His mind whirls in an attempt to come to grips with the enormity of the situation. There has to be a rational explanation! The forest surrounding the meadow appears like any forest that might exist back on Earth; pine trees, birds singing in the distance, insects buzzing here and there; normality. Nothing strange, except for the little detail that there is no way he could have arrived at such a place by stepping through a door. This was something straight out of one of his books.
The ad said “traveling”. Well, I have traveled. The ad also said that being well read in fantasy novels and experience with role playing games would be a bonus. Thinking of the little creature he had just encountered, James can see the logic in that as well. Such a background might enable a person to more willingly accept these odd occurrences. Provided of course, that all this is real.
Okay, let’s take this one step at a time. What actually happened to you? You were on the 23 ^ rd floor of an office building, stepped through a door and then you find yourself in the middle of this meadow talking with an odd looking little creature. Have you lost your mind?
After taking a quick mental check, he decides insanity is not the culprit. But could an insane person tell? No odd thoughts or urges run through his mind. No hallucinations, unless this meadow and that creature could be considered as such.
Reaching down, he runs his fingers across the grass. Feels normal. He again takes in his surroundings. Everything looks and feels quite real. So, if this is real, then what happened? A breeze ruffles his hair which only adds to the sense that all this is real. Closing his eyes he takes a deep breath, holds it for a second, then slowly exhales. Opening them again, he finds the meadow unchanged. He didn’t really expect that to change things, but it’s what everyone does who gets into these sorts of situations.
I’m not in the Twilight Zone. I don’t see Rod Sterling over to the side talking to the viewers. At this point, he would hardly be surprised if he did. Then if this place is not a hallucination, it has to be real!
Holding up the book acquired in the waiting room, he takes a much more interested look at it than he did before. An odd design is embossed on the cover, and the book holds not very many pages. Think, James, think! Let’s for the moment consider the possibility that all this is in fact real. What now? You were brought here for some reason; that goes without saying. Why else would that little creature have been “set” here to deliver the message? Could this be for your benefit? Probably not; it never is. James reflects on various books read over the last several years. Some dealt with this sort of thing and if memory serves, the main character rarely has a fun time of it.
For the sake of argument, let’s suppose this is in fact, a true guidebook on magic. And let’s further suppose that since I was brought here and told to bring it with me, then it stands to reason that I should be able to gain some benefit by the information contained within. Why else would they have bothered? And who exactly are “they?” Realizing some questions are going to have to wait, he opens the book and rereads the first couple paragraphs. Two sentences grab his attention:
Rhyme and meter are the most effective forms of spell construction.
Maintain a visualization of the effect you wish to produce.
Sounds easy enough. What the heck, let’s give it a try. Best to keep it simple. He spies a small stick lying on the ground. Concentrating, he creates a visualization of the stick rising off the ground. Now for the words…
Little stick that I have found,
Float three feet off the ground.
Mimicking the action of a dozen different wizards from literature and film, he raises his hand toward the stick and speaks the incantation. With the utterance of the first word, an odd sensation grows deep within his body. Sort of like water rising behind a dam. The growing pressure is not an entirely unpleasant feeling. The utterance of each word causes the pressure to build. As soon as the last word is spoken, the dam breaks and the power surges forth. He can almost see the magic flowing from him to the stick, though it’s probably just his imagination.
The stick slowly rises from the ground. It reaches nearly a foot in the air before he becomes so excited at the effect he has wrought that his concentration breaks and the stick falls back to the ground with a clatter.
I DID IT!!!! James ol’ boy, you are one amazing wizard! Cavorting around with jubilation, he races over and examines the stick which just a moment before had been floating in the air. He hesitantly reaches out and touches it. Seeming normal, he picks it up and examines the wood more closely but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Feeling a little cocky, he formulates another set of words, visualizes the effect he desires, then tosses the stick into the air yelling,
Stick who once on the ground did lie,
Stay your course there in the sky!
His verse wouldn’t win any poetry contests; but then, at the moment he’s more into functionality than artistry. This time he is determined to maintain the visualization. With the utterance of the last word, the power once again surges forth. The stick’s flight through the air comes to a sudden halt six feet above the ground. As it floats motionless in the air, James controls his excitement so as to maintain the visualization and not disrupt the spell.
He comes to the stick and grins while walking around where it hovers in mid-air. Moving his hand over and under the stick, such as what a magician might do to prove to his audience the absence of supporting wires, he encounters nothing. He then reaches out and places his index finger upon its wooden surface. The stick moves the barest of a fraction, but otherwise maintains its position. Placing his hand under the stick, he ceases concentrating upon his desire for the stick to remain motionless in the air and it drops into his hand.
“Yes!”
Quite pleased, he smiles at his success. I could get to like this. Then sadness comes over him when he thinks of how his grandparents are going to feel when he doesn’t come home. I may never make it home. Oh my God! What about Dave? He saw me go through the door. How will he take it? I guess the best he can, that’s all any of us can do.
