There were two that he called 'Cold Storage' rooms. This was where he kept the harvest from his crops that he and Kronk had collected during the growing season and some of the foodstuffs he'd received by trading with Nottinghill.
There were bags of wheat flour, bushels of apples and corn and many other easily-stored vegetables. Even so, the two rooms were almost empty because they were as large as the main room he was standing in.
The third storage room he called 'Dry Goods' and the only reason it existed was because of his friend Daniel.
Simon paused and gave thanks yet again for Daniel's foresight. Through his world-wide exploration of old tombs and ruins, his friend had discovered that the end of the modern world was at hand. He had taken over the building of the tower and paid for it with his own money and the only thing he'd asked Simon for in return was the chance to visit now and then.
Well, except for a brief, and quite sad, visitation in the summer, when Daniel had returned from the elven lands to speak to Simon, he had never seen the tower.
And now I have this refuge, Simon thought. All thanks to him.
Daniel had stocked the Dry Goods room and, at the time, Simon had thought he was crazy. It had been about a year before his Change began and the world started to fall apart.
There were sealed, air-tight barrels of flour, sugar and salt. Resealable bags of spices. Canvas bags stuffed with fine kindling and many other practical supplies that Simon would never have thought of.
Daniel had brought in hundreds of candles and boxes of old-fashioned wooden matches. A barrel of cooking oil. Tools, including a hammer and a big bin of nails. A shovel. The list went on.
In fact Simon was still discovering new items whenever he wandered around the room. Just a few weeks prior to his current crisis, the wizard had opened a random box and, to his astonishment, found a sealed bag of gumdrops. Why they were there, he had no idea. But what a treat they'd been.
He chuckled and shook his head. God knows what else is in there, he thought as he opened the door to the final room.
This one he simply called 'The Wardrobe'.
Inside there were large cedar chests and tall bureaus along each wall. Rolls of fine cloth that Simon had used to make his robes and undergarments lay piled to one side in their plastic wrappings. A large box filled with hundreds of spools of thread and dozens of needles stood beside the cloth.
He looked at them for a moment and had to smile again. He had never had to sew back in the old world. All of his clothes had been tailor-made to fit his muscular, two hundred and fifty pound frame. Of course all that had changed when things fell apart.
After his Change, Simon learned to sew by necessity. For some reason, loose-fitting robes were the only kind of garment he could stand wearing for any length of time. He eventually decided that wizards simply preferred wearing that type of clothing and, because he had Changed into one, that was what he was comfortable with.
It made no sense to him then and it made none now, but there it was.
But there's no way I'm wearing a flimsy robe out in that storm, he thought and began searching through the chests.
They were filled with clothing of all kinds. Pants and slacks in one chest. Dozens of pairs of shoes in another. Shirts and coats hanging in the bureaus. The mystery wasn't that Daniel had stocked the room with clothing. No. The thing that Simon couldn't get over is that everything was made to fit the man he'd become, not the large man he had once been.
Daniel, Daniel, he thought with a shake of his head. I'll be thanking you forever, old friend.
He rummaged around until he found all that he needed. Then he carried his discoveries upstairs to his bedroom and began to get dressed.
Simon put on a set of thermal underwear, pausing a moment to get used to the constricted feeling of the garment. It was necessary but he didn't like it.
He pulled on thick woolen socks, a heavy shirt and sturdy pair of pants came next, followed by fur-lined boots.
Finally he struggled into a dark blue winter jacket with a hood and thick gloves.
He looked at himself in the mirror and burst out laughing.
I look like bundled-up five year old, he thought. His young, unlined face with its enormous mismatched eyes stared back at him innocently, with a crazy grin.
Ah well, no one's going to see me anyway.
He walked back downstairs, careful not to trip in the bulky clothing, and headed for the front door.
Then he stopped, made an exasperated sound and went back to the stairs again. He walked down and into the storeroom with all of his tools and found a small shovel.
Unless I want to dig with my hands, I'm going to need this, he thought ruefully. And then he climbed to the main floor again.
Simon was sweating already when he reached the front door. He glanced at the fire and saw that there was enough fuel on it to burn for several hours and then he pulled back the bolts on the door and, with some effort, forced it open.
A blast of arctic air slammed into him as he walked outside. He pulled the door closed behind him and stood on the front steps in a foot of snow.
The wind hadn't let up and the snow was blinding. He didn't even consider looking for the dragon that had fallen far off to the west. He was sure to get lost in the storm and would probably end up freezing to death. Not really a fitting end for a great wizard.
Yeah right, he thought wryly.
No, today he'd search along the wall where the second dragon had crashed. Kronk and his earthen friends had rebuilt the damaged section but Simon knew approximately where it was. He hoped.
The snow inside the wall was knee-deep and Simon determinedly forced one foot forward while tugging out the other. When he reached the new section, the snow was up to his waist. He leaned against the wall for a minute to catch his breath and looked around for any sign of remains.
The dragon had, of course, burned to ash, but Clara claimed that the heart remained and Simon assumed that other bits might have survived as well. But the snow was pristine and smooth from the whipping winds and he saw nothing.
