The Magical Book of Wands

by Raven M. Williams

  Abigail grabs them and yanks them off, tossing the blankets on the floor.

  “I said wake up!” She spits the words out between clenched teeth.

  Wilmont sits up, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

  “Fine, I’m up. What do you want?” he snaps back.

  “The King’s just issued a royal proclamation. He’s searching for the stranger who danced all night with the Princess at the royal ball. They don’t know who he is, just that when he left, he dropped his sword. For some reason, they think this sword will show who it’s true owner is. I don’t believe that’s possible, but we can use this to our advantage.”

  “How?” asks Wilmont, puzzled by his mom’s excitement.

  “There’s no way the owner of the sword can prove it’s his. For that matter, no one can prove whom the sword belongs to,” exudes Abigail.

  Wilmont ponders his mother’s words. He realizes it’s a fool’s mission the King’s sending his servant on, but he doesn’t have the energy to argue with his mother so early in the morning.

  Instead, he asks, “What do you want me to do?”

  “Hurry, rise and get dressed in your best clothes. The King’s servant should arrive sometime today. We can’t be caught off-guard.”

  “Yes, Mother,” Wilmont replies, sighing.

  AS THE MORNING PASSES, Ashby quickly does his chores, then rushes up to his room to ponder his dilemma. He’s not so much worried about how his stepmother and her sons will react when they find out he’s the one the sword belongs to, but how the King will. Will he find me worthy of the Princess’ hand? Or will he fire me from my job as royal scribe and toss me out of the kingdom?

  He’s brought from his thoughts by a loud rapping at the manor door. He slips down the stairs and hides in the shadows, watching the flurry of activity. Abigail leads Simon into the parlor where Wilmont and Ferrant eagerly await. The royal guardsmen follow along behind.

  As Abigail sits on the edge of her chair, acting like a regal queen, she stares at Simon expectantly. He pulls out the parchment, unrolls it, and with a clearing of his throat, begins to read.

  “Hear ye, hear ye, by proclamation of the King, each young man in the royal kingdom must attempt to pull the sword from the sheath. The one who does will win the hand of the royal princess, Avicia, in marriage. Do you young men accept this challenge?” asks Simon, staring over his glasses at Wilmont and Ferrant.

  “We do,” they say eagerly, as Ferrant rushes forward.

  “I’m first,” he declares.

  “Wait,” says Wilmont, “I’m the oldest.”

  Abigail lays a restraining hand on Wilmont’s arm.

  “It’s okay, let your brother go first. We both know it’s your sword the servant holds,” she says with a wink.

  Unknown to all in the room, earlier that day, Abigail sought out the village witch and instructed her to concoct a potion to ensure Wilmont meets the challenge set forth in the proclamation. She has every assurance he will be the one to pull forth the sword.

  They watch as Ferrant walks over to Simon and grasps the hilt of the sword. He pulls and tugs, but it doesn’t budge. Growing frustrated, he grabs the handle with both hands and gives it a hard yank, but it still doesn’t come out of the sheath.

  “Ferrant, that’s enough. It’s your brother’s turn,” orders Abigail.

  As the first lad moves to stand behind his mother’s chair, Wilmont walks over to where Simon waits. He reaches for the hilt of the sword, but as his fingers draw close, a loud zap is heard. Shocked, he draws his hand back, his fingers tingling from the electrical shock.

  “What’s the meaning of this?” he demands. “Are you trying to keep me from taking my own sword?”

  Wilmont pushes his face into Simon’s, his anger getting the better of him.

  “Now, Wilmont. You just walked across the large rug on the floor. I’m sure that’s all it was. Try again,” coos Abigail, unsure of what’s happening.

  Wilmont’s hand surges forward. Fighting through the pain of the electrical current, he grabs the hilt and yanks so hard, the sword, still ensconced in its sheath, flies across the room and lands barely a foot in front of Ashby. As the others turn around to see where the sword landed, he steps forward and picks it up.

  “Give me that, Ashby. That’s mine!” snaps Wilmont.

