After working to the bottom of one of the towering stacks of books, Wendell came upon the large silver book that had been the last one he had saved from the fire. Deciding to take a short break, he sat in an armchair by the window and opened the book. It was a book of family trees. Wendell carefully turned over the ancient pages, admiring the different sizes and shapes of the trees. Some were large while others were quite small. All of them were beautifully hand-painted in black. The swirling calligraphy was loopy and decorative. He turned to the final page in the book. There was a large family tree painted on the last page, this time in silver ink. The title read: Delominar the Great, Spell Master, Time Keeper, Fate Changer. The only wizard to receive the medal of Evian, gifted once in a millennium for an act of great courage, skill, and valor. Wendell traced his finger along the many branches of the giant tree. Marcie Warslit Trolleys, Mathew Delowits Garrison, Trisha Penelope Mallory, the names listed on and on dividing into more and more branches. At the very bottom of the page, on a lonely branch with only three names, just below Alexander Valmont Bloomingdale, and Grace Genève Williamson, it read: Wendell Odelious Bloomer.
Wendell read it again and again. He could not believe it. Were those his parent’s names? Grace, he read the name once more, and Alexander? Suddenly, Wendell was crying. What had happened to his parents? His mother was a wizard, directly related to Delominar the Great! That meant that he himself was the only living relative of that last great wizard! Wendell knew that wizarding powers were often passed down the family line. Master Loriander had said that Wendell was his best student. Master Loriander! Wendell thought of his former master with a sob, and a new wave of pain sluiced over him. He closed his eyes, the hot tears still streaming down his cheeks. He remembered being homeless all too well. He thought of the day he had met his former master. Wendell had been only twelve years old. The memory of the day flooded his mind in precise detail: He was just a young boy, ragged and hungry. He stood, looking at a food display through a shop window. There were breads and fruit salads, cakes, and fluffy pastries piled on giant silver platters. Wendell’s mouth watered. Oh how he would have liked to find himself on the other side of the glass! Wendell felt like he could consume every bit of food in the store. He licked his lips, they felt dry and chapped, and for a moment his attention came to rest upon his own reflection in the glass. He saw a young boy with sandy blond hair and dirty clothes. He drew in closer to the window staring into his own eyes. One of them was brown, and the other was blue. Wendell looked straight into the inky centers of his pupils, and felt an abyss there, bottomless, and unknown. He was struck by the thought that it was not the color of the eyes that mattered, for it was not the irises that people addressed when they spoke to each other, but the energy that came from the deep darkness of the pupils.
“Hey, get away from there!” yelled the clerk, popping his head out the door and shooing the boy away with an impatient gesture. “You’re not allowed to be here!” The man was irrationally angry for the insignificant offence Wendell had committed of offending the tidy shop with his ragged appearance.
“Mister, I was just looking is all,” said Wendell.
“No beggars allowed, can’t you read?” yelled the clerk, indicating to a painted sign.
“No, I can’t,” replied Wendell honestly.
“You’d better get out of here before I call the city guards!”
“But I’m not causing any trouble, I was just standing here,” said Wendell, gesturing to his bare feet.
“Well you’re not allowed to stand here, so go and stand somewhere else.”
“I don’t want to stand somewhere else, I like it right here!” said Wendell, starting to get worked up as well.
“I said scram!” yelled the clerk, grabbing the boy by the arm and throwing him into the street. He let go, and sent Wendell falling to his knees on the uneven cobbles. The clerk went inside the shop. Wendell rose and rubbed his arm where the man had pinched him. He looked angrily at the shop window. The clerk folded his arms and glared at the boy through the window, waiting for him to leave. Wendell was upset, he stared right back at the clerk, fearlessly holding the grown man’s gaze. Wendell shifted his eyes to the cake towering in the corner of the display, and it gave a faint wobble. Seeing this, the clerk only had time to inhale and take on a worried expression before the cake exploded, pasting white and yellow frosting across the shop window as well as the clerk’s bewildered face. The pastries were next, each of them erupting like tiny explosives, sending bits of bread and cream flying in every direction. Within seconds, the store was a mess of splattered desserts. The clerk ran out of the doorway, his apron, hair, and face covered in bits of food. He wiped some frosting from his eyes, just as a group of neighborhood boys were walking past.
“Get him!” yelled the clerk pointing to Wendell, “five gold coins to the one who brings me that wizard brat!”
The boys paused and looked over at Wendell. Wendell ran for his life, and they gave chase. The group of boys split up behind him, several of them peeling off into an alleyway, while the rest continued their pursuit. Wendell tore through the city without glancing back. He hopped over fences, and ripped through clothing lines as he rushed through people’s yards. A few boys unexpectedly came at him from the left, and Wendell swerved right to avoid them. There was only one street left for him to turn down, and Wendell remembered with a sinking feeling that it was a dead end. The older boys were hot on his heels, just about to overtake him. Wendell ran all the way down the street until the road was cut off by a great river. Wendell wheeled around to face the boys. Glancing about, he realizing what a bad situation he was in. The street was nearly deserted, apart from an old man who was sitting on a bench watching the river going by a ways off. The man wore purple robes and leaned on a thin staff. He looked up as the boys made a half circle around Wendell and the tension began to build. Wendell knew that the rush of the water masked all sounds so no one was likely to hear him yell. He was to fight them alone.
