Wandmaker

by Ed Masessa

  Coralis allowed Henry and Brianna to sleep on the train ride from Pittsburgh to Chicago. When Henry awoke, he saw that it wasn’t just for their benefit. Coralis’s head was bent at an unnatural angle against the windowpane, almost guaranteeing a sore neck.

  With Brianna wrapped safely under the seat in a blanket, Henry took advantage of the clacking of railroad ties to stand without disturbing anyone and head for the nearest bathroom. The train rocked violently, knocking him off balance as he closed the door behind him, and he decided it would be much safer (and less messy) to sit than stand. But as he pulled his pants up, his wand tumbled from his pocket and rolled beneath the sink.

  Henry froze. He had read about the lack of sanitation in public bathrooms. What might the contamination do to his wand? Several wild scenarios ran through his mind, ranging from accidentally spreading disease to unsuspecting travelers, to giving janitors the ability to see through walls.

  Using a clean wad of toilet paper, he gingerly picked it up. The water was probably filtered, but just to be safe, he wet a small area of his pants and rubbed the wand against it—his theory being that at least the pants were connected to him.

  He examined it in the unnatural light of the fluorescent bulb for any signs of cracks or damage. Not only was it his prized possession, but he needed to show Coralis he could be responsible. He was relieved to see the wand was intact, and he felt certain he’d done the right thing.

  The mirror hanging over the sink was covered with a film of hazy grime and soap stains. He took the wad of toilet paper, dampened it, and wiped a small section of the surface—then gasped in shock. Right in the center of his chin was a large red pimple! How long had it been there? Why hadn’t anyone told him? And why hadn’t he noticed it sooner?

  So much for his powers of observation. He frowned at it, focusing his will to make it disappear. Unconsciously, he lifted his wand. The pimple ripened to a deeper shade of crimson and began to blister. He almost dropped the wand in a panic and tried desperately to reverse his train of thought. But it was too late! The pimple continued to fester.

  Contamination! No! This couldn’t be happening. He had messed up royally! He continued to stare helplessly, and at first didn’t notice the subtle change in the grime on the rest of the mirror. Gradually the images in the haze moved into his field of vision—and Henry realized he was witnessing a scene taking place far, far away.

  Two people were driving in a car, an ugly vulture perched on the console between the seats. Henry seemed to be watching from the car’s rearview mirror. The two people faced each other, arguing. The passenger was a heavy man with skin too white and a face marred by a large birthmark. He appeared to be shouting, but Henry couldn’t hear any sound.

  He sensed … evil. It coalesced into an angry red aura that surrounded the mirror. Henry was frightened but could not take his eyes away.

  Finally, the driver thought wiser of his actions and turned away from the passenger. His eyes casually glanced at the rearview mirror, then at the road, but quickly stared back into the mirror. It was as if the driver could sense him watching. Then the driver smiled at him—a horrible, cruel smile—and Henry cried aloud.

  The sound broke the connection. Henry startled, splashing water all over the front of his pants, and fell heavily onto the toilet seat, gasping for breath. It couldn’t be! Then a tiny scratching at the door made him jump, bringing him back to the moment.

  “Henry,” a small voice whispered. “Are you in there? I have to go!”

  “Just a minute.” Henry took several deep breaths to compose himself, then took one last look in the mirror to make sure the images were gone. The memory of what he had seen rushed back, but the mirror was clear. And even more remarkably, so was his face. The pimple had vanished.

  He opened the door a crack and Brianna rushed in. “Turn around, Henry, and don’t look,” she said testily. Seconds later she tapped at his foot. “Okay, I’m done.” He saw the small wet spot she’d left behind in the corner—right where his wand had fallen.

  An involuntary shiver reminded him of the contamination. He knew he was going to have to tell Coralis and face the repercussions.

  Brianna giggled. “Henry, you wet your pants.”

  The walk back to his seat felt like a death march. He thought of a prisoner taking his last steps toward his execution. Coralis was awake. Henry sat silently and stared at the water mark on his pants as Brianna curled back into her makeshift nest and instantly fell asleep.