  “You’re mistaken, Wilmont. This sword is mine, as it was my father’s before me,” answers Ashby.

  Simon walks over and takes the sword from the young man, then turns it around, the hilt facing Ashby.

  “Let’s see if the boy speaks the truth,” replies the servant.

  “It’s not possible. He wasn’t even at the ball. Don’t listen to him,” says the stepmother. “He’s just seeking attention. There’s no way that sword is his.”

  “Nothing is impossible,” says the old wizard, appearing from thin air.

  He waves his wand at Ashby, saying, “Fabrics of linen and threads of gold, clothe him in finery with nary a fold. Transfiguratio!”

  Blue and green sparks shoot out of the end of the wand, encircling Ashby. As they slowly fade away, he stands before them in the clothing he wore the night of the ball.

  “You were there,” yells Ferrant and Wilmont. “We saw you. You were the one dancing all night with the Princess!”

  “Then only one thing remains,” says the servant. “Draw the sword from the sheath. The enchantment the sword contains will reveal the truth of its owner.”

  Ashby steps closer and places his hand on the hilt of the sword, while his stepmother and stepbrothers watch, their eyes alight with anger and hate. He slowly pulls it from the sheath and holds it aloft. As he does, the blade glows, the aura surrounding it a bright golden hue. It temporarily blinds everyone in the room.

  “It is settled. You are the true owner of the sword and the one we seek,” declares the servant.

  Chapter Nine

  Angered that Ashby is to be the Princess’ mate, Wilmont steps between them and the door, his face red with jealous rage.

  “You aren’t going anywhere. It should be me marrying the Princess, not you. If I had done to you what I did to your father, it would be me, just as Mother planned. Once again, you have spoiled everything. But no more. I will end you now!”

  Wilmont pulls his sword and lunges towards Ashby. Stunned by Wilmont’s words, he doesn’t move. The servant, seeing the glint of light off the sword, quickly withdraws his from his sheath and blocks Wilmont’s blade before it reaches Ashby’s chest.

  Startled by the clanging of swords, Ashby finally realizes what’s happening and jumps back and raises his. But it’s not necessary, the King’s servant has quickly subdued Wilmont, and the Royal Guardsmen accompanying Simon take the spoiled stepbrother into custody.

  Ferrant, angry at his brother’s treatment, attacks the Royal Guardsmen, but he doesn’t stand a chance against trained soldiers and is quickly taken into custody as well. Abigail, determined to save her sons, tries to grab Ashby’s sword from his hand, but is burned by the enchantment. She screams in pain, releasing her grip on the sword.

  Reaching in her pocket, she pulls a knife and lunges towards Ashby, who barely has time to get his sword up. As it arcs through the air, the tip slightly slices into Abigail’s arm, and she drops the knife, grabbing her wound.

  “You may have won this time, but mark my words, I will have my revenge,” she spits at him.

  “You won’t be getting revenge on anyone. Guards, take her into custody as well,” says Simon.

  “You can’t do that,” declares Abigail. “I’m related to the Queen.”

  “Yes, I can,” the servant replies. “As groom-to-be to the Princess, you and your sons attacked a member of the royal family. Related or not, that is an offense punishable by imprisonment in the royal dungeon. Take them away.”

  Turning to Ashby, he continues, Come, my lad, the King and Princess await.”

  ARRIVING AT THE CASTLE, Ashby and Simon are met by the King.

  “I�
��m sorry I didn’t tell you the day you ordered me to scribe the proclamation,” says Ashby. “First, I was in shock, then later, I feared you’d be angry it was me.”

  “Now son, why would I be angry. I was hoping you and my daughter would find each other. I’ve watched you since you were a young lad. You’ve grown into a fine man, much as your father was. I’m honored to have you for my son-in-law,” says the King, beaming.

  Turning to Abigail and her sons, he continues, “Now, what to do with you?”

  “We beg for mercy, my king,” says Abigail, dropping to her knees. Ferrant follows suit, but Wilmont continues to stand, staring defiantly at the King.

  Before the King can speak, a shuffling of feet is heard coming from the back of the throne room. Everyone looks to see the village witch approaching.

