“It’s alright, you’re safe now,” said Wendell, pocketing yet another stone.
She looked up at him with hazel eyes. “You saved me,” she said, smiling weakly.
He helped her to her feet. The shielding spell molded around them as they moved within it.
“In a moment,” said Wendell, “I will make a path to safety for you, and when I give you the signal, you must run for it, understand?” She nodded.
With a flick of his wrist, Wendell dispelled the shield, “Aurora-goreno!” he shouted. An archway of light formed over the place where the girl stood. The archway sparkled and rippled in different colors.
“Go!” directed Wendell, and as the girl ran, the archway moved with her, trailing in a translucent tunnel that disappeared several yards behind her. A group of people had gathered near the action. Many of them were armed with pitchforks and torches. The girl ran towards them, and was instantly engulfed by the crowd. The monsters did not see her escape, as though she had become invisible to them. They turned their attention on the boy. Wendell blasted one of the monsters in the face with a burst of bright sparks to distract it. Next, he pulled a stone slab up from the soil to block the teeth of the second beast. Wendell threw a punch in the air and simultaneously, a giant fist made entirely of sand rose from the desert floor mirroring his motion. The fist struck the third creature in the jaw, taking it to the ground before the fist crumbled and became desert sand once more.
Wreathing in pain from the new stones cutting through his palms, Wendell crammed the dark stones into his now bulging pocket and sunk to the ground. He knew this could not go on much longer. “Meldura-silversa!” he uttered, and a wave of invisible force rippled out from where he sat, slamming into the monsters and forcing them back. Leaning against the stone slab, Wendell grabbed a locket that hung from a silver chain around his neck and opened it just as the monsters were regrouping. A deafening roar issued from within the locket, and the three monsters were lifted off the ground, spun wildly around, and sucked into the tiny object one at a time as if compelled by a powerful vortex. With difficulty, the young wizard forced the locket closed, and a complex magical lock automatically sealed it shut. The locket gave a final shutter and then lay still on his chest.
Exhausted, Wendell glanced around. The angry villagers that had gathered near the commotion began to move toward him, their faces hard in the light of the torches.
“He’s a wizard!” one of them spat.
“Kill him!” yelled another. “Get that evil wizard scum!”
Wendell scampered up to standing, “No! You don’t understand!” he shouted.
“Don’t let him get away!” shrieked another voice. All at once the mob charged the boy, and Wendell ran for his life. They chased him through the night. Wendell raced forward, the light of the torches at his heels. A stone hit his back, and then a second struck his elbow, but Wendell did not slow. On and on he ran through the desert, pursued by the raging villagers. Tears streaming down his cheeks, and his breath catching in his throat Wendell felt a dark despair settle over him. He felt he deserved the cursing and swearing of the villagers, but all he wanted was to get away.
Before long, Wendell came upon a strange forest with dry, bent over trees, and grey moss hanging from the branches like ragged drapes. Wendell ran to the trees seeking shelter. The mob followed, but their progress slowed, giving Wendell the opportunity to finally get ahead. Wendell moved as fast as his legs would carry him, ducking under low-hanging branches and leaping over fallen trees. He wove a confusing path trying hard to lose the villagers. A half an hour passed, and glancing behind, he could see the lights of the torches through the trees a long way off. The small specks of light were tiny, but the threat they posed released a fresh wave of panic in his chest and he knew this was no time for rest. Tired though he was, Wendell pressed on. Deeper and deeper into the forest he went. After a while, Wendell became aware that unknown and dangerous animals now lived in these woods and he slowed his pace so as to make less noise. His nerves on edge, he found what appeared to be a dried up stream. The sand muffled his footsteps and provided a clear path so Wendell decided to follow the streambed for a while.
As the moon traveled across the sky, Wendell’s steps grew slower and slower with fatigue. Finally, he saw a light up ahead. At first, he thought it was the light of a torch, and he jarred awake with fear, but then he noticed that the light was an odd purple color he had never before encountered. Wendell numbly remembered the stranger he had met in the tavern. The man had told him to follow the riverbed. Hoping with all his might that this was indeed the path to that man’s house, Wendell lumbered forward.
The purple light grew brighter and brighter as the path weaved towards it and soon, Wendell could make out the shape of a slender lamp. He approached it cautiously, and as he drew nearer he realized that it was not a lamp at all, but rather a wooden staff with a magnificent violet crystal embedded in a large knot at the top. The crystal was still in its rough natural form, but it glowed with a strong violate light from within.
“There you are,” sounded the voice of the man from the tavern as though he was certain the boy would come. The old man appeared from the darkness and pulled the staff with the crystal from the ground. He leaned on it where he stood.