Reaching into his backpack he removes one of the candy bars he had brought along and munches on it while contemplating his next course of action. Savor it while you can. No telling how long it will be before you can get another. Then the reality of his situation sinks in. What am I going to do for food? Shelter? Toilet Paper??? The thought of using leaves doesn’t bother him half as much as it had before that one camping trip with his dad oh so long ago. He smiles wistfully at the memory.
Realizing that leaning against the log isn’t going to improve his situation, he finishes the candy bar then takes a really good look around the clearing to determine by which direction he should leave the meadow. Other than the stream, there was naught but trees and more trees. Each direction looked as densely forested as another.
By the position of the sun, it is a little after midday. Which kind of surprises him as it had only been mid-morning when he and Dave departed the bus on Commercial Avenue. Maybe time works differently here?
One of the things that little creature had said was “to get your sorry butt to the village of Trendle”, wherever that may be. The forest looks unforgiving, lacking even the most rudimentary type of path. He’ll have to forge his way through a tangle of underbrush when he leaves.
Trendle. It would’ve been more helpful if he would have at least told me which way to go! Sighing, he pulls a quarter out of his pocket, Heads- North or South, Tails- East or West. Flipping the coin in the air he lets chance be his guide. He grabs the quarter on its descent, flips it on the back of his hand and looks, Tails. East or west then. Taking the coin one more time he tosses it up into the air. Heads- East Tails — West. This time he allows the quarter to fall to the ground and come to rest. Tails. West it is.
Determining where West lies by the position of the sun, he shoulders his backpack. A touch of excitement mingles with his fear and apprehension. Sure, he had no clue where he was or even if he would ever find his way home. But beneath such a beautiful blue sky on a warm summer day, things didn’t seem quite so bad. He had worked magic hadn’t he?
En route across the meadow to the forest’s edge, he spies a sturdy branch lying upon the ground. After removing the smaller twigs and branches, he soon holds a stout walking stick. Turning back to the forest, he pauses upon reaching the edge. His excitement dims as he stands there about to enter an unknown world. What lies beyond these trees? What secrets may be hidden within? Beneficial ones? Or those less so? Taking a deep breath, he pushes a tangle of undergrowth out of the way and enters the forest.
Using the walking stick to aid in clearing a path, he forges through the underbrush lining the edge of the clearing only to find more beyond. James had always liked being in the woods, even ones as overgrown as this. Time spent in the outdoors had always brought him a peace that could never be found in a city or around other people. His dad used to take him camping in forests similar to this one when he was little. Good times.
James soon realizes that this forest is nothing like the tame camping areas where his dad had taken him. For one thing, this one has no paths. The bushes and trees have become an entangled mess, at times forcing him to push his way through, often with painful results. Walking across the uneven ground soon has his ankles aching. Bleeding from a myriad of scratches and scrapes, his feet protesting, the adventure was over and all he wanted to do was go home.
An hour into the forest, a growl from his stomach reminds him that his last meal had been some time ago. Within his backpack still remained a single candy bar. But not wanting to consume the last of his food, he sighs and leaves it where it is, much to the loud protest of his stomach.
Time passes as he continues making his way through the forest. The sun gradually makes its descent toward the horizon. The shadows begin growing long. In the deepening gloom, his imagination turns the surroundings into a veritable host of frightful beasts. Every sound makes him jump, every shadow contains a monster. After the sixth murderous beast bent on his destruction turns out to be an old stump overgrown by a bush, he figures it to be time to find a place to hole up for the night.
But there was no place. All about him was nothing but trees and more trees. Sleeping upon the ground held little interest as he didn’t want to be awakened by a hungry carnivore. He turns his attention to the upper boughs and locates a sturdy one forming a crook with the truck that has accessible lower branches. Climbing never having been one of his strengths, it takes several attempts before making it off the ground. He reaches the limb chosen to be where he will spend his first night upon this world and settles down in the crook. Leaning his back against the tree trunk, he tries and fails miserably to get comfortable.
The forest descends into a place of haunting shadows and mysterious noises as the night gradually deepens into darkness. Hungry, scared and exhausted, he clings to the tree. His body hurts from hundreds of scratches received from pushing through obstinate bushes all afternoon. The throbbing from his feet and ankles lends another level to his misery. Shifting around as best he can, he simply can’t find any position that is comfortable. It’s not long before his bottom begins to hurt then grow numb, forcing him to continue moving about in a fruitless attempt to alleviate his discomfort.
In the tree scared and alone, the light gradually fading away around him, for the first time he truly knows what it means to be alone. The intricate canopy of leaves prevents even the smallest glimmer of starlight from coming through. He sits there in the dark, head resting against the bole of the tree and listens to the sounds of the forest. Off in the distance he can hear the passage of some large creature as it makes its way through the underbrush. Not long after that, from off in another direction comes the sound of two animals fighting. Hoping nothing finds him in his perch, he hugs the tree all the harder.
I want to go home! Tears of loneliness and fear roll down his cheeks. Somehow, though long in coming, he does manage to fall asleep.
Howrrrrrrrr!