  “Ah, Catalonia, there you are. Did you bring the veritas serum as requested?”

  “I did, your highness,” she replies, curtseying before the King.

  The King nods to Simon, who takes the vial from Catalonia. He approaches Wilmont first. The two guards standing on either side of him, forcefully grab Wilmont, one of them prying the stepbrother’s mouth open. Simon places a couple of drops of the truth serum on his tongue. In a matter of seconds, Wilmont’s eyes glaze over.

  “He’s ready, your highness,” says Simon.

  “Now,” says the King, “tell me about this plot you spoke of.”

  Unable to disobey, Wilmont spills everything, starting with Abigail’s plan to woo Danville into marriage, kill him, and steal everything for his own. By the time he’s finished, Abigail and Ferrant are lying prone on the floor in fear, while the King’s mouth is agape, aghast at what he’s heard.

  “Lady Fairchild, Wilmont, and Ferrant, you are sentenced to life in the dungeons, never to see the light of day again. Guards, take them away,” orders the King. Turning to Simon, he continues, “Please fetch Mr. Canton. It’s time young Ashby’s property is returned to him.”

  IN THE DAYS THAT FOLLOW, the entire castle is abuzz with wedding planning, while outside construction on a new portion of the wall surrounding the King’s land begins. This section will encompasses Ashby’s house, making it and the land Ashby owns part of the royal grounds. Construction also commences on the inside to repair all the damage wrought by Abigail and her sons.

  Ashby walks around the palace in a daze. He’s extremely happy, but sad at the same time. He wishes his father were alive to see all of this. Still, he can rest assured his father’s legacy is intact. Now, to just get through the wedding.

  The big day dawns bright and clear. Simon enters the room where Ashby sleeps, throws open the curtains, and shakes him awake.

  “It’s time to get up, my lad. Today’s the day.”

  “Thank you, Simon,” replies Ashby, sitting up.

  “Come, eat your breakfast,” urges Simon.

  “I’m so nervous, I don’t think I can keep it down.

  “Eat. You’ll need your strength. It’s going to be a long day.”

  Ashby sits and manages to get down some tea and toast. Then, Simon helps him dress for the wedding. His outfit is a golden hue with real gold stitching. Beside the tunic and pants sits his father’s sword and a golden circlet. When he’s ready, Simon leads him to the large ball room where the wedding will take place.

  Ashby stands before the King, a nervous grin on his face, as they await the arrival of the bride, Princess Avicia. A rustling of fabric is heard, and everyone turns to look. There she stands, a vision in gleaming white. Her ball gown floats about her, as her golden hair lay in ringlets about her face. On her head is a gold circlet inlaid with brilliant sapphires. The bright blue matches the color of her shining eyes. She slowly makes her way to the front of the large room, her eyes on Ashby, oblivious to everyone else.

  The King drones on and on about what a joyous day it is, and other things neither the bride nor groom will remember. Then the time comes to declare themselves one to the other. Each does, sealing their joining with a kiss. Everyone cheers, then the orchestra strikes up a lively waltz, the magical celebration continuing.

  After a long day and evening of food, drink, dancing, and merriment, Ashby and Avicia retire to his manor house to begin the rest of their lives together,

  where they all lived happily ever after.

  The End.

  Epilogue

  Finished writing, James lays his pencil down, and picks up the spiral-bound notebook. He flips the pages back to the beginning and reads. He grabs his pencil, making changes as he goes.

  Finally, he gets to the end, quite pleased with his story. He jumps up and runs over to his book bag. He reaches inside and pulls out the black, leather-bound journal and returns to the desk. Sitting down, he opens it to the first blank, lined page and picks up a pen.

  He scrawls the name of the story in black ink...

  “The Enchanted Sword”

  By James Morgan

  He then flips over to the next page and begins copying his completed story on the following pages. When finished, he closes the cover and runs his hands over it lovingly.

  That was so much fun. I hope my teacher likes my story.

  His mind continues to race, filled with chaotic thoughts.

