by Hal Malchow
She did not wonder long.
In an instant, the breeze reversed itself and menacing clouds collected in the sky. At first, the wind was easy, even soft, but the air slowly gained speed. The breeze became a gale. Sesha grabbed the wheel of the wagon to hold her balance. Scodo’s hood blew back and he lifted his arm to block the stinging sand.
Against this wind, Zauberyungi leaned hard, his hooves struggling to grip the road. But the winds reached a mad rage, hurling sand and rocks against the wagon. Sesha’s feet lifted from the ground as she gripped the side of the wagon. Frightened, she looked beseechingly at Scodo. Stronger and heavier, Scodo was making small steps forward.
“Zauberyungi! Zauberyungi!” she called out. “You must help him, Scodo!”
Slowly, carefully, the scorpion man moved forward until he had almost reached the old mule. Zauberyungi slipped, falling to his knees in a backwards slide that sent the wagon into reverse.
The jolt broke Sesha’s grip, but she managed to grab the back of the wagon. Had her hand missed its target, she surely would have been blown like a fallen leaf across the autumn sky.
Meanwhile, Scodo had edged forward yet another two feet. He turned his body sideways to the wind and planted his tail hard in the soil. With both hands, he pulled his sword from its scabbard and raised his arms high. He tottered and shook, struggling to hold his position. But he regained his balance and with a mighty force, he plunged the sword deep into the ground. Scodo wrapped his large arm around the mule’s neck. With one foot steadied against the sword, he lifted Zauberyungi to his feet and held him in place.
Sesha clung desperately, five fingers away from being lost to the sky. Behind the wagon, the wind was at its worst. It blew down both sides and around the back of the wagon, creating an unpredictable swirl that from time to time lifted and shook her body. But amidst the raging storm, Sesha’s mind was hard at work.
With a great burst of strength, she pulled her body into the wagon. There, she turned, her face again to the wind, feet pressed hard against the back of the wagon. She lifted two fists into the air, her hands closed tightly, every knuckle white. Her eyes were closed as well, not against the wind or the sand but against everything around her. Her body tight, her mind entranced, she began a low whistle.
The sound had a strange and penetrating melody. It was not quite a tune but a string of notes, barely twenty seconds long.
When these notes reached Scodo’s ears, he turned and looked, shocked at the eerie tune that seemed to have entered from a world far beyond.
A small whirlwind appeared, just in front of Zauberyungi. The whirlwind began spinning sand in a circle, and the circle began to grow.
Amazed, Scodo stepped back. Now the whirlwind was larger. It was expanding, exploding in size, by the second. Then he realized what was happening. As the raging winds struck the whirlwind, their power was drawn into its vortex. Its swirl expanded until it became so large and powerful that Scodo feared it would consume him and Zauberyungi and Sesha.
Horrified, Scodo stood tensed, bracing for the worst. But as Sesha’s circular storm expanded across the plain, an amazing thing happened. Just like a hurricane, a center of calm opened up inside. The eye of this storm moved back and surrounded the three travelers. Suddenly, there was no wind at all. Outside, in every direction they looked, the new storm blew round and round. But inside, at the center, tranquility reigned. Scodo looked back at Sesha.
“Unhitch Zauberyungi,” she cried out, firmly and confidently. Scodo hesitated, but Sesha shouted again and he scrambled to obey.
Just as Zauberyungi was released and moved to the side, the eye of the storm passed by and the wind welled up again, this time from behind. The storm was moving. Now the wind was blowing at their backs. Unprepared for this new surge, Scodo and Zauberyungi were swept into the air. There was no way to stop. As they dropped to the ground, they did their best to recover their feet and run with the storm. The old mule and the scorpion man bounced across the ground and back into the air until, finally, they lay on the ground, the air still and the storm behind them.
Meanwhile, the wagon, freed of Zauberyungi and Scodo, was thrust down the road at a fantastic rate, Sesha gripping the seat as the wagon bounced and rolled far from the road and across the sandy plain. When the wind finally passed and the wagon stopped, Sesha looked back at Scodo and the mule, a good distance behind.