Startled awake, teeth chattering from the cold, James is hit with the realization that he hadn’t been having a bad dream after all. Another howl brings him fully awake. Off in the distance comes the sound of a wolf pack on the hunt. With every howl, fear that he may be found causes him to grip the tree all the tighter. Face pressed tightly against the bark, his eyes dart to and fro in an attempt to pierce the shadows of the forest and see those that hunt the night. All the while he silently prays to remain undetected.
The darkness of the night is alleviated somewhat by slivers of moonlight that have somehow managed to breach the thick forest canopy. The sparse rays give the forest an aura of ghostly light. Perched in his tree, James remains still and quiet while listening to the hunting pack.
Minutes pass and it’s soon apparent that the hunt is taking them toward his tree. Fear such as he has never known springs to life within him. Suddenly their cries alter, becoming more intense as they crash through the underbrush straight toward his tree. A moment later, three dark shadows race through the darkness not far below his feet.
“ Get away! Help Me!”
Cries of terror from off in the distance split the night. They’re not after me! Relief at not being their target is followed quickly by shame at being glad it is someone else. For a fleeting moment he considers doing something to help, perhaps shouting for the man to climb a tree. But fear stills his tongue. He does not want to die.
Off in the distance, he caught sight of the man racing through a patch of moonlight. Hot on his heels, two wolves passed through the moonlight a split-second later
Tears stream down his cheeks as the man’s fearful cries for help sound once more. A bloodcurdling scream; then the night turns deathly silent. James shakes with fear and shame; fear that he may be next, shamed by his own cowardice.
There was nothing I could do! Had I gone to help, I would have been torn to shreds as well. Getting little comfort from such selfish reasoning, he presses his face against the bole of the tree and tries to think of home as he attempts to shut out the sound of the wolves. Sometime later, he hears the wolves howl as they race off through the forest. As the woods grow quiet once more, he tries to keep his imagination from replaying the scene of the man’s grisly death. Sleep, when it does come, is filled with dreams of moonlight and wolves.
The morning sun wakes a very tired, cold and sore James. The events of the night before showed him that to remain in the forest will mean his death. I gotta get out of here. No more pussyfooting around, I have to cover ground before night comes!
Making sure the forest floor holds no menacing predators, he makes his way from the tree. He then takes care of his morning business, realizing that plant leaves are not a good substitute, and turns his mind to food, or rather his lack thereof.
Nearby stands a bush bearing little pink berries. In his starved state, they look delicious. Walking over to the bush he pulls off one of the berries. Holding it between his fingers, the thought occurs to him that the berry may very well be poisonous. He contemplates his chances of survival if it is in fact poisonous; they aren’t good, but the growling of his stomach cannot be denied. Figuring one won’t kill him, he puts it in his mouth and bites into the firm flesh of the berry just hard enough to squirt forth a small measure of its tart juice. Not very ripe but not entirely unpleasant either. Chewing it slowly, he waits to see if there will be any unpleasant reactions. When none materialize, he swallows it.
Picking several more of the riper ones, he wraps them in a leaf before putting them in his backpack. If he doesn’t get sick in an hour or two then he will eat the rest.
Recalling the events of the night before, he wonders if the man killed by the wolves might have something that may be of use. James grabs his spear and heads in that direction, not looking forward to what he will find. It doesn’t take him long before coming to a scene right out of an old slasher movie. Bones litter the ground; blood was everywhere. The man’s clothing had been shredded.
Horror takes hold of James as his gaze falls upon what’s left of the poor guy’s jacket. The letters H-A-V-E-S… are still discernable across the remaining portion of the jacket’s back. It looked very much like a letterman’s jacket from his high school. Using the end of his walking stick he turns the torso over. Stitched in gold lettering is the name “Randle.”
His legs give out and he drops to his knees. “Oh, Seth.” Shrieking, he cries, “There was nothing I could do! ” Guilt and shame at his weakness last night leave leaves him shaking and wracked with sobs. I should have done something! Would the knowledge that it was Seth being pursued by wolves have made any difference? Ashamedly, he realizes it wouldn’t. Coward!
“Though there was nothing I could do for you last night, there is something I can do for you now.” With that, James grabs a rock and begins digging a hole, a grave for his former classmate. It takes him some time since the ground is firmly packed, but he manages to excavate a cavity large enough. He then sets about gathering the grisly task of gathering the scattered remains of Seth and lays them in the grave. When the job is complete, James covers Seth with dirt then makes a cairn of stones. Tying two sticks together with vines for a makeshift cross, he hammers it into the ground with his stone at the head of the cairn.
Taking a moment, he says a few parting words before picking up his backpack and walking stick. Taking a deep breath in an attempt to settle his shaky nerves, he sets out once more westward. Hopefully, he’ll come across this Trendle before the wolves pick up his scent. The woods no longer bring him peace as they had yesterday. Wariness and dread fill him today.
As he forges through the at times unyielding brush, James thinks about what it means that Seth had been in this world too. Could he have gone to the interview just as James had? And if so, there could be others. Thinking back to the newscast the night before taking that fateful trip to Commercial Ave, he realizes there could be at least one other person that had passed through the door marked “Private;” a girl. Could there be more?
