by Ed Masessa
“Shhh!” He clamped a hand over her mouth. Then he bent down to give her a light kiss on the nose. “But I think you’re right.” And they shared a private giggle as they scrambled to catch up.
“Whoa! What is that?” Henry ran ahead of Coralis, up several flights of stairs in a large open plaza. An enormous silver object—oblong, curved, and reflective—sat in the center of a paved area. “This is so cool!” He ran around it, then under and through the center, watching how his reflection distorted in the curves. “Look, Brianna!”
He took her out from his jacket and held her nose up to the surface. “Wow! What is this thing?”
“Did that mouse just talk?”
Henry gasped and quickly shoved Brianna back under cover. He’d been so caught up in his excitement that he’d forgotten about her predicament. Had he begun to accept it as normal? Regardless, the small boy standing next to him must have been there all along and Henry never took notice. “Um … no … of course not. Mice can’t talk.”
“I’m a hedgehog! And don’t be so rough!”
“That one does,” said the boy with a British accent. “Can I hold it? I’ve only seen talking mice in the movies, and Mum says they aren’t real.”
Henry thought wildly about how to escape from this. “It’s a … it’s a … ” Then it hit him. “I’m practicing to be a ventriloquist!”
“What’s that? I can hardly say the word. Ven-tri … ”
“Ventriloquist. I can project my voice without moving my lips so that it sounds like my stuffed toy is talking.”
Brianna squirmed angrily. “Stuffed toy? I’m your sister, Henry!”
“Wow! That was really good. Your mouth never moved. I’m Michael. Who are you?”
“Henry. And my stuffed … um, sister is Brianna.”
“Can I try her?” He smiled broadly and held out his hand.
“Henry, perhaps you can introduce me to your young friend.” Coralis’s reflection loomed up behind him, looking none too happy.
“My name is Michael. Are you a wizard?” He extended a polite hand in greeting, which Coralis shook.
“Why would you ask such a question, Michael?”
“Oh, I dunno. Guess you just kinda look like one. Maybe it has something to do with the talking mouse.”
Henry continued to watch the scene play out in the reflection rather than face the Wand Master.
“A talking mouse, Henry?”
Henry attempted to speak several times, but was truly at a loss for words.
“Why don’t you let me hold on to your toy for you until we leave.”
“Yes, that’s a good idea,” he said, suddenly relieved to unload Brianna.
“Michael!” a woman yelled from across the plaza. “Time to go!”
“But there’s a talking mouse here, Mum!”
“Michael, we’ve been through this. Mice simply cannot speak. Now come along.”
“See?” He faced Henry with sad eyes. “She just never believes me.” Shoulders sagging, he walked toward his mother.
“That was careless, Henry,” Coralis said. “You can’t let your guard down. Do you understand what that means?”
“Yes, sir. I’m sorry. But I’ve never seen anything like this and I wanted Brianna to see it, too.”
“It is pretty cool,” she whispered in his defense.
“Yes, apparently people call it the Bean. But a sign over there refers to it as the Cloud Gate. A much more appropriate name. It looks very much like a blob of mercury, don’t you think?”
“Yeah!” said Henry, glad to have changed subjects so easily. “Just like the mercury in the glass tube of Dad’s barometer.” He immediately, involuntarily shuddered at the mention of his father, and quickly checked the mirrorlike surface of metal for any sign of him.
“It’s all right, Henry,” Coralis said, as if reading his thoughts. “He’s gone for now.”
But as they turned to walk away in search of hot dogs and pizza, nearby, a distorted image of a fatherly face gradually dissipated where no reflection should have been.
And it appeared to be smiling.
At 3:00 p.m. sharp, the Southwest Chief left the Chicago station on its long, winding path to the West Coast. Mrs. Verrity’s diary continued to be incredibly accurate, and Henry wondered how she could watch the sights and record them at the same time.