  “What did you see?” Coralis’s voice was grave.

  Hope and relief flooded Henry’s emotions. “How did you know I saw something?”

  “I didn’t,” he said, “until now.” He shifted toward Henry, his face a mask of compassion and understanding.

  “I dropped the wand. I dropped it, and I tried to clean it, but then I saw … it was my father.” The words stuck in his throat and the tears finally came. “It was my father … and he was terrifying!”

  Coralis reached over and pulled Henry close. Henry let himself go, the bottled emotions of fear and uncertainty pouring out.

  “When you are ready, you must tell me everything. But quietly. There is no need to wake your sister—no need to frighten her.” Coralis stared out the window into the gloomy, overcast skies, knowing how difficult the road ahead was going to be. And regretting the loss of innocence of a young boy who was in over his head.

  In the annals of Wandmaker history, the creation of the Corsini Mappaemundi stands out as one of the greatest man-made achievements. Now several thousand years old, its parchment remains as fresh and pliable as the day it was born.

  Born?

  Yes, it is a living thing—an organism that changes over time, a reflection of the Earth’s surface. But the genius of Epifanio Corsini also foresaw the need to transport the map in a convenient (and undetectable) way. Which leads us to its most remarkable feature.

  In order to carry the map from one place to another, the owner could wear it.

  If one places the parchment against the skin and seals the edges with the Corsini Wand, the map becomes a part of the carrier, where it then lies temporarily dormant until removed. If someone had the gross responsibility of removing Dai She’s shirt, he or she would be greeted with what appeared to be a large tattoo.

  But there is a catch—there is always a catch … a price to pay.

  The map cannot lie dormant for long. Given the way the Earth’s surface is constantly changing, the map is most healthy when it can change simultaneously. As a dormant object, the changes in the map are stored. If the changes, such as large tectonic plate shifts, occur while the map is being worn, it will begin to itch. But as anyone who has ever worn the map could tell you, don’t try to scratch!

  Even in a dormant state, it is protected by the spells woven into it. The slightest of scratches will leave behind lifelong welts—like cuts from a whip that have healed.

  This was one important fact Dai She was not aware of. The last Wandmaker to wear the map died long ago, and that vital piece of information died with her.

  And so it was that just after Henry had seen his father in the car mirror, a 9.0 earthquake struck the coast of Japan. And Dai She made the mistake of scratching.

  “Aieee!” he suddenly screamed, squirming violently in his seat. “Stop the car! Stop the car, you idiot!”

  Markhor slammed on the brakes, surprised by the outburst, hoping neither Dai She nor his moronic vulture had seen the image of Henry in the mirror. “What’s wrong now, oh great Wand Master?” Markhor knew he needed to tone down the sarcasm. He could not afford to reveal too much. But playing the servant to Dai She was grating on his nerves.

  “My back! It’s burning!” Dai She threw open the door and tore off his jacket, flailing desperately at his back with arms too short to reach their destination. “Don’t just stand there like an oaf. Do something!”

  Unaware of what lay hidden beneath the shirt, Markhor ran his fingertips across Dai She’s back. “Aieee!”
Dai She screamed as if he had been branded with red-hot iron.

  Markhor barely noticed. His hand had been thrown violently backward, repelled by an unseen force of incredible power.

  “What did you do to me, you fool?” Dai She screamed.

  “You need to remove your shirt.” Markhor remained calm. His tone was commanding.

  Dai She’s reaction was swift. “No! Never!” Then an 8.0 aftershock hit. He screamed again. “All right! All right!” Pink buttons flew in every direction, lost to the Mexican desert.

  Markhor smiled behind Dai She’s back. “Is that what I think it is?”

  “It doesn’t matter what you think, fool, help me get it off!” He twitched and squirmed in fits of pain.

  Markhor could not take his eyes off it. The legendary Corsini Mappaemundi covered the entire flabby white surface of Dai She’s back. He was simultaneously fascinated and repulsed—and very curious. He knew precisely what the map was, and even felt a sudden burst of pride that Dai She had managed to liberate it. But he decided that playing dumb was in his best interest. “How do I remove it?”

