Lucky or Unlucky? 13 Stories of Fate

by Michael Aaron

  “Alright then. Follow me back to my tent. I may have something there.” Alcheron led Charlie back to the business of the market.

  They arrived at the closed tent and went inside. Alcheron rummaged around in a brass-bound oaken chest and pulled out a rough canvas bag. The bag was small and tied at one end with a piece of twine. “Ah ha! I knew I had one left.”

  He opened the bag and upended it. A polished black wand fell out into his hand. He held it up for Charlie to see. “Here it is. Here is what I think will help you out.”

  “A wand!” Charlie said, awe coloring his words. “It can help me to learn the thirteenth spell Caldonan ordered me to memorize without losing any of the others?”

  “Indeed it can, young wizard,” Alcheron said, a smile of pride on his face. “You simply imbue the wand with the important spells that you cannot lose and it will store them for you. That will allow you to have twelve in your mind and many more in the wand.”

  “Really! How many spells can it hold?” Charlie asked. He tried to keep his excitement at bay, but it was getting too difficult. An answer lay within his grasp!

  “Oh, as many as you care to put, I should think,” Alcheron said.

  “How does it work?”

  “That is the best part,” Alcheron said. “You know how you can see your spells in your mind with your inner eye?”

  “Yes.”

  “You do the same thing with this. While holding the wand, you imagine the spell traveling out of your mind, down your arm and into the wand. Then, you should be able to visualize the spell being held in your hand whenever you hold the wand using the same inner eye. You can use the spell in the way you normally would when you memorize it.”

  “Wow, that’s amazing!” Charlie said. “May I try it?”

  Alcheron pulled the wand away from Charlie’s outstretched hand. “No! At least, not yet. The wand will become attuned to you the first time you use it, making it useless to anyone else. I will let you try it once it is yours.”

  “Oh, okay,” Charlie said, his enthusiasm not dimmed in the least. Then he thought about the tiny number of coins in his purse and the high polish of the wand. His face fell. “But surely I cannot afford it, sir. I don’t have much for money. I’m sorry to have wasted your time.” He turned to leave.

  “Wait!” Alcheron shouted. He grabbed Charlie’s shoulder and turned the young wizard around. “I didn’t say there was any cost for this wand. I would like to give it to you as my way of helping you out for the future.” He puffed his chest out a little. “As I said before, I believe it is the duty of every honest, upstanding wizard to give an up-and-comer such as yourself a leg up.”

  “Wow, really?” Charlie couldn’t believe his good luck. The answer to his problems and free to boot.

  “I must ask one thing, however,” Alcheron said.

  “What’s that, sir?”

  “You must not mention to your master where you got the wand.”

  That sounded odd to Charlie. “Why not?”

  “Because wizards like Caldonan are very possessive of their apprentices. They do not wish to see any other wizard meddling with them. He would be angry and destroy the wand.”

  “Meddling? But you’re helping me out. Why would he think you were meddling?” Charlie asked.

  Alcheron shook his head sadly. “I don’t know, but he will. I’ve seen it before with wizards like him. I would hate for this wand to be destroyed or Caldonan to come after me for a wizard’s duel because I’ve tried to be helpful.”

  Charlie nodded. “Very well, sir. I will keep your name out of this.”

  “Not just my name! Do not tell him about the wand at all! If he learns of it, he will destroy it and you will lose your advantage.” Alcheron looked hard at Charlie. “You don’t want to have to unlearn any of your spells now, do you?”

  “No, sir, I sure don’t,” Charlie said, shaking his head vigorously. “I promise not to tell him anything.”

  “We have an understanding then,” Alcheron said, extending his hand for Charlie to shake. The two men shook hands and Alcheron gravely handed the wand to Charlie. “Take good care of the wand and it will help you out enormously.”

  Charlie ran most of the way back to the tower, thinking about which spell he would transfer to the wand first. He managed to avoid Caldonan when he arrived home and went straight to his room to study the wand.

  The wand was a polished black wood carved from a single piece of alder. It had no metal or carvings on it. Charlie waved it experimentally.

  But what spell to put into it? Alcheron had said to put important spells into it. But what was the most important?

