Xar’s father, Encanzo, was a tall, immensely powerful Wizard, of such Magic strength that it was curiously difficult to look at him. His outline was blurred by Magic, shifting, moving, and great steaming clouds of enchantment drifted off his head as he spoke. He was looking a little weary, for he was at his wit’s end, trying to lead his people in the fight against the Witches.
The Drood Commander was taller still, a rake of a man, spitefully thin, and with eyebrows so long he had braided them. He had grown so old in the forest that there was something of the tree about him. His fingers had bent and twisted into twigs, and his face was as green and wrinkled as ancient bark.
The Drood Commander was well intentioned, but he was convinced that he was right about absolutely everything, and everyone else was absolutely wrong. Over time that can make you bitter rather than gentle, for whatever we are tends to concentrate as we get older, and it had distilled him into a pungent, poisonous drink indeed. Angry, judgmental little eyes glittered in his tree-bark wrinkled face, and his clawlike hands closed jealously over his spelling staff.
“I am not keeping Xar here for my own amusement!” snapped the Drood Commander. “Your wretched son has completely disrupted my prison! He has:
For no reason whatsoever, cut off some tail hair of the Great Howling Hairy Hindogre while it was sleeping in its cell, and the Great Howling Hairy Hindogre is still howling in fury five days later, keeping everyone in the western tower of the prison awake all night…”
“Ah,” said Encanzo thoughtfully. “Is that the distant moaning sound I can hear?”
“That wasn’t for no reason!” objected Xar in a whisper to his companions. “I needed that hair so I could escape in an absolutely foolproof Bigfoot-soldier-with-a-beard disguise…”
“Nobody’sss going to think you’re old enough to have a beard, Xar!” objected Caliburn. “And Bigfoot soldiers are at least six feet tall!”
“That was a slight flaw in the foolproof plan,” admitted Xar.
It wasn’t the only flaw.
When their winter coats come in, Howling Hairy Hindogres are an attractive shade of midnight blue, and Xar had been caught within about five minutes because the Drood Guards agreed with Caliburn that there was no such thing as a five-foot-tall Bigfoot with a bright blue beard.
The Drood Commander was really getting going now, with a long list of Xar’s offenses:
“…put itching powder in the underwear of my guards on patrol… stolen a prison guard’s cape and hood and dropped it in the vampire-dog pit… dropped the stinky socks of a Rogrebreath guard into the breakfast porridge so that it tasted disgustingly of rotten eggs…”
“Accidents… all accidents and misunderstandings…” whispered Xar from the window.
“And then, out of sheer wanton mischief,” the Drood Commander ended, “he glued the behinds of Drood High Command to their chairs while they sat quietly and peacefully eating their dinner! Indefensible, inexplicable, inexcusable behavior!”
This last incident had particularly upset the Drood Commander, for he was a man of great dignity, and he had not liked having to visit the Sanatorium with a chair stuck firmly to his bottom. He had draped a cloak over it, but it was quite a large chair and the Rogrebreaths, still stuffed to the tips of their hairy ears with cursing potion, had made quite a few personal remarks that still stung when the Drood Commander remembered them.
“That was quite funny,” admitted Xar, smiling at the memory of it, “but that was an accident too! They shouldn’t have locked me up if they didn’t want me to try and escape!”
“All of these things you are describing are just disobediences,” said Xar’s father, Encanzo, with relief. “Annoying, I grant you, and Xar ought to have grown out of such stuff, but there’s nothing wicked in those things… He’ll just be getting fed up with being in here, and I don’t blame him, quite frankly…”
“I do have a prison to run,” said the Drood, his lips pursing. “I cannot let your son completely disrupt it. He is here because he represents a severe threat to the entire Magic community,” continued the Drood Commander, getting to his feet. “But I can show you he is safe. Come with me…”
All around the Drood Commander’s Room were gigantic mirrors, and they were not normal mirrors. If you looked into those mirrors you could see into every single room in the castle. So at any point the Drood Commander of Gormincrag could know exactly what was going on, all around the prison.
