap. The Vallen’s shin folded backwards. The beast fell to the ground. Without hesitation, Evan drove the spiked hammer through its helmet.

The body twitched suddenly, then ceased moving altogether. “Evan,” his mother gasped, running to his side, “You’re hurt.” He flinched as she inspected his arm. “Your shoulder is out of place—we need to set it.” Evan shook his head, “No time, mother—I need to find Jess and get us to safety.” He looked at Wendell. The young hero struggled to his feet, legs still unsure of themselves. “Thank you.” Wendell frowned, “For what?” Evan nodded at the body, “That. For saving my mother,” he smiled, halfheartedly, “For…saving me.” Wendell shook his head, “I just bought you time. I couldn’t have defended any of us.” The words came out, but something inside him knew that wasn’t true. He’d kicked through the greave like it was paper. Then why didn’t I throw the hammer harder? “It was enough,” replied the blacksmith. “And it proved I was wrong about you. If you had magic, like I thought you did—you would have used it by now.” Yeah, well, I’ll just keep my stuff to myself. They could hear the sound of drums. A chilling howl pierced the morning air. “We have to go,” Wendell insisted. “Now.” “I have to find Jess first,” Evan repeated. Wendell grabbed the blacksmiths wounded arm. Evan winced in pain, but couldn’t pull away. “Listen to me,” he whispered, his jaw clenched, “you don’t understand what’s about to happen. Those sounds are part of an army my friends have been tracking. If I’m right—they’re responsible for killing Til-Thorin’s forces.” Evan shook his head, “That’s imposs…”

“I saw it with my own eyes!” Wendell snapped. He held tight, his heart pounding in his chest. “And if we don’t leave here NOW—those things will find us and kill us…and eat us.” He looked over at Miriam, “And if we’re lucky, it’ll be in that order!” Jabbing the hammer into Wendell’s ribs, Evan pulled away. “Meet me back at the barn,” he looked at his mother, ignoring Wendell. “Darrick’s horses are still in the stall. Throw some blankets on them and grab the hunting bows. Wait at the edge of the field—behind the trees. If I’m not there by the time you’re ready to leave, ride.” His mother started to weep, shaking her head. She cupped Evan’s face in her hands. He kissed her fingers. “I love her, mother. I have to find her. Hiram and Livi are on the mountainside. Follow the stream,” he smiled weakly, “Go.” She stood there and wept. “Mother,” he urged, “GO.” He glared at Wendell, “Take her!” Wendell grit his teeth. “DO IT!” the blacksmith snapped.

Wendell had to prod Miriam forward as they watched Evan dash back into the center of town. Leading her around the backside of the homes, he watched villagers vanishing into the woods with small bags over their shoulders. There was hardly a home left which escaped the embrace of the flames. The barn door was still open when they arrived. As if new life had entered her, Miriam quickly gathered what few supplies they had, wrapped them in two blankets and tied the bundles together with small strips of leather. Then she yanked rope down from the wall, her fingers nimbly weaving. “Here,” she said, shoving a handful of loops into Wendell’s hands. “Get the stallion.” “I, uh…” Wendell stared at the rope, confused. “What do I do with this?” She paused in her weaving the second rope. “Do not your people work with horses?” “My people?” She smiled as her fingers resumed their work. “Come with me.” They walked to the stalls and opened the gate. Whispering to King as she approached, the long ears twitched and pointed towards her. Running her hand up the beasts neck, Miriam guided the rope towards the stallion’s muzzle. In moments, the horse was bound with a makeshift halter. Miriam handed Wendell the rope. “Here,” she smiled, “trade me and place the supplies over his back. I’ll get the mare.” Wendell stood there, watching her prepare the second horse. “What did you mean when you said my people?”

Miriam didn’t look up. She looped the rope over the mares ears. “The Iskari,” she replied, “the people who have the stewardship of the Hero Gem.” Uh-oh, Wendell gulped. “Hero…Gem?” he repeated, trying to sound confused, but pretty sure he just sounded like a liar, trying to hide something. She patted the mare on the neck and turned to face Wendell. The grin on her face unnerved him. “The gem in your chest.” Wendell didn’t know what to say—especially after what Evan had said to him. The village apparently didn’t care for magic…or those who used it. Though Wendell could argue that he didn’t use magic…well, except to hide the gem anyway, it probably wasn’t wise to it to anything at all. He just shrugged. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” Miriam continued to grin to herself as she lead the mare past Wendell and King. With an index finger, she tapped Wendell squarely in the chest—the faint sound of crystal answering back. Peeking around the corner of the barn, they could see more of the enemy forces moving from house to house amidst the blaze. “Your secret is safe with me, young man,” she said softly. “Wendell.” “I would prefer to call you Gnolaum,” she replied, “but I will refrain.” There’s that word again. When all the soldiers vanished from view—marching between the homes, Miriam quickly ran to the edge of the forest, pulling the mare behind her. When the horses had been concealed near the base of the mountainside, she gave Wendell’s forearm a motherly squeeze. “Not all of us have forgotten the old ways, though others might wish to.” She watched attentively through the trees, hoping to see some sign of her son. “I was raised near Metsäsil, a small village, south of Palmäk, along the western boarder

of the Highlands.” She looked back at him and whispered, “It was called Illtook. A place where history is collected and revered, not…” Was? “Mother!” cried Hiram, running down the hillside, “You’re alright!” Miriam grabbed and hugged her son for long moments. “Your brother sent you away for a reason, Hiram.” She said sternly. She looked over his shoulder, “Where is your sister?” “She’s up the hill.” He grinned at his mother, “Found a small cave just big enough for two. I stuffed her in. She’s fine.” “There’s Evan,” interrupted Wendell. He knelt low, pulling his body behind the tree. Evan was running full speed towards the barn, his deadened arm gripping his tunic. As he dashed around the corner, giants stepped into view. Several of the smaller creatures that looked like demons, crawled towards the soldiers. One groveled upon the ground, waving its arms and pointing in different directions until the Vallen kicked it. The body flew back into the flames of a house. The soldiers roared and laughed as the creature leapt out of the building, rolling and rubbing its body along the ground, trying to extinguish the burning armor. Wendell waved to Evan. The blacksmith ducked low and sprinted across the field and into the trees. He collapsed at Miriam’s feet, gasping for breath, his face red and covered in soot mixed with sweat. “Blast you, Hiram—I told you to stay on the mountain!” he huffed, gulping air. “No one came for us,” the boy pleaded. “Lets get out of here, now,” added Wendell, “before something find us.” Miriam placed a gentle hand on her son’s good arm. Evan’s strong hand was gripping the war hammer so tightly, his fingers were white.

“Jess?” she whispered. She watched him, searching his face—seeing the lines of pain she’d come to embrace in her own life. A pain that would never leave. Evan looked away. “Let’s go.” Wendell helped Evan and Miriam up onto the stallion. Mounting the mare, Hiram handed Wendell the war hammer. A shriek cut through the smokey air. Two of the demons were lunging across the field towards them. “RIDE!” yelled Evan and he dug his heels into King’s flanks. The stallion bolted. “Hiram, jump!” Wendell shouted, reaching out the hammer and pulling the boy up behind him. He’d had limited experiences with horses, except from boys camp. Kicking hard with his sneakers, the mare took off after the stallion. Galloping always looked easy in the movies—but Wendell found himself gripping both rope and mane just to stay on. Up the mountain trail they went, putting considerable distance between the horses and the enemy. “They’re turning back,” yelled Miriam, looking over her shoulder. “They have to work too hard for the prize, I think,” answered Evan. As they approached the peek of the mountain, they let the horses rest, slowing to a walk. “Hiram, where did you leave Livi?” asked Evan. “Hiram?” prodded Wendell with a pat on the forearm. The boy had grasped him around the waste as they shot up the hillside. “Hey, your brother’s talking to you, bud.” The hands slipped from around Wendell’s waste. “HIRAM!” cried Miriam. She slipped off the stallion and ran to the mare.

Her son fell from the horse…an arrow protruding from his back.

Chapter 37 Death In The Woods

When you know what you’re supposed to do, stay focused. Forces will try to hinder your progress. to keep your head down, eyes forward and ride on to your destination.

Whipping past the trees, all Josiah could hear was the heavy panting of his steed as they raced through the darkness along the well-worn path. Not more than two arm lengths beside him rode one of the Rook, the green and brown tunic just another shadow underneath the flapping cloak. The Evolu mirrored Josiah’s pace, hips high, head low. They had been riding for hours. Soon they would reach the other side of the forest and break through the mountain range into the heart of Andilain. His back ached and his legs and rear were already sore, but it would still be most of a day before they would reach the first farming community. The first signs of hope…and hopefully, a new horse. The beast was already laboring to maintain the vigorous pace. Out of the corner of Josiah’s eye, he noticed the Rook looking in his direction. No. The elf was not looking at him, but over him. Turning his head, Josiah nearly fell off his mount. Racing, above them through the trees, matching the speed of the horses, were large beasts, lunging through the dense forest! Only the occasional flashes of moonlight revealed their presence. Looking back to the Rook, Josiah saw the elf draw his bow and spin in his saddle to face the opposite direction. With several fluid motions, the Rook sent three arrows flying into the darkness. Josiah wondered what those rounded eyes could see in the shadows, and what, exactly, he was shooting at. When he looked

back to the trees himself, he could see nothing at all. “Focus, Josiah,” yelled the Rook, flipping back around in his saddle, “we have company!” Patting his horses neck, the elf kicked to increase the steeds speed. Nervous, Josiah dug his spurs into the flanks of the horse to keep pace. Flashing past them was a set of boulders, the moonlight cutting through the trees to reveal their presence. Josiah knew those rocks. Welcome Point they were called, which meant the end the the forest was near. “We’re almost out!” he shouted to the Rook and he smiled triumphantly. “The valley of Andilain is not far!!” Something ed between them, with a high pitched whistle. An instant later, Josiah’s left arm was pierced with an explosion of fire, nearly dislodging him from his horse. “AARGH!” he screamed as the arrow bit into his flesh. Gripping the horses mane with his right hand, he leaned forward and kick again, urging the beast on. Yanking his own reigns, the Rook fell back and positioned himself directly behind Josiah’s horse, creating a shield. “Keep going!” he called, “No matter what, don’t stop until you reach Kilendell!” Pain made it hard to focus, but Josiah nodded. Gripping the slim bow, the Rook once more spun in his saddle and faced behind them. Several more arrows whistled past their horses, one just missing Josiah’s head. One after another, the Rook pulled arrows from the quiver attached to his saddle and sent them flying behind him. Four shafts struck the Rook and horse. The steed tumbled to the ground. “Ride!” was the last cry Josiah heard as he broke through the forest into the bright moonlit landscape. With a loud “HEEYA!” he spurred his mount down across the open countryside and away from the forest. Converging on the broken body of the Rook, the bowmen stopped at the corpse of the horse. Unsheathing their long, rusted knives, two of them knelt and immediately started disemboweling the animal. The third wandered around to

the elf. He squatted at the side of his prey. A long, grey tongue hung freely from his gaping smile. Shoulders and ribs were crushed, from rolling under the horse. The only sounds from the Rook were short, sharp attempts to sip air. His one good eye settled on the face of his attacker. Blood trickled from mouth, nose and ears. The Vallen licked his lips as the salty scent of blood escaped the wounds of the body, rising in strands of steam. “Good shot I am,” he grinned, iring his handy work. Grabbing the shaft of the black arrow protruding from the Rooks stomach, he twisted. The elf tried to scream, but didn’t have enough air. His body shuddered violently. “You no more cause trouble I think, eh?” The last wisp of air fled from the Rooks lips. His head fell to the side. The giant patted the Rooks face roughly, “I think right.” Standing up, the bowman stared out the mouth of the forest. “Thule will no like they warning others,” said one, approaching their leader. His breath now smelled heavily of horseflesh. “We be punished for sure.” The leader continued to stare across the valley. “Not if he not find out.” “Hmm. What you plan?” The leader nodded at the corpse of the Rook. “Add it to meat. We say it be the boy, then all be good. We live another day.”

Chapter 38 Hiram

When something bad happens to the ones you love, don’t question it. Focus. You’ll have ample time for prayers and doubts AFTER you stop the bleeding.

The morning sun pierced the fragile clouds, pushing its warm glow between the trees. The heavy smoke from the village had flooded the valley, masking its location. “They’ll be coming soon,” Wendell stressed. He held the mare steady, stroking her neck and watching the path behind them. “Shut your mouth,” snapped Evan. He knelt over Hiram, still cradling his arm from a dislocated shoulder. He looked tenderly to his mother as she sat upon the ground, stroking the head of her little boy. “What can I do?” he whispered. Tears mixed with dirt and soot, leaving dark streaks down Miriam’s cheeks. She blinked, as if waking up. Her small, nimble fingers tore at the gray cloth of Hiram’s tunic around the wound. The arrow had struck deep—the shaft jutting out next to his spine. The boys breathing was shallow. His rib cage shuddered with each breath. “We need to remove arrow,” she said firmly. She looked over at the mare, then to the stallion, “Bring me my pouches.” “I’ll get them,” said Wendell. “We’re going to need to set your shoulder soon, Evan,” Miriam stressed, “I’ll need your help and you aren’t any use to us with a lame arm.” Evan nodded silently. Wendell handed the bags to Miriam, “Here.” With a deft calmness, she untied the leather straps and fished through the contents until she produced a tiny jar and a small, folded, stained piece of cloth.

She looked around her, squinting. “I need dandelion root.” Evan scrambled to his feet and worked his way through the trees, weaving in and out. He panicked, “There aren’t any left!” “Keep looking,” his mother encouraged him, “The frost is not come yet—they’re still in bloom.” Wendell knelt next to Miriam and whispered, “We need to get off the main path.” He glanced over his shoulder nervously. Though the screaming had stopped, Wendell could still hear barking, howling and laughing from the village below. “It won’t be long before they come up here,” he looked at her pleadingly, “They’ll follow the path. They’ll track us down. They’ll track everyone down.” “I told you to SHUT UP!” growled Evan, and he kicked Wendell in the thigh. “My little brother just took an arrow for YOU. So I don’t want to hear another word from your mouth, until he’s been cared for!” It’s not that Wendell was trying to be difficult. He certainly didn’t wish ill upon the boy. What am I supposed to say? He watched Hiram flinch as his mother inspected the point of entry with her fingers. Nothing I say is going to be right, he realized. Evan has every right to be angry. Miriam folded the torn piece of cloth and motioned for Wendell to stay close. “When I pull the shaft from him, you place this on the wound and push,” she grabbed his hand and applied pressure as an example. “Grab his shoulder with your other hand and do not let go of him, or release that pressure, until I tell you to, do you understand?” “Why him?” Evan glared at Wendell, “This is all his fault!” “That’s ENOUGH,” she countered. Miriam allowed her eyes to roll upward without lifting her head. The effect was a sobering scowl that her son backed away from. “You’re in no condition to help me, Evan. Stop blaming, stop thinking and give me those roots!” Evan opened his palm—tiny green leaves rolled over his fingers, hints of yellow peeking out from the petals. Picking up a small stick near her knee, Miriam slid it between her son’s teeth.

“Bite down, Hiram,” she whispered and kissed his forehead. Hiram’s pale lips quivered. Miriam looked up at Wendell and took a deep breath. “Ready?” Wendell gulped, his hands already clammy. He stared down at Hiram’s face. Sweat trickled down the slope of his nose and dropped to the ground. His lips were a powdered blue. Wendell’s heart shouted no, I’m not ready…but he nodded anyway. Putting the roots in her mouth, Miriam chewed vigorously, positioning her hand over the arrow. With a swift yank, she pulled the shaft straight out from Hiram’s back. Blood gushed from the wound. Hiram shuddered, his hands gripping the end of his mothers blouse, teeth sinking through wood. Then all at once, he went limp. Wendell gripped Hiram’s shoulder tight and applied the folded bandage to the wound. The blood kept coming. It seeped through the cloth, between his fingers. The deep red pooled in the creases between his fingers and dripped over his thumb. “Uh, Miriam?” he stammered, not knowing what to do. So much blood! She tore another piece from her shawl, quickly folded it and added it on top of the soaked one. She replaced Wendell’s hand, pushing firmly to remind him how to do it. Then she tore a third piece, much larger than the other two and folded it. Pulling the cork from the jar, Miriam doused the center of the cloth. There was a bitter, earthy scent to the liquid that made Wendell’s nose scrunch. Unfolding the stained cloth, she took a pinch of a bright red powder and sprinkled it in the center of the moist cloth. Lastly she held the cloth up to her mouth and spit out the roots. “Roll him onto his belly.” Both Wendell and Evan turned Hiram onto his stomach. He moaned.

“It’ll be alright,” Miriam whispered, and lifted Wendell’s hand from the wound. “Here.” Quickly adding the concoction directly to the punctured skin, she guided Wendell’s hand back to the wound. Wendell was surprised to see her smile at him. “You’re doing fine,” she said, “Just hold it there until I can wrap it up.” She proceeded to tear the remaining shawl into long strips. The bushes rustled behind Wendell. Evan jumped to his feet and ran to the horses. Grabbing the war hammer in his good hand, he shuffled backwards, positioning himself between his family and the trees. “It us!” came a gruff voice. An older man, with grey hair, broad shoulders and a round stomach pushed through the shrubs. He held both his hands up as he lumbered into the clearing. He was accompanied by three other men and… “Livi!” Evan cried. Dropping the hammer, the blacksmith dashed to her side, dropped to his knees and threw his good arm around her. He hugged her tightly. “You’re safe,” he breathed gratefully. “I think you lost something, Miriam,” said the burly man. He wore a sword at his hip and a short bow over his shoulder. The other men remained silent, though they started at Hiram. “Not a time to be playing hide and seek.” Miriam bowed her head ever so slightly, “Thank you, Emeric.” His serious expression didn’t change, but he nodded in return. “Have you seen where our people fled?” he asked. “They fled in every direction,” Evan replied, looking up, “though most ran through the west forest. I can only imagine they’re escaping to Haden.” His forehead crinkled, “Where…were you, during the fight for the village?” Evan glanced between the men suspiciously. Emeric met Miriam’s gaze, but the others avoided any eye . “That fat mayor of ours led us away,” he cursed.

Wendell could see the anger in their faces. The shame. “We had fair warning before the enemy arrived,” Emeric started, “Shane brought us word. So the mayor had this bright idea to take the men folk and lead an armed group into the forest to ambush the enemy directly. We all figured it was better to meet the enemy on our and keep them from our women and children. But after a speedy march, that fat excuse for a man had no intention of saving our village. He led us out, so we could save his skin!” Emeric paused, gritting his teeth in frustration and anger. His nostrils flared. “Because of him, we abandoned our wives, our children, our BABIES.” Evan stood upright, his arm wrapped around Livi’s shoulder. “So where’s Shale now?” Emeric smiled, “Where he belongs.” Miriam frowned, “Emeric.” One of the men stepped forward, unabashed. “We didn’t kill’im, if that’s what yer implyin’—though I think he wished we’ad b’now. Tied the bastard to a tree, we did. Make sure it was close enough ta town, that’r green friends’ll find’m soon ‘nough.” The shadows of the trees produced a sinister look to his grin, “Hopefully they’ll be hungry after a village raid, eh?” “That’s murder,” Miriam gasped. Emeric shook his head, his jaw set, “That’s the natural consequence for letting women and children suffer and die.” Wendell felt nauseous listening to the conversation. How can they be so cold? But his mind flashed with images of children running and screaming. Mothers fleeing with infants in their arms. These men were taken away from their families. They were unable to defend their loved ones, like they wanted to. How many died because of the selfish decisions on another? Men willing to sacrifice themselves for their families…denied. Lied to. Betrayed. For a moment, he didn’t feel much empathy for the mayor’s plight. Then again, he wouldn’t wish the fate of being eaten on anyone. “Well you’re just in time, Emeric” said Miriam, “I need your help.”

“We’re on our way to find our families, Miriam,” he answered. “Won’t take but a moment,” she motioned to Evan, “I need a strong man to hold this one down.” Emeric smiled, “Your boy needing a paddle on the backside?” Miriam laughed, “Most likely, but that’s beside the point. I need to set his shoulder.” A loud howl echoed through the smoke and haze of the village below. “Then we better make it fast,” hissed Emeric. Miriam position them all. The large farmer sat up against a tree. She placed Evan on the ground in front of him. Emeric wrapped his massive arms around the blacksmith’s chest. Using both hands, Miriam gripped her son’s thick wrist and braced herself, by placing her tiny foot near Evans collarbone. “On the count of three,” she said. Evan grabbed a stick and quickly put it between his teeth. “One,” she started counting, then arched her back and pulled with all her strength. There was a loud pop and the wood fell from Evans mouth. “RAAAHHHHHH!” Miriam gently lowered his arm down to his lap, “There. That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Emeric chuckled, “I hate to it it, but I always did want to hear your kid scream in pain.” The howl echoed again. Much closer this time. “Time to go,” said Emeric, quickly getting to his feet. “We’ll work our way to the next village. If the gods favor us, we’ll find our people along the way.”

Miriam quickly secured the bandage strips around Hiram’s chest. “I hope you find your families, Emeric.” The farmer looked at her puzzled, “You’re not coming?” She shook her head, “Our young friend here,” casually pointing up at Wendell, “has to get to Til-Thorin.” Emeric looked at his companions. A couple shook their heads, disapprovingly. “Suit yourselves. Though, you’re on a fools errand if you ask me.” Evans starting up onto his feet, rubbing his shoulder, “That makes two of us.” Miriam ignored them both. “Evan, I want you to take Hiram with you. You’re the strongest, and the best rider. Livi can ride behind you.” Without argument, Emeric and another lifted Hiram onto the stallion. Sweat beaded and rolled across the boys forehead. He moaned as they sat him up right, but alert enough to reach out and loop his fingers through the black mane of the stallion. Evans snatched up his war hammer and used a stump to mount behind his brother. “Good luck to you in finding your loved ones, Emeric,” said Evan, his expression sober. “I mean that.” For a moment the farmer stared up at the blacksmith. “Did you fight those creatures?” he said, almost regrettably. “We both did,” Evan replied, giving a brief glance over in Wendell’s direction. “As did Gunthar and Darrick.” Emeric rubbed King’s muzzle, “Then at least there were four men there to do their duty.” There was a sadness in his face. Regret. Without another word, the farmer and his companions turned around and vanished into the trees. Wendell led the mare up to the stump and climbed onto her back. He reached out and gave Miriam hand up.

“You know you don’t have to go with me,” he said, “not if your village is going west. But,” he added, “I think you’ll be safest coming with me.” “Well listen to him,” muttered Evan, mockingly, “Thinks he’s a hero now, does he?” Wendell just kept his mouth shut and prodded the mare forward. Miriam, however, just smiled.

Chapter 39 Joram

Encourage those who have stewardship over you. Be their greatest . Be their greatest believer. Take pride in the work you do—for those who value true character will see you shine and reward you for it.

Even before sunrise, the grounds of Til-Thorin were abuzz with preparations of fortification. King Robert III had met in counsel with the town officials and Iskari Elders through the night, to discuss the invading forces and the immediate evacuation of Woodside’s citizens. Riders had been immediately dispatched to the nearby villages, warning them of the threat and calling for reinforcements. The King had finally excused everyone just before dawn. Lady Tamorah and the Rook were already in the fields, preparing drills. Alhannah had volunteered to accompany the scouting parties and Dax was nowhere to be found. Chuck, however, hadn’t been much help—sleeping contently at the far end of the hall, sprawled across a long wooden bench. His massive beard was casually thrown up and over one of the tables, where it draped over the opposite side. The King smiled as the old man snored, occasionally fidgeting and bursting out with, “Snockhockey!” It had been a long night of debate, planning and strategy and Robert yawned himself, stretching his arms and rotating his head. ts popped in irritation. The only one still awake and remarkably alert, was Captain Joram. A man in his late fifties, Joram was a military man through and through. Intelligent, well organized and fixated on his duties, he rested his elbows on the table, rolling a hot mug of cider between his cold hands. The King had quickly become impressed with the captain. The soldiers respected and trusted him, the staff were implicitly obedient to his every direction and there was yet a question asked about Til-Thorin that Joram didn’t have the answer to. Though the loss of the Keeps steward was a devastating blow, King Robert was pleased to have such a man as Joram in his stead.

“Then our total soldier count is?” he asked, yawning again. “78 men, sire,” answered Joram, still staring at his notes, “but we have at least 200 reserves from Woodside.” “Not nearly enough to endure a siege campaign,” sighed the King, “but it’s a start.” “If what you say is true, sire, we won’t be able to call upon the villages to the south. There are scattered farms, small communities and Eberfalls, of course, where men might be found. Sangil and Dunhill may take a week by horseback.” Captain Joram set his mug down upon the table and slowly leaned back in his chair. He rubbed his tired eyes and arched his back with a grunt. A few of the servants stood in the corner, quietly whispering among themselves in conversation—the guards stood dutifully at attention by the main door. It made Joram smile as he looked about the hall. He had been stationed at TilThorin long enough to know the heart of the people behind its walls. People with a determination to build a life for themselves in the wild mountains, at the very edge of the kingdom. “As bleak as this may seem, sire, we can and will defend this keep.” The king lifted the pouch he’d placed upon the table and undid the flap. He reached in and pulled out his thin pipe, then lightly tapped it on the arm of his chair. A residue of ash fell to the floor. “I like your attitude captain,” he said. “Don’t misunderstand me—I don’t consider any of this bleak.” He took a pinch of tobacco from the pouch. He grinned to himself. “In fact, I look at this as a very intriguing challenge.” “Sire?” The King pressed the bourbon soaked tobacco firmly into the pipe with his thumb, then took the burning candle in front of him and held it over the pipe— careful to avoid the dripping wax. He puffed over and over again, the sweet smoke rolling out up from the corners of his mouth. Satisfied, he placed the candle back in its holder. “Conflicts with Thule are more akin to a game of chess, than a contest of brute force. I have never known our enemy to be single minded, which makes him

exceptionally dangerous. Our challenge, Capt., is to outlast the enemy until reinforcements come. The more men we can acquire, the better—even if they are not seasoned soldiers.” Joram’s face contorted in confusion. “With all due respect, sire, I don’t see how adding more villagers to our numbers will necessarily improve our situation. Without seasoned soldiers, it would be a slaughter.” “Only if they are able to breach the enchantments of our walls, captain. We drove Thule back in a previous skirmish two generations ago, though we nearly lost. When we refortified the Keep, mägo were employed to enchant these walls. Enchantments to provide an unfair advantage over our enemies. Which is precisely what we will have, even if it’s manned by farmers,” the King smiled. “Your son was sent to the capital, specifically to deliver my orders for the Royal Army. To return for battle, collecting further agents along the way. Once that letter has been placed in the hands of Lord Modrid, he will make haste and sending reinforcements by horseback.” Joram stared at the King, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. “Lord Modrid?” The King puffed again on his pipe, “He is my most trusted advisor and will not rest until we receive aid to our plight.” Joram swallowed uncomfortably, his throat dry and scratchy. “Forgive me, sire, but are you unaware that it is Lydric, son of Modrid, that has command of the capital?” The King coughed, abruptly sitting upright. “What? Why would his son stand in his place, when I assigned him as Steward personally?” Jordan looked pale, the corners of his mouth turning down, his eyebrows arching upward in sympathy. “I am sorry, my King, but Modrid was murdered…nearly two seasons ago.” It was as if the weight of the world had suddenly been dropped upon the King’s chest and shoulders. It was a weight that he had shared with those few whom he trusted. Those whom he could rely on to do their duty. None was greater than Modrid.

The King’s pipe slipped from his fingers. His eyes glazed over as the pipe hit the arm of his chair, and bounced to the ground. “I am…sorry, sire.” King Robert sat forward and leaned heavily upon the table. His huge hands scraping rough and calloused fingers across the surface of the wood. He blinked hard several times, then cleared his throat. “Do you know the details?” he asked. “Only what I was told, sire. Not a first . So I cannot say that my rendition would be accu—” The King raised his head, nostrils flaring. His steel blue eyes looked forcefully at the captain, “Tell me.” Joram realized that this was going to take far more than cider to give him strength. He reached across the table and grabbed the wine pitcher. With the other hand he snatched up his mug, lifted it to his lips and drained the contents. The pitcher followed in suit and filled it with the dark red liquid. “If the tales are true, sire, you have been gone for, what? Three seasons? Four?” The Kings stared at him cooly, “That is correct.” Joram nodded, “The land erupted with complaints close after your departure. When you left, sire, for whatever reason—the Lords took advantage of your absence. The taxation of the people spread out of control almost immediately. Road taxes, travel fees, and exchange fees on all transactions of goods and services, whether bought, sold or gifted.” A deep frown cut wedges into the Kings expression. “Without direct intervention, the Lords made it nearly impossible for farmers and even tradesmen to sustain themselves. Yet during this time, Lord Modrid, stood in his position as Head Steward over the kingdom. This was, I am told, not a welcome predicament for the Lords, because he fought them at every turn.” Joram paused, averted his eyes and lifted the wine to his lips. He drank deeply. He set the mug upon the table. “Somewhere in the kingdom, whispers began. It was said…that you left the land to betray your own people.”

King Robert did not react. His chin and thick Beard sat upon his closed fist as he leaned on the arm of his chair. “Go on.” Joram nodded, nervously. “These whispers spread across the land and an uproar was heard among the commoners. Even though the Lords took advantage of the people, you were blamed. This is when Lord Modrid began touring the countryside. He refused to hear such treacherous speech. He began speaking in your behalf, refuting accusations and meeting with leaders, face-to-face from village to village.” Joram smiled, “I was fortunate enough to hear one of Modrid’s speeches myself, just before I was transferred here. He spoke in the village of Caiman.” His countenance lightened as he described the event. “It was w warm day and the streets were full. People came from all over the countryside to hear why their king had supposedly abandoned them. There wasn’t so much anger as there was worry and concern. The people wanted to know why they were being subjected to the insatiable appetites of the Lords. Modrid explained that you were working hard to re-establish the old alliances among the races.” He looked to the King for some sign of validation. The King stared back stone faced. “It was during one of these speeches, near the area of Whitewater, that the people turned upon Modrid. Farmers I am told. Men who would not be swayed by the truth, or kind words. It seems they wanted blood instead of promises or assurances.” King Robert scowled. His hands gripped the arms of his chair, squeezing tightly until the wood creaked. “Farmers? Modrid was the son of a farmer—one of the people!” He winced at the thought of his friend harmed by the very people the Steward had faithfully served all his life, “I raised him in my own house, because he LOVED the people!” “I am told, sire,” Jordan continued, his tone dropping, “that the Royal guard did all they could to protect Modrid. He had given the speech from his carriage. When the mob attacked, the guards defended him and ordered the coach to flee. Several men apparently followed or got aboard the coach as it fled… and attacked the Steward and his son.” The King looked at the captain gravely.

“Lydric was wounded. Stabbed in the leg, and only a miracle prevented the doctors from having to remove the limb, it was so badly damaged. Modrid defended his son, fighting alongside the coachman against the foes. When the Royal guard found the coach, it had been overturned. Lydric was severely injured and Lord Modrid’s body was found against a nearby tree.” Joram looked at King Robert and swallowed dryly. “He had been stabbed multiple times in the chest.” King Robert’s face dropped into his hands. “During Modrid’s funeral, several of the Lords openly challenged for the Right of Stewardship in your absence.” The King sat upright, his eyes red. “Then who is it that holds the title of Steward?” Joram smiled, “Lydric, sire.” It took a few moments before the King realized what had happened. Then he, too, smiled. “He knew the law. He challenged the Lords.” Joram nodded, “He did. That young man, even while healing from a mortal wound, continued to travel the countryside. He refused to cower to mobs or threats and has continued his father’s work, to uphold the kingdom…and to defend his King.”

The morning had been long—but it had also been production and hopeful. Though they were farmers, Lady Tamorah was impressed with the natural skill many had with the bow. With shorter growing seasons, it required these men to acquire food from the forest. The skills they developed with the bow would translate to a stronger defense for Til-Thorin. All morning long she had tested the locals, narrowing down the best candidates to train herself, while the rest would be instructed by her Rook. Strategic placing of talent upon the inner and outer curtain walls of Til-Thorin would make a considerable difference. The lines stood at attention, waiting to be given permission to retrieve their arrows. Tamorah was finding it increasingly difficult to pay attention. She stared up at the clouds slowly moving across the sky—a cooper hawk streaking overhead. Tamorah’s cousin, Sindre, had not returned and was long overdue. He’d accompanied the young messenger Captain Josiah had sent off to the capital…and it troubled her that the Evolu had not returned. Sindre was under command to report back as soon as they had reached the valley opening. The young Evolu was head strong, but always obedient. “My Lady?” asked the farmer nearest her. “What?” she asked, then realized everyone was staring at her expectantly, “… oh,” she straightened her posture, “retrieve your arrows, men. Well done. Well done.” Less than a hundred yards away, King Robert conducted drills with the townsmen using spears and swords. He watched the elf maiden intensely. He too was worried, but not for the same reasons. He handed over command of the drills to Lord Joram and he walked across the open field. “Tam?” he called spoke softly in his familiar tone. Her face was a blatant painting of concern.

“He’s fine,” he assured her, “and most likely escorted the boy to Kilendell, to ensure his safety.” “You don’t believe that anymore than I do, Robert.” He shook his head softly, “No, I don’t.” He sighed, “The scout party I sent out hasn’t returned either, which doesn’t bode well for the rest of us.” Tam gripped the bow in her hands tightly, as if ringing an animal’s neck, “Even if Josiah was at the capital by now, it would be a fortnight before reinforcements could be here. It will still be several days before he gets to Andilain—even at full gallop.” “I know.” They both looked across the field and watched the efforts of the men. Individuals trained to raise crops, not swing swords or fight battles. Reaching out, she squeezed his forearm, “Please tell me you have a plan in that brilliant mind of yours.” He glanced over his shoulder at Chuck, who sat quietly under the tree line, looking over a scroll. “Working on it.”

Chapter 40 Hunting Party

Prepare for the unexpected. Dangers rarely warn you of their approach—and lifethreatening circumstances can occur in an instant. Preparation may not always allow you to control what happens during those unexpected moments…but it will give you control over how you react to them.

The smaller branches creaked with the weight of the shadows leaping from tree to tree. They sailed through the air, muscles working in perfect unison. The hunched bodies looked and moved more like animals now, than men—which is what they once were—thousands of years ago. The cool air invigorated their lungs, as they panted…but they slowed as they picked up the scent. The leader pierced the bark of the tree with thick claws, stopping suddenly. He sniffed the air and softly clicked its tongue. It was a signal for the party to be on alert. Blood. Ears perked, filtering the sounds of nature. Eyes black as the abyss, trained to observe and locate prey in the deepest shadows, scanned the forest floor. Another soft click of the tongue and the three descended the trees effortlessly. Silently. Long, slim, muscular shadows wrapped themselves around the trunks, using powerful claws to to grip with both hands and feet as they moved. Their decent was so slow and controlled, it looked as if gravity had no hold upon them. Legs built for speed and endurance, arms and claws powerful enough to rend a plank to kindling. As their bodies crossed the brief slivers of direct sunlight breaking through the trees, the mis-colored skins they wore revealed stitches. Skins, claimed and worn as their prize.

