The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare

by April Leonie Lindevald

  THIRTY-FIVE

  The Birthday Party

  TVRDIK OPENED HIS EYES RIDICULOUSLY early on his thirtieth birthday, and could not seem to fall back to sleep. The house was quiet; no one was yet stirring. Through the open window, he could just see shapes of things beginning to be distinguishable in the grey dawn, and just hear the songbirds begin their first serenade. He rose, donned some plain work clothes, and let himself out the front door, taking great care not to let any stray sound wake the house’s inhabitants. A walk, alone, seemed just the medicine for his restless mind and turbulent heart. He headed toward Theriole for a few minutes, until he found what he was looking for – a side path that wound through the gardens before joining the river road again, a ways past The Cottage.

  Adopting an unhurried pace, he filled his lungs with the fresh morning air, fragrant with last lilacs and honeysuckle. Most of the irises were done now, but in patches under shady trees, one or two still stood proud and erect, like purple sentinels. The giant rhododendrons were in full bloom, and some of the roses had opened their delicate buds. Butterflies, bees, and hummingbirds were beginning to collect around the flowering bushes, and he stopped to watch their angular, darting dances with delight. The sun was now pushing over the horizon, and color radiated from all the wonders surrounding him, as first light bathed the whole world. He counted at least eighteen distinct shades of green in the gardens this morning. And that was in addition to the fuchsia and magenta, golden yellow, deep blood red, lavender, and a whole collection of blues – so many colors painting the day. The path had taken him up a small hill, an island of higher ground crowned with a few well-placed benches. Tvrdik sat down facing the sea, and gasped at the sky-canvas rolled out before him. The invisible artists of the dawn must have been hard at work for hours on this one. Far in the distance, deep teal waters glinted with sun spangles, while hugging the horizon, swirls of rich orange, deep pink, and saffron gold had been brushed across the sky. Feathery violet clouds sailed lazily through the glowing sky. In the opposite direction, he could barely make out inky shapes he knew to be mountains.

  Tvrdik drank in the loveliness of the natural world surrounding him, as a rising chorus of birdsong filled his ears. Realizing how much of life’s sweetness he had habitually taken for granted, he let his eyes fall at whim on every distinct marvel of this lovely day. Softly, he uttered his own inadequate prayer, “Bless this day, and accept my profound gratitude for this timely reminder that life is good. Odd, isn’t it, that now, with danger and an uncertain future ahead, I have at last discovered how very much I cherish my life. Oh, Spirit, in whose hand rests all of our destinies, if it be possible to grant your humble servant more time – more days to savor your rich gifts – I would be grateful. And I would promise never again to let such blessings go by unnoticed and unappreciated.”

  He sat for a moment longer on the bench, breathing in the pure, fresh air. As the sun began to climb higher, and the brilliant colors of the sky all turned to cerulean blue, he stood, stretched, and headed back toward The Cottage. He took his time, and all along the way, his heightened senses seemed to magnify every small detail. It was as if each perfect thread in the tapestry before him glowed and pulsed with an inner light, and knew its unique place in the grand plan of all-that-is. Arriving wide-eyed at his own front door, he uttered the familiar words, “Bless this house,” and meant it, from the bottom of his heart.

  The house was still quiet, but now because everyone had wakened and gone out about their various tasks. On the dining table was a small plate of bread and fruit, and a note from Mrs. Praeger that read, “Save yer appetite for the party.” Tvrdik chuckled, thinking how novel it was for Mrs. Praeger to encourage him not to eat. She must have quite a feast planned for the party. The party, he mused, sitting down to his fruit and bread. He had tried to convince the committee not to expand it into a state affair – just a few friends, and a picnic outdoors by the river, he had begged, and he thought he could trust them to comply. It was looking like the weather would cooperate as well, and he was beginning to feel excited, anticipating the festivities.

