On another occasion, Wendell learned of an unknown illness spreading across the Finklefoot region. It turned out that a distant relative of the royal family who desperately wanted his chance to rule had poisoned the waterways in three of the nine cities in his region. He never suspected that the poison would cause a deadly infection that was highly contagious to humans. Wendell raced to the Finklefoot region, and in a single night, drew the poison from the water and pulled the infection it caused from the bodies of the ill. He then tracked the man who had poisoned the waterways and charmed every drinking mug, pitcher, and canteen the man touched to fill with a harmless brown liquid that looked and smelled exactly like the poison the man had used. One week later the traitor turned himself in to the city general, whereupon the charm dispelled. Falling to his knees the thirsty man swore on his life he would never again do such a terrible thing. The general was awarded the highest honors for capturing the poisoner and getting him to confess.
Over the years Wendell fought many monsters that plagued the people, as well as droughts, floods, hungers, and wars. He avoided using magic when he could, but he always used it when he had to. Gradually, his burden became heavier and heavier as the number of crolackrolite stones he had to carry increased. Wendell sewed himself a garment that had many pockets and distributed the stones as evenly as he could beneath his robes. Every stone was a threat that some day, he would be too burdened to rise from his bed. Once, Wendell tried to use a spell or two to consolidate the stones, or make them weightless, but these attempts had no effect on the crolackrolite and only resulted in additional stones to carry. Wendell had grown accustomed to the pain the stones produced when they came from his palms, and only occasionally noticed that his hands still bled after casting the larger, more difficult spells.
Wendell continued to search for a solution to the red era. He was unwilling to make a second attempt to find the hidden treasure on Earth, after the loss and pain of his first journey to that distant planet. Although he did not put a high value on his own life and would gladly risk dying to retrieve the treasure, he could not bare to leave the people of Windiffera unprotected.
Then one day, he heard of a new threat gathering strength. This time trouble was stirring in the Citrulene Region. In the villages and towns people began disappearing. Some of the lost would return, but they were never the same and they all had a similar oval-shaped scar on their necks. All kinds of wild rumors stirred among the people and it wasn’t long before Wendell made up his mind to find out for himself what was taking place in that distant land. Wendell packed and set off once again across the red desert.
He traveled for many days in unfavorable weather to reach the Citrulene region and on the morning he arrived, he found himself in a lonely maple forest. It was the end of fall, and the last of the leaves fell to the frosty ground in a discarded sort of way. The wizard had searched the forest all day but had found nothing and met no one. Finally, the blue shadows of evening began to creep out from the cracks and crevasses of stones and the darks sides of the trees, muting the color of the yellow leaves that carpeted the ground. Wendell wandered through the forest seeking a sheltered place to spend the night. He found some edible mushrooms growing at the base of an old stump and stooped to harvest a few of them for his dinner. In the distance, he heard a faint cry. Wendell paused, and lifted his head. Sure enough, something was crying in the forest, he could hear it in the wind. Wendell sheathed his knife and followed the sound. For a long while he moved toward it, his steps crunching on the frosty leaves underfoot as the cry grew steadily louder. A wolf howled somewhere, and Wendell quickened his pace.
Soon he came upon a wide path winding through the woods against the side of an ancient rock wall. The rocks had been built up waist high and were overgrown with reddish moss. Beyond the short wall a mountain climbed into the sky, and at the top of it towered a magnificent castle. Wendell followed the tidy path until at last he came upon a small bundle of blankets resting on the rock wall itself. Apprehensively approaching the wiggling mass, Wendell gently pulled back the fabric only to find the tearful face of a human baby hidden beneath. He was at a loss for what to do. Glancing around, Wendell discovered with alarm that they were alone in the forest. Picking up the warm bundle, Wendell wondered who would abandon a baby, and why? It felt wet in his hands. Wendell pulled back the soiled blanket binding the baby’s limbs and it screamed louder, choking on its own cry.