“I have been waiting to give this wizard scum a wicked beating for a while now, and I’m going to enjoy punching his face in before I collect my gold,” said one of the larger boys.
“I don’t care about no gold, I just came for the fight,” said another.
“So what are you waiting for, you cowards?” said Wendell, “did you come here to talk or to fight?”
The boys leaped onto him. Wendell kicked one of them in the stomach, and punched another in the jaw. Someone grabbed Wendell’s hair and smashed his face against a knee. Wendell felt his lip split, and tasted blood. Two boys grabbed him by his arms, and held him up while the oldest boy punched him repeatedly in the stomach. Wendell yelled and tried to twist away, but they held onto him firmly.
“Look at his hands!” exclaimed one of the boys holding him. Wendell’s palms were beginning to glow. The young wizard felt a mass of energy pulse through his arms and out towards his attackers. The boy punching him in the stomach was hit with a wild blast of energy, and his nose immediately transformed into a pig snout. Several of the other boys paled fearfully at the new facial adornment of their leader.
“Get him!” squealed the youth with the pig snout, and the boys threw themselves at Wendell once more. They beat on him all together, causing as much pain as they could.
Wendell curled up on the ground, protecting his neck and head with his arms. From the corner of his eye, he could see the old man rushing towards him from the bench. A boy threw a punch at Wendell’s face but before the blow could land, the old man uttered a strange word, and suddenly, the boy’s arm went slack and fell to his side like a limp noodle. He wiggled his shoulders in an attempt to swing his arms but they just flapped at his sides like ropes. Wendell looked around, and saw that all of the boys had lost the ability to use their arms. The gang stared at the old man in alarm.
“What have you done to us?” asked the oldest of them, his voice screechy and piggish.
“I have saved you from destroying societies mo
st valuable asset,” said the man sternly. “Some day, every one of you will wish you had the help of a wizard!” He waved his hand, his palm glowing brightly, and the boys got the full motion of their limbs back. “Now return to your homes, and let me never again see such unmanly behavior, least I turn you into the ugly toads you are acting like!”
The boys scattered in every direction. Only their ringleader remained.
“What? You need my help already?” asked the wizard.
The youth nodded and hung his head.
The old man placed a hand over the boy’s face and transformed his nose back into its normal state.
The boy touched his nose and muttered something under his breath.
“What was that?” asked the old man.
“Thank you,” said the youth loudly, with a note of severe frustration.
“You are most welcome,” replied the old wizard. The boy left them, running down the deserted street.
The old man turned to Wendell. “My name is Master Loriander Ragendar, and what is yours?” he asked looking down at the youth.
“Wendell Odelious Bloomer,” replied the boy.
“Have you any parents?”
Wendell shook his head.
Master Loriander sighed. “The world is in need of a wizard like yourself,” he said. “Your powers are unusually strong for your age, but you need training. Are you willing to become my apprentice?”
“Yes,” replied Wendell with absolute certainty.
“It will be difficult, and at times dangerous.”
“I want only to become a great wizard like yourself!” replied Wendell sincerely.
“Then come with me,” said the man, reaching out his hand, “you are homeless no more!” With these words Master Loriander helped Wendell to his feet and together they started down the street, their footsteps echoing softly against the surrounding buildings.
Wendell opened his eyes. The once happy memory brought him only sadness now for Master Loriander had disowned him. Wendell heard the front door open. For a moment he hoped that it was Master Loriander coming to rescue him from this brutal reality as before, but he knew it was just Master Dellwen returning with the supplies. Wendell wiped the tears from his face, trying hard to cope with the memory he had just revisited.
“The library is coming along nicely,” said Master Dellwen looking into the room to appraise Wendell’s work.
“Yes,” muttered Wendell glumly, unable to mask his true feelings.
The man observed his young friend’s spirit. “What day is it?” he asked unexpectedly.
“It’s Krucksday, the ninth day of the week, said Wendell.”
“And what is the time?” asked Master Dellwen urgently.
“Half past ten,” answered Wendell, glancing at the sundial strapped to his wrist.
“Go and fetch me some fresh water from the spring!” said Master Dellwen.
“But I am not finished here,” complained Wendell.
“Go now!” urged the wizard, pushing Wendell out the door. “I—
I need water to set the windowpanes!”
“Alright, I’ll go!” said Wendell, indignantly complying with the man’s grumpy demands. In a terrible mood, the boy grabbed a pail from the porch and headed down the path towards the spring. He wondered sullenly what the man would do once the cottage was completely finished and he didn’t need Wendell anymore. Would he cast him out? If he did he would be right in doing so, Wendell decided.
Soon he came to a tiny green valley nestled at the edge of the spindly forest. The little oasis had been shielded from the red energy by a cliff that arched protectively over the glade. A fresh spring bubbled up from the ground at the heart of the tiny valley, and the grass was green and lush. Small flowers bloomed around the spring in a sprinkle of white and yellow. As far as Wendell could tell, no one knew about the place, and he felt slightly guilty but also secretly happy about this. Wendell knelt and began filling the pail. Suddenly, he heard what sounded like laughter, and he whirled around, but could see no one.