  Those were still many hours away, however. For the moment, he finished his breakfast, washed, dried, and put away the dishes, so they would not be in Mrs. Praeger’s way when she returned. Then he went back to his chambers and set about the business of preparing for a special occasion. He bathed, shaved, washed his hair, and decided on the blue robes, which were clean and light enough for a warm, sunny day. He ran an approving eye over himself in the glass; his face scrubbed and clean-shaven, his pale golden locks swept back from his temples, and the blue of his fresh robe bringing out the unusual color of his eyes, behind their ubiquitous spectacles… “Well, that’s about as good as it is likely to get,” he remarked, to no one in particular, and shrugged. But, it was still early, and no one was home. Looking for a pleasant way to pass the time, he stepped into Xaarus’ great library, combed the shelves until he saw something that caught his attention, and settled into the big comfortable chair for a few hours of stimulating reading.

  Three pages later, he was fast asleep in the chair.

  He was running through a field, warm sunshine caressing his shoulders and the back of his neck, green grass and many-colored wildflowers springing up around his bare feet. He looked down to see his leggings worn and patched, and short for the gangly, thin legs of a growing fourteen-year-old. He was running as fast as he could, but ahead, he could see Benjin and Ailianne, together as usual, unwilling to wait for him. He saw them halt in their tracks and turn to face him, his heart almost stopping to see her as she looked then, flowing golden hair and lovely face, intelligent eyes free of care, free of fear. Then he realized that the two of them were pointing at him and laughing, making fun of the boy who couldn’t quite keep up. Ailianne’s laughter rang out like little tuned bells, so beautiful – and so cold. He called out to her, and tried to go toward them, but he found he could not move. His feet had disappeared in the long, green grass, and had become rooted, reaching deep into the fertile earth below.

  He stretched out his arms to where his schoolmates had stood, but they had vanished, and now his arms were stiffening, and sprouting branches, shoots, and buds. From his head, more limbs snaked and stretched upward to the sky. With a tree’s inner rhythm, and a dreamer’s perspective, he watched the seasons roll by in endless parade – bud to leaf, flower to fruit, ripe fruits plucked and enjoyed by passers-by, leaves turning color and becoming brittle, then falling away into piles below, swirling about his face as windy gusts spun them up and away. Snow falling through skeletal limbs, drifting into dunes below, then melting in spring’s pale sunshine. Birds lighting on his branches, and pouring out their hearts in song. Life coursing up from the earth through his veins, and flowing upward through his outstretched limbs. The entire cycle again and again, over and over in fast motion, until he saw Xaarus come along, bright and happy and whole. The Master plucked one of his fruits, as the seasons ceased their spinning progress, and bit into it.

  “Mmmmm. This is delicious, boy,” the old wizard said, “But, you still have not half fulfilled your destiny.” Xaarus waved a shining wand at him, and at once, where he thought his shoulder blades should be, something new sprang forth, and began to grow and unfold. Wings, pale golden and feathered, massive and eager to try the currents of the air. His tree form melted away, as his feet were released from their bondage, and he soared upward, great wings beating the air. He wheeled and looped and dove and climbed upward with glee, reveling in his newfound liberty, and the feeling of sun on his feathered limbs. Xaarus was laughing, and waved at him from below. Then, in a flash of light, he was a large, white owl, hovering in the air, and when he turned his sharp gaze toward anything on the ground, he could see right through whatever it was, to the very core of its being, down to the tiny molecules and atoms that danced and trembled to the music of the spheres, and shone with living lights. The white owl cried out with a piercing shriek, and pump
ed its mighty muscles, coasting closer to earth. It stretched its great wings wide, but one was caught on something, would not respond, and was flapping about wildly…

  Tvrdik’s consciousness surfaced to the odd sensation that his left arm was shaking around all by itself. Confounded by this phenomenon, he opened his eyes to see Stewart tugging and worrying at one blue sleeve, which the dog held firmly in his mouth. The arm just went along for the ride. It fell limply to the wizard’s side as the dog let go his hold, and the hapless book fell from Tvrdik’s lap to the floor with a resounding thud. Stewart sat down.

  “A very happy birthday, sir,” he offered. “I am that sorry to wake ye, but it’s gettin’ on with the day, and yer guests are already startin’ to arrive. We thought ye’d want to greet them.”