The Drood Commander pointed at one of the mirrors, and the mirror clouded up, before gradually showing the view inside a small cell in the high security block.
“It’s empty,” said Encanzo the King Enchanter.
The cell was indeed, as Encanzo said, empty.
The Drood Commander stared at the empty cell in astonishment. “I don’t understand it!” said the Drood Commander. “That is most definitely Xar’s cell… Where on earth is he?”
“I thought you were supposed to be the most secure, maximum high-security prison in the wildwoods?” snapped Encanzo. “And you are telling me that you have somehow misplaced my thirteen-year-old son?”
“This is most unusual…” blustered the Drood Commander, blinking at all the mirrors so that they rapidly clouded up to reveal cell after cell, each one containing a captured rogre or Grim Annis or Venge-sprite… but absolutely no sign of Xar. “Of course there must be some perfectly reasonable explanation for all this… The Guards must have moved him without telling me…”
“Dear, oh dear…” purred Encanzo, “that’s not very organized is it? Rather poor communication with your guards, I’d say… I repeat, Commander, where is my son?”
“Here I am,” said a voice behind them.
Unfortunately, when the three Wizards stepped away from the Drood Commander’s desk and stood in front of the mirrors, they had left their spelling staffs lying on the desk behind them, in full view of Xar, who had an empty pouch just the right size for a couple more staffs.
So now when they all slo-o-owly turned around…
…there was Xar.
He was accompanied by a seven-foot werewolf, standing by the desk. Above Xar’s head buzzed his sprites and a very guilty-looking Caliburn.
There was a sprite word for the way that the Drood Commander and Encanzo and Looter were looking at Xar in that moment.
And the sprite word for it is “goggle-smarked.” Absolutely “flabberwastedly, jiggerdroppingly goggle-smarked,” to be precise.
2. Did I Mention That Escape from Gormincrag Is Impossible?
Hello, Father,” said Xar defiantly, annoyed to find himself trembling.
“Hello, Xar,” said the Enchanter calmly. “We were just looking for you, and here you are… What are you doing?”
“I’m escaping,” said Xar.
“Escape is impossible from Gormincrag!” blustered the Drood Commander.
Both Xar and the Enchanter ignored him.
“If you’re escaping,” said the Enchanter thoughtfully, “then what are you doing here? I would have thought that the Drood Commander’s office is not the perfect place to come to if you want to make an escape.”
“That’s what I said!” said Caliburn in agreement.
“I suggest you put the staffs down,” said the Enchanter, “and then we can talk reasonably. How are you? Are you all right?”
For Xar was looking shaken, and somewhat worn. His quiff of hair had drooped, and there was something a little desperate about his usual cheeky swagger. He looked like a thirteen-year-old boy who had gotten himself into a LOT of trouble.
“What have you Droods been doing to him?” snapped Encanzo, turning to the Drood Commander. “How DARE you treat the son of a king in this way?”
“Ask the boy what he’s done to be put in here,” sneered the Drood Commander. “And then perhaps you will see why we acted as we did. Go on! Ask him!”
“Why did they put you in here, Xar?” said Encanzo calmly.
Xar would not answer his father’s question.
He could not look his father in the eye. He could feel himself burning red with embarrassment.
“Aren’t you going to tell your father the truth?” jeered the Drood Commander. “Are you… ashamed?”
Xar gripped the spelling staffs tighter. “Don’t tell him!” pleaded Xar.
“He is here,” shouted the Drood Commander, “because he has been using the Magic of a Witch!”
There was an uncomfortable silence.
“Is this true?” said the Enchanter, and it was every bit as bad as Xar had dreaded. He sounded so very, very disappointed.
Unfortunately, it was, indeed, completely true.
Wizards are not born with Magic, the Magic comes in when they are about twelve years old. Xar was thirteen, and his Magic still hadn’t come in, and that was deeply embarrassing, particularly for a boy like Xar who had a lot of pride. The son of a King Enchanter to be a boy without Magic? Inconceivable!
