by Lou Hoffmann
Lucky fought panic down, closed his eyes against the cold blue glare, and commanded himself back to the glade where he slept near the fire.
Where the horses waited in the night.
Where fireflies flitted in the grasses mirroring the glitter of stars above.
Where Thurlock, the greatest wizard, had covered the ground with wards and hung the sky with a curtain of safety.
Morning came cool and damp by the stream, but the music of the flowing water was sweet, and the day promised to be fine. Thurlock sat on his bedroll and, listing to one side, flicked a lazy magical hand at the fire to light it. He clearly hadn’t been awake for long.
“Good morning, Thurlock,” Lucky said very softly because he felt like loud words might shatter something.
Thurlock grunted and rolled onto his knees. He looked as though he was preparing to stand, though it might take some time. Lucky shot up and rushed over to offer him a hand. Thurlock accepted the help, which surprised Lucky once he thought about it.
“Thank you, young man,” Thurlock said. “Some days I do feel like I’m getting old, and this is one of them. I suppose it’s to be expected. I’ve not truly rested for days.”
“Didn’t you sleep last night, sir?”
“With one eye open, Luccan. With one eye open. Give me a few moments to wake up and drink some tea, and we’ll talk about your dreams.”
“My dreams?” Did Thurlock know?
“And some other things. How are the horses?”
Lucky recognized a dismissal when he heard one, so despite his discomfort with the idea that Thurlock had somehow known what had gone on in his head during the night, and despite his anxiety over what “other things” might be on the agenda for conversation, he left the wizard alone and went to tend the horses.
Lucky had always liked horses, though he’d been clumsy with them at first. After his stay on Stable Master Morrow’s magical lands, he’d gained confidence and come to understand the equine species a lot better, and now he thought they liked him, too. Even the noble Sherah nuzzled him in greeting. He’d rubbed them down pretty good the night before, and they’d had access to fresh grazing and water where they were picketed, so there wasn’t a lot they needed. He looked them over, checked their hooves the way he’d been taught, and then gave them a light brushing to wake them up. He left them happily munching oats and went back to see about his and Thurlock’s breakfast.
He didn’t actually have to see to it, though. He came back to the camp to find his plate keeping warm on one of the rocks lining the firepit, already loaded with bacon, slices of hearty bread, and a roasted apple. He smiled, and then smiled wider when he watched the water in his cup transform to hot cocoa. “Thanks, Thurlock,” he said, but he was wondering how the old man would take it if he asked for mocha from now on. He had recently developed a taste for coffee with his chocolate in the morning.
Lucky was still eating when Thurlock put his plate aside, refreshed his tea, and sat back, settling his gaze on Lucky. Which felt a little creepy and made Lucky wonder if he had a chocolate moustache or something. Of course, that wouldn’t be what was on Thurlock’s mind. More likely he was about to treat Lucky to a serious wizardly conversation.
“You already know I can’t enter your mind like Han can, Luccan, but I set a spell—for your safety of course—to catch your dreams, and this morning it was quivering like a spider’s web when a giant fly lands in it. It’s a marvelous little spell, really, one I worked up when Han was young and his grief for his family was fresh. It catches the worst of the things that enter through our dreams and prevents them from getting deep into the mind.”
Flabbergasted that Thurlock had this remedy at hand and hadn’t used it to save him from his mother’s awful shade, Lucky blurted, “Why didn’t you use it to get me out when my mom had me trapped in the dark?”
“Oh,” Thurlock said. “I wish I could have, but it doesn’t work after the fact. Only if it’s set up ahead of time. But let me tell you more about it. It siphons off some of the more troubling aspects of the dream that are internal, coming from inside a person, and if one examines the web of the spell, they can see hints of the dream’s material. In this case, I saw mists and colors, that lovely electric blue we’ve both come to associate with evil things, and violet. The colors of darkness.”
“But you didn’t wake me?”
“I started to, but I saw your face, and you weren’t afraid, or hurt, or sick—not at all the way you looked during those other dreams—the undreams, as you called them. Instead you looked alert, interested, and maybe a little sneaky. Do you remember what you saw, this time?”
