by S. G. Rogers
The Last Great Wizard of Yden
By S.G. Rogers
Published by Astraea Press
www.astraeapress.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and events are fictitious in every regard. Any similarities to actual events and persons, living or dead, are purely coincidental. Any trademarks, service marks, product names, or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement if any of these terms are used. Except for review purposes, the reproduction of this book in whole or part, electronically or mechanically, constitutes a copyright violation.
THE LAST GREAT WIZARD OF YDEN
Copyright © 2011 S.G. ROGERS
ISBN 978-1-936-852-63-5
Cover Art Designed By Elaina Lee
For Robby.
Chapter One
Weird and Hinky Becomes the New Normal
“Dad disappeared in a flash of light and a sound like thunder,” Jon blurted out. He braced himself for Officer Perry’s reaction, but the man only nodded.
“Like magic?”
Jon peered at him. “I didn’t say that, but yeah, that’s kind of what it looked like.”
The policeman took some notes. Jon slumped back in his chair and jammed his hands into the pockets of his windbreaker to keep them from shaking. From his vantage point looking through the kitchen window, he could see the Pacific Police Department cruiser parked at the curb. He could also see his own reflection in the windowpanes. The haunted expression on his face mirrored the misery and fear inside.
“Do you remember anything else?”
His mind was racing at the speed of light, but Jon tried to stop and think. “There was a funny smell,” he replied. “You know the smell that comes after a lightning storm?”
“Ozone?”
“That’s it. The odor was faint, but it was definitely ozone,” Jon said.
“Mmm.” More scribbling.
“Anyway, Dad was fighting with somebody when it happened.”
“Why do you say that?”
“I heard two voices. There was a crash. I heard Dad yell ‘no,’ and that’s when I busted the door open and saw them vanish.”
Jon cast an irritated glance at the colorful Happy 16th Birthday! banner hanging over his head. He knew his story sounded crazy, and the goofy crepe paper decoration probably wasn’t helping his case.
“Mmm-hmm. And you were the only witness?”
“Yeah. My mom and sister were out getting stuff for my birthday party. Dad and I were heading to a baseball game. We were just leaving when he ducked into his office to get something. That’s when he was kidnapped.”
Officer Perry’s leisurely method of writing made Jon want to scream. He jumped up, vibrating from anxiety, and began to pace. Suddenly, he spied one of the many sketchpads he had scattered throughout the house. He grabbed it, scrounged a pencil from a drawer, and returned to the table. “Let me draw what I saw. Sometimes I communicate better that way,” he said.
Jon bent over the paper and began to sketch. Within moments, a scene took shape. His father, Dr. Greg Hansen, was standing behind the desk in his home office. Dressed in a leather aviator jacket and baseball cap, he was recoiling from the touch of someone Jon had barely glimpsed. The drawing gave the impression of swirling darkness—from the strange man’s garments to his long, flowing black hair. As he drew, another detail emerged. The man’s eyes had been unlike anything Jon had ever seen before. They were almost yellow…and evil. Jon’s fingers slowed as the image faded. He pushed the drawing over to Officer Perry.
“It was like that. That’s what happened.”
The policeman gaped at the drawing, which was alive with movement and raw emotion. He flicked Jon a respectful glance. “You got some awesome talent, kid, I’ll give you that much. Mind if I take this?”
Without waiting for a response, the policeman tore out the page and tucked it into his clipboard. Then he leaned toward Jon and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Do you and your father fight often?”
Jon recoiled. “No! What does that have to do with anything? Why won’t you listen to me? My dad was kidnapped.”
“I heard what you said. An active imagination might be great for art, but we need to get serious here. Something made your father walk out of this house.” Officer Perry’s handlebar mustache twitched. “Your mother is scared, Jon. Do her a favor and tell me the truth.”
“I told you what happened! It’s the truth, whether you believe me or not!”
Suddenly a tall, broad-shouldered man filled the doorframe, flanked by Jon’s mother. When Jon saw his uncle, he felt as if the cavalry had arrived.
“What's going on?” Chaz asked.
Jon shot to his feet. “He thinks I'm lying, Chaz!”
Mrs. Hansen hurried over, her eyes twin pools of concern. “Calm down, Jon. Shouting won’t help anything.”
“But he's wasting time asking me stupid questions instead of contacting the FBI.”
“Officer Perry, I thought this was supposed to be an interview, not an interrogation,” Mrs. Hansen said.
“Is Jon some kind of suspect here?” Chaz asked, incredulous. “He's a minor. You have no right to question him without a lawyer.”
“Yeah,” Jon said, scowling at Officer Perry. “Meet my lawyer.”
“You’re an attorney?” the policeman asked Chaz.
“Charles Parker, judge advocate general, U.S. Navy,” Chaz replied. He handed the officer his business card. “I’m Jon’s uncle and Greg Hansen’s brother-in-law. I ask you again, is Jon a suspect?”
“Not at this point.”
“What does that mean?”
“Right now, all we've got is a potential missing person case,” Officer Perry said. “There may have been signs of a struggle.”