With a heavy sigh, Simon picked a spot and started shoveling. The problem was that he didn't know which side of the wall the heart had landed on. He could be digging for no reason at all, But there was no way to tell without looking, so dig he must.
The tips of his finger went numb inside his gloves, as did his nose. At the same time, he started sweating as he flung heavy shovelfuls of snow over his shoulder.
Simon's movements became mechanical as he dug deeper through the snow. His mind was blank and he gritted his teeth as he hefted each load of snow and flung it as far as he could downwind.
Finally, the shovel clanged against the frozen earth. He gasped and shook his head in confusion. He'd lost track of the time and hadn't realized just how deep his hole was.
He stuck the shovel in the snowbank behind him, got down on his knees and started pushing at the loose snow along the sides of the hole.
“Come on,” Simon muttered. “Give me something. A scale. Some blood. Anything!”
He pushed and dug and felt around but finally sat back on his heels with a sigh of resignation.
“I think I'm digging in the wrong place,” he said to the snowy world around him.
The daylight was fading quickly into the early night of winter and Simon knew that he'd have to wait until tomorrow to try again; on the other side of the wall.
He stood up painfully, wincing at his sore back, grabbed the shovel and turned toward the tower. He took one step, dragging his numb feet along the ground and then tripped and landed face-first in the snow.
He was engulfed and had to fight his way to his feet, looking like an animated snowman and cursing loudly.
“What the hell?” he said savagely.
He had tripped on something. Simon kicked through the snow, assuming that it was just a frozen tree-root and saw a flash of red in the dying light.
His breath caught in his throat and he knelt down aga
in, pain forgotten, and brushed the snow off of the object. Then he sat back and stared in wonder.
It was a crystalline ovoid, about a foot in diameter. Spikes of red crystal shot out in all directions from a central core, but it was almost round in shape. There was a muted, almost undetectable pulse of light flickering up from the core and along the spikes.
“A heartbeat,” Simon said, almost in awe. Obviously, this was a dragon's heart.
“Even dead, the heart keeps beating. My God.”
He reached down and picked up the ovoid carefully. The spikes were as sharp as razors and he was glad that he was wearing thick gloves. The heart was heavier than it looked and he grunted with effort as he tucked it under an arm so that he could pick up his shovel.
Back inside, Simon set the heart on his kitchen table and then hurried to add logs to the fire before the embers died.
Even though it was cold in the main room, he was still so overheated from all of the shoveling that he didn't really care.
He stripped off his outerwear, lit all of the candles to brighten the place up and set water over the fire for tea.
Only then did he sit down at the table to examine the crystal more closely.
The structure was almost random; different lengths of spikes poking out of the ovoid center to different lengths. Strangely, the faint pulsing of the heart was more noticeable in the brightly lit room than it had been outside.
Simon watched the pulses distrustfully. Why would the thing still be beating when the dragon was dead? It didn't make sense. Unless...
He sat back and considered what Clara had told him.
The dragons had apparently absorbed his magic, she said. But watching the steady pulses, he had a feeling that they had done something else.
Simon believed that the beasts had redirected the power, into themselves. He knew that the magic that the gods, both Good and Evil, were streaming into the Earth's atmosphere was like a river. It flowed steadily, being used by creatures and some humans, but constantly being refilled.
He guessed that the heart was still pulsing because it was still absorbing the power that was meant for him, sent by the gods of Order.
Which means, he thought excitedly, that if I can destroy this thing and the other one, the magic will find me again.
He felt exhilarated at the thought but hesitated as he continued to study the heart.
The thing had survived the explosive death of its host. Which meant that it was anything but fragile. So the question was; how do you destroy the heart of a dragon?
He got up and made his tea, thinking it through. A hammer and chisel maybe? He glanced at the heart. Possibly. The thing looked like crystal, after all, although he doubted that the substance was something as simple as that.
He stood and leaned back on the kitchen counter, sipping his tea. Now that he actually had one of the things in his possession, he was reluctant to attempt its destruction.
Why the hesitation?
He searched through his feelings and realized that he didn't want to do half a job. While he really wanted his magic back, destroying only one heart wouldn't do it. He needed both gone before he would be whole again.
Once he had finished his tea, his decision was made. He would wait until he had both of the damned things in hand before he attempted their destruction. It wasn't really logical, but the thought was more satisfying.
So he put on his thick gloves, carefully picked up the pulsing ovoid and set it on the floor against the wall.
“Soon,” he told it. “I'll take care of you soon, you leech.”
The rest of the evening he spent trying to read by the fire. But the flashing heart, steadily throbbing with red light, weighed on his mind and he couldn't concentrate.
Finally, Simon tossed aside his book, gave the heart a final glare and headed for bed. Tomorrow couldn't come soon enough.
After a restless night, Simon arose to find that the snow had stopped overnight and the morning had dawned clear and bright. It was still bitterly cold but at least he wouldn't get lost as he tramped across the countryside in search of the other dragon's remains.