After jumping for a third time at the loud cry of a nearby bird, James comes to the conclusion that he is going to need more than a walking stick should the wolves return. Judging by his slow rate of progress through the forest, it’s unlikely that he will break free before night comes again, and he may not remain unmolested.
Thinking about his walking stick, and how it is in many ways like a spear, he gets an idea. Pausing for a moment, he opens the book on magic and makes sure he understands what he must do. First, he forms a visualization of his desired outcome, then puts together the words. He leans his walking stick against the side of a tree, takes three steps back and says:
As straight and true as a spear can be,
Filled with the strength of an old oak tree.
Make it sharp, to penetrate steel,
And perfectly balanced for user to feel.
With the last word comes the surge of power from deep within him. He watches as the walking stick slowly changes, becoming the mirror image of his visualization. Its surface smoothes, the end on the ground rounds off while the other comes to a very fine point. When the spell runs its course, where the walking stick once stood, now stands a dark brown spear.
James waits a moment to ensure nothing else may happen, such as the spear exploding or something equally unpleasant. When nothing does, he steps forward and tests the sharpened tip with his finger. He jerks his hand back and a drop of blood wells out. Sharp, I hardly even gave it any pressure. Feeling somewhat better for having a weapon, he takes the spear and once again sets off toward the west.
What about armor, magical shields, spells of protection? As handy as having those would be, James simply didn’t wish to push his luck as far as magic goes. I’m new at this. Keep it “Simple Stupid.” Besides, he hadn’t the faintest idea how to create something like that. He didn’t know enough about how to make a suit of armor, so how could he create one with magic?
As a Dungeon Master, he had forever stymied his players when they had attempted to use wish rings. They wish for a million gold pieces, they would receive a million gold pieces fused together, usually in a very remote locale. They wish for a suit of +100 plate armor, they would receive it. But when the armor is two feet thick and weighs a ton, it doesn’t do much good.
No, he figures to come at this magic business slowly, gradually growing in proficiency over time. He only hopes this world will allow him such a luxury.
Late in the morning, he comes upon a small clearing. He pauses at the edge upon spying several rabbits. His stomach has been grumbling for the past hour, those berries hadn’t done much to satiate his hunger. As he gazes upon the rabbits, a memory of when his father had once caught and cooked a rabbit during one of their camping trips makes it even worse.
Knowing that his skill rating with a spear was probably somewhere near zero, he comes up with a spell to help his aim. Holding his spear and preparing to throw, he quietly says:
Spear of mine please strike true,
Strike the rabbit and go right through.
As the last syllable is spoken, he takes aim at the nearest rabbit, draws back his arm and throws. When the spear leaves his hand, he again feels the surge of power. The spear flies unerringly through the air to impale the rabbit. True to the words of the spell, the tip of the spear passes completely through the rabbit and embeds itself deep within the ground. The attack causes rabbits to scatter in all directions. In no time, the clearing was deserted save for the lone, dead rabbit.
Yeah, Baby! Excited, James runs over to the rabbit, watching as it kicks in its death throes. It took some doing to pull his spear from the ground. Next time, he may have to alter his wording so as to only have the spear only kill the rabbit, not pass all the way through. But what’s the difference, he had done it!
Once the spear came free, he turns his attention to the rabbit. Gazing at it, he suddenly realizes he hasn’t a clue what to do now. His only experience with this sort of thing was during the one camping trip in which his dad had caught and skinned one. Didn’t dad use his knife to remove the skin? James wishes he had spent more time watching and less time skipping rocks on the water.
The only thing he has that could be considered sharp is the spear which will be little use in skinning a rabbit. Looking around the clearing, he spies a hand-sized stone. Striking it against a larger one, the smaller stone splits in two. One half has a semi-sharp edge; it should work.
Very carefully he uses the rock to slice off the head and feet. Feeling slightly nauseated, James takes the rock and slowly peels off the skin. The rock is definitely not the best tool for the job but he eventually has a rabbit ready for the spit.
His blood soaked hands remind him of Seth, and a shudder runs through him, his gorge rising. Steady boy, don’t let the past rattle you. You did the best you could for him.
Placing the carcass on a layer of leaves, James uses dirt to rid his hands of much of the blood before gathering kindling. After clearing a site for the fire, he stacks the wood together then places bits of dried moss beneath.
Moss I placed under the wood
Ignite so I can cook my food
Hokey though his wording may be, they prove effective. The moss begins to smoke, then bursts into flame. He kneels and gently blows on the flickering flame, coaxing it higher until the kindling catches. Satisfied that the fire will continue on its own, he gathers several sticks to create a makeshift spit.
Once it’s set and the fat from the rabbit begins dripping into the fire, he relaxes against a tree trunk. Every once in a while, the far off cry of a wolf echoes through the trees. His fear of being discovered spikes each time. He definitely does not wish to spend another night in the trees, but what choice does he have?
The wolves are remarkably like the ones you would expect to find in a forest back home. In fact, all the animals he has seen so far have been very Earth-like. If it wasn’t for the little creature and the fact that he can do magic, he could very well be back home on a campout.