“Yes,” Lucky said, noticing with surprise that it was true.
“Want to tell me?”
Lucky told him about his spying venture and in conclusion insisted, “Thurlock, I know the place I saw is real. It wasn’t like where my mother took me when she had me… my mind… captive. I don’t know the location, but it’s part of the real world. This world. The Terrathian’s are planning something big—bigger than the battle of Hoenholm. I’m sure of it, and that place I saw is where at least part of it’s going to happen.”
Thurlock spent a few minutes torturing his beard and sipping his tea, making a rude noise once when he shifted on his rock, followed by a muttered “oops.” Finally he looked once again at Lucky and said. “Could be just a dream, Luccan.”
Lucky wasn’t fooled. “You don’t believe that.”
“No. But it could be. Do you remember the features of this place you saw? Landmarks and such?”
“I… think so. Maybe.”
“Could you draw a picture of it?”
Lucky laughed out loud. “Thurlock, I can’t draw a stick figure so’s anybody’d recognize it as human.”
“Oh yes, I recall your runes were pretty sloppy. We’ll have to work on that—runes are important. But as to this other, perhaps, would you recognize the place if you saw a picture of it?”
“Um… probably?”
“Are you asking me?”
“Probably, sir.”
“All right then. That could be useful. Saddle up. We’ve got to get moving. Wait, though.” He picked up a pile of metal bits from a rock next to him and held it out to Lucky. “Put this on.”
When Lucky shook it out, he discovered it was a hooded shirt made out of discs of sun metal linked together—leaf mail, he supposed, like what Han made him wear the day of the battle. “I’ll bake,” he said, letting it show that he also thought it was ridiculous. They weren’t being shot at, for the gods’ sakes.
“Would you rather wear full, stiff armor like Gimli the Dwarf?”
“How did you know I read Lord or the Rings?”
“I know you read it twice.”
“Three times.”
“I know lots of things. Answer the question?”
“No.”
“Put it on, then.”
“Why?”
“Because I said so.”
This was not the sort of argument Lucky was likely to cave in to, generally speaking. But when the person saying it was an obscenely powerful wizard who was currently causing sparks of irritation to stream from his magical staff…. Well, Lucky put the mail shirt on.
“Can I leave the hood down.”
“Of course you can—for now. I’m not unreasonable.”
The sight of Thurlock’s cheesy smile triggered Lucky’s sense of humor and he laughed again while gathering up the last of their things and packing them for the ride. The fire was of Thurlock’s magical variety, and now he extinguished it completely with a wave, and then with another gesture abolished the pit and every trace of their visit. They mounted up and started their horses walking through the trees to the summer-pale grass on the side of the road. Thurlock stopped, so Lucky did too. The wizard seemed to be searching for something, looking up and down the roadway, but Lucky had a sense he was searching with more than his eyes. When he met Lucky’s gaze, he seemed troubled but, disregarding a grunted “hm,” di
dn’t say anything.
He led the way onto the hard-packed dirt of the centuries old track and then urged Sherah to a low trot. Lucky brought Zef alongside and kept pace, wondering occasionally why Thurlock seemed quiet and preoccupied. Mostly though, he tried but failed to ignore the annoying jingle and weight of the mail shirt.
Lucky’s stomach growled and prompted him to wonder if it was lunchtime yet. He looked to the sky, the blue of which was broken only by the white-hot daystar and two tiny puffs of cloud that seemed to taunt him with the idea of shade. Judging from the position of the sun, he pinpointed the exact time of day as “somewhere around the middle of the morning.” They were passing what seemed to be a horse ranch, or a stead as they would perhaps call it in the Sunlands, and the roadway cut straight through the wide fields, not even passing near the windbreaks that made the only shade in sight.
“Hot!” he said, speaking rather loudly, as he had to talk over the noise of the mail shirt.
Thurlock reached a hand out and muttered a word, and though the day stayed hot, the mail suddenly became air-conditioned. Lucky was about to say thanks when Sherah, most dependable of horses, snorted in a way that almost sounded like a growl and stopped dead in her tracks.