He ate a hurried breakfast, dressed in warm clothing again and grabbed his shovel. Then he banked the fire so that it would last for hours, glanced briefly at the dragon heart in the corner, and headed out.
As he stood knee-deep in the snow in front of the tower, he tried to remember exactly where the dragons had been battling in the sky when the loser fell to its death.
West, he was sure of that. But how far? And was it more to the south or the north.
He ground his teeth in exasperation. This might be impossible. The thought of waiting for the spring thaw was almost painful, but digging holes randomly for days or weeks would be a total waste of time.
I need more than luck for this, he thought. I need a miracle.
With a lot of effort, Simon managed to pry open the locking mechanisms on his front gates and forced one open wide enough for him to slip through. He took one or two steps and then stopped short.
“A fine day for a walk in the winter air, is it not?” a voice asked.
The wizard turned his head to the left with a snap and stared.
Ethmira was standing on top of the snow, as if she weighed no more than a feather, and smiling at his expression.
“Good morning, my friend,” she said and chuckled as he continued to gape at her.
“Ethmira? My God, what are you doing here?” he finally managed to ask in a strangled voice.
“Oh, you know. Wandering the land, enjoying the freedom now that the primal black has fallen. Helping wayward wizards. That sort of thing.”
Simon still wasn't convinced that the elven woman wasn't just a product of wishful thinking. His face must have given that away and Ethmira's smile broadened.
“No need to doubt your senses, young wizard. I am as real as I seem. Our Elders have been watching you from time to time, as you know, and contacted me. They said that you needed aid in tracking something down. They weren't very specific though.”
Simon thrust his shovel into the snow, pulled off a glove and extended his hand. Ethmira came forward and shook it. Her hand, though bare, was very warm.
“I'm very glad to see you,” Simon said. “Normally the idea that I'm being watched would be unsettling, but today I'm grateful for it.”
“Good,” the elf said. “Now, what can I do to help you?”
The wizard stared at the elven maiden for a moment. She was wearing her usual clothing; leathers dyed in various shades of green, no gloves, light shoes. He felt even colder just looking at her.
“Would you like to come in and warm up?” he asked a bit anxiously.
Ethmira laughed lightly.
“I'm fine, my friend. Elves don't feel the cold the way that humans do. We draw upon the life force of nature at all times and it protects us.”
“Um, okay. That's handy, I suppose.”
“Yes. Now, about that object you are trying to find?”
Simon blinked, still a bit shocked at the elf appearing at exactly the right time.
Just how closely do these Elders of hers watch me, anyway? It was an uncomfortable thought.
“Oh right, the search. Well, believe it or not, I need to find a dragon's heart.”
It was Ethmira's turn to stare at him in surprise.
“A dragon's heart?” she repeated.
Simon nodded.
“And what would a dragon's heart be doing lying around in the snow?”
Realizing that it would just be easier to tell her everything from the beginning, Simon explained about the dragon attack and his loss of magic. The elf listened intently, nodding occasionally but not interrupting. When he had finished, the wizard waited for her reaction, stomping his feet once in a while to keep his circulation flowing.
“Now I understand the Elders' interest,” she said. “As an ally, and the only known wizard on this New Earth, they would want your powers restored as soon as possible.”
“That's good of them,” Simon said a bit dryly.
“Well, it does serve their interests, Simon, but it serves yours as well, doesn't it?”
“True that. And I'm far from ungrateful.”
He swung his arms from side to side, trying to warm up.
“So if you can help, could we get started? I'm getting a bit stiff from the cold.”
Ethmira actually looked startled and then seemed to notice his constant movements.
“Oh, forgive me! I'm still not used to being around humans, even Changlings like yourself. Of course you're uncomfortable.”
She looked toward the west.
“You say that it fell from the sky in that direction?”
“Yes, somewhere over there,” he said, pointing vaguely. “I wish I'd been paying closer attention at the time, but the other dragon was barreling straight at the tower after it won that fight and I was more concerned with the immediate threat.”
“Naturally.”
Ethmira stood silently, obviously thinking deeply.
“Before we start, I'd like to see that first heart if I could. It might help me locate its mate.”
“Really?” Simon asked dubiously. “Well sure, if you think it could help. Come inside. I can make you some tea if you like.”
He squeezed back through the gate and the elf followed gracefully.
“That sounds lovely,” she said as they walked up to the front door. “Your tea is always excellent.”
“Thanks.”
Simon opened the door and felt instant relief as he entered the warm room. He hadn't been gone long enough for the cold to seep into the tower and he took off his gloves and coat gratefully.
“It's over there,” he said to Ethmira and pointed to the heart resting in the corner.
She hurried over to the crystalline object and knelt down next to it.
Simon hung up his coat and added a log to the fire before he filled the kettle. Then he hung it over the fire and got cups out of the cupboard. All the while, he watched Ethmira surreptitiously as she stared deeply at the heart but didn't touch it.
“So what do you think?” he asked finally as he walked across the room and offered her a cup of tea.
Tales from the New Earth: Volume One Page 47