Wandmaker

by Ed Masessa

  Serena giggled, and the lightness of it made him happy. She reached for his hand. “Come with me. We can get better acquainted on the journey, but there is no time to waste.”

  She led them through the throng of people, who parted for them. Grandma Gailene had joined their ranks. “I will see you when you return, Henry.”

  Still in somewhat of a fog, he walked with Serena, vaguely aware of Joseph and Coralis following behind. And from the fold of his jacket, the voice of Brianna sang softly, “Henry has a girlfriend.”

  At the far end of the cavern they entered another tunnel, also lined with torches, and much shorter than the previous one. They traveled in silence. Serena never let go of his hand. Henry didn’t object. But on the list of things he never saw coming, this was close to the top. The longer she held his hand, the more confident he felt—as if their combined energy could defeat anything.

  There was no door made of stone at the end. The tunnel opened into a sheltered space carved out of pure rock. A short distance away, amazing structures of rock sat like sentinels, rising hundreds of feet above the valley floor. “Let’s sit for a minute,” she said. A shallow pool of water several feet wide was in the center of the arch. “We are in the map room,” she teased.

  It took only a second for Henry to catch the reference to one of his favorite movies. He looked up at the top of the arch, dozens of feet overhead; a perfectly round hole was carved out, through which he could see the fading light of day. “Indiana Jones was here?”

  She laughed. “No, but it looks like the scene from Raiders of the Lost Ark, doesn’t it? Many movies were filmed here in Monument Valley, though mostly Westerns. My grandfather met John Wayne and many other actors.”

  It was the second time Henry had heard that name, and he made a mental note to look him up.

  “Those movies introduced our land to the world. And naturally, the tourists followed.” She didn’t sound very happy about that last part as she paused for a second. “Things change, and not always for the better. But sometimes, we have some small control over the future. Which brings us to what we must do tonight. What you must do, Henry.”

  She stopped, and he felt the weight of intense gravity pushing down upon him. “What must I do?” he asked warily.

  Her lips tightened. A warning of danger flashed briefly in her eyes.

  “You must save the world.”

  As the moon began to rise in a cloudless sky, moonshadows from the large stone monuments reached toward them like the grasping hands of giants. The vibrant red, yellow, and orange landscape was now muted in dusky hues, but it was magnificent nonetheless. Henry watched as the incredible mural his mother had painted came to life before his eyes.

  Serena whistled sharply. Then she stood beside Joseph and Coralis and looked off into the distance. At first all Henry could see was a small cloud of dust on the horizon. The cloud quickly took on a shape as three horses galloped toward them. In the lead was the magnificent black stallion from his vision. As it drew near, he became frightened. It was so much larger in real life!

  “Midnight,” he said softly, the name emerging from his subconscious.

  “Yes, Henry,” said Serena. “His name is Midnight. You have chosen him, and he has accepted.”

  The horse walked calmly up to Henry and lowered his muzzle, his flanks glistening with sweat from the exertion of galloping. He nickered and huffed in Henry’s face.

  He reached up to touch the horse while Brianna attempted to burrow through his clothes and under his skin. “Easy,” he said, more to her than the horse, but both listened.

  “Have you ever ridden a horse?” Serena asked.

  Of course he hadn’t! He was even further out of his element riding a horse than he was playing baseball. But the look in Midnight’s eyes told him otherwise. Those coal-black eyes were intimidating, with the fierce energy of an untamed beast. But there was kindness and understanding in them too, and a startling intelligence. The horse stomped a powerful front hoof three times within inches of Henry’s feet, then circled away and reared high on his hind legs, braying loudly for all the valley and the world to hear.

  “He is telling you that he is yours to command,” Serena explained. “And you must trust that he is up to the challenge.”

  Henry looked to Coralis and Joseph. What were they expecting from him? How could he help them when he had such little control over his own abilities?

  Suddenly Henry felt something. Another presence. The small pool of water began to shimmer, rippling as if from a nonexistent wind. All eyes were drawn to it. Henry tentatively approached the pool and saw his own face reflected in the water. Afraid to get any closer, he touched the surface with his foot.