He and his dad had gone camping a time or two. It was one of his few good memories of his parents. They would go up around Yosemite and backpack, do the nature thing. His dad would catch fish and they would have a fish fry. When they returned home they would tell his mom about all the fish they had caught, both real and imagined. She would then say how good he is and how proud of her little man she was.
What would dad say if he could see me now? I’m starting a bit rough but I have food and a weapon, as well as my health; I’m managing.
“ You’re doing fine son,” his dad would say.
“ I wish you were here with me, Dad. I don’t remember all that you tried to teach me. I sure miss you.”
“ You’re alive James, be happy. You’re in a bad situation but you’re making the best of it. I taught you self-reliance and I’m mighty proud of you.” His father stands there with a smile, the smile he always wore when James did something he especially liked.
With a tear in his eye James walks over to his father and gives him a hug. His father returns the hug warmly.
Crash!
Startled out of his daydream, James finds the spit that had once held his lunch burning in the fire, and his dinner running away in the mouth of what looks like a small dog. Stupid, daydreaming fool! Lurching to his feet, he races after. Running under bushes and around trees, the dog quickly out-paces him and is gone, along with his lunch.
“Damn!”
Returning to his fire, James takes his spear and looks around the clearing for more rabbits or an acceptable substitute. Nothing! His yell and the chasing of the dog must have scared everything away. No use sitting around here! Using his foot, he puts out the fire by covering it with dirt. Grabbing his backpack, he stalks off with self-deprecating recriminations running through his mind, and a fierce growl in his belly.
No more than half an hour goes by before he has found, killed and begun roasting another small animal. Not sure exactly what it is, or was, it kind of looks like a squirrel but the size of a small cat. This time he keeps his wits about him and remains alert for any scavengers who might happen by.
The aroma of roasting meat makes his stomach cramp. Impatient for the meat to be done, he removes it from the fire when it has cooked “enough.” Taking the meat to a nearby tree, he sits with his back against the trunk and proceeds to eat.
As he bites into the roasted meat, the juices run down his chin. Never has anything tasted so good. Of course, I’ve never been this hungry before in my life. Wonder what grandma would do with this if she was here? Thinking of his grandmother’s cooking brings back the feeling of homesickness.
It seemed like he had just started when the last of the meat had been stripped from the bone. He feels much better now that he has something more substantial than berries in his stomach. A nearby stream provides the opportunity to clean his hands and face, as well as a much needed drink. He also washes the blood off his “skinning” stone and places it in his backpack. More than likely, he will have need of it again.
Refreshed, he grabs his backpack and spear and sets out once more in search of Trendle. If it wasn’t for the possibility of meeting the same fate as Seth, he would be enjoying himself.
The nearby stream flows in the general direction so he decides to follow it. There is less of a chance of being turned around if he uses it as a guide. Also, it might eventually lead to civilization. Streams lead to rivers, rivers to lakes and ponds. And where there is water, there are usually people.
Berry bushes along the streambed hold numerous berries. After eating a dozen or so he gathers a number of the ripest ones and wraps them in a leaf before placing them in his backpack.
The rest of the afternoon proceeds in similar manner as the morning; forging through inhospitable undergrowth bent on barring his way at all cost, relieved only by all too infrequent clearings. He did encounter one meadow that was rather extensive boasting two fair sized pools. Both were crystal clear, and in the afternoon sun, could clearly see their bounty of dark-green fish with twin red stripes near the tail.
An hour before nightfall, the land began a more downward slope that ends at an abrupt drop. The stream flows over the drop to cascade down the uneven surface in the guise of a small waterfall only to form a small pond thirty feet below. An area to the right of the water would make an ideal campsite. With the wall of the drop at its back, and flanked by the pond on one side and a large fallen tree on the other, it will provide a modicum of shelter through the night.
He first tosses his spear to the clearing below, then works his way down the side of the drop. Once at the bottom, he rests his pack against the backdrop then starts gathering wood for the fire. After a sufficient quantity has been gathered, he takes his spear and sets out in search of game. It doesn’t take long before another rabbit has met its end. Back at camp, he uses his skinning stone and preps it for the fire.
Using the same spell as before, he soon has the fire burning merrily and places the rabbit upon the spit. Sitting there with the waterfall sprinkling into the pond twenty feet away, he listens to the fat pop and crackle as drips fall into the fire. He feels good. Another day has passed without mishap. He’s getting the hang of this world, magic hasn’t been too difficult, at least not the simple spells he has attempted.
Turning the rabbit occasionally for an even cook, he relaxes and enjoys the peaceful interlude. The aroma coming off the meat is wonderful. He gets up and walks over to the pond. It is a clear, sparkling blue. Kneeling at the edge, he takes a good long drink. The water is so pure and crisp that he doubts that there could be anything like it back home.
With the sun descending below the treetops, night is fast approaching. Returning to the spit, he checks the rabbit, sees that it is not quite ready, then grabs his backpack and removes the berries he had gathered earlier. Unwrapping them, he pops three in his mouth then sets the others aside to have with the rabbit.
By the time the rabbit is fully cooked and the outer skin is a dark brown, shadows have fully enveloped the campsite. Taking the rabbit off the spit, he settles down against the backdrop and eats with a gusto only starvation can provide.
