Wandmaker's Apprentice

by Ed Masessa

  “I am the Lone Ranger, eh?” she joked. “I have been thinking. I know the woman who cares for his twisted zoo. She might be able to tell us where your Coralis is. She works now. We will go to her soon. But first … we eat.”

  Navigating their way through the forest was easier than they’d expected. Once they knew what to look for, the vine traps were easily avoided. The forest gave them plenty of cover, and the dried blood on the Wandmaker coats provided an extra layer of camouflage.

  The forest was eerily quiet, as if even the insects knew there was something unnatural in the works. Only once did they see any signs of animal life. A massive wild boar that must have weighed in at well over two hundred kilograms had come upon them suddenly. It charged at them, razor-sharp tusks still glistening with the remains of a recent meal.

  Luis whipped out a small blowgun he had designed for short-range accuracy and fired a dart that hit the beast square in the chest. The sting had been just enough to confuse the boar, which skidded to an abrupt halt. The three Wandmakers packed tightly together. Serena decided to take emergency action and stepped in front of the group to blast the creature with a stiff wind burst.

  But before she could act, the boar ambled up to her, took a healthy sniff, sneezed in disgust, and trotted off into the forest. A dozen meters later, it froze in its tracks and keeled over on its side.

  “Did you kill it?” Serena asked Luis.

  “Nope. That dart was meant to stun a human. It probably got a good whiff of your smelly feet.” He laughed as Serena took a swing at him.

  From a clearing at the crest of a rolling hill, they got their first good look at the village. “If I didn’t know any better, I’d swear we went back in time,” said Serena.

  “Yeah, I think our friend Malachai likes living in the past,” Luis replied. “Now, who remembers where to go from here? That old man’s sketch was okay, but—”

  Bryndis interrupted him. “I don’t understand. How did he do all this without Coralis knowing about it? We’re not that far from the castle. Wouldn’t he sense that forces of nature were being manipulated?”

  Serena winced. Gretchen had once told her something in confidence. Given the circumstances, she decided she had to share. “There was a time when Coralis had given up. He and Malachai were the last of a golden era of Wand Masters and he was led to believe Malachai was dead. Imagine if you were the last of a species—eventually you’d wither away. Fortunately, he found Henry.” She smiled at the thought. “Actually, Henry found him.”

  “Henry, Henry, Henry,” Luis scoffed. “What makes him so special anyway?”

  “Coralis once told Gretchen he knows the goods when he sees the goods,” Serena replied. “Henry has no clue as to how great his potential is—and neither do any of us. But before today is over, we are going to have to start tapping deep into our abilities. Each of us will have a role to play in victory … or defeat. And if Coralis is right, Henry might well be the weight that tips the scales in our favor. Now then”—she winked—“let’s go stir up some trouble.”

  The village’s most striking feature was its compactness. The buildings had been constructed so tightly together that they seemed to be connected—like a house that a family outgrows, so they add on and on, section after section. But they knew from the old man’s sketch that this was not the case. Between all the buildings ran a complex series of alleyways, most of which were no more than two meters wide.

  The village itself was nestled into the side of what was either a small mountain or a large hill—something Luis and Bryndis argued over at length. So while all the buildings were a single story in height, the ones farther up the slope appeared taller. Only one building stood out from the rest, and it was in the direct center of the village. Rising several stories and topped with five conical spires, it had been built to impress. This was Malachai’s home—or as the old man had put it, his chamber of horrors.

  One by one, the apprentices sprinted to the house closest to the edge of the tree line. The farm couple had filled in as much background as they could. While they had been there at least forty years, the village had been operating under Malachai’s rule for hundreds. Therefore, much of the knowledge had been handed down from one generation of prisoners to the next.

  They knew that the population of the village was maintained at one hundred captives, but didn’t know if that number had any significance. Most of the people would do anything to help them, but several were known spies and were to be given a wide berth. Every villager had an assigned task that had to be carried out within specific time frames.

