Wandmaker's Apprentice

by Ed Masessa

  “That’s enough, Henry,” Coralis said. “Now put it out.”

  Henry switched his thoughts to darkness and his light went out.

  “Wow!” Serena said in awe, but it wasn’t directed at Henry.

  “Double wow!” said Bryndis. As one the group gawked at the ceiling, which was aglow in a soft blue light.

  “The labradorite again?” asked Henry.

  “Very good.” Coralis raised his arms as if offering homage to the heavens. “As I said outside, it has luminescent qualities.” He abruptly turned and strode to the far side of the vault, disappearing into a darkened doorway. Moments later he reemerged. “Well! Are you coming or not?” he yelled, and immediately turned back into the darkness without waiting for a reply.

  “Let’s go, kids,” Molly said as she hurried them across the room. They arrived at the doorway, where Henry expected Coralis to be waiting, but instead he heard his distant footsteps down a long, sloping tunnel. His eyes adjusted rapidly to the darkness, getting just enough light from well-placed crystals to make out the twists and turns.

  They had followed the tunnel for a short distance when suddenly the floor seemed to disappear.

  “Watch out for the staircase.” Coralis’s voice sounded very close, though Henry could still hear his footsteps far away.

  The walls must have qualities that reflect sound, he thought. Pressing a hand against the smooth, hard walls, he descended a long staircase that doubled back on itself every thirteen steps. “Come along,” a voice whispered in his ear. “I don’t have all day.”

  “This is soooo cool!” Brianna directed at Henry.

  “How is he doing that?” Serena asked.

  They continued down several more levels until at last a brighter light emerged. The group entered a room that was spacious yet much smaller than the enormous vault far above. But what it lacked in size it made up for in intensity. Instead of luminous rock, torches burned brightly in wall sconces.

  Again, the room was circular. In the center was an enormous round slab of wood that served as a table. Coralis stood at its far side, and using his height for perspective, Henry estimated the table to be approximately half a meter thick and six or seven meters’ diameter. He could not even begin to guess how it got down there.

  Around the perimeter of the room, scale models of buildings and monuments and even cities were on display. “Is that the Colossus of Rhodes?” Katelyn asked incredulously as she recognized a small-scale replica of one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World.

  Coralis ignored the question. “Welcome to the Cryptoporticus. It is one of the oldest man-made rooms on Earth. For centuries this room has been used by Wand Masters like me to experiment and develop ways to use the power of nature—not just for the betterment of the human race, but also to protect mankind from the Scorax—the followers of Malachai.

  “You thought Atlantis was nothing but a myth. Look here!” He directed Bryndis to an intricate model of a city about half the size of the large wooden table and encased beneath a glass dome.

  “Atlantis thrives today, as it has for several thousand years, yet it is extremely well hidden. The unique layering of crystals that form its foundation provides a stealth cover that cannot be penetrated.”

  “Do you know where it is?” she asked.

  “Yes,” he said with a slight smile, but offered nothing further.

  Henry walked from one display to the next, examining the models with profound interest until he came upon an empty table. Daggerlike shards of glass still reached upward, the only remnants of a dome that had failed to protect what had lain beneath it. On the surface of the table, there was a rectangular discoloration. A feeling of dread crept up on him. “Is this what I think it is?” he asked.

  “Indeed it is,” Coralis said grimly. “This was the repository of the Corsini Mappaemundi. The map was developed thousands of years ago by an exceptional Wand Master who was on the very first High Council of Aratta. His name was Epifanio Corsini.” Suddenly his eyes widened and his face lit up. “I could ask Henry to give you a boring history lesson.” He winked knowingly at Henry, who smiled back. “But since it’s show-and-tell time, why don’t you witness it yourself?”

  “I suppose you have a time machine,” Bryndis said.

  “Even better!” he said, ignoring her sarcasm. He hurried to the far wall and tapped it with a wand.