  The mage stared at him sleepily for half a moment, blinked, then sat bolt upright. “Oh, my goodness! The guests? My party. How long have I been dreaming?”

  “I could not tell ye, sir. We all arrived home to find ye dozin’ in the chair here, and did not wish to disturb ye until now.”

  “Goodness, what a dream I had! But where is the day going? Of course, we should go and welcome everyone. Thank you, Stewart.” He stood, rubbed his eyes, then set about smoothing out his wrinkled robes and tousled hair with his hands. Placing his glasses squarely on his nose, he stood before Stewart. “How do I look?” he asked, with a great deal of uncertainty.

  “Like a man about t’ be the center of attention.” Stewart was a born diplomat. “Off wi’ ye, now. Mrs. Praeger has quite the feast comin’ along, and Lady Delphine has arrived with a sack full of plans for the day.”

  “Oh, my.” said Tvrdik, with a touch of alarm, and followed Stewart out of the room. The moment they entered the hallway, his nose was greeted with a variety of delicious aromas coming from the kitchen, and he could already hear laughter and conversation drifting in from the parlor. Any hint of trepidation melted away, and a wave of happy anticipation washed over him. What delightful promise this day held!

  And the promise was more than fulfilled. All of Tvrdik’s newfound friends were there, and a few extra guests to boot. Stewart and the Praeger family were all in attendance, being his housemates, along with Jorelial Rey and Tashroth. Candelinda was still away on her assignment. Mark and Delphine had brought Nyree along as a special treat, and had also hired a small consort for music and dancing later on the lawn. Bargarelle came, and Brendelle; Verger, with his charming wife Sallia, and Warlowe and his wife Danelli. Andrus was there, and Ondine showed up around back with some of her naiad friends, spending time in the river and in various basins and tubs throughout the day.

  The food began appearing almost at once…and kept coming in waves for the duration of the gathering. There was green salad, cabbage salad, potato salad, and bean salad, all made with ingredients fresh from the garden. There were seven different cheeses, soft and hard. There were sweet breads and savory breads, puddings, and a hot summer squash and onion pie that was scrumptious. There was fresh fruit, preserved fruit, dried fruit, and candied fruit. And later on, of course, there was a very special birthday cake, and a whole tray of the little custard tarts that Tvrdik loved so much.

  “You know, after the great naval standoff at Theriole,” Bargarelle remarked, “the Palace Chef heard how fond you are of these little pastries, and has taken to calling them Wizard Wheels, after you.” That bit of information turned the mage a deep red, and brought on a great burst of hilarity from all present, as various guests made suggestions for alternate names, such as Tvrdik’s tarts, or mage-muffins. Unfortunately, all of these appellations seemed to have double meanings that had the entire company rolling on the grass in paroxysms of laughter, until Tvrdik scowled at them all in mock disapproval.

  There was fresh milk and aged cider, cold tea, and a seemingly endless stream of wines. Tvrdik had been avoiding fermented beverages for a very long time, as they did not mix well with magical concentration. But he decided to make an exception for this special day’s festive occasion, and most everyone partook liberally throughout the day.

  There were games. Delphine had taken it upon herself to arrive with a list of competitions testing skill, speed, intelligence, and luck, so that there would never be any opportunity for boredom during the celebration. With a basketful of silly prizes and her usual charm, she wheedled, cajoled, threatened, bargained, and seduced the guests into participating, but, in the end, everyone entered into the various contests in the spirit of fun and playfulness. No one could best Stewart for speed and agility, or Bargarelle for memory and knowledge of trivia. But there were other events that required cooperation, or steadiness, or balance – like walking from point A to point B with an egg balanced on your outstretched downturned hand – where unexpected heroes emerged. There was quite enough glory to spread around. Except that the birthday boy himself grew frustrated with losing badly in every category, and began to use magic to cheat, right out in the open. In response, Tashroth stepped in and plucked up Jorelial Rey by the collar, stretching out his long neck to deposit her a few feet ahead of Tvrdik in his magical winged boots. This elicited loud protests from the other participants, shouts that changed quickly into uproarious laughter, leaving everyone breathless and spent.