The skins of their victims. Once a bright and brilliant race, the Therrin had turned to darkness. Master hunters who now served the Dark Lord—or anyone willing to pay the price… and allow them the chase. Thule was a gracious master. A master the Therrin were eager to serve. Slinking, across the forest floor, their pointed ears remained alert. The scurry of a jack rabbit, a chitter from a squirrel overhead. No threats. They approached the body, which was pinned against a ‘v’ shaped tree trunk. A long spear had been thrust through its stomach. This was not good. It was one of their own. Dried blood caked the fur-covered flesh of its belly. The trail ran over the right leg and dripped onto the forest floor where it had pooled. The corpse was covered with blowflies. The leader knelt down slowly, shifting its head from side to side. He sniffing the surface of the corpse. The neck had been snapped, head twisted and pushed into the crevice of the trunk. Both legs broken at the thigh. Not an easy task. The femur was the largest bone in the body, surrounded by the toughest muscles of a Therrin. The attacker had been stronger. But the scent changed. The leader dropped down onto all fours. Like a dog, he sniffed the corpses hand…then leaned in. There was a trace of blood across the claws of the left hand. He licked the bloody nails. He smiled. Human blood. The leader smiled even wider, revealing sharply filed teeth. “What ssays you?” hissed a lesser, bobbing its powerful torso in lustful anticipation. “Flessh,” the leader hissed back, licking the corpses hand clean of the blood with

a forked tongue. It had been too long since he had tasted the tender meat of a man, tearing the succulent muscle from bone. The soft, warm organs of disemboweled prey still alive. He continued to sniff the corpse, stopping at the chest cavity. There were two small, almost imperceptible bumps under the leather vest. A clawed hand reached out and pulled on the right shoulder, separating the dead body from the tree. The corpse collapsed onto the ground, its back to the sky, face upward. Two broken arrow shafts jutted out from the leather jerkin. They had been snapped off less than an inch from the surface of the wound. The leader hissed. This was not possible. One of its own, brutally killed, and only a trace of human blood on its nails? A Therrin should be doused in the blood of its enemies! He yanked the hood of flesh from the corpse, shredding it to the dismay of the lesser. This one had no right to wear the prize of the hunt. The leader swayed in the breeze, heaving silently, clenching and unclenching its fists. This was not right. A master of the shadows, slain with such ease? An emotion, long forgotten, crept into the breast of the deranged beast. Fear. Needle teeth bit through its own tongue, drawing blood. The darkness smiled upon them. This human—this murderer, would be prized above the skins now worn. It would lend to the power to its krekä. Its fingers lightly scraped the ground, a deep hum sounding from its chest. The two lesser bobbed up and down in a frenzy as rare magic revealed the heat from the foot prints about the body. The murderer was not alone! Two sets of prints, heading southwest appeared..oil and body heat blistering the soil, dripping over leaves touches and brushed against.

Off the forest path. The shades of color showed the age of the prints. They were fresh. Still in range. The leader wiped the blood from its nostril slits against his arm fur, the price of tracking lore. He hissed at the two lesser. Then took to the trees.

He sighed loudly at the torn tunic. “I told you to duck!” jeered his tall friend, towering over him. Slowing his long stride to allow the shorter warrior to catch up, he laughed, “You mastered the Dance of Death and you can’t dodge a cat’s claws?” His brother grunted, “Therrin are faster than you think, Quiver, and slightly bigger than a cat.” He ran his fingers along the wound and winced. “Blast—it’s deep, too.” “Yeah, yeah…” “Besides, when was the last time you got into a hand to hand confrontation? You stand back and shoot little sticks at people!” Quiver chuckled at the rise, poking his brother with the end of his longbow. “Oh HO! So that’s how it is, eh? Polearm’s the mighty warrior, but I just shoot sticks.” He laughed even louder, “Well I did enjoyed the look on its face when you snapped its forearm. I don’t think it was expecting anything after that rake across your shoulder.” Polearm had to chuckle in turn, “Or the two arrows through the back.” “Or the broken legs…” “…or the spear through the stomach.” “…OR the broken neck.” They both laughed out loud. Polearm shook his head in mild disgust, “We’re a couple of sicko’s, you realize that.” Quiver slapped his brother on the back, “Compared to what?! Wearing human skins? Murdering women and children?”

Polearm shrugged…then looked at the torn tunic and sighed again. Quiver rolled his eyes, “Oh, for crying out—” A cluster of birds scattered over the treetops, taking to flight. Both men dropped to their knees. An unnatural silence descended upon the forest. Trained feet moved through the brush without a sound, quickly repositioning behind larger foliage to conceal themselves. Quivers keen eyes scanned the woods back and forth. He forced himself to take in air silently through his nose in a controlled pattern so he could concentrate on the environment. Tall grass and saplings swayed in the breeze. No crickets. No birds. Not a single sound of nature, except the buzz of flies and mosquito’s through the grass. He made a sign to watch the tree line, then crawled away. Polearm pulled the cloth off his prized possession, the Shiofō. A weapon with a metal handle six feet in length. Its end-blade had a wide center knife, eighteen inches long and two curved side blades, double edged. An intimidating trident. The pole itself was wrapped with weathered cloth to provide better grip—stained and rewrapped over time. The end of the shaft had a rondel for striking, dented and dull from dedicated use. He slipped the soft cover into his belt, holding the blade low to prevent reflecting the sunlight. In the distance, the screech of a red-tailed hawk sounded. Polearm started to shift his weight when he heard the chick-breee, chick-breee of a scarlet tanager. The bird was perched on a low tree branch in the distance. It was the sound they made when danger was near. Peering through the high grass, he coiled, waiting…slowing his breathing to a long, silent draw through his nose. One minute ed. He watched. Two minutes. Three. Four. And there it was. Against the light leaf backdrop, the discolored skins stood out. A large body inched its way down the bark of a tree, staying within the shadows. It paused under a cluster of leaves and sniffed. It moved to the forest floor. Polearm

watched the top of the grass in the open grove. The wind was blowing to the east. It’s going to pick up Quivers scent. I gotta take it out before it gets to him. Just as he tensed his legs for a quick burst of speed, he heard a second scarlet tanager sounding to his left. Chick-breee, chick-breee. Polearm lowered his shoulders. That’s too close for comfort. His eyes strained to detect the movement through the grass—something odd against the natural flow of the bending blades. Nothing. The Therrin moved further in the direction of his brother, sniffing the air, but staying low. Then he saw the second one. Due east, inching along like a jungle cat through the grass, pacing its prey, was a second tracker. Its focus was unmistakeable. Hunched shoulders, hips low—the whole body following the subtle sway of the head. No! It had already picked up Quivers scent. One tracker was challenging enough. Polearm still felt the pain in his shoulder from the last fight, but these weren’t like men. At least not the men he was used to fighting. The Therrin were obsessed with flesh. They lived for the sport of blood. That, and they had seriously long claws! Time to move! Bursting from his cover, Polearm bolted straight towards the tracker on Quivers scent. Planting the Shiofō into the ground, he used it to launch himself through the air. The creature easily dodged the flying kick,…but not the followup slash of his blade. Polearm rolled up to his feet and was already spin kicking the beast a second time before it had found its bearings. His heel caught the enemy in the jaw with a loud crack. The bloodlust was immediate. Both Therrin could smell the blood—both from the wounded tracker and the little human with the shiny stick. Warm, pulsing blood, seeping from human wounds. The second tracker spun around and charged across the open grove. In a

flash, it was jumping through the air like a serval cat—mouth open, claws spread wide. Two arrows whistled from the cover of the forest, sinking through its left thigh and bicep. The creature screeched and landed hard in the grass, skidding to a halt. Polearm pivoted his hips and torso just in time to deflect a powerful slash at his throat with the flat edge of his blade. Thrusting forward, he caught the creature by surprise with an elbow uppercut to the face and square shot to the groin with his boot, launching it backwards. All he felt was solid bone. “Polearm!” shouted Quiver, “I could use help here!!” Twisting the Shiofō at the center of the pole, it clicked. The enemy lunged again —claws outstretched, maw open, strands of saliva and blood trailing in the wind. In one fluid motion, Polearm rolled backwards. Dropping his hips to the ground and using his momentum over his left shoulder, he caught the beast with his boots, launching it over his head. He continued the motion to his knees, then legs —spinning on the balls of his feet. He threw the detached blade of the Shiofō before his attacker had completely made with the ground. The trident sailed through the air and struck the enemy in the back. All three blades sinking tot he hilt. “You DIE flessh!” the wounded beast gurgled, dragging itself towards through the grass on its right side. Quiver’s arrow had actually pinned the beasts left arm against the ribcage. The forearm twitched wildly, blood gushing fromt he chest wound. With a blur of movement, Polearm threw the baton section of the Shiofō. There was a ‘crack’ as the rondel impacted the Therrin’s skull…then a muffled ‘thud’ as the body collapsed into the grass. He ran towards the tree line. Quiver was dodging and dashing around the trunk of a tree, trying to keep the plant between himself and a third Therrin. The archer was bleeding from his

chest, tunic ripped open and several deeps wounds across his face and bald head. Blood trailed across his forehead and dripped into his eyes. He was holding two long knives, which he swung wildly, but was losing ground. The Therrin was larger than the other two, foaming at the mouth and breathing unusually loud. It panted and pranced around—fixated on playing with its prey before killing. The archer looked wide-eyed at his unarmed brother. “Get this thing OFF me, Keihä!” Polearm had left both pieces of his Shiofō in the grove, reacting to the urgent shout. He was proficient with his fists, but not against a Therrin. He looked about wildly for something to utilize. “USE THE BOW!” Quiver yelled, slashing frantically with his knives. The Therrin was in a frenzy and ignored the presence of another human. Bobbing and weaving, the long, furry arms easily avoided the bite of the blades and landed another successful blow across Quiver’s left forearm. Blood sprayed as four long wounds opened in the pink flesh. “ARRGH!” the archer yelled, dropping a knife. The next slash ripped through the thin cloth of his tunic at his ribs. Blood soaked the cloth and dripped to the ground. The Therrin barked and snapped its teeth, excitedly. The Longbow and quiver of arrows lay at the base of the tree, arrows scattered across the ground. “DO IT!” Quiver screamed. Jumping forward, Polearm snatched up the long metal bow, rolled towards the dance around the tree and sprang upward into the face of the Therrin. Throwing his chest forward, he thrust the lower limb of the weapon upward. Metal bit flesh and continued through the furry, bare torso of the hunter, and out the back of the multi-flesh tunic…into the bark of the tree. The leader gurgled as the bow pierced its lungs. He lashed out wildly as the

focus changed foes. Polearm fell backwards as the beast tugged at the bow. Like a beast possessed, it wiggled and snapped, pulling its body forward across the ranged weapon. But it was unable to pull itself past the grip and arrow rest. It hesitated, watching both humans. Blood fell from its mouth with each breath. Red, wide eyes filled with hatred. Quiver picked up his knife, wiped the blades on his tros and sheathed them. He stared at the Therrin in sheer disgust. “I meant, use an arrow!” The Therrin hissed, making a popping noise from deep within its chest. It continued to stare at the two men until its head sank forward, fighting off death until the last breath of life left its body. Polearm shrugged, “You should have been more specific, then.” He picked up a stray shaft at his feet and threw it at the corpse. It struck the forehead, dead center.

Chapter 41 Back On Track

Everyone makes mistakes. Everyone makes bad choices. The point isn’t to avoid having to choose, but to learn from our mistakes and make better choices.

Even after riding all morning, Wendell could still see the haze of smoke over the horizon. His mind kept bringing up images of burning homes and screaming people. Flashes of women running through the smoke, children crying for someone to help them. Wendell hadn’t said anything to Evan, or to his family the entire trip. Miriam had tried, many times, to start a conversation. She wanted to know more about him, where he was from—asking questions as if Wendell had been born on this world and lived here all his life. He’d refused to reply. What can I say to these people? he thought. He glanced over at Miriam, who was tending to the mare, gently stroking its neck and speaking softly to the beast. What can I say to her without exposing myself more than I already have? How does she know so much about me? Wendell’s hand absentmindedly went to his chest. His fingers felt the hard ridges of the gem under his shirt. What did she see? Did she actually see anything? Does this become visible when I’m unconscious? The possibilities worried him. Not that Wendell had believed coming to this world was without risk or danger, but he never imagined he’d be separated from his own party. Where are you guys? Did you make it to the Keep ok? Is Chuck safe and sound? The possibilities weighed heavily upon his mind and nearly crushed his chest. Did you get him help in time? Each question pricked his mind with doubt and anxiety. The biggest question nearly suffocated him. Why did you guys leave me?

Wendell watched the young blacksmith. Evan was tall and broad, with dirty blonde hair, almost brown. Every move he made was deliberate, bold and full of energy, as if he was made of the very metal he shaped. Even though Wendell didn’t know what to do, he felt responsible for Evan and his family. There seemed to be a permanent scowl tattooed on the blacksmith’s face. He’s worried, Wendell observed. He is out of his element, just as much as I’m out of mine. It made the situation even more stressful. He had no real idea of what was going to happen once they got to Til-Thorin, or whether they would even make it to the Keep safely. There was no telling where the enemy was. The only logical conclusion Wendell could come to was, the closer they got to Til-Thorin, the more likely it would be that they’d run across the enemy’s path. He moaned to himself, Then what? “Wendell?” Miriam called out, “Would you help me for a moment?” Wendell stood up and brushed himself off, “Sure.” Evan had left Hiram sleeping on the large stallion. The animal’s body warmth had kept the boy from shivering, and he seemed comfortably draped over the wide shoulders. “I’d like to lie Hiram down and check his bandages,” she said. Evan walked over, lightly pushing Wendell side. “I’ve got it.” “No,” Miriam said firmly, “I would like Wendell to help me.” Wendell wasn’t sure what was going on. The young blacksmith glared at him, huffed, and marched away. Wendell looked at Miriam, confused. “Please, just help me get him down. I’ll take his legs, you his shoulders.” They laid Hiram on the grass, in the sunlight. His light shivering quickly subsided. Livi had silently perched herself on a small, dead tree nearby. She let her bare feet hang inches above the dirt and grass, staring at her brother as their mother checked Hiram’s bandages.

“Well,” Miriam breathed, “at least the bleeding has stopped.” She looked up at Wendell, her smile week, but sincere. “I appreciate your help. It makes a great difference.” How could I make any difference? I haven’t done anything. Miriam’s eyes caught the shifting emotions of the smiley face on Wendell’s Tshirt. She watched it, fascinated for several moments, “It’s your presence.” The smiley face froze in place as Wendell looked at her, utterly confused. “My presence?” Miriam nodded, re-wrapping the dirty bandages around Hiram’s chest with a new set of not-as-dirty bandages. She gave a fleeting glance in Evan’s direction, then leaned closer to Wendell. “The gem. It helps him. Hiram.” What does she mean, it helps him? That doesn’t even make sense. Hiram winced as his mother’s fingers pushed the bandages firmly over the wound in his back. “Help me here,” she said, her hands steadying her son’s shoulders. Miriam reached out and took one of Wendell’s hands and guided it to the wound. “Just place your hand right here. That’s it, right there.” She looked up, a little more life in her smile, “Just your presence, Wendell, has a healing effect.” her head wobbled from side to side, “Or rather Ithari’s presence has a healing effect. And Hiram needs all the help he can get.” She finished wrapping her sons wound and stood up. ing Wendell, she gave his shoulder a little squeeze. Livi just sat there, now staring at Wendell. He smiled at her, but her expression didn’t change. I wonder what’s wrong with her? She understands everyone just fine. He smiled at her again, this time holding his expression and then widening the goofy grin. Livi didn’t smile back, but he did get her to raise one of her eyebrows. “But this is stupid!” Blurted Evan, “Everyone we know is traveling east.”

Evan and his mother were standing between the horses, Miriam speaking in quieter tones. Wendell tried not to stare, but it was difficult not to with the blacksmith’s outbursts. He knew they were talking about him. The young blacksmith shifted his weight from foot to foot, antsy and irritated. He rotated his wounded shoulder, rubbing out the soreness with his good hand. “But we don’t know anything about him mother!” he complained. “I would appreciate it,” she responded calmly, “if you would keep your voice down and not get so excited.” She stepped forward and placed her hand on Evan’s chest, “That young man provided us with comfort through the winter, sharing his gold AND may I remind you—that he accompanied you into the village, into the fire, into the danger.” Evan’s face looked as hot as a forge. The lines in his forehead crinkled into lightning bolts, shooting down between his brows. “Danger that HE brought upon us!” “How can you even say that?” his mother rebuked, “You have no sure knowledge of the circumstances that brought him here. Do you?” “No, but I –“ She poked her son in the chest, “Don’t know a thing!” The outburst startled Evan. He took a step backwards, into the stallion. The horse shifted away from him, but his mother pressed forward. “You, young man, need to stop making assumptions and start using your heart! Wendell has done nothing but try to help us, and even left the village when you shunned him…” Wendell was feeling increasingly uncomfortable. Even averting his eyes, trying to ignore them didn’t make much difference. Miriam and Evan were talking so loud, he couldn’t help but cringe. “We are going to Til-Thorin,” she stated flatly, “It is the safest place for us.” She looked back and pointed at Wendell, “and it is where HE needs to go.” She leaned forward and gently poked her son’s chest once more, “So, until you marry and officially take your place at the head of this family, it is I who decide where

we go and what we do, not you.” Wendell didn’t dare look up. He didn’t want have anything to do with a family quarrel, so he concentrated on the boy lying in front of him. Hiram’s breathing had eased, thankfully, and his body relaxed in the warm rays of the late morning sun. There was no reason to stick around and listen, so Wendell stood up and removed himself. They’d stopped at a small grove of trees, to conceal the horses from any unexpected eyes that might be looking for the. He walked over to the far side of the grove, weaving through the trees until he was out of sight. The temperature quickly changed in the shade, but it didn’t bother Wendell. He found a large moss covered rock pushing its way out of the ground, nestled against a gnarled old tree. He sat on the stone and leaned against the bark. The peace and quiet eased his mind. His fingers absentmindedly slipped into the pockets of his jeans as he leaned back. The soft cloth of the coin pouch rubbed against the tip of his fingers. Then Wendell ed. Leaning forward, he reached around to his back pocket. He felt the edge of the fold of the letter and pulled it free. There wasn’t a grain of dirt, not a soil mark, not even discoloration on the surface of the paper. He ran his fingers over the center crease of the letter and smirked. I almost forgot about you. He unfolded the paper, and held it up to his face, letting his eyes drift over the words. Wendell tried to imagine what the hero was feeling, where he might’ve been and what might have been going on around him, when he wrote the words he was staring at. Every curve, every hesitation, showed in the ink. Even the small hints of faded finger marks spoke volumes of emotion in the document. Be patient with others, my son, for few will understand the path you will be forced to walk. You have no idea. The problem is, I don’t even understand the path I’m being forced to walk! He shook his head, feeling disgruntled. I don’t mind doing something hard…but can’t I at least understand what it is that’s expected of me?! Trust no one but the Gem. Through her, you will learn the truth of all things. This is your only true protection. Listen to that inner voice that whispers to

you. Wendell had to laugh. What an understatement! No one understands me, he thought. Now I’m here, all alone, not sure what to do next and…he hesitated. WHAT inner voice? I talk and wait for Ithari to say something, ANYthing…but I get nothing! …nothing at all. He shook his head. This is stupid. I’m not the one this letter was actually addressed to. I’m the fill in, not the main event. Not your own, but that voice which prompts you to do only what is right, what is true and just. Ithari cannot lie and she will not falter, so long as you serve her with a pure heart. “Pure heart?” he scoffed out loud, “Seriously.” Wendell didn’t know anyone with a pure heart, least of all himself. No one’s perfect. I didn’t grow up in a monastery, I grew up in world with gangs, music videos, pornography and skimpily-clad women next to every checkout counter. Pure heart? He clenched his eyes tight. If it said not-completely-corrupt heart, or trying-really-hard-to-bedecent heart, THEN I could see some value in this. Some hope. Not that Wendell had sought bad things. No, he loved his mother and honored his father. He always tried to treat girls with respect because they were someone’s daughter and eventually…would be someone’s mother. He scoffed again. This is stupid. No one thinks like me. This letter isn’t going to help me with Ithari —because I’m not that guy. He looked at the words again. Eyes lingering. As you love her, protect her, honor her…and sacrifice for others, her abilities will unfold unto you. When your hearts become one, so will your power. “But, you chose me, Ithari.” He pulled at his collar and whispered, “Silmä inakmään.” With a shimmer, Ithari came into view. Even in the shadows of this shirt, she was beautiful. Perfect. There was something…comforting about seeing the hero gem. Wendell didn’t feel so…alone. Maybe that was the point?

“You said I was acceptable.” He looked up into the trees, the yellow and orange leaves glowing in the light, “So maybe you’re the perfect one, not me. Maybe it’s being united that makes me perfect?” Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell froze. For moments, he was almost afraid to move. His eyes darted around, ears straining to pick up the sounds around him, but that’s not where it was coming from. It was more of a warm sensation than a sound. Tingling from the back of his head, down his spine and into his limbs. He could feel it through his chest, his heart and mind. Calming him. Expanding his mind. He gripped the letter tightly in a fist and whispered, “Is that…you?” Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Again the calm, warm feeling tingled through his body. His hands shook with excitement. “There you are,” grumbled Evan. It startled Wendell and immediately, the calm feeling vanished and anxiety. No, no, no! I was just… “If we’re trying to stay concealed, it’s not the brightest idea to go wondering off.” Wendell folded the letter and slid it back into his pocket as he stood up. “Sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” Evan grabbed him roughly by the arm, holding him fast. “No, you weren’t, which is why I wanted a word with you,” he glared, “alone.” Wendell yanked his arm away and stepped back, creating space between them. The blacksmith was much bigger than Wendell’s best friend back on Earth. Not taller so much as muscular. Something a hard life of physical labor would surely develop. “What do you want?” he said matter-of-fact. “To know what you’re playing at?” Evan replied. “If the creatures that destroyed

my village, my home, are on their way to Til-Thorin, then why are we traveling there? Why not flee? There are many other villages with men who can fight better than the old farmers from my valley. We could even take the long western path and work our way into Andilain through the desert. I’ve never traveled there—but my father told me about it. Why put us at more risk?” Wendell bit his bottom lip to keep from snapping back. He held the blacksmith’s gaze and measured his words. “Because I’m not trying to avoid the enemy, Evan. I’m trying to beat them to the Keep.” How do you explain this to someone so determined to hate you? “I came with King Robert and several others, including the Evolu, and I was separated from them.” Evan laughed openly, “You? Came with the King? How stupid do you think I am?” Wendell folded his arms, “My opinion of that is growing as we speak.” The blacksmith made a fist and shuffled forward, just as Livi wandered into the clearing. Evan stopped. She stared at her brother blankly. “Then we need to get started,” Evan grumbled. “I traveled with my father to Woodside for years, so I know the paths to get there at least. Mostly hunting trails, but they’ll cut a lot of time. We can ride along most of them, lead the horses along others—but I don’t want Hiram to have to walk.” Wendell’s expression softened, “I can that.” Evan looked from Wendell to his little sister, holding out his hand. “Come on, Livi.” The child didn’t move. Reaching down and grabbing her hand, Evan started to pull her long, but she wiggled free and backed away. His cheeks flushed, the muscles in his jaw bulging. “Fine,” he whispered poignantly…and marched back towards the horses.

Wendell felt a knot in his stomach. There’s got to be more to him than what I’m seeing. His mind rolled back to fighting the Vallen soldier together. Then it dawned on him. Jess, he ed. She didn’t make it. Wendell felt a small hand slip into his, grasping his index and middle finger tightly. He looked down to find Livi standing next to him, watching her big brother march through the trees without looking. “I sure hope my friends are having more luck than we are,” Wendell whispered out loud. Livi looked up and Wendell…and grinned.

Chapter 42 The Naked Truth

Ignorance is bliss. Well, unless it involves an army of flesh-eating Vallen. …or the in-laws. Seriously. At least the Vallen eat and leave.

By late afternoon Til-Thorin Keep looked more like an ant colony, than a castle. The front gates were wide open, farmers, merchants and servants drove beasts of burden or pulled handcarts filled with supplies, into the courtyard. The resident architect walked along the curtain walls, examining the catwalks, fortifications, and checked the mechanical gears of the portcullis. The Keep’s blacksmith, as was the blacksmith from Woodside, diligently worked the forge—repairing and shaping armor, sharpening sword and axe and shoeing horses. Fletchers worked close by to refill the armory with ammunition. Though the wind was growing colder as the day wore on, the doors of the Great Hall remained open. Lady Tamorah stood by King Robert’s side, studying the map of the Keep and its surrounding mountains. Next to her stood Altorin and Gaidred. They had spread maps across the long table, anchored down with plates and mugs. Chuck helped familiarize them with the roads, highways and well used paths. Captain Joram sat nearby, hunched over lists and tallies of men and supplies. All of them looked up as two of the Rook entered the hall. “My lady,” called Andor, striding forward and bowing deeply. He also nodded to King Robert in turn. The younger Rook at his flank also bowed, but remained silent.

“I bring news from East.” The smooth skin of his forehead crinkled in concern. It caused his youthful face to age in an instant. “We have ventured over the , through the Twill Forest and down into the Mist Planes.” His almond eyes flickered across those gathered around the table. “There are signs of movement,” he started, “and we discovered many dead.” King Robert gave the Rook a grave look, “Dead?” The Evolu nodded, “Bodies of the enemy. Scouting parties are my guess. Ten, sometimes fifteen bodies at a time—but each group we found were mutilated and…hidden.” Altorin looked up from his map, “That sounds like the skill of your own people.” Andor shook his head, “We are skilled, yes, but there were two, even three of the great Therrin hunters in the same locale. If these are true masters of their barbaric race, it would take a number of our own to dispatch them. Even so, there would be blood on both sides.” He looked nervously between the Iskari and his Evolu lady. “But the only blood we could discover, was that of the hunters.” Lady Tamorah frowned, “What do you mean by hidden, Andor?” The Rook reached into his vest and pulled out a barbed arrowhead. He handed it to Tamorah. “We found this embedded in several slain giants. The arrows were snapped off at the surface of the skin.” Tamorah turned the small piece of metal over in her fingers, examining the engravings. Slim etchings that crossed one another and turned in on themselves. Symbols that looked ancient, but she could not place them. Looking up at the wizard, “Chuck, would you be willing to take a look at –“ “May I see that?” interrupted King Robert. He took the piece of metal and placed in the palm of his glove. He held it close to his face to examine. “I think you need glasses,” the wizard started. “Not now, Chuck,” dismissed the king. The wizard shrugged, “I’m just saying…”

Lady Tamorah watched King Robert carefully. “Do you recognize it?” The ends of the King’s mustache slowly rose upward, his closed-lipped smile becoming apparent. But he said nothing. He place the arrowhead on the table in front of Tamorah. “Robert?” The King looked at her, his eyes soft and calm, “It may be nothing. Better to let it lie than hope for what may be an illusion.” And he turned back to the maps. Alhannah entered the hall with a clatter of chain and plate armor, her boots clicking across the floor. Her bright red hair had lightened, her pale skin now blemished with the dirt of a hard ride. She looked exceptionally exhausted, yet happy and exuberant. She followed in the wake of another member of the Rook. “Now that’s what I call a ride,” she beamed, looking up at her elf companion. “Taeel is one mean horseman!” Taeel had a close lipped smile carved across to his face, streaks of sweat and dirt running down his cheeks. He bowed his head in her direction, “And I would not have suspected that your race had such tenacity and skill to outmatch your size.” Alhannah blushed and slugged Taeel int he leg, “Aww, now you’re just talking sweet!” They laughed together. Chuck glared down at the gnome with folded arms, “Well if you two warrior princesses are done flirting with each other, mind telling us what you found?” Alhannah stopped short. Everyone was staring at her. “What?” she bellowed. Her grin immediately changed to a scowl. “Can’t a girl enjoy a race once in a while? You all look like I trampled over a puppy or something.” The King chuckled, “On the contrary, Lady Alhannah, I’m glad you enjoyed yourself—now, if you would be so kind as to give me your report?” She shot the wizard a mean glance, then turned and bowed to the King graciously, “Of course, sire.” She slowly pulled off her gloves, “We found a

small band of enemy soldiers half a day’s ride Southwest of the front gate. We’d stopped to water the horses and noticed an unusual amount of flies near the waterline. I found a body hunched over, half immersed—which looked like he’d been running and ended up falling in with his last breath. When we pulled him out, to keep from contaminating the water—we found an arrow straight through the back of his head and out his mouth.” She shook her head in disbelief, “ Weird thing—the shaft was snapped off at the surface of the skin.” Lady Tamorah looked to King Robert, but he continued to watch the gnome. “We found the path the Vallen had run,” said Taeel, “so we followed it back to a small clearing. With a little effort, we found a cave. It was nestled in a small hillside, almost invisible. We found several bed rolls, the remains of a cooking fire but no other supplies. It looked like it was being used as a central base camp. “ Taeel looked at the gnome uncomfortably, “But there was a smell. Putrid and rancid, lingering in the stale air. Alhannah investigated the depth of the cavern and discovered many dead Vallen.” The Evolu looked at the King nervously. “The bodies could not have been more than two to three days old. However, I could not find a single cut or puncture wound.” The King’s head snapped upright, astonished, “Then how did they die? Poison? Magic?” Alhannah shook her head, “Broken necks.” Joram tossed the sheets of parchment onto the table. “It’s starting to sound to me,” he said sarcastically, “that the ghosts of the forest are taking care of the enemy for us.” He laughed to himself and reached for the pitcher of mead, but his hand shook as he poured the drink. “The enemy is going to an awful lot of trouble to gather information . Scouting parties everywhere.” “But they’re being wiped out,” said Gaidred, “which means we are receiving aid from someone.” “Someone who’s paying attention.” Joram pulled a sheet of parchment and place it on top of the stack. “We have 538 men ed for, sire. 78 within the Keep, 200 from Woodside, 101 from local farms and an additional 119 from Eberfalls.” he looked down the list, taking the quill and checking off each item. “Weapons for each soldier, including 200 bows. Our fletchers are working to replenish the stock of arrows as we speak. Armor and shields are being rounded up from the

Keep and Woodside. Our grain supply will allow us to sustain a maximum force for three weeks. We can enhance this by the foodstuffs collected from Woodside as well. I believe it wise to send out huntsman within the hour to hunt, kill and return with any game they can find within the next two days. Even if we send them through the back , towards Andilain, to provide more time. We can salt and dry the meat to extend our survival.” He took a mouthful of mead and swallowed heavily. “Luckily, sire, we have the mountain springs available to us from within Til-Thorin. So freshwater is unlimited.” The King nodded, “Excellent, Captain Joram.” There was a shout from out in the courtyard. A guard screaming from the top of his lungs. “RIDER! RIDER ON THE FIELD!!” echoed the voice. King Robert rushed from the Great Hall and swiftly ran down the steps of the Keep. The guards at the front gate jumped aside as two of the Rook flew past them on horseback. Nimble hands pulled back on the reins of the mighty steeds, lithe bodies sliding from saddles effortlessly before either of the horses came to a full stop. The elves presented themselves and knelt at the feet of Lady Tamorah. “Rise Odd,” she said, “Lemrull.” The Rook stood upright, both breathing heavily. “What news do you bring from the south?” Odd, a broad shouldered elf, reached into his side pouch and pulled forth a small, green gem. He held it out in his tan gloves, “Ill tidings, I’m afraid.” Tamorah held the smooth stone between her fingers and held it up in the light. “What’s that?” asked Alhannah, squeezing between the Iskari. “A sight stone,” Tamorah said softly. She turned around and looked at King Robert, gripping the stone tightly in her fist.

He nodded. “Your band, Odd,” said Tamorah holding out her hand. Chuck pushed his way forward with an exasperated sigh. “Oh, for goodness sakes, hand it over.” He reached out and snatched the stone from the maiden’s palm. “Let’s do this so everyone can see, shall we? And he turned abruptly, pushing his way through the group and hobbled back up the steps to the hall. “But, only one can view through a sight stone,” Tamorah challenged, walking briskly behind the wizard. “I have the skill to see through the stone, old one.” But Chuck just waved his hand over his shoulder, annoyed. “Yes, yes…children…playing with grown up toys.” He stopped at the table and spun around, pointing a boney finger in her face. Tamorah recoiled. “But you wouldn’t think such ninny thoughts if you’d spend more time with gnomes! Now there’s intelligent folk! Brilliant as the Brits, I say!” He looked down at Alhannah and gave an exaggerated wink. She beamed. “Brits?” Tamorah asked, then she asked in a softer tone, “What’s a Brit?” Chuck looked around at those in the room. They were all staring back at him, dumbfounded. His mustache shifted to one side of his face. “Clever people, talk with a funny accent…live on a small island like the gnomes?” He rolled his eyes and grunted, “Oh never mind.” Yanking his wide brimmed hat from his head, Chuck stuck his arm in, up to his shoulder and fished around. The papers slipped from Joram’s grasp, fluttering to the floor as he stood, wideeyed and amazed, brows arched high. Birds squawked and glass broke, along with a hiss from the wizard. “Blasted and tarnation!” he cursed, and shoved his head inside the hole. “Awwww! Dax made that ashtray for Fathers Day…” He peeked over the rim at Alhannah, “Don’t you dare tell him a thing.”

She calmly held up both hands, “Not a word.” Chuck finally yanked out several long metal rods. Two were more than twice the length of his hat, including a small tripod. There pieces were dented and covered in rust spots. Chuck shoved them into Joram’s arms. “Be a good lad and set those on the table, while I find the other pieces. That’s a good boy.” “But…how…” he looked around bewildered, “He pulled this from his hat.” Chuck looked over at King Robert. “Quick, that one.” Setting the rods on the table, the wizard pulled out a long wooden box with leather straps securing the lid in place. “Ahh, here we go,” he smiled, and walked to the table. Placing the tripod on the table, he fastened the shorter rod to it. The longer rod was attached with a wide knob that looked a lot like a gear. This created a “T” bar. Alhannah hopped up onto the table, “Want a hand?” Chuck grinned, “You ?” She smirked, “Who’s my dad?” The wizard laughed, “You take the lenses then.” Opening the long box revealed slats covered in cloth. Between the slats were dozens of oval pieces of what looked to be glass. Chuck pulled out several over dark metal pieces and quickly attached them to the horizontal rod. Counter weights, a hanging dish, covered in a wax residue, a metal tube with open slits in the top and a large “C” shaped claw with tiny holes all over it. “The good people of Clockworks City have very strict laws against sharing their black magic,” he scoffed at the mention of the term, “but we mägo still have an in with their techno-mages. Their technology has something called a projector, which allows one to shine an image onto any surface.”

Attaching the dish and counterweights, the wizard screwed several pins into the claw, fastening it to the opposite end to the dish. Grabbing the nearest candle from the table, Chuck placed it gingerly in the dish and adjusted it’s height with the small dial. Next, he lifted the three mirrors from the end of the long box and fastened one directly behind the candle, the other two, attached to the claw. “This,” the wizard said with pride, “is a hybrid contraption, compliments of Höbin Luckyfeller and yours truly. Not technically a creation from Clockworks, but used for magical purposed.” He lifted a small wire basket from the wooden box and palmed the small green stone into it. The gem settled into the base. With deft precision, Chuck attached it to the claw. “Now let’s have some fun, shall we?” Joram shook his head, puzzled. “What’s that supposed to do? It had a mirror behind the candle. So? We have mirrors in many of the apartments here in TilThorin.” The wizard paused as he leaned over the table. He slowly rotated his head to look at the captain. “Ahhhh,” he said with a broad smirk, “but can they do this?” And he snapped his fingers. The three mirrors aligned on the device, so the light from the candle was reflected through the tube, hit the small mirror at the opposite end, reflected it to the mirror above it, and down through the gem. The result was a soft green glow over the surface of the table. “Oh,” chuckled Joram, though trying not to sound cruel, “now that’s impressive.” Tamorah stepped towards the device, “If you don’t mind, Morphiophelius, I will simply…” “Do nothing!” Chuck snapped. He flicked his hand at the elf, irritated, “Patience! Patience! Goodness me, some people’s children.” He nodded to Alhannah, who knelt at the side of the device, two oval lenses in her hands. “I think four should do it, dearest.” With that, Alhannah slid in the first lens.