  Henry could not contain his curiosity and edged closer to see what Coralis was up to. A section of the rock wall rotated on silent hinges to reveal a large display cabinet that contained hundreds of wands, each identified by a label written in a language that looked alien. He’d edged in for a closer look when Coralis suddenly exclaimed, “Aha!” and spun so quickly he nearly stepped on Henry’s foot.

  The wand Coralis had selected was slightly shorter than the length of his own forearm. It was bloodred, and carved into the shape of a long, slender dragon. “This wand dates back to Corsini’s time—over four thousand years ago.” He rushed quickly toward the large wooden table. “This slab is known as the Sugi, which is a reference to the Japanese name for the tree from which it was cut—the Japanese cedar, or Cryptomeria japonica. There are only twenty-five slabs like this in the world, one for each member of the original High Council,” he said excitedly. “Now watch!”

  He whispered something to the wand and it began to pulse. He placed it down on the table, and the second it came in contact with the wood, it transformed into a live miniature dragon. The dragon blinked twice and shook its head as if waking from a long sleep. It crept slowly toward Luis and sniffed, then snorted a flaming sneeze.

  He jumped back in alarm. “Does it bite?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous,” Coralis chided. He tapped the Sugi. The dragon ran to the center of the slab and disappeared into a tiny hole with a puff of smoke.

  Coralis smiled broadly as he directed them all to step back. A loud crack punctuated the silence. Then, groaning as if it were on gears that hadn’t been oiled in a lifetime, the Sugi began to rise.

  The entire group gasped, unable to contain their astonishment. When it had risen just over a meter, the table came to a grinding halt. Luis slowly bent down to look beneath it and nearly fainted as the dragon, now standing half a meter tall, held it aloft over its head … and winked at him.

  “To use one of your horrid colloquialisms: You ain’t seen nothing yet.” Coralis bent under the slab and whispered to the dragon, which purred in response. He tapped the underside of the slab with his wand and row upon row of small panels rotated downward, each one etched with symbols similar to those Henry had just seen in the wand case. Finding the one he was looking for, he tapped it again and a drawer slid open.

  Tucked into the drawer were rows of tightly rolled scrolls of ancient papyrus. Coralis selected one and smiled. But the smile quickly vanished into a frown as he stared at the scroll. Pain etched his face as if he recalled a terrible memory. He stood and walked to the far side of the Sugi and did something with the scroll the group could not see. But the effect was astounding.

  The entire surface of the slab came to life like a 3-D hologram. The walls of an ancient city appeared in incredible detail. And as Coralis began to speak, the image zoomed in, showing an old man hunched over a map. “Behold Epifanio Corsini and his greatest achievement.”

  They watched together as the surface of the map rippled.

  “Did that map just move by itself?” Serena moved closer to Henry. She started to extend her hand.

  “Stop!” Coralis said sharply. “Do not disturb the scroll.” Coralis began to pace around the table. “The Corsini Mappaemundi,” he began as if instructing a class, then hesitated. “You saw the map move. It can adjust itself. Coastlines, mountains, forests—all constantly changing on the map as they change in the physical world.

  “Naturally the only explanation could be the metaphysical link between the materials he used and the life-force of the planet itself!” he exclaimed, his excitement about the story beginning
to build.

  “Naturally,” Molly whispered sarcastically.

  “I heard that,” he growled. “When Malachai stole the map, I could not understand why. Up until then, the map had served a good purpose. To heal wounds in the earth and prevent catastrophic disasters.

  “About a year later I learned of a landslide that buried a troop of Genghis Khan’s fiercest warriors—the same troop that had stolen the map under Malachai’s direction. But landslides were common and I did not make the connection. In fact, things were so quiet for a time that I thought Malachai might also have died in the landslide.”

  The holographic image continued to unfold a scene that could easily have been mistaken for an old black-and-white movie. Epifanio worked with great haste scribbling notes on an ancient papyrus.

  “Is that the scroll you just took from the drawer?” asked Molly.

