The Last Wizard of Eneri Clare

by April Leonie Lindevald

  Tvrdik’s eyebrows shot up, “Oh, very scary! And very wonderful. All in all, though, I think you made the right decision not to be there. But the Regent and her dragon have consented to join our cause. The first important event that might set things in motion is a big council meeting next week. A lot could happen there. She wants me to be present at the meeting in disguise. She doesn’t want anyone to know yet that there is a wizard at court.”

  “So, you are secret, like me.” Ondine cocked her head charmingly to one side.

  “Well, for the moment, yes. But very soon, I shall invite them down here to meet you, my dear. I promise. First opportunity. They will love you, and you will get to see your dragon close-up after all.” Ondine made a little sound of alarm, and darted deeper into the rushing river for a moment, then gingerly resurfaced, a question on her face. It was Tvrdik who laughed now.

  “Not today, dearest. You’re safe, for a while at least. I’ll let you know.”

  Their eyes met in companionable silence for a moment, and then the young mage sighed, “All right. I won’t keep you any longer. Go and have fun. Bring me back more news, and I will come and find you in a few days to check in. If you need me, I suppose you could also show up at The Cottage just downriver and call. I think I will hear you, but take care there is no one else around if you do.”

  “Good, Lovely Man. I search and spy. I come and visit you soon. I am so happy to see you today.”

  “Be well, love. Take good care of yourself.” She did a full somersault in the air, came down with the usual splash, waved once and was suddenly gone. Tvrdik looked after her for a few minutes, half a smile tugging at his lips. Then he lay back on the flat rock and let the sun warm his face while he drifted for a bit, dreaming of unicorns and talking turtles.

  It might have been fifteen minutes, or several hours that he lay there enjoying the sun and breeze playing over his face, with the peaceful sounds of moving waters, rustling leaves and birdsong refreshing his soul. But by the time he did rise, it was afternoon, and Tvrdik knew it was time to face the old house and whatever ghosts lingered there. As he rounded the bend and it came into view, the state of it slammed into him like a blunted arrow, and rendered him breathless. Once he regained his composure enough to turn into the familiar yard through the opening where the remains of a gate hung useless, however, it struck him that much was remarkably well-preserved after twelve long years of neglect. The fence would need attention, both structural and cosmetic, and the grounds, overgrown with shrubbery and coarse weeds, needed clearing. The gardens, of course, were a tangle of dense vegetation. But, where they were not entirely choked off by uninvited