The Last Great Wizard of Yden

by S. G. Rogers

  “Why couldn't they have stolen the watercolor unicorns I painted for Sela two weeks ago? No wonder everyone thinks I’m insane,” Jon moaned.

  Fortunately Jon finished his most difficult exams by Tuesday. Otherwise the scornful snickers, spitballs, and cutting jokes from his classmates might have thrown off his concentration. Every afternoon he punched the heavy bag until he was exhausted. The exercise helped him deal with the grief he was getting at school—and the pain of missing his father. But it didn't answer the nagging question about what had actually happened to him…or what Jon was supposed to do about it.

  Chapter Three

  Sela Rings a Bell

  Mrs. Hansen stood at the bottom of the stairs and called up to her daughter. “They’re here, Sela!”

  With a shriek, Sela rocketed from her room, pounded down the stairs, and launched herself at her brother.

  “I missed you, too, squirt,” Jon said, giving her a hug.

  As Chaz brought Jon’s heavy duffle bag in through the front door, Sela gave Jon a skeptical look. “What’d you do to your hair?” she asked. “It’s all white and spiky. You look like a rock star or something.”

  “I offered him a free buzz cut at the base. Offer still stands,” Chaz said. He lowered Jon’s bag to the floor.

  “We’re all glad to have you home, Jon,” Mrs. Hansen said.

  Sela grabbed Jon’s portfolio, which was leaning against the wall. “I wanna see what you did at art camp.”

  “I was about to put some burgers on the grill. I hope everyone is hungry,” Mrs. Hansen said.

  “Make two burgers for me. I nagged Chaz to stop somewhere for lunch but he wouldn’t listen,” Jon said.

  “I drove hours to pick you up, and you complain?” Chaz asked. “Drop and give me fifty, Jon.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Jon asked.

  “Is this my kidding face?” Chaz replied, pointing to his sober expression. “Sela, count for him and make sure he does all fifty.”

  Chaz and Mrs. Hansen headed for the patio. Sela sat on the stairs, giggling, and counted as Jon sprawled on the tile and pumped out push-ups. After he collapsed, Sela jumped to her feet and began rummaging through the large cardboard box Jon had brought home from camp. “Anything for me in here?” she asked.

  Jon stood. “As a matter of fact, there is.” He fished out a handful of woven knots. “I made you a macramé wall hanging.”

  She unfurled it, impressed. “Cool!” She tapped a large fabric-covered container. “What’s in here?”

  “It used to be full of chocolate. I won a prize for Best Caricature of the head counselor. I was very popular until the chocolate was gone.”

  Sela picked up a small dark pewter dragon. “Ooh, did you make this?”

  “No. A pewter artist came to camp one day and gave a demonstration. He brought samples and gave them away afterward. I took one of the dragons.”

  She slipped the dragon into Jon’s shirt pocket. “It feels like you’ve been away forever. Half the summer’s gone already.”

  A shadow passed over Jon’s face. “How’s…everything? How’re you and Mom, you know, coping?”

  His sister shrugged without meeting his gaze. “It’ll be better when Dad gets back.”

  Jon paused. “Yeah, it will,” he said finally. “Listen, I’m going to dump my duffle bag in my room. Why don’t you take my portfolio out to the patio and have a look? I have some nice sketches of wildflowers and birds in there.”

  “If I find a drawing I like, can I keep it?”

  “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  As Sela skipped off with his portfolio, Jon’s easy smile slipped away. His eyes were drawn like a magnet to his father’s closed office door. He took a deep breath, hoisted his duffle onto his shoulder, and loped upstairs.

  When he opened the door to his room, he gasped with dismay. His mother had cleaned his room while he was gone, and it looked horrible. He tossed his duffle onto his bed and assessed the damage. As he passed his finger along a shelf, not a speck of dust remained. Plastic bins of art supplies were stacked next to his drafting table, labeled with the contents. Even his books were now grouped by author.

  “I’m never going to be able to find anything,” he groaned, shaking his head.

  Opening the door to his closet gave him another unpleasant surprise. His clothes pile was gone. An anxiety attack ensued when he remembered the dragon ring had been somewhere in the mound. Jon ran from his room and leaned over the railing. “Mom?” he bellowed. “What did you do with my ring?”

  “Look on your desk,” came Mrs. Hansen’s faint reply.

  His mother had left a small cut crystal box on his desk, its facets sparkling from the afternoon sun streaming through the window. When he touched the ring inside, he received a stinging shock—as if from static electricity.

  “Ow!” Jon exclaimed. “You’ve got a nasty bite, don’t you?”

  The dragon’s red eyes seemed to wink at him in amusement.

  “It’s not funny,” Jon muttered. “Behave.”

  He slid the ring onto the fourth finger of his right hand. In the next moment, he could almost hear the sound of whispering in his ear. Jon closed his eyes to listen, but when the whispering grew louder, he flashed back to his father’s kidnapping.

  “This is stupid,” he said, wrenching the ring off. “Get a grip, Jon.”

