The Unsuspecting Mage (The Morcyth Saga) Page 3

  Rhyme and meter are the most effective forms of spell construction.

  Maintain a visualization of the effect you wish to produce.

  Sounds easy enough. What the heck, let’s give it a try. Best to keep it simple. He spies a small stick lying on the ground. Concentrating, he creates a visualization of the stick rising off the ground. Now for the words…

  Little stick that I have found,

  Float three feet off the ground.

  Mimicking the action of a dozen different wizards from literature and film, he raises his hand toward the stick and speaks the incantation. With the utterance of the first word, an odd sensation grows deep within his body. Sort of like water rising behind a dam. The growing pressure is not an entirely unpleasant feeling. The utterance of each word causes the pressure to build. As soon as the last word is spoken, the dam breaks and the power surges forth. He can almost see the magic flowing from him to the stick, though it’s probably just his imagination.

  The stick slowly rises from the ground. It reaches nearly a foot in the air before he becomes so excited at the effect he has wrought that his concentration breaks and the stick falls back to the ground with a clatter.

  I DID IT!!!! James ol’ boy, you are one amazing wizard! Cavorting around with jubilation, he races over and examines the stick which just a moment before had been floating in the air. He hesitantly reaches out and touches it. Seeming normal, he picks it up and examines the wood more closely but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Feeling a little cocky, he formulates another set of words, visualizes the effect he desires, then tosses the stick into the air yelling,

  Stick who once on the ground did lie,

  Stay your course there in the sky!

  His verse wouldn’t win any poetry contests; but then, at the moment he’s more into functionality than artistry. This time he is determined to maintain the visualization. With the utterance of the last word, the power once again surges forth. The stick’s flight through the air comes to a sudden halt six feet above the ground. As it floats motionless in the air, James controls his excitement so as to maintain the visualization and not disrupt the spell.

  He comes to the stick and grins while walking around where it hovers in mid-air. Moving his hand over and under the stick, such as what a magician might do to prove to his audience the absence of supporting wires, he encounters nothing. He then reaches out and places his index finger upon its wooden surface. The stick moves the barest of a fraction, but otherwise maintains its position. Placing his hand under the stick, he ceases concentrating upon his desire for the stick to remain motionless in the air and it drops into his hand.

  “Yes!”

  Quite pleased, he smiles at his success. I could get to like this. Then sadness comes over him when he thinks of how his grandparents are going to feel when he doesn’t come home. I may never make it home. Oh my God! What about Dave? He saw me go through the door. How will he take it? I guess the best he can, that’s all any of us can do.

  Reaching into his backpack he removes one of the candy bars he had brought along and munches on it while contemplating his next course of action. Savor it while you can. No telling how long it will be before you can get another. Then the reality of his situation sinks in. What am I going to do for food? Shelter? Toilet Paper??? The thought of using leaves doesn’t bother him half as much as it had before that one camping trip with his dad oh so long ago. He smiles wistfully at the memory.

  Realizing that leaning against the log isn’t going to improve his situation, he finishes the candy bar then takes a really good look around the clearing to determine by which direction he should leave the meadow. Other than the stream, there was naught but trees and more trees. Each direction looked as densely forested as another.

  By the position of the sun, it is a little after midday. Which kind of surprises him as it had only been mid-morning when he and Dave departed the bus on Commercial Avenue. Maybe time works differently here?

  One of the things that little creature had said was “to get your sorry butt to the village of Trendle”, wherever that may be. The forest looks unforgiving, lacking even the most rudimentary type of path. He’ll have to forge his way through a tangle of underbrush when he leaves.

  Trendle. It would’ve been more helpful if he would have at least told me which way to go! Sighing, he pulls a quarter out of his pocket, Heads- North or South, Tails- East or West. Flipping the coin in the air he lets chance be his guide. He grabs the quarter on its descent, flips it on the back of his hand and looks, Tails. East or west then. Taking the coin one more time he tosses it up into the air. Heads- East Tails-West. This time he allows the quarter to fall to the ground and come to rest. Tails. West it is.

  Determining where West lies by the position of the sun, he shoulders his backpack. A touch of excitement mingles with his fear and apprehension. Sure, he had no clue where he was or even if he would ever find his way home. But beneath such a beautiful blue sky on a warm summer day, things didn’t seem quite so bad. He had worked magic hadn’t he?

  En route across the meadow to the forest’s edge, he spies a sturdy branch lying upon the ground. After removing the smaller twigs and branches, he soon holds a stout walking stick. Turning back to the forest, he pauses upon reaching the edge. His excitement dims as he stands there about to enter an unknown world. What lies beyond these trees? What secrets may be hidden within? Beneficial ones? Or those less so? Taking a deep breath, he pushes a tangle of undergrowth out of the way and enters the forest.

  Using the walking stick to aid in clearing a path, he forges through the underbrush lining the edge of the clearing only to find more beyond. James had always liked being in the woods, even ones as overgrown as this. Time spent in the outdoors had always brought him a peace that could never be found in a city or around other people. His dad used to take him camping in forests similar to this one when he was little. Good times.