She waved with both arms, trying to get their attention as they looked at one another, dazed by the dramatic events. “Quit your dallying,” she teased. “The pirates are waiting!”
Back on the road, Scodo turned to Sesha with a look of wonderment. “Do you understand what happened?” he asked.
Sesha looked down, not sure what to say.
“You must understand that the wind may not have been a storm,” she began, carefully choosing her words. “There are windstorms in the desert but not like that one. I suspect it was the work of a wizard.”
“A wizard? How can you know?” Again, with patience and calm, Scodo waited as Sesha considered her words.
“Only a great wizard can move the skies into a raging force. There are only two wizards who could have done this, and one of them is on our side. I believe our journey is being opposed by Zindown.”
A chill raced through Scodo’s body. Zindown was a legend, both for his evil and his power. He asked the question at the front of his mind.
“But what was that noise? And why did the wind suddenly change?”
Sesha was quiet for a long time, but Scodo waited.
“That was me.”
“You?”
“Yes,” replied Sesha, reluctant to say more.
“Where did you learn this magic?”
“As you know, I grew up in the forest with Asterux. He is a great wizard, even more powerful than Zindown.”
“So you have powers as well.”
“Not like a true wizard. I studied only ten years. Zindown may be two hundred years old and his power grows with every year.”
Then Sesha told Scodo the story of how she had learned at Asterux’s side. She told him about finding forgiveness and the moonflower and how she used the whistle of her little yellow bird to bring the magic alive.
Scodo looked at Sesha, entranced by her story.
“There is magic for both good and evil. Asterux taught me that the evil power is always easier to find and easier to use. Evil requires only temptation and weakness. But to draw on the magic of good requires more, much more.
“There is a great force of good inside every creature. But as we go through life, that power is corrupted and diminished by all we see and experience. When a truly good person of pure heart can tap the power inside, and when that person can grow and nourish the magic over time, he will possess powers far greater than those that arise from evil.”
Scodo just shook his head, skeptically. “This is not the world I know. How long did it all take?”
“Seven years.”
“Seven years!” Scodo replied, surprised and with new respect. “And after that?”
“After that day, the magic came faster. Each day, Asterux would give me a new task and I would search for a new word, or rather a new whistle, that would summon the magic. I opened bottles, lit fires, and put animals to sleep. Once,” she said with a sly smile, “I made Darrow disappear in the forest.”
“I bet he loved that!” Scodo laughed.
“Asterux was a wonderful teacher. He is a loving man and his deep goodness is beyond any measure. But after ten years, he sent me on my way.”
“Why?” Scodo asked.
“It was time.”
Hearing these words, Scodo knew in his wisdom that the answer was not for him to know. He turned back to the problem at hand.
“So you think the wind came from Zindown. Will he be back?”
Sesha looked up into the sky. Her eyes showed strength but also resignation to the trials that lay ahead. “He will be back.”
“Do you have the power to fig
ht him again?”
“Zindown is a great wizard. But he may underestimate me. Sometimes small tricks can undo great schemes. We shall know soon enough. He will not give up with one battle.”
The wagon continued across the desert, stopping here and there to pass through a gully or dodge a hole in the road. Sesha looked ahead. A great black shadow had fallen on the land ahead. The shadow seemed to move, not forward or backward, but from within, quivering and wriggling.
Zauberyungi snorted loudly, his feet taking on an uneasy gait. Scodo, aware of the strange shadow, looked at Sesha. Sesha said nothing.
Zauberyungi stopped altogether. “On, Zauberyungi,” Sesha cried. The old mule began to move again but with uneasy steps, stopping every few seconds before pulling up again.
Sesha cracked the whip above his head. This time, Zauberyungi stopped, stamping the ground. Scodo dismounted to inspect the problem. His eyes searched the mule’s body. Then he brushed Zauberyungi’s leg and stamped the ground.
“Just a spider,” he shouted back.