“Dad's chair was knocked over,” Jon interjected.
“I'm pretty sure Jon and his father had some kind of argument,” Officer Perry said.
“We did not!” Jon snapped. “We get along great.”
“Things got a little overheated,” the policeman continued in a louder voice, “and Dr. Hansen probably took a walk to cool off. If he hasn’t returned in forty-eight hours, you can file a missing person report.”
Jon’s retort bubbled to his lips, but Chaz shut him up with a pointed look. A policewoman entered the kitchen with a clear plastic evidence bag in hand. She showed it to Jon’s mother. “I found this under the desk in the office, Mrs. Hansen,” she said. “Do you recognize this ring?”
Mrs. Hansen nodded. “It's a family heirloom belonging to my husband. He’d planned to give it to Jon today.”
Jon stared at the ring and then glanced away, stricken.
“So no valuables have been taken as far as you know?” Officer Perry asked.
Mrs. Hansen shook her head. “I don't think so.”
The two officers exchanged a glance. Officer Perry shrugged and closed the cover of his clipboard. “We're done here.”
“That's it?” Jon exclaimed, incredulous. “Don't you guys have some kind of X-Files unit to look into mysterious disappearances?”
“You watch too much TV, kid,” Officer Perry said with a smirk. “Mrs. Hansen, can I have a word with you in private?”
The policeman spoke to Jon’s mother in the entryway, but his deep-timbered voice carried into the kitchen. “You work at Pacific Hospital, don’t you, Mrs. Hansen? You might want to have your son evaluated by one of the psychiatrists on staff…”
Chaz slid the kitchen door shut. “I’m sorry I couldn’t have been here sooner, Jon. Are you okay?”
“No. If Dad hadn't gone into his office to get that stupid ri
ng for me, he’d probably still be here.”
“I don’t know what went down, but I’m sure it had nothing to do with you, buddy.”
Mrs. Hansen opened the kitchen door. “The police are gone.”
Jon let out a sigh of relief. “They were worse than useless. I shouldn’t have called them, but I was here by myself when Dad disappeared. I guess I kind of freaked.”
“Are you sure your father didn't say anything to you before he left?” Mrs. Hansen asked.
A muscle in Jon’s jaw worked as he fought for control.
“He didn't leave, Mom, he was kidnapped! Dad was in his office down the hall. I heard him arguing with someone and he yelled 'no,' and then they vanished! I know what I saw and heard, and I'm not crazy.”
He stomped out of the kitchen, tearing down the birthday banner as he went.
“Jon—” Chaz began, but Jon was already on his way upstairs.
Sela sat on the uppermost step, hugging her knees to her chest. Jon brushed past his little sister without a word, and her eyes filled with tears. When Jon slammed the door to his room, she began to wail.
****
Jon peeled off his windbreaker and hurled it in the vicinity of his closet. He paced for a few moments as he tried to calm down. Then he threw himself on his bed and stared at the ceiling. Repose didn’t help, so he moved over to his drafting table. With a sweeping motion, he brushed everything to the floor. Exquisite watercolor portraits of preternaturally beautiful nymphs gazed up at him in rebuke, but Jon paid little attention. He illuminated his swing-arm drafting lamp, opened a sketch pad, and began to draw—as if possessed.
When Mrs. Hansen tapped on his door, Jon had no idea how much time had passed, but his drafting table was covered with sketches. He was scarcely even aware of what he was drawing until she’d interrupted his concentration. His drawings were a surrealistic war between dark and light, and Jon’s hands were covered with charcoal dust.
“I’ve ordered a pizza, Jon,” Mrs. Hansen said when he cracked opened the door. “I know we were planning Chinese, but under the circumstances—”
“It’s okay, Mom. I don’t feel like eating,” he mumbled.
“Well…the pizza should be here in a few minutes, if you change your mind.”
Jon nodded and shut the door. He went into his bathroom to scrub his hands. Charcoal was etched into his skin and lodged under his fingernails, so he had to work at it. By the time he finished, his stomach was growling. It didn’t seem right to be hungry after all the trauma he’d experienced, but he hadn’t had anything to eat since breakfast. He and his father had been looking forward to lunch at the stadium, a ritual they both enjoyed.
“Junk food ingested under medical supervision,” Jon used to joke, just before he and his father tore into stadium dogs.
“Remind me to write you a prescription for nachos next,” Dr. Hansen would reply.
Jon checked the shoebox under his bed where he usually kept a secret cache of snacks, but the only things inside were a roll of mints and a fossilized package of peanut butter crackers. Out of options, he had to go downstairs and get something to eat. As he descended the stairs, he could hear his mom and Chaz in the kitchen, talking. Jon was within a few steps of the kitchen door when he froze at something he overheard.
“This is weird and hinky stuff, Gretchen. I can’t believe you’ve kept it secret all these years,” Chaz said.
“Maybe there’s some other explanation.”
“Jon saw it happen.”
“Okay, but Greg could come home at any moment. At least that’s the way it always worked before.”