  His stomach chose that moment to growl at him, reminding Charlie that he hadn’t eaten much that day. That told him which spell was the most important.

  He held up the wand like he had been instructed and turned his inner eye to his mind. The spells were there as always, bright sparks in his brain. Charlie chose the newest spell and moved it into the wand. The spark-spell dutifully went down Charlie’s arm and into the wand.

  Charlie could see it warmly glowing as if in his hand.

  It worked exactly like Alcheron had said. Charlie was excited to try using the spell stored in the wand.

  He rushed down to the kitchen and cast the spell to make breakfast, not from his mind, but from the wand. Everything worked the way it was supposed to. Charlie now had a way to learn that thirteenth spell without having to lose any of the previous twelve.

  He had found a way!

  Caldonan chose that moment to enter the kitchen.

  “Charlie. I haven’t seen much of you today. How goes your studies on that new spell I set you?”

  Charlie hid the wand behind his back. “I will be getting to it later today, master. I had to find a way to learn a thirteenth spell first so I wouldn’t lose any of my first twelve.”

  Caldonan shook his head. “Charlie, that is a fool’s errand. No wizard apprentice can learn more than twelve spells. Your mind is simply not prepared for it. No, you should accept that and unlearn one of your domestic spells and learn the one I set to you.”

  Charlie smiled a triumphant smile. “Master, I don’t want to disagree with you, but I have found a way. I will be able to learn the new spell without losing any of my old ones.”

  Caldonan’s eyes narrowed. “You can learn a thirteenth spell? Just how did you manage to do something that no other living wizard has ever accomplished, hmm? I should like to see that trick very much.”

  “Well, Master, I have this!” Charlie pulled the wand from behind his back and showed it to his master, forgetting his promise to Alcheron.

  “A wand? Where the devil did you get a wand?” Caldonan asked.

  Charlie finally remembered his promise. “Well…umm…I found it when I was out for a walk.”

  “A very unlikely story,” Caldonan muttered. He held out his hand. “Here, let me see that.”

  “But….” Charlie really didn’t want to relinquish the wand to Caldonan.

  “Charlie,” Caldonan said, speaking very softly. “I want to see your wand. I will return it to you when I am done. You have my word.”

  “Well…okay,” Charlie said, reluctantly handing the wand over to Caldonan.

  Caldonan studied the wand, turning it over in his hands and holding it up to the light. “I trust you haven’t used this yet, Charlie?”

  Charlie frowned. “Yes, of course I have. I stored my breakfast spell in it. That’s what I used to get this food cooking.”

  “But, there is no such spell in this wand, Charlie. In fact, there is only one spell in this wand and that one is concealed from easy sight.” Caldonan handed the wand back. “See for yourself.”

  Charlie took the wand and tried to see his spell in it using his inner eye. Nothing. Only a very faint glimmer at the edge of his vision.

  “But…but I just put the spell there.” He looked up at Caldonan frantically. “I swear I did! I don’t understand it.”

  C
aldonan gently took the wand back from Charlie’s trembling fingers. He studied it further. “Aha! I see what has happened now.”

  “What?”

  “Charlie, where did you really get this wand from?”

  Charlie realized that now wasn’t the time to lie. “I got it from a wizard in town. His name was Alcheron.”

  “That one!” Caldonan’s expression turned stormy. “That one is a thief and a villain!”

  “Master?”

  “Charlie, the wand you were given is meant for one thing only. It is meant to steal magic. Preferably valuable magic.”

  “He did say to store my important spells in the wand,” Charlie said.

  Caldonan threw his head back and laughed. “I’ll bet he did. And you, being you, chose a spell to cook breakfast as your most valuable spell. I bet he was expecting you to put the spell I set you to learn into the wand. That truly would have been worthwhile for him.”

  “But what happened to the spell I stored in the wand?”

  “Gone. Transferred to Alcheron, I should think,” Caldonan said.

  Charlie sat down. All the work to learn the spell, wasted. He smelled the burning porridge. And he didn’t even get a single meal out of it. “He stole my spell? I guess I’ll be able to learn your spell now Master. Nothing will get in the way.” Charlie’s voice was dull and lifeless.