Wendell realized that this was no ordinary man. He had an aura of mystery about him and a steadiness that could only come from withstanding many trials. The staff was undoubtedly a magical object, and the man was likely to be a wizard. The stranger was quite tall and broad in the shoulders. In fact, the two of them were almost the same height, mused Wendell. The stitches in the man’s cheek looked rough and a bit bloody.
“Come this way,” said the stranger, welcoming Wendell into the campsite. He picked up a basket and handed it to the boy. Here,” he said, “you must be hungry.”
Wendell gratefully opened the basket to find it filled with fresh bread stuffed with cooked cabbage and several apple tarts. He began to eat hungrily. The food tasted good, and Wendell wanted to saver it, but having not eaten all day he could not help wolfing it down in giant mouthfuls.
The stranger studied him with his one good eye. A heavy eye patch rested over the other socket. Wendell could not resist feeling a little curious about the eye patch and he resolved to politely ask about it later. The boy finished the food, and desperately wished there were more.
“Still hungry?” said the old man, as if reading his mind. “Have a little more dessert,” he said, handing Wendell several more apple tarts. Wendell attacked the pastries. Looking around, he saw what looked like a new construction site. A large amount of logs lay in a tall pile to one side, and an ax was wedged deep into a big stump near a stack of firewood. A shovel leaned against a mound of dirt near a half-dug square pit that was clearly the foundation of a future structure.
“Where’s the shelter?” Wendell asked in between mouthfuls.
“I just started building it today,” explained the old man. “And I could use some help.”
“I can lend a hand,” said Wendell, wanting to be useful. “Though I don’t know much about building anything.”
“I’m not exactly a master cottage builder myself,” admitted the man with a sigh. “Since I have not built such a structure in a long time.”
“We could build it together,” offered Wendell.
“I would be glad for your help,” said the man. “My name is Master Dellwen, Lionorous Bravenheart, and I am a wizard of the first order.”
“My name is Wendell, and I too am a wizard of the first order,” said the boy. “I was an apprentice to Master Loriander Ragendar.”
“Wonderful,” said Master Dellwen, “then we can expect to accomplish many great things together.” He looked down at Wendell’s bloody, torn-up hands. “Take this balm,” said Master Dellwen producing a small jar of brown paste, “it will help heal your hands.”
Wendell unscrewed the lid and gave it a sniff. It smelled of cucumbers. He hastily spread some across eac
h palm. His hands had been aching for hours and they were swollen from pain and still bleeding. Upon applying the paste, the pain of the wounds instantly subsided and the flesh began to slowly pull together.
The only thing Wendell could think of now was sleep. His body ached for rest. As if on cue, Master Dellwen unrolled a sleeping mat at the boy’s feet, and placed a thick woolen blanket on the mat. He handed Wendell a pillow. The boy took the pillow and lay down on the mat.
“How did you know I wouldn’t come with you,” asked Wendell sleepily, “you know, back at the tavern?”
“I could see you were quite unsettled,” replied Master Dellwen. “Rest now, while you are here nothing can harm you.”
“Thank you,” said Wendell, his eyes closing upon hearing those comforting words.
That night, Wendell was tormented by nightmares. Again and again he relived the events that had taken place at the Pillar of Dominance in precise detail. He found himself in the dark cave standing before a crumbling sandstone pillar, no more than four feet in height. A single beam of concentrated light fell onto the heart of the pillar from above, forming a perfectly round spot of light. Wendell felt a surge of wild rage churning within him, as if it were trapped in the vessel of his body. The blue stone clasped in his pale fingers began to rapidly change color as if infusing with his rage and hatred. Filled with dread, and unable to stop his dream self, Wendell watched his own hand reach out and place the now blood-red gemstone onto the pillar, beneath the beam of light. There was an explosion of crimson light that shook the small cave like an earthquake. Wendell shielded his eyes from the blinding flash with his forearm. He felt the force field move right through him, and then everything went dark. There was a rush of confusion, and Wendell ran from the cave, choking on dust. He stumbled outside. His master was busy casting a complex spell. The old man shifted around in the sand, muttering incantations under his breath.
“What are you doing?” asked Wendell, his voice echoing in the dream. He looked around. Everything was happening in slow motion, giving Wendell time to painfully relive each moment of the dream. The events taking place around him felt even more real then when they had actually happened. The giant trees of the dense forest around him were disintegrating before Wendell’s very eyes, as the red energy spread across the land in a decimating explosion, radiating from where he stood.
“I am protecting the Sapphire Kingdom, sealing it inside a dome to keep it safe from what you have done!” answered master Loriander unevenly.
In the distance, a transparent bubble appeared over the Sapphire City. From these heights, it looked no bigger than a thimble. As the red desert spread across the land like a fatal disease, the small patch of living soil inside the dome was the only spot of green that remained of the once beautiful vista. Wendell wanted to say something, but his voice was mute as he witnessed his homeland being ruined by the unstoppable destructive force he had unleashed. He could hardly breathe. “Master, I—” Wendell began, but the old man interrupted him.