  James soon realizes that this forest is nothing like the tame camping areas where his dad had taken him. For one thing, this one has no paths. The bushes and trees have become an entangled mess, at times forcing him to push his way through, often with painful results. Walking across the uneven ground soon has his ankles aching. Bleeding from a myriad of scratches and scrapes, his feet protesting, the adventure was over and all he wanted to do was go home.

  An hour into the forest, a growl from his stomach reminds him that his last meal had been some time ago. Within his backpack still remained a single candy bar. But not wanting to consume the last of his food, he sighs and leaves it where it is, much to the loud protest of his stomach.

  Time passes as he continues making his way through the forest. The sun gradually makes its descent toward the horizon. The shadows begin growing long. In the deepening gloom, his imagination turns the surroundings into a veritable host of frightful beasts. Every sound makes him jump, every shadow contains a monster. After the sixth murderous beast bent on his destruction turns out to be an old stump overgrown by a bush, he figures it to be time to find a place to hole up for the night.

  But there was no place. All about him was nothing but trees and more trees. Sleeping upon the ground held little interest as he didn’t want to be awakened by a hungry carnivore. He turns his attention to the upper boughs and locates a sturdy one forming a crook with the truck that has accessible lower branches. Climbing never having been one of his strengths, it takes several attempts before making it off the ground. He reaches the limb chosen to be where he will spend his first night upon this world and settles down in the crook. Leaning his back against the tree trunk, he tries and fails miserably to get comfortable.

  The forest descends into a place of haunting shadows and mysterious noises as the night gradually deepens into darkness. Hungry, scared and exhausted, he clings to the tree. His body hurts from hundreds of scratches received from pushing through obstinate bushes all afternoon. The throbbing from his feet and ankles lends another level to his misery. Shifting around as bes
t he can, he simply can’t find any position that is comfortable. It’s not long before his bottom begins to hurt then grow numb, forcing him to continue moving about in a fruitless attempt to alleviate his discomfort.

  In the tree scared and alone, the light gradually fading away around him, for the first time he truly knows what it means to be alone. The intricate canopy of leaves prevents even the smallest glimmer of starlight from coming through. He sits there in the dark, head resting against the bole of the tree and listens to the sounds of the forest. Off in the distance he can hear the passage of some large creature as it makes its way through the underbrush. Not long after that, from off in another direction comes the sound of two animals fighting. Hoping nothing finds him in his perch, he hugs the tree all the harder.

  I want to go home! Tears of loneliness and fear roll down his cheeks. Somehow, though long in coming, he does manage to fall asleep.

  Howrrrrrrrr!

  Startled awake, teeth chattering from the cold, James is hit with the realization that he hadn’t been having a bad dream after all. Another howl brings him fully awake. Off in the distance comes the sound of a wolf pack on the hunt. With every howl, fear that he may be found causes him to grip the tree all the tighter. Face pressed tightly against the bark, his eyes dart to and fro in an attempt to pierce the shadows of the forest and see those that hunt the night. All the while he silently prays to remain undetected.

  The darkness of the night is alleviated somewhat by slivers of moonlight that have somehow managed to breach the thick forest canopy. The sparse rays give the forest an aura of ghostly light. Perched in his tree, James remains still and quiet while listening to the hunting pack.

  Minutes pass and it’s soon apparent that the hunt is taking them toward his tree. Fear such as he has never known springs to life within him. Suddenly their cries alter, becoming more intense as they crash through the underbrush straight toward his tree. A moment later, three dark shadows race through the darkness not far below his feet.

  “Get away! Help Me!”

  Cries of terror from off in the distance split the night. They’re not after me! Relief at not being their target is followed quickly by shame at being glad it is someone else. For a fleeting moment he considers doing something to help, perhaps shouting for the man to climb a tree. But fear stills his tongue. He does not want to die.

  Off in the distance, he caught sight of the man racing through a patch of moonlight. Hot on his heels, two wolves passed through the moonlight a split-second later

  Tears stream down his cheeks as the man’s fearful cries for help sound once more. A bloodcurdling scream; then the night turns deathly silent. James shakes with fear and shame; fear that he may be next, shamed by his own cowardice.

  There was nothing I could do! Had I gone to help, I would have been torn to shreds as well. Getting little comfort from such selfish reasoning, he presses his face against the bole of the tree and tries to think of home as he attempts to shut out the sound of the wolves. Sometime later, he hears the wolves howl as they race off through the forest. As the woods grow quiet once more, he tries to keep his imagination from replaying the scene of the man’s grisly death. Sleep, when it does come, is filled with dreams of moonlight and wolves.

  The morning sun wakes a very tired, cold and sore James. The events of the night before showed him that to remain in the forest will mean his death. I gotta get out of here. No more pussyfooting around, I have to cover ground before night comes!