The light emanating from the end of the tube was significantly brighter. She slid the second and third lenses into the slits of the tube. The light flared, pulling inward—a tight beam of light, brighter than snow. Joram’s jaw dropped. “Look at the table,” he gasped. The green light shifted to contain a rainbow of colors and just just random reflections—but specific shapes hovering above the wood. “Yup, one more should do it,” said Chuck, tapping his chin as he inspected the green stone. “Drop it in ‘Hannah.” The last lens slid into place and the whole image came into focus. Spinning on his heels, the wizard waved his hands in a wide arch over his head. The drapes of the Greta Hall jumped across the windows, and the doors pushed the guards out of their way, slamming shut. The hall was plunged into darkness. He waved his hand in the direction of Captain Joram, who was now cringing behind one of the chairs. “Oh, someone hold the boys hand. He looks like he’s about to pop a noodle.” He smiled at the Captain like a grandfather would a tiny infant. “It will be ok,” he cooed. From the top of the table rose a perfect 3D map of the land. “Til-Thorin,” King Robert pointed, the Keep appearing between the two highest mountain peaks. “It’s the whole of the Tilliman Highlands,” gasped Joram in awe, now creeping up to the table. “Like I said, a projector—puts pictures up on a wall for you to watch. Brilliant idea…just limited in its application. So, we made our own.” He reached down with a finger and tugged on the land mass. It shifted from north to south. “A Sight Stone contains all the things a person sees when using it. But it only recalls what the viewer knows to ask.” He tugged on a mountain peak with his middle finger and the scenery scrolled southward, until they saw the north end of Binmeer Lake. “I f you give the stone enough light, you tap into it’s ability to

record and replay everything it sees. Well,…while it’s not in someone’s pocket, anyway.” Odd shook his head in bewilderment. “I keep it attached to my headband when scouting, so I may use its power without having to manipulate the gem with my fingers.” He reached forward to touch the top of the forest trees surrounding the lake, “And it watches even when not evoked?” Chuck shrugged, “Yes and no. Long story, so let’s move on, shall we? RIGHT! What exactly did you want to show us, Ogg?” “I’m Odd,” the elf corrected the wizard. Chuck smiled, “Yes, you are, but what did you want to show us?” He looked at Tamorah. “Get it? Odd? He’s…odd?….Oh, never mind.” Odd pointed at a dark blemish slowly moving around Binmeer. “We discovered a large force, marching north. We estimate at least four thousand strong, maybe more. They’re sending out skirmish parties, attacking villages and farms along the way.” Both Iskari Elders leaned over the table. “That does not look like an army,” observed Gaidred. “Which is the other concern we had,” replied the Rook, “Is there any way to make this…bigger?” He looked to the wizard. Chuck stared at the elf, stunned. “I just made the three dimensional, interactive map with rusted iron, mirrors and a candle…and you want it BIGGER?!” The bushy white brows on his head, rolled forward, “You didn’t even know this technology existed, now you want it customizable?” He looked over at Alhannah, “Do I LOOK like the technology fairy to you?” “Chuck,” interrupted the King, “can it be done?” The wizard stood abruptly upright and smoothed out his beard. He cleared his throat, “Maybe…” He reached over the image with both hands, pinched two of the mountains and

made outward pulling motions. The whole scene enlarged dramatically—rocks, trees and wildlife zoomed into view. “WOAH!” Chuck exclaimed as the picture focused in on the dark spot. “Change that to a definite yes.” Odd looked around the table gravely, “This is what caused us to fear and return in haste.” Centered on the table was a growing black mushroom. Clouds rolling along the ground, billowed upwards into the sky, swallowing up natures white versions as it expanded. The charcoal haze made it difficult to see how large the enemy force actually was. Lightening cracked about the edges. Tiny ant-like beings ran along the ground in groups. Alhannah put her nose against the tables surface, trying to peer under the dark clouds. “Still can’t see a thing. They almost look like ghosts, floating around and through each other.” Chuck stared at the scene, one arm wrapped across his chest, the other tugging and combing his mustache. “They don’t want us to see them.” “How long do we have before they arrive?” asked Altorin, following Alhannah’s example. Lemrull turned to King Robert, “At their current speed, no more than three days, sire.” The King looked calmly back at the cloud. “Doesn’t give us much time,” he said aloud, though to no one in particular. “If we’re to succeed.” “Succeed, sire?” choked Joram. It looked, under candle light, that the short Captain had lost color in his face. “The men need to be trained—most of them are just farmers. Supplies must be brought into the walls with haste.” His eyes looked to the papers he’d been organizing upon the table, “And the families—the children—must be evacuated post-haste. Those who cannot fight, must be organized to and bandage. Those who cannot do either must needs flee to the protection of Andilain. I fear there is little hope of succeeding without a miracle, my King.” When Joram looked up, he found the entire room focused on him.

“Did I…say something wrong?” King Robert looked to Lady Tamorah and then to the Rook. The salted facial hair rose with his broad grin. “Then, Captain, we must provide that miracle. By breeding hope through strong examples of leadership.” The elf maiden’s face softened with her smile, the smooth lines of her face, curling upwards. “So be it!” the King bellowed and drew his broadsword. “Captain Joram, stand forth,” he commanded sternly. “Sire?” “Kneel.” Joram slowly, but obediently, bowed his head and knelt at the feet of his King. Touching the wide blade on each side of Joram’s shoulders, the King’s deep voice echoed through the hall. “Captain Joram, I, King Robert III, ruler and defender of Andilain and her beloved people, ordain thee Lord, Steward of TilThorin. I charge thee with the protection of this Keep, her people, and the defense of the Kingdom against all foes opposed to the throne, until old age prevent thee or death take thee.” The sword point lowered to the ground, but Joram did not rise. “Sire,” he stammered, “I…” “Will be one I can count on,” finished Robert. “Of that I have no doubt. Rise Lord Joram and pledge your friendship to your King.” He stood motionless with an open hand. Joram looked at the hand, then up at the King. He looked visibly confused and befuddled. King Robert eyes held Joram fast, “I can command you, Joram, as your King. To carry out my word, to do my bidding. But this land must be maintained by those of one heart and one mind. If I may count on you, give me your hand of

friendship…as I give you mine.” Hands clasp together in a solid grip. Turning to the room, both guests and servants, King Robert presented the new Steward of Til-Thorin. The Guards and Rook all cheered for Lord Joram, and Chuck, who was in tears, blew his nose into a faded, grey handkerchief. “I love it when he talks noble-ish,” he muttered to himself. The King waited for the applause to cease and then turned back to Joram, the Rook and the Iskari Elders. “Now that Til-Thorin once more has a Steward, let us see what we can do to become a stumbling block for our unwelcome guests…”

Chapter 43 Muscle And Sinew

True evil cares not for the loyalty or sacrifice of men. Only that it can use such men to fulfill its own selfish design.

Fires flickered around Thule. Lamps and torches defying the rain as it poured down from the storm above. Lightening flashed along their path, splitting trees and setting patches of the landscape aflame. Accompanying thunder shook the ground. Liquid ice poured over him, the rune tattoos along his flesh glowing deep red—rippling down his arms as each raindrop touched his skin. The enchantments kept his steed calm amidst the chaos—soldiers shouting orders, trying to be heard above the howling of the wind. The sun had set in the distance, plunging the camp into blackness. Raging overhead, the magical storm clawed at the land, throwing sleet and snow about wildly. Thule was exceptionally pleased at the strength of the blizzard. The Tauku had done well. “Kamen!” he roared. His horse shifted under him. Armor rattled as a soldier ran up and bowed in such a way, it looked more like a squat. Putrid yellow skin peeked from under the helmet and chain mail vest. “Yes, Lord Thule?” “Fires for the men,” he said simply, “Now.” Kamen unlatched the barbed whip from his belt and cracked it overhead. “Alright scum! Axes up—we need fuel, we need FIRE!” he barked. “MOVE! MOVE! MOVE!!” Tools were snatched from wagons in haste. Giants dashed into the darkness— howling and barking at each other as they ran. Within moments, Thule could hear the sharp sound of chopping. Minutes later, felling trees. Kamen’s curses rode the wind, accompanied by the cracking of his whip.

Looped around shoulders, soldiers pulled the trees into view. Waves of bodies, pulling the bounty of fuel into camp. Others jumped on top of the plants, swinging blades wildly, chopping limbs. Chunks were thrown into dozens of piles which surrounded the encampment. Kamen eventually emerged through the darkness. This time dragging a Tauku by the scruff of its robes. The skinny, underdeveloped legs of the mägo scuffed along the ground uselessly, but few laughed. The taskmaster tossed the robe to the ground in front of one of the stacks of fuel. “Light it!” Kamen threatened, “NOW!” Thule grinned at the ruthless nature of his taskmaster. A complete devotion to duty with a loathing for all living things. He acts without fear of magical repercussion from the mägo race. Fool. They will flay his skin and drink his screams of pain at the nearest chance they get. The Tauku lifted his head from the mud. With considerable effort, it stumbled up onto its tiny legs. It hissed angrily, this lips curling back in a snarl towards Kamen. The giant clawed hands curled inward and started to glow. “Lieki-teolä-minä-ätäni!” it cried, lifting its palms upward. Blue flame arched from the mägo’s hands, jumping upwards and hovering overhead. The flame split into small, sleek strips…spinning worms without heads, waiting upon their master. “Move it!” Kamen roared at the mägo. Sharp metal barbs lashed out, striking the mägo’s back. The robes cloth split open. Blood flowed underneath. “Light them!!” he ordered. Tentacles slithered out from under the muddy cowl. Pale, snake-like appendages that quivered and hissed, snapping back at the taskmaster. Thule smiled again. A fool indeed. Flame lunged through the air, unaffected by the winds, seeking a place to gorge themselves. Light and heat exploded through the camp as each blue flame dove and bit into the logs. One by one the fires raged to life, bringing warmth and light against the storm. A circle of magical flame, unaffected by the wind and

rain. Thule nodded, satisfied. “MAKE CAMP!” roared Kamen. Hundreds of hands pulled supplies from wagons, tethered beasts, unrolled tents and drove stakes into the frozen ground. Huge, bulbous eyes flashed from under the hood of the Tauku. They locked on Thule. Lord Thule smiled silently, then turned his horse away. Chains trembled upon the ground, taking upon a life of their own. The taskmaster Kamen dropped his whip as one rose up from behind and wrapped around his neck. It squeezed tight, wrapping around a second time. “URK!” he complained, eyes bulging. The chain tugged backwards forcefully, keeping him off balance and yanking him away from the mägo. Holding out a clawed hand, a leftover branch jumped up, into the Tauku’s grasp. It snapped the smaller branches from the limb. Flame jumped from the nearest fire to the mägo’s fingertips. With a smooth motion, the Tauku rubbed the surface of the wood with fire, singing and darkening the branch. Bending it, shaping it, until it looked like a short, hooked cane. It leaned heavily upon the crude walking tool. Blood still ran down the inside of the mägo’s arm, dripping over its fingers. It turned to face Kamen…teeth bared in a sadistic smile. Chains pushed through mud, inching up Kamen’s legs. He tugged his head from side to side, grasping for breath. Curling around legs and arms, his wrists were forcefully pulled behind him. Only then did the animated chain offer him the chance to breathe. “Release me!” he coughed and gagged. “Vile DOG—I said RELEASE ME!”

The Tauku grinned—the thin, papery lips curling up its unnaturally elongated face. Its bone-white tentacles quivered and snapped eagerly at its prey. Kamen frowned. “Lord Thule!” he called out, the realization settling in. But Thule was already riding away. “Sssstupid Vallen,” whispered the mägo, “only now doessss he ssssee hisss folly.” Pulling back its hood, the Tauku erupted in its gurgling versions of a laugh. The chains started to glow with heat. Kamen wailed. Then he screamed. Tentacles quivered, swaying to the cries of pain as if it were beautiful music. It would be morning before the mägo would allow his prey to close his eyes in death. Until then, it would feast upon its pain. Thule swayed in his saddle, satisfied. He had, once again, reinforced his hold over the camp. A dark robe hobbled out, quickly moving front of his horse. Long tentacles snapped hungrily at his mounts flesh. “We musst have more blood, my Lord,” it hissed. Behind the dark mägo, atop a heavy wagon, rumbled a black vat. It was held fast by thick chains stained red. The frozen images of humans screaming adorned each corner, arms outstretched, bearing the weight of the container. Gathered around the vat were eleven robes, swaying and chanting. It was the vat that rumbled with the source of howling wind, rain, lightening and thunder. Thule could feel the magical power pulling, ripping at the very elements around them. “The sspell musst be fed by the blood of innocentss.” The Tauku waved a taloned hand wrapped in dirty cloth across the landscape, pointing at the Vallen soldiers, “Thesse ssoulss will not do!” It was this very incantation that hid Thule’s forces from the eyes of the enemy. The campaign cannot…he growled deep from within, will not fail.

“Dupël!” he roared into the wind. Within moments, the master hunter lumbered into view. Towering over the horse, the Therrin stood head to head with Thule. His face black under the sown flesh of his victims. “Yess, my Lord.” “We require more blood for our Tauku brothers and flesh for the men.” Dupël bowed his head, “Flessh hourss away.” The Tauku swayed at the news. “It mussst not be ssspoiled! Mussst be alive, YESSS!” Again the lumbering beast nodded, “Villagerss we have many. Wagonss of flessh will be yourss.” Thule turned, ignoring the mägo. “And to the south?” Dupël grinned wide, revealing filed teeth. Strips of what could only be assumed as his last meal, hung between the yellow canines. A heavy scent of rotting flesh assaulted Thule’s senses. “Men and sslavess to sshipyardss. Three dayss time and they are ourss.” “Excellent,” Thule replied. It had been wisdom to purge the land of humans as they traveled northward. Blood for magic, flesh for soldiers and animals for both. Thule breathed deeply. Moisture and wind pushed outward, defying nature. Flames reached skyward, dancing over the silent screams of the ancient trees ripped from their forest homes. Yes, this is a land worthy of destruction. Tonight he would let the men rest. Give them a fleeting moment of warmth. “At first light,” Thule snarled maliciously at Dupël, “we run.”

Chapter 44 The King And I

When life weighs heavily upon you, avoid making important, life-changing decisions. Trust me—you’ll regret it.

The moons were high in the sky, their gibbous shapes casting a soft blue light across the landscape. In the missing crest of Iskäri-Kalam, Erimuri burned bright—looking like a cosmic flower, floating independently in the night. Clusters of stars littered the sky, filling the blackness with their own brilliance. Laughter and cheers mingled with the constant groan of carts and wagons rolling up from Woodside—supplies and villagers gathering behind the refuge of TilThorin’s walls. The proclamation had gone forth. The countryside was laboring through the night in preparation for war. King Robert understood the casualties of combat. The losses would be great. Though spirits were high among both soldier and farmer, he had seen what Thule was capable of. Experienced the horrors of the Vallen in eastern skirmishes, first hand. With his permission, all those manning Til-Thorin’s defense were given one night. Mead, wine, and ale were brought up from the Stewards cellar and shared freely with the soldiers. Music played and cheers were heard as servants and those from the village continued to prepare. Many would drink themselves into a stupor. Some would slide down along a curtain wall and sleep it off until mid-day. Others chose not to drink at all and spend the night in supplication to whatever God they worshipped. One night, spent as they wished.

It was an unfair exchange, King Robert knew, but it was the only gift he could give. Chuck and the King stood quietly atop the outer curtain wall. They’d found a spot just outside the reach of torches and firelight from the festivities. The wizard leaned against the battlements, looking out over the trees and stream, the sounds of celebration echoing behind. The delicate scent of cherry and vanilla from Chucks pipe, rolled down and caressed the stray whiskers of his beard, while King Robert enjoyed the bourbon soaked tobacco Andilain was famous for. A diluted jug of Black Seed Rum, pilfered from the Stewards private storage, sat next to Chucks sandals. He slid his index finger through the handle and lifted it to his lips. He took a deep swig from the narrow mouth, then ed the jug to the King. “I’m not certain I’m ready for this, Bobby,” he said with a cough, wiping the milky foam from his lip with the back of his sleeve. The King chuckled softly, setting the jug down on the battlements. “I’ve seen a lot of strange things in my time, old man, but I’ve never met a soul who would be ready for the life you lead.” He took another puff of his long, slender pipe, studying the silhouette of his oldest friend and mentor. The lines in Chucks face looked deeper in the moonlight, the expressions too serious…and solemn. It almost didn’t look like the wizard he knew. “I’ve spent my life preparing for these prophetic conflicts, Chuck,…but I can’t say I’m ready either. Luckily, we have you, we have the Elder’s here and the Rook to assist.” He paused, taking another puff, “And if the prophecies are right, we’ll have the Hero with us eventually.” “Jug.” The King ed the rum back and Chuck took a deep gulp. The powerful liquid went down the wrong pipe, making the wizard cough and spit over the wall.

“Yeah,…that’s right,” he choked, setting the mug on the stone. He looked up into the night sky…and wondered if the High Council was listening in on their conversation. His eyes fell to the dark forest below. They both listened to the merry tunes being played in the courtyard behind them. Chuck’s eye twitched as the lute-player plucked the instrument off key. “I could stop it, you know,” he whispered ever-so-softly. King Robert pulled the pipe from his mouth. He stared at Chuck sharply, “What did you say?” “SHHHH!” the wizard waved his hands wildly, looking about quickly to make sure no one was listening. He held up a finger to his lips. “The events about to occur,” he whispered again, “The ones about to change the face of the land. This entire world, in fact.” He leaned heavily against the stone, “I can stop them, Bobby.” Long arms wrapped around the clay jug like. “Stop them all from happening… and change the course of history. Here. Tonight. Now.” His long, boney fingers strummed the clay surface, absentmindedly. “We’re at the crux of every prophecy, my boy, and the future of mankind hinges on the decisions made before the rising of tomorrows sun.” He paused, clenching his eyes tight, “Once these events play out, the future is set. There will be nothing I can do to stop it.” He looked over at the King with an almost pleading expression on his face. “But tonight, I could change…everything.” Robert shook his head as if he’d heard a strange noise. He pushed away from the battlements and stepped in closer to the old wizard. He opened his mouth, then hesitated. This wasn’t like the old man. Compromise was not in his nature. This meant there was something deeper than he was letting on. He weighed his words carefully before he spoke. “You’ve never told me this before,” he started to say, “That you could change the course of these events. Why not?” Chuck looked at one of his hand. He slowly rotated it from front to back in the dim light from below. “I thought I lost everything, so long ago.” His voice was near monotone, as if in a trance—his eyes locked on the wrinkles of his own flesh. “Used all my power, all my knowledge, to live this long. So I could strike

back.” He closed his eyes and squeezed them tightly, “Because I had nothing to lose.” Chuck reaching out, gripping the Kings forearm, eyes still tight. “But my life is full now…and I have everything to lose. Again.” His head dropped forward. “Again.” The King clenched his pipe in his teeth and placed his hand over the wizards. He remained silent as the wizards shoulders trembled for long moments. The whites of Chuck’s eyes seemed to glow as he looked up. They were fixed. Determined. “If I change the course of history, you could live out the rest of your life. Find a wife. Make a family.” He looked out over the festivities. “…even Dax,” he choked, faltering for an instant, “my little monkey.” But the soft expression turned cold, “I can stop it all.” “Then why don’t you?” The cold expression fell away. The wizard bit his lip, his eyes once more looking to the heavens. He inhaled deeply, but remained silent. King Robert pulled back, resting his thick arm against the stone. “Didn’t you teach me that for this people to survive, we had to be willing to sacrifice all for the sake of future generations? That part of the strength and virtue of a great society is to live free—and that freedom included the right to fail and learn from our own mistakes?” The old wizard stood frozen as if lost in thought, but the King knew better. Chuck had a talent for observing and listening to everything and everyone around him at the same time. A crowd of guards burst out cheering. Flinging ale from their mugs they laughed and pointed at a roughly constructed wooden target propped up next to a fire pit. The boards, leaning against a wagon wheel, had a crude face painted upon it in green paint. It was riddle with holes, three daggers still protruding around the rim. The men parted as a little female gnome with red hair stepped forward, swaying from side to side—a pint of ale in hand. With the other hand, Alhannah held a human-sized dagger, which looked more like a sword as she lifted the weapon.

The group chanted her name repeatedly, until she laughed. Drawing her arm back, she lobbed the dagger across the courtyard in a low arch. It tumbled through the air…and struck the target dead center. The men burst into cheers once more, as did the spectators. “Are you telling me that was all a lie?” continued the King. He leaned against the old man and gave him a light nudge with an elbow. “Or are you telling me you’ve just lost your nerve!?” Robert looked up to the sky himself, taking another drag of his pipe, the smoke slowly seeping from his mouth and rolling up the hairs of his mustache. Chuck pulled back from the wall, cleared his throat and flipped up the jug of rum. The King watched him gulp repeatedly until the wizard drained the remainder of the jugs contents. An owl glided overhead, silent as the grave. They both watched the winged predator, on the hunt for food, navigate through the trees to the east. It disappeared among the shadow of branches. Chuck took a shuddering breath. “Those trees didn’t existed when the Keep was first erected.” He pointed in the direction os the owl, “This beautiful forest was used to erect Til-Thorin and a village nearby.” He paused for a few moments, then turned and gave King Robert a smile. “Until you made a decree that the population was to replant the forest and shape it around the Keep, it was barren.” The King took another long drag of the pipe. “I .” “You provided beauty, concealment and fuel for the future generations of the kingdom through a single, simple act.” Chuck continued to grin as he ed Roberts counselors calling the King mad. He laughed out loud. “Resources were meant to be used,” he said mockingly in a gravel tone, imitating one of the deceased counselors. “My the conflict was intense. If I correctly, it became bad for politics.” “It certainly was.” “So what did you do?” The King smirked, but didn’t answer.

“You simply out lived them! Made the decree among the next generation.” Chuck stroked his beard and rocked back and forth on his heels, amused. “I never told you this,” Robert interrupted, “but I made my choices in life because of what you taught me.” Chuck frowned at him, perplexed. “You did?” “I believed everything that ever fell from your mouth,” he said, pausing only to take a long draw of his pipe. “I had no reason to doubt you. You saved my life… and you’re the closest thing I’ve ever had to a father.” He pondered for a moment, then added, “Or a mother for that matter.” “Watch it.” “But it’s more than that, Chuck. Something always felt,…right, in what you taught. The prophecies you read to me, the people you introduced me to. You shaped me. Helped me to be a part of the future you always talked about. So, naturally, I wanted to play my part…” The King faltered for a moment and his countenance fell. Taking the pipe from his mouth, he tapped it against the stone. “Didn’t you ever wonder why I never married?” The wizard shrugged, “I assumed it was because you didn’t know how to dance.” King Robert smirked, “It wasn’t because of a lack of interest on my part, Chuck. I just believed it would draw my attention away from where I was supposed to be. Away from what I was supposed to do.” He gritted his teeth, “I always wanted a family. Someone to love and to hold, to care for and laugh with. To have children of my own, to raise and to teach.” He paused again, “Instead, I gave my life to this kingdom. More than three human lifetimes for this kingdom!” King Robert frowned, “You never asked me why, Chuck. Not even once.” Chuck opened his mouth, but the he held up his hand. “I have done these things and held to my faith, because a great man taught me that’s what you do. When all the odds seem impossible, when the deck is stacked

against you…you stand your ground. Stand your ground and do your duty!” The wizards slid the end of his pipe back in between the teeth of a wide grin. “Your father would be proud of the man you’ve become, Robert. Your wisdom and sacrifice…has grown to rival that of High King Gaston, himself.” He poked the King Robert in the chest with a boney finger, “And I would know.” “I believe you. Always have.” “I’m not infallible, my boy. No matter what you may believe about me—I can still screw things up. that. Don’t pin all your hopes on me.” He glared at the King, “Do you hear me, young man?” King Robert snapped at attention and gave a salute. “Yes, SIR!” Chuck rolled his eyes, “I’m serious. There are things in motion even you might doubt possible. Things I cannot divulge, I’m afraid…and for the first time in my painfully long life, Robert, I am truly afraid.” But the King only smiled and reached over, squeezing the old wizards shoulder. “My dearest friend, that only proves you are human after all.”

Even amidst the rowdy festivities, people fell silent and bowed respectfully as Lady Tamorah ed. She walked alone, holding a small plate and goblet in her hands. The evening breeze blew the dark cloak aside revealing the feminine sway to her stride. Firelight cast a soft glow over her curves. Dark eyes and full lips upon an oval face smiled back at those around her, perfectly shaped for captivating conversations. Men gaped in awe, women looked on in envy…and some drooled stew from their bottom lips. Embroidered leaves of gold reflected the flickering light, accenting her green and brown blouse, the symbol of an Evolu tracker. Her brown leggings tucked snuggly into soft knee high boots. Tamorah had been searching every remote corner and shadow, looking. “May I?” She sat down next to Dax before he could answer. He immediately turned his back, bringing the plate closer to his face. He shoveled food into his mouth rapidly, hardly chewing between swallows. “Dax,” she said politely. “Tam,” he garbled between mouthfuls. She looked over once, then a second time. Her expression softened. “Dax…” He flinched, but kept chewing. He kept his eyes focused on the inhabitants of Til-Thorin, careless in their merrymaking. “Your mother,” she hesitated, “…she…missed you…” Flipping his plate onto the ground, Dax marched off without looking back. He shoved his way through the crowd until he disappeared from sight. People

stared back at the Evolu maiden. “…as do I,” Tamorah muttered to herself. She continued to pick at her food quietly, breaking off small pieces of bread and dipping them in her stew. Uncomfortable, she turned from the attention and looked to the sky.

On the west battlements, Dax took advantage of the night air and seclusion. For nearly an hour he sat alone, staring upward. It’s morning back home, he thought to himself. The sun is already rising above the endless valley. Soldiers and wandering villagers continued to keep their distance from him out of fear, rather than respect. A few guards huddled near the far tower, enjoying ale while letting young ladies try on their helmets and shoot arrows towards the stables. Dax made a mental note to report them when he was done sulking. Why did she have to show up? he wondered. Things were just starting to feel… bearable. He heard the foot falls behind him. Silent to humans, of course, but not to one of their own. Having immensely huge ears didn’t hurt, either. Tamorah’s warm hand was gentle on his shoulder. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I didn’t mean to offend you, little brother.” “Half-brother,” he grunted back, folding his arms with a scowl. Tamorah withdrew her hand, folding her own arms in irritation. “I have never considered you less than my own flesh and blood!” Dax glared back at her, hot with anger, but he knew he was wrong. Next to his own mother, only two ever stood up for him in Evolu society: Tamorah and her older brother Ondi. He immediately felt ashamed and his rigid stare caved. “I’m sorry Tam.” “You can’t keep running from your problems, Dax. Not when there are people who love you and want to help you.” A measure of the snarl returned to his face, “That’s funny, comin from you. I

seem ta recall a beautiful young maiden with one foot in the land of her people an’ the other in the land o’ strangers.” Tamorah averted her eyes. “You spend more time with humans than ya do with yer own people, little sister —turning yer back on everything you were meant ta be!” Tamorah dropped her arms to her side. “Ouch. Time to leave.” “Wait…wait, Tam!” Dax grabbed her hand, “I didn’t mean for it ta come out that way. It’s just—where I’m shunned, you choose ta avoid our society. You turn yer back! It doesn’t make any sense!! Doncha ever feel the pains o’ time, that all its treasures’re in ya by?” The smooth features of her face cracked with lines as she frowned, “You expect me to live my life in the courts, entertaining diplomats and watching our generations fall to pride? To insatiable appetites and prejudice against other races of light?” Dax rolled his eyes. “Oh common Tam, ya lead these men without fear and yer the first gal in the history of our people ta lead the Rook! You don’t fear nobady —least of all the attitudes or bravado twits of the courts. I know you Tam. You long ta be loved, ta be cared for, ta be listened to and ta be understood! Regardless of this fearless act ya put on, you are a woman with a heart aching ta be found out. Fairy farts, Tam! We both crave it, but you run from it!” Tamorah flinched at his words. Dax stood up and grabbed her hand before she could back away. “Ya won’t fail, Tam.” He tried to smile up at her, “That’s you’re secret. The chains that hold ya back. No, don’t pull away. For once, please…listen ta me. The god’s didn’t bring ya this far for you to fail!” She scoffed, “When did you start believing in the gods?” Dax shrugged, “I never said I didn’t believe in ‘em.” Dark brows rolled froward, hovering thickly over squinting eyes, “…I just don’t believe they give a rat spit about me, that’s all. But my amazing, beautiful, intelligent sister? That’s another

matter altogether.” Kneeling down, Tamorah threw her arms around her older brother, much to his surprise. Dax flailed and struggled to get free, but she squeezed harder as he tried to pull away. She held him tight. After a few moments, he stopped struggling. …then he hugged her back.

Chapter 45 Rerun

Sometimes, all you have the power to do…is watch.

She looks up into my eyes, reaches her hand around my neck and firmly pulls me closer. Leaning in, she closes her eyes and gently presses her soft lips to… Help me. …my cheek. Her lips are warm and soft, but I don’t get a chance to regret the loss. The voice drifts down the hallway and I hear it through more than just my ears. I hear it through my skin. Help me, please. It only takes me a fraction of a millisecond to decide how to respond. I drop the girl onto the floor. My whole world starts spinning and I try to find where the voice is coming from. “Did you year that?” I ask. “What?” the girl grunts. She looks up at me quite miffed. I don’t think she feels like kissing me anymore. They are coming. I spin on my heels. It is coming from everywhere. Soft. Clear. Scared. It’s a child.

Oh, please give me enough time to figure this out. I already know the answer: not a chance. The hiss from behind confirms it. The girl jumps into my arms, her face contorted with terror. “No!” she cries, “Don’t let them get me! PLEASE!!” Hair rises on the back of my neck. It’s not her expression. It’s the scraping sound, echoing behind me, like animal claws against stone, that causes me to shudder. Turning, I see two more of the ghastly robes. I yawn. Oh look, the hoods are empty. Hollow, vacant holes where faces should be. The shredded sleeves in place of hands of flesh, reach out. Like specters, they move slowly towards us, crawling on all four limbs, prowling along… “Hey,” I yawn again, “can we move this along?” “Jussst a boy. Jussst a CHILD.” They pause…as if considering, swaying in the shadows. Watching me. The tops of the hoods roll forward, bend—skinless brows frowning at me. They look like badly made animatronics. Arching their backs, they change their positions, like beasts ready to pounce upon their prey. My ears strain to pick up the child’s voice again, but there’s nothing. It’s gone. “Go home or ssshe will…” “Right,” I interrupt the voice pounding in my skull. Grabbing the girl, I pull her close, “Moving on.” Focus. Useless shelf to my right, two wood crates and three full gunny sacks— probably grain, a pile of someones forgotten laundry. No help there. To my left, a stained glass window.

I hold the girl tightly to me, her head against my shoulder. She’s so warm. I feel my heart pounding in my chest. Focus! The creatures launch themselves, claws outstretched. “Hold tight!” I yell, but she can’t hear me as I plunge through the glass. The cold wind stings my flesh, the glass shards tear my cheek and forearm. I’m all alone, again…and plummeting to my death. The waves of the sea beckon as the rocky shore rushes up to meet me. I’m not prepared for what comes next. My body hits the rocks. There’s no impact. The landing is soft, smooth, and the rocks collapse beneath me. I continue to sink, the rim of the stone above me, folding over my body. …and I suffocate. My arms flail about, but I can’t breathe. Pressure on my face holds me down.

Slivers of moonlight fell between the leaves of the trees, stabbing holes in the shadows along the ground. Wendell’s eyes flickered open, his hands clawing at his sides. His nostrils flared, pulling in air so fast it burned. What was that!? he wondered, fighting the overwhelming panic of being buried alive. A glimmer of movement caught his attention. Evans crept past, hunched low and moving slowly, as if to avoid being seen and heard. Rolling over to his side, Wendell got up as quietly as he could and followed. They had decided to forgo a fire, just in case the evil they had escaped, chose to follow. The blacksmith had suggested they wait another day before hunting, to place enough distance between them and the village. It sounded to Wendell like they had not traveled far enough. The ridge upon which they made their camp was thick with trees of the forest. A popular hunting ridge, Evan had said—a narrow notch between two mountains. The hunting trail allowed easy access for the horses, while providing cover to keep the beasts hidden. The small valley below contained a farm. Miriam had suggested that they descend and warn the family before they set up camp. Instead, they tied up the horses and took time to rest before venturing down into the valley. It was a good plan. A practical plan. Now the farm burned. Wendell could see a dozen or more figures, small, black silhouettes in front of the blazing hovel. There was no way to tell which was friend or foe, but one thing was certain—farmers aren’t usually in the habit of setting their own homes ablaze.

“We have to do something,” said Miriam. “We will,” said Evan. “We’re leaving.” His mother’s small hand, still wrapped in dirty rags, reached out and grasped his forearm. She looked at him pleadingly. Evan could see the reflection of the moonlight in her tears. “What would you have me do, mother? Put the rest of us at risk?” He gently encased her hand with his own, then lifted her fingers to his lips and kissed them tenderly. “Mother… right now I’m afraid my greatest responsibility is to ensure the safety of those around me.” There were no screams in the distance. No running or abrupt movements…and for a brief moment, Evan hoped, with all his heart, that the farm was deserted. “What’s going on?” peeped Hiram. Wendell had almost forgotten about the young boy. He was propped up against one of the trees, his face and shoulders hidden in shadow. Fortunately, Miriam had stopped worrying overly about him. She had been diligent in encouraging Wendell to lead Hiram’s horse, to sit next to him and to assist her in dressing the boys bandages. How much does she actually know? He reached up and placed his hand over the Ithari, letting his fingers run along its edge under the cloth of his shirt. There were things she wasn’t telling him. Things that might be able to help him, surely. Wendell watch the young blacksmith make his way to the horses. As soon as he disappeared into shadow, he walked over to kneel next to Hiram and his mother. “You’re just in time,” said Miriam. She gently unwrapped the bandages around Hiram’s chest and set them gently in Livi’s lap. The young girl sat silently, watching her mother perform the labor with skilled hands. “If you could please hold his shoulders and help him lean forward? We need to get the wound into the moonlight, so I can check its progress.” Wendell wanted so badly to simply talk out loud and confront the woman about what she might know. What she might be able to tell him. How much can I say in front of Hiram? In front of Livi? Wendell looked at the boy, who still seem to be in a daze. Does it even matter that anyone knows? But he already knew the answer to that. Evan had already made his opinions known, and it would

certainly be a bad idea to reveal too much to the young blacksmith. Livi, on the other hand, was as silent as the grave. “Why…doesn’t Livi speak?” Wendell whispered to Miriam. He regretted the question as soon as he left his lips, but it was too late. Miriam’s countenance fell. Fortunately, she forced herself to smile before Livi looked up at her. She reached out a hand and gently brushed her daughter’s knee. “She hasn’t spoken a word since her father died. She loved him very much.” Miriam took a deep breath and let it out slowly, “and he adored her.” Hiram flinched as experienced fingers pushed and pulled at the wound, inspecting. “Dearborn always wanted a daughter. Not that he didn’t adore his sons,” she leaned over and kissed Hiram on the crown of his head in motherly fashion, “but he felt the world was such a wicked place, that only a female soul could balance out the sorrow he experienced and saw in life.” She smiled to yourself, “I loved that about him.” There were things about Miriam that reminded Wendell of his own family. The gentleness and comion of his own mother. It made his heart ache. “So…what happened to Dearborn?” Livi slid close to her mother and wrapped her arms tightly around Miriam’s forearm. She leaned her head against her mother’s shoulder. “It’s something we do not speak of,” Miriam whispered. She patted her daughter’s hand, reassuringly. Death and the loss of a loved one was not an easy subject, Wendell knew. “We’ll put Livi and Hiram on the horses and lead them back down the path,” said Evan, coming to view. “We’ll have to backtrack, maybe an hour or two, but not more than that. But we’ll have to use other paths to avoid bumping into anyone else. We need to get away from the occupied valleys and farmsteads.”

“Hiram is doing better. We should be able to move faster,” added Miriam. “The bleeding has stopped and the wound is starting to scab over.” “I do feel better,” mumbled Hiram, though he still looked pale, even in the dim light. “How is that even possible?” asked Evan, ands he shot a wary glance at Wendell, “It hasn’t even been a full day since he was shot. He’s also been riding a horse the entire time!” His tone was suspicious, pointed. Wendell could feel the cold stare, even though he couldn’t see the blacksmith’s face clearly. He did his best to ignore it. The sound of a snapping branch echoed from between the trees. Wendell stomach sank. He rolled to his knees, head jerking around, peering into the shadow where everything was hidden. Miriam wrapped one arm around Hiram’s neck, leaning her body over him and pushed her daughter behind her. Evan let go of the mares lead rope and slid his war hammer from under the bags draped across its back. “Stay here,” he whispered. Crouching low, he stepped cautiously towards the grove. Wendell quietly rolled backwards onto his feet. He hunched over and followed behind the blacksmith. “I’m coming with you.” He didn’t have a weapon or shield, but they were in this together. There was no way Wendell was about to leave Evans back exposed. The grove was nearly pitch black. Almost impossible to see and navigate with thick foliage overhead, blotting out the moonlight. It didn’t help being in the shadows of the great mountains, either. Wendell stayed a pace or two behind Evan, giving him enough room to maneuver and swing the hammer if he had to. It wasn’t long before Wendell noticed the uncomfortable silence. The thick grass underfoot absorbed the sound of their steps. Except for their breathing, he heard nothing. Not even the sound of crickets. That usually meant one thing.