  It was as if someone had cannonballed into the center of the pool. A single wave radiated outward and left in its wake a still, glasslike plane.

  Looking through the glassy surface was the face of his father, whose eyes bored into Henry’s. Henry was paralyzed, his feet staked to the ground.

  His father shifted his attention to the rest of the group, eyes landing squarely on Coralis. His mouth moved as if he were speaking, but there was no sound. Instead, a bubble formed beneath the surface, growing to the size of a grapefruit before floating up, detaching from the pool, and hovering two feet above the reflection, which was now smiling demonically. A hand, formed completely of water, reached up from the depths of the pool and popped the bubble.

  A voice sounded from the bubble: “We meet again, Coralis.”

  The voice did not belong to his father. The image in the pool wavered, and another face appeared—one that had not been seen for hundreds of years.

  The cannonball effect hit the water again, and the image was gone. Henry’s feet were suddenly free to move again. He stumbled backward and fell roughly on his behind, only then realizing he had been trying to pull away all along.

  “Who … ?” he began.

  Coralis blanched. His skin was pale, and his eyes wider than Henry had ever seen.

  “Malachai.”

  Malachai always did enjoy a good fight. It seemed only fair to let Coralis know at this point just who he was actually up against. The look of shock on the old man’s face had been almost reward enough for the months of scheming.

  But Malachai had more scheming to attend to while Dai She slept.

  He returned to the guard shack and found it empty. Nothing but the rope and tape that had been used to bind the old man and falcon remained in hastily tossed heaps on the floor. The small carrying case that held the miniature wands was also gone. If his suspicions were correct, the falcon had found a way to get the old man to strap the case onto its back. A clever design for a clever bird.

  Clever and odd.

  There was something about that bird that didn’t add up, but he was certain now that the bird was working with Coralis. That old fool had been in hibernation so long he’d thought he might have actually given up. But one look at the wand Henry exposed while they were together in his father’s study told him otherwise.

  Malachai recalled the fortuitous fate that led him to meet Henry’s father. Little did Malachai know at the time that it would provide a connection directly to Coralis. The matter of young Henry was disturbing … yet exciting. It was obvious he possessed power—raw, untrained, unfocused, and to Malachai’s delight, slightly tinged with darkness.

  He stepped back into the last dusky minutes of daylight. The disabled truck was still parked where Malachai had left it, the electrical system fried from a burst of wand energy. There was no way the old man could reach civilization in time to bring back reinforcements. Dai She’s plan would proceed … as would Malachai’s.

  He smiled and scanned the skies. No sign of the falcon.

  But the smile abruptly faded. He quickly paced around the exterior of the shack, hopeful that he was wrong, cursing himself for the oversight. The grounds were totally void of any signs of life. No falcon … no old man …

  No Viktor.

  Randall
was in trouble. He landed next to a black sage shrub and sought protection underneath it while he worked out the cramp in his wing. The old guard had been terrified—which had made it easy to influence him into fastening the wand case to Randall’s back. But it was on just a little too tight. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem, but he’d been bound so long, and bounced around in such awkward positions, that his wings were not functioning properly. He was dehydrated as well, which caused more cramping.

  He could maintain short bursts of speed, but was having difficulty gaining altitude. And without height, he couldn’t get into the thermal currents that would help him glide.

  He was stretching his wings and rotating them backward when he noticed a lone smudge far overhead. He knew immediately that Viktor had followed him.

  Half of the moon was now visible above the horizon, an ominous warning that time was not his ally. He slowly folded his wings and pulled farther into the shrub, knowing that Viktor’s keen eyes would detect the slightest movement. He weighed his options. Outrunning a healthy vulture wasn’t one of them.

  The tiny belt that cinched over his breast feathers pulled against him and gave him an idea. Probably a bad one, but it was the only one he could think of. And he had to get the full details of Dai She’s plan to Coralis—or die trying.