The wagon moved again, but Zauberyungi stopped once more, stamping one hoof against the road. One hoof joined another and Sesha looked on in horror as Zauberyungi began a strange dance, his four feet beating out a frantic rhythm. Scodo jumped from the wagon and ran to his side.
This time, he brushed his own legs. He jumped back, brushing off his arms.
“Spiders!” he cried. “There are spiders everywhere!”
The wagon stood near the top of a small rise in the plain. From this place, Sesha could see no spiders. But at the top of the rise, the dark shadow appeared again, moving slowly toward them.
Zauberyungi whinnied, bouncing about as if he were standing on a burning stove. Scodo began to flail at the ground with his sword, moving from side to side, circling, shaking his legs one at a time.
A vast ocean of spiders approached. “Curse you, Zindown,” Sesha muttered under her breath, and for a moment she thought she heard an evil laugh across the plain.
Turning back, she dove desperately into the wagon, throwing bags and boxes this way and that.
Now Scodo had joined in Zauberyungi’s terrible dance, writhing with each painful bite. Worse, the darkest part of the shadow was now only a few feet away, a terrible black mass bubbling like a churning brook.
A sharp pain shot up Sesha’s arm and she cried out. She looked down to see a spider, hardly bigger than a mite. But now spiders were in the wagon and more were pouring in. Two more bites shot through her body. She cringed and rolled to her side.
Then she saw it.
Wedged between the canvas and the side of the wagon was a box. On its side were the words dried lizards and frogs. Frantically, she grabbed the box and ripped it open. With the spiders crawling up her back, she hurled its contents into the air and delivered a soft whistle that rolled across the valley and echoed against the low cliffs at either side.
Nothing happened.
Distraught, Sesha looked at the front of the wagon. Zauberyungi’s eyes were ablaze. He let forth a terrible moan. The great shadow lapped at his feet.
Sesha struggled to compose her thoughts. With all of the concentration she could muster, she wiped Zauberyungi and Scodo and spiders from her mind until all that was left were the deepest and purest feelings that dwelt in her soul. She remembered the goodness. She forgave the goblin swordsman who killed her family. She gave her father forgiveness and love. Once again, a low, soft, melodious whistle departed her lips and lingered in the air.
Suddenly, the ground and the wagon exploded with thousands of lizards and frogs. Mouths opened. Tongues flashed. The great feast had begun. In a few moments, they had devoured the spiders surrounding the wagon and surged forward to meet the advancing shadow.
Zauberyungi, his skin cleared of spiders, backed up the wagon a few feet and Scodo retreated to his side.
“Get in the wagon!” Sesha screamed.
When Scodo was at her side, she said quietly, “There are not enough of them.”
As Scodo looked about, the battle raged in near silence. But Sesha’s words were true, for while her army of lizards and frogs greedily devoured the spiders, the spiders were ten thousand times their number, and they were coming fast. Sesha pulled at the reins and backed up Zauberyungi again.
“Zauberyungi,” she called, “run like the wind.” She cracked a strong whip in the air over Zauberyungi’s head. Sensing no other course of action, the old mule bolted forward and launched the wagon into the dark shadow ahead.
For a few moments, Zauberyungi strained at the load and his start was slow. With speed, the clopping hooves and spinning wheels might escape the spiders’ bite. But Zauberyungi’s pace was no gallop, just a jittery, jumpy walk. The spiders climbed his legs once again.
Sesha felt the wagon tilt forward slightly and saw that they had reached the top of the rise. Before them lay a long sloping descent. As Zauberyungi tap-danced ahead, gravity took charge. The wagon lurched forward, striking the old mule from behind. Bumped by the wagon, his load relieved, Zauberyungi bolted ahead in a mad dash to stay ahead of the wagon.
By the bottom of the rise, the shadow had passed.
They continued on another mile until they came to a small brook. Scodo unhitched Zauberyungi, who waded in the water while Sesha rubbed a special potion over his wounded legs. There they rested for perhaps an hour. With no time to lose, they forged ahead once more.
Back in the wagon, Scodo comforted Sesha, who was shaken by what had taken place.