  Malachai also enforced a strict curfew. At four o’clock, everyone was expected to be off the streets and tucked safely in their homes for the night. Which was why they had waited several hours in the forest before making their move. They skirted along the back side of a few homes before arriving at an alley. According to the old man, this provided the safest passage to the village square—an open area that was used for gatherings that ranged from sermons to public torture, all delivered by Malachai.

  The day had started cool but had grown warm and sticky by noon. As the afternoon stretched toward evening, an advancing storm moved in on a cold wind. A light mist began to fall. As it changed to rain, the blood on their coats rinsed off and left a trail of red on the cleanly swept cobblestones. And because they walked in single file, hugging the buildings, the red trail became a red stream that ran downhill in the gutter.

  The village baker had a simple routine that he followed religiously. He provided daily bread of a consistent quality that kept him in Malachai’s good graces. And he was also a snitch who ratted on even the slightest transgression by other villagers. He was often rewarded with a decent cut of meat—not the leftover gristle Malachai typically provided. But Malachai’s demands had become increasingly odd, which was why he had to vary his routine—which placed him outside past the curfew and into an alley where a stream of red flowed in a narrow rivulet.

  His stomach growled in anticipation of a good meal as he followed the trail. He spotted the three strangers and silently retreated to the bakery, where he used a century-old telegraph to send a message to his master. Then he put his feet up and smiled, visions of a decent meal dancing in his head.

  Malachai had been in a semiconscious state of warped bliss when he heard a tapping sound from the next room.

  Half a minute later, Puteo burst into the room. His normal stench doubled when he felt threatened or got excited. And he was very excited! He knew to expect the wrath of his master in situations like this, and in some weird way he looked forward to it. Malachai was more than a master. He was to Puteo as Zeus was to the ancient Greeks. He was all-powerful and would soon control the world—and he would take Puteo with him.

  Whatever punishment Malachai inflicted on him only made him stronger. He endured the torture as a training exercise and after each one he received a token from his master—like a dog getting a treat for learning to roll over.

  Lately, as Malachai descended further into madness, the treats had become more valuable. Puteo took this as a sign that perhaps Malachai was ready to share the secrets of his almighty power.

  “Look, master!” He eagerly waved a piece of paper with the baker’s message, fanning waves of foulness throughout the room. For the first time, he almost couldn’t stand his own stench, and he hoped this would result in an extremely rigorous training session. He stopped short and frowned as he saw the Pangaea Particle. Malachai had been spending too much time with it, which made Puteo jealous.

  Malachai observed the change in his assistant’s demeanor. “What’s the matter, my foul friend? Do you wish to touch it? Do you want to experience the joy and pain it brings?” He held the sphere out, an invitation to touch. But as Puteo reached for it, Malachai jerked it back and clutched it to his chest. “How dare you think you are worthy?” he screamed. “It belongs to me and no one—NO ONE—will ever touch it but ME! Now get out, you wretched beast!”

  Puteo stumbled
backward under the verbal assault. All his hopes that this would be a special day were dashed to bits.

  “Can you not hear? I said get out of my sight!” Malachai bellowed.

  As Malachai turned swiftly away and returned to the window with the message, an egg-shaped rock fell from his cloak and rolled across the floor. Puteo immediately recognized it as the remains of the Strix that had been turned to ash. He grabbed it, tucked it into his pocket, and ran from the room.

  Malachai waited until the stench lessened. He carefully secured the Particle in its lead box and read the message. He laughed, high and shrill, and clapped giddily as he danced around the room. He didn’t understand how they could have escaped his arachnid army, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was that Coralis’s pathetic band had come to him.

  He attempted to rush down several flights of stairs, when a wave of dizziness washed over him. He tripped and tumbled headlong to the bottom. A sharp crack should have worried him, but between the adrenaline and euphoria, he didn’t give his badly broken wrist a second thought. Instead he skipped like a schoolboy down the hall and threw open the door to the room where the apprentices had been held captive.