So six months earlier, Xar had taken desperate steps to get hold of some Magic of his own.
Desperate, stupid, dangerous steps.
He had deliberately pricked his hand with Witchblood, so that the blood mixed with his own, and he was able to use the Magic of the Witch.
On his right hand there was a telltale green cross that marked where the Witchblood had gone in. He had managed to conceal this for a while, but the Droods had a way of knowing when people were using dark Magic, and they had taken Xar from his father’s fort while Encanzo was away.
“That arm the boy is holding behind his back has a Witch-stain he has been using to perform banned Magic,” said the Drood Commander. “I’m surprised,” he continued, “that an all-powerful Enchanter like yourself did not notice your own son using dark Magic, right under your nose…”
How indeed had Xar’s father not noticed?
Well, the truth is, sometimes parents do not want to believe the worst about their children, even if that worst is staring them right in the face.
“Show me your hand,” said Encanzo, although one look at Xar’s guilty face let him know that the Drood Commander was telling the truth.
Quickly, to get it over with, Xar brought his arm out from behind his back, and took off the glove that he wore to conceal the Witch-stain.
“It’s not as bad as it looks,” said Xar hopefully.
Encanzo stiffened with shock, his outline pulsing with furious energy.
It was a gruesome sight.
The sprites hissed with horror when they saw it, and little Squeezjoos stuck his tail between his legs, crouching down and trembling in the air.
“Poor Xar…” whispered Squeezjoos.
The green of the Witch-stain had moved beyond Xar’s hand and up his wrist, and looked as if it was spreading farther, like a creeping bruise, or ivy slowly growing around and strangling a tender young tree.
Poor Xar indeed.
He had been well punished for his one moment of madness in a midnight wood.
“Of all the stupid things you have ever done, Xar,” said Encanzo, bitingly, “this is undoubtedly the stupidest.”
“I told you, Father!” jeered Looter. “A Wizard with no Magic, who is using the Magic of a Witch! He’s a disgrace to our family! No wonder they locked him up!”
Xar could feel himself going red with shame, and tears pricking away at the back of his eyelids.
“It was because my Magic should have come in!” explained Xar. “You don’t know what it’s like, Father, growing up without Magic when everyone else has it!”
“Oh, Xar…” said the Enchanter, shaking his head. He could feel himself getting angry. Why did Xar always put him in these situations? He had come to demand Xar’s release, only to find his son had been put in jail for perfectly understandable reasons.
“Why didn’t you tell me you had this Magic, and then I could have helped you try to get rid of it?” asked Encanzo, his brow descending like a thundercloud. “And you, Caliburn? Ariel? Why did no one tell me about this?”
Caliburn looked even guiltier. “The boy trusts us,” said Caliburn. “We cannot betray him.”
“You made us Xar’s advisorsss, not his jailersss…” hissed Ariel, moving protectively toward Xar’s shoulder and showing his fangs in a snarl at the Enchanter.
It was Encanzo’s turn to redden. “I did not jail him!”
“Well, thank goodness we jailed him!” said the Drood Commander. “The boy represents a severe threat to the entire Magic community, and until we can get rid of the dark Magic he has stolen, he cannot possibly be released.”
“But why can’t you help me control the Witchblood Magic?” said Xar. “I can command it, if you teach me… It’s fine…”
“Witchblood Magic is almost impossible to control,” said the Drood Commander. “Particularly for a boy like you, selfish and impulsive—”
“He’s thirteen!” protested Encanzo. “Were you never young and a bit foolish, Commander? Did you never make a mistake, and regret it?”
“I was once young, but never foolish,” said the Drood Commander, lips pursing.
Xar turned to his father.
“I’m sorry, Father, I didn’t mean for this to happen. I’m sorry I got this dark Magic… I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it… I’m sorry for everything, I really, really am…” he said, hanging his head sadly, and he did mean that.
But Xar could never stay sad for long.
His face brightened, and he carried on eagerly, “But I promise you, I’ll make everything right again! I’m going to make you SO PROUD of me!”