Without indication or forewarning, Wendell felt the knife blade touch lightly against his throat. The cold metal startled him, but before he could jerk away, a heavy boot kicked him behind the knee. His legs collapsed, dropping him to the ground. “That’s quite far enough,” whispered the voice, but it was not directed at Wendell. There was a tremor…maybe panic, perhaps excitement in the tone. “Turn around slowly, or your friend will breathe through a new hole.” Evan stood upright. Lifting both hands outward, but keeping a firm grip on his weapon, he started to turn. “Ah, ah, ah,” warned the voice, “set the hammer down…gently.” “Not going to happen,” replied Evan coolly. “I’m not kidding around,” said the voice somewhat nervously, “I’ll cut him, I swear it!” Evan shrugged, “Then do it.” Wendell tried not to shriek. W-what’s he playing at?! He could feel a vibration through the blade as the man’s hand started to tremble. He’s going to do it! He’s actually considering cutting my throat! But Wendell noticed something odd—he didn’t feel nervous. At all. Images and memories of wrestling with his father when he was younger came to mind. Being flipped forward onto the couch, when he would attack his dad in jest. Exhaling slowly, Wendell reached up, grabbed the hand holding the knife and hugged it closely to his chest. The blade was pulled away from his throat. In the same instant, he stepped back into the attacker, and threw his head and shoulders down towards the ground. There was a flinch, then a gasp, followed by squeak. The short, chubby man, hit the ground with a loud grunt and a thud. Evan rushed forward as Wendell released his grip and stumbled backwards. Woah—it…worked! Both of his hands frantically patted over the skin of his neck. Don’t be cut! Don’t be cut! But he didn’t feel any pain. Not even

discomfort. Wendell breathed a heavy sigh of relief. Evan gripped the hammer, ready to strike as he mounted the little man’s chest. “Who are you!” he demanded, and he made a motion as if to hit him. Chubby arms in a thin tunic covered face and head, “PLEASE!” he begged, “Don’t hit me! I didn’t mean any harm!!” “Didn’t mean any harm? You had a knife at my friend’s neck!” Wendell stopped his self check, “Heyyyyy…you told him he could cut me!” Evan ignored him. Wendell’s eyes were adjusting to the lack of light and he noticed the little man was looking about nervously. Wendell looked cautiously around them, but couldn’t see a soul. “I think he might have friends around here, Evan” he suggested. “NO!” Blurted the man. “There’s no one here, I swear it!” Evan got up and dragged the man to his feet by his collar, slamming his chest into a tree. He laid the handle of the hammer across the mans rounded shoulders. “Daddy!” cried a little girl, popping up and dashing out of the shadows. She was hiding behind the thick shrubs growing between the trees along the hillside. “Una,” snapped another, older child’s voice. The man struggled against the blacksmith’s grip and wailed, “I told you girls to be silent!” He tried to look over his shoulder, pleadingly, “Please, I beg of you— don’t hurt my little girls! Take whatever you want, but don’t harm them!” He nodded down towards his vest, “I have silver! In my pocket—take it. Take it all! PLEASE!” Evan leaned in close, “Keep your voice down!” The man bit his lip and nodded vigorously.

Wendell watched the little girl cling to her father, holding the mans hand tightly to her face. A moment later a second child—older, taller, approached them at a walk. She looked between them cautiously. “Evan,” said Wendell, “I think he believe’s WE are the creatures.” “What?” the blacksmith immediately let go of the man. Both children quickly huddled against their father, who wrapped his arms around them both. He whispered soothingly, “It will be all right. We’ll get through this.” “Sir,” whispered Wendell, scratching the back of his neck, “is that your home that’s burning down there? Because we’re not with them. We’ve just escaped from an attack on our own village, a days ride south.” It almost startled Wendell, when he realized how natural it felt, to refer to himself as from Evan’s village. “We need to go, Wendell,” grumbled Evan. “Once that farm is burned, they’re going to move on—and if we’re not gone, they’re going to find us.” He turned to leave. Wendell ran up and quickly grabbed the blacksmith’s arm. “We have to take them with us. We can’t just leave them here, on their own.” Evan scoffed, “He had a knife at your neck!” “Yeah,” Wendell replied, “which you encouraged him to use! Come on—he thought I was a Vallen. Which I’m not, thank you very much.” The blacksmith looked over at the little man, but his eyes lingered on the children. “You said you had a responsibility to those around you,” reminded Wendell. He jabbed his thumb at the three huddled under the tree, “they’re around you.” Evan growled.

Chapter 46 Storm

Ready or not, tomorrow will come. Life doesn’t give us a reprieve. Learn how to treasure every moment and enjoy life today, right now. …because you never know when the next big storm will hit.

Spiderwebs of electricity flashed across the sky, leaping through the billowing cloud cover that blotted out any sign of the sun. The deafening explosion of thunder rent the air, sending shockwaves like cannon fire through the ground and walls of Til-Thorin. The wind raked at his flesh, whipping his wild hair about his face, but he ignored it. Even the flurry of new snow, now coating the walls of the Keep, had little affect on Chuck. Without blinking, he stood like a statue of white marble, staring down the valley. Woodside was nearly invisible in the storms cover. Not that it mattered now. It was deserted. Not a single torch or candle remained in the village. The whole of the community had been swallowed up in the duties of the Keep or moved on with the volunteer guard. A caravan leading the women, children and the old into the forest , towards the heart of Andilain. The last of the train had departed hours ago, through the supply gate. King Robert had already addressed the men. Soldiers and farmers, both dutybound to hold the ground against the immanent threat, lurking somewhere within the approaching storm. The King had assured them they would hold the ground until reinforcements could be obtained. It had been a good speech. Very motivating. Chuck doubted, however, staring at the valley, which, only days before, shone with the glory of golden wheat.

“Are you sure you wouldn’t care for a cloak, sir?” asked a soldier. “A blanket, perhaps? I can fetch one.” The wizard shook his head, “I’m fine, thank you.” The man looked puzzled, himself shaking, even under the thick leather armor and heavy cloak—but Chuck just stood there calm as can be, seemingly unaffected by the weather. He smiled and touched his forefinger to his temple. “Magic.” Nodding, the soldier left him upon the wall and returned to his post. All through the night and morning preparations had continued. All the available supplies were inside the walls of Til-Thorin. Fresh riders were, once more, sent out with the Kings request for aid. The armory had been emptied. Every able bodied male, was now armed with sword, axe, spear or bow and placed in their ranks. “We should have spent more time training them.” Chuck hand not noticed the gnome approach. “Its alright, Alhannah.” She held up her hand to block the snow flurries, her fair complexion already bright red from the cold. “No, it’s not Uncle Chuck—and I owe you an apology. Wendell should have been my priority. I should have…” “What?” he snapped, “Jumped after him? Plunged into the depths of the waterfall so we had to mourn the loss of two of you?” He reached out and tugged on one of her red pigtails, “Don’t be daft, child. It would have broken my heart if something had happened to you. I would not have recovered from the heartache.” She smiled warmly, then frowned. “Uh, you do realize we’re going into battle, right?” He laughed and blew a raspberry at her, “I know what’s about to happen.” “And you know I’m going to fight? Like…getting in the way of things that want

to hurt me, kill me, and squish me into paste?” “I do.” He looked back out over the valley to watch the storm, “Good for us, too bad for them.” Alhannah rolled her shoulders back and smirked contentedly. She rubbed her arms, more out of habit than feeling the cold. “Well, Dax said the best way to get experience was by experience.” She stared up at him and tried to smile. “If Wendell is alive, he’s probably had his share of it.” The wizard chuckled. “Where’s your girl-servant gal with the skill at pummeling?” She didn’t look up, “Left with the caravans.” “Ah. Well,…that’s good, right? She won’t get hurt now.” He looked down at Alhannah, “That would be bad.” “Bad,” she repeated. They stood for several minutes, frost collecting in the wizards beard. “So why DID you have me introduce myself? I mean, she was a lousy cooks assistant and everyone was yelling at her. I don’t even know how she got the job.” The wizard grinned to himself, “So she could find you.” “Right,” she agreed. Her nodding quickly changed to shaking her head. “You know you don’t make any sense at all.” He brushed the collecting snow from his facial hair, “So I’m told. Sooooo I’m told, dear one.” Soldiers ed the merlon, carrying wood to each of the fire baskets. They bowed at Chuck and saluted to Alhannah, then slipped over the collecting ice and stumbled awkwardly down the stone steps. “Mahan’s pink panties that is annoying!” cursed Chuck, “Someone’s gonna break their neck.”

“Let’s hope it’s the enemy,” muttered Dax, bouncing up the icy steps. “Can’t you or the Elders do something about this weather?” asked Alhannah, “Like, send it somewhere else? Or change it to a spring day? It’s going to be awfully hard to see and fight, don’t you think?” Chuck looked at her, appalled. “Do you think magic is the answer to everything, young lady?” He poked Alhannah in the forehead with his finger, “Nature has its own course to take! You can’t just wave your hands and expect things to become what you want.” He waved his hand at a mound of snow…and it transformed into a recliner. He plopped down into it, grunting, “Some people’s children.” Dax scooted over and nudged the gnome with an elbow. “Don’t mind him, ‘Hannah. He and Altorin tried all morning to dispel this storm…without any luck,” he whispered. “It’s being controlled by people stronger than our friends.” She gulped, “That’s not encouraging.” As the afternoon wore on, the wind grew in strength. It howled like a banshee— bombarding the walls and courtyards with frost. Fires flickered weakly as sheets of ice formed over every surface, including armor, beards and weapons. Men leaned their metal weapons against the walls, huddling around meager fires, trying to keep warm. Though the sun fought valiantly, the pale glow above the clouds diminished over time, plummeting the entire valley into shadow. The guard changed shifts, allowing soldiers to warm themselves inside the Keep or in huts nearby. But Chuck remained. Snow blew and piled around his feet and calves, but he remained. Something in him turned. Twisted. He’d refused lunch, then dinner…even the water and strong drink offered to him by Alhannah and then Dax. Even prodding from King Robert was useless. Eventually they let him be, while Chuck stood, immovable upon the center wall of Til-Thorin, watching the storm.

The guards changed once more. Men shivering violently, descended the steps past Chuck to take refuge inside. Rested soldiers took their watch, each nodding to the wizard respectfully as they ed. The village was gone, completely faded from view—replaced by the blinding wall of snow. Chuck gripped his staff and leaned heavily upon it. Into the night he stood. Unwavering, unflinching he remained, blinking in the wind while his heart ached. “Where are you, son?” he said aloud. His voice cracked, throat dry. There wasn’t a single shred of proof that Wendell was alive. Nothing to give his old mind a moments peace. What was worse…almost unbearable, was he could not think of a single spell that would help him find the boy. He bit his lip and bowed his head into the wind. Chuck eventually lost track of time, consumed in his thoughts, his worries and even his regrets. The watch changed once more. Bodies now dwindled in the courtyard. Most had retreated to the protective confines of the Keep or the barracks. Even the animals were locked away, secured from the wind in the stables. As the glowing dawn of the new day appeared, Chucks stomach lurched. His knees buckled and he fell forward against the battlements, body shaking violently. Flickers of red and yellow cut through the white sheets in the wind. Leaning heavily against the stone, he squinted through the storm. Flames suddenly leapt into the night, grasping at snowflakes, ripping them from the sky. First one spark, then another. Within moments the valley was ablaze. Woodside was burning. “ALL TO ARMS!” yelled the watch sergeant, “ALL TO ARMS!”

Til-Thorin’s warning bell rang out. Soldiers jumped to attention, trying to shake the stiffness form their bones. Reinforcements emerged from their shelter and up to the walls. Strapping her swords to her hips, Alhannah ran to Chuck’s side, accompanied by Dax. King Robert and Lady Tamorah appeared from the Great Hall, working their way to the steps. The six Rook fanned across the courtyard, taking strategic places among the human archers, bows in hand. It was at this moment, when he’d spent nearly a day and a night, standing vigilant along the walls—when the great wizard Morphiophelius, felt the cold of the moment. It pierced his heart, for the very first time.

Chapter 47 Into The Fire

Life’s trials can often blind us and become unbearable. It may even seem at times that there is no hope for us. But that is the lie. There is always hope. It just might not come in the form you imagined.

“Y ou’re kidding me, right?” Wendell sighed, but Evan shook his head. “Til-Thorin is through that,” he said firmly, pointing to the swirling blizzard. The horses were already exhausted, being pushed day and night. The farmer, Lucas, slipped off his black mare and walked over to stand by Wendell. “I owe you both so much, for bringing us with you,” he started, “but I have no desire to take my children into such as that.” “You don’t owe us a thing,” Evan corrected him. “You had your own horse and you fed us. We are the ones who are grateful, Lucas.” “Where will you go?” asked Miriam. The farmer looked back at his little girls sitting astride the horse. “I have a brother in Sangil. It’s about time he met his nieces.” “Then the gods be with you, friend,” Evan shook Lucas’s hand. Lucas got back onto his horse, behind his daughters, and quickly sunk his heels into its flanks. The mare bolted down the path and out of view. Wendell kept shaking his head. This was all crazy. Pressure was swelling in his chest and he could feel the danger, the evil, growing around him. He couldn’t shake the feelings from his dreams—the short naps he’d taken along the way

were filled with anxiety and fear. It made the shadows seem more real around him. Waiting. Yearning. Wanting. It terrified him. “No matter what happens, we have to get to Til-Thorin,” he insisted. “I know you think I’m crazy, Evan. You’ve made it clear that you think your misfortune is my fault,” he stepped almost too close to the blacksmith and whispered, “but you’re wrong. The King of Andilain is in that Keep. My friends are in that Keep. Our only hope of safety from this evil, is in that Keep.” Wendell stepped back and stood upright, “So with or without you, I’m getting to that Keep.” “As am I,” added Miriam. Evan growled in frustration. The two had been at odds since Lucas and his daughters had ed them. Evan would argue about the dangers—how following the mountains to the west was wise. Miriam would counter with village prophecy and assertive directions as the head of the family. Wendell had stayed as far from the discussions as possible, though the blacksmith glared at him at every turn. She took her son’s hand in hers, cupping his palm while rubbing his fingers. “I know this is much to accept, my son, but I believe Wendell. There is something inside me that whispers, encouraging me to go with him. I believe we will be prospered by doing so.” Evan pulled his hand away, “How can you say something like that, mother? We’ve lost everything!” Miriam stepped up into his face, placing both hands on his chest and gripping his tunic firmly. She wrapped her knuckles in the leather and tugged. “Have we? Truly?! What have we lost that matters?” she pleaded, “We have our lives—we have each other! Everything else can be replaced.” “Everything?” he scoffed, his tone bitter. “I lost the one I loved most in this world.” Miriam grit her teeth, trying to choke back the tears. Her grip intensified.

Nostrils flaring. She stared up at her son, her face flush and she sobbed, “And I lost MINE.” Her head fell against his chest as she wept. Slowly, Evan’s arms wrapped around his mother and he held her close as she cried. Behind them, Livi slipped down from the stallion. She crept up behind her mother and looked up at Evan, waiting until he noticed her. When he finally looked down, she smiled. Miriam wiped the tears from her eyes upon the dirty rags enveloping her hands. “Moving on has been the hardest thing in my life,” she choked, “but that is exactly what your father would want me to do.” She reached up and touched Evan’s cheek, “As would Jess.” Wendell stood in silence, holding the rope to the horses. Hiram used both his hands to push himself upright. “Can we decide where were going?” he asked, “because I got shot by an arrow, and now my butt hurts.” Evan laughed.

For the first part of the morning, the trails were clear. This made the writing was smooth and fast. But the closer they came to the edge of the blizzard, the less confident Wendell felt. There was nothing natural about it. The snow and wind whipped about wildly, out of control. It wasn’t just wind or ice. It had a wild life of its own. Lightning cracked across the sky and deafening thunder followed in its wake, making the ground shudder. The frost whipped around them in circular patterns, screaming and biting at them until they were forced to dismount and guide the horses by foot. Evan placed his mother and siblings upon the stallion. “We need to use the blankets, mother,” he shouted, “they are more important than your herbs!” “No, you mustn’t!” she objected, but Evan ignored her and pulled the packages from the horse. Wendell knelt down beside the blacksmith and shouted, “I may have a solution.” He reached into his jean pocket and pulled out his money purse. Keeping a firm grip on the bag, he pulled the string and then held out his hand. “Give me the herbs.” Evan looked at him as if he had gone mad. Wendell motioned again and the blacksmith finally handed over the stained cloth, containing his mother’s rare concoction. Wendell took it and bunched it as tight as he could, then pushed it into the purse. “More,” he said, “Give me all of it!” Piece by piece, Evan handed Wendell the vials, pieces of plant and items wrapped in cloth—and one by one, they disappeared into the tiny container. The blacksmith’s eyes narrowed with suspicion. “How did you do that!?”

Wendell was too concerned about Miriam and the children to care much about Evan’s opinion of him at this point. “I don’t know,” he said honestly, but matterof-factly. He stood up and walked back to the mare. Evan took the blankets and wrap them tightly around Livi, who straddled in front of her mother. Hiram held onto his mother around her waist. Miriam was left nestled between them as her oldest led the stallion forward.

Try as he might, Evan’s anger and determination were little match for the fury of the storm. As he waded through the snow, which had grown to mid calf, he kept his arms tightly folded around his chest. The lead rope hung loosely over his shoulder as he guided the stallion forward. Wendell followed close behind in the stallions tracks, tugging on the mares rope. Wendell had no idea how much time had ed since they first entered the storm. Everything around them was white. Even the trees, still full of brilliant color hours ago, were now hidden under sheets of ice. “WE CAN’T KEEP GOING!” shouted Evan, but there was no one to hear him. He looked back at the stallion, which was covered in a heavy layer of frost, carried what looked to be three white cocoons. He stumbled back to the side of the horse and try desperately to brush the snow from his siblings. Wendell trudged up behind him. “WE’RE GOING TO DIE OUT HERE!” the blacksmith yelled, holding his arm up as a shield from the wind. He swayed in place, and finally had to reach out to steady himself against the horse. Wendell kept his head down to keep the ice from his eyes. He felt helpless as he watched the frozen blacksmith sway in exhaustion. Blue skin, purple lips, ready to fall. What can I do? We have no idea where we’re going…and no way to tell where we are. As cold as it was, the wind and the snow had no effect upon Wendell. His mägoweave was protecting him from the elements. Mägoweave. “TAKE OFF YOUR TUNIC!” Wendell yelled into the wind. Evan stood there, struggling to keep his legs locked. Wendell wasn’t sure he had even heard him. He reached out and grabbed the

frozen blacksmiths tunic and pulled him closer, shaking the fist full of leather. “TAKE THIS OFF!” he shouted again. “ARE…YOU…INSANE!?” Evan cried back. He started to turn away. Wendell pulled him back and leaned in close, “My shirt is magic. It’s made to keep you warm—put it on!” Evan’s face wasn’t just blue, it looked painful. Ice hanging from his hair, nose and eyelashes. He shook his head, “Give it to one of them!” “No,” Wendell insisted, “you need to lead us, Evan—I need you alive…or we all die!” There “was glimmer of understanding in his face, but then he frowned. “WHAT ABOUT YOU?” Wendell could only guess. He had no clue how the magic cloth worked, or whether it would work at all. But he did know that Ithari would do all she could to sustain him. It’s worth a try, he convinced himself. “I’ll be fine,” he shouted back, “—just trade me!” The blacksmith didn’t hesitate. Peeling his tunic from his skin, he exchanged the wet, frozen leather for the smiley face T-shirt. He huddled close to the stallion turning his head in towards its fur, shaking violently. Wendell was grateful. He had completely forgotten to hide Ithari from prying eyes. The heavy snowflakes plinked against the surface of the gem as Wendell struggled to pull the tunic over his torso. The sleet slid down his arms and into his armpits. He shivered violently as if doused in ice water from head to toe. Wow, he thought, that’s a lot colder than I thought it would be! The blacksmith however, pulled the black T-Shirt over his chest and almost immediately stood erect. He turned around and looked at Wendell, his face filled with wonder. “I’M WARM!” he shouted. The grin on his face was unmistakable. “WELL, WARMER ANYWAY!” “Well I’m not!” Wendell shrieked back, “So get moving!”

Help Me. Wendell’s legs buckled beneath him. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! It was the child’s voice. The voice all around him. The voice from his dream. “DID YOU HEAR THAT?” he yelled at Evan. The blacksmith squinted, then turned his ear into the wind. After a few seconds, he shouted, “HEAR WHAT?” Wendell felt his heartbeat up in his throat. A pulse spreading over his shoulders and down his spine. He looked around him, blinking away the ice on his lashes. Where are you? he thought to himself, focusing inward. Help Me. I will, he thought, I’ll help you. Tell me where you are. Show me how to get to you! He looked up into the sky and shouted, “SHOW ME!” “SHOW YOU WHAT?” Evan shouted back. Keeping hold of the mares lead rope, Wendell pushed past the blacksmith and plunged into the storm. “WHERE ARE YOU GOING?” Evan cried after him, but Wendell didn’t stop. After a moment he pulled the stallion forward, afraid of losing sight of the mare. Wendell kept his head high, pulling the horse along and listening to his heart more than his ears. The wind wailed and howled relentlessly, but after a time Wendell could no longer hear its how or feel it bite. All he noticed was the soft, soothing sound of a child’s weeping. He led the horses along a benchmark of trees and down into what looked to be a glowing ravine. I’m coming! Hold on! Wendell could see a bright, pulsing light —yellow and orange, dancing together. As he got closer the snow dissipated, though the wind remained.

The whole sky was on fire. And then he heard it. Through the wind and through the gentle feelings in his mind and heart. Drums. Evan push through the snow, up beside Wendell, staring into the flames. His expression fell as he looked about, then glanced back the way they had traveled. “Wendell,” he said soberly. “Yeah?” The heat felt so good on his cold face and chest, he failed to notice the archways, doorways, the scattered wagons…all burning. “This is Woodside,” he said aloud. Evan pointed at a stone arch. “That is,” he started, but caught himself, “was…the main gate to town.” Wendell looked at him curiously, “Woodside is close to Til-Thorin?” Again the drums sounded. Evan pulled the stallion closer to the flames and quickly brushed the snow from his family. “It means were minutes from the Keep…but by the look of Woodside…” Wendell gulped, “Closer than we want to be.” The drums reverberated through the sleet, like a taunting pulse from a deep well. It made Wendell’s hands tremble. He found himself looking down at the T-shirt, now worn by Evan. It was strange, looking at the smiley face, with no animation. No life to the eyes or mouth, no hearts bubbling up around the head. It just sat there, lifeless, draped over the blacksmith’s chest. Wendell felt naked. Miriam and Livi shuttered as the blanket was pulled from them. Evan helped them both slide from the stallion. To get closer to the flames.

“Get yourself warm—we need to leave as quickly as possible.” He shook up the blanket and handed it to his mother, “Hold this to the fire, I’ll get Hiram.” His brothers face was so blue, Evan feared the worst. Reaching up, he wrapped his arms around the tiny frame and pulled Hiram from the horse. “Help him, Wendell,” Miriam pleaded, “please.” Her tone was stressed, desperate. “But…,” Wendell started—Evan cut him off. “My mother said you had some kind of healing effect on Hiram,” he blurted out, kicking as much of the snow out of his path and revealing the grass and dirt below. “I don’t care what you do, or how you do it—just help my brother.” For the first time since they had met, there was no hint of anger, no tone of accusation in the blacksmith’s expression. He looked afraid. Draping his arm around his little brother, Evan rubbed Hiram’s shoulders vigorously. “Please,” he added softly. Dropping the horses lead rope, Wendell knelt down next to Hiram. He wasn’t sure what to do, but Miriam looked hopeful. So he put an arm around the boy, propping him up to face the warmth of the fire. “You with me, Hiram?” Slowly, the boy rolled his head up, his purple lips spreading wide. Wendell grinned back, “I’ll take that as a yes.” The call of the drums was soon met by another, and another. Livi tugged on her mother’s tunic, pointing skyward. “Boys?” Miriam whispered tensly, “I think the storm is stopping.” Wendell breathed a sigh of relief, “Finally! Maybe we’ll be able to figure out where we are.” Evan looked nervously at Wendell as the drums abruptly ceased.

Oh crap. Wendell scooped up Hiram as fast as he could. He dashed toward the mare. The horse screamed. Its neck yanked back, legs twitching as it fell, collapsing dead at his feet. A greasy black arrow pierced its rib cage. The stallion reared and whined loudly, almost drowning out the chinking sound of metal bouncing across the fresh powder. It drew their attention to the trees. Two giants carried longbows, one re-notching an arrow. The third dragged his sword through the snow, leaving a narrow trail behind him. The Vallen fanned out, bowman on either side. Black eyes watched warily as the swordsman drew closer to the dead horse. “Looks like we’s got meat for camp,” it grinned. But the expression didn’t last long. Its eyes narrowed to slits, off-colored lips pulling back into a sneer as it studied the females. “But we’s got tastier delights to keeps a secret,” it breathed hungrily. Saliva dripped over its teeth and into the snow. Lifting the longsword firmly in one hand, it walked towards Miriam. With a loud neigh, King reared up, clawing at the swordsman. This gave Evan an opportunity to sprint to his war hammer as it slid off the stallion’s back. The Vallen flinched and stumbled back as black hooves slashed at his face and chest. With a mighty swing, the sword arched high and fell. Blood sprayed across the powder, the gaping neck wound melting red patches at their feet. King collapsed and twitched, unable to make a sound. The bowmen laughed—which sounded more like the gurgles of drowning men. Evan leapt over the stallion’s body, hammer clutched tightly in both hands. The sudden burst of movement surprised the sword-wielding giant, but not enough. Before the blacksmith could swing, a heavy hand jammed his elbow as the

sword hilt struck him across the jaw. The hammer flew from Evan’s grip, his body following close behind. The blacksmith slid to a halt in the ice…just feet from a burning building. One of the archers sniffed the air, eyes fixed squarely on Wendell. What do I do? What do I do? Hiram was nearly limp in his arms, though the boys color had already started to return. He knew he had to do something. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP. His heart raced, his mind a close second. The closest weapon was Evan’s hammer, but it was too far away. Both horses dead. Evan’s not moving. Hiram wounded. He had no clue what he should do. HELP ME! he pleaded silently. Ithari, I don’t know what to do!? Wendell suddenly felt like a lost, eighteen year old nerd…in way over his head. His heartbeat resounded in his ears. It drowned out the crackling of the fire. It drowned out the laughter of the sickening green and puss-yellow skinned Vallen. It even muffled Miriam’s screams as the swordsman lifted Livi up by her hair. Miriam clawed at the soldiers arms, but a back-handed slap knocked her to the ground. Wendell slowly lowered Hiram to the ground. I have to do something! “You!” snapped a bowman, striding forward. “What you’s got there, eh?” he gurgled, then grabbed Hiram by the neck. The boy gasped, legs dangling and kicking as he was lifted to be inspected. “Leave him—,” Wendell started to protest, but he was immediately kicked in the ribs. The heavy boot hit him like a tank. He flew back across the snow, sliding out of control until he collided with a small rock wall, head first. The bowman turned Hiram around and sniffed at the bandages. “This one’s spoiled, he is,” it grumbled, dropping the boy into the snow. “Then we eats it last,” barked the swordsman, sniffing Livi closely. The little girl

had her mouth open as if to scream, but nothing came out. She kicked and clawed at the Vallen’s face, without effect. The giant licked his lips and made mocking snaps at the child’s feet as she squirmed. “We’s got plenty of meats to have before we reports back!” It cast a longing glance at Miriam and shuttered, clicking his teeth together. “Plenty.” The bowman howled and dropped his weapon. “Let…her…go,” Hiram panted, pushing the giant’s dagger deeper into the Vallen’s side. Sweat rolled from his brow in exertion, teeth bared in anger. Wendell shook the stars from his vision. Ungh. He coughed, sucking in air as he tried desperately to push himself up to his knees. The bowman turned and encomed the boys neck and collarbones with yellow-green fingers and squeezed. Hiram squirmed, his tiny hands clawing at the giant’s fingers. With a tug, the creature pulled his own rusted knife free from his side. Black ooze dripped into the snow. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Get up Wendell, he commanded himself. His eyes fixed on Hiram, hanging there, defenseless. No, not another. Please, oh please, don’t let a kid die! His heart pounded faster, wanting to jump from his chest. Move! Move! “Move!” he yelled aloud, throwing his body forward into a full sprint. “Maybe we eats you first!” hissed the bowman. …and thrust the moist blade into Hiram’s stomach. A high-pitched shriek pierced the air. It was a long, single-note cry, ripping at ears and spine. Livi. Her gaze was fixed on Hiram as his body collapsed to the ground, the long knife wedged in his bowels. Wendell dove over Hiram and tackled the bowman across the knees. The giants

legs locked, the momentum carrying them both back into the bloody snow surrounding the stallion. They rolled once, Wendell getting off a single, yet ineffective punch before the Vallen straddled him. “RRAAARGHHH!!” boomed Evan, lunging at the swordsman from behind. With his reclaimed hammer, the blacksmith drove the thick spike of the weapon through the Vallen’s boot. The giant roared and and reeled in pain, casting Livi aside. She landed hard on her backside, but only ceased her shrieking to take another breath. The blacksmith followed the giants momentum as it fell backwards. He planted a second mighty blow of the spike into the forearm of its sword hand. Metal sunk through flesh and exploded bone. “YARGH!” it gurgled. The longsword clattered to the ground. Evan pressed his advantage. The hammer fell unmercifully upon the giants head, chest and defending arm. Tears mingled with sweat and rage as the blacksmith pierced his enemy with a dozen wounds. Wendell, however, gasped for breath—fingers gripping his throat, clamping down like a vice. “I…kill you,” the bowman growled, forcing Wendell’s head to the side, exposing his neck. It leaned forward, mouth open wide. “AHHHHH!” Wendell screamed, trying desperately to wiggle free or hit the approaching teeth with his fists. The war hammer vibrated like a tuning fork as it rebounded off the bowman’s skull. Wendell gasped and sucked in air as the large hands fell away from his neck. The giant’s body twitched, then collapsed to the ground next to him. Miriam lunged after Livi, but the child sprinted, ignoring the blood and gore, and collapsed at Hiram’s side. Her screams faded to frantic sobs. Her shoulders shaking as she sucked air in chunks, only to shudder and sob again. Tiny fingers tried desperately to push down on the blood, pumping up around the edge of the blade protruding from his stomach. The warm red liquid soaked her hands.

Pushed up, between her fingers. “Hiram!” Evan cried, running to his brother. The falling snow swirled in the air and the blacksmith fell to the ground, just feet from Wendell. “AHHRRRR!” he wailed, gripping his leg, an arrow protruding from his thigh. The thick black shaft stuck out either side of his tros, the barbed tip covered in a crimson red. They had forgotten the second bowman. During the confusion, the Vallen soldier had failed to find a clear shot without wounding his own. Now that his comrades were dead, there was no such hesitation. The bowman fell back to the tree line and quickly nocked another arrow. “More meat…,” it raised the bow, “for…,” it took aim at the blacksmith’s chest, “m—” A brief, short whistle streaked over Wendell’s head. Dead fingers released the shot harmlessly into the air. The bowman’s body arched backwards and fell into the snow, an arrow through his face. Four silhouettes pushed through the smoke of Woodside. Sparks and ash tumbled over the ice as three men and a girl shuffled into the open. The tallest was wrapped in grey furs, carrying an immense longbow. He was bald, ears pierced with more than a dozen rings and a wide red stripe across his eyes and cheekbones. Wendell couldn’t tell if it was a tattoo or some kind of paint, but it made the man’s blue eyes glow. A girl stood close to the archer, only reaching his mid thigh in height. Her braided black hair was so long, it looped several times around her neck, like a scarf. She wore dark brown tros and tunic, with knives strapped to her forearms and tucked into her boots. She looked down comionately at Hiram and immediately moved to his side. “Let me help,” she whispered to Miriam. Pulling on a strap around her torso, it revealed a pouch. Kneeling beside Livi, small hands lifted even smaller hands from the wound. The stranger pulled a ball of cloth from the pouch and put it between her teeth. With a flick of her wrist and a grunt from Hiram, the Vallen’s

knife slid from the wound. The largest of the men pushed through the snow towards Wendell and Evan. His chest was nearly bare, revealing a round, hairy belly, though he wore fur skin tros, boots and vambraces. His thick, brown cloak dragged through the snow and blood behind him. When he reached the blacksmith, he set down an enormous two-handed hammer beside him. A round, jovial face, covered in a full red-speckled beard, studied Evans leg and promptly frowned. “That looks like it hurts.” Without waiting for a reply, the big man grabbed the arrow tip between his fingers, snapped it off and yanked the shaft through the wound. It all happened so fast, Evan didn’t have time to cry out. His face went pale, eyes rolled back into his head. He fell over into the snow, unconscious. The big man gave Wendell a concerned look, “A lot.” “W-who are you?” Wendell stammered. “One moment,” he replied and lifted up the chain mail shirt of the Vallen at Wendell feet. Yanking free a large section of the smelly tunic, he flipped it over and over, between his fingers, folding it into a thick strip roughly two inches wide. “Vasta,” he said to Wendell, then wrapped the cloth around Evan’s wound. “Heal him,” whimpered Miriam. It was a moment before Wendell realized she was staring directly at him. She softly rocked back and forth, Hiram’s head in her lap, ignoring everyone else. “Heal him,” she repeated. Wendell looked around at the strangers, then back at the woman who had cared for his own wounds. “I…” but he didn’t know what to say. “We need to move,” said the last stranger, a short, stout man, with a giant tridenttype spear. He scanned the forest. “Now.”

“Heal him!” Miriam pleaded once more, her voice straining with urgency. “You have the power to save my child!” “I…don’t,” Wendell replied weakly. “You are the Gnolaum!” she cried aloud. Her face contorted in pain and anguish, fingers raking at Hiram’s tunic. “You are the greatest of all mägo!” The strangers looked between one another. Vasta turned Evan onto his back and cast a wary glance at his female companion. “Kiljua—what’s she talking about?” The girl placed a free hand on Hiram’s forearm, but it was immediately slapped away. “You have not the skill to save my son—do not pretend!” Miriam cried. She nodded in Wendell’s direction, “Only he has the skill!” Like a jungle cat, she slid out from behind her son and lunged across the snow and gore. Wendell was completely caught off guard and knocked onto his back. There was fire reflected in her eyes. “HEAL HIM!” she screamed…and tore open the leather tunic at his chest. The Ithari sparkled brightly. Wendell had forgotten to hide the Ithari when he changed with the blacksmith. Miriam rose to her feet, straddling his chest. She looked at the gem longingly. Painfully. Then crying, “Heal him,” she pleaded. With all my heart, I wish I could. Wendell looked into eyes withering between desperation and hope. Her brows quivered, pulling at the lines in her face. “Please,” she begged,…then just above a whisper, “he’s just a child.” It was the moment he’d dreaded. The moment Wendell had feared. He was not the real hero and there was nothing he could do to avoid the truth of that fact. “I…can’t,” he choked out. “He’s gone,” sighed Kiljua, her hand on Hiram’s neck. She stood upright and

backed away from the body. “I’m sorry.” Miriam stepped away from Wendell and walked silently to her daughter. She dropped to her knees, enveloping Livi in her arms. She held her close and tucked her own head into Livi’s neck. …and wept. Wendell sat upright, just as Evan gained consciousness. “What…hap…” he started to say, but his attention was drawn by the sobbing. He lazily looked over at his mother and sister huddled together. He gripped a fist full of blackened snow, as his gaze fell upon his little brother. “No,” he breathed. His lips quivered as he whispered, “Please…no.” Tears rolled silently down his blood stained cheeks. He looked to Wendell, eyes dropping to the gem nestled in the middle of the young hero’s flesh. Wendell pulled the torn leather awkwardly across his chest to cover Ithari. “Let’s go,” said the spear man firmly. “Get them up. Bear, help the boy.” The snow crunched beneath his fur boots as he walked towards the tree line, using the trident as a walking staff. “Got him,” replied Vasta. Grabbing his stone hammer he rose to his feet and held out a hand to Evan. “Will you take my son’s body?” murmured Miriam. She still cradled Livi against her chest. Tears streamed down her face as she stared into the flames of the village. “I’m sorry,” replied Kiljua, “it would put us all at risk.” Miriam nodded. She quickly wiped the water from her face with the dirty bandages around her hands and helped Livi to her feet. Holding her daughter tightly against her, she said, “Then cast his body into the flames.” “Mother!” cried Evan. Her face was cold. Unfeeling. “That is not my son. That is a shell. But I will not

have these,” and she cast a brief glance at the giant bodies lying prone, “things, consume his flesh!” Kiljua looked to the man with the trident. “Keiha?” His broad shoulders slumped at the sight of Miriam. A mothers last wish was no small matter. He nodded. The archer stabbed his bow into a clean patch of ice. Kneeling besides Hiram’s body, he tenderly slid his hands under the boys shoulders and legs. Leaning forward, he touched his lips to the cold forehead, “Sleep in peace, Child of the Highlands.” He stood and faced Miriam, head bowed. “Who is it that gave life to this boy?” Pain wracked her face, but she choked out, “I am.” “Then as you gave him life, so you have power to seal him up,” he answered, then lowered the body, so Miriam could reach Hiram’s head and face. Kissing the tips of her first two fingers on her right hand, she stroked her son’s eyelids and then wiped a sign across his brow. “May thy spirit rest in peace as thy body returns to dust. I seal you up until judgement, when all shall be made whole and justice shall find its foes.” She stepped back, fighting the urge to cry out. The archer walked to the edge of the flames and tossed Hiram’s body into the closest building still ablaze. He immediately turned and with two strides, snatched up his bow. He urged both Miriam and Livi to follow. “Little mother,” he bowed graciously. Evan leaned heavily on Vasta’s arm, eyes firmly fixed on the location where the archer had tossed Hiram’s body. He choked back the sobs that threatened to rip from his chest. “Forgive me, little one,” he huge man whispered, “but we must travel fast.” Before the blacksmith could reply, the burly man scooped him up over a shoulder and sprinted after Keiha. Only Wendell and the young girl, Kiljua, remained.