Once again Thurlock put a hand out and this time said, “Stop!” And then, quieter, “Don’t move anything.”
Either Lucky obeyed or some magic stopped him, but once he was at a standstill, he made sure not to move beyond the barest of breath. The horses didn’t so much as twitch an ear or shake a fly off their hides, and Thurlock sat like stone.
Maybe twenty-five feet up the road, a snake came out of the grass at high speed and whipped its body sideways, skimming over the hard-packed dirt of the track straight toward them. When it got close it stiffened, raised its head, and sounded the rattle at the end of its tail. Before Lucky could so much as blink, lifted its head as high as it could reach and lunged for him, fangs exposed. Thurlock’s staff was somehow there to catch it. When it made contact with the wood, bright light flashed through the reptile’s desert-camo body. The snake wrapped once around the staff and hung there, still and lifeless.
Lucky, in shock, said, “I almost peed, Thurlock.”
Thurlock didn’t respond to that, but after a few seconds during which he peered intently at the dead snake, he said. “We don’t have many snakes in the Sunlands, Luccan, and even fewer in this particular area. Interestingly, unlike Earth, all throughout Ethra the reptilian population tends toward dragons, drakes, and wyverns. I’ve had plenty of time over the last millennium to study such things, you see, and particularly during the slow times, I’ve looked into—”
Clearly not recovered enough to think before speaking, Lucky said, “The point, Thurlock. What’s the point?”
Rather than turning Lucky into something slimy as comeuppance for his impertinence, Thurlock looked surprised, and then said, “Oh, yes. Of course. I’m rambling again. Try to avoid telling Han, if you would. He always—”
“Thurlock, please.”
“I’m sorry, young man. Yes. My point is I do not recognize this animal. I’m pretty sure it is foreign to this entire world.”
“Oh!” Lucky said. “Well, I recognize it! That’s a sidewinder—they have them in California. They don’t usually get quite that big, though,” he added, because the snake was a good eight feet long. “In case you’re wondering, yeah, they’re venomous. How do you think it got here?”
“That’s a valid question, Luccan. Not only do I wonder how it got here to Ethra, to the Sunlands, but how did it get here to this particular spot at this particular time?” He was still holding the snake at the end of his extended staff, and the horses still didn’t like it, shuffling their feet and snorting unhappily, so Thurlock said. “Calm down, Sherah. It will be over in a minute. Luccan, I want you to do something, but don’t start until you understand all of what I’m asking. I want you to call up the Sight. As you know I don’t have it, and through it you can give me some useful information. I want you to use the Sight to look at the snake, and also at the area at the side of the road from which it emerged. But,” he said pointedly, “when we use magic, it makes a sort of noisy splash that others with certain abilities can hear. I want you to do this quietly. Do you understand what I mean?”
Ready to say no, he didn’t understand it at all, he instead looked inside, to the place above his eyes where the Sight seemed to come from. He remembered how, at first, the magical vision would just come over him, taking in everything, overwhelming him with things he didn’t want to see. Since then, he’d learned to turn it on or off, and that was better. He realized though, that whenever he’d turned it on before, he hadn’t been specific about what he wanted it to show him. Considering that, he decided he could make it smaller if he tried, more finely focused.
Surprised but mostly sure, he turned slightly in his saddle to meet Thurlock’s gaze. “Yes,” he said. “I think I do.”
“Good, my boy. Go ahead, then, and tell me what you See.”
“Well,” he said, “I See your magic all over the snake, but not much else. I think if anything was there, what you did wiped it away.”
“And the place it came at us from?”
“At me, you mean…” Lucky let the thought go, and gasped at what he saw hidden in the grasses and in the air above them. “Gods, Thurlock! There’s like… a hole? A portal, maybe, but not like the ones I’ve seen before. The mist-shadows have been there, but now it’s only traces left—like what was left in the old ruins once you dismantled what Mahros had done there. And….” Lucky went silent.
“Stay calm, now, and go on. Describe the ‘and,’ please.”
