He found it strange that the windore on Earth had moved again, since the two portals he knew of on Windiffera had remained stationary for thousands of years.
Bloom came upon a small fountain with a nearby bench beneath a large oak tree. The very same girl he had met on Earth before sat on the bench in the shade, deeply engrossed in a book. She had grown a little, and the girl looked to be about twelve years old. Sensing his eyes, the girl looked up.
“It’s you,” she said, closing her book. “Only now you go by a different name, your new name is like that of a flower.”
Bloom was unable to speak. All he could think about was Amelliea falling through the windore and her frightened face as she fell backwards. He could not believe that it might have been the last time he would ever see her. His hands shook with the shock of what had happened only moments before.
“Come sit,” said the girl, scooting over and gesturing to the bench. “I see that you are deeply troubled and that a great sorrow weighs on your heart.”
“I lost her,” whispered Bloom through trembling lips. He sat down on the bench and began to cry.
“Who did you lose?” asked the girl gently.
“My daughter,” said Bloom, tears flooding his eyes. “It hurts so much. I never in a million years wanted to feel this way again!” He covered his mouth with his hand, and closed his eyes, stifling a bitter sob.
“Where did she go?” asked the girl gently.
“She is lost! She fell among the stars, in-between time itself,” cried Bloom. “I don’t know how I will ever find her.”
“She will be alright,” the girl consoled him. “I just know it.”
“Will she?” he asked. He looked at the young girl trying hard to remember her name. She was good at guessing things. What if she were right again? “Nella, if I am not mistaken?”
“That is correct,” she answered.
“My daughter was the light of my life,” explained Bloom, his face contorted with emotion. “She could sing like a bird and fight like a lion!”
“You do not yet know what fate has befallen her, it’s likely not the one that you imagine,” said Nella.
“How do I know she is not dead already?” whispered Bloom.
“You must assume she is alive until you have concrete evidence of the contrary,” said Nella logically.
“What if she needs my help?” asked Bloom.
“You have been a good father, and have taught her much. Trust that the skills she has obtained from you will be enough and know that the wisdom you gifted her continues to support her even now, wherever she may be.”
“You think there is a chance that she still lives?” asked Bloom, clinging to the faintest glimmer of hope.
“I do.”
“Then I will find her!” cried Bloom. “I must find her!”
Nella was silent. Her young eyes were troubled.
“How could I have let this happen?” wept Bloom, overcome once more with grief. “I have failed to keep my Amelliea safe,” he choked, burying his face in his hands. His shoulders jerked as he quietly wept.
“It is not your fault,” said Nella.
“I endangered her! I should have known better!” insisted Bloom. “She should have stayed in the Citrulene city where she belonged! I was so selfish to keep her with me when the moment came to let her go, and now…”
“Don’t you see? This is an act of fate,” said Nella. “How do you know it is not better this way?”
“How can it possibly be better? She might be in trouble, and I miss her so!” cried Bloom. “For all I know she is afraid and alone in some dangerous place without food, or shelter, or a means of survival.”
“What would you want for her if you could give her anything?” asked Nella.
“I would give her a chance to live in a fruitful era, not the barren and lifeless red era that I have brought about.”
“Why would you want that for her?” asked Nella.
“So that she could experience true happiness in a bountiful world free of terrible monsters and the cruelty of hardened, callous people.”
“Perhaps you will get your wish,” said Nella.
“How can I live without her?” cried Bloom.
“When we lose the ones we love, we get to keep our memories of them. That is how we have the strength to go on.”
“Memories are not enough! I feel like a broken man, my heart cannot bare this final betrayal!” wept Bloom.
“If you look deeply at grief, you will find that it is not grief at all but a profound gratitude,” said Nella. “Surrender to that feeling without resisting, even if it feels like it may kill you, for the only way out, is through.”
Bloom looked at Nella with tears in his eyes and was grateful that he had found her here in the garden. Her kind words were like a burning flame, soldering his broken heart back together.
“Thank you,” said Bloom. He knew that only time would fully heal his painful feelings of loss. He rose, his head reeling. Bloom thought of the hidden treasure and wondered if he should look for it since he was once more on Earth, yet he felt with his bones that it would be fruitless and even dangerous to seek it.
“You do not need to find it,” said Nella, as if reading his mind. “It will come to you when the time is right.”
Bloom nodded, and bid Nella goodbye. “Everything is falling into place,” she said, before he left the fountain.
Bloom walked back along the gravel path in the direction of the windore feeling hollow inside. He thought about the strange clairvoyant girl and knew that he would eventually puzzle out exactly who she was and what it meant that he had found her once more, but for now he allowed himself to fully feel the pain of his loss, and could not bring himself to worry about anything else.
The path turned, and Bloom soon found himself once more at the same archway through which he had arrived. The invisible windore pulled at his clothes. Bloom felt numb as he stood before it, leaning on his staff. The wizard felt old and tired. He did not want to be alone again. Poor Amelliea, he thought! What had happened to her? Bloom knew he had to hurry back, for he did not want too much time to pass on Windiffera in his absence. With a heavy heart he stepped through the portal, and was instantly pulled into the tunnel of light. The sensation was familiar now, and he raced forward, as if falling from a great height. He oriented himself as his speed began to reduce and then landed in the windore of the Sapphire region, near his own home.