“Got a pair of lungs on you, don’t you?” muttered Wendell, clenching his teeth together to mute the sound. Not knowing what to do with the little life form that fussed in his arms, he struggled to hold it firmly, but gently. He seemed to be making matters worse. The baby waved its arms in distress revealing that it was missing an arm. A rounded stump capped the end of its forearm just above where the right elbow would be. Wendell swallowed hard. The loose blanket fell to the ground, confirming that the baby was a girl. The little girl cried louder, naked in the night. Holding her awkwardly, Wendell pulled opened his jacket and tucked the tiny infant inside it against his chest. The baby gradually settled down. Wendell had never held an infant before, he was nervous about what to do with her. She was obviously hungry and cold. Looking down at her through his bulging jacket he could see that her lips had a slight tint of blue. How long had she been out here? Wendell wondered if she would even survive, or if it was too late to save her. She quieted inside his jacket, comforted by his warmth. Looking down at her wet eyelashes sticking together in wedge-shaped clusters something moved in Wendell’s chest. An instinctual protective feeling stirred deep within him for this abandoned child. Was she cast out because of her defect? Left to die because she was not born perfect? What would happen if he left her here? As if in response to his silent question, a second wolf howl pierced the night air. It was closer than the last.
Milk, thought Wendell. He needed to find some milk. Wendell set off at a fast pace heading in the direction of a farm he had passed on his way there. He walked for hours cradling the child against himself until his arms ached and grew numb. It was dawn when he knocked on the farmhouse door. No one answered at first. Wendell knocked again. He heard shuffling inside. Finally, a large woman opened the door a crack. She looked at him suspiciously.
“What do you want?” she demanded rudely.
“Please,” said Wendell, “I see that you have goats…”
“Go away!” snapped the woman, her second chin forming a fat wrinkle on her thick neck in an expression of immense displeasure. She moved to close the door.
“Please, I beg you,” said Wendell, firmly bracing the door with one hand, and pulling open his jacket to show her the sleeping baby.
“Oh my goodness,” whispered the woman, helplessly melting at the sight. “Come inside,” she said unhappily, holding the door open.
Wendell stepped through the doorway. The woman looked around behind him to make sure no one was watching them.
“Follow me,” she said. She led him directly to the barn, grabbing a leather flask on her way through the kitchen. The barn smelled of fresh hay and manure. The woman pulled a three-legged stool and a bucket from a shelf and placed them on the ground. She clicked her tongue and a reddish goat with a bloated utter made its way towards her.
“That’s it Margery, come on over, that’a girl,” clucked the woman.
She began to milk the goat. The warm milk drummed against the bucket as she tugged on the utters with squeezing downward motions.
“She yours?” asked the woman.
“I guess,” replied Wendell hesitantly.
The woman looked at him sharply.
“I found her in the forest,” explained Wendell.
Soon the bucket was half full with fresh milk. The woman poured it into a flask and handed it to Wendell. He unscrewed the lid just enough that a drip of milk would leak out and put the flask to the baby’s mouth. The baby drank hungrily. Wendell smiled, wiping a drip from her tiny chin. The woman watched him, her eyes warm for the first time.
Wendell thanked her and was on his way once more. The baby slept in his arms, a healthy glow returning to her pale face.
Chapter 15
Bloom
Upon returning to his cabin, Wendell busied himself building a crib and sewing clothes for the little girl. The goat’s milk was doing her good, and it wasn’t three days time before Wendell noticed, not without a twinge of regret, that she had already grown a little. She cried less with each day as she quickly regained her health. At the end of the week, Wendell decided it was time to name the child. He wanted to find a name she would respond to. For several days he belted out every name he could think of hoping to solicit a response. He was looking for some kind of sign that she approved of his choice.
“Belinda,” said Wendell. The baby just stared at him with enormous brown eyes. “Dorothea?” he asked. No response. “Genevieve? Adeline? Natalya?”
“Goo!” said the baby.
“Goo…” Wendell thought hard, rubbing his temples. “Goosealisa,” he said. The baby wrinkled her nose. “Goozinya? Goolanda? Goorella?”
For days Wendell listed every name he knew or could make up until he had used every letter in the alphabet and had returned back to the letter A for yet another try. She lay on her back on a sheepskin by the wood stove. Wendell leaned over her. Recognizing him instantly, she reached for his hand. Clasping his index finger tightly in her little fist she watched him with an angelic gaze.