“You have dueled with the greatest of wizards and prevailed.”
“Zindown is not finished,” Sesha responded, her voice breaking, holding back tears.
“Perhaps, but you won this time. Now that you believe you can beat him, you will be even stronger.”
“I am not sure I believe that,” Sesha answered.
“Then find it inside yourself,” Scodo answered. And after a moment’s pause, he added, “I believe in you.”
At once, Sesha felt stronger.
• 33 •
The Black Wand
It is written that victory will come to the strong. Indeed, there are few advantages more formidable than power and might. Where might meets might, the strongest must surely prevail. But strength is only one weapon. Cunning, invention, and surprise are others. And in the face of the unexpected blow, even the mightiest can tumble.
Against the great Zindown, Sesha had twice succeeded. But the wizard was far from finished. In the grim landscape of her journey, a land abandoned by all human form, Sesha faced her greatest test yet.
As the wagon ambled down the road, Sesha, comforted by Scodo’s words, looked ahead with new hope. Perhaps Zindown had abandoned the fight. Perhaps they might yet deliver to Darrow the swords that he needed. Perhaps victory—an ultimate victory against the goblins—was really possible.
She turned and looked at her friend Scodo. His hood had fallen from his head. His face, covered with a dark shell, looked straight ahead.
“Scodo,” she asked, “what if Darrow wins? What if he drives the goblins from the kingdom? What will you do then?”
Scodo looked back at Sesha. The question made him thoughtful. After a long pause, he replied, “I will go back to the forest.”
The answer hurt Sesha. She admired Scodo, and the thought of him living out his life alone in the forest made her sad.
“But if Darrow wins,” she replied, “you will be a hero. People will celebrate your deeds. You can be accepted for the first time.”
Scodo replied, calmly and without the slightest bitterness, “I will never be accepted. The way I look will frighten the bravest men.”
“Well, I am not frightened one bit,” said Sesha.
“Then perhaps you are the bravest of them all.”
They both laughed and continued in silence, but a few minutes later Sesha spoke once more.
“What if magic could change you? What if you could look like any other man? Then what would you do?”
; Scodo was silent for a long time.
“I don’t believe in magic such as that. But what would I do if I could appear in a way that would allow me to walk into a room and be accepted for who I am?”
“Yes.”
“And Darrow won and the goblins were driven from this land?”
“Yes,” Sesha answered.
“I would put away my weapons and never fight again.”
Sesha was deeply moved but could not find words to respond. For another few minutes, they traveled in silence. Then Scodo turned to Sesha, his eyes filled with the greatest sadness she had ever seen.
“Most of all,” he added, “I would try to purge the hatred from my heart.”
And with Scodo’s words, Sesha wished, more than anything she had ever wished in her life, that Darrow would win and that somehow, some way, she could find the power to heal her friend.
A sharp clap of thunder echoed across the desert. In the sky, dark clouds gathered together and blocked the sun. Scodo, walking at the side of the wagon, looked up at Sesha. Her hands tightened against the reins and she sat straight in the wagon seat. Warily, her eyes searched the sky. Her search did not last long.
From these clouds, a terrible figure appeared. His body was human in form, but his skin was dark, ashen, and covered with raging flames. Above his flaming countenance rose two black wings that waved slowly in the air.
Scodo reached for a rock and hurled it at the figure. But just as the rock reached its target, the figure disappeared. Suddenly, it reappeared higher in the sky. A thunderous laugh shook the earth.
Scodo grabbed another rock and hurled it straight at his target. But again, as the rock arrived, the figure was gone, reappearing higher still, this time far from the range of even Scodo’s mighty arm.
Sesha shot Scodo a scolding glance. “Calm. Stay calm,” she said.
High in the sky, red eyes gleaming, yellow teeth reflecting the light of the fire, the monster looked down at Sesha and Scodo.
He lifted a flaming hand that held a black wand. He lifted the wand high above his head and for a moment it did not move. Then, in one swoop, he waved the wand across his chest. In the air appeared six tiny vampire bats, which began to descend toward the wagon.