  Making sure the forest floor holds no menacing predators, he makes his way from the tree. He then takes care of his morning business, realizing that plant leaves are not a good substitute, and turns his mind to food, or rather his lack thereof.

  Nearby stands a bush bearing little pink berries. In his starved state, they look delicious. Walking over to the bush he pulls off one of the berries. Holding it between his fingers, the thought occurs to him that the berry may very well be poisonous. He contemplates his chances of survival if it is in fact poisonous; they aren’t good, but the growling of his stomach cannot be denied. Figuring one won’t kill him, he puts it in his mouth and bites into the firm flesh of the berry just hard enough to squirt forth a small measure of its tart juice. Not very ripe but not entirely unpleasant either. Chewing it slowly, he waits to see if there will be any unpleasant reactions. When none materialize, he swallows it.

  Picking several more of the riper ones, he wraps them in a leaf before putting them in his backpack. If he doesn’t get sick in an hour or two then he will eat the rest.

  Recalling the events of the night before, he wonders if the man killed by the wolves might have something that may be of use. James grabs his spear and heads in that direction, not looking forward to what he will find. It doesn’t take him long before coming to a scene right out of an old slasher movie. Bones litter the ground; blood was everywhere. The man’s clothing had been shredded.

  Horror takes hold of James as his gaze falls upon what’s left of the poor guy’s jacket. The letters H-A-V-E-S… are still discernable across the remaining portion of the jacket’s back. It looked very much like a letterman’s jacket from his high school. Using the end of his walking stick he turns the torso over. Stitched in gold lettering is the name “Randle.”

  His legs give out and he drops to his knees. “Oh, Seth.” Shrieking, he cries, “There was nothing I could do!” Guilt and shame at his weakness last night leave leaves him shaking and wracked with sobs. I should have done something! Would the knowledge that it was Seth being pursued by wolves have made any difference? Ashamedly, he realizes it wouldn’t. Coward!

  “Though there was nothing I could do for you last night, there is something I can do for you now.” With that, James grabs a rock and begins digging a hole, a grave for his former classmate. It takes him some time since the ground is firmly packed, but he manages to excavate a cavity large enough. He then sets about gathering the grisly task of gathering the scattered remains of Seth and lays them in the grave. When the job is complete, James covers Seth with dirt then makes a cairn of stones. Tying two sticks together with vines for a makeshift cross, he hammers it into the ground with his stone at the head of the cairn.

  Taking a moment, he says a few parting words before picking up his backpack and walking stick. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle his shaky nerves, he sets out once more westward. Hopefully, he’ll come across this Trendle before the wolves pick up his scent. The woods no longer bring him peace as they had yesterday. Wariness and dread fill him today.

  As he forges through the at times unyielding brush, James thinks about what it means that Seth had been in this world too. Could he have gone to the interview just as James had? And if so, there could be others. Thinking back to the newscast the night before taking that fateful trip to Commercial Ave, he realizes there could be at least one other person that had passed through the door marked “Private;” a girl. Could there be more?

  After jumping for a third time at the loud cry of a nearby bird, James comes to the conclusion that he is going to need more than a walking stick should the wolves return. Judging by his slow rate of progress through the forest, it’s unlikely that he will break free before night comes again, and he may not remain unmolested.

  Thinking about his walking stick, and how it is in many ways like a spear, he gets an idea. Pausing for a moment, he opens the book on magic and makes sure he understands what he must do. First, he forms a visualization of his desired outcome, then puts together the words. He leans his walking stick against the side of a tree, takes three steps back and says:

  As straight and true as a spear can be,

  Filled with the strength of an old oak tree.

  Make it sharp, to penetrate steel,

  And perfectly balanced for user to feel.

  With the last word comes the surge of power from deep within him. He watches as the walking stick slowly changes, becoming the mirror image of his visualization. Its surface smoothes, the end on the ground rounds
off while the other comes to a very fine point. When the spell runs its course, where the walking stick once stood, now stands a dark brown spear.

  James waits a moment to ensure nothing else may happen, such as the spear exploding or something equally unpleasant. When nothing does, he steps forward and tests the sharpened tip with his finger. He jerks his hand back and a drop of blood wells out. Sharp, I hardly even gave it any pressure. Feeling somewhat better for having a weapon, he takes the spear and once again sets off toward the west.

  What about armor, magical shields, spells of protection? As handy as having those would be, James simply didn’t wish to push his luck as far as magic goes. I’m new at this. Keep it “Simple Stupid.” Besides, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to create something like that. He didn’t know enough about how to make a suit of armor, so how could he create one with magic?

  As a Dungeon Master, he had forever stymied his players when they had attempted to use wish rings. They wish for a million gold pieces, they would receive a million gold pieces fused together, usually in a very remote locale. They wish for a suit of +100 plate armor, they would receive it. But when the armor is two feet thick and weighs a ton, it doesn’t do much good.

  No, he figures to come at this magic business slowly, gradually growing in proficiency over time. He only hopes this world will allow him such a luxury.