“You have forsaken the only world that is your home!”
“But—” mumbled Wendell, in terror of what he had done.
“Silence!” shouted the wizard, “You must learn, at any cost, the lessons I have failed to teach you!” The palms of his hands began to glow a brilliant yellow light.
“No!” cried Wendell, falling to his knees and shielding his face with his hands.
The old wizard forcibly uttered an incantation the boy had never heard, in a language long forgotten. Wendell felt his chest jerk upwards and his arms fall to his sides as a blinding sphere of light erupted around him. The explosion was followed by a ringing silence.
“What have you done to me?” he asked, feeling no different, but knowing something had changed. He looked at his mentor questioningly.
“I am your master no more,” said the old wizard. “Let time be your teacher now.” With these words he un-strapped the sundial from his wrist and threw it to the ground beside the boy. The wizard turned his back on his student and moved away.
“Wait! You don’t understand!” cried Wendell, wanting to explain but unable to find the words. Wendell’s perspective suddenly shifted in the dream, withdrawing several paces away from the action as though he were an unseen observer. Now watching from a distance, he saw himself fall forward onto his hands and knees, and blast a ball of fire toward a nearby stump in a sudden burst of rage. The stump exploded, sending blazing woodchips cascading into the air like fireworks. Wendell came back into himself upon feeling a sharp cutting sensation in his palm. Looking down at his hand, he saw a tiny black stone slowly draw from his flesh and fall into the red dust at his feet, leaving behind a bloody gash. In horror, Wendell picked up the stone and examined its round flawless form. Wanting to destroy it, Wendell hurled it down the slope, and instantly contorted with pain, feeling as though his very soul was being ripped from his body against its will! He cried out, making crows from the nearby trees take flight. Wendell squirmed in the rust-colored soil, paralyzed by an invisible fire that consumed every inch of his body. He crawled through the dirt, moving in the direction he had thrown the stone. Images came at him in choppy erratic fragments as he desperately searched for the dark sphere among the leaves. Finally, he found it, and closed his fingers tightly around it, only to lose consciousness. Then, the dream started over again, and Wendell found himself once more in the dark cave standing before the pillar…
Chapter 2
The Library
In the morning, Wendell awoke on his sleeping mat in the strange forest. His blanket was wet from dew, and his neck ached from sleeping on the uneven ground. He looked at the crooked trees around him and felt a sting of shame and sadness. The new world was hard to accept. His thoughts quickly slid down to the depths of despair as he remembered all that had taken place. The Pillar of Dominance, the red sapphire—the sharp words of his master, it all came at him in a rush, the pain of the memories heightened by his unsettling dreams. Looking down at his hands, he noticed that the wounds had all but healed, leaving only a pink narrow scar on each palm. Wendell hoped that he would soon find a cure for his horrible curse. He heard a chopping sound nearby, accompanied by some excellent whistling, and Wendell sat up in bed and looked around. Master Dellwen was busy chopping the logs into usable pieces. Wendell folded up his bedding, and came to stand beside the man. He studied the building site.
“Shall I keep digging out the foundation?” he asked.
“That would be a good place to start,” said Master Dellwen.
Together, they worked all day, breaking only for food. Wendell was glad to stay busy since it helped him keep his mind away from the sad and torturous thoughts that seized him at every opportunity. The work went by slowly, but by evening time, the foundation had been dug and the first beams were set.
At dusk, Wendell and Master Dellwen walked through the skeleton of the building discussing how it would look when it was finished. There would be two bedrooms, a study, a library, a living room, a dining area, and a cozy little kitchen. Master Dellwen seemed to know exactly where he wanted everything and having such a clear plan made it easy to make decisions about the future structure.
Wendell was surprised that several times throughout the day he found himself smiling, and he was secretly glad that he had not killed himself the day before and thereby missed out on being in the forest with Master Dellwen. He felt that nothing was more important than helping this kind stranger build himself a house and he wanted to make it perfect. After all, if it wasn’t for Master Dellwen, he would likely be a murder on top of being a hunted fugitive. Wendell shuddered at the thought. He could not believe how close he had come to killing that man in the tavern and he thanked his lucky stars that he had been stopped. As Wendell watched Master Dellwen stroking his graying beard and testing the security of one of the beams, he wondered if this strange man had not prevented him from becoming the evil wizard so many people believed Wendell to be. Wendell followed Master Dellwen to the roo
m that would be the future library.
“You must have many books to fill this library,” said Wendell with admiration.
“I don’t have any books,” answered Master Dellwen.
The Curse (The Windore Series Book 2) Page 2