With bellies still full and a few hours until dinner, they retired to the first-class sleeping car that Coralis had reserved. Henry hadn’t really known what to expect from their room, and he was amazed at how tiny it was. He’d assumed “first class” meant something a little more fancy than two seats and a bunk bed crammed into a room the size of a walk-in closet. But at least they had their own bathroom.
Coralis checked the schedule and saw there were to be half a dozen stops before they would arrive in Kansas City later that night, which would be their next opportunity to disembark and stretch their legs. He wanted to make the best use of their time before then. Henry’s apprenticeship had officially begun.
Coralis removed a weatherworn leather satchel from one of the many inner pockets of his trench coat and withdrew from it several packets of herbs, which he mixed together in a small ceramic bowl. “This is to relax your mind.” He tapped the bowl lightly with a clear crystal wand and an intoxicating aroma filled the compartment.
Henry’s eyes drooped and his head nodded forward until Coralis gave him a light pat on the cheek. “Sorry, Henry. I forgot to adjust the mixture to compensate for your size and age.” He smiled. “I believe these lessons will be as good for me as they are for you.”
He removed a small pinch of herbs from the bowl and popped it into his mouth, swallowing with a wince. “Yuck! Always bitter when dry. Especially the chamomile.”
Within moments, Henry’s eyes were focused and his body relaxed.
“When your mind is clear, it can more easily absorb information. And not only absorb it but store it.”
“What’s the difference?” asked Brianna. The effects of the herbs were even greater on her small size, and from her drowsy state, she appeared to be sleep-talking.
Yet Coralis addressed the question as if she were fully awake. “The human mind is among the most complex structures on the planet—better than any supercomputer. With your five senses, you absorb information every conscious minute of your life. That information is stored as memories. Sometimes you can recall that information on command. Other times memories arise unbidden. For instance, a certain smell will trigger the memory of a person you haven’t thought of in years. Amazing, yes, but not terribly efficient.
“But you can also train your brain to store information in compartments. That way, the information is there when you need it. Try to picture your brain as a large chest with an infinite number of drawers.”
“Or like the world’s biggest Kunstkammer,” added Henry drowsily, subconsciously recalling a section from the Guidebook.
“Very good! Now then, I want you to start with a drawer labeled ‘astrology.’ Visualize opening this drawer and looking down at rows of compartments, each one empty.”
“It’s open,” said Henry.
“Your job is to listen, something that very few people know how to do. You hear things, but unless you listen with the intent to understand, you will not learn.” Coralis’s voice suddenly changed. The spoken words became deep and full, rich with substance. And at the tail end of each word was a barely perceptive musical tone—a mezzo piano bell tone that was meant to be felt more than heard. “So I will talk and you will listen. And I will tell you where to file each item of information, just as I have them stored.”
Henry twitched as something horrible occurred to him. “You’re not emptying your drawers to fill mine, are you?”
Coralis forced himself not to laugh while reverting to a normal voice. “No, Henry, I cannot forget what I have learned. And besides, it would take many lifetimes to transfer the entire contents of a single drawer. We will start with basic informati
on. Within time, you will learn to create subcompartments and drawers within drawers.”
“Will I live as long as you have?” asked Henry.
An innocent question, thought Coralis. But how to answer it? Now was the time for honesty, not cagey riddles and half answers. And yet a truly honest answer might do more harm than good. Troubling times lay ahead. Not for the first time, he questioned whether he was doing the right thing—dragging this young boy further into the gaping mouth of danger. He could easily make a call to Molly and drop Henry and his sister at the next station.
But instincts were as important as knowledge. Coralis knew that Henry was a key player and very likely the first of his kind—the eighth generation of two strong Wandmaker lineages. And Coralis had almost missed him entirely. He chastised himself for becoming such a recluse and hiding safely within the walls of his castle. He owed Randall a debt of gratitude, for without his interference, whatever awaited them would have spiraled unchecked and unchallenged.
So he answered honestly. “No one can see the future, Henry.”
But he avoided the question.