Feeling too empty to cry, he slowly moved through the familiar landscape of the red desert. He thought of the beloved face of his daughter. How short their time had been together! He had hoped for much longer. It hurt to think that he would never get to meet her husband, or see her be a mother, or play with her children. No! He must not think this way, he scolded himself. She could still be out there somewhere. He looked up at the orange sunset, seeking the first stars with his tired eyes. The stitches in his cheek stung, as a salty tear slid unevenly past them. The stitches Amelliea had sewn only hours before, thought Bloom. Now she was gone. Had he known it would go this way he would have done everything differently. Bloom slept on the ground that night in the shelter of a large, arching stone. The space was filled with sand and was comfortable enough even though it was a cold night and he only managed to sleep for a few hours.
By noontime the next day, Bloom had made it back to his village and he was once again surprised at how it had changed. A passing produce cart was piled high with vegetables, as he had not seen since the turn of the millennium. There were far more villagers than he remembered and they darted this way and that, highly unsettled by some unknown commotion. Bloom stopped at a food stand upon seeing some apple tarts. Having not eaten apple tarts for many years, he purchased several of them. As he paid the teller, he thought the mustached man looked oddly familiar.
Bloom continued through the main street. The shop windows looked freshly washed and extra twinkly somehow, and Bloom was distracted from his sadness and the pain of his loss for a br
ief time as he took in his surroundings. His staff thudding on the cobbled street, Bloom wandered into a shop of trinkets and gadgets. The shop was overflowing with antique merchandise. There were crystalline goblets, and fine ceramic teapots, and various serving utensils. Some things were more valuable than others. Among the many items that filled the shelves Bloom noticed an object that snagged his attention with a shocking jolt. It was a black eye patch. The worn item hung by a silk cord on a metal peg. Bloom knew it right away. There could be no mistake. It was Master Dellwen’s! His heart pounding and his mind racing, Bloom touched the stitches in his cheek, and looked at the purple glowing crystal in his staff. There was a hand mirror laying face down on the shelf next to a set of silver jewelry boxes. His hand trembling, Bloom reached for the handle of the mirror. Slowly, he lifted it until he could see his reflection in the speckled, aged glass. He gulped. Master Dellwen’s face looked back at him! His greying beard, and hair looked just like that of his old friend, as did his nose and eyes, and everything else! Even his wrinkles were a perfect blueprint of the other man’s face. Could it be that Master Dellwen had been Wendell himself as an older man? “It cannot be,” whispered Bloom, touching his face. He stared in shock at his own reflection. One of his eyes was blue, and the other was brown. It suddenly dawned on him that this was why Master Dellwen had worn the eye patch! It had been a disguise! Time had changed the wizard beyond recognition, but he could still be recognized by his unique eyes.
Bloom turned in desperation to the shopkeeper. The woman was already staring at the wizard, his strange behavior having drawn her attention.
“Please tell me,” begged Bloom, “what day it is?”
“It is the worst day in history!” she exclaimed. “It is the day of the dominance!”
“It is untrue, that is impossible!” shouted Bloom, casting the mirror aside.
“But it is!” cried the woman. “How can you not know? An evil wizard has betrayed the Prince and has set a terrible new era—”
“No, this is a lie—a bad dream!” cried the wizard, cutting her off.
“I’m afraid not,” said the woman.
The hairs prickled on the back of Bloom’s neck as the realization dawned that he had gone backwards in time instead of forwards. The heat rose to Bloom’s face. He remembered his terrifying first day in the new world.
“What hour is it?” he asked.
“It is a quarter past seven,” the woman answered.
His younger self would be just about across the desert by now, thought Bloom. If he was not kept from murdering that man in the tavern, there was a good chance he would end up becoming the evil wizard everyone believed him to be! How differently his life would then go! Bloom slammed the eye patch down on the counter. “How much for this?” he demanded urgently.
“Two coppers,” said the shopkeeper.
Bloom threw the coins down on the counter and rushed from the shop. It was already dark outside. The wizard flew down the main street, running for the old tavern. The wooden building stood all by itself just outside of the village. Bloom raced down the street and cut across the field beyond the end of the road, hoping that he was not too late. He haphazardly pulled on the eye patch. Bloom reached the tavern and barreled through the double doors with a clamor. Everything seemed to move in slow motion. He saw his younger self pinning a man down on one of the round wooden tables. Young Wendell grabbed a knife right from the belt of his opponent, and raised it high above his victim’s head. The man on the table uttered a feeble plea for mercy, but the boy ignored it. The point of the blade in the boy’s hand was aimed straight for his opponent’s heart.
In an instant Bloom had covered the distance between himself and the young man and grabbed the boy’s wrist before he could complete the strike. Bloom’s knuckles turned white with the effort of restraining his younger, and stronger self. Young Wendell turned to stare at Bloom with frightened, mismatched eyes. The old wizard easily disarmed the youth and returned the dagger to the man lying on the table.
“Kill the wizard!” shouted the bartender.