“Amelliea,” said Wendell.
The baby smiled a toothless grin and burst out laughing.
“That’s it!” shouted Wendell. “Amelliea!” he called out in excitement.
Again the baby giggled.
“Amelliea…” Wendell whispered and grew thoughtful. She reminded him of the little lion cub he had seen on Earth, with her messy blond hair growing in a thick tangle on her fragile little head. “Amelliea Leonora…” He knew he almost had it. Wendell thought of the infant girl in the dark woods all by herself. She was brave, he thought. Brave to cry out and call for help, brave to hold on till he found her some milk, brave to fight for her little life in this dangerous world. She was brave in her heart. “Bravenheart,” finished Wendell. “Amelliea Leonora Bravenheart!”
The baby dissolved in laughter, grabbing her foot with her hand. The stub of her other arm waved in the air with excitement.
Looking at it, Wendell had an idea. He turned to his books. “Now where would I find such a spell…” he muttered to himself, his cheeks flushing with the rush of joy at discovering her name. After a few minutes of turning over crackling pages he found what he was looking for.
“Ah-ha!” he whispered. “Here it is.” He quickly read the incantation for re-growing a limb. His energy willingly spilled into his hands making his palms glow golden. So rarely did he use magic, that he almost felt nervous.
“Nanara—” he began. Wendell looked over at the child. Amelliea was perfectly happy.
“Ah goo!” she laughed, kicking her chubby legs in her grey linen dress, her fabric diaper bulging underneath her clothes.
“Nanar—” he broke off again, suddenly struck by a strange thought. Perhaps destiny had not made her defective at all. Perhaps Amelliea needed this distinguishing attribute for some un-foreseeable reason. Wendell looked at her. She was perfect. Beautiful. Did she need another arm to be happy in this life? Amelliea gurgled happily on the blanket. Apparently not. She was made to be without it. He could fix it, but there was a chance that this would be a grave mistake. Wendell decided to allow Amelliea to be as she was without interfering with the adventure that was to be her life. He closed the book and placed his glowing hands on her body. Amelliea instantly fell asleep, her eyelids closing, and her pink mouth sneaking in a half of a yawn.
Months passed and Amelliea grew. Wendell enjoyed every moment of her precious life. He showed her the little birds that were perched and singing on the branches of the trees in the forest, and watched her delight at the sight of a mother fox followed by her three bushy-tailed pups. Every day Wendell milked the goat he had been gifted, and fed the baby girl the fresh warm milk. He carved wooden toys for Amelliea to play with, and took her to pick sweet wild berries. They played in the glade, and Wendell wondered how it was possible to feel so happy once again. He had long forgotten the sensation and freedom of joy, and he reveled in the sweetness of each hour with the baby Amelliea. His only regret was that Ausra was not there to enjoy raising the child with him.
One day, while Wendell was hanging the clean laundry on the line, he found a bluebell growing right outside the cottage. He picked the rare flower and brought it inside the house. Amelliea was sitting up in her crib, just having woken from a nap.
“Pretty bloom,” said Wendell leaning over and dangling the flower in front of Amelliea.
“Boom,” gurgled the child, reaching for the blossom.
Wendell laughed with delight at her first word and lifted her out of the crib to kiss her cheeks. She touched his graying beard with her tiny hand.
“Boom,” she said, patting his nose.
“Bloom,” whispered Wendell, suddenly realizing that Amelliea had named him as he had recently named her. From there after, he decided, Bloom would be his name! He felt terribly pleased and was glad to begin a new chapter in his life. It was only appropriate that he would get to have a new name in his new life! He never thought he would get the chance to be a father and he felt like a changed man. The light was returning to his life, and it was making him softer and more patient than he had ever been before. As Bloom cradled little Amelliea in his arms he knew that he wanted to be there for her all of her life. The baby girl needed his protection and he felt compelled to rise to the occasion at his full potential. He would teach her everything he could, and what he didn’t know, he would learn. Though Amelliea was not immortal, and he knew he would someday outlive her as he had outlived Ausra, the wizard decided to treasure every moment of Amelliea’s existence and be with her for as long as he possibly could.