  I can’t wait for the next assignment. I wonder what it will be? Hmm, maybe I should ask Mom to read this and see if it’s okay?

  Rising, he rushes from the room in search of his mother. He hands her the journal and explains the assignment. She nods, agreeing to read the story.

  Opening the journal, she reads it out loud, just like she used to do when James was little. Just as she finishes the story, James’ dad arrives home from work.

  “Hello, you two. What’s going on? What’s for dinner?”

  “Oh my, I got so wrapped up in James’ story, I lost track of time. What do you two say to pizza? I’ll call and order a couple now.”

  She rushes to the phone, calling over her shoulder, “Dan, you should read your son’s story. He’s got a knack for writing. James, you did a really good job. I think your teacher will be quite pleased.”

  James smiles broadly. Now that’s he’s written his first story, he can’t wait to write more. Who knows, maybe he’ll even publish them one day.

  About the Author

  A prolific writer, Raven began her career in 2010, first with a blog, next with non-fiction, then finally moving to fiction in 2014, when she began Elven-Jumper, the first book in the Realm Jumper Chronicles. Now, she has seven stories published in that epic fantasy series, as well as three stories in a new series, Raven’s Twisted Classics, a standalone paranormal story, Witch Hunters’ Society, and a new paranormal series, Demon Stones Saga. She also has four stories published in her Myths & Legends series which ties into her epic fantasy and paranormal series.

  When Raven is not writing, she is creating art in the form of jewelry pieces that tie into her stories, fractal designs, and abstract paintings. She is also a caregiver for a disabled family member and two cats. She physically resides in the Northwest Florida Panhandle, but spends most of her time mentally in the Mystic Realms. Will you join her?

  To learn more about her books, visit: https://mysticrealmscurioshop.com

  or join her readers’ group on Facebook:

  https://www.facebook.com/groups/ravensmysticrealms/

  The Wand Of Luminance

  By Rick Haynes

  Chapter 1

  The mighty oak was now one hundred years old, and I should know, for I was the one that had caressed the acorn and placed it gently in the soil.

  And like me, it was rotten to the core.

  I had planned this from the beginning, and my whole body trembled when I shuffled forward in the twilight, as for days I had simply looked at that one large branch. With so many spurs and knobbly bits all over the giant tree, I had to be careful, for one mistake would seal my fate. Rubbing my fingers produced friction and the faster they moved the more heat I created in the wood. With power flowing through
my fingers, I heard a sigh, felt a shudder, and the branch reluctantly gave up the fight.

  Holding it up to the home of the gods, their lights twinkling so far away, made me feel ecstatic and I thrust out my chest with pride. With my head tilted backwards, and my smile of self-satisfaction making my face flush with success, I shouted with all my might.

  “Now is the time for the Wand of Luminance to be reformed, to shine in the darkness and bring you back from banishment.”

  I saw a flash of lightning hit a tall pine on the nearby hill, setting it alight, and smiled.

  Magenta, the Goddess of Light, had answered.

  Chapter 2

  The years matter little when your life seems as timeless as the mountains. I have aged, but slowly. Was prolonging my life a gift from Magenta? Perhaps? Or maybe it was her sweet revenge?

  She had been stripped of her human powers and ordered back to the heavens for daring to fall in love with a vile man, a ruthless hypocrite inclined to violence. Her beautiful wand had been snapped in two and burnt in the eternal flames, yet with the last of her magic, she had merged the ashes with an acorn. When her disciple unexpectedly arrived with a bag containing a single large nut covered in solid wood, I bared my teeth and glared at the messenger. Stubbornly, I refused to accept such a pathetic gift, yet when the crone insisted on telling me the story, and the part I would play in the future, I eventually relented.

  As the decades coalesced, belief in Magenta was all I had. Entrusting me to guard the place where the nut had been buried and the majestic oak tree now stood, my satisfaction was only surpassed by my arrogance.

  I hated her for prolonging my stay in the mountains, yet most of all I hated myself for having faith in a goddess.

  And now, after all this time, the tree would soon decay into a lost memory.