  “Good observation,” Coralis said warmly. “All the scrolls in this table are the equivalent of what would now be video recordings. It’s how we kept accurate records so that blowhards like Wand Master Androcles could not lay false claims to accomplishments they did not achieve.” The dragon snorted a puff of flame in reaction to the name. Coralis bent down. “I agree,” he said to the dragon.

  He stood and continued his story. “A century or so later, I was summoned to Bangkok by an old friend. He was a wise Buddhist monk and a great Wand Master. He told me about one of his apprentices who had been approached by another Wand Master—one whose aura had been tainted with shades of deep purple and black, and tinged in vivid red. His power was great, as was his rage.

  “When the young man refused to join him, the evil Wand Master scorched him with a powerful beam of light. Physically, he recovered with a few lingering burns, but mentally, the poor man was never able to reconnect with reality. It was as if sections of his brain had been surgically separated. His speech was limited, but through intensive healing and patient questioning, the monk was able to piece together the disturbing details of the encounter. I had my suspicions that the culprit was Malachai, but there was no proof and he was never heard from again … until a year ago.”

  Coralis stopped, and motioned them over to a wall where a pool of rippling water lay nestled in a small alcove. He handed each of them a small wooden bowl and told them to fill it. “A freshwater stream runs through the mountain. Some of the finest water on Earth!” He smacked his lips in approval.

  Henry sipped from the bowl. While cool on the tongue, the water spread warmth and energy down his throat. He hadn’t realized how parched he was. “Can I have a refill?”

  “Of course.” Coralis nodded and smiled cagily. “So that you can tell everyone your story.”

  Henry hesitated as all eyes turned toward him. “From the beginning?” Coralis’s silent stare was all the confirmation he needed. “Right, well … ” He launched into an account of everything that had happened to him and Brianna. Luis and Katelyn smiled when he got to the part about Randall, and how Henry had accidentally knocked the bird unconscious. Brianna added an occasional detail—like nipping at Coralis’s foot. And Serena helped with details about their time in Monument Valley.

  He gained confidence as he spoke, though he knew better than to embellish the story. When he finally finished, they could hear the water ripple softly against the sides of the pool. “What?” He wasn’t sure what to expect, but he’d thought he’d get a bigger reaction.

  Bryndis broke the silence. “So your father is Malachai?”

  “No!” Henry shouted. “He would never do the things Malachai has done. It isn’t possible!”

  Coralis raised a hand to calm him. “Malachai used Henry’s father as he has so many others in the past. He uses deception and manipulation with the same ease a conductor would lead an orchestra.”

  “Then where is he?” Brianna croaked as a tear slid down her cheek. “What happened to our father?”

  “That is what we must discuss.” Coralis tapped his wand on the table. The image flickered out and the table lowered to its original height. The miniature dragon popped out of the center and scampered to Coralis. He petted it softly on the head before it changed back into its wand form. “I believe Gretchen has prepared some delicious stew for us. But first, a confession and an apology. Randall was not just an apprentice; he was my adopted son.”

  Henry and Serena looked at each other in shock as the mystery of Coralis’s behavior came into glaring focus.

  “His death … troubled me greatly. But more than that, it distracted me from my duties. And for that I am sorry. I will not allow it to happen again. You have my word. Now then. Dinner is ready.”

  Coralis ushered them up the stairs but Henry held him back. “I’m sorry about Randall. But my dad … He’s okay, isn’t he?”

  “Okay is a relative term,” Coralis answered grimly. “But not to worry. We are the cavalry.”

  “And so we have come to the crux of your apprenticeship.” Coralis gathered the apprentices and Molly back into the space they now referred to as the Worm Room since so many of Ole Worm’s artifacts occupied it. One corner of it was set up much like a classroom, but with a notable exception. There were no desks. Instead, thick, round logs of wood standing on end served as seats. Each log was topped with a dark green mineral that had been honed and polished. “Your seats might not be the most comfortable, but they will serve to keep your postures upright—as many young men and women such as yourselves are prone to slouching.”