  “Charlie, you do know that once you learn a spell, even if you unlearn it, there is a pattern left behind in your mind? That pattern makes relearning it fast and easy,” Caldonan said with a smile. “I thought you knew that.”

  “So, I can relearn my breakfast spell?” Charlie asked, feeling hope again.

  Caldonan shook his head. “Not easily, I’m afraid. You will have to put all the work back into it just like the first time. That’s because you didn’t actually unlearn it. You moved that spell into the wand, did you not? When you did that, the spell and accompanying pattern both went. And both are now gone.”

  Charlie could only shake his head. If only he had known. His thirteenth spell wouldn’t have been learned at the loss of the twelfth.

  “Charlie, asking questions is all right. I don’t expect you to learn everything the hard way. But I do expect you to learn.”

  “Yes, Master.” There was nothing else to say. Charlie went to scrape the burnt remains of his meal into the trash. Never again would he simply trust a stranger’s intentions. Question everything. That was the answer.

  Michell Plested

  Michell (Mike) Plested is an author, editor, blogger and podcaster living in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. He is the host of several podcasts including Get Published, (2009, 2011 and 2013 Parsec Finalist), the SciFi/Comedy GalaxyBillies (Hitchiker’s Guide to the Galaxy meets Beverley Hillbillies) and Boyscouts of the Apocalypse (Zombie horror meets boy scouts), a part of the Action Pack Podcast.

  His debut novel, Mik Murdoch, Boy Superhero was published August 1, 2012 and was shortlisted for the Prix Aurora Award for Best YA Novel. His anthology, A Method to the Madness: A Guide to the Super Evil was released April, 2013.

  12. Sundered

  Wilson Geiger

  What I wouldn’t give to be a sorcerer right now.

  Not really, of course, as the very idea caused my stomach to clench, but the thought, that maybe I’d have some way of shutting him up, or canceling his voice, almost made me smile.

  Jimmy complained the whole way back to the barracks. What passed for barracks anyway, being the regiment basically lived in tents just outside town. I tried to tune him out, tried to play down his superstition, but he’s the persistent sort. Always has been.

  And I’d know, having been friends with the bastard for fifteen years.

  “Seriously, Gord?” he asked, his hands animated as he frowned at me. “Of all the damned numbers, they throw the 43rd into the 13th Corps? Thirteen? Don’t they know what that means?” He let out a big breath, clearing his throat.

  “Listen, Jimmy, the 13th Corps, that’s not such a bad thing,” I said, trying to sound confident. “And anyway, we’re in the mud pit of Arkansas. I don’t think the town of Helena cares a whit what number the army gives us.”

  I didn’t think General Grant gave a whit, either, not really, but I let the thought go.

  We walked in relative silence, Jimmy muttering to himself, through the outskirts of western Helena, or, like those Iowa boys had started calling it—and none too fondly—Hell-In-Arkansas.

  Easy to picture why. Four thousand Union soldiers, all packed in like sardines, in a town meant for not even half that number. A combined brigade made up of soldiers from our 43rd Indiana, the 35th Missouri and 28th Wisconsin. Topped off with a second brigade mashed together in the same town, formed almost entirely of Iowans.

  Rain hammered this part of Arkansas constantly, leaving behind fields of mud, and the summer brought with it a sweltering heat that sapped the energy and strength from men’s bones. If that wasn’t enough, every day more soldiers came down with some illness, taking to coughing fits, or sweating so bad they could fill up a bucket all by themselves. Entire houses had been crammed with the sick and infirm.

  Captain Jones told us to avoid those places like the plague.

  He also told us we should be thanking our lucky stars. Only a couple days ago, he said, the bulk of the 13th Corps was here, 16,000 strong. But they got shipped off to Vicksburg, part of some grand strategy to cut off the Rebs in Mississippi.

  Hell-In-Arkansas was a fitting name, the more I thought on it.

  “They even canceled the Independence Day celebration, Gord,” Jimmy said. “And I gotta tell you, that rankles.”

  “You have got to let it go,” I sighed, knowing he wouldn’t. “You think the Rebs’ll be celebrating?”