Try as he might, he could not completely cover the Ithari with the meager shreds of his tunic hanging from his chest. She stared at him openly. No blinking. No shame. It was not a harsh expression. There was no malice, fear or judgement in her face. She simply…stared. “Yes,” she said finally, readjusting the small pack hanging from her shoulder. She tucked it back under her cloak. Wendell looked at her, puzzled. “Yes,…what?” “We will keep your secret.” There was no emotion or tell-tale signs to read. But strangely, Wendell didn’t feel uncomfortable in front of her. He wasn’t scared at all. Bending down, he snatched up Evan’s war hammer, left beside the body of the swordsman. “Silmä inakmään,” he whispered…and Ithari faded from view.

It took a few minutes of sprinting before Wendell and Kiljua caught up with the party. They moved at a quick pace, pushing through the snow, which was almost knee high. Livi was clinging to the archer’s neck, standing in the strap of his quiver as he ran. Miriam was hard-pressed to keep up, staggering fourth in line, to take advantage of a somewhat leveled path. Evan, on the other hand, was biting his cheek in pain as the behemoth who carried him bounced along, jarring the blacksmith down to his teeth. Through the trees they sprinted, weaving in and out of the frosted pines and oaks, up over ridges, until they came to Til-Thorin’s fields. Once a thriving countryside for farmers, the fields were now the camping grounds of the enemy. Wendell gasped at the organized fires blazing in the night air—a sea of tents erected at the foot of his destination. Til-Thorin Keep, a mighty castle, wedged between two jagged mountains. Small fires lit the tops of the curtain walls. “That’s Til-Thorin?” Wendell asked. “It is,” replied Kiljua behind him. There was no way they’d be able to get past the invading army. No way to get into the castle alive. The road was overrun with what looked like thousands of soldiers. Wendell’s heart sank. I’m too late, he thought…and he wondered if Chuck was behind those huge walls of stone. They trudged on, pushing their way through the trees. They stopped just outside of a small, dense grove of trees set against the side of the mountain. Miriam collapsed onto her knees, gasping hungrily for air. Evan was set down onto a nearby tree trunk. Vasta, who seemed to be breathing without difficulty, leaned his hammer up against the fallen wood, and knelt down to adjust the blacksmith’s bandage.

“Where are we going?” Wendell asked between breaths, “There’s no way we can make it into the Keep…” “Is that so?” came a voice from the darkness of the grove. Wendell startled, as did Evan and Miriam—but their new companions remained focused on their duties. A patch of snow fell onto Wendell’s head. He shuddered as a portion slid down the back of his tunic. Another rustle above…and a figure slid down the trunk of a nearby tree. He wore lighter cloth and leather than the others, which helped him to blend into the light surroundings. Five more emerged from the grove—figures shifting into focus. They stepped into the moonlight. Four men and a woman. Her hair wound around her neck, identical to Kiljua’s. Help me. Wendell jumped up from the rock, startled. He spun around on his heels, looking around him wildly and stumbled over his own feet. With a grunt, he landed on his backside in the snow. The voice! The child’s voice. It was so clear. So close. Where are you? he thought. His abrupt reactions caught everyone’s attention, including a stifled chuckle from Kiljua. “Is that him?” asked a shorter man, squinting behind one good eye. His other eye was hidden behind a rough-cut patch of leather, shoulders and torso were wrapped in black furs. He scratched his peppered beard with one of the axes he gripped tightly. Keiha nodded, “Yeah, Animal, that’s him.” Animal snorted, “Right on time. How about that.” Wendell frowned at both of them, On time? On time for what?! The woman at Animal’s side walked briskly to Evan. She knelt down next to Vasta, who seemed to be struggling with the bandage. “Need help?”

The big man grunted, his fat fingers fumbling with the blood soaked knot, “I’m a blacksmith, not a nurse, Diyana. I don’t need help—I need someone to take over.” She laughed gently and shoved him aside, “Oh quit your whining.” Looking up to Evan, Diyana gave him a reassuring smile, “Let’s take a look, shall we?” “He can be treated behind the walls,” growled Animal, “let’s get them inside.” “How are we going to do that?” Wendell interjected, “Did you miss the problem? The front gates are crawling with the Vallen army!” Bushy, black eyebrows rolled forward like waves upon Animals forehead. Wendell couldn’t decide if he looked more like a bear or a wolf. “Then I guess it would be smart to use a side door,” he sneered. Lifting Evan once more in his huge arms, Vasta backed away from Diyana. Slipped her fingers behind the log Evan had been sitting upon, she fiddled with something that made an unusual sound. Wendell heard a pop, then metal scraping against stone. A cloud of dust burst from under the rim of the tree trunk. Diyana lifted the top slat of wood and held it open. She held a finger to her lips and listened. Taking a small rock, she dropped it down the hole and listened again. After several minutes, she glanced back at the group and patted the trunk. “Everyone in, single file.” Vasta leaned over the opening and lowered Evan down the hole. “It’s not a drop, lad—just watch the incline. I’m right behind you.” The big man grabbed his hammer and climbed in, followed by the three men next to Animal. Two muscular men with hands and arms wrapped in cloth and a third—an older man with a long ponytail and a cane. They hopped down without hesitation.

Nyoli hefted Livi onto his shoulder. “Come with me, little one.” He smiled at her and winked, tapping his long finger under her chin. “We’ll find you blankets and food, eh?” Still sniffing and breathing erratically, she wrapped her arms around his neck and hid her face from the cold wind. Wendell stepped forward to climb down, but Animal put a hand to his chest. “You stay with me,” he said roughly. It wasn’t a request. “Hold it open for Diyana,” he ordered. Wendell obeyed, letting the older woman slip down into the tunnel. Miriam walked slowly towards the trunk, eyes fixed on the opening. There was no life in her movement or expression. Her arms hung limply at her sides, hair moist and matted to her face and neck. I should say something, Wendell worried. There was nothing I could do—that I knew how to do. His stomach turned as she slowly lifted a leg into the tunnel. She has to understand that I didn’t know how to… “Miriam,” he whispered, gripping the lid so tight, his knuckles went white. She stopped her motion. He swayed lightly, like a marionette, hanging from strings. Her sunken eyes looked up at him. “I’m sorry I couldn’t help Hiram,” he began to say, but the words got caught in his throat and he choked on them. “I just…I didn’t…” He reached out and gently put a hand on her forearm. Without blinking, she spit in his face.

Chapter 48 Shadows

Never underestimate your enemy. …or their henchmen. There’s always one, with their own evil agenda, that you’ll have to deal with.

His eyes remained hungrily fixed on Til-Thorin, tongue rolling over his teeth like a hungry wolf. Thule could smell the fear. It floated down from the walls and across the fields. Even nature trembled through the very trees surrounding them. But there was something else. Thule sniffed the air once more. There was magic here. Deep magic. Eyelids narrowed to slits. It was an ancient practice of the human mägo, used when building structures. Each stone blessed. Lambs blood in the mortar. It made them feel safe. His lips curled back into a sardonic grin. Fools. Thule cursed himself for not utterly destroying the outer defense of Andilain the last time he had invaded. His previous haste allowed the enemy to defeat him… and then rebuild. The rumble rose from his chest. This disgusting, weak, yet industrious breed deserved to be destroyed! It mattered not, he realized. A Tauku mägo was dangerous enough, even against enchanted stone—but he had employed a coven. Thule’s mouth watered at the thought of the carnage to follow. Much blood would be spilt before they

discovered the prize. Behind him, the peasant village blazed. Sparks rose into the air like the rage offerings to his Master. Deserted and useless, the resources had been removed. They knew the horde was coming… But would not expect the truth. The dead would provide sustenance of his soldiers. It was the power of his army. Let them smell the blood of the dying and they will fight like men to taste flesh. The clash and clang of metal resounded form the blacksmith wagons. Swords, axes, pole-arms and hammers were laid out for inspection, while servants ran about, fulfilling the orders of their masters. The entire camp pulsed outward from the center of its power—the great caldron. The wagon beneath the vat of metal had been burned, collapsing the object into place. Coated with the red liquid of its victims, the crying sculptures at each corner looked as if they wept blood. Thule pulled the leather strap, securing the vambrace to his wrist and clenched his fist twice. A perfect fit. His ears twitched at the approach of the slithering form. “My lord,” it hissed. Small eyes on long stalks peered out from under the black hood. Thule had learned to use extra caution with Sydänmuus. He rued the fact that such a disgusting creature was paramount to their success. Unlike his brothers, this Tauku had pursued magic more sinister and powerful than even Thule could understand. The black on black symbols, weaved into the fabric of his robe, displayed absolute command over the coven. Flesh, white as the snow he walked across, glowed like a specter from under the hood. The mägo owed fealty to Mahan, but Sydänmuus was not addicted to the taste of pain or fear. He was addicted to the sight—something Thule knew nothing about. Sydänmuus could not be manipulated or controlled like the coven.

Thus, he could not be trusted. “Sydänmuus,” Thule replied coldly, keeping his gaze upon the Keep. Five eyes rotated upward to observe. “All iss prepared and ready for your command.” “And it is here?” Thule rolled his tongue over his teeth once more. The thought of possessing a fragment of the Demoni Vankil at last was…tantalizing. When he finally looked down upon the hunched mägo, the hood was also focused upon the Keep—only the eyes on the swaying stalks gazed back. “I want it confirmed.” The heavy robe bowed at the shoulders, “Ass you wissh.” Clawed hands deftly opened a small pouch at its hip and produced a tiny red stone. It looked like foggy glass, catching glimpses of the moonlight. Slowly collapsing like folding rope, Sydänmuus sat upon the ground. As he did so, the snow rolled away from him. It moved as if fearful of the mägo’s touch, retreating until dry ground remained. With a thick, pointed nail, he scratched symbols into the soil. Intricate glyph’s of power, encoming each with a circle. When it was complete, each symbol sat within one of six interlocking rings. Thule watched closely. Sydänmuus whispered dark words and the symbols came to life. Red flame, seeping up from the soil. The flame pulsed and flickered—not from the wind above, but from the breath beneath the crust of the world. Holding the stone above the flame, the mägo released it. The soil trembled and the forest moaned as it touched the ground. Sydänmuus’s thin lips rolled up over his near transparent gums, exposing yellow teeth. “Ssshe fightsss to keep it a ssecret.” The mägo threw its head back in open laughter. The shrill sound scraped at Thule’s nerves.

Sydänmuus rose to his feet effortlessly, like a marionette. “But ssshe cannot deny MY power!” he swore and threw his ghost-like arms to the sky. The flames seeping from the soil were pulled upward, rising to the height of the mägo’s fingers. Red flames faded to blue as the ground around the symbols split apart—cracks running through the soil in every direction. Snow tumbled down into the crevices. The flames grew, flaring upward from the symbols scratched into the soil. Thule stumbled backwards as the ground under him gave way. “Tell me,” the Tauku commanded, then cried aloud, “SSSHOW ME!” Without warning, Sydänmuus stepped into the flame. Blue light licked the surface of the mägo’s robe and flesh, but did not consume him. His skin took on the color of the flame. Yellow eyes turned black. The thin, grey tongue flickered, tasting the air. “Yesss,” he quivered. Fingers reached out for something that wasn’t there. “It isss here, but it isss deep! Deep below I sssee!!” Thule grinned, “Then Til-Thorin shall be ground to dust to claim the…” Sydänmuus threw his hood back and shrieked, arms clenched tight to his chest. “NO!” the mägo screamed, “WE MUSSST NOT BE DENIED!” The fire died out and the he collapsed to the ground, trembling violently. “What did you see Sydänmuus?” Thule demanded, though he stood his ground. He knew the cost of magic and was unwilling to touch the mägo after such an unholy rite. The Tauku sat atop the smeared symbols like a discarded corpse. Fingers dug deep into the dry, spent soil, gripping and releasing. But it was the eyes that Thule watched. The eyes that saw what he could only imagine. The eyes were focused, not on him, but on the forest behind him. Pushing from under the black hood…quivering and focused.

“The enemy hasss come,” muttered Sydänmuus, barely above a whisper. With great strain, he pushed his deformed body up from the ground, swaying. “Then he shall fall,” growled Thule. “Til-Thorin shall fall. The seal will be ours at all costs!” Sydänmuus stared up with eyes still black as midnight. “Not he,” the mägo warned, “They.” Thule glared at his most powerful pawn. This was not expected. There was no contingency plan to deal with anyone other than the prophesied one. This was unexpected…and unacceptable. He reached down and gripped the black robe in a powerful fist. Thule could feel the runes on his skin working to protect him from the residue of magic seeping from Sydänmuus. “Can they undo my plans?” he snapped. The grey tongue flicked out and lingered in the wind. It vanished moments later with the sound of forced air down the mägo’s throat. “Yess.” Thule gripped the robe until his knuckles lightened under the strain, his face stoic. Masterful eyes studied Sydänmuus, but the lines of the mägo’s face were impossible to read. He knew what had to happen. “Then be in the shadow,” he decided, “and find me a weakness.” Sydänmuus grinned so wide, the corners of his mouth disappeared under the shadows of his hood. He turned to leave. Thule’s iron grip stopped him, though he did not bother turning the mägo around. Instead, he leaned towards the back of the Tauku’s hood. “Betray me Sydänmuus,” he breathed, “and your coven will have a feast of pain and fear unequalled.” His grip intensified on the Tauku’s shoulder, causing the mägo’s legs to waver, “And I will not allow you to die, until they have had their fill.” The Tauku yanked his arm free and hobbled away quickly.

Thule watched the robe vanish from sight and scowled.

Moments later, the shadows opened and Sydänmuus stepped through. The trees were dense, the ground uneven with roots poking up from under the soil. He fell back against one of the trunks, chest heaving. It took too much life force from him to manipulate the shadows—to bend them to his will. His face shriveled and cracked, his tongue rolling heavy in a pasty mouth. The beat of his heart pounded through his veins and his eye-stalks fell about his neck. The pain was excruciating. Sydänmuus tore at the bark of a tree, ripping with his claws until he uncovered the tender vascular cambium. Placing his ghostly palm upon the plant, he whispered the ancient spell that allowed him to siphon from nature itself. The trunk cracked as the collected nourishment transferred through his hand, up his arm and into his chest. His pulse slowed. The eye-stalks raised themselves up and the skin of Sydänmuus’s face smoothed out without blemish. He continued to whisper. Sydänmuus knew he would have to move unseen and unhindered to accomplish his task. He would require extra strength to work such magic that would grant him his hearts desires. To lay hold upon a Lanthya shard for himself. Thin lips curled back in a grin of utter satisfaction. He was free of Thule’s accusing gaze and out from under the whips of the taskmasters. Even the coven was weak. Fools who didn’t see the shifting balance of power right before their faces. His grin turned to a snarl. Sydänmuus was disgusted with his brothers. Addicted to the petty cries of

others, instead of drinking in the depths of true, sustainable power. Moaning, the trunk of the tree cracked under the Tauku’s hand—the last moments of life syphoned away. Life that now pulsed through the mägo’s body. Sydänmuus stood erect. Tongue tasting the air, the eye-stalks looked about him simultaneously. He dashed through the forest, pushing off trunks, propelling himself forward, like a mighty animal possessed. It only took moments to find the hidden trail. He knelt down and waved his hand—wiping away the effects of the wood lore used. The prey was skilled, but not skilled enough. Sydänmuus pulled a silver ring from a side pouch and slipped it over his smallest finger. Turning the ring counter clockwise around his finger, his body faded from view. Not invisible, but close enough to use the shadows as cover. He quickly followed the trail. The forest grew up over a ridge and ran along the eastern edge of the mountains. The further Sydänmuus traveled, the thinner the trees became. They must be close, he thought to himself. The scent is thick. He could taste them. And there they were. Gathered against the base of the mountain. Sydänmuus quivered in excitement. For a moment, he fought the urge to bring death upon them all. To bind their limbs or stop their hearts altogether. No, he corrected himself, not yet. They must lead us. His eye-stalks quivered with anticipation. Reveal where the shard is that we might have it! Yes. That is the right answer, he reassured himself. We must be patient. Through the moonlight, Sydänmuus could make out many shapes—though he could not discern them clearly by sight. His long tongue tasted the wind.

There was blood in the air. Vallen blood. These had been in a fight. He tasted again. Human blood. Murderer’s? No…wounded. His tongue lingered in the air once more. Females. A sharp popping noise caught the Tauku by surprise and he cowered behind the protection of a tree. One by one, the figures vanished from sight. Sydänmuus licked his paper thin lips in delight. A tunnel.

Chapter 49 Trapped

The timing of the Universe is always perfect.

Though the voice had stopped, Wendell could still feel an excitement, even giddiness surrounding him. There were moments, as they struggled to navigate the dank, dark tunnel, that he was convinced he heard giggling . Very similar to when he first met King Robert at Tämä-Un. It was unsettling. Wendell had been the second to last down into the tunnel, flinching as the lid clicked shut on the hollowed trunk above, sealing them in darkness. It was unusually warm, considering they were underground. A musty smell overlaid with a strong scent of soil. It made Wendell choke and he coughed. The party moved slowly down the narrow incline which felt like it went on forever. Small fingers reached out from the walls, brushing against and tugging at Wendell’s jeans. His sneakers found stray roots poking up from the floor and was forced to reach out and run his hand along the wall to steady himself. Uh,… uh…AH! He couldn’t see a thing…and it was unnerving him. “That’s far enough,” said Animal from behind him. “Let’s have a little bit of light, Doc.” Wendell heard scuffling of feet in front of him and then the faint sound of glass, clinking together. There was a lull, and then long scraping sounds. The sound grew louder, followed by sparks. The glow revealed a broad and heavily whiskered face with thick grey brows. The sparks burst into flame. Though it was only a little fire on the end of a cloth, it brought great relief to Wendell. The tunnel was only slightly wider than the shoulder width of two men. Walls of both stone and dirt, now covered in green moss, was ed by an archway every 50 feet or so. Wendell looked down around his legs and saw that the fingers in the dark were nothing more than roots that hd grown into the tunnel from the trees above them. Rusted metal sconces in the shape of steer heads held black tipped torches along one wall.

Doc snatched a torch covered in cobwebs and held it over the flame. The pitch slowly took and bathed the tunnel in bright , warm light. A second torch was set ablaze and ed back to Animal. “All right, get moving,” he said, nudging Wendell’s shoulder forward. Good grief! Does this guy ever sound like he doesn’t want to beat someone up? It irritated him, being pushed around and not being told a thing. But Wendell quickly noticed a lack of concern. The tenseness, nervousness, even the fear he had felt over the last few days…was completely absent. It was the first time in days that he felt completely at peace with where he was…and he wondered. Maybe it’s because I’d rather deal with a human problem than giants wanting to eat me? But that didn’t make much sense—he didn’t want to be hurt, period. His hand scratched the seam around the Ithari. Who are these people? He wondered how this “Animal” knew about a secret ageway. Thoughts rolled back to the burning village and how the young girl…what’s her name? Kiljua. That’s right. How she had stared at him while Ithari was exposed. She didn’t seem surprised…or shocked at all to see the gem. Which seemed very odd. She said she knew who I was. How do so many people know who I am, when even I’m not sure of who I am? He tried to catch glimpses of Miriam up ahead. Two of the strangers walked between them, but Wendell could see the gray streaks in her hair poking around the shoulder of the one they called Bear. Wendell ached. She had been so kind to him. Cared for him while he was wounded, shared their food without any expectation of recompense. She had believed in him…and I let her down. The words almost escaped his lips. His shoulders sag forward under their weight. She’s never going to listen to me. She won’t believe me, even if I told her the truth. She’s seen the Ithari. He scuffled along the tunnel, the sound of his sneakers scraping against the rocks. The squeak of a rat shot past their feet, scurrying along the wall and into the darkness behind them. Wendell ran his fingers along his cheek and bottom lip, where Miriam had spit on him. He bit his cheek, frowning. Is this what it’s going to be like? Letting people down at the most critical times of their lives? Livi’s screams still echoed

in his ears. The mute girl, shocked into a voice at seeing her older brother, just a child himself, pierced with a knife. And I couldn’t get there in time. I would have… but he had to stop. Wendell could feel his heartbeat in his throat. Would he have thrown himself between Hiram and the blade? It was easy to think of what he could have done…but the Ithari didn’t shield him from pain. Could I have done it? The whole of his muscles ached. His legs suddenly felt like lead and he wished he could stop. To sit down and rest. Miriam’s words and accusations replayed in his mind, looping over and over until he stumbled over a rock and bumping into the older man with the cane. He looked over her shoulder at Wendell, wide-eyed. “Careful there, young man,” he said softly, “plenty of things to trip over, but not many places to fall.” The wrinkles around the long face smiled. “Sorry,” Wendell apologized quickly, “So sorry.” “Names Cane,” he chuckled, “and you’re alright. Just watch where you step.” Cane was slightly shorter than Wendell, broad shouldered but thin. He looked a lot like a walking pear, his belly sloping gradually and swaying as he walked. A long ponytail of grey-white hair swung down his back and swished across his hips like the pendulum of a grandfather clock. His movements were sure footed and graceful. Miriam looked back at the sound of Wendell’s voice, glaring. He gulped and fell silent. She thought I was a healer. That I could actually heal that gaping wound. His mind raced back to the barn in Evans village. Miriam had mentioned that she came from a village that believed in a Gnolaum. What is a Gnolaum? Is that one of the abilities I should have? Is it my title? Am I supposed to be able to heal? He shook his head, confused. He thought he ed Alhannah saying something about Gnolaum and the gnomes. It was too much to think about. It was unwise to linger on the negative thoughts, but he couldn’t let it go. So far I’ve made a mess of everything! None of this would’ve happened if I had stayed with Chuck and Alhannah and…he bit his lip.

Dax left me. The thought hit Wendell hard in the chest and his stomach sank. His eyes watched the back of Miriam’s head. None of this would’ve happened if Dax hadn’t of left me. He would probably be training how to fight by now, safe in the company of people who knew who he really was. The thought infuriated him. Dax had pushed and prodded since he’d arrived. The Iskari Council had thrown Wendell into the troll’s lap for who knew how long and Dax had resented it from the beginning. He grit his teeth, jaw clenched so tight his ears hurt. If only he could convince Miriam that the events of today were not his fault. Wendell couldn’t wait to give Dax a piece of his mind. The line stopped. “What’s the holdup?” said Animal. “Left or right?” Keiha called, “I forget.” Animal shook his head, “You’d think a dwarf like Axon would have included a sign or two in these tunnels.” He grunted to himself, “Right turn.” “Who ARE you people?” Wendell finally blurted out. He tried to maintain his pace and not bump into those in front of him, but he was fed up. He’d done too much, been through too much to be pushed around. Well, unless they were going to hurt him—but he was going to push the envelop as best he could. He kept looking over his shoulder at the seemingly irritated leader. Animal kept the torch high. His thin gray streaks caught the torchlight beneath his long black hair. The corners of his bushy mustache curled up, “If you haven’t noticed, we’re the ones saving your backside.” He pushed Wendell forward. Wendell felt mad enough to dish out a nasty come back, but couldn’t think of a single thing to say. “No,” he snapped back, “you’re people who showed up after we dealt with most

of our problems and shoved us down a hole in the ground!” Bear laughed from the front of the line, “Oh, I like him! HAR! HAR!” The other men in line also snickered or chuckled in . Wendell kept trudging forward, keeping his face forward. He didn’t want to know if Animal was snarling at him. He wasn’t. “We’re people fulfilling a promise,” Animal finally said, in a half-civilized tone. Wendell waited for more, but it never came. Animal kept prodding him forward if he slowed down…but that was apparently the end of their conversation. Now that he had finally arrived at Til-Thorin, Wendell wasn’t sure what to do. His hand slid into his back pocket and felt one of the corners of the letter. He made a mental note to read it over as soon as he got a chance.

The grounds of Til-Thorin were a flurry of movement. Those in authority shouted orders at every turn, soldiers stood to the ready, servants and volunteers flocked about stocking arrows, stoking fires…and preparing bandages. Overhead the storm had shifted. The snow had ceased falling. The inhabitants of the Keep could clearly behold their impending doom in the fields below. Black clouds now rolled outward, encoming the Highlands with its sleet. It was as if nature had walled in the opponents of the battle, isolating them from the outside world. Chuck had taken his place once more upon the center wall, over the main gate. The wizard stood there, leaning heavily upon his staff while he shook the collected frost from his wide brim hat. Both Dax and Alhannah stood by him, keeping the old man company. They rocked back and forth on wooden crates, so they could see between the merlons. Elder’s Gaidred and Altorin stood upon the upper East and West walls of the fortress, nearly invisible in their black robes. Even the Rook stood vigilant, mixed among the Kings archers. They stared out over the fields with keen eyes, scanning the forest edge for any glimmer of movement. King Robert and Lady Tamorah stood in the courtyard, consulting with Lord Joram. “But sire,” pleaded Joram, “it is a great risk for you to leave the protection of these walls.” The King smiled at the new Steward warmly, “Yes, but no one knows our enemy as well as I.” He adjusted the shoulder strap that secured his great sword, “A scout will not know what to look for. I do.” Tugging on both his gloves, “Tamorah, I believe you and I can handle this on our own. Better to leave the Rook to assist the men in defending the Keep.”

She nodded. “Agreed. We will be back before they know it anyway.” Joram’s face was long and pale, “And if something should happen to you, sire?” King Robert grinned wide, the gap in his teeth showing underneath his mustache, “Then you’ll have to enjoy this party all by yourself!” Joram didn’t laugh with the King. He stood there in confusion as the two cloaks vanish around the eastern tower. The King and Lady Tamorah sprinted across the courtyard towards the stables. Even at his considerable age, the Evolu maiden had a difficult time keeping pace with the human her people called Man of War. It was one of the things that amazed her. Excited her. A man of honor. Duty and dedication unequaled among his people. The stables were set deep into the rock of the mountain, constructed with logs and thick planks of wood, carefully fitted in tongue and groove fashion. Tamorah froze, wrinkling her nose as the King grabbed a torch and yanked open the door to the third stall. The scent of dung assaulted her senses, but he looked unaffected. Swinging the door wide, King Robert walked through the dung, to the back wall, and ran his glove across the seams. The maiden looked over her shoulder, then back at the King. “Uh, Robert?” she asked, confused, “What are we doing in the stables?” Scraping his boot along the floor, he cleared a small area and stabbed the torch into the stall wall sconce. With both hands pressed firmly against two slats of wood, the King stepped down on an odd-looking stone with his heel. Her answer came in the form of a loud clicking sound. A section of the back wall popped forward, revealing a hidden door. “Oh,” she replied. King Robert ran his palms along the workmanship that concealed the tunnel for over a century. “Built during the Kinslayer Wars, so my family could escape those hunting them.” He slid his fingers into the slit and grunted as he tugged. The door creaked in complaint. “Only had use for it once…” he started to

explain. He stopped abruptly. Tamorah stepped closer trying to peer over the Kings shoulder. “Is there something wrong?” King Robert slowly raised his hands into the air and turned around. A long knife resting against the side of his throat. “I taught you better than that, pup,” whispered a deep voice. “I’m thoroughly disgusted.” Lunging to the side, Tamorah drew her sword in one fluid motion, swinging at the arm emerging from the darkness. A dagger flipped from the shadows, striking the pummel of Tamorah’s blade. The force of the projectile knocked the Evolu off center, her downward blow missing altogether. The sword point clunked against the stone floor. Slipping into the torch light, a young lady waved her dainty finger at the elf. “Try that again and the next one kisses your forehead.” Animal lowered the knife and slugged the King squarely between the shoulder blades. Tamorah’s hand went to the dagger in her belt. “Ah-ah-ah,” warned the girl. “What if I’d been someone else,” Animal snapped, shoving the tunnel door open and pushing his way into the stall. “I could hear you clear down the hole, I could —yapping away with this…” he looked Tamorah up and down with amusement, “female.” Kiljua glared at him, “Watch it.” Animal rolled his eyes and punched the King again, in the shoulder, “The point is, pup—use your senses. Never assume!”

King Robert frowned soberly and nodded like a little child being scolded. “How DARE you!” barked Tamorah, stepping forward and ignoring Kiljua altogether. “Have some respect for your King!” The laughter resounded in both the stall and tunnel. Animal was the loudest of all. He stared back at the maiden, but her expression of shock only added fuel to the fire. “Our King?” he squeaked, wiping a tear from his eye, “Oh, you’re a funny one, child.” Tamorah’s eyes reflected the flames of the torch, “I am older than I look.” Animal’s brows rolled forward, casting deep shadows over his eyes. His thick mustache curled up at the corners, creating a rather sinister expression. “As am I, child, so…respect your elders. This boy is no king of ours. We’re freemen, now and forever.” One by one, the party pushed their way from the tunnel. Bear helped Evan through the opening, the blacksmith’s face extremely pale. Diyana had her arm around Miriam’s shoulder and Nyoli emerged, standing upright, holding a weeping Livi. “Freemen, hah. Renegades are more like…” Tamorah’s face softened at the sight of the little girl. Wendell emerged from the tunnel. He shivered and clutched his dirty, blood stained tunic. “Wendell?” gasped Tamorah. Animal rested a hand on the Kings shoulder. “Now that we got the pleasantries over with, I have some news you’re gonna want before this shindig heats up.”

Chuck was sipping his mug of hot cocoa when the soldier ran up the steps. “My Lord Morphi….Murphyo…” he gasped. The wizard held up his hand, “Don’t hurt yourself, boy, just call me Chuck.” The soldier bowed slightly, “Yes, my Lord Chuck.” Alhannah giggled. “King Robert requests your presence. He’s discovered a badly wounded youth in the tunnels.” The wizard exchanged worried looks with Dax. “What’s the kid look like?” Alhannah asked. “He wears,” the soldier paused, searching for words, “a black tunic with a yellow…” “Wendell!” blurted Dax and he jumped from the platform. Chuck and Alhannah followed close behind, dashing across the courtyard with such energy, servants and soldiers stood aside to let them all . There was a group outside the stables, huddled around the entrance. Soldiers had a wooden stretcher upon the ground. Dax’s heart sank as he got closer. In the flickering light, he could see a sliver of the yellow smiley face between the bystanders. One of Wendell’s legs was wrapped in a bloody bandage. It looked like he’d been bleeding heavily. Apparently the wizard saw the wound as well, because he shrieked and pushed past both Dax and the crowd. “Wendell!” Chuck cried, dropping to his knees and grabbing the pale hand. “Speak to me, son! I’m here for you—just speak to me!”

“What do you want me to say?” Wendell replied, hovering over Evan. Chuck looked up. His brows jumped up and down, rolling across his forehead as his face battled between confusion, shock and anger. He looked back at the unconscious young man on the stretcher. He glanced at the smiley face T-shirt, then looked back up to Wendell. He dropped Evan’s hand and stood upright with a bounce. “That’s not funny.” He jabbed a finger in the direction of the blacksmith. “And he doesn’t look like he’s appreciated your joke either, young man. Very poor taste indeed.” “WENDELL!” Alhannah shouted with glee, bounding off the handle of the stretcher. She flung her arms around his neck and squeezed. “I was so worried!” Wendell hugged her back and finally had to pat her on the shoulder. “Can’t… breathe…,” he gasped. She dropped to the ground with a grin, “Sorry.” “Well look at him,” beamed Dax, “Survived the wildlife and made it to TilThorin with out us altogether!” He shook his head in disbelief. Wendell walked around the stretcher. …and punched him square in the face. There was a crunch upon impact and Wendell screamed out. “ARRRGH!” Not in anger, but in pain. It was like slugging a brick wall. He could feel the broken fingers in his hand. He grit his teeth, sucking back the pain as Dax stumbled backwards. “Wendell!” cried the wizard, shuffling in between them. “HE LEFT ME BEHIND!” Wendell bellowed. Like a flood, the anger and frustration and fear of the past week poured out. He gripped his broken hand tightly. His eyes watered from the pain—but his gaze stayed glued on Dax. “I TRUSTED YOU!” he yelled even louder.

“Take the boy to the Great Hall,” King Robert commanded the soldiers. Wendell ignored the group as they followed the stretcher like a funeral procession, eventually leaving him alone with Chuck, Dax and Alhannah. The gnome folded her arms and remained silent. “Let the kid be, Chuck,” whispered Dax. He wiped the blood from his bottom lip. “He’s right, I abandoned him.” Wendell stood there, heaving as if there wasn’t enough air in the world. “Take another shot, kid,” Dax said flatly, holding his arms out, “if it makes ya feel better.” They stood at odds for a brief eternity, staring at one another, until Alhannah walked past Wendell. She spun Dax around and pushed him away. When Wendell tried to follow, Chuck stepped in front of him, barring his path. “I’m sorry your upset, son,” he said, “I really am. Shame you had to experience something uncomfortable.” Red eyes shifted from the back of Dax’s head to the wizard. “Are you mocking me?” “Oh no,” the wizard said dryly, “I’m trying to teach you.” Wendell blinked. “Your guardian had to make a choice. A hard one.” “Really.” Chuck reached up and grabbed the forearm of the broken hand. Pain shot through Wendell’s wrist and fingers. “Really!” For the second time since he’d met the wizard, Chucks expression morphed. Wendell suddenly felt cornered, unable to escape the gaze of the mägo. He tried to back away, but the wizards grip intensified. The pain made his rise up onto his toes.

“I promised you in the market that I wouldn’t hold things from you again, so now I get to fulfill that oath. Dax had to choose between you and me. The advantage being, you had that little crystal in your chest and I had squat.” Wendell’s eyes dropped. “Look at me!” his voice shook. “What you don’t know, son, is that every single morning since you’ve been gone, Dax ported back to the wilderness to look for you!” He released Wendell’s forearm. “From sunrise to sunset he searched for you, before returning home.” “Well,” Wendell stammered, “he should have.” Chuck slapped him across the face so hard it made Wendell’s head whip to the side. “How dare you!” he snapped, “You have no idea what porting does to that child. It uses his life force! Taking days for him to rest enough, to save enough energy for him to perform such feats safely. But no,” he glared at Wendell, “he pushed himself every morning, EVERY night!” He swallowed hard, gulping air, “I stayed up with him, trying to stop the bleeding, while Altorin mixed potions to ease his pain!” Wendell clenched his eyes tight. I’m such a… No. He had nothing to say. No excuses. Chuck lifted his chin, forcing Wendell to meet his gaze. “Believe it or not, Dax does care. More than he would ever it out loud. It’s not his way. It tore him up to leave you—but we had one shot to escape. We all had to rely on the Ithari to bring you safely back.” He took a step back and attempted a smile, “And lookie, lookie—here you are.” High overhead, Til-Thorin’s alarm sounded. “For what it’s worth, my boy,” said Chuck in a lighter tone, “I’m overjoyed your back and even more so that you’re safe.” Wendell remained silent and simply nodded. “Now it’s time to be the hero,” the wizard chided gently.