Once his hunger has been satiated, James discards the carcass quite a ways from the camp to prevent it from drawing predators. On the way back, he gathers more wood, having no wish to freeze through another night. Already with the sun down, a chill has crept into the air. Keeping a fire going all night will bring him comfort and hopefully safety from curious animals.
Stoking the fire, he settles down to sleep. Lying on his back and wishing for a blanket, he stares at the night sky and watches as the night deepens and the stars come out. Events of the past two days play through his mind. It would be hard to credit the truth of it all if he hadn’t been living through it. What happened to Seth now seems like a bad dream, one from which he knew there would be no awakening.
Magic is real. He wondered how much he dare try. In the role-playing world, magic is fraught with dangers, especially for those unschooled in its use. The book on magic gave very little actual instruction in how to work it; mainly just theory and suggestions.
He grins upon thinking about the little ditties he threw together for his spells. How simple and unimaginative they were. Not at all like the flowing, poetry variety of spells one finds in books. But they had worked, hadn’t they? And isn’t that all that really matters? The book hadn’t said anything about increasing the effectiveness of a spell by upgrading the wording used.
A wooden spoon is just as effective when eating soup as a silver one.
Not sure exactly where he had heard that little piece of home-spun advice, but it certainly fits the situation.
Sleeping near the fire provides him with a sense of security lacking the night before. The soft sounds of the waterfall commingled with the fire’s crackle and pop eventually lull him to sleep.
He awakes shivering several times during the night and puts more wood on the fire to keep warm. The coming of dawn finds him frozen and that his fire has died. Chilled to the bone, teeth chattering and breath misting in the morning air, he stirs the coals and discovers a few embers still aglow. The addition of small twigs and moss sparks a flame. After adding several larger pieces, James soon basks in the fire’s warmth.
Clouds have rolled in during the night. It looked like rain might be in the forecast. James is less than happy since rain will only add to the discomfort he already feels. Sleeping on the cold, hard ground has left him with a sore body and a crick in his neck. The few remaining berries make an inadequate breakfast. What he wouldn’t give right now for his bed back home and one of his grandmother’s breakfasts. Sighing, he pops the last berry in his mouth and stands. A final glance to the cloud-filled sky above, a sigh, then he sets about readying for the continuation of his quest for Trendle. His backpack he slings over his shoulder; the spear makes due as a walking stick. He leaves the pond and waterfall behind to follow the stream as it makes its way through the trees.
James encounters more of the berry bushes throughout the morning. It is fortunate that they grow in such abundance. As the day progresses, breaks in the forest canopy allow glimpses of the gathering clouds. Near mid-day, thunder rumbles off in the distance. Shortly afterward, another stream joins the one he is following, increasing its width and depth.
When the grumbling of his stomach tells him it is lunchtime, he takes a break at a small clearing at water’s edge. After making a fire, he wades into the stream with his spear, this time looking for a fish to fry. Using a variation on his hunting spell, James soon has a large fish impaled upon the end of his spear. Pleased, he returns to camp and in no time has it roasting over the fire.
The forest continuously grows darker and darker as the thunder crashes ever louder. Unless I want to walk in a downpour I better find myself some shelter soon. When the fish is ready James eats it quickly, though this time he saves half for later. He wraps what’s left in a leaf before putting it in his backpack. After extinguishing the fire, he sets a quick pace downstream looking for shelter to wait out the storm.
He comes to an area where the trees thin out somewhat and spies a ridgeline off to the south, a little over a hundred yards away. There looks to be an opening at the base of the ridge that may be a cave.
As he moves toward the promise of shelter, a drop of rain lands upon the tip of his nose; more soon follow. Hurrying quickly, he speeds his way through the trees, hoping to beat the rain. Just as he enters the clearing before the cave, there’s a brilliant flash of lightning followed instantly by a thunderous crack and the heavens are unleashed. Torrential rain pelts him the last few feet before gaining the shelter of the cave. Relieved at not being at the mercy of the elements, he turns about and glances to the rain coming down in what his grandma always called a “gully washer.”
The cave is dark but the intermittent flashes of lightning reveal how it extends deeper into the hillside. Relief turns to wariness as his imagination fills the deep shadows of the cave’s farthest recesses with carnivorous beasts. He grips his spear all the harder and moves closer to the mouth of the cave.
It’s just your imagination working overtime, James ol boy. What you need is a fire to dispel the shadows and put your mind at ease.
The thought of sitting all night in the dark is not something he wants to contemplate. A glance to the torrential downpour that still hammered the earth makes it clear that any firewood will be soaked and unusable.
Maybe a spell to make a glowing orb?
Working out the spell doesn’t take very long as spell formulation is becoming easier. Concentrating to maintain the visualization, he says:
Glowing orb to dispel the night
Bright as a hundred watt light
From you no heat need I feel
Go and travel as I will.
With the last word, he stretches out his hand and a glowing orb, cool and firm to the touch, forms on his hand. He smiles in satisfaction and places the orb on a nearby stone. Unlike his previous spells, after the initial surge of power, there remains a very slight draining of power. Guess the orb needs a continual source of power, like a light bulb, in order to keep working.