“He is no wizard, you fools!” hissed Bloom.
The bartender yelled something back, and Bloom retorted with the exact words Master Dellwen had used, the words that he remembered well from the impression they had made upon him all those years ago when he was just a boy.
“Come with me,” said Bloom, grabbing Wendell’s trembling shoulder and shoving him out into the night.
“What do you want with me?” asked Wendell, wrestling free.
Bloom looked at the young man’s face. His younger self was stronger, his heart having not yet been fully broken. He realized suddenly that no one in the entire world would help this troubled young man through such a difficult time in his life. No one would show mercy to the boy who brought about the red era. Master Dellwen had known this. Bloom was now Master Dellwen himself, and that meant he knew at present all that Master Dellwen had known back then. Bloom realized how important it was for him to help his younger self and guide the boy into becoming a good man. “I want to help you,” said Bloom honestly. “I can see you are in some kind of trouble.”
“I don’t need your help!” snapped his younger self. “Who are you, and where did you come from anyway?”
“I am a friend,” replied Bloom, trying hard to navigate the complex situation. It was critical that his younger self did not find out his true identity. Master Dellwen had managed to hide the truth from his younger self so easily, but it was a difficult thing to accomplish. Bloom took heart in the thought that since Master Dellwen had succeeded in keeping his identity secret, he too would somehow manage to do the same.
“The valley is ruined!” cried Wendell. “Everything is ruined!”
“Not all hope is lost, it will be alright,” said Bloom wanting to console the panic-stricken youth.
“How? How will it be alright?” demanded the young man. “Nothing is alright!”
“Do you need a safe place to go?” asked Bloom.
“No!” cried the youth, “I am no longer safe anywhere!”
“I offer you my home,” continued the wizard, awkwardly realizing that the cottage had not yet been built. “Though— it’s not much of a home yet. I am building a cottage an hour’s trek south of here, and you are welcome there. Just follow the dried up river bed.” He turned to leave, knowing his younger self would not follow. After all, he knew the boy like he knew himself.
Bloom returned to the village to buy some necessary supplies. He purchased a new rucksack and filled it with tools, blankets, bedding, and basic building materials. Before he set out for the clearing in the woods, he bought a small basket and filled it with apple tarts and cabbage stuffed bread rolls. He new Wendell would like those foods since they were a mutual favorite.
As he walked through the forest in the direction of his past and future home, Bloom thought of the long night that awaited his younger self. He would have to save Ausra from the monsters, creating his first set of crolackrolite stones, and then escape the angry mob that would chase him deep into the forest. Ausra! The name was like a bell resounding in his heart. Ausra was still alive! How he longed to see her! Bloom wondered if there was some way he could warn her of what was to come or change the course of his life so he could be with her longer, even a decade or two more! Bloom decided to read about the effects of time travel, and then remembered with a stab of despair that he did not yet have a library to refer to.
Bloom came upon the familiar clearing in the forest. A woodcutter had recently cleared it of trees, and a pile of thick logs lay to one side of the space. A few scattered tools were abandoned in the grass. There was a saw, and an ax, a shovel, and several other tools. The handles of the old instruments were heavily worn and rusty in places as though they had seen a lot of use. The logger must have abandoned his work earlier that evening upon seeing the transformation of the world about him. Bloom decided he would make use of the tools in the man’s absence, and later seek him out to return
them. The wizard cast several protective spells upon the clearing, making it so that all unwanted visitors would always walk well around the area, never noticing the clearing even existed. He also made it so that predatory animals could not set foot within the clearing as well as the little glade with the spring. Next, the wizard went to work digging out the foundation of the cottage. He remembered precisely how his home was positioned in the clearing and he wanted to build the new cottage exactly as it was before. The wizard toiled for many hours in the light of his staff. The purple crystal shone brightly in the dark, and Bloom did what work he could in the limited light. He could not believe the irony of the situation. If he had only managed to reach Windiffera a few days, or even a few hours earlier he would have had a chance to stop himself from setting the red era. Although, thought Bloom, he then would have had to face and defeat his former teacher, Master Loriander and he could only guess how that would have gone. Certainly Bloom’s powers had grown over the course of his extraordinarily long life, and it was likely that he and his master would now be equally matched. It was possible even, mused Bloom, that after all this time he may even have surpassed his former teacher.
The night wore on and Bloom began to worry about his younger self. Surely the boy would have already found the riverbed? What was keeping him? Bloom shuddered. Perhaps something had gone—differently? The wizard stuck his staff in the loose dirt at the edge of the clearing and sat down on a log to wait. He remembered that Wendell would be tired and hungry when he arrived. Getting back up, Bloom pulled the sleeping mat and wool blanket from his pack and fluffed up the pillow. Rather pleased with himself, he sat back down to wait for the youth but quickly rose again upon remembering that the boy would have aching and bloody hands. In the dark, Bloom searched through his pack until he found a small jar of the healing balm. The jar was nearly empty, and Bloom frowned at the contents before replacing the lid once more. His own stomach growling with hunger, the wizard went to retrieve the basket of tarts just as he heard footsteps in the dark behind him.
The Curse (The Windore Series Book 2) Page 35