Jon’s jaw dropped.
“It sounds different this time. And now Jon’s involved. You’ve got to tell him something. He’s not a child anymore. For all we know, he might be in danger.”
Jon’s eyes grew wide.
“Stop it, Chaz, you’re scaring me, and I’m upset enough as it is. We don’t know anything for sure. Greg promised he wouldn’t go back there without telling me first. Maybe—”
The doorbell rang and Jon jumped.
“That’ll be the pizza,” Chaz said. “I’ll get it.”
Jon sprinted toward the front door, hoping his uncle wouldn’t realize he’d been eavesdropping. Nevertheless, Chaz seemed startled to see him.
“How long have you been there?” he asked, with narrowed eyes.
“Um…I came down when I saw the pizza guy pull up.”
Chaz paid the deliveryman while Jon carried the pizza into the kitchen. Mrs. Hansen was fixing a salad.
“Oh, Jon, call your sister for dinner, would you?” she asked, her eyes red-rimmed. “We’ll eat and open your presents.”
****
Jon knew he’d never forget his sixteenth birthday dinner, which was less festive than a litter of dead puppies. Distracted, his mother kept dropping things. Sela didn’t talk or eat much, which was extremely unusual for her. Chaz did his best to interject some buoyancy into the evening, but even his smile began to flag under the strain. Jon was the only one to finish his cake and ice cream. Everyone else took one polite bite and then let their ice cream melt.
“Why don’t I spend the night in the guest room?” Chaz suggested, finally.
“No, Chaz, you need to be in court tomorrow morning,” Mrs. Hansen said. “We’ll be fine.” She practically pushed her brother out the door.
“Call me if anything changes,” Chaz said over his shoulder. “And happy birthday, Jon.”
Mrs. Hansen returned to the kitchen, where Jon was scraping pieces of sodden cake into the garbage.
“I vote we leave cleanup until the morning. Let’s turn in early. Don’t forget you both have school tomorrow,” she said.
“We still have to go to school?” Jon asked, horrified. “Like nothing happened?”
“I know how you feel, but I think it’s best to go about our normal routine, Jon, until your father comes home.”
“Will Daddy be home soon?” Sela asked.
“I don’t know when, exactly, but it could be anytime now,” Mrs. Hansen replied with a forced smile.
Sela’s face fell.
“I think Mom’s right,” Jon said for his sister’s benefit. “Dad would be disappointed to hear we’d missed school on his account.”
“He would,” Mrs. Hansen agreed. “Absolutely.”
Sela gave her brother and mother a hug and then trooped upstairs to get ready for bed. Mrs. Hansen waited until Sela was out of earshot.
“Thanks,” she murmured. “He’s coming back, you know.”
He nodded, not trusting himself to speak. His mom handed him the evidence bag. “Here, Jon, this is yours,” she said. “Happy birthday.”
Jon hesitated before he took it. He didn’t want anything to do with the ring, but he didn’t want to hurt his mother’s feelings. “Thanks, Mom. Try to get some rest.”
With the bag clutched in his fist, he followed his sister upstairs.
****
Jon held the evidence bag up to the light so he could examine the contents through the clear plastic. The ring, made of dark metal, was an ornate dragon’s head—its eyes fashioned from red stones. Ordinarily, he might have thought the ring was pretty cool, especially if his father had given it to him personally. But he hadn’t, and Jon blamed himself. His father’s last words to him echoed in his ears: “Oops, I left something in my office. Wait here, Jon. It’s a special kind of a present for you.”
Regret seeped from every pore. Although he knew his feelings weren’t logical, he felt an overwhelming sense of guilt, as if he should’ve stopped his father somehow. He hadn’t because he’d hoped the “special present” was his own set of car keys. He’d lost his father over a stinking piece of jewelry sealed in a plastic bag, and whatever else his mother might believe, he was worried his father wasn’t coming back. Jon pitched the ring onto the floor of his closet and kicked some dirty clothes on top for good measure.
Despite his mental and emotional exhaustion, Jon spent a re
stless night. He didn’t understand how his father could simply vanish. People didn’t disappear. Such things were impossible. It couldn’t have happened—except he’d seen it for himself. He also couldn’t wrap his head around the fact that his mother and Chaz were keeping secrets from him. Apparently his father had disappeared before, but as Chaz had pointed out, the situation was different this time. He hadn’t gone willingly. A stab of fear shot through Jon as he stared into the darkness. He had to uncover the truth, no matter what…even if he didn’t like what he found.
Little did Jon know he wasn’t the only one who wanted answers.
****
Hoping his father had returned, Jon rushed home from school the next two days. To his disappointment, nothing had changed. With both parents working, Jon was used to being a latchkey kid, but now the house felt more desolate than ever. After school on Wednesday, however, Jon noticed a news van parked at the curb in front of his house. As he approached, a strange man emerged from the vehicle to flag him down. “Hey there! I’m Majell Stocker, Channel Eight,” he said with a broad, disarming smile. “You must be Jon Hansen.”