Wendell flinched as the bones in his hand shifted back into alignment. He did his best to ignore the pain and Ithari did her regeneration trick. Chuck led him to a gigantic set of stairs that wrapped up and around the front of the Keep. The courtyard was quickly flooding with sacred, frozen and wounded women and children. Servants were guiding small boys and girls up the steps and into the Great Hall. “What’s happened?” he asked aloud, tugging at the wizards robes. Soldier still stood on the walls at attention. No one was fighting, but many of the children had wounds and a few of the women were bloody themselves. “Ambush,” Alhannah said coldly. She stood at the bottom of the steps, directing the wounded. A little boy limped past Wendell, holding his side—his dingy tunic ripped and stained red. He was guided by a girl only a few years older than he. Wendell stomach sank. How old is he? Four? Maybe five years old? “Where are these people coming from?” “The ,” answered Dax. He handed a set of blankets to a servant, who promptly started wrapping them around children. “The people from Woodside. Those trying to flee this battle…were slaughtered by Thule’s men.” Wendell’s fingers twitched incessantly. He stared at Dax…wanting to say something, I should say something, but ever since he got parted from Chuck and Dax, he screwed things up. Hiram was dead, Miriam hated him, Livi’s been traumatized and Evan will probably want his head soon. Wendell watched Dax shift uncomfortably from foot to foot. He quietly sighed to himself. Of all the people in this world, I cant drive a wedge between my… Then it hit him. What were Dax and the old wizard? Wendell looked over at the little gnome, who acted a lot like a protective sister. It puzzled him. He almost laughed out loud. Could it be that this was some strange version of

his…family? He actually liked the thought. Chuck gave him a gentle nudge with his elbow and leaned close to Wendell’s shoulder. “It’s never too late to say you’re sorry,” he whispered, “even if it’s just to say you’re sorry.” He’s right, Wendell fidgeted, though he hated to it it. Oh, just get it over with! He looked down, opened his mouth and… Dax shook his head. “Don’t,” he grunted. No tears, no sneers, no mockery, not even a smirk—just the cold, unemotional expression Wendell was used to. Dax’s tone, however, lacked any hint of anger, ridicule or sarcasm. “You were right to be mad, kid. I woulda been.” He looked away, scratching the scruff on his chin, “The fact is, I letcha down when it mattered most. Won’t happen again.” He stared up at Wendell, his teeth clenched as if her were angry at the thought he held inside. “Not if I get ta choose.” Wendell stood there, feeling…well, awkward. What do you say to something like that? Since he didn’t have a clue how to respond. Any ideas he did have, seemed inadequate. So he folded his arms in as manly a fashion as he could and blurted out, “Right.” Ungh. That sounded stupid. He cleared his throat, “Good. Ok then.” Great, now you sound arrogant. He huffed. Oh never mind. Dax smirked and walked off to collect more blankets. Chuck threw Wendell a smug look of his own. “I bet that didn’t hurt a bit, now, did it?” “Shut up.” “I’m just saying…” King Robert strode across the courtyard, accompanied by Lady Tamorah and Animal. “We have a new challenge, old man,” he said aloud, guiding the wizard by the elbow, away from the steps and out of earshot of the women and children.

Wendell and Alhannah followed. “The has been completely closed off.” The lines in his forehead deepened, “Thule apparently had this planned from the start. He sent soldiers up over the mountain range before we could evacuate the town.” “To cut off our escape,” breathed the wizard. His eyes glazed over in deep thought. “I can send a few out to test the ground,” added Animal, speaking directly to the wizard. “They’ll be slaughtered,” challenged Tamorah, but the mountain man ignored her. His eyes stayed on Chuck. “I don’t think this just has to do with escape,” Wendell butted in. When when everyone looked over at him, he realized what he’d been thinking had actually popped out of his mouth. “Why would you think that, Wendell?” asked Alhannah. “Well,” he shrugged, now feeling self conscious, “it just doesn’t make sense, does it? From what I’ve seen, these creatures, the Vallen—happen to be flesh eaters. They’re almost psychotic about it. Obsessed.” His stomach twisted at the memories of Livi hanging from the Vallen’s fist. “Just hours ago, they tried to eat a little girl…hungry for,” he gulped, “younger, softer flesh.” He looked around the group and found blank stares. “Oh, come on! Think about it,” he prodded, “the only ones left are women and children? When that’s what these things love to eat? Not like a five year old can outrun or outfight a giant. Right? These kids were meant to make it back here.” “It puts more stress on us,” added Alhannah, “shift our focus, maybe? Make us careless?” She looked back at the last of the children being led into the Keep, “So, they all ran back here without help?” “Not…exactly,” said King Robert. “They were led back by a young lady. A girl. Tough,” he added, “Fought side by side with the men at first. When she saw the

battle going ill, she drove the women and children back to Til-Thorin as the men held off the enemy.” “Wow,” breathed Alhannah, “now there’s someone I’d like to meet.” “You will,” answered the King, “because she asked for you specifically, Alhannah.” The gnome frowned, “She…wha—huh?” Lady Tamorah motioned to a girl at the base of the stairs. “There she is now.” “Well I’ll be,” laughed the gnome. Alhannah’s leather glove flicked out and slapped Chuck across the calf, “Oh, you’re good, old man.” She shook her head in disbelief and shock, then laughed even louder. “Too good.” Wendell’s heart beat so fast, he thought it would burst through his chest. Striding across the courtyard, her long, dark, curly hair, bounced across her shoulders. She was the most beautiful girl he had ever seen in his life. The girl of his dreams. “Gentlemen,” smirked Alhannah, “I’d like you to meet Lili.”

Chapter 50 Voices

Hearing voices doesn’t mean you’re crazy. …but it’s not always wise to answer the voices back.

“Y OU!” Wendell blurted with a gasp. Lili hadn’t even reached the group, before he pushed past Chuck, Alhannah and Lady Tamorah to confront her. The young girl, who didn’t look much younger than Wendell himself, skidded to a halt. The curly hair, smooth, perfect face with dark almond eyes and full lips made him weak in the knees. She was still wearing the grey fur vest she had on when he’d first seen her in the Black Market. She even had the large pouch, slung across her shoulder and chest—like in the dream. A buckler was strapped to her forearm, a club in her other hand. Wendell seemed oblivious to the fact that the closer he got to her, the higher the club rose. Alhannah quickly skipped in front of him. “Hannah,” Lili smiled, redirecting her attention, though not lowering her club. The gnome warrior looked over her shoulder and gave Wendell a warning glance. She hit him in the leg, then turned around with a broad smile that made even her eyes grin. “You didn’t get far.” Lili crinkled one of her eyebrows, looking between the gnome and a stunned young man. “No, I didn’t…” Wendell continued to stare. He couldn’t help tracing the lines of her face with his eyes. What is she doing here? he wondered, This is absolutely impossible. Then again, it wasn’t. She was standing in right front of him. He noticed the soft curves of her eyebrows and how they complimented the long lashes of…

He paused in his gawking. Lili was staring back. Not awkwardly, or with seeming disgust, like in the Market…but with curiosity. She squinted, as if her brain was trying to recall something important, or perhaps putting together pieces to a puzzle. She searched his face, the club slowly lowering to a safe position at her side. Soldiers marched around them. The sound of children crying drifted out from the Great Hall. Dax ran up the steps with another armful of blankets. Wendell frowned, which deepened the longer he stood there, staring at the girl of his dreams. The girl he’d risked his life on many occasions to save…and even once for real. Against a giant…with his bare fists no doubt! I don’t believe it…you still don’t recognize me. After my butt kicking in the Tavern…and you don’t ?!! Lili’s mouth slowly opened. Her eyes grew wide. But it didn’t matter to Wendell. He just couldn’t take anymore. “Are we going to start fighting or something?” he asked abruptly. His mind still flopped about in a fog of confusion and emotions. Spinning on his heel, he turned and strutted past Chuck, not sure where he was going. He didn’t care. So long as it wasn’t anywhere near her. “Uhhh,” stammered the wizard awkwardly. He shrugged at the King, “Too many thumps on the head I think.” He pointed over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…yeah— I’ll put him in my room. Okay? Right. Be back soon.” And he ran after Wendell.

“What is wrong with you, son?” grunted Chuck. He quickly lifted his robe to keep from tripping on the stairs. Lord Joram had given the wizard a tower apartment at Chucks request. It was quite a walk for the old man, but he’d told Joram it was for the view. In reality, he’d discovered that the soldiers who’d abused Dax were assigned to a post at the base of the tower. It gave him the opportunity to drop things out the window when he felt so inclined. “What’s wrong with me?” Wendell blurted out. He tugged at the torn collar of his tunic. He felt like the world was closing in and he was choking. He gasped a couple times, swallowing loudly. The wizard shook his head, irritated, “We’re not going to get far in this conversation if you keep repeating me.” “Nothing is what I think it is. Nothing makes sense. Nothing works the way I want it to. Nothing works the way I NEED it too!” Wendell paused to catch his breath, falling back heavily against the wall. “Well,” replied Chuck, flipping the front of his hat up with a forefinger, “that’s a whole lot of nothing.” Wendell fumed. “Oh come on, it can’t be that bad?” He leaned down and jabbed Wendell in the shoulder, “You’re here! You’re safe!” He crinkled his nose, “Ok,…relatively safe.” “Chuck…a woman lost her little boy.” Wendell’s fingers scraped painfully against the stone at his side. The pain was somehow comforting. “…because I couldn’t use the Ithari to heal him.” The words were dry and they fell from his lips. “A woman…no,” he corrected himself, “a fatherless, poor family, who cared for me when I was wounded—and I let the boy die, because I didn’t know how to use this!” He bounced his palm off the center of his chest.

The wizard sat back on the step, deflated. “I see.” “She saw the gem, too. Believed I was this…this Gnolaum.” “Ouch.” The icy wind whipped up the staircase and Wendell shivered. “To make matters worse, I keep having this dream. Well, sort of—and Lili,” he stared at the wizard, almost pleadingly, “is always in them.” He let his head fall back against the cold stone and exhaled a long, monotone groan. “I’m going insane, Chuck.” “No you’re not,” the wizard corrected him calmly, “You’re completely exhausted. You need a little rest, probably a decent meal.” Tugging on Wendell’s tunic, Chuck led him to the top of the tower. Pushing open the door, he grabbed Wendell firmly by both shoulders and guided him over to the cot. With a wave of his hand, the candles in the room ignited. Clapping his hands together, the logs in the fireplace grate burst into in yellow and orange flames. “Rest. Now.” “What about…?” “I’ll check on your wounded friend. Robert will most likely be talking strategy with the Steward, the elves and your new woodsy-looking companions. The whole Keep is at the ready, waiting for the giants to make their move. You’re safe.” He lightly rapped Wendell on the top of the head with a finger, “…and your pretty girl isn’t going anywhere. Ok?” “Whatever.” The wizard rolled his eyes, “Right. Whatever.” He chuckled softly as he walked out. Pulling the door closed behind him, Chuck rapped the frame with his knuckles. “All in all, I’m seriously impressed with you, son.” Wendell snorted. “Impressed that I keep screwing thing up? That I keep falling behind?” Chuck scrunched his lips under his mustache, “No. That you kept trying, no

matter what you’re experiencing. I don’t know if you screwed up, Wendell, but I do know you kept swinging…and you got here. On your own motivation and design, you still got here. Not bad for a kid, who’s motivation was following the words of a letter that wasn’t even addressed to him. That, young man, is impressive.” Wendell hadn’t thought of it that way. For all the pain and discomfort, he actually had made it to Til-Thorin, just like he’d wanted. Just in time for…war. “Thank you Chuck,” he whispered, forcing himself to smile. The wizard grinned back, “I’ll come get you in a few hours.” With that, he waved a finger through the air and all the candles extinguished. He closed the door, leaving Wendell in the warm glow of the fire.

Wendell woke with a start and flipped from the cot…onto his face and the hard floor. “Ohhh!” he moaned. Every bone and muscle in his body throbbed aggressively. Each attempt to move sent painful shocks down his spine. He grunted and pushed, maneuvering to get back into bed. At least he was warm. The room was toasty, the fire still going in the hearth. It was a modest sized room, circular in shape. The hearth and bed were ed by a small table and two chairs between them, pushed up against the wall. Upon the table was a pitcher and basin, along with a cloth, neatly folded. Standing in the center of the table was a mirror. Small and oval shaped, atop a dark pewter stand. Wendell stared at the pitcher. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth. Pasty and nasty. Yuck. He also had to pee and wondered where the bathroom… His foot banged against a wide-rimmed bucket next to the cot. Please don’t tell me…he leaned over and looked in. Is that? He leaned down, ever so slightly and sniffed…and regretted it. OH WOAH! He stood up abruptly and fumbled over to the table. Pouring water into the basin, he scooped up a handful and sipped it up. Swished it around in his mouth. Not too bad. He couldn’t how long it had been since he’d cleaned himself. Heaven only knew what he must smell like to other people. He leaned down, splashing his face with water. He jolted upright, his face stinging. He snatched the base of the mirror and held it up to his face. Small cuts across his cheeks, nose and forehead. He’d taken more of a beating than he thought. His fingers traced the curve of his jaw. You know, Ithari, this would be a whole lot easier for me if I didn’t have to feel all the pain! Those creatures hit like a TRUCK. He opened and closed the hand he’d struck Dax with. It felt sore, but the bones had already mended for the most part. Wendell looked back into the mirror— studied the cuts on his face. That’s odd, he thought. These are minor wounds… why are they still on my face?

The reflection in the ornamental mirror stared back. Ungh. You look like…crap, Wendell. He ran fingers through dirty, tangled hair. The waves knotted together and snagged. He tugged several times before his fingers pulled free. What the?? The mirror revealed what looked to be the remains of a bruise on the left side of his face, and his bottom lip still looked unusually large compared to the top. He looked a mess. He set the mirror back down. It was still quiet outside. The window to his room was bubbled glass, which didn’t allow a view. Wendell grabbed the latch and pulled. Packed snow fell in, onto the floor as the wind whipped past him. “BRRRRRR!” he shivered. The sunrise hadn’t come yet. Will there even be a sunrise? The clouds of the storm looked determined to control the sky. A light fog had formed over the land…but Wendell could still see the flames of the enemy camp and the glowing embers of Woodside. How long have I been sleeping? He yawned and stretched his arms. Wendell knew the peace wouldn’t last, but it still felt good, in the moment, to have the quiet. He shut the window once more and sat down in front of the fire. His mind went to Evan he wished he’d gone with the blacksmith. Make sure he was looked after. He smiled to himself. That was a lie. He wanted to go so that when Evan awoke, he’d have to it that Wendell indeed knew and had associations just like he’d told the blacksmith. He wondered where the soldiers had taken Evan…and how he was doing. Miriam and Livi would be with him, of course, his mother being ever attentive. Wendell rubbed his hands together, then spread his fingers wide. His ts felt sore and stiff. “So here I am,” he said aloud. The heat felt good on his skin and the leather tunic quickly warmed up. So now what? His stomach growled. It was an ugly sound, rolling across his belly. Wendell smacked his lips and realized he’d refused to eat the raw meat caught by Evan and the farmer. They

had been afraid to draw the attention of others, so they ate the meat immediately after the kill, so it was yet warm. It grossed Wendell out. So badly so, that it had been at least two days since he’d eaten. Now that he took notice, he felt a headache coming on. “Food. Right,” he said, annoyed, and got to his feet. “Well, let’s at least be presentable when we go asking for food. We might scare someone with this matted hair and banged up face.” Great, he thought, now I’m referring to myself in the third person? He sighed, yup, I’m gong crazy. As he turned towards the table, he almost fell over. His hands shook. On the table was the pitcher of water, the basin, the mirror…and the letter. The cream paper had been unfolded and propped up against the basin. His hands quickly patted the back pockets of his mägoweave. Empty. No, no, no, no… He’d just washed his face. He never pulled the letter form his back pocket, Wendell was certain of that. He stared at the letter for a long while before reaching out to pick it up. Twice he hesitated, curling his fingers in, like offering one’s hand to a stray dog. This is… No. Wendell refused to say “impossible” …because there it was, staring back at him. He quickly snatched up the letter and flipped it over, inspecting it. There weren’t any unusual markings on it, no extra folds. It looked just like the last time he’d pulled it out. Curious, he read through it again. Wait a minute. Wendell’s eyes shifted from the letter, to his own hands holding the paper itself.

They were trembling. When your hearts become one, so will your power. You will speak with the elements, even the intelligence within the elements and shape them to your will. Then and only then, can you be the hero our world requires and destroy our enemy. Until such time, protect the seals and seek Ithari’s children. Keep them safe or they will be used against you. They will speak to your ears through your heart. Trust your heart, for you will find it at Til-Thorin. He slumped down onto the edge of the cot, staring at the words over and over again. “That…can’t be right,” he whispered to himself. Help me. “Woah!” Wendell cried out, jumping up and spinning around. Reactively, he snatched up the fire poker next to the hearth, gripping it with both hands. The letter crumpled under his fingers. His head bobbed up and down, peering into the shadows of the room. Slowly he squatted down, looking under his bed and the table. There was no one in the room with him. “Hello?” he called out softly, raising the poker higher. Help me. The plea shifted to weeping. Wendell opened the door to the apartment and walked into the narrow landing at the top of the winding steps, still gripping the fire poker. His ears twitched, straining at the faint hint of noise around him. He turned his head and noticed it came from down the stairs. Leaving his door open, he crept down the steps—sliding his back against the wall. When he reached the bottom of the tower, he paused again, listening. The crying had stopped.

“Where…are you?” he whispered. Nothing. He grasped the letter and quickly put it up against the stone wall. Wendell brushed his hand roughly over the surface to smooth out the wrinkles. As he did so, the paper straightened itself…all but the original folds fading. His eyes darted to the end of the letter: They will speak to your ears through your heart. Trust your heart, for you will find it at Til-Thorin. Ok, heart. Emotion. Right? That has to be right—you’re emotional with your heart. Aren’t you? The base of the tower was linked to a long hall that ed through the Keep’s kitchen and eventually connected to the Great Hall. Wendell could hear someone moving about. He set the fire poker down, leaned it against the base of the stairs. His ears perked, picking up the crying sound. Where are you? Tip-towing through corridor and into the kitchen, Wendell followed the weeping. A portly looking man was fast asleep on a stool in the corner, propped up against one of the long tables. Small puffs of flour appeared as he snored heavily, his arm draped over a rolling pin. A small fire popped in the open hearth of the opposite wall, where a giant black pot hung. White foam seeped out from under the lid, dripping down the side of the container and into the fire. The flames hissed back. In front of the small fire was a black mastiff. It raised its massive head, watching Wendell for a moment or two, then thought better about wasting its energy. It yawned, licked its snout and went back to sleep. Wendell crept quietly around the open sacks of flour, sugar and spices..finally getting past the cook. The hallway branched off. One direction lead to the Great Hall—which he could see, the other ending with a wide set of steps leading down. He lingered in the

stairwell, staring into the darkness. What am I doing? This is nuts. Counting to three, Wendell took a step… “Can I help you, m’Lord?” asked a servant, appearing from the Great Hall. She heard snoring from the kitchen and briskly marched to the prep-table. With a kick of the chunky cooks chair, she sent him sprawling onto the floor, frightening him out of his slumber. “Oy!” she snapped aloud, “Wake up, you! We have tiny children to feed out there—no noddin’ off!!” The cook gave the woman a nasty look, but got up from the floor without a word. Satisfied, she turned back to Wendell. “Anything at all?” Wendell gave a last glance down the stairwell and shook his head. “No.,” he said meekly, “I’m…fine, thank you—just…going to bed.” He returned to his chamber, closed the door and rested his forehead against the wood. This is nuts. He clenched his eyes tight. Bonkers, he told himself. First I get chosen by mistake, get given a job I’m unlikely to succeed in, left to fend for myself, now I’ve gotten TWO kids killed because I didn’t know how to use the ultimate power…and now voices are talking to me that only I can hear. Lovely. Help me. Wendell flinched. The voice permeated through his skin and the room around him. He pushed away from the door, tossed the letter onto the table and slapped his hands over his ears. Gotta shut this out. Relax. Stay calm, he told himself. But all he could do was pace.

Chapter 51 Post Script

Medical Fact: Those who continue to breathe repeatedly, tend to outlive those who do not.

KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! came the rap on the door. Wendell in a panic, spun round and flipped over the corner of his bed with a heavy thud onto the floor. The door to the apartment creaked open. Floating white hairs of Chuck’s massive beard peeked around the edge of the door. His face contorted into a battle between shock and amusement as Wendell grunted and lifted his face up from the floor. “Mahan’s pink panties, son,” he snickered, “what are you doing down there?” With a grunt and a huff, Wendell jumped to his feet and brushed himself off. “Somethings not right!” Chuck wandered in and closed the door behind him. “I couldn’t agree with you more…but I assure you, they have medication for just about anything.” “No,” Wendell squinted at Chuck, “The storm out there, Til-Thorin—this whole situation of being here…somethings bothering me. I feel it to my gut. I just don’t know what it is!” The wizard looked nervously at the young hero. The time alone seemed to unhinge him, not refresh him. Wendell paced the floor, gnawing on his fingernails, several of them now red or bleeding. His eyes darted about the room, refusing to focus on anything longer than a fleeting glance. The sound of the popping fire was drowned out by Wendell’s labored breathing. “Son, you need to calm down.” With a jerk, Wendell spun his head around at the wizard, like someone had slapped him. “Calm down?!” he gasped, “How on Earth can I calm down?”

“You’re not on Earth, my boy,” Chuck corrected him gently. “EXACTLY!” Wendell exploded, then tore another piece from his nail bed. “I have no idea what I’m doing here! This is so far over my head and I can’t piece this puzzle together, Chuck!!” His voice cracked with the last sentence. The frustration changed to pleading, and one of Wendell’s eyes began to twitch. Chuck opened his mouth, but Wendell pushed roughly past him to get to the table. He snatched the letter and waved it in the wizards face. “And then there’s this!” Shoving the paper into Chucks hands, he slumped down onto the edge of the cot and let his head fall into hands. “I’m sorry my boy,” Chuck hated adding weight to the load, “but only the hero can read this—you know that.” Wendell moaned. Help me. With a yelp, Wendell jumped from the bed and latched onto the wizards robe. His movement was so sudden and sporadic that Chuck nearly fell over backwards. His hands went up to protect his face. “Is…there a problem, son?” There was a crazed look in Wendell’s eyes. They flicked back and forth, locked onto Chuck’s face—staring, studying, pleading. He finally let go and rubbed his temples firmly, clenching his eyes tightly together. “Do you ever hear…voices?” The question sounded more like a whimper. The wizard stiffened upright and looked over both shoulders like a mad dog chasing his own tail. “What have you heard!?” He shuffled in close, and with a softer voice, “You can’t prove anything, I tell you. Not a blooming thing!” “Chuck…I’m talking about me. Me! Ok?” The wizard rolled his eyes. “Oh,” he said casually and then abruptly grabbed Wendell’s head and tilted it to the side. Chuck tugged on his earlobe, shining a small flashlight into Wendell’s ear canal. “What you picking up? Weather

channel? Stats on the races, maybe? If its the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I’m not interested.” Wendell slapped his hands away, “No! That’s not….no!” He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples again. The weight he felt on his chest…against his very skin was so heavy. Suffocating. It took constant effort just to take in a breath. The weeping grew louder in his mind and ears. “I’m hearing a child’s voice, crying. Calling for help.” He looked down at the crinkled letter in Chucks hands. “Somethings…coming. I don’t know what, or when, or how…,” he choked and swallowed with a cough. “I just know I’m running out of time.” Chucks calm, knowing eyes accompanied the kind, ive smile. “Then let’s figure this out, shall we?” Wendell nodded and sat down at the table. “We already know what’s coming,” the wizard said, without a hint of sarcasm, “we just have to look outside.” Wendell shook his head. “That’s the first thing I thought as well, but my gut says no.” “You’re…gut?” The wizard frowned, but the look of resolve on the hero’s face was unmistakeable. He tossed the letter onto the table and pulled out the second chair. “Fine. Your gut.” “…and I don’t think that army is here for King Robert…or to invade the Kingdom.” Wendell’s hand slowly reached out—his fingers clawing the letter up under his palm. He made a tight fist and dragged it off the table. “Oh, now you’re just being silly,” the wizard dismissed, “Of course they are! There are thousands of Vallen out there, Wendell,…and they have Tauku mägo. This is no joking mat…” “Then why send forces south?” Wendell blurted out, cutting him off. The crazed look conquered his face once more and his voice trembled. “Why split your forces at all, if invasion is the real goal?” He gritted his teeth, “I’m not saying I’m right…what would I know? But it doesn’t make sense. Not to me,

anyway. The women and children forced back here proved there’s nowhere for the people to flee. So causing a panic isn’t their strategy either. We’re boxed in. For a reason.” He gasped for air. The lines around Chuck’s eyes and forehead deepened. He glanced down at the letter. “Seriously, you have got to slow down. You’re starting to sound like Olivia Jane Ray.” Wendell stared back in confusion, “Who?!?” Chuck sighed deeply, recalling a fond past. “Now there was a high-strung sweetie. Cute as a button, sharp as a razor,” he smiled wide, “but when her mind got going, when she panicked, her mouth moved faster than a gnome strapped to a rocket-launcher! That girl could spit out a whole conversation before you could say oh-my-goodness…” He laughed, “No matter how fast she talked, you could understand every word the girl said.” He shrugged, “Course, she was so adorable, you didn’t always care if you did. Loved that about her.” The wizard looked up, “But you don’t make any sense at all!” Even in the dim light, the wizard could see the dark rings under Wendell’s eyes. “Where are the seals hidden?” Chuck coughed, saliva going down the wrong pipe, “Seals?…as in…the Demoni Vankil seals?” Wendell continued to stare. The twitching in his eye ceased. “Only the last hero knows where the pieces are,” Chuck confessed, his frown deepened to a scowl. “Why?” “I think one of them is here, in the Keep.” The color drained from the wizards face. “Woah, woah, WOAH! Time OUT!” he shouted, standing up and waving his arms about. “If that’s true—we have problems way bigger than…,” he spun around, pointing at Wendell. “Wait, how would you know something like that?” They both looked down at the crinkled letter gripped tightly in Wendell’s hands.

“Why are you gripping that?” “I don’t know.” “Read it.” “I already know what it says.” “Read it to me, then.” “Why?” Chuck lowered his head so the thick white of his eyebrows overshadowed his pupils. “Because,” he said in a slow, deliberate tone, “I was around the last time Ithari chose a host…and I know for a fact that you’re not the only one using that body. So why are you gripping that letter?” Wendell sat upright in the chair. His free hand scratched the gem through the tunic. Huh. When he looked back up at the wizard, he found a softer expression staring back. Chuck pointed at the letter. Wendell unfolded the paper and scanned over it, doubtful. His mouth dropped open as he came to the signature. Through Ithari, my heart is always with you. Your Father. P.S. …had any dreams lately? In the distance, a horn blew.

Chapter 52 Attack

Never be predictable in a fight. Control where, when and how the conflict is fought. …and if possible, get someone else to take your place.

“I ’m not doubting you, son, I just…” “Go ahead Chuck, say it,” Wendell challenged, taking two steps down with each leap. The wizard was hard pressed to keep pace as they ran down the tower. The warning bells of Til-Thorin sounded without ceasing. Soldiers could be heard shouting orders to subordinates. “You question if I’m actually nuts,” he mocked, “that maybe what I’m telling you really isn’t in the letter.” “Well, yes,” the wizard faltered, stumbling and catching himself against the wall. “No! No,…” he righted himself and sprinted after Wendell. “I’ve got no right pointing fingers at anyone—not after what I’ve seen…” then less loudly, “or done. But it is difficult, to believe, not being able to actually see what you see. But I have no reason not to believe you, son.” Wendell stopped at the archway of the Great Hall. Children and women were looking about, confused as the sound of distant drums grew louder. He looked the wizard, point blank. “You can always walk away, Chuck.” “What are you talking about?” He looked at the dozens of children clinging to one another—clinging to their mothers. “I have enough pressure trying to keep up appearances, without having to convince you too. You were right. I found my way here without you. You can leave.”

“Now wait just a minute, that’s not what—” “What you meant? Then what are you trying to say, Chuck?” The wizard frowned, but said nothing. Wendell shrugged, “Sooner or later I’ve got to figure out what I’m meant to do. I’m glad and grateful, that you, Alhannah and Dax were here for me, but am I supposed to wait on you? Only act if I have your approval?” Chuck scratched his forehead with a boney finger, thoughtful. “But wandering around, listening to voices you can’t see? You’ll start looking like,” he glanced at the children nervously and leaned in closer to whisper, “…well, me.” He shot Wendell a pleading look, “Don’t get me wrong, I’ve always been quite fond of myself…but I’m not the best example. You mistake my intent here, son. I’m not criticizing you so much as worried you might look a bit odd to others. A hero should maintain a more…respectable example, don’t you think?” “You mean, like screaming, running away from danger, falling off cliffs and getting lost?” He couldn’t help but crack a smile. Chuck returned the smirk. “Touché.” Wendell waded through the Great Hall. “Ok. I’ll tell people you’re the one hearing the voices, then,” he said aloud. Chuck followed after, shaking his head at the questioning glances from the women-folk, “Now wait just a….”

The first thought Wendell had, once he climbed atop the curtain wall, was that it might have been less frightening had there been more noise. Something other than the shrieking wind or the heavy drums ripping through the darkness. But there were no yells, battle screams or roars from the enemy—the anger and animalistic behavior he’d witnessed time and again. Just the endless beat of the drums. A heartbeat to the approaching carnage. A gigantic pillar of what looked to be black smoke, billowed up from the center of the enemies camp. The blackness hit an invisible ceiling in the sky, rolling outward and blotting out any sign of the heavens. Thick smoke fell downward, saturating the air, making it hard to breathe. Wendell watched the blanket descend across the snow, turning it ashen grey. Then they appeared. Silhouettes against the camp fires. The Vallen horde. Hundreds of them. Giants pushing through the snow with battering rams on wheels, while others marched forward with interlocking shields. Others carrying shovels and picks followed close behind. They broke off into three groups as they reached the main ramp to the front outer gate. At first Wendell just…stood there, watching the enemy approach. Soldiers yelled from the walls, preparing for the attack against the gate. Lord Joram appeared along the upper bulwarks and barked out orders. Bowman shot at exposed arms and legs, piercing the flesh of giants as they pushed the battering ram up the ice-covered ramp. Bodies stumbled from under the machines protection…and arrows immediately rained death upon them. Vallen fell upon the jagged rocks below, turning grey ice, black. But the enemy sent new fodder to push forward. Shoving through the sleet, up the ramp and against the gates of Til-Thorin. Boulders silently descended from the skies without warning.

“TREBUCHET!” shouted Joram, guards repeating the cry along the walls. The projectiles showered the courtyard. Wagons exploded and fragments of wood became new weapons of death—impaling unsuspecting soldiers. The howling wind masked the approaching sound of the missiles. Both curtains trembled, but held. A portion of the catwalk exploded next to Wendell. The body of a young soldier slid against his leg, blood pooling at his feet. “Get him down from here!” shouted Chuck angrily. He snapped at the gnome and pointed forcefully at Wendell. “You’re still his bodyguard ‘Hannah and you won’t get a copper if he dies tonight, understood?” He peeked over the wall at the collection of Vallen now pounding at the portcullis with their battering ram. “And I swear I’ll dock you if he loses a limb.” “Come on Wendell,” she snapped, tugging on his tunic, “we need to find you some shelter.” She turned to descend the steps. “No,” Wendell muttered, pulling away from her, “I’m not going anywhere.” Chuck pushed past him to get a better view of the battering ram below. The walls vibrated with each impact of the log against the portcullis. The siege machine’s roof protected the enemy from the human archers. “Then make yourself useful. There’s plenty of opportunity—just don’t get in the way…or get yourself killed.” With a few words and a wave of his staff, the battering ram caught fire. The giants beat at the flames, flinging snow to squelch them, but the magic quickly consumed the logs and sent the enemy scurrying away. Arrows rained down upon their backs as they ran. The wizard laughed mockingly, “If this is the best they can do, I don’t think we’ll have much to worry about.” Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell’s noticed shadows shifting in the distance. His chest clenched tight. “Chuck, what’s…that?” he asked, squinting and pointing at the rim of the enemies camp. Figures lumbered along, dragging what looked to be trees, which were collected into piles.

What are they doing? Two separate fires came to life. Within moments, the flames rose higher, defying the rage of the wind. The light revealed four trebuchet being reloaded, two on either side of a ring of black robes. Chucks expression changed. A single silhouette stepped up between the mounds of flame. The wizard pulled his wide brimmed hat down around his brow and rolled back the ends of his sleeves. “Best get off this section of the wall, children,” he said matter-of-fact. “Looks like they can do better.” “What?” said Wendell, but Alhannah was already pulling him away. “Come on!” she yelled, “This fight’s out of our league!” Chuck stood tall and tossed his staff to the side. It floated to a halt and stayed suspended in mid air. “Everyone back to the inner curtain!” he shouted, “And where are the blueberries?!” Altorin appeared at the bottom of the stairs. “Morphiophelius?” Chuck gave him a grave look, “They have a coven. We won’t be able to match power for power, but with your help, we can make it costly. Burn them out and force them to meet us physically.” He waved his hand at the Elder like he was shooing a child, “Tut. Tut. Off you go now. You on one wall, Gaidred to the other.” Altorin ran off as fast as his chubby body would carry him. “You can do this, right Chuck?” Wendell called up, still resisting Alhannah. The wizard gave him a goofy of course I can, silly, grin and waved him away. Wendell nodded and followed after Alhannah and the retreating soldiers. Chuck sighed, then whispered to himself while cracking his knuckles, “Of

COURSE we can do this. Right?” The fires in the distance rose higher into the air, churning. He gulped. “Surrrre.” The flames in the enemy camp climbed higher and higher, both spires swaying and leaning closer as they grew. Red and yellow strands of light wrapped around each other, becoming one, swaying like a drunkard in the wind. And then it fell. The thick spire collapsed forward, onto the ground, with a hiss of steam. Snow melted and evaporated. “Oh my,” gasped Chuck, a little put off by the creative nature of the spell. A flaming centipede emerged and rumbled across the field. Black smoke billowed up from the scorched ground, ripping up the soil with every step of it’s legs. All three hundred of them. Chuck scratched his head. “Come on you old fool…what can you…” and then he smiled to himself. Quickly raking his hands through the air, he brought them to his chest and yelled “Mä kule minun pūlen KASVÄ!” The field rumbled. Snow exploded. Soil pierced the icy, grey crust. Chuck rolled his shoulders forward, his tongue hanging out from the side of his mouth. “Come on…that’s it….” Just as the centipede reached the halfway mark between the enemy camp and Til-Thorin, he made a sudden grasping motion in the air. In response, four immense hands jumped up from the soil. Fingers outstretched, they grabbed the centipede, clenching tight, and pulled it under ground—its mandibles snapping uselessly. A piercing shriek echoed across the field…and the light within the hole vanished.

“HAH!” cheered Chuck. He did a victory dance and thumbed his chin in the direction of his attacker. “And THAT’s how you DO it! UH-HUH!” He looked around smiling brightly. His smile soon faded, however, when he ed he was alone. Shrugging, “It’s ok Chucky-boy,” adjusting the collar of his robe, “…you don’t have to be noticed to be cool.” Several boulders sailed uncomfortably close to the wizard, exploding in the courtyard. “Woah, boy!” he gulped, throwing himself to the ground as a boulder destroyed a merlon next to him. Kneeling up, he shook his fist, “HAH! …YA MISSED!” The field lit up as the two enemy fires raged. Figure after figure jumped from the red and orange light. Centipede’s charged along the ground at fantastic speed. The spires vanished behind a wall of black smoke emitted by the summoned beasts twisting, tearing and raking at the ground. Chuck gulped, counting them. “Nine?!” he frowned. “YOU ARE SO CHEATING!” he screamed, almost slipping on the ice under foot. He looked down. Snow squished and melted between his exposed toes. The corners of his mouth curled upwards. Leaning over the edge of the wall, Chuck whispered to the wind. The snow bank, which had built up from the storm, from beating against the outer curtain wall, began to tremble. The centipedes raced up the field, melting through snow and leaving small flames in their wake. Black claw marks across the soil. Altorin and Gaidred shouted incantations into the wind. Sections of the ground collapsed across the field, taking the beasts with them. But there was nothing to prevent the creatures from crawling back out. The tactic only slowed them down.