“Show yourself!” he demanded.
A young woman sat up shyly in the grass a short way off. She pressed a hand to her mouth to keep from laughing. It was the same young woman he had saved all those weeks before. Upon seeing her Wendell relaxed, even though he did not appreciate being spied on. “What are you doing here?” he asked sternly.
“Enjoying the glade, same as you,” she answered.
Wendell looked about.
“I am quite alone, I assure you,” she said.
“I’m not worried,” he muttered, feeling slightly embarrassed that he had thought it might be an ambush. “I just don’t want anyone to know about this place,” he finished.
“I understand,” she said hugging her knees with her arms. She wore an ivory dress with a long gathered skirt and the same yellow corset as before. “It’s too perfect to share,” she said. “It feels like it should be kept a secret.”
“It does,” agreed Wendell, awkward with the intimacy of the moment.
She stood and slowly made her way down the small grassy hill until she stood beside him.
“What’s your name?” he asked.
“Ausra,” she answered, reaching down one graceful hand and scooping up a sip of water. She brought the clear water to her lips.
“I’m Wendell,” he said, looking at her radiant dark skin and mesmerizing hazel eyes. He suddenly realized that she was absolutely beautiful and that he was rudely staring. He looked away at once, hating the effect girls had on him.
“I feel I owe you my life,” said Ausra. “Thank you for saving me.”
“You owe me nothing,” said Warren. “How did you find this place anyway?” he asked, changing the subject.
“On the night you rescued me, I followed you into the forest wanting to make sure you were safe. I got lost in the dark, and after wandering for a long time I finally found this glade. I have been occasionally returning to it ever since then to rest and drink the fresh water.”
“You are not safe in these woods,” said Wendell.
“I do not care if I’m safe,” she answered.
“Recklessness is not courage,” warned Wendell. “You don’t know what’s out there.”
“Neither do you,” she said.
“Well I’m a—” he broke off.
“A what?” she prompted.
He knew she had seen him use magic, but he didn’t want to say ‘wizard’ anyway. “I’m a bad person,” said Wendell sinisterly.
“I don’t believe that,” said Ausra.
“You would do well to stay away from me,” he said.
“I barely know you and I already like you,” she answered.
At these words, Wendell almost broke into a smile, but he managed to force the feelings away without so much as a twitch. Ausra noticed, but politely made no indication that she had seen through his composure. “And anyway, if you were a bad person, then why did you save me?”
“Never mind why, what people say about me is true, alright? You must stay away for your own safety,” said Wendell firmly.
“I don’t think I can do that,” said Ausra quietly.
“Why not?” asked Wendell sharply.
“Because I’m in love with you,” she replied.
“In love with me?” asked Wendell, aghast.
“Yes,” said Ausra with a big smile.
“Well don’t be,” said Wendell, helplessly grinning back like an idiot.
“It’s to late,” she laughed.
“This is bad news,” smiled Wendell.
“You’re telling me!” she said. “My mother thinks I am under a spell.”
“How do you know you are not under a spell?” he asked more seriously.
“If it is a spell, then it is the most wonderful spell ever cast!”
“I am not good for you,” he said, coming to his senses, and remembering his place in society. He was worse off now than when he was a beggar. What kind of a life would she have wit
h him?
“All I know is I am happy when I am with you.”
“But you’ve only met me twice before today!” he said.
“Is that not enough?” she asked.
“It is nowhere near enough!” asserted Wendell. “Do you even know…” he began. He looked at her honest face. Unlike himself, she had nothing to hide. He knew he had to tell her now, before it was too late, even if it made her turn away from him forever. He sighed. It was difficult to formulate the words.
“Look, there is something you need to know,” he began.
“What is it?” she asked kindly, unaware of what was coming.
Wendell was tempted not to tell her. He wrestled with the desire to let her be in love with him even for a little while longer. No! He had to tell her, he would tell her at once or he did not deserve her love!
“Ausra, I—” he broke off and then began again. “I am the evil wizard who—who set the red era.”
“No,” she breathed, taking a step back. Her face changed, becoming frightened.
“Yes,” he went on. “I am responsible for all of this,” he gestured around them to the red desert beyond the glade. “It was a mistake I can never undo. I have doomed our entire world. Moreover, I am cursed. I am a wizard who cannot use magic.”
She watched him in silence, tears gathering in her eyes. “But I saw you use magic!” she cried, the first tear sliding down her chocolate-colored cheek.
He pulled a stone from his pocket. “I make a stone every time I cast a spell.”
“How?” she asked, taking the stone.
He winced in pain as she took it. “They come from my hands,” he explained showing her the newly formed scars on his palms. Ausra traced a finger along one of the scars. “It is some horrible unknown curse. The stones cannot be away from me,” said Wendell. “I have to carry them forever! Even when I bathe, even when I sleep, or else I will die!”
“How many did you make when you rescued me?” she asked.
The Curse (The Windore Series Book 2) Page 4