  Wherever those lucky stars might’ve been, those of us left behind in Helena sure as spit couldn’t spot them out there in the night sky. I’d sure as hell never seen one, and if I did, Jimmy would probably scare the damn thing away anyway.

  He coughed. “Man’s gotta have his time to let…” Jimmy’s voice trailed off, his eyes wide, his stare fixed on a small group of soldiers ahead.

  They leaned against a tall wooden fence in quiet conversation, wisps of smoke hovering over their heads as the embers of rolled cigarettes lit their faces. A two-story house stood behind the fence, the small flames of candlelight dancing in the upper windows. The sun dipped below the western horizon, framing the soldiers against the evening sky.

  I didn’t think anything of it at first, not until we neared the men, and then I noticed. My steps halted as I caught the flash on their shoulders, spotted the insignia us regular soldiers feared.

  Not much could shut Jimmy up when he was on one of his rants. I might’ve cracked a joke if I could get a word out myself. Instead I held out a hand, clenched Jimmy’s shoulder so that he stopped beside me.

  Rarely seen out and about, these men were part of the sorcerer cadre assigned to the 13th. Whispered secrets, rumor and legend, there was always an undercurrent of fear when they came up in conversation. Talked about, but never in the open, never loudly. The way I figured it, the less we knew about them, the better.

  I didn’t much care to get too close to their mysteries now, so I did what any sane, fearful man would, when confronted with that kind of power. Go the other way.

  One of them looked in our direction as I pushed Jimmy across the narrow street, kicking up clumps of dirt as we shuffled towards the other side of the street, away from the sorcerers. Jimmy paused in the middle of the road, coughed again, this time a deep rumble in his chest. He cleared his throat with a hacking cough, spat out a wad of thick mucus.

  “You okay, Jim?” I asked, taking a nervous step away.

  Jimmy looked at me, and I knew right away something was wrong. His lids drooped, his breath coming in wheezing gasps. He held a shaky hand up, aimed for my shoulder. “Told you it was bad luck, Gord,” he said with a rasp.

  He was my friend, a man I’d known for years, but this was differ
ent. I took another step back.

  “You men alright?”

  I jumped at the voice behind me. Almost jumped again when Jimmy fell right after, slumping into the packed dirt.

  Two sorcerers ran past me to check on my fallen friend. By the time they’d picked him up, promising to get him to a medic, numbness had crawled over my skin. I stood rooted to the spot as they carried him away, the answer lodged in my head, my mouth unable to speak it.

  No. No, we weren’t alright.

  Colonel Major passed down orders the next day, straight from General Prentiss himself. I spent the next eight hours cutting down trees, felling them in lines so as to slow down the approach of the Rebs. The General figured they’d come from the west, through White River, so half the regiment sweat and bled, sawing and pulling timber all over west Helena.

  “Say, Captain, why not just have them sorcerers take care of these trees?” I asked Captain Jones in passing, as I grabbed a quick swig of stale, piss-warm water. “No reason they couldn’t take care of this mess in half the time it’s taking us.” I didn’t know that for a fact, but it made all sorts of sense in my mind.

  Captain Jones frowned and muttered something under his breath. Something about “damned sorcerers,” but I couldn’t quite make it out. “You got a damned job to do, don’t you, Corporal?” he asked, his eyes boring into mine.

  I opened my mouth, but from the look on his face I didn’t figure it was worth pursuing. I flashed a hurried salute and made my way back to the fallen timber.

  Weaving down Hindman Hill, I stepped through thick undergrowth carpeted with trees, hacked limbs and shredded leaves. I walked past men, most of them strangers, chopping with axes, or pushing against great logs, heaving them downhill.

  Sarge looked up as I approached, pausing to run a dirty hand over his sweaty forehead. He looked at me with weary eyes, spots of grime and soil on his face. Even his thick, graying mustache seemed tired.

  “A couple more trees, Gord, and we can call it a day,” he said, pointing towards the last stand of trees the 43rd was responsible for. The thin oaks stood tall against the hack and grind of the men at their trunks, branches and leaves vibrating with each cut.