  He stowed the ring in the crystal box along with his pewter dragon.

  “I’m sure you two will have a lot to talk about,” he said, closing the lid.

  Following the mesmerizing scent of grilling burgers, Jon headed for the patio to spend quality time with his family.

  ****

  Sunday morning after church, Mrs. Hansen fixed a special brunch of Belgian waffles with whipped cream and syrup, scrambled eggs, and a platter of thick maple bacon.

  “Mmm. This is great,” Jon said, taking a big bite of waffle.

  “Thanks, Mom,” Sela said. “Yummy.” She folded a second piece of bacon into her mouth and reached for a third.

  “I thought it would be a good opportunity for a conference,” Mrs. Hansen said. “I’m afraid we might have to move.”

  Jon and Sela stopped chewing. Mrs. Hansen had red splotches over her cheekbones.

  “I don’t know how long your father will be gone, and we can’t afford this house on only my salary. So after we clean the place from top to bottom, we’ll put it on the market,” she said.

  Sela’s face crumpled and she pushed her waffle away. A long, heavy silence settled over the table.

  “Wow,” Jon said.

  “I’m sorry,” Mrs. Hansen said.

  “If we move, how will Daddy know where to find us?” Sela wailed.

  “It will take a good long time to sell the house, I’m sure,” Mrs. Hansen said. “He might be back before then. And when we do move, we’ll make sure the new owners have our address. If Daddy shows up, they’ll tell him how to find us.”

  “What do you mean ‘if’? He’s coming home, isn’t he?” Sela cried.

  “I meant when Daddy comes back,” Mrs. Hansen amended.

  Jon watched the whipped cream on his plate dissolving into the maple syrup. His face had lost its color underneath the tan. When he stole a glance at his mother, he noticed the shadows underneath her eyes had deepened while he was away. Faint lines of worry appeared on her forehead that hadn’t been there before. He forced himself to smile.

  “Look here, Sela, this isn’t all bad,” he said, in a hearty voice. “I’ll let you have first dibs on bedrooms in the new house.”

  Fat tears rolled down Sela’s cheeks. “I like my bedroom now.”

  “Um…I bet we can go house hunting together,” he ventured. “It’ll be fun.”

  “No, it won’t!”

  “Maybe after we move we can…er, get a dog?”

  Jon winced as he waited for his mother’s reaction, but she gave him a little nod.

  “Really?” Sela gasped. “Oh, Mom, do
you think I could pick her out?”

  “Of course, sweetheart,” Mrs. Hansen said. “That’s a great idea.”

  Mrs. Hansen hugged Sela and silently mouthed the words “thank you” to Jon. As he ate another bite of waffle, he racked his brain for something else helpful to say.

  “Mom, if we cut some expenses, maybe we could hang on awhile longer,” he said. “We won’t need the gardeners anymore if I mow the lawn. You should cancel the paper, too. They deserve it after the hatchet job they did on me.”

  His mother gave him a wan smile. “I’ve already done those things. And Jon, I’m sorry, but we can’t afford to send you to Pacific Prep next year. You’ll have to enroll in public school.”

  A big grin spread over Jon’s face and he began to chuckle.

  “Are you feeling okay?” his mother asked.

  “I’m great, Mom. If you’re telling me I don’t have to deal with Fred Spencer anymore, that’s the best news I’ve had since Christmas.”

  ****

  Chaz watched as Jon cranked out a series of push-ups. “Not bad, Jon. You must’ve worked out while you were away. You’re getting some guns.”

  “Compared to yours, they’re just popguns,” he gasped.

  Chaz jerked his head toward the heavy bag. “One-minute round.”

  After Jon pulled on his training gloves, Chaz pressed the start button on a stopwatch. “Go.”

  Jon peppered the bag with light punches, adding emphasis every so often as he imagined pounding Fred Spencer’s face.

  “Keep moving and don’t let your guard down,” Chaz advised. He watched Jon work for a little while. “Your mom tells me you’ve been helping around the house.”

  Jon cracked Fred a good one in the ribs. “I’ve been doing the best I can, I guess.”

  “She also said she appreciates how great you’ve been with Sela.”

  Left-jab, right-hook combination. Repeat.

  “I’m trying.”

  “Twenty more seconds. C’mon, Jon, dig in. Don’t forget your elbow strikes.”

  Jon concentrated on turning Fred into hamburger.

  “Time,” Chaz said finally.

  His lungs screaming for oxygen, Jon bent over and rested his hands on his thighs.

  “Anyway, I thought maybe you’d like to learn how to drive the Jeep,” Chaz said.

  Jon used his shirt to blot the sweat from his face. “You serious?”

  Chaz dangled a jump rope from his index finger. “Two minutes speed jumping says I am.”

  ****

  Jon scrambled behind the wheel of Chaz’s ancient Jeep, savoring the view from the driver’s seat. “Sure is different from Mom’s Volvo.”

