There are as many styles of magic as there are magicians. While much of magic is gaudy, noisy, and easily appreciated by the masses, it goes without saying that some of the finest sorcery is also the most subtle; small, delicate changes in the fabric of being that often can only be discerned by another wizard’s practiced eye. Occasionally, even a wizard as learned as myself will experience a twinge of regret that I have not yet conquered some of the most delicate aspects of my art; that, for example, I have not learned the Eastern finger magic, where, by the turn of a knuckle, the mage may make the flowers sing. And perhaps some day my fingers might learn that art, on the day they become tired from constantly carrying about the large amounts of gold I receive for performing the more gaudy and noisy magic that pays so well.
— THE TEACHINGS OF EBENEZUM,
VOLUME VII
“Norei!”
The word escaped my lips as the Brownie disappeared. Norei! The greatest love of my life. How could I describe her? Her face, her hair, her skin, the way she smiled? No, mere words could not do justice to the way I felt about her. Norei! And if the Brownie could be trusted, she was coming to join me!
Some would say we were too young to be so in love. But appearances are often deceiving. I will admit that there were times, in my earlier life, when I thought I was in love and it was not so. There was a certain rich farmer’s daughter, and another girl, who, instead of remaining with me, decided to pursue a career in show business with a singing dragon, and, now that I think of it, perhaps five or six others. But you must understand that it was only through meeting Norei that I discovered true, true love. Yes, it was only through knowing Norei that I discovered that everything before was nothing more than youthful infatuation.
Now, though, my life was different. I was a man of the world, on my way to Vushta, city of a thousand forbidden delights. Even a magician’s apprentice grows quickly on a journey such as this. When traveling to Vushta, one had to be ready for anything.
“I do not trust the Brownie.”
I glanced up. The demon Snarks had moved to my side as I stood lost in thought. He had tossed back his hood so that his whole green scaled head was exposed, horns and all. His large, well-fanged mouth was turned downward into one of the most miserable-looking grimaces I had ever seen.
“Why, friend Snarks,” I inquired, “what could a Brownie do that might cause us harm?”
“The very point!” the demon cried. His red eyes peered intently into my own. “Just what do Brownies do? Very little, as far as I can tell. Oh, there’s this piffle about them fixing shoes in the middle of the night. Sounds like a cheap way for shoemakers to gain some unwarranted sales! Enchanted Brownie shoes, phfahh! I wouldn’t be surprised if the shoemakers and the Brownies were in this together! I tell you, Brownies are just too quiet for their own good!” Snarks kicked a medium-sized rock out of the path before us. The demon glowered with an intensity only possible for one raised in the Netherhells.
“Doom!” The great warrior Hendrek moved to my other side. “There was something about that Brownie, then? Tis true, no one should look that cheerful without good reason.” Hendrek nervously fingered the sack that held Headbasher. He glowered with an intensity only possible for one possessed by an enchanted war-club.
I glanced back and forth between my two companions. How they had changed in our two weeks of traveling together! When first they met, I was afraid each would tear the other limb from limb. Hendrek had gained his cursed warclub through demons, and thus had no great love of the species. And Snarks, in his desire to tell all the truth all the time, seemed to take particular delight in informing the very large warrior as to the efficiency of certain diet and exercise programs. But Snarks had been indispensable in his knowledge of demonic strategy during our recent skirmishes with the Netherhells, and Hendrek was no less useful with his flashing warclub, Headbasher. The two, at last, realized that they needed each other. Now, while they were still not the best of friends, they did manage to speak occasionally, and I no longer feared the imminent murder of one at the hands of the other.
There was a loud harummph from the path before us.
“If you wish to continue your private discussion,” the wizard remarked, “the least you might do is march at the same time. We have much ground to cover before this half-light fails us.” Ebenezum glowered with an intensity only possible for a great mage cut off from his art.