  In a split second his extreme happiness transformed into vengeful anger. He screamed a torrent of obscenities as he threw his body at the empty cages. His foot made contact with something that clattered against the wall. A key! His eyes blazed red with rage.

  In his fury, he abandoned his plan to turn the apprentices to his side and ran to another room. He pointed his wand at the ceiling, unleashing a powerful bolt of energy that dissolved the solid blocks of stone into dust. An earsplitting shriek erupted as hundreds of Strix acknowledged their freedom and took to the skies.

  “What was that?” Henry heard the explosion, rushed to a window, and peeked through the shutters. A writhing black cloud rose into the gloomy sky. As wave after wave of four-taloned monstrosities gathered over the village, a pit settled in his stomach.

  “He knows we’ve escaped.” Katelyn had come up behind him.

  “Quickly!” Natalia ushered them out the back door and barged into the house next door. “Ileana!” she called out urgently.

  Seconds later, the woman from the prison who had left the key for them barreled through the front door and bolted it shut, unaware that anyone was in her home. “No!” she yelled when she turned and saw them. “Natalia, you should not be here with them.” Her voice trembled with fright.

  “Ileana, they can help us,” Natalia pleaded.

  “No one can help us,” she scolded. “He has lost his senses. His mind is mush! And now we are all doomed.”

  “Ileana!” Brianna used a powerful inflection of Voice to calm her. It had an immediate effect, as Ileana slumped into a simple wooden chair and stared helplessly at her neighbor. “Does he know we’ve escaped?” Brianna asked, taking the edge off her power.

  “Yes.” Ileana nodded grimly. “He has released the monsters. But not only for you. Puteo read it on the telegraph, and he told me.” She pinched her nose and spat on the floor, showing her disdain for the man. “Others have arrived.”

  “Others?” Katelyn asked hopefully.

  “He called them pesky kids.” She doubled over and sobbed.

  “Molly must have found a way in.” Henry paced the room and threw caution to the wind by fully opening the shutters. The black cloud continued to grow as the Strix amassed for the kill. He knew they were awaiting a final command from Malachai to attack. Anger built up inside him, as did something else. Something he had not felt since he had helped to defeat Malachai’s son.

  The Roc’s feather pulsed in sync with his rapidly beating heart. Their friends needed their help. They would never be able to hold off, much less defeat, the number of Strix Malachai was sending their way.

  He turned, bumped into a table, and caught the old telegraph machine just before it fell. His eyes lit up with hope. “I need you to send a message to Malachai.”

  Brianna clutched tightly to Natalia’s hand to allow the sightless woman to direct her and Katelyn through the rain-slicked maze. As much as they did not want to drag Natalia into the fight, she had insisted vehemently. And in the end, they knew they could not find the others without her help.

  They entered another home, startling a young man. Brianna immediately silenced him. “Sorry,” she said. “No time for explanations.”

  The front of his home faced the village square. Katelyn peered through the window at the open area and tried to imagine what course of action she would take if she were Molly. Natalia had told her that eight alleys converged onto the square. From her vantage point, she could see only five of them, and one of those was obscured by a fountain. But at least the rain had turned down the volume to a light drizzle.

  Katelyn mentally ticked off the minutes since they had left Henry. His plan, if one could call it that, was a nebulous mess of maybes. She watched the turbulent skies. She had begun to have second thoughts when suddenly a large flock of Strix broke off from the main body and veered south. Ileana’s telegraphed message had told Malachai there was another group emerging from the forest to attack on a second front. Henry hoped that Malachai would be too agitated in his damaged frame of mind to realize all the apprentices had already been accounted for.

  So far, their luck had held. Katelyn anxiously scanned the square again. Still no sign of the others, but the plan called for her to assume they were nearby.

  Brianna took Katelyn’s hand and squeezed with gentle reassurance. “We can do this.”