Chuck continued to whisper, the wry smile growing behind his beard. The snow melted, streaming down the cracks and grooves of the stone, pooling at the base of the wall. The water from under the dead trickled along the ramp of the front gate. Chuck whispered louder, sweat trickling down his brow from exertion. Like a fountain, the liquid bubbled and rose upward—reaching, stretching, taking on shape. It hunched over, the new form, leaning upon the ground like a great ape. “Chuck!” cried Gaidred. The centipedes jumped from the holes. Chuck lips now moving in silence. Two giants became four, then six, then ten. “Go get ‘em boys!” the wizard shouted to his creations. The giants adjusted their helmets…and charged. Sprinting across the field, the linebackers increased in size and speed with each step—collecting water from the snow. Each footstep left dry ground behind. Arms out wide, they hit their targets head on. Water hissed and evaporated as centipedes were doused, steam exploding into the atmosphere. A linebacker hit the ground, missing its target and soaking the soil. “DOH!” the wizard cried. “Come on boys—timing! TIMING!” It was a dance of chaos. Weaving and jumping, the liquid defenders waiting until the last possible moment to lunge. With each hit, soldiers started cheering from the inner curtain. Hit after hit, the attackers died in explosions of steam…the Iskari Elders using their magic to slow the charge. The last two centipedes raced up the hillside, confronted by the last two water elementals. “Get ‘em boys!” screamed Chuck. He made a wild swinging motion with his fist.

The linebackers raced across the field. Suddenly the centipede’s changed directions, speeding in a collision course one with another. “Woah, woah…” gasped the wizard, “…no, no, no, no!” The impact was silent and the merger lit up the field in a great ball of flame. It consumed everything within a hundred feet. The linebackers lunged, arms outstretched…and burst into steam. A thousand legs emerged from the explosion, unharmed. Within moments, it raced across the last of the field and leapt at the wall under Chucks feet. The impact nearly threw him into the courtyard below. Magical flame engulfed stone and mortar, melting all to slag. “We’ve got company!” Chuck shouted, jumping from an uncomfortable height. The impact was hard and he struggled to get up. Hobbling as fast as he could across the open ground, he waved wildly to the Iskari, “Come on boys!” The Elders sprinted after him and Altorin grabbed the wizards arm, looping it over his shoulder. “I’ve got you!” Chuck grinned in appreciation and leaned upon him. Blood matted his beard, trailing from his nose. “Not as easy as I ed,” he coughed, “but I don’t think the Tauku’ll have much juice left after that. It’s up to bone and sinew now.” They made it through the gate as the first of the Vallen invaders reached the base of the gaping hole. “The enchantment has been breached!” Gaidred shouted, following Altorin. King Robert, standing atop the gatehouse, nodded and pulled the strap of his shield tight. “Joram, seal these doors and move the children to the chapel!” “Yes, sire!” More than a hundred soldiers, armed with sword and shield, stood at the ready.

Fifty more wielded long spears, pointed their weapons at the inner gate. King Robert drew his sword. “THE ENEMY FALLS HERE!” There was a thunderous cheer from all the men within the Keep. Wendell watched the King in awe. Such confidence, he thought. He breeds strength into his men…and they know he cares. Wendell’s mind replayed the scene in the mountains, when he watched the destruction of Til-Thorin last Steward. His heart pounded faster. Dax pushed up next to Wendell. He’d found a small vest of chain mail, and a couple heavy maces. They looked more like toys than weapons in his oversized hands. He had a disturbingly big grin on his face. “What did I miss?!” Altorin and Gaidred hobbled past, Chuck stumbling between them. Dax dropped the maces, “He ok?” “He will be just fine, Dax,” answered Altorin, “—just a case of magnificent overexertion.” Chuck’s head flopped to the side, “I always knew you were the smart one on the Council.” Joram marched across the courtyard, two soldiers in his wake. Wendell noticed that Animal and his companions had spread across the steps of the Keep. They were a sight. Faces serene, bodies covered in leather and fur cloaks, each standing tall, weapons displayed. Hammers, swords, spears, knives, whips and then there was Animal—who wielded a pair of oddly shaped axes. Joram turned to the guards, “Move the women and children to the chapel and then prepare the Great Hall to receive casualties.” “Yes sir!” they responded. Wendell caught a glimpse of Lili. She was being moved into the main part of the

Keep. “You know, I’m not going to be much use out here,” he stammered, “I never did learn how to fight. So…maybe I should go help inside?” Alhannah looked at Dax. He shrugged. “Chuck’s already inside,” Wendell justified, “…he might need some help.” He grinned wide at the gnome. “I could help.” “I…think that’s a wise decision, Wendell,” she replied. Wendell turned to leave. “Say hello to Lili,” she added. Wendell flinched. Dax laughed. He jogged across the courtyard and up the steps of the Keep. Animal stared at him intently as he ed. Wendell slowed down. What’s HE looking at? He was about to ask, when an arrow sailed over the wall, and lodged into the throat of a soldier. It was a young man standing at the base of the steps. “SHIELDS UP!” the King shouted, “ARCHERS, RETURN THAT FIRE!” Animal knelt down and closed the soldiers eyes. Looking back to Wendell, he nodded his head in the direction of the doors. “Get inside.”

Chapter 53 Broken Glass

Sometimes, the best way to help is to stay out of the way.

There wasn’t much Wendell could do, other than survive a beating. But retreating into the Great Hall felt like…hiding. Running away from his responsibilities. Stop it, he told himself. If you stay outside, Dax and Alhannah have to worry about you. This is the wise move. It’s the right thing to do. But it didn’t feel that way. The room was in near chaos. Soldiers directed the women, who bustled about, corralling children through the doorway. Servants rearranged tables in isles and pushed benches together to create smaller makeshift beds. Cloth was being torn into strips for bandages, metal tools for the surgeon organized. In a corner, Altorin hovered over Chuck, holding up two fingers. “Don’t mess with me,” the wizard scolded. Gaidred was pouring over a diagrahm at the main table. “Problem?” Wendell asked quietly. The Elder shook his head, tracing what looked to be a long tunnel stretching out from the Keep. “When you and the freemen showed up, I was hopeful there was more than one tunnel…to smuggle the children out.” Wendell stared at the map, “And?” “And nothing. If there is a tunnel, it’s hidden, or on a map that hasn’t been stored here.” Help me.

The voice was so clear, it sounded like a whisper in Wendell’s ear. It made him jump back from the table, it started him so badly. “Are you alright?” asked Gaidred. “F-fine,” replied Wendell, but his gaze went to the wizard—still arguing with Altorin. “I’ll give you the finger if you don’t stop teasing me. I said THREE!” The last of the children were crying and clinging to any adult paying attention to them. Wendell wondered how many of them were alone. How many of these little, innocent children were now orphans? In the doorway, a woman knelt and consoled a little boy, wrapping her arms around the weeping child, holding him close. It was Miriam. Wendell stepped away from the table and was about to call out, when a small hand slipped between his fingers. Livi looked up at him and smiled. She had on a clean, brown dress and a scarf wrapped around her head. She slipped past his hand and threw her arms around his waist. Gaidred grinned and ed a frustrated Altorin. Wendell knelt down in front of the little girl. There was so much he wanted to express, to share with her, apologize for. But it didn’t make complete sense in his own mind. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around his neck and squeezed tight. “I wanted to,” was all he could get out. “…I didn’t know how.” “I know,” she whispered in his ear. Wendell closed his eyes and hugged her back.

When he stood upright, Miriam was staring at them both. There wasn’t a sign of anger, but the light was missing from the woman’s eyes. She said nothing. Finally, she took the hand of the little boy and led him away. “She’s never going to forgive me,” he whispered. “Yes she will,” Livi whispered back. Then a little louder, “Evan will punch you, though. He’s asking for you.” The three mägo seemed completely engaged in the argument of Altorin’s finger illusion, so Wendell nudged the girl in the shoulder. “Take me to him.” Fingers gripped tightly in her small hand, Wendell was guided through a small maze of hallways. Servants bustled about, gathering cloth, candles and strips of wood for splints. Til-Thorin’s physician stumbled past them, arms filled with vials and jars covered in cloth. The chapel was located near the heart of the Keep. Two ornate doors, attached by black iron we propped open. It looked as if the long, narrow chamber was once a bright and beautiful place to visit, even worship in. The archways where glass once beckoned the daylight, however, were now covered by stone—the result of additions being built. Only a single stained glass window remained as a centerpiece to the renovated chamber. Hundreds of candles glowed, affixed in the colored residue of wax, which had built up over time. Cushioned benches were used as beds. The sound of crying children and sobbing women echoed in the domed chapel and down the corridors. Evan was propped up against one of the walls at the front of the chapel. A lifelike statue of a man in armor, holding a spear, hovering over him. The blacksmith’s war hammer was propped up and leaning against his wounded leg. Livi pulled Wendell across the floor and through the maze of children until they stood over the stretcher. “I brought him,” she said to her brother. Evan was still pale. His hair was matted against his forehead and he looked utterly worn from exertion. His face was beaded with sweat, and he huddled under a dingy-looking wool blanket, shaking. Evan blinked several times before he spoke, as if trying to stay awake.

“Thank you, Livi,” he said softly. “Can I talk to Wendell alone?” She nodded and let go of Wendell’s fingers. Miriam was in the far corner, kneeling and telling a group of children a story. Livi wandered over and sat down next to her mother. She glanced back at Wendell and gave him an encouraging smile. “I was wrong about you,” Evan coughed. He gripped the blanket tightly against his chest until the fit stopped. Wendell noticed the blacksmith’s shoulders were bare. “You could have left at any time,” he continued with a slight gasp, “but you didn’t.” He searched Wendell’s face, but the young hero wouldn’t make eye . It made Evan smile. “You could have let me…and all of us die in that storm.” Lifting the black T-shirt from the other side of his stretcher, Evan handed it back to Wendell. “But you saved us.” Wendell unfolded the T-shirt. His fingers rubbed the soft fabric until he found the beginning of the yellow smiley face. “But I didn’t save Hiram,” he cringed. It was painful to say. Even more so to hear out loud. “Didn’t,…or couldn’t?” Wendell finally looked at Evan. Tears welled up in the blacksmith’s eyes, but his face was peaceful. Resolved. “I love my little brother.” The hint of a smile touched the corners of his mouth, then vanished, “But I know why he died.” A trembling hand reached out and gripped Wendell’s forearm. Strong fingers pulled him closer. Evan’s jaw was clenched tight, his face fighting to control his emotions. “He died trying to save our sisters life,” he said through clenched teeth. “He gave his life, in exchange for hers!” Wendell couldn’t help but look away, but he regretted it. Miriam stared at him coldly from across the chamber—children tugging at her apron, asking her questions. She ignored them, sitting there, like a statue, just…staring. “My mother has certain beliefs that I don’t share, Wendell. I never wanted to it that, but I do. She knew you possessed magic and expected it to save

Hiram.” He paused and followed Wendell’s gaze to his mother. “But where I was wrong to shun and rebuke you for what abilities you may have, I never expected you to be anything more than a man.” He gripped Wendell’s forearm hard enough to grab his attention. “I believe in people working together, in community…” he looked up at the stained glass window in the center of the wall above them, “like Lord Thorin of old.” Wendell followed Evan’s gaze…and gasped. The sounds in the chapel dulled. A little boy skipped past him, unnoticed. Evan kept talking, but all Wendell could see were the colors and shapes in the glass. The stained glass window from his dreams. What’s a window doing in a cellar? It wasn’t in the cellar. Images flashed through his mind: the halls, just like the corridors leading to this room. They were much lighter, but they could match. The grain, a pile of someone’s forgotten laundry…all of which could be used by these children. Then it hit him. Until such time, protect the seals and seek Ithari’s children. Keep them safe or they will be used against you. Children. All these children, he thought, have to be protected, or the Vallen will use them against us! It wasn’t the shards at all!! It all made sense. He knew where the seal was and he had to get it before the enemy did. Every hint, every act had lead to this very moment…this very place. P.S. …had any dreams lately? Snatching the war hammer next to him, Wendell threw it…into the stained glass window. The sound was deafening. Not from the glass shattering and spraying shards across the chapel floor, but from the screams of the children. Tiny arms covered their heads as they scattered. Mothers and servants tried desperately to control the explosive fear. Lili, assigned to bring the children food from the kitchen, walked into the chapel

just in time to see Wendell tackled to the ground.

Chapter 54 Misunderstanding

We all make mistakes, we all fall…we all fail. We’re supposed to. It’s called success in motion.

Glass exploded outward. The whole chapel erupted into chaos. Children scurried about, hands over ears, screaming and shrieking in fear. “What are you doing!??” yelled Evan, dumbfounded. Wendell ran to the base of the window, searching through the glass shards across the floor. How big would a seal be? It was then he realized that he wouldn’t know what the seal looked like even if he saw it. No, no, no. But there was nothing but glass strewn all across the floor. Using his sneakers, he nudged the shards of glass about. It’s just…glass! But,…where’s the seal? He looked up at the empty frame that used to hold the stained glass. It’s supposed to be right here! The area behind the frame was bricked up. Uhhhh. Suddenly, throwing a hammer across a room of little children didn’t seem like such a bright idea. He picked up the hammer and spun around to apologize. A soldier tackled him. “WAIT!” Wendell yelled, pushing against the mans helmet. Strong hands shoved his face against the floor, glass piercing his cheek. “No, I’m sorry! OW! Really! OW! I just thought I was going to find…” He clamped his mouth shut. What could he possibly say that didn’t sound completely insane? He bit his tongue.

“Don’t hurt him, Sepp,” said a second soldier, “he’s the King’s guest.” Sepp looked up pleadingly, “Canna knock ‘em out? ‘ez a danger I say, Roald. We got no time fer this!” “We’ll take him below. Unless ya want ta find your neck in a noose?” “Where are you taking him!?” Evan coughed. Yanked to his feet, Wendell had his arm forcefully pinned against his back. “Easy!” he flinched, “I’m going…I’m going.” Children scurried out of the way and the soldiers marched out of the room. Lili stood near the doorway, a tray of food in her hands. Wendell was shocked to find that she noticed him. She stared at him as he ed. Her bangs were pulled back from her high forehead, revealing lines between her arched brows. Is she…worried about me? His shoulder hit the frame of the door with a loud thump. Wendell grunted upon impact. “Watch yerself now,” chuckled the guard. “Leave him be, Sepp.” With a grumble, Sepp pushed Wendell forward. They dodged servants running about, weaving in and out of rooms so quickly, Wendell was spun around several time. It made it difficult to maintain his bearings. They reached a set of wide steps, going down into the dark. A resounding crack of thunder shook the stone beneath their feet. “What’s down there?” Wendell asked nervously. Sepp shoved him forward and nearly sent him tumbling head first down the stairs. “Your room,” he growled, “until it ‘blows o’er…or the enemy comes ta eatcha!” “Blast you, Sepp,” warned Roald, “I’ll not warn you again. Leave him be!”

“Oh, alright.” Wendell’s ears perked back. Help me. The sound was everywhere, nearly shouting. Neither of the soldiers reacted. They can’t hear a thing, Wendell realized. Why doesn’t anyone ever hear this stuff but me? Heavy hands pushed him down into the darkness, but Sepp quickly eased up on his grip. The sudden darkness nearly swallowed them. All three were forced to slow down until their eyes adjusted—a small flicker in the distance encouraged them forward. Wendell could smell something rotten—mold mixed with earth. He wanted to gag. The flickering light came from scattered torches further down the ageway. It was barely enough to tell Wendell what he could already smell—it was damp and dusty and it made the stone floor slippery. The halls wound around and split. A maze of storage rooms and hallways. The scuff-marks on the floor, disturbing the layer of dust, said that these storage areas hadn’t been used in some time. A servant backed out of a room with a wooden crate in his arms, gave them a fleeting glance and dashed to the stairs. Roald pulled a torch from a sconce and held it high. “I hate it down here,” he muttered. “Let’s get this over with.” “Why are you bringing me down here? Where are you taking me?” Wendell asked again, this time asking Roald directly. Both soldiers maintained their stride. “To place you somewhere safe.” “Waste ‘a time,” grumbled Sepp. Roald ignored him and glanced over at Wendell. “It’s not that we mean you

harm, sir, for I’ve seen you with the mägo and the King. Even that short green fellow with the big ears and no clothes. But we’re at war and we ain’t got the time to do this proper.” He shrugged, “So do I do with you?” “We shoulda just…” Sepp started, but the angry glare from his friend stopped him short and he snapped his mouth shut. The impacts of boulders smashing into the Keep echo through the corridors. Dust, dirt and pebbles fall from the mortar onto Wendell’s head and shoulders, getting into his eyes and he stumbles. He has to blink through the coughs. Help me. Wendell could feel the voice getting closer. Cold chills ran up his spine, walking down the dark corridors, with the sensation that he was being expected. Sepp pushed him around a corner, past another set of stairs to a single, wide door. A small window in its center had bars in it. Wendell’s heart sank. They’re putting me in jail? “Wait. Wait!” he complained, but Roald opened the door and Sepp pushed Wendell through. The room had two cells against one wall. The opposite wall had crates stacked, barrels of unknown contents haphazardly organized. Once a prison—the rooms were obviously used for storage space now. One of the cells was filled with neatly stacked tables, chairs, candles and sconces. The room was freezing. The cells contained open windows with bars across it, not more than ten or so inches high, but several feet wide. The windows gave a moderate amount of light—but they also let in the cold air. Wendell heard shouting. The clash of metal upon metal. Both cell doors were open, only one was empty. Surprisingly, it didn’t stink at all. There was fresh straw all over the floor. A set of chains hung from the wall, fastened to the stone. Underneath it, two benches were pushed together which looked like a makeshift bench or bed. There was a wrinkled, soiled blanket draped over it. “You’re not going to chain me to to wall, are you?” Wendell asked meekly.

“No. This is just a precaution,” Roald said, ushering Wendell into the available cell. “So you won’t be able to cause anymore trouble and we can go defend the outside of this Keep without the inside being terrorized.” Wendell sighed, “But I wasn’t…” The soldier raised his hand, “I don’t want to know. You’re safe…at least for now.” He nudged Sepp, “Lock it.” The door clanged shut. “But…who will know I’m even down here?” Roald shuffled through the crates, popping off the lids. Lifting a heavy grey blanket, he held it to his nose, sniffed—then handed it to Wendell through the bars. “Here. I’ll leave these doors open and give the kitchen instructions to bring you food and water.” Their footfalls echoed down the corridors as they left. “I’ll also inform Lord Joram the moment I see him,” Roald called back. Wendell gripped the bars and rattled them, clanging against the hinges in the gloom. Come on! Straw exploded across the cell as he spun and kicked.

Outside, the battle did not bode well for the humans. With the outer curtain of Til-Thorin breached, the horde pressed their advantage of superior numbers. Arrows flew from the inner walls. Hundreds of the enemy fell. But it was not enough. Like a swarm of rabid hyena’s the Vallen swarmed the courtyard. Ropes and hooks, ladders and battering rams besieged the inner walls. Rocks and boiling oil were dropped upon the attackers, determined to destroy the front gate. Crossbow bolts answered the attacks—knocking human soldiers from the walls. Those who fell onto the field of battle were rent to pieces…some consumed. It had its desired effect upon Til-Thorin’s soldiers. Fear. “BRING THEM DOWN! BRING THEM DOWN! BRING THEM DOWN!” shouted the King, dropping his bow in exchange for sword and shield. He was determined to lead his men into battle and meet the enemy face-to-face. Arrows rained upon the enemy from the human archers, while the Rook were more selective. Watching the field, the Evolu located anyone giving commands and targeted them. It made a considerable difference, forcing the mass to move without certain direction or plan. Thule had yet to show himself—something uncharacteristic of the ruthless General. Instead he had sent his remaining Tauku mägo, to unleash the last of their power upon the Keep. Seeking a clear path to victory, they battered the stone with fire and ice, wind and lightening until their magic was utterly spent. It had failed. The inner walls of Til-Thorin had held. King Robert positioned himself in front of his forces and pulled his sword from its scabbard. The pounding against the inner gate was deafening—like a heartbeat seeking freedom from the chest. Sword in hand, the King rapped his hilt against his shield and shouted:

GIVE NO GROUND, LEAVE NO PREY, PROTECT THE BACKS OF MEN, FEAR NOT THE NIGHT, FOR WE ARE BRAVE, TURN AGAIN AND REND! The beat of his shield was met by a hundred more, deep voices rising and ing their leader. TOGETHER MIGHTY SOLDIERS, CUT THEM, MAKE THEM FLEE! FOR BARDS SHALL SING OF ALL YOUR DEEDS, AND HEROES YOU SHALL BE! The front gates exploded. The King sprinted forward, a handful of his men at his heels. “AARRRRGHH!” he screamed, letting his sword bury her teeth in green flesh. Shamalell, crafted by the Evolu nation for the High Kings of old, drank deeply—felling her foes at every strike. Plate and chain armor were no hinderance to the magical blade. Rolling from one enemy to the next, King Robert pushed through the sea of death. “Push forward men! BRING THEM DOWN!!” Pouring over the discarded battering ram, giants hammered at the front line of defense. Gaping maws howled at the smell of blood. Many of Til-Thorin fell under the ferocity, and some Vallen abandoned their ranks to feast upon the dying. Arrows from high walls now flashed into the courtyard, burying shafts in the faces and chests of exposed enemies. Bodies continued to flood through the gate. Blow by blow the enemy pushed into the courtyard, pressing with their sheer strength and size.

King Robert danced between foes, spinning around spears and jumping over thrusts and jabs. Lunging, sliding, shifting, parry, block, elbow to the face and a blade across the throat… “Robert—ROLL!” he heard Tamorah shout. The King spun, hooking a spear of an attacker and guiding it into the belly of another. A roar caught his attention and without thinking, his shield arm rose to cover his head. The hammer landed, driving King Robert painfully to his knees. In one motion, he dropped his shoulder and rolled to avoid a second blow. “HEY!” bellowed Dax, sliding across the sleet and up to the feet of the enemy soldier. Swinging his mace as his body spun around, it hit across the protected calf of the Vallen. The giant fell onto its face. Dax jumped and flipped forward, landing on the giants back, swinging both maces in a combined, downward blow. The enemy twitched once as the weapons made with its skull. Dax wiped his face across a forearm, “You alright, Bobby?” The King gasped for breath, but nodded, “Back to work.” The sound of a whip cracked the air, then another. It was followed by a highpitched shriek. King Robert parried and severed an arm before he turned to catch sight of the freemen. Like the bringers of death, they danced as Vallen raced towards the steps. Giants that met their immediate demise. Towering over his brothers, Nyoli, drew his bow with blinding speed. Arrows pierced eye cavities, arteries and chinks in armor. Those who avoided the bowman were met by Animal, Polearm and Vasta. Wielding double axes, a stone hammer and trident—arms were severed, stomachs pierced and skulls crushed. Two metal chains flashed overhead as the third level of defense, compliments of the silver-haired maiden Diyana. Leather straps attached to the ends, cracked with each strike. Needle blades fused to the ends of her chains opened face and neck. Kiljua’s sporadic, high-pitched shrieks caused distraction and hesitation. She danced and weaved in and out of views, spinning below the enemy’s waists, cutting arteries. The speed at which the bodies fell caused many of the enemy to pause. It was

Alhannah who then took advantage of the moment. Zig-zagging through the sea of legs, the gnome swung her swords, cutting tendons. Vallen bellowed and fell to the ground, floundering. Humans soldiers took advantage of the distraction and pushed forward in pairs, cutting the beasts low. The dance of death spread, engaging all those present. …and yet, no one seemed to notice a single shadow sneaking out from the stables.

This can’t be right, Wendell complained—I followed all the signs, all the pieces of the dreams! It was angering. Infuriating. The sounds of battle raged outside, intensifying and drawing nearer. He caught flashes of movement past the narrow opening. A soldier fell in view, screaming and holding his bloodied arm. “Help me, Ithari!” Wendell pleaded in a loud whisper, “People are dying! The enemy…they could find the seal!” He paced the cell, back and forth, thinking to himself as intensely as he knew how. Please, Ithari—Help Me! Help Me! …come on, blast you, Help Me! Help me. His eyes popped open. Without thinking, he yanked open the tunic , turned away from the window and blurted out loud, “Silmä inakmään!” Ithari flashed into view. One of the crates in the hall outside his cell tipped over and crashed onto the floor. Wendell flinched, turning his chest away from the sound. No one was there. Its contents, long wax candles, rolled across the floor. He stared down at the gem. Cupping a hand over it center, he squeezed it. Finger nails pulled at the rim, but nothing happened. He could feel his own heartbeat through the crystal. It was warm to the touch. I’m trying so hard to do this…to BE what… he sighed, frustrated. Why won’t you talk to me? He turned to the narrow opening and pointed, still staring at the gem. “Do you

see that—what’s going on outside?” he asked, frustrated, “I want to help stop all this. I’m willing to help stop it! Isn’t that what you want?” His pulse quickened and Wendell immediately felt strength surge through his arms and legs. A warm pulse that enlivened his senses. But Wendell frowned. He turned away from the narrow window in the cell, so his chest was in shadow. Wendell squinted. “You’re glowing!” he gasped. It was the same purple glow he’d seen around King Roberts head. Now it was softly emanating from his chest! “What does this mean?” he asked aloud, hopeful. But there was no answer. He threw his back against the cell bars. Oh, come ON! You HAVE to hel— “Wait a minute…” Wendell stood upright and slowly tilted his head to one side. Is that…? he looked down at his chest and took a step towards the far corner of the cell. He cupped the Ithari, to create a shadow with his hands. The glow intensified. He looked up again. A sliver of light had caught his attention, barely visible behind the mound of straw and dirt. Then he heard it. Giggling. Wendell dashed to the wall and dropped to his knees—his hands clawing away the grime. A purple light pulsed brightly, as if trying to push out from behind the stone. He slapped his palm against the cold surface of the mortar. “Hello?” he whispered to the wall. The giggling filled his mind and heart. Wendell’s mouth peeled back into an open-tooth grin. YES!

But there was nothing to scrape away at the mortar. Just straw, dirt, the benches used as a bed. Then it dawned on him. Wait a minute, if the seal’s in there, wouldn’t it be… Wendell jumped to his, braced himself against the two walls of the corner and kicked at the stone. The impact made an odd sound—like an egg cracking as his foot made . But it he could see lines across the stone. Wendell kicked again, this time carefully angling his foot. He didn’t want to put his sneaker through the center and risk damaging the contents. Purple light flooded into the room as the pieces fell away. The light shed forth both from the secret compartment and from Ithari herself. Wendell dropped to his knees and peered inside the hollow section of the wall. You Found Me! Wendell laughed. He couldn’t help it. He’d finally done something right. The light was warm and soothing, bouncing off the walls of the container. His heart beat with such love, all he could do at first was concentrate on breathing. His skin tingled with warmth and energy, like he was being hugged. “Yup, I found you,” was all he could think to say…and he laughed again. The shard was smaller than Wendell had imagined it would be. It was the length of his longest finger and not more than two inches in diameter. It sat, wrapped in the loving embrace of a statue…a female figurine, standing on a rocky shore. Her arms and long, flowing hair held the shard fast as water splashed against the rocks behind her. Is that…the seal? Curious, Wendell reached in to grab the statue. He hesitated—his fingers curling into a fist. Slowly, he withdrew his hand. Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, he realized. What do I do with it once I have

it? His mind instantly flooded with questions. How did it work? Could he damage it by touching it? Is there an enchantment protecting it? He sat upright. “Chuck would know!” All he had to do was get out of this cell. He could run to the Great Hall, grab the wizard and bring him back. They could get Dax and Alhannah and port somewhere safe. Get the seal away from the army before they discovered it. He grinned wide. We have SO won this! Quickly pushing straw and dirt up around the opening, he blotted out the purple light. “I’ll come right back,” he said, though he wasn’t sure to exactly whom. “I’ll take you somewhere safe…somewhere far away, ok?” Right. He backed up to the opposite wall, facing the bars of the cell door. His only obstacle now was getting free. You can do this Wendell. People are counting on you—just slam your body into the door and break the darn hinges! YES! He sniffed. Yeah. Break it. That’s all I have to do. He rolled his shoulders back and took a deep breath. All I have to do…*sigh*. Right. Here goes nothing. “AHHHHHHH…!” he screamed, hoping it would make him tougher. Throwing his shoulder forward, Wendell ducked his head just before impact. A loud CLANG rang through the hallway as the cell door flipped open without resistance and slammed against the adjacent bars. Wendell lost his footing, stumbled forward, tripped on his own feet and slammed into the far wall. His face bounced off the stone and he collapsing onto the ground with a dull thud. “Uhhhhh,” he moaned. The cell keys snapped off the small wooden knob above him…and clunked him on the head. “Ouch.” But he had no time for pain or complaints. The mystery had been solved of why Wendell was at Til-Thorin! He had to get help…fast. Jumping to his feet, the

young hero…now feeling like a hero, sprinted down the hallway, sliding awkwardly across the stone floor, trying to the way out.

Dax fell back to stand beside Tamorah. His sister stood among the crates and overturned wagons in the courtyard, commanding what remained of the human archers. An arrow flashed from her bow, dropping a giant emerging through the front gate. “You alright?” he panted. He still grasped the two heavy maces, which were stained black. Tamorah’s hand flashed to her quiver and in one smooth motion nocked a second arrow into her bow. She let it fly. “Do I look like I’m alright?” she barked, “They’re slaughtering our men and we’re losing ground!” She sent a third shaft through the air, which sunk into the back of another foe—the silver-barbed tip protruding out the front of its naked chest. King Robert was still in the thick of the fight—refusing to retreat and leave his men. He pushed forward, defending his soldiers with every blow. But his strength was fading. The Vallen possessed daunting, inhuman endurance— driven by an anger other races had never understood. He gasped, sweat trickling down his face and neck. The chain mail tunic was getting heavy—slowing down his movements. He sliced through an exposed thigh, followed by a rake with the bottom point of his shield. King Robert stumbled over a body and nearly fell. It was a young boy. Probably a villager, not more than fifteen. The open eyes stared to the heavens, though the black clouds and smoke from the dark magic still dominated the sky. The King faltered. Most of his men had fallen to the might of the enemy. This boy was someone’s brother…someone’s son. Someone’s child. He’d never go home, never fall in love of have a family of his own. A barking noise snapped Robert out of his momentary trance…and drove him into a frenzy. He charged the front gate.

Alhannah flipped and danced around the bodies of the Rook who had fallen, wounded by sword and spear. Her black steel flashed in tiny hands, red ponytails a blur to the enemy. She breathed hard…but pushed past the pain, past the exhaustion—the smile on her face embedded in her countenance. She laughed hysterically. Chuck clobbered a staggering Vallen over the head with the end of his staff, following after the King. “Where are you going?!” he shouted. With that, he slapped the top of his staff and yelled, “Wake up! I need you!!” Putrid yellow-skinned giants charged the wizard, faces splotched red with satisfaction. Chuck held the staff out in front of him and shook it with his eyes clenched tight. “NOW! NOW! NOW!” The dragon blinked, reared its head…and opened its mouth. Red flame sprayed outward, enveloping its enemies. Screams and wails were cut short as the bodies withered, armor melting through flesh. Chuck pushed forward, waving his staff in a wide arch. He walked towards the main gate, catching everything on fire like a crazy man. Enemies scrambled to get out of the staff’s way, some distracted enough to be dispatched by the weaker humans. “Let’s close this up, shall we?” Chuck patted the dragon staff affectionately. The guard gate above the main entrance gave him a wild idea. “Think you can melt the stone?” he asked his staff. With a screech, the dragons small wings flapped. Wooden scales expanded around its midsection and blue flame leapt from the dragons mouth. It was a tight, straight stream. The wizard pointed the staff at the stone above the entrance. But nothing happened. “Come on,” he egged, “put your gut into it!” Flames surged as the dragon thrust its neck forward. Everyone fled the wizards presence…both friend and foe. Even Chuck was forced to hold the staff with one hand, while shielding his face with the other.

“Thata BOY!” he cried. Wood shriveled in a puff of smoke as magical flames consumed the front gate. The metal of the portcullis melded with stone, pouring downward, into the opening like slag. “CHUCK!” Wendell’s voice echoed faintly in the wizards ears. The young hero zig-zagged across the courtyard, ignoring the conflict altogether. He was smiling. Wendell’s careless display was disturbing enough, but the flaps of his tunic were loose and Ithari could be seen plainly. It was glowing bright purple from the center of his chest. Dax shouted in alarm, “WENDELL!” He launched himself across the ground, swinging his body forward like an ape. His face instantly contorted into a snarl, his eyes sharp as daggers. Wendell was focused on the wizard, and had inadvertently slipped past a small cluster of enemy soldiers. Red spattered faces watched the unarmed, half naked human sprint past. They gnashed their teeth and bolted after him. Air exploded, knocking Wendell forward, through the air. BAMPH! BAMP! BAMPH! BAMPH! BAMPH! Wendell landed roughly on his chest, sliding to a halt at the wizards sandaled feet. He coughed and pushed himself up. “Chuck, I just…” Dax’s body lay beside him. Covered in black goo, his arms and legs spasmed violently, only the white of his eyes were visible. Blood seeped from his mouth, nose and ears unhindered. The heads of three Vallen lay around him, eyes and lips still twitching. “Monkey!” cried Chuck, dropping his staff and falling to his knees. What…happened? Wendell stared at the small body, flipping about in epileptic spasms. Dax gasped, followed by weak coughs and blood draining from mouth

and nose. “Chuck—what’s wrong with him!?” Wendell asked, panicked. The wizard didn’t have time to answer. Wendell slapped his hands over his temples, trying to hold his skull together as a scream ripped at his soul. NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Arching his back, a brilliant white light flared from the Ithari. It shot skyward, a beam of light, piercing the clouds like a dagger. Wendell’s arms trembled, his chest heaving. The beam grew—spreading outward, across the sky, softening until it flooded the courtyard in a sea of white. The ground heaved. Cracks appeared across the courtyard. Chasms, opening wide to snap up trees, wagons and the bodies of the dead. The curtain wall swayed and split. Stones fell from towers. Men dove to safety while others less fortunate fell into the gaping maw of nature. The very steps of the Til-Thorin split asunder. The Vallen fled, dashing to the main gate—only to find their escape frustrated. Some ran along the walls, dropping their weapons and shields, wailing and scraping at stone like frightened children or trapped beasts. Others dashed up the steps of the catwalk and dove between the merlons. The few left were cut down by human soldiers still alert. The light faded suddenly. A light switch, turned off and all went dark. Wendell struggled to breathe. It was as if invisible hands pushed against his chest, weighing him down, refusing to let him inhale. Again the shriek pierced his mind and heart and he reeled in agony. “AHHHHHHHHHH!” Chuck reached out and grabbed his arm, “What is it?” He shook Wendell hard, “What’s wrong?!”

“NO!” Wendell gasped and the light from his chest vanished. Sweat dripped down his brow, burning his eyes. Without pausing, he pushed away from the wizard and bolted across the courtyard, leaping over obstacles. “Where are you going!?” shouted Alhannah, but she was already sprinting after him. “The seal!” Wendell yelled back, but didn’t stop running. Bounding up the stairs, he yanked the doors open and vanished into the Keep.

Chapter 55 The Final Peace

The problem with any communication is definition. If you’re not in the same book…how can you ever be on the same page?

Wendell ran through the Great Hall, leaping over benches and banging against tables in a near frenzy. I’m coming! he shouted in his mind. Hang on, I’m almost there!! He rounded the corner to dash through the kitchen and slammed into a wooden crate, lying prone in the middle of the floor. His thin body flipped over the crate and onto the stone. Alhannah nearly ran into Wendell as he jumped up, and angrily kicked the obstacle out of the way. “What is that smell?!!” she squeaked, slapping a hand over her mouth. Wendell turned his head into the crook of his elbow, gagging. The kitchen was a mess from the quake. Pots and pans lay everywhere, even a table was over turned… Wendell gasped as he saw smoke rising off the cooks body. The fat man hung half way out of the hearth, legs still burning in the fire, his head crushed and hidden under an overturned table. How could something like that happen— “Wendell,” Alhannah whispered, tugging on his hand. She pointed. “Look.” Four young ladies in servant attire lay frozen upon the ground. Their faces were contorted expressions of fear, skin pale as snow…without eyes, without tongues. Wendell dry heaved. His mind raced with thoughts from his dreams. A scream echoed from the hallways below.