“Astrology is not to be confused with astronomy,” Coralis began. “Astronomy is the scientific study of the universe, which includes planets, galaxies, and an entire host of phenomena that occur beyond our atmosphere. There are many areas of expertise within astronomy, such as aerolithology, the study of meteors. And astronautics, the study of space travel.
“But astrology tells us how all those celestial objects combine to affect our daily lives. It is something that is felt more than seen, which is why scientists will never be able to fully grasp it.”
“Excuse me, Coralis,” Henry interrupted. “Exactly what am I supposed to put in the drawer?”
The barest hint of a smile tugged at Coralis’s lips. “Just listen, Henry. I’ll tell you when to begin filing.”
“Do you really think my brain is big enough to hold it all?”
“Without a doubt.” He clutched Henry by the hands, his voice stern yet sympathetic. “Henry, I have put this off for too long already. We are entering into uncharted territory. Events await our arrival that cannot be foreseen. In many ways, I have been a fool with my head buried in the sand. I have ignored my responsibility to protect the Earth. Many, many years ago I was a young apprentice, full of hope that the positive side of human character would dominate for the good of all mankind. But the things I have seen … ” He paused. “I became jaded and began to lose that hope. I neglected my charge as a Grand Wand Master because I knew that power and greed could never be eliminated. There would always be an alpha ram who would lead an ignorant flock of sheep to do his evil bidding. All the wars, all the genocide, all the senseless slaughter of innocents … it will never end.”
Henry winced as Coralis’s grip tightened. He wriggled free and Coralis leaned back.
“I was wrong to give up. I see that now.” Coralis’s voice was etched with pain and regret. “I am also beginning to understand the heroic efforts of Randall.”
It took a moment for the name Randall to connect. “The falcon?”
“Not always a falcon. Once, my brightest apprentice. A shining star in the dark vastness of space.”
It took Henry a moment to process that information. “That falcon used to be a boy?”
Coralis chuckled. “Indeed. And how that boy could get on my nerves. But despite all the challenges and disobedience, he flourished and grew. And when he didn’t think I was teaching fast enough, he found ways to experiment on his own.
“Not since the days of wand enlightenment in the time of the first Council of Aratta had anyone constructed a Urania Wand with such extraordinary power.”
“A Urania Wand? Like the planet Uranus?” asked Henry.
“Mmmm … almost. In Greek mythology, Urania was the muse of astronomy. But in our realm, the Urania Wand is an invaluable tool to help forecast events as they would occur if left unchecked. The best ones are made from meteorites.
“Randall disappeared for several months, as he was prone to do when we argued. I thought nothing of it and assumed it was his form of a temper tantrum. But when he returned, he brought with him a piece of moldavite of unparalleled purity. Are you familiar with this stone, Henry?”
He thought hard but couldn’t place the name.
Coralis read the look on Henry’s face. “It is a very rare crystal found only along the banks of the Moldau River in a remote area of Bohemia—now the Czech Republic. It arrived on Earth millions of years ago when a large meteorite hurtled through the atmosphere.”
“The one that killed the dinosaurs?” Henry asked eagerly.
“No, not that one. But no doubt it too created a powerful explosion. Moldavite is a dark green crystal. The piece Randall found was so pure you could almost see the constellations trapped within. It was also large enough that he was able to form seven individual wands.” He held up Henry’s hand. “About the size of your pinkie finger but half as thick.” He frowned, recalling the memory. “We argued over that as well. I told him it was criminal to intentionally dismantle that singular specimen. But Randall has a gift: intuition that borders on the paranormal. I did not see where his instincts were leading him.
“Then one day he came to me with a dire warning.”
And then Coralis went silent. Not just a pause, but an extended break that made Henry uncomfortable. He was clearly struggling with himself. Henry turned to Brianna, who was still sleeping and snored in soft whispers. His own instincts were telling him to wait it out.