I realized then that my master was feeling the ardours of our journey as much as the rest of us. There was exhaustion in his voice, and creases about his beard that I hadn’t seen before. My master, the wizard Ebenezum, seemed to handle the march, and the occasional battle that came with it, with such aplomb that I sometimes forgot that he, too, could grow weary. He was unable to approach us any closer, for, if the wizard should close upon Snarks without the demon’s protective hood, or if the mage should be in the vicinity of Headbasher when the club was drawn from its sack, the great Ebenezum would be totally lost to a sneezing attack. As I thought about it, I realized it could do him no good to be further cut off from conversation with his fellows due to the severity of his malady. I told him of our concerns.
“Indeed.” The wizard stroked his beard thoughtfully. “ ‘Tis but one way to see if the Brownie is playing us true or false. We must make our own magic to contact the young witch!”
Magic! Alas, at that point in my young career, I knew far too little about it. During the time of my early apprenticeship, back in the Western Woods, Ebenezum had been too busy to instruct me in much more than sweeping and bucket carrying. Then, with the arrival of his malady, and our subsequent discovery of the fiendish plots of the Netherhells, things became far more hectic. Well, we needed new magic, and Ebenezum suggested we try some. I listened attentively. I may have been ignorant of spells, but surely my eagerness would more than make up for any knowledge I lacked.
“Indeed,” Ebenezum remarked, noting my extreme attention with a single, raised eyebrow. “I suggest a communication spell. Very effective and very simple. Wuntvor should be able to master it in no time.”
Holding his nose delicately, the wizard pulled me aside.
“Wuntvor.” My master spoke softly, but with great feeling. “I believe we have come to a turning point in our journeys. Once we left Heemat’s behind, we left civilization as well. We will not see another town before the edge of the Inland Sea.” He paused a moment to stroke his long white mustache. “I sense some dissent between our companions. Both have proved their worth on this journey, as I am sure they will continue to do. But both will be of much more worth if we give them leadership. And magic is what makes us leaders. As we’ve seen, I can still manage a spell or two under duress, but it takes far too much out of me. And we need more than that. Simple spells, everyday things to keep our spirits up. This, Wunt, is where you can be invaluable.”
The wizard coughed discreetly. “I know I have been remiss in the past in teaching you your craft. I apologize for that. You know about the circumstances. Now, though, I must teach you the spells that will serve us from day to day. Whatever happens, we must continue to appear to be in control of our situation here.”
So he had heard us after all. I agreed with him totally. We would only be able to succeed if we kept our spirits up. It was the one way Hendrek and Snarks would make it through. He did not have to mention how much he and I needed it as well.
“Wuntvor,” my master intoned. “I remember a spell that you should have no trouble with at all.” He clapped me on the shoulder. “We have need of the contents of your pack.”
Quickly, I removed the heavy burden from my back. When we had left from our home in the Western Kingdoms, Ebenezum had brought what learned tomes and magical paraphernalia we might have use of on our journeys. As his apprentice, it was of course my duty to carry these important belongings, especially since, as my master had so often told me, a wizard should keep his hands free for quick conjuring and his mind free for sorcerous conjecture. Heavy as these items were, they had already proved indispensable on a number of occasions, and I had begun to think of the weighty pack as almost a part of me, especially since I could depend on my stout oak staff to help support the weight when the going got rough, and to keep me from pitching forward when we traveled downhill.
Ebenezum briefly outlined his plan and, after a moment’s rummaging through the crowded sack, I found just what the wizard requested: the Spring issue of Conjurer’s Quarterly. I could tell at a glance that it was just what we wanted, for, in the bottom right-hand corner of the bright yellow cover, just below the painting of the attractive, smiling witch, were the words, printed in an even brighter red, Five Simple Spells Even Your Apprentice Can Master. This was for me! I quickly turned to the appropriate page.
And there it was, right after “Basic Cleaning Spell” and just before “Basic Romance Spell” (I’d have to come back to that one later), “Basic Communication Spell: Communicate Better Through Visual Aids!”
The wizard frowned thoughtfully in my direction. “So Wuntvor. Do you think you are up to it?”
I nodded eagerly. “Yes, master. We will speak with Norei in no time!” The spell was little more than a series of pictures. If using this spell meant I could speak with my beloved, I knew I would not fail!
“Good, ‘prentice.” The wizard scratched thoughtfully beneath his cap. “I shall be nearby if you require advice. Or at least as nearby as I deem safe.” My master quietly moved a few paces away.