  “Where’s a four-leaf clover when you need one?” Katelyn opened the door and steadied herself with a deep breath as she focused on her wand. The air high above the fountain shimmered with heat waves as she summoned the fire element. Air molecules bombarded against one another, faster and faster. She squeezed the molecules, compressing them until the stored energy was at the bursting point.

  Sensing the moment was right, Brianna placed her hand on Katelyn’s shoulder, adding her power as an Enabler. They had practiced this technique before, but never with so much at stake. Amped up with adrenaline, their combined power hit with devastating effect—but in the wrong direction.

  A fireball ten meters in diameter materialized above the fountain, but instead of rising up to take on the birds, it rocketed downward. Katelyn lost control of it as it slammed into the fountain, disintegrating it and scorching the entire square. The blast of heat was so intense it flash-dried the muddy earth and created a layer of steam that hovered like a thick fog.

  But the level of energy Katelyn had expended also knocked her unconscious, and tossed Brianna across the room, where she sat in a mind-numbing daze. A horrendous shriek filled the air as the horde of Strix attacked—and she knew they had failed.

  Henry carefully retraced his steps through the halls of Malachai’s zoo prison. If Ileana had guessed correctly, Coralis was being held in a specially prepared room inside one of the five spires that topped the fortress. Fortunately, the building had been constructed with servant staircases—hidden behind walls so that peasant housemaids could go from one floor to another without being seen by their masters. Ileana had told him they were not monitored, but Henry proceeded with extreme caution, using the heightened senses granted him by the Roc feather to stay on guard. He moved silently up three flights of stairs and emerged into a small foyer, where he was assaulted with an eye-watering, acrid smell.

  Puteo stood in front of a formidable door, his arms crossed. “Who do you think you are?”

  Henry blinked rapidly. His eyes watered as if he had been slicing onions. He struggled to see through his tears. Whoever this man was, his superpower was apparently being able to stink someone to death. If Coralis’s life wasn’t at stake, he might have laughed. But he had to think of something quick. He didn’t have the time to battle a human stink bomb.

  Suddenly he thought of a way to use the truth to his advantage. “I am Markhor’s son.”

  “You did not come to rescue the prisoner?”


  Henry sensed doubt in the man’s voice. “No. Malachai sent me to guard the door. He … he sent me to relieve you. He needs you to help fight the intruders.”

  Puteo dropped his hands to his side. A flash of joy appeared upon his face before he quashed it. “It’s about time. Why are you just standing there? Get over here! No one goes in or out. Understand?”

  Before Henry could gag out a yes, Puteo raced past him and down the staircase. The residual smell was bearable. Henry wiped his eyes to clear his vision and examined the door. He had seen the locking mechanism before—at the entrance to Coralis’s Cryptoporticus. He pursed his lips in frustration. The special key needed to release the locks had to be with Malachai. Unless …

  No, it can’t be this easy, he thought as he remembered a trick his parents always used. He stood on tiptoe and stretched his arm as high as he could to reach the top of the doorjamb, but came up short. He knew that if he used his wand power, Malachai would know he was there, but he was out of options and short on time.

  He pointed his wand toward the ceiling, creating a mini-tornado the way Serena had shown him; then he sent it crawling along the top of the door. A circular stone key was knocked loose. Henry snatched it out of the air before it hit the floor, impressing himself with the sudden display of athleticism. He quickly pressed the stone into the locks, hoping the sequence was the same as at the castle.

  The door popped open with a hiss, as if he had broken the seal on a vacuum chamber. As he stepped inside, he could feel whatever spell Malachai had employed. He tried to illuminate his wand but something blocked it. There was just enough light spilling in from the foyer to see. He hurried to the chair in the center of the room.

  “Coralis!” he whispered urgently. As the slumped figure of the Wand Master raised his head, Henry nearly fell backward. The old man had visibly aged to a point that frightened Henry. “What has he done to you?”