  “And you call yourself a Wand Master.” He bent at the waist and rolled up his trousers, frantically removing something taped to his calf. “Use this!” He thrust the Corsini Wand at Markhor. “Touch this to the edges of the map. Gently!”

  Markhor relished the familiar warmth of the wand, which pulsed as if begging to be used. The color of leathered skin, it was bent slightly at the tip—like an old man’s finger. The second the wand touched the surface, a small edge peeled away from the skin.

  “Faster, you idiot!”

  But Markhor had had enough of Dai She’s attitude. “No.”

  “What do you mean, no? I command you to remove it at once!”

  “Say please.” A smile creased his face as a plan took shape. Another aftershock. Another scream. The smile widened. Blazing fury erupted in Dai She’s bloodred eyes, but he was helpless and he knew it.

  “Please,” he growled.

  With all the tender loving care of a sculptor wielding a chisel, Markhor began removing the map, pausing only once as another aftershock rippled under the surface. He had not known the last Wandmaker to wear it and was thoroughly dumbfounded when he discovered why it caused so much pain.

  While the map was two-dimensional to the eye, it was three-dimensional in effect. The upper surface showed changes to topography—forests thinning, cities expanding, rivers widening and contracting. The opposite side reacted to shifts in tectonic plates. As Markhor separated the map from Dai She, the underside folded along a crease into a knifelike edge, catching a sizable slab of skin in a firm, pinching grasp.

  Dai She screamed in agony until the crease released its hold, leaving behind a fresh, raw welt. With one corner to go, Markhor paused again.

  “Why are you stopping? Remove this abomination at once!” he wailed.

  “Not until you tell me the details of your plan.” Markhor stepped away, dangling the Corsini Wand like a carrot.

  “I will tell you what you need to know only when you need to know. And that is my decision to make. Not yours.”

  “Fine. Then I’ll just leave the map right where it is.” He edged the wand toward his pants pocket.

  “You can’t leave it like this! It will become damaged! Then everything will be ruined!”

  “Then make me your partner. Give me the information, or I swear I will leave you here in the middle of the desert and your precious vulture can pick your bones clean.” Markhor’s tone had the hardness of steel with an edge of undeniable truth.

  Dai She’s eyes darted to the road they had traveled and the mountains yet to come. A temper tantrum of epic proportions welled inside. Viktor had seen that look before, and edged slowly out of sight behind the car, wishing he were inside the trunk with the falcon.

  But Dai She knew that as long as Markhor had the Corsini Wand, he also had the upper hand. “All right.” His teeth gnashed like the sound of grating sand. “I will tell you.”

  Markhor smiled again and withdrew a small blue wand from his pocket. “And you will tell me the truth.”

  Dai She recognized it as a Wahrheit Wand—named for the German word for truth. A rich, dark blue, it was constructed from the gemstone spinel. On its own, spinel contained no natural power, but when etched with the correct sequence of ancient Germanic symbols, it became an extremely powerful tool. In the right hands, the crystals would glow in the presence of a lie.

  “Be mindful of the enemies you make,” Dai She said, his voice soft but menacing.

  Markhor’s smile vanished. Dai She may have looked and acted the clown, but his power was undeniably great. “You are right,” he said humbly. “I will not be your enemy. Nor will I be your friend. But you need an accomplice, and in that I am a willing partner. If you want to succeed, I will need to know what we are doing.”

  Dai She’s face was a mask of stone, but he knew he had achieved a small victory. Markhor still knew enough to respect his power, and in the end, that might be the only thing that could keep Markhor in line. “Remove the map. Then keep the wand until you are satisfied I am telling the truth. But you must promise to return it to me—for one is useless without the other.”

  “You have my word.”

  And Dai She explained the plan.

  And in the trunk, Randall heard every word.

  And he knew he must escape.