“I used to think he was obsessed with the moon,” Coralis said at last. He whispered it so softly that Henry wasn’t sure if he even meant to say it aloud. “Out of all the celestial bodies in the universe, he was fixated on the one closest to Earth.”
Coralis cleared his throat and turned to address Henry once again. “Many people fail to grasp the importance of the moon and how much it influences our behavior.
“Before science truly understood the causes of insanity, people blamed it on the phases of the moon. In the Middle Ages, the full moon was thought to be the cause of all sorts of things, from simple acts of violence to seizures caused by diseases. Over time, so-called experts have attacked the lunar theory in an attempt to disprove it, which they can … ” A cagey smile creased his face. “To a point.”
He leaned toward the window to look at the night sky. “But just because you can’t see something doesn’t mean it doesn’t exist. And to simply dismiss something as powerful as moonbeams as if you were throwing out yesterday’s dishwater is ignorant and foolish. Anyone who relies on the Earth’s resources to make a living knows how to use the phases of the moon to his or her advantage. Fishermen use it to increase their catch. Farmers use it for harvesting crops. Over the years, they’ve given its phases names like harvest moon or hunter’s moon.”
Coralis leaned back, and as he did so, the glow from the waxing gibbous moon that had begun to rise reached the quartz ring on his finger. The moonbeam trapped inside it swirled in a cloud of dark vapor, as if angry at its containment.
Henry breathed in sharply, recalling the painful extraction. Has it really only been a few days? Everything was happening so fast.
Coralis extended his hand closer to the window. The moonbeam pushed and prodded against its prison cell. “In a way, Henry, you are fortunate. You have experienced what most people can only theorize. Through your careless experiment—” He waved a hand, quieting Henry as he started to object. “It’s okay, Henry. It was careless, but I understand your curiosity, and there was no way for you to know.”
Outside, the train rolled past field after field of cornstalks—a surreal landscape that contrasted greatly with the conversation inside.
“You have been given a taste of the power of moonbeams.” He glanced upward at the darkening orange of a fading sunset. “On a normal night under normal circumstances, people absorb moonbeams without having the slightest idea they even exist. They bask in the glow of that giant romant
ic ball of light, never giving it a second thought. But moonbeams affect many things in many ways.
“The more evil a person has in his or her heart, the greater the absorption of bad energy. It’s as if they were magnets collecting stray pieces of metal. But in the case of the bad moon, all that metal is sharp, dangerous, and deadly. Those moonbeams have succeeded in igniting wars and riots over the centuries.
“Even as an apprentice, Randall knew this as well as any Wand Master, and he exposed the seven moldavite wands to seven phases of the moon under unique circumstances that included things like immersion in rare water and exposure to extreme heat. Many other elements were involved. The entire process was amazingly complex. Looking back on it, I realize now that Randall was probably one of only a handful of Wandmakers in our entire history who had the knowledge and, more important, the intuition to achieve that level of success.
“Two of the moldavite wands disintegrated. Gone in an instant—poof! Four of them contain extraordinary power that the average Wandbearer would have difficulty controlling. And one of them … one of them transformed into the Urania Wand.”
“Can I see it?” Henry asked excitedly.
Coralis squirmed uncomfortably. “I don’t have it. The wand belongs to Randall, and only he can use it. As I said, we had quite an argument over his treatment of the moldavite specimen. Concealing the Urania Wand from me was Randall’s way of punishing me.”
Henry was puzzled. “If Randall had a wand that helped him see into the future, why wouldn’t he share it with you? You’re the Grand Wand Master. If anyone could stop something from happening, it would be you.”
Coralis mumbled something that sounded to Henry like “horse feathers.”
“What’s that?”
“I said I had the hubris of a fool!” Coralis nearly shouted.
Henry jumped back, banging his head on the wall behind him. “Ow!” He rubbed his scalp and narrowed his eyes. A reaction like that would have panicked him when they first met, but he was becoming accustomed to the old man’s rapid mood swings. No wonder Randall did things behind his back.