“I’m already proud of you!” said Encanzo, now seriously alarmed. “Exasperated sometimes… infuriated… but what are you planning to do now?”
“I’m going to make amends,” said Xar. “I’m going to break out of here and destroy the Witches on my own, and that will get rid of the Witch-stain!”
There was a stunned silence. Encanzo tried not to laugh.
But Looter didn’t try.
Looter was a lot bigger than Xar, and he was handsome and clever and smug and good at everything, including Magic.
“Oh, come ON, little brother!” Looter laughed. “You can’t possibly do that!”
“Why not?” Xar asked belligerently.
“Because you’re just one small, stupid little kid!” scoffed Looter. “This is all part of Xar’s silly idea that he is some kind of boy of destiny.”
“I AM the boy of destiny!” cried Xar, punching the air.
Looter and the Drood Commander laughed even harder at that, and now even Encanzo joined in.
“Oh, don’t laugh…” begged Caliburn, putting his wings over his eyes. “Think of Xar’s dignity… Don’t laugh, Encanzo!”
“It is a worthy ambition, Xar,” said Encanzo, hastily recollecting himself, “and I’m impressed that you are truly sorry and want to make amends. It is a sign that at last you are growing up. But trust me, I will make amends for you, and try and get rid of the Witches on your behalf. Just give me the staffs.”
Calmly, Encanzo the Enchanter held out his hand.
Xar paused.
“So you will get rid of the Witches?” he asked warily.
“It could be impossible to do that entirely,” admitted Encanzo. “But there may be other ways of removing that Witch-stain…”
“And you’ll let me help?” Xar asked. “You’ll get these Droods to set me free?”
“I’m sorry, Xar, but the Drood is right. Until we have gotten rid of that Witch-stain, you mustn’t leave the safety of Gormincrag,” said Encanzo. “The Droods are the greatest Wizards in the wildwoods, and if anyone can find a way of removing that Witch-stain, they can.”
“I can control the Witch-stain, even if they can’t remove it!” said Xar, backing away from his father. “Why are you so gloomy about everything? Why do you listen to this Drood here rather than me? Caliburn thinks I can get better. Caliburn believes in me.”
“Caliburn and Ariel have shown themselves to be completely unworthy advisors!
” snapped the Enchanter.
“They’re better advisors than YOU!” roared Xar. “You’ll NEVER get rid of the Witches, for you are too COWARDLY to fight Warriors or Witches with the strength of our ancestors!”
The Enchanter lost his temper.
“You will stop this nonsense, Xar!” yelled the Enchanter. “You will stay here until the Witch-stain can be removed and you learn self-control and your place in this world. I am your father and I ORDER you to hand over those spelling staffs this instant!”
Xar backed away, his brows descending thunderously. “You don’t trust me! You think I should be in jail! You think I am selfish! Well, I can be good! I can make amends! I’LL SHOW YOU!”
Encanzo realized his mistake. “No! I’m sorry, Xar, I do trust you, it’s just that I think you need help. You can’t do this on your own!”
But it was too late. The moment when Xar might have changed paths was lost.
The Drood Commander blinked, two swift blinks that brought out a bolt of Magic from his eyes, which went speeding toward his staff that Xar was holding.
There was instant pandemonium.
Xar pointed the staff at the Drood Commander, and a great blast of Magic came out of it, a blast so wild that it stopped the Commander’s Magic in its tracks.
Looter leaped forward to try to wrest the staff out of Xar’s hands, but Xar pointed the staff, keeping as calm as possible and whispering the words of a freezing spell that he vaguely remembered from one of his spelling lessons.
After so many years of trying to perform Magic with no results, Xar could not help his heart lifting in joyous triumph as he felt the extraordinary tingling feeling, like pins and needles, in his right arm, that built and built, until the Magic came blasting out in a great satisfactory electric burst, hitting Looter in the stomach. Looter stopped, frozen, midaction, mouth open, arms stretched forward.
Twice Magic Page 2