  As it turned out, they arrived in Chicago with time to spare before their connection to the Southwest Chief. Using Mrs. Verrity’s journal, Coralis found his way to the site of the old train station, the historic Great Hall lined with gigantic marble pillars. “What say we venture into the city for a brisk walk before being cramped up on another train?”

  Coralis’s mood had improved since Henry told him the details of the incident with his father. However, Henry had the feeling it was for his benefit. All pleasantries aside, he still held on to a nagging guilt that he had messed up. And with that in mind, he was more than willing to go for a long walk that would shift the focus of conversation.

  They meandered along the busy streets, staring upward at the marvelous architecture. They stopped to read plaques outside the Chicago Board of Trade and gawked openmouthed at the amazing public library building. A large sculpted owl gazed down upon them as if they were its next meal, making Henry’s stomach rumble.

  “I heard Chicago deep-dish pizza is supposed to be really good,” said Henry.

  “Perhaps. It hadn’t been invented yet when I was last here,” said Coralis.

  “You’ve been here before?” asked Henry.

  “Several times, though the last time was a sad occasion. It was during the Great Fire.”

  “What’s so great about a fire?” Brianna squeaked from within Henry’s jacket.

  “It became known as the Great Fire because before it was over it had burned down most of the city. At that time, most buildings were made of wood and the region was experiencing a terrible drought.” His face darkened with a scowl. “Hundreds died, hundreds of thousands were left homeless, and thousands of buildings were destroyed. And for nothing. I warned them it was coming and to be prepared, but the politicians scoffed at me and banished me from City Hall.”

  “You knew the city was going to burn down?” Henry asked incredulously.

  “No, of course not!” Coralis snapped, then calmed. “Sorry. It’s still very upsetting and it happened over a hundred and forty years ago.”

  Henry shook his head. He knew Coralis was very old, but it still baffled him. “Then what did you warn them about?”

  “The comet. By my calculations, Biela’s Comet was due to pass close enough to Earth to shed some of its mass, and I wanted to collect some fragments that I suspected would make their way through the atmosphere and to this region. It would mean getting my hands on some valuable elements—but it was also a potential hazard to the people of the city.”

  “As things fall through the atmosphere they burn up, don’t they
?” Henry asked, recalling information from his science book.

  “Yes, they do. But they weren’t about to believe me—an old coot, an out-of-towner. Perhaps you could have talked more sense into them, Henry. In any case, some of the fragments did make it through. Very unfortunate. Hot, fiery coals from the heavens that ignited upon impact.” Coralis paused, then laughed. “And they blamed it on some poor old woman’s cow! Said it kicked over a lantern!

  “Well, now you know the truth, Henry. Straight from an eyewitness. And I’ll give you another tidbit to chew on. That comet caused three other fires that same night within several hundred miles of here, and one of them killed thousands of people! But because it wasn’t Chicago, it didn’t get the same amount of press.”

  “And did you get what you came for?” asked Brianna.

  “Yes, I did, little one. And I’ve never seen anything like it before or since.” He squinted in the hazy gloom. “I’m almost afraid of it, though I’ve yet to determine what kind of power it contains. It’s a big universe, and there are many things we will never understand about it. In the meantime, it is under lock and key and hidden well within the confines of my castle.”

  “You live in a castle? With princesses?” Brianna asked hopefully.

  “Ha! No princesses … though Gretchen is a magician in the kitchen.”

  The two children stared at him, mouths agape.

  “What?” asked Coralis.

  “You … you’re married?” asked Brianna.

  “What? Goodness no! Whatever gave you that idea?” A light touch of rosiness colored Coralis’s cheeks.

  “You’re blushing!” shouted Brianna.

  “You are, sir,” Henry added with a short laugh.

  “Bahtzen bizzle!” Coralis turned abruptly and walked at a brisk pace, shouting over his shoulder, “Keep up if you expect to eat anything.”

  “Henry, he was embarrassed,” Brianna said gleefully.

  “I know! So who do you think Gretchen is?” asked Henry.

  “Coralis and Gretchen sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s—”