I returned my attention to the learned periodical.
“Think of magical thoughts as you might think of birds,” the instructions began. “Your thoughts may fly through the air as birds may fly, and they may land miles and miles from that point at which they began their flight. To best use this spell, you must picture yourself as a bird in flight, a noble hawk, perhaps, which brings tidings of great import, or a gentle dove, bearing a message of love.”
Beneath these words were a series of drawings: a hawk in flight; a swan upon a lake; a dove carrying a rose in its beak. “Look at one of these images, or look at a real bird in flight, and concentrate. Your thoughts are that bird, flying to a perch of your choosing. But remember, concentration is the key! Let nothing distract you—”
“Doom!”
Hendrek’s cry startled me from my reading. Then Ebenezum sneezed, and I lost my place completely.
A cloud of sickly yellow smoke was congealing a few feet away from the large warrior. Hendrek’s club was free of its restraining sack. Snarks had thrown back his hood, his head now free to see and speak the truth. We needed all our wits about us now.
“Easy payments!” the just-materialized demon cried.
“Along with your hellishly small fine print!” Snarks hissed back.
“So, you are still here, traitor?” The newly materialized demon continued to smile broadly as it ducked a blow from Headbasher. It brushed the dust from its orange-and-green checkerboard costume, and puffed on a foul-smelling cigar. Brax, for it was the Salesdemon, pointed at Hendrek. “Of course, my most honored client here should not believe a single word this despicable demon has to say. After all, how can you trust someone with his origins?”
“They are your origins as well, merchant Brax!” Snarks cried.
“See what I mean?” Brax flicked some cigar ash into Snarks’s robes. “This creature has absolutely no sales awareness.” The salesdemon sighed melodramatically. “Who would have thought someone raised in the Netherhells could be so dull, pedantic and boring.”
“Me, dull? Me, boring?” Snarks retorted. “Only if the truth is boring!”
“Ah, so we at least agree on that,” Brax rapidly replied. “Which brings me to the reason for my visit. I trust, Hendrek, you have so far been satisfied with the performance of your enchanted weapon?”
Headbasher crashed noisily against the rocks where, only a moment before, Brax had stood.
‘‘Doom!” the larger warrior intoned.
I realized with a start that someone was tugging on my robes. I looked about to see my master, enveloped in his robes, doing his best not to sneeze.
“Wuntvor,” he managed. He nodded his head towards a place somewhat farther up the path.
I rapidly followed my master to the point he had indicated. Ebenezum sneezed once, then blew his nose voluminously on a corner of his sleeve.
“Good,” the wizard remarked, once he had caught his breath. “We must be wary of further distractions. Did it not cross your mind, Wuntvor, that the coming of the demon Brax might be the very event Norei has attempted to warn us about?”
I looked back in horror at Brax, who was offering the warrior a line of warclub accessories which, the demon assured Hendrek, “would make Headbasher even better!” Actually, the wizard’s surmise had not crossed my mind for an instant. Brax was always coming around to annoy Hendrek, and to demand that the warrior do this or that foul deed in partial payment for the enchanted club. It was one of the things I had come to depend on in our travels. But then, what more fiendish plot could there be than something from the Netherhells that we had grown to expect?
“Yes!” Brax shouted as he once again dodged Headbasher. “You’d be able to crush me easily if you had a Netherhells Extendoclub (patent pending) attached to your weapon! Here’s how the little marvel works—”
“Therefore,” the wizard continued, drawing my attention back to the matter at hand, “it is imperative that we contact Norei without further delay. Have you sufficiently studied the spell?”
I told my master I would have it in a minute. I found my place again in the learned periodical. It did seem simple enough. Essentially, you had to envision yourself as a bird. Well, I had once been turned into a bird by a spell that had gone the slightest bit wrong. True, the bird had been a chicken, and chickens aren’t generally known for their powers of flight, but that was a minor quibble. I remembered the experience very well, and, in fact, would on occasion still get an overwhelming urge to eat dried seed corn. I would just have to use my imagination and transfer my experience to a bird with a better wingspan.