Chapter 16
Swords and Harps
As Amelliea grew into a toddler, Bloom noticed a strong fighting instinct in the child. Having never before seen combat, the little girl began picking up sticks and pretending they were weapons. Amelliea liked to prance about in the garden whacking down weeds that were twice her height with a long stick, and fence off invisible villains. She loved the whooshing sound sticks made as she whipped them through the air, and before long she developed quite a collection of twigs and stones by the front door.
At first Bloom tried to discourage this unladylike behavior, but when he took the sticks away, Amelliea immediately found new ones and was at it again. After giving it considerable thought, Bloom decided to carve her a wooden sword to play with. After all, it was a dangerous time and she would undoubtedly need to defend herself someday.
The wizard found a piece of fine wood and began to chisel out the sword. Amelliea came to watch him, curious about his work. Wendell spent many hours on the toy, wanting to make it perfect. The next day, Bloom wrapped the wooden toy in a piece of white velvet and presented it to Amelliea after breakfast. The little girl unwrapped it breathlessly and put her small fingers around the handle. She raised it high above her head. “Was dis?” she asked, wondering what it was called.
“Sword,” said Bloom.
“Sod...” whispered Amelliea in awe.
Bloom grabbed the broomstick, and showed Amelliea how to make a few simple strikes. She took to it right away. After play-fighting Bloom for a short while, she ran to the garden with her new weapon, eager to test it on the overgrown weeds. From that moment on Amelliea was inseparable from her favorite toy.
The following week, Bloom took Amelliea into the village to restock on food and household supplies. The little girl was getting too heavy to carry in his arms the entire way, and Bloom h
ad fashioned a comfortable harness out of canvass to strap Amelliea to his back. Bloom strode through the village with Amelliea riding in the harness. He walked past the shop windows ignoring the surprised glances of the villagers. Amelliea waved her sword at the locals who stared at the one-armed child wide-eyed, wondering where she could have come from. Amelliea smiled at them with innocent curiosity.
Upon arriving at the supply shop, Bloom pulled Amelliea from her harness and held her on his hip as he went about gathering what he needed. Amelliea pointed to things she liked and babbled happily, utilizing the handful of words she had mastered. Bloom set the things he intended to buy on the checkout counter. “Have you any storybooks?” he asked the shopkeeper. The shopkeeper reached into a cupboard and pulled out two thin books. The books were hand illustrated, and had few words and large pictures. The first book was titled The Legend of Beastador Willdenwild, and it pictured a knight with a sword and shield fighting a centaur. Her eyes glowing, Amelliea looked at the sword in her hand, and then back at the picture of the knight. The second book was titled The Seer, and it pictured a young woman nobly looking out from an impossibly tall tower.
“We’ll take them both,” said Bloom, handing the shopkeeper several coins. He took the sword from Amelliea and handed her one of the books. She began turning the pages with interest.
Bloom shouldered his now bulging pack filled with newly purchased goods, and letting Amelliea walk by herself, he left the shop, aiming in the direction of home. Suddenly Amelliea stopped dead in her tracks. “What is it?” asked Bloom. Amelliea handed him the book and without warning began to run. “Wait!” cried Bloom, chasing after the child.
Amelliea ran to an old shop that Bloom had never even noticed before. The little girl pressed her face against the dusty window, cupping her hand around her little face to better see inside. Bloom caught up with her, and was about to pull her away when he heard a quiet sweet music coming from within the shop. The wizard realized that it was the music that had attracted Amelliea. Bloom held the shop door open for Amelliea. Inside the run-down shop was a middle-aged woman sitting on a stool and playing a battered old harp. The music coming from the instrument was magical. Amelliea sat down on the floor before the woman, and stared in wonder at the reverberating strings. Bloom looked outside and thought of all the wood he had planned to chop and stack that afternoon. He waved his hand, mentally letting it go. The work wasn’t going anywhere. The song ended and Bloom politely introduced himself and his daughter.
The Curse (The Windore Series Book 2) Page 9