  He turned his head and stretched to retrieve a wand from his back. He then hopped into the open and flapped his wings, hoping to look like a bird in distress … which was not far from the actual truth.

  Within seconds, Viktor had taken the bait. He soared down with the speed of a dive bomber, misjudging his landing and tumbling to an ungraceful stop several feet from Randall. The two birds eyed each other warily. Viktor approached, his beady eyes watching distrustfully.

  This was not a carcass, but soon would be. And nothing tasted better than a fresh kill. Just the thought of warm innards sliding down his gullet made him oozy with delight.

  The falcon was holding a small stick that it waved from side to side. A feeble weapon. Viktor squawked, the equivalent of a vulture laugh, and hopped closer. The falcon continued to wave the stick in a slow circular motion.

  Viktor watched … and watched. He couldn’t take his eyes off the stick. He was still hungry, but it no longer mattered. The stick mattered. The stick that now moved even slower. Back and forth. Back and forth.

  Viktor’s head ticked from side to side, following the rhythm of the stick. When the stick stopped moving, so did Viktor. He was frozen in place. His brain was empty.

  Then a thought entered his mind—a suggestion that sounded like the best idea he’d ever had. With one final hop, he covered the remaining distance to the falcon and landed squarely on its back. He firmly gripped the wand harness and flapped his mighty wings, taking off with as little grace as he’d displayed when he had landed.

  Randall moaned softly as sharp talons raked his skin, but he kept his concentration as the vulture struggled to lift off. When they were finally high enough, Randall directed his new set of wings northward.

  To where he knew Coralis was waiting.

  After Malachai’s grinning visage had faded, the desert erupted in a blur of activity. Coralis and Joseph easily mounted their own stallions. Serena grabbed Midnight’s flowing mane and lithely hopped onto his bare back. She reached a hand down to Henry. “We must hurry.”

  The reality of what he was about to do suddenly registered. “Without a saddle?”

  She smiled reassuringly. “Trust me.”

  Midnight’s head swiveled toward him. They were all waiting, and Henry felt nothing but panic. “Get on the horse, Henry.” Brianna’s head popped up. “Look on the bright side. Even if we die, you’ll be riding on a horse with the girl of your dreams.”

  “Bahtzen bizzle!” Coralis exploded in anger. “Get moving, boy!”

  He needed no more encouragement. He clasped Serena’s hand and hoisted himself onto Midnight’s back. At once, they urged the horses forward, quickly picking up speed from a trot to a gallop. Henry wrapped his arms around Serena and held on for dear life, somewhat comforted to see her blushing almost as much as he was.

  At first he flopped and bounced around, threatening to make them both tumble from their mount, but with some encouraging instruction from Serena he found the horse’s rhythm. “Don’t fight the movement. Become one with the horse. Imagine it is you that is running.” When he did, he felt the ground fly past beneath them, just as he had seen in his vision.

  The three horses sprinted side by side, the urgency of the riders spurring them on to greater speeds. Monuments of stone rushed past, each more majestic than the last. He hoped he would have a chance to see them again. And that’s when it hit him.

  He hoped he lived long enough.

  Serena pointed out rock formations as they rode past, turning back to shout their names to Henry. There was Sleeping Dragon, Big Fat Man, Indian Chief, Three Sisters—names the Diné had given to describe the massive rocks. Other than Sleeping Dragon, Henry couldn’t quite match the names to the shapes. To the ancient Navajo, it must have been like staring at cloud formations, where abstract visions of dog heads would float past.

  Serena shouted something in the Navajo language, and the sound of her voice echoed back at them. “Talking Rock,” she said with a smile, pointing to a red rock mesa that rose hundreds of feet in the air. They rode close enough to the base that Henry could see petroglyphs—ancient scenes engraved on the rock.

  The horses slowed to a trot as they emerged from behind a tall outcropping. They stopped in front of the formation she called the Skinny Elephant, and she hopped off the horse with the agility of a gymnast.