After that, one merely had to picture that person with whom one desired to communicate, recite a simple phrase or two, and the spell was complete. As the learned article said, “Concentration is the key.” It didn’t seem like any problem at all.
I looked at the picture of the hawk. That would be nice. I would become the noble hawk, and fly to my beloved.
“Shoddy workmanship?” Brax screamed. “What do you mean, shoddy workmanship?”
“Admit it!” Snarks retorted. “You remember those singing swords that couldn’t carry a tune!”
“Well, yes, that was a problem,” Brax admitted. “I could only sell them to clients who were tone deaf.”
“And what about those love potions that attracted insects?” Snarks cried triumphantly. “Imagine how upset people got, surrounded by hordes of amorous mosquitoes?”
“Quality control is not my department!” Brax cried, clearly on the defensive. “Besides, I deal exclusively with used weapons. If you have a complaint about that, you have to direct it to Potion Control! They’re open, I think, every third Tuesday. ...”
It was no use. I simply couldn’t concentrate on being a noble hawk with all this racket. I decided I would imagine myself as a sleek, white dove instead. How romantic, to visit my true love in the image of a dove!
“Doom!” Hendrek’s warclub came crashing down where Brax had been.
“Wuntvor,” my master whispered. “Hurry! We must find the true reason for Brax’s arrival!”
The wizard had a point. “Concentration is the key.” Somehow, though, I couldn’t quite get a picture of a dove firmly in my mind.
“Good Hendrek!” Brax cried as the demon leapt above a low swing of Headbasher. “You misunderstand me! I have only your best interests at heart!”
“Foul fiend—,” Hendrek began to bellow, but then he hesitated. “Yes, you do often arrive just before a battle. Why do you always warn us?”
Brax’s smile grew even broader. “Simply good business practices, friend Hendrek. We have to make sure you remain alive until we see sufficient return on our investment. How would we demons ever get paid if we didn’t warn people?”
“Doom!” Hendrek cried, Headbasher once again flying through the air. “I will never fulfill your hellish contracts!”
“Oh come now. It’s not as difficult as all that.” Brax waved its cigar at Snarks. “What say, as the first payment, you eliminate a certain green and sickly fellow in a hood? Just reach out with your weapon, and no one will ever tell you to diet again!”
“Doom! Doom! Doom!” Hendrek attacked Brax with redoubled fury.
“Listen—urk—” Brax paused to somersault out of the way. “Like I said, good Hendrek, you’re an investment. Eeps! A little close there. Just think of us—urk—as having a long and endearing friendship. Like we always say in the Netherhells, ‘No money down, a lifetime to pay.’ “
“Wuntvor!” Ebenezum whispered, again urgently.
Yes, yes, my master was right! I could no longer let the drama at the other end of the clearing distract me. I had to succeed, for my master, for Norei! But images of hawks and doves flitted away every time the noise level rose. Somehow; I needed to clearly see a bird in my mind’s eye.
The doomed warclub, Headbasher, struck a tree with a resounding thump. A bird flew from an upper branch with a harsh cry of protest. A bird! It was truly a sign. I concentrated on the fowl’s deep brown feathers. I would use this bird’s image, common and workmanlike, to be my messenger. What need had I for distant hawk and dove? The sturdy grackle would be my guide!
Quickly, I set my mind to its task. The wizard exhorted me one final time to gain Norei’s message. I nodded, reciting the short, mystic spell. “Concentration is the key!” Fly thoughts! Fly like a grackle, brown wings beating against the air. Fly to my beloved Norei!
Norei! I saw her then, far below me, as if I did fly through the air. Her hair was a brilliant red in the midday sun. She looked up as I approached, her beautiful green eyes filled with wonder.
“Wuntvor?” Her perfect lips spoke my name.
She spoke my name! All thoughts of grackles fled my head. I blinked. Ebenezum stood before me, hands covering his nose. Norei was gone!
“Well, Wuntvor?” Ebenezum asked.
“Don’t say I didn’t warn you!” Brax called and waved. “Don’t worry! You’ve got a friend in Brax. After all, I’ve got my investment to worry about! I’ll be seeing you!”
The demon popped out of existence.
A terrible cry rose all about us. We were in the midst of a demon attack!