  “The rich green and the swirls.” Katelyn ran her hand over one. “They remind me of Ireland.”

  “Perhaps, but they originated in copper mines in Russia,” Coralis explained. “And with that hint, who can tell me what kind of mineral it is?”

  “Malachite!” Serena, Henry, and Bryndis shouted quickly.

  “Excellent! And why will you be sitting on them?”

  “Because green is Katelyn’s favorite color,” Luis quipped. “And because it helps to amplify positive energy—or, in this case, brain power.”

  “Lucky save,” Henry whispered.

  Luis smirked. “Luck had nothing to do with it.”

  As they each took a seat, Henry took in more details of the room. There were a dozen more seats than there were occupants, which suggested a lot of apprentices had passed through over the millennia. He wondered who might have occupied the one he chose.

  Coralis interrupted his thoughts. “As members of the Wandmakers’ Guild, you will be required to MAKE wands. Each wand will serve a specific purpose.”

  Bryndis’s hand shot up. “What about the wands the falcon gave us?”

  Henry was about to tell her to call it Randall, but Coralis flashed a stern look of warning in his direction. They’d had a discussion—more like a heated argument—over whether the bird could indeed be the boy who had supposedly died. Henry insisted that it was simply too big a coincidence for another falcon to appear and suddenly start delivering wands to random people.

  Coralis, on the other hand, knew what he had felt the moment Randall died. And while he admitted nothing was impossible, he insisted the probability was so infinitesimally small as to be virtually impossible.

  To Henry, that meant there was a chance—one that he would cling to. But Coralis also made it clear that Henry was to keep those thoughts to himself.

  “By now you should know what type of wood your wand is made from. In each case, you were given a wand made from a tree that is native to your country. Luis: the Tabebuia Rosa, which has excellent healing properties. Katelyn: the Sorbus Aucuparia, a source of great stability. Bryndis: the Betula Pubescens, a source of great tenacity. This is important, as where you come from defines who you are.”

  Henry twirled the wand Randall had given him between his fingers—not wood, but rather a black mineral he could not identify that was laced with vertical veins of clear quartz.

  Coralis saw his confusion. “Henry, knowing your heritage, I selected that specific wand for you. But why don’t you explain to your fellow apprenti
ces the steps you took to construct your own personal wand.”

  Henry swallowed hard as the entire class turned toward him. “Well … the wood is oak, a symbol of strength and wisdom. It was important that I prepare it with things that were very personal to me.” He held the wand up, explaining how he stained it purple using berries that blue jays (his favorite bird) would eat. And how he used water from the tank where his tadpoles changed into frogs. And how he rubbed it down with a piece of blanket that his mother had wrapped him in as an infant.

  “Thank you.” Coralis nodded. “What is important to note is that Henry was able to use this wand to call a flock of blue jays to his aid, and now that its use has been defined, it can forever be used to summon birds as he needs them. It’s that personal connection to nature that gives you power. And it is always essential to use it wisely. Serena, what about your wand?”

  “I chose this piece of quaking aspen from the Coconino National Forest because of these.” Serena pointed to two vertical black scars on the wand. “I was tracking animals with Joseph when we stopped to watch an elk strip the bark off a tree with its front teeth, leaving these scars.”

  “Sounds like you have some competition,” Luis joked to Henry.

  “Joseph is our chief and my grandfather,” Serena said with a laugh. “The elk is my totem. It symbolizes stamina, strength, and agility.”

  “And like Henry, did you apply any special treatment to it?” Coralis leaned forward, showing keen interest.

  Serena blushed. “Well … to amplify the totem’s power, Joseph had me … um … cure it in elk urine.”

  “Eww.” Katelyn wrinkled her nose.

  “Elk is a good totem.” Bryndis nodded. “How long did you track it before it peed?”

  “Seriously?” Luis laughed. “That’s the first question that pops into your head?”

  “Tracking takes skill,” Bryndis said scornfully. “Hers must be a powerful wand. When do we start on ours?”