With the orb’s illumination filling the cave, he now notices many bones lying scattered across the floor. Must be the lair of a predator, or used to be. Not feeling secure until ensuring that he is definitely alone, he takes the orb and holds it aloft as he moves deeper within the cave. It doesn’t extend much farther and the end is soon reached.
Aside from a collection of bones twice that of what had been encountered near the entrance, it was deserted. From the lack of animal musk and no fresh kills, James deduces that the cave hasn’t seen an occupant for some time.
Feeling better, he returns to the front of the cave and concentrates on the orb, dimming its light so it is not quite so bright. Reaching into his backpack, he takes the fish left over from lunch and sits down by the entrance of the cave. Pulling out the book taken from the waiting room, he reads more as he eats. A lot of what it says makes sense. It isn’t a textbook on magic, just an overview to get you started.
By the time he’s done eating, daylight has faded yet more. Behind the clouds, the sun must be nearing the treetops. Yawning, he realizes just how tired he is. Replacing the book back within his backpack, he makes ready for sleep.
One of the things mentioned in the book is how it takes a mage’s concentration to keep a spell active. It occurs to him that should he fall asleep, the orb could very well go out. Not wanting to wake to complete darkness, he works on a spell that will enable the orb to continue glowing all night, even while he’s asleep. Coming up with the words, he concentrates on his desired effect and then casts his spell.
Glowing orb,
Soothing light,
Maintain thyself,
‘ Till morning’s light.
With the final word, he again feels the surge of power, but this time it feels as if he’s being sucked dry. Unable to halt the outpouring of power, he feels a tremendous amount being drawn from him, the effect of which leaves him greatly weakened. Gasping as his knees buckle, he drops to the floor and pants heavily until the spell runs its course. Dots dance before his eyes as he fights to retain consciousness.
The battle is touch and go for a few anxious moments, but he manages to keep from passing out. Lying on the cave floor with barely the strength to keep his heart beating, he comes to the realization that there may be a limit to what he can do with magic.
The orb sits on the rock next to him, still glowing, unchanged. The constant, minute draining of power felt earlier is now gone and the orb no longer requires his concentration to keep from disappearing. Happy that he managed the spell but not about the effect on him, he realizes he’s going to have to be more careful in what he attempts before it kills him.
His strength slowly returns, and when he feels able, crawls over to his backpack. He pulls it beneath his head and finally gives in to the weakness.
Awakening in the middle of the night, it takes some time before he becomes aware as to what awakened him. When his eyes finally focus, dread overcomes him as he realizes that he is no longer alone in the cave. A wolf has entered and stands not three feet away, sniffing the glowing orb. Visions of meeting the same fate as Seth bring panic. Hoping to scare the wolf away, James concentrates and says very softly:
Orb of soft soothing light
Flash to brilliance bright.
The orb flashes momentarily into a brilliantly, blinding light. At the same time, James sits up and lets out a savage, primal scream as he waves his arms wildly. The wolf jumps two feet off the ground, turns and races out of the cave with a yelp. That spell, so soon after weakening himself earlier, leaves him light headed and dizzy.
Using his spear to steady himself, he manages to get to his feet and looks out into the night. There in the rain he finds a dozen pair of glowing eyes staring back at him. Using what little strength he has left, he holds his spear aloft and yells at the wolves, but they fail to react.
Now what? He leans upon the spear for support. You’re in a pickle for sure. Still drained from the earlier spell, he doesn’t feel like he can afford to do much magic. Can’t make myself any weaker or I won’t be able to defend myself should that become necessary. Thinking for a second, he reaches down for a small stone, and as he prepares to throw, says,
Little stone, little stone
With speed of a bullet
Hit that wolf’s hide
And go right through it.
With the last word he throws the stone at a pair of eyes. There is a crack in the air as the stone shoots forward in a sudden burst of speed. A loud, sickening thud along with the sound of snapping bones tells the tale and a pair of glowing eyes vanish. The rest of the pack break out of their immobility. Yelping and howling, they flee into the night.
Dots dancing before his eyes; James sits and rests his head on his knees, panting. Too much. No way can I do any more. If the wolves come back tonight he’s a dead man for he has nothing left. Remaining awake turns out to be an exercise in futility. He’s simply too exhausted. Trusting to fate, he lies down with head on backpack and quickly passes out. Sometime in early morning, the rain stops, and when the first rays of sunlight enters the cave, the glowing orb vanishes.
A rustling near his head startles him awake and he sits up quickly, fearful that the wolves had returned. He discovers instead a small dog similar to the one that had made off with his dinner earlier. The animal is looking straight at him, still and unmoving.
“Boo!” James cries loudly frightening the dog, causing it to run from the cave.