It was a voice he recognized. Wendell pushing past the gnome and down the side hallway. Whipped ed cringing servants, he jumped down the stairwell, Alhannah on his heels. Not positive where the sound came from, he ran back towards his cell. Lili screamed again. Wendell skidded to a halt. There were three halls to choose from. No, no, no! “What’s wrong?” Alhannah breathed, gasping for air. Wendell snatched a torch from the wall and knelt down where the hallways met. Footsteps in the dust and dirt led down each of the three ageways. There was no way to tell which direction to go. However, it wasn’t likely the thief would stay at the cell—so he could count out one of the hallways. “Take that hall, Alhannah,” he said quietly, pointing into the shadows. “No way,” she argued, “I’m watching your back.” “There’s no time!” he snapped, then more composed, “You have to trust me on this, Alhannah. I need your help or the fight outside will be the least of our worries!” He stared at her without blinking, “That’s Lili screaming, and she’s going to die if we don’t help her.” Alhannah rolled her eyes, grabbed the torch from Wendell and raced off into the darkness. “Stay alert!” she snapped, but Wendell wasn’t listening. He was already running in the opposite direction. That is, until he saw it…next to an open cellar door. A shelf to his right, two wooden crates and three full gunny sacks.

He gulped, probably grain. On the bottom shelf was a pile of someones forgotten laundry. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Ithari pulsed, giving off a faint glow. A purple glow that pulled him silently down the hall until he reached a “T” in the ageway. Wendell carefully pulled his leather tunic over the gem and crept forward. In one corner, dressed in a fur vest, Lili held the Lanthya shard. Wendell caught a glimpse of the bright glow between her fingers, just before she dropped it into her bag. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! “Wendell, where are you?!” Alhannah called out, her voice echoing from far away. From the opposite corner crept a black robe, arms outstretched. Wendell’s eyes were immediately drawn to the floor. Insects fled, scattering across the stones… not from under the robe, but away from it. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell looked up. Two torches, above Lili, just like he’d dreamed. This is it, he convinced himself. He knew what had to happen next. I am the host of the Ithari…no, I AM THE HERO…and I CAN COMMAND FIRE! Wendell gripped the air in front of him. Obey me! he commanded silently, focusing on the torches. But nothing happened. He waved his hands in the air, squinting, focusing, but nothing happened. “WENDELL!” Alhannah called out again. Her voice was getting closer.

Lili whimpered as clawed hands, white as snow, appeared from the sleeves of the robe. They made their own clawing motions in the air. …and the fire from the torches flared. “It will be mine!” the creature hissed. No. Wendell gulped. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! This…can’t be right. Tha-THUMP-THUMP! Wendell realized a discouraging truth in that moment. The moment when the fire leapt from the sconces, flame expanded and swirled, splitting to form giant fingers. Wendell realized that he was simply…Wendell. Nothing more. He stood there, numb. No fear. No anger. No regret. All Wendell felt…was sadness. Please. Not this, he pleaded. I can’t fail. Not again. His hand went to his chest, fingers caressing the Ithari. I’m sorry I let you down. I didn’t mean to. But other people shouldn’t pay for my lack of…whatever you feel I lack. Tears swelled, but Wendell blinked them away without notice. Maybe I can’t be what you want me to be…but I can help one person. …and he lunged in front of Lili. The black robe clapped its hands together, the burning extensions of its will snatching Wendell’s body, holding him fast.

Wendell screamed. White light exploded from Ithari. It filled the room with a blinding intensity. The mägo reeled back, stumbling against the opposite wall…and into another torch. The oily cloth of its robe ignited. The creature let out its own high-pitched screech. Alhannah sprinted into view and immediately pummeled the mägo with her torch. It waved its deformed hands, but the gnome set the creature fully ablaze. Wobbling and stumbling, it scraped along the wall, saliva dripping from its mouth, eyestalks quivered in agony. “SORCERER!” Alhannah yelled. It snapped its head about as the gnome let the sword fly. Her blade tumbled through the air, its finely folded steel glinting in the light of the fire. With a sickening thud, it sunk into the Tauku’s skull, sliding up to the hilt. As if lacking the oxygen to burn, the magical flames along the stone sputtered and died out. The mägo crumpled over. Wendell’s screams clawed at stone and ear. His whole being was a battlefield of magic. The Ithari, a beacon shining from his chest, tried to preserve him, sending ripples of light across his flesh, while the flames consumed what it had already latched onto. Lili struggled to her feet, and screamed at Alhannah, “Help him!” His body spasmed and flipped about. As the gem flickered and dimmed, the flames created by incantation reached out—setting the floor and walls, anything he touched, ablaze. Pulling her vest from her shoulders, Lili ran at him. Alhannah launched herself at the girls knees, knocking Lili to the ground. “No!” she cried, “It’s magical flame—it’ll consume you!”

“Get off me!” Lili screamed frantically, “He’s dying!” Alhannah grabbed the girls wrists and pinned her fast. The warrior gnome winced with each wail of pain Wendell made. “I know,” she whispered to herself. “I know.”

Chapter 56 Unforeseen Ending

There is no such thing as an end to life. It merely takes on another form, or travels to another plane of existence. You cannot undo what is meant to last forever.

“L et me go!” shouted Lili. Alhannah pushed her through the doors of the Keep and into the wind. “Don’t let his sacrifice be in vain,” growled the gnome, coughing, “—now get OUT!” The shove was forceful enough that Lili fell upon the steps. Alhannah drew her swords to re-engage in combat…but there was no one left to fight. The courtyard of Til-Thorin was frozen in an eery silence. Lili gripped the snow in her fists and glared back at the gnome. She opened her mouth to snap a retort, but her fingers brushed against a soldiers body. A man, laid upon the steps, his face twisted in the last emotion of life. Snowflakes drifted down and landed on his blue lips. She pushed backwards, away from the body. Alhannah stood silently, staring out over the courtyard. A dense fog had settled over the Keep. Bodies of soldiers lay strewn across the ground. But it wasn’t the fallen bodies that held the gnomes attention, so much as the contorted expressions in death. Their pale skin, faces frozen in pain, anguish, and terror. Wagons overturned and on fire, small groups huddled with their backs to the flames, shield, sword, and bow in hand. The ground was torn, a gaping chasm separating the far edge of the courtyard from the remainder of the Keep. Three of the Rook crouched in a semi-circle, near a cracked section of the curtain wall. Their bows were drawn, watching the fields. Next to them, the

body of Lady Tamorah lay upon the ground, covered with their cloaks. Her head was tenderly cradled in Dax’s lap, who looked very pale himself. He stroked her raven hair and shielded his sisters face from the falling snow. Soldiers crowded around breaches in the wall, staring out of the gaps. Above them, standing boldly upon the remaining sections of the catwalk, was King Robert. He was attended by Lord Joram and Chuck. The King stood motionless, the dying winds tussling his salted beard. The embers of Woodside still glowed through the grey mist of the day, black smoke rolled up the hillside. There was, however, no sign of the enemy. “They had us,” said Joram aloud, “We could have been completely destroyed… and they let us live?” The King watched the smoke rise from Woodside. It whipped and curled in the air, then rolled down and across the fields like the waves of an ocean at high tide. “We weren’t what they were after.” “Sire?” “See that the wounded are moved into the keep, Joram. We have repairs to make, lest we find ourselves exposed and the enemy change their minds.” “Yes sire,” Joram bowed, but he paused before leaving. “And the dead?” “Once we have fortified the living, we will have time to honor the dead.” Joram nodded and scuttled down the steps. Chuck leaned forward on his staff and watched the Steward. “He’s good for this Keep.” Robert continued to stare over the valley, “I agree.” Elder Altorin was tending to Lady Tamorah, a grateful Dax assisting, while Elder Gaidred bandaged those in dire need. Til-Thorin had sustained heavy losses. More than half of its soldiers were dead. At least two thirds of the

volunteers had either ed them or were heavily wounded. “Watch yer back, pup,” grumbled Animal from below. Though visually tired and scarred, the freemen seemed undaunted. “Leaving so soon?” King Robert asked. Animal grinned, which looked unnatural to his chiseled, weathered face. “It’s time we do some hunting of our own. The green-skins have other plans and we aim to discover what they are.” He nodded to Chuck, respectfully, “Old man.” The wizard returned the nod without comment. “I’m grateful for the assistance, Animal,” said the King. The freeman grunted, “It was just payback, nothing more.” King Robert raised an eyebrow, “You’ll have to tell me about it someday.” “No, I wont.” Animal and his crew turned to leave, “But we’ll spread the word. You got problems brewing you can’t avoid any longer.” Then he added, “We’ll let ourselves out.” The freemen made their way to the stables. The King watched them leave until the fog hid them from sight. “What are you thinking, Robert?” asked Chuck, his own gaze still scanning for signs of Thule’s forces. “You’re mind’s as squeaky as a gnome-fashioned clock. What’s up?” He looked at the wizard, dark rings under his eyes. “They didn’t want me, or to invade Andilain. They were after something specific.” The cracks in the curtain walls and the gap along the courtyard would take days, maybe even weeks to repair. “This wasn’t done by Tauku magic, was it old man?” Chuck bit his lip, then said, “No Bobby, I’m afraid not.” He laid a hand on the Kings shoulder, “We’re in this for the long haul, now, you and me…just like we planned.” He gave a little squeeze, “And it’s going to be a rough course to

navigate.” The King nodded and turned back to watch the fields through the fog and smoke. Wobbling down the stairs, Chuck caught sight of the gnome. “Alhannah!” His robes were tattered, the hem soaked red and black. He pushed himself forward with a heavy limp. “Where’s Wendell?” he huffed. Alhannah looked up with a stern expression, but her lips started quivering. “Speak, child!” Chuck snapped. He caught sight of Lili upon the steps. His eyes narrowing to slits. She still gripped the snow in fists, head bowed and unmoving. Kneeling slowly at Alhannah’s side, he pulled the gnome close and tenderly wrapped his arms around her. “Thank the gods you’re alright,” he whispered, “and I’m sorry I snapped at you, little one. Now, where’s the boy?” Small arms wrapped around his neck, a pigtail rubbing against his cheek. She wept into the folds of his hood. When he pulled her away, Alhannah’s face was red and puffy. She avoided looking him directly in the eyes. “I’m so sorry, Uncle Chuck. There just wasn’t…” she faltered and sniffed, “I’m…so sorry.” Chuck lifted her little chin and smiled weakly. “Where is he?”

The magical fire had all but died out, consuming every stray crate, box and supply in the hall. The scorch marks looked like long, black spider legs, stretching down the hallways. Even the stone sagged, where Wendell had fallen against the wall or rolled along the ground. The upper torso of the Tauku’s body had melted into the wall, one of Alhannah’s swords still protruding from the skull. The stench of burned flesh hung heavy in the air, making it near impossible to breathe. Chuck covered his face with a handkerchief, while others breathed through the crook of their elbows. Gaidred and Altorin seemed altogether unaffected. Alhannah examined the Tauku’s body, then mule kicked the sorcerer’s torso off the wall. Her sword has withered in the flames, but at least it had dispatched a real enemy of her people. The burned lower extremities of the mägo snapped off like a dry twig. The hallway was a sea of ash, centered around the blackened remains of Wendell’s skeleton. His body sat in the middle of the floor, curled in a fetal position. The mägoweave jeans and sneakers were perfectly intact, while the rest of his exposed body was nothing more than charred skeletal remains. Dax pushed past the wizard and Elders. He dropped to his knees by Wendell’s side. “No, no, no!” he wailed. Large hands reached out, hovering over the body. “This…isn’t possible.” He looked up at Chuck, then to the Elders, “THIS CAN’T BE!” The wizard stood motionless. Gaidred and Altorin immediately knelt at Wendell’s head and feet. Gaidred began whispering the Iskari prayer, Altorin bowed his head. “How could Ithari choose him, just to let him die?” cried Dax, gritting his teeth. His expression morphed to sheer anger, “SHE CHOSE HIM!” “She’s not all powerful, my boy,” Chuck said remorsefully, “As hard as it is to believe, Ithari has limitations.”

“Chuck!” called King Robert, from down the hall, “You’ll want to see this.” The King was standing in the cell, where Wendell had been locked up. Straw and dirt had been pulled away frantically from the corner of the cell. The wizard sighed heavily as he knelt and picked up fragments of the figurine. The body was snapped in half, the base of the sculpture shattered into pieces. Fragments of a thin clay disc lay among the remains. “Joram said the guards had placed Wendell in here for safe keeping.” Robert knelt down, “Said he’d gone berserk in the chapel.” He picked up the tiny female head and studied it. “Looks like he found a secret compartment.” Boney fingers traced the runes of magic upon a fragment, now powerless. Chuck let it fall from his grasp. It shattered like glass upon the ground. “One to go,” he whispered. The King frowned, “You know what this means?” Chuck brushed off his robes, “It means we have to find that last seal before Thule does.” They walked back to Wendell. The Iskari were still praying, while Dax sat staring at the charred remains. King Robert studied the scene for several minutes, then purposefully stepped on the charred remains of a tentacle. “There’s a traitor in Til-Thorin!” Chuck glanced between the bodies, “How so?” “There’s no way this creature could have gotten in here without help.” The wizard knelt down and ran his fingers around the Tauku’s neck, lifted the folds of its robes. “I don’t think it needed help getting in, Bobby,” he said, then, “Ah, here it is.” He pulled a silver ring with weaving bands from one of its charred fingers. It was silver, with a center stone, which looked like an eye. Yellow with a red pupil. Chuck handed it to the King. “That is how he got in.” “What is it?” he asked, examining it.

“A Shade Ring. Powerful magic, those things…and it’s a Tauku specialty.” Chuck stood up and walked back to Wendell’s body. “It shifts your perception, so you can move unnoticed by those around you. It won’t make you invisible… but you won’t be seen unless you call undue attention to yourself. Like becoming a piece of furniture in a room. You know it’s there, but it’s unimportant, so you don’t focus on it. The sorcerer didn’t need help getting in— not with us so aptly distracted.” He looked at the King sternly, “But I believe you’re right…about the traitor. Someone knew the seal was here.” Gaidred finished the prayer, opened his eyes and nodded to Altorin. They grasped Wendell’s hands and wrists. “What do you think you’re doing?” yelled Dax, “Leave him alone!” He grabbed Gaidred’s forearm forcefully. “Dax, I understand your plight, but we must return Ithari to Sanctuary— quickly.” With a gentle touch, the Elder removed Dax’s hand. “We may still have time for you to retrieve the actual hero.” As they rotated the body over, the Ithari sparkled in the center of Wendell’s chest, unblemished. Gaidred placed his hand over the diamond. “Kotiin meille,” he whispered. There was an intense flash of blinding light and both Elders flew backwards. Altorin’s body slid down the hallway, while Gaidred slammed against a nearby wall. King Robert rushed to Altorin’s side, checking his pulse. “He’s out cold.” “Same here,” answered Dax, hovering over Gaidred. Chuck bunched up his robes and knelt over Wendell. Leaning over the body, he gingerly lifted an arm and studied it. “Well aren’t you a clever girl!” Rolling back his sleeves, Chuck pulled off his hat and reached in. Tinkling glass

sounded. “Robert, I need a fresh fire made in the hearth upstairs. Burn three logs of oak and one of maple. Bring me three cups of the ash and one gallon of fresh spring water from the well. Do it now and do it quickly…we haven’t much time!” Dax looked at the wizard hopefully, “What can I do?” The smile vanished from Chuck’s face. His brows rolled forward in a storm of their own, overshadowing his eyes. “Bring me Lili.”

No one spoke a word as Chuck measured and mixed the various liquids from his vials. Placing the deep wooden bowl in front of him, the wizard poured the ash into the water and then added the sparkling liquid from his vial. Smoke puffed above the rim of the bowl, dispersing into the air. “So he’s not dead?” asked Alhannah eagerly. “No, my dear, Wendell is not dead,” answered Chuck, swirling the container as he knelt up. “That brilliant gem couldn’t stop him from burning, unfortunately. Poor boy—must have been painful beyond imagining, but they haven’t made a strong enough connection between them yet. Ithari was unable to use their full potential to protect him.” Holding the bowl out over Wendell’s body, he slowly poured the liquid onto the charred corpse. “He might have survived, had he been wearing his full mägoweave, but I’m guessing she protected the little intelligences that make up our young friend, somewhere inside herself.” She frowned, confused, “Intelligences?” Chuck wriggled his nose, “Itsy-bitsy stuff that make up everything around us.” “So what exactly are you doing then?” asked Dax, wrinkling his nose at the stench of the steam rising from the body. Chuck smiled in triumph as gasps erupted from both Elders. Wendell’s skeleton…relaxed. ts released their lock on his limbs, straightening out upon the ground until Wendell was lying flat upon his back. “I’m just giving Ithari some building blocks to work with.” They all stared in awe as Wendell’s chest cavity filled in and expanded, his muscles thickening. Within minutes, the charred black skin had smoothed out and turned a dull grey.

Chuck sat back on the floor beside the body and tossed his beard over his lap. Alhannah gripped his shoulder, excited and hopeful. Patting her hand, he whispered, “This won’t bring him back, my dear. It’s only a bandaid, so to speak.” He looked at her seriously, “I’m going to need your help to save him.” “Anything,” she said firmly and Chuck nodded, letting his head rest against the wall. Wendell’s grey skin slowly turned pink. Eyes inflated in the gaping holes of his skull and lids reformed to cover them. Wendell’s lips inflated over his teeth. Everyone watched as Wendell’s entire body, completely regenerated. Lili stood off in the hallway and looked away. “He looks perfect, Uncle Chuck….” gasped the gnome, “There’s nothing you can do to…wake him up?” Chuck slapped his hands together, “Can’t have your cake and eat it too, my dear.” He paused, “Well, unless you’re a fat baker. Nope, this is as far as I can get him.” Dax gripped Wendell’s arm. “He’s got a pulse!” “Of course he does!” cheered the wizard, “But he’s only half alive.” Gaidred, shaking his head in disbelief, looked to wizard. “Half…alive?” Chuck smirked. “This was the easy part. Ithari has preserved Wendell’s body, but now we need to wake up his mind.” “What the fairy farts are you talking about?” asked Dax. Chuck flipped his wide brim hat up onto his head and pulled a small box from his sleeve. He handed it to Dax. “We’re going to Clockworks City. Now, put a shirt on him.” Alhannah shook her head, “The law bans outlanders, uncle Chuck. If you’re

caught, you could be executed!” Chuck patted her on the head and nodded at Wendell’s body. “The only magic that can save that boy now is the darkest type. Only gnomes know it. That psycho-olligee-stuff. You know, brain magic. That’s why I need your help, ‘Hannah. You have clout, connections…and enough fame to run interference for us.” Alhannah looked at Wendell as Dax pulled the mägoweave over his head. He’d thrown himself in front of death, to save someone’s life. Without sword, shield or knowing how to fight. He’d sacrificed himself for another. She nodded to Chuck. “Done.” “And you, my dear,” said Chuck, pointing at Lili, “are coming with us.” “Me?” she squeaked, backing away, “I’m not going to the Gnome homeland! Are you crazy?” Chuck smiled, “Oh, that’s so beyond the point.” He grabbed her by the arm and escorted her out of earshot. With all eyes on them, he leaned close to whisper. “You have no idea what you’ve done, child…or how many millions of lives you have placed in jeopardy.” Lili glared at the wizard and pulled her arm free. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she cursed, “and I’m not going anywhere with you.” The smile never left Chucks face. He held up the Shade Ring from the Tauku. “Look familiar?” He grabbed her by the wrist and compared it to the ring on her middle finger. They looked like yellow eyes staring up at him. “And we have a winner.” He let Lili’s hand drop and placed the Shade Ring onto his own finger. “That’s fine. If you don’t want to help, I won’t force you to go with us, my dear.” The cool tone of his threat was unmistakable, “I’ll simply make sure Dax escorts you home.”

Lili’s glare immediately faltered. Her expression changed to worry. “You owe that boy your life, Liliolevanumua,” he smiled, her name rolling off his tongue as if he’d spoken it all his life, “and I aim to hold you to it.” Worry changed to fear. “How do you…” Chuck tapped the tip of his nose, “Do we have an understanding?” She searched his face for a weakness. Something she could exploit to her advantage. She had been outmatched. Lili’s head lowered. “We do.” “Excellent!” Chuck snapped out loud, standing upright. He walked briskly back to Wendell’s body, leaving Lili sulking in the shadows. The yellow smiley face was asleep on Wendell’s chest, small ‘z’s’ floating across the cloth. Reaching out his hand, Chuck shook Gaidred and Altorin’s hands. “This is where we part ways for a bit, boys. You run on home,” he looked at King Robert, “or better yet—make yourself useful and help Bobby get home and settled. He could use some moderately good council while I’m gone.” He grabbed King Robert and hugged him tight. “Keep the faith Bobby-boy, the fight just got interesting.” With a wink and a nod, he turned to Dax and snatched the small box from him. Dax looked worried and he fidgeted. He searched desperately for a cigar in his waistband, but found nothing. “Ready monkey?” “I don’t have the strength, Chuck.” “We all have to find the strength from this point forward.” He stared at Dax and gave him a full teeth, genuine smile, “If anyone can find the strength to be extraordinary—it’s you.” For a moment, Dax’s face turned a reddish green. “Right,” he coughed, clearing his throat. Holding his arms out, Dax stood over Wendell’s body. “Get as close

as you can,” he said firmly. Chuck and Alhannah stepped up next to him. The gnome gave him a quick hug. Dax looked over at Lili. The girl’s face had gone pale and she rubbed her arms furiously. “Come on kid.” She shuffled over and stood next to Alhannah. The gnome reached up and took hold of her hand with a squeeze. Chuck tapped his staff on the ground heavily and grinned back at everyone. “Oh, stop with the long faces! A dead hero brought back to life, two adorable girls, a midget elf and an exceptionally handsome wizard on a one-way trip to possible prison or death? You survived an assault by the army of General Thule and now have an enemy to pursue in your own lands. Evil is loose once more and has come to our doorstep! Do you know what this means!?” King Robert looked to the Elders, confused, then back at the wizard. “What?” Chuck laughed out loud, “It means we’re doing something right to gain all this attention from the Dark Lord! It is definitely a Monday!” With that, he tapped Dax on the head with his staff. BAMPH!

Epilogue

The high winds sent ice skittering across the cheerless camp, like powdered glass. Up and over the supply wagons and onto the thick, black, oily cloth of the tents it blew. The hasty retreat from Til-Thorin and Tämä-Un to the south of the Highlands had left the Vallen exhausted. The Täuku now clung to life, expending the full strength of their crafts to hide and speed the movements through grass, mud and snow, while the Beast Masters drove the soldiers by their whips. The storm continued to rage through the night sky overhead. It was enough. The humans did not have the resources to pursue from Til-Thorin, much less be an immediate threat. There was time. King Robert would regroup. He would find reinforcements and eventually give chase, to rid his lands of the enemy. It was his way. But the High King would fail. Soldiers huddled around the pit fires, ing the heated blood of the days kill in steel mugs. Meat roasted on the bone over open flames, the feast for those fortunate to be alive, while trying to ignore the screams. The screams. Cutting across the howl of the wind until their labored pitch would stop suddenly, cut short. Eyes would dart about the camp, fearful of who might be next. Were the six enough?

The battered bodies of three dozen littered the ground, creating an outer circle around the black dwelling. Bodies of those who dared run when the quake shook the world, mingled with the human slaves from the local villages. Piled two high, they smoldered from the dark magic which slowly consumed them. The ceremony, however, was not yet complete. One more life was needed. The most difficult life. A life given, not taken. Chains dragged through the mud, snow and across hidden rocks as the procession made its way to the tent. Eyes watched the prisoner who had not fought, not resisted the call, bowing his massive frame as he entered the tent of summoning. This Vallen was unlike the rest. There was no fear in his eyes as his Lord looked up from the Kala’iskul. Thule nodded to the guards. With swift movements, they unshackled the male, garbed in his loin cloth. Bowing to their Lord, the guards quickly retreated, leaving the two in silence. Ignoring his prisoner, Thule knelt over a crumpled body in his ceremonial robes. Midnight black with trim the shade of blood, the double breasted cut of cloth and high collar were held together by beads resembling snake eyes. The red stitching at the end of each cuff, ran up to mid forearm, like splatters of blood. He held the victims throat open at the inflicted wound and carefully collected its treasure onto a white cloth. One of six cloths, twisted and wrapped into circles on the floor, saturated in the hot liquid of life. Each circle was surrounded with small red stones, the center of each containing etched symbols. With a sure, swift motion of the ceremonial blade Thule carved the eyes from the skull cavity and placed them on top of the cloth. Muttering softly under his voice, smoke slowly rose as eyes melted into the fibers of the cloth. The prisoner silently observed his masters labors.

Only one cloth remained. White. Untouched. Rising to his feet, Thule studied the naked captive with great interest. It hasn’t fled. “Your name?” Red eyes set on the general. “Veskodin,” it growls, rubbing his wrists as eyes ed over the Kala’iskul without recognition or curiosity. Death Bite. Interesting. Thule watched Veskodin as the Vallen focused instead upon the circle around him. A lingering attention to the blood drenched cloth placed among the engraved stones. It’s trying to understand what it sees. Putting the pieces together. Thule grinned. Its stance is strong. Sure of itself. It does not tremble or show any sign of fear. “Do you know why you are here?” Thule asked aloud, moving slowly about the outer edge of the circle, towards Veskodin. His movements were sure, steps precise, careful not to disturb the contents. Rubbing the blood into his hands, the dried drops flaked and fell to the floor. Veskodin sniffed the air, nostrils flaring. It’s intelligent. It dares to measure its own strength against my own. Good! “I am told my duties displease master,” it snarled, “that life is now forfeit.” Thule’s good eye peered over the Orb. “And you disagree.” The creature stood erect, jutting out its chest. “It is lie.” “Is it?” Thule let the tone of his voice imply the challenge, more than the words themselves. The beast snarled, “I have not failed a command. I lead many to victory. Shed blood of many for Lords. I know I am being used. I do also as I lead. Fuel for fire of my command,” he dropped his head, peering at Thule from under a massive brow, “and meat for my table!” Nodding to one of the blood soaked cloths in the circle, “Your fire is greatest, Lord Thule.”

Thule clenched the ceremonial blade in a reverse grip and drew it once more from his scabbard. The prisoner didn’t flinch…didn’t even blink. He just stood, breathing evenly, arms at its sides, hands in loose fists. The blade was seven inches long, with a slight curve and hook on the tip for skinning, though double edged. The hilt was shaped as two green snakes wrapping around one another, their tails holding an emerald at its base. Two jagged horns, made from dragons teeth protruded out either side of the hilt acting as a hand guard. “You are not afraid?” he muttered to the prisoner. Veskodin growled long and deep. “I live to bring pain. To rend flesh from those who stand in way and to pave paths for darkness. I fight in this life and will fight in the next!” The prisoner raised his powerful arms and gave a mighty roar, deep and thunderous, “It is fear I bring!” As the sound trailed off, he lowered his eyes, filled with bloodlust, glaring at the greatest of all Vallen, Lord Thule. “My life not forfeit,” Veskodin growled, “It is given!” Thule moved closer. “We shall see,” he grinned in another challenge. The prisoner said nothing. It bared its teeth in a wicked snarl and Thule knew, it was ready to rend his flesh. A magnificent creature of violence. “The lifeblood of those outside,” Thule began, “are used to animate the inanimate. They were weak, yet they serve a purpose. The shadows are without a leader.” Thule paused, holding the beast’s stare, “Do you know of what I speak?” Veskodin stood motionless. “There must be one who will command these forms and bend the shades to the Dark Lords will.” Thule gripped the ceremonial blade by the knifes edge and pulled quickly across his palm without flinching or showing signs of pain. Red blood dripped from between his fingers. Animal to animal, Thule knew the way of the Vallen curs. “Only one can lead. He who can shed his own blood and place his will within it. The blood of a servant, not a victim. Only he who is master of his pain will rule the darkness and wreak havoc on this land.” Veskodin’s eyes fixed on the white cloth between them, folded neatly upon the

ground. It’s brilliant white was an abomination among its black stained brothers. Silently, he knelt and leaned over the circle, stretching out his neck and lifting his chin. “No,” Thule hissed, holding out the ceremonial knife, hilt first, “To become lord over the dead, it must be by your own hand.” Silently, Veskodin took the blade in his left hand, leaning his torso over the cloth. Without a whisper, the powerful hand plunged the blade deep into flesh and pulled it across its lower belly. Blood and entrails covered the cloth, bathing the circle in black.

Magic. Humor. Adventure. Get to know the crazy author behind the stories.

https://www.subscribepage.com/chronicles-email-list

LEAVE A REVIEW

If you enjoyed this story, take a moment to leave a review—because I’ll personally read it. I’m like that. Readers don’t often realize how hard it is to write a book. But it’s even harder is to get reviews. To an indie author, like me, reviews are critical…Your good word helps people find this book, buy this book, and allows me to write the next book. Click HERE to Leave a Review! It helps me more than you realize.

Authors Note

This collection was created originally for the of my Chronicles of a Hero email list. So if you’re not on my list already, you should thank them. Why did I make this starter pack? Simple. I wanted to provide as much value as I could to those who wanted a first taste of the world of Wanted Hero. Hope you enjoyed it—because there’s a lot more where this came from. Wendell’s adventure is just getting started! Before I go, I wanted to say something that, well…might not make a lot of sense, but think about it for a bit and let it sink in. You can do this. Life, I mean. There’s so much going on around us in thew world—a world that doesn’t actually give a damn about you or me. …which makes just living so much harder to do. The world teaches people to be selfish, to blame, to point fingers and run away from responsibility—to hide from the things that are "hard". But that’s how we grow. You know that, right? Sure, things are hard. Sometimes they are downright painful. Just this year, 2021, I’ve buried a sister, an uncle, two friends, my daughter in

law almost bled to death and we almost lost a grandson. But when you take a step back—even with the bleed looking situations, there’s collateral beauty. I was able, at funerals, to apologize and heal deep wounds of those I care about. Families were brought closer together because if a common loss. Our faith in God grew because we spent so much time on our knees praying for the life of an infant. And when this happens to another…I can step in, hold out a steadying hand and lift someone else up. We might not always know what to do in trying times, but you know what to do then? Stand your ground and wait. Plant your feet, clench your hands into fists and shout to the Universe, "I WILL NOT BE MOVED!" …then wait for the path to present itself. You are that strong. You are not a mistake. Choose to live a life of purpose…on purpose. You can be a hero, if you so choose. So choose. - Jaime

About the Author

Jaime Buckley is a father and storyteller—spending his life crafting adventures about Wendell P. Dipmier, the accidental hero. Originally created for his own children, Wanted Hero (his collection of works) and the adventures of Wendell, Chuck, and Dax were told and acted out at bedtime. These stories became comic books, novels, and even inspired fans to write original music for the world. Jaime continues to write, draw, and expand this fictional world, sharing it with readers through digital, print, and audiobook formats. There’s even an online interactive world being built…just for you.

You can find all this and more at JaimeBuckley.com

Bonus Material

Höbin Luckyfeller’s Fieldguide: Demoni Vankil

As a fishis (Field Scribe Historian), you tend to collect a lot of …well, stuff. I collect more than most. That’s why I’m the best at what I do. In my rented room one night I found myself staring at the towers of crates and packages—unevenly stacked and precariously reaching over my bed and small table. My eyes wandered over the field dates and priority numbers on each container—a system I developed to allow me to keep track of current work projects in order of priority. Filled with the knick-knacks of my adventures, each item held a story already written…or a story waiting to be discovered and told. I absentmindedly ran my fingers over the surfaces of metal, wood and heavy plastic—lingering at the soft woven cloth of scroll pouches. Checking the numbers, my memories were working their way into the past. For some reason, I was trying to when this collection started. Reflecting on the decades of research and discoveries of my life I located the medium-sized, faded blue ‘smuggle crate’ I acquired while at University. Scratches and dents adorned the surface of my very first piece of equipment. I ed one of my professors encouraging me to ‘Be creative, if necessary, to collect the data you may need someday.’ Chuckling to myself, ‘It’s called creative acquisition,’ they told us in training. ‘Often the story you are trying to uncover is not the story you will tell. Store away the dross until you can connect the facts and complete another story.’ ‘Steal what you have to’, was what they meant. My hand slid across the worn surface searching for the hidden latch. There’s a soft ‘click’ as the seal releases the false bottom inside the crate. Removing my

old field journals, the letters from Sylvia and Alhannah’s first hunting knives, I lifted the separator out. Perfectly nestled in the bottom was a rectangular wooden box. A puzzle box made of a glossy red wood—sifterwood or manzanita, I think, from the grains. The smuggle crate preserved it well all these years, the polished wood still looking like new. Except it wasn’t new. The box was already hundreds of years old when I found it. I was working for King Robert III on my very first job outside Clockworks City. Morphiophelius had been insistent. Said the job needed a ‘professional touch’ but the priests had never worked with a Gnome before. From their wide-eyed looks…I’m not sure they’d even seen one until I showed up. The Church was determined to fill the holes of their history and prove their rights of succession and they wouldn’t let any other humans on the dig site. The remains of an old kirk was being excavated not two days ride from Castle Andilain. A kirk is a building where a priest of the Brotherhood lived and served out the days of his vows. istering to the poor and needy, caring for the widows, teaching the orphans…and when someone was at deaths door, the priest would ister last rights and prepare a proper burial. His ‘flock’ were those within a two day walk. What made the Brotherhood unique, at least in my opinion, was their reverence for life. It was a firm belief among all the ancient priests that every living soul had a purpose, some purposes obvious in life and others unknown until death and should not be forgotten. It would be an affront to the Gods if a life was lived without any acknowledgement of its existence. The priests felt it was their solemn duty to write about those abandoned souls—people at deaths door without family or friends to care for them. From a historical perspective, I can appreciate that. It was a beautiful belief. Anyway, priests would take their life work, specifically their journals and store them in hollowed out foundation blocks of their kirk before they died. This was what the Church was looking for—records which would provide the name of the priest and his line of authority. All other records, such as the letters and testimonies about the ‘flock’—the very ones this dead priest sought to have ed, were cast aside. Unimportant. Discarded. Rubbish.

That’s when I picked up the puzzle box. The priests couldn’t open it…and it rattled, so they assumed it was broken. Probably just a loose piece inside, preventing it from opening. Thus had it been discarded, left on the research table…in the rain. So I put it somewhere for safekeeping. Shaking it lightly, I could still hear the loose piece inside. Never did figure out how to open it. Adjusting the cybernetic implant in my left eye, I examined the box more thoroughly. The craftsmanship was extraordinary. Evolu make, would be my guess. It almost looked like the box was grown from a single plant, the mark of a true master’s hand. There were small symbols, almost invisible, hidden in the very knots of the wood, but not ones I could identify. These were new to me. If I slide the carved shapes in the right combination, it should open. Well, nearly a week and more than a hundred attempts later…the lid slid open. The puzzle was solved. …or so I thought. Contained inside was a set of letters. Fourteen in all, neatly folded and stacked together tied with a simple blue ribbon. Setting the box aside, I untied the bow and lightly examined the letters with the end of a pencil, careful not to let the oils of my skin mar their surface. The two top letters were deeply creased, worn and lightly stained, while the other twelve were crisp, showing minimal wear. Actually, they looked as if they could have been written yesterday. Fascinating. I would soon discover that the answers to the greatest mystery of my career had been in my possession for decades…

Grab your own copy of Höbin Luckyfeller’s: DEMONI VANKIL

More Books by Jaime Buckley

CHRONICLES OF A HERO

Prelude to a Hero (Book 1)

Race to Til-Thorin (Book 2)

Into the Fire (Book 3)

Trench Wars (Book 4)

Second Chances (Book 5)

The Truth About Lies (Book 6)

The Price of Fame (Book 7)

Howling Shadows (Book 8)

HÖBIN LUCKYFELLER”S FIELDGUIDE

Demoni Vankil (Book 1)

Bloodsticks (Book 2)

WEEKLY PODCAST

Life of Fiction (lifeoffiction.com)

(A show about the world of Wanted Hero)