“For a moment, I thought I Saw a soldier, one of the wraiths like the ones we fought in the battle, with the sword and all. He was sort of hanging in the air, right there. I can’t be sure it was ever really there, because all I See is a shadow, or no, a memory… not sure what I mean by that.” He gazed quietly at the space for a few more breaths, then sighed. “But whatever was there before, it’s gone now.”
“Good,” Thurlock said, and then repeated. “Good. Let go of the Sight now. Let’s get away from here and we’ll have a rest.” He nodded his head toward the snake hanging off the staff and immediately it appeared in the palm of his other hand, miniaturized and turned to stone, its eye a tiny, gleaming blue jewel. “Magic takes energy and we’ve both used more than we expected so far today. We’ll replenish and have a talk.”
“About?”
“The Charismata, of course.”
“Oh, that again.”
“Not again. Just ‘that.’ Be accurate when you whine, Luccan.”
More from Lou Hoffmann
The Sun Child Chronicles: Book One
On his way to meet a fate he’d rather avoid, homeless gay teen Lucky steps through a wizard’s door and is caught up in a whirlwind quest and an ancient war. He tries to convince himself that his involvement with sword fights, magic, and interworld travel is a fluke, and that ice-breathing dragons and fire-breathing eagles don’t really exist. But with each passing hour, he remembers more about who he is and where he’s from, and with help, he begins to claim his power.
Lucky might someday rule a nation, but before he can do that, he must remember his true name, accept his destiny, and master his extraordinary abilities. Only then can he help to banish the evil that has invaded earth and find his way home—through a gateway to another world.
Sequel to Key of Behliseth
The Sun Child Chronicles: Book Two
When Lucky arrives in Ethra, the world of his birth and destiny, he expects a joyful reunion, but the first thing he notices when he reaches the Sisterhold—his home—is something false behind his mother’s smile. In a matter of weeks, the Sisterhold becomes agitated with worries and war plans. People he trusts—like the wizard Thurlock—frequently can’t be found. His mother seems angry, especially with Lucky. Even Han Shieth, the warrior uncle he has come to rely on and love above all others, m
aintains a sullen silence toward him.
When Lucky’s resentment builds to the breaking point, his bad decisions put him and his friends, L’Aria and Zhevi, in unthinkable danger. Han arrives to help, but he can’t claim invulnerability to the hazards and evils that threaten at every turn. Events launch Lucky, alone, on a quest for he knows not what, but every step brings him closer to his identity and full strength. Self-knowledge, trust, and strength lead to smarter choices, but even his best efforts might not render his world truly safe, now or for the future.
Readers love The Sun Child Chronicles by Lou Hoffmann
Key of Behliseth
“Key of Behliseth is a great YA story that is appealing to all ages; it has a fascinating storyline and some fantastic settings and characters.”
—MM Good Book Reviews
“Every character in the book was well written, and we completely understand them and their motives by the end of the story.”
—Timmy’s Book Reviews
Wraith Queen’s Veil
“Thank you, Lou, for this incredible literary treat. I look forward to reading about the next part of Lucky’s journey.”
—Rainbow Book Reviews
“Lou Hoffmann made yet another awesome book filled with fantasy, adventure, action, and thrills around every corner!”
—LitPick
LOU HOFFMANN, a mother and grandmother now, has carried on her love affair with books for more than half a century, and she hasn’t even made a dent in the list of books she’d love to read—partly because the list keeps growing. She reads factual things—books about physics and history and fractal chaos, but when she wants truth, she looks for it in quality fiction. She loves all sorts of wonderful things: music and silence, laughter and tears, youth and age, sunshine and storms, forests and fields, flora and fauna, rivers and seas. Even good movies and popcorn! Those things help her breathe, and everyone she knows helps her write. (Special mention goes to (1) George the Lady Cat and (2) readers.) Proud to be a bisexual, biracial (European and Native American) woman, Lou considers every person a treasure not to be taken for granted. In her life, she’s seen the world’s willingness to embrace differences change, change back, and change again in dozens of ways, but she has great hope for the world the youth of today will create. She writes for readers who find themselves anywhere on the spectrums of age, color, sexuality, and gender, aiming to create characters that live not only in their stories, but always in your imagination and your heart.