  There were, of course, gifts. Tvrdik was overwhelmed at their variety and generosity. There were scented candles, and journals of finely tooled leather, pens, and colored inks. There were belts, and tunics, and a knitted wool scarf. Lynette offered him a handmade pottery mug which she had helped to make herself, all painted with bright flowers and smiling suns. The mage wondered if she could see what a priceless treasure it was to him. Andrus presented him with a rare and fascinating old text on contagious diseases and their treatment, a thoughtful and personal gift. Brendelle’s gift was a good-sized jar of an exotic spice from her own country, one she said was among her favorites. Mr. and Mrs. Praeger had constructed him a special wooden chair that actually rocked back and forth when you sat in it –very calming. When they had found the time to construct such a piece confounded him entirely. Ondine and her compatriots brought in a great bundle of a certain type of seaweed plant which he had once told her was very useful in creating healing balms. They had located a source, and took pains to gather it themselves. It would be most useful, and Tvrdik was both impressed and grateful.

  From Jorelial Rey and Tashroth, there was a floor-length, dark, heavy woolen cloak; hooded and embroidered in silver thread with sun, moon and stars – a wizard’s symbols. It was beautiful, the workmanship fine, and would be useful for the cold months, for which he owned no suitable garments. Tvrdik was moved at the thoughtful choice. As he opened his last gifts, Stewart was rolling around upside-down on the grass, enjoying a thorough back-scratching, Ondine was leaping in and out of the water, ecstatically splashing anyone who came near, Lynette was running in circles, fully intent on a small pinwheel he had given her to play with, and a contingent of his guests were forcibly settling Mrs. Praeger in a chair, insisting on serving her, after her continuous ministrations all day. They assured her that they would take charge of bringing in the birthday cake. The sun was hanging low on the horizon, marking the approach of evening, and it seemed a perfect time to acknowledge the odd twists of fortune which had brought his life to this place in only a few months. Here he was, surrounded by friends who were generous, loving, creative and playful, even in the face of imminent danger, who seemed to genuinely enjoy his company. He had work and purpose. He had hope of helping to accomplish their shared goals. He cast an eye again on the mountain of gifts before him, and back out again on the busy assortment of companions scattered about on the lawn, and smiled, realizing that this day had truly been as much about lifting their spirits as it had been about him. Delphine and Stewart had been right; for this one day, at least, dark thoughts were pushed aside, as everyone threw themselves with whole hearts into celebration.

  As the oversized birthday cake, decorated in fresh raspbe
rries, was wheeled in by Brendelle and Sallia, Mark, Delphine, and Nyree presented their birthday gift – a ballad Mark had written to immortalize the turning back of Drogue’s navy from Theriole. It was quite a robust and catchy piece, Mark having quite the gift for tune-crafting, and after a number of detailed, poetically- rendered, and suitably embellished verses, everyone present was joining in the chorus:

  He held the vision in his mind

  That what they sought, they would not find.

  They wandered aimless, as if blind,

  And left their hopes and pride behind.

  All Hail, Tvrdik the victor!

  The wizard who carried the day –

  He sent them in tatters away.

  With each verse the company grew louder, more confident, and more raucous in their performance, the sweet voices of Nyree and Delphine and Mark rising like rays of golden sunshine above the merry noise of the crowd. Only Tvrdik was silent, eyes closed, torn between tremendous pride, and a feeling of horror, to be so singled out in song. Truly, it seemed as though they were singing about someone else – a mythical hero in some dim and distant past. When the last chorus had finished, all eyes turned toward the young mage for his reaction. Embarrassed, Tvrdik stuttered, “It’s…it’s really quite a wonderful song…very beautiful, indeed, but…but, don’t you think that some of the tale might be just a bit, well…somewhat…exaggerated?”

  Even the staid Nyree burst into laughter at that, along with everyone else. Delphine exclaimed, “Silly, it’s supposed to be a little…um…enhanced for the sake of the ballad. It’s called, ‘poetic license.’ Anyway, I don’t think Mark changed much…we were there, don’t forget.”