His head feels like it’s about to crack open and he’s shaky. Using his spear to aid him, he climbs to his feet and shoulders his backpack. At the mouth of the cave, James searches for any indication that the wolves are still in the area. It is with much relief that he looks out and finds the clearing before the cave vacant. He does, however, see the one he killed and the hole in its chest where the stone had struck. To his utter shock, the back half of the wolf had been blown away by the force of the impact. Sorrow for the wolf comes over him even though he knows the wolf, if given a chance, would have had him for a late night snack. Keeping an eye open for any of its pack-mates, he makes his way back toward the stream and continues following it westward.
The rains of the night before have swollen the stream. Its water rushes pell-mell over rocks in its bed. More berry bushes provide a morning snack as well as sufficient quantities to resupply his pack. His strength slowly returns throughout the morning and by noon, the headache and shaking go away.
He continues following the streambed. Sometime after noon, motion from downstream brings him to an abrupt halt. A shiver courses down his spine upon spying a wolf standing amidst the trees, watching him. He bends over and picks up several stones, placing all but one in his pocket. Looking back toward where the wolf had stood, he readies to throw the stone, but the wolf is gone.
For the next several hours, wolves can be seen amidst the trees, pacing him along his side of the stream. Every time he pauses to try and take one out with a stone as he had the night before, the wolves melt back into the forest. Their intermittent howls were a force of fear as he quickened his pace through the forest.
By this time, the stream has swollen to twice its size; several tributaries having joined with it. The stream was becoming more of a river, having a width in places exceeding twenty feet.
James encounters another large tributary cutting across his path. Standing upon a grassy knoll on the far side, a wolf stands motionless as it stares him down. Reaching into his pocket, James takes a stone and cocks his arm back to throw. Forming a visualization of the stone striking the wolf with great force, he repeats the incantation used back at the cave and throws.
Before the stone flies from his hand, the wolf lets out with a spine-chilling howl. Several answering howls erupt from out of the trees all around him and break his concentration resulting in the ruination of the spell. Without the power of magic behind it, the stone flies wide and lands in a bush several feet wide of the mark. Wolves burst from behind bushes and trees.
James turns and flees toward the river. Their growls and snarls give swift speed to his flight. The wolves close fast and his flight is cut short as he is forced to turn toward them, spear held out before him. Swinging the weapon to and fro, he is momentarily successful at keeping the wolves at bay.
“Back!” he shouts, fear tingeing his voice with hysteria.
Doing his best to ward off their attacks, he backs up slowly until his feet enter the coolness of the water’s edge. A wolf darts in and only a quick thrust of the spear prevented the animal from sinking its jaws into his leg. Over a dozen wolves are arrayed before him along the shoreline. For the moment they appear content to merely watch as he backs farther into the river. The coldness of the water and the terror of being torn apart keep him from being able to formulate any spells.
Two steps, three, he slowly puts distance between himself and the wolves. At step number four, as if by some unseen signal, the wolves rush him en masse. He lays about with his spear, using it like a quarterstaff. For a time he manages to strike the onrushing wolves with the broadside of the spear, even managing to stab a few; but they are beginning to wear him down. He still has not fully recovered from the night before.
With his footing becoming treacherous as his legs slowly lose feeling due to the coldness of the water, he slips on a loose stone under the water. Having to thrust his spear into the riverbed to remain upright he’s unable to maintain his defense.
Seeing its chance, one wolf rushes in and nips him on the leg, tearing a three inch long gash along just below the knee. Blood flows freely from the wound and the pain is intense. James is certain this will soon be his end.
He regains his balance and thrusts with his spear at the wolf that bit him, driving it back. His swings become ever increasingly slower and less powerful. Never having been what one would call athletic, his arms quickly lose the endurance to continue wielding the heavy spear.
A large wolf leaps for his throat and James brings the spear around just in time, piercing the wolf’s chest. Though dead, the wolf’s momentum carries it forward and slams square into James, knocking him backward into the water. The wolf’s dead weight settles upon him and nearly prevents him from raising his head above the water.
In panicked desperation, he struggles to remove the wolf but it’s far too heavy for him to move in his weakened state. Three more wolves enter the water and move in to finish it. Barely able to keep his head above water, James struggles to remove his spear from the dead wolf. As the spear comes free, a growl draws his attention to a wolf less than a foot away. Even as he swings the spear point toward the wolf, he knows it will be too late. The wolf leaps…
Thwock!
An arrow takes the wolf in the side. Mortally wounded, the beast thrashes in the water.
Looking over his shoulder, James stares across the stream in disbelief to where a man stands with bow in hand. Another arrow grazes the side of a second wolf that had been coming in for the attack.
“Come on. Move! Stay there and you’re going to die.”
With the prospect of surviving this ordeal once again a reality, renewed strength fills his limbs. Taking hold of the wolf pressing him into the water, he gives out with a mighty groan and the carcass comes free. As the dead animal sinks beneath the surface, James uses the spear to aid in gaining his feet.
A wolf’s painful cry heralds another arrow having found its mark as he wades though the water toward the far side. His wounded leg only makes traversing the slippery, rock-filled bed more difficult. Though progress was slow, James reaches the shallows just as his leg gives out altogether.
Letting fly another arrow, the man puts an arm under James’ shoulder and helps walk him from the river.
James gives his benefactor a weak “Thanks” before collapsing into unconsciousness.