  Henry just knew he was going to fall trying to dismount. He could see nasty bruises, welts, and scrapes in his immediate future. Fortunately, Coralis came to his rescue and offered to help him down.

  “Ow, ow, ow!” Henry hobbled as he rubbed his backside.

  “You did very well for your first ride,” Joseph assured him. Henry mumbled a thank-you, then noticed an earthen mound that nearly blended in with the base of the Skinny Elephant. The mound was some kind of structure, for it had an open doorway—and a woman stood within it. From where he stood, she could have been a carving made from driftwood, until she raised a hand in greeting to Joseph.

  Joseph returned the gesture, but then he led Henry in the opposite direction. “Does that woman actually live out here?” he asked Serena.

  “Yes, she does. Do you see that structure?” Serena asked. “That is her hogan. It is the traditional living quarters of the Navajo people—made from mud but very sturdy. Someday I will show you the inside of one. But not now. There is no time.”

  They hurried toward a seam in the elephant’s leg, where Joseph was already waiting. He once again performed his magic, revealing a concealed entrance to yet another tunnel. This one, however, appeared to be man-made, as it was lined with timber support beams. Joseph must have noticed Henry’s puzzled look. “This is an abandoned mine shaft,” he explained. “Not so many years ago, our people mined precious minerals on this land. This shaft was quickly closed when tribal elders heard about it, however. You will soon see why.”

  They proceeded into the darkness and turned a corner, which cut off the remaining light from outside. Coralis and Joseph reached for their wands, but not before Henry gave off a little moonglow of his own. He heard Serena gasp. “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you all about it when we visit that hogan,” he said, trying to deflect his embarrassment by impressing her.

  A short distance later they once again hit a dead end of solid rock. “This is why we closed the mine, Henry.” Joseph began to hum, a sound that seemed to amplify within the rock. Stone walls flickered like a holographic projection switching off. The area beyond the wall was cloaked in pitch-darkness until Coralis and Joseph tapped their wands against the rock to either side of the doorway.

  The cave responded by coming to life. A bluish-green iridescent glow spread quickly around the room—for that’s what
it was, a room, more square than round. The ceiling extended about twice Coralis’s height, rising slightly in the center like a dome. Bookshelves lined two of the walls, holding ancient bound volumes. Petroglyphs lined the other walls, elaborate scenes of life and death in incredible detail. It was awe-inspiring. But there was a warmth to the space as well. The kind that made you feel like a guest in a stranger’s cozy home.

  Henry was immediately drawn to a wall of books. The shelves had been carved into the very rock itself. He ran his fingers lightly over the dusty, cracked-leather spines, and as he touched them, titles appeared, each in a language he had never seen. At the end of the shelf were several dust-free tomes. Their titles were printed on the spines, but wavered like an optical illusion. He smiled briefly, recognizing the books from his father’s study.

  In the center of the room was a table of the biggest slab of wood Henry had ever seen—probably twenty feet across, and cut from a single tree. He didn’t have to count the rings to know that the tree must have been thousands of years old. He couldn’t fathom how something so big could have even gotten into this room.

  He ticked off a list of at least a dozen questions, not sure which to ask first. Until he saw something else. Someone sitting at the far end of the table.

  “Mom?”

  It didn’t take a genius to know that Randall was in a race he couldn’t win. There were limits to Viktor’s speed, especially while carrying Randall. He would never get to Coralis in time. He desperately attempted a mind-link with the Wand Master, but he couldn’t do it. They were going to have to land so he could use the Earth’s power to boost his own abilities.

  The Chihuahuan Desert far below stretched out endlessly. He knew the area was rich in mineral deposits. In the distance, he saw what he needed—a valley between two rolling hills. Using Viktor like a hang glider, he directed the vulture toward the valley, searching for something he knew had to be there. On the second pass he spotted it. He detached himself about thirty feet up and landed safely without the weight of Viktor possibly crushing him. But as he did so, his mind connection to the vulture was broken. Now thoroughly confused, Viktor flapped vigorously and continued on in search of a meal—never once questioning how he’d gotten there or what he was doing.