  Chaz buckled himself into the passenger side and handed Jon the keys. “Your mom ever mention she taught me how to drive?” he asked.

  “No.”

  “Yeah. I dented her fender. Don’t repeat my mistake.”

  Jon glanced over, but his uncle wasn’t smiling. “Um…okay.”

  He checked the angle of the rearview and side mirrors and then rotated the key in the ignition. “I drove a stick shift in a simulator a couple of times,” he said as the engine roared to life. “I hope it’s the same.”

  “It’s not.”

  Jon pressed in the clutch, shifted into first, and eased the gas pedal down. The Jeep pulled smoothly away from the curb, and he was pleased with himself.

  “Did you look first before you pulled out into traffic?” Chaz barked.

  “There’s no traffic.”

  “Slow down.”

  “I’m doing twenty-five, Chaz!”

  “Slower.”

  Chaz directed Jon around the block. Every time Jon approached a stop sign, Chaz pumped a nonexistent brake pedal on the passenger side of the Jeep. When he finally ordered Jon to pull into the driveway twenty minutes later, Jon’s shoulders had migrated up around his ears. Chaz unlatched his own fingers from their death grip on the door handle.

  “Not bad for your first lesson on a stick,” he managed.

  “What do you say maybe next time I go the speed limit, Chaz? A little girl on a pink bike beat me to the light just now.”

  He laughed. “Yeah, okay. You want to have another driving lesson next Saturday? Maybe we’ll catch a movie afterward on the base.”

  “Really? That’d be great.”

  ****

  Mrs. Hansen took a day off work to enroll Jon at Pacific High and tour the campus afterward. “It’s not a bricks-and-ivy sort of place like Pacific Prep was,” she said on the way back to the parking lot. She sounded somewhat apologetic. “But it’s nice enough, don’t you think?”

  “I love it. The place is huge. They’ve got a fantastic art program, and the library is awesome. And did you see the weight room attached to the gym? Maybe I should consider getting into sports,” Jon replied.

  “I’m so relieved.”

  “Are you happy enough to let me drive home? I need to take my driver’s test before school starts, and I could use the practice.”

  She blanched but handed over the keys. “Drive to the rec center first to pick Sela up from summer school.”

  Jon felt a lot more confident driving the Volvo than he had the Jeep, but his attitude apparently didn’t help his mother relax.

  “You do realize there’s no brake pedal on that side, don’t you?” he asked after she’d tried to slam on nonexistent brakes for the third time.

  “Tell that to my nerves,” she mumbled.

  She winced as a huge moving van lumbered past on the left. For the next few minutes, they drove in silence.

  “There’s the rec center,” Mrs. Hansen said finally. “We’re early, so let’s wait in the shade if you can find some.”

  Jon angled the Volvo into the parking lot and came to a stop underneath a Torrey pine. He set the parking brake, cut the engine, and gave his mother a toothy grin.

  “My driving isn’t so bad, huh?”

  “You’re doing much better,” Mrs. Hansen admitted.

  “After I get my license, I can drive myself to school,” he said. “I can also run errands for you and stuff.”

  “Maybe, Jon,” she said. “Um…I’m thinking about trading the Lexus in for something more economical.”

  Jon stared at his mother, stunned. “Dad loves that car.”

  “I know,” she replied. “But the monthly payments and insurance are too high.”

  Tears began to sting Jon’s eyes, and he hated himself for it. If his mother traded in the Lexus, it was as good as admitting his father was never coming back. “We’re only a few blocks from home,” he said, clearing his throat. “Do you mind if I walk the rest of the way?”

  He opened the car door without waiting for an answer.

  “It’s August, Jon,” Mrs. Hansen said. “It’s hotter than blazes.”

  “I need the exercise,” he mumbled. “You know how Chaz is about exercise.”

  As he trudged along the sidewalk, Jon’s chest felt as if it had taken a rubber bullet. He walked faster and faster, until he was flat-out running. By the time he got home, his shirt was wet with perspiration. Jon strapped on his gloves and began to punish the heavy bag without mercy. When Sela and his mother drove into the garage, he was still at it.

  “Ooh, man-stench,” Sela said when she emerged from the Volvo.

  She clapped her hands over her nose and mouth and ducked into the house. Jon continued to hit the bag until he couldn’t lift his arms anymore. Finally spent, he leaned against the bag, gasping for breath.

  “Does it help?”

  Jon jumped. He’d been unaware his mother had been watching him.

  “A little,” he replied.

  “Maybe I’ll try it sometime.”

  Mrs. Hansen went inside and Jon hit the bag a few more times before he stripped off his gloves. He’d raised red welts in between his knuckles and had even scraped the skin raw and bloody in spots. For some reason, his injuries gave him a sense of grim satisfaction.

  After Jon t
ook a shower and donned fresh clothes, the feeling of despondency grew worse. His father had been gone for months, and loneliness was gnawing at him from the inside. He freed his father’s ring from its crystal box. It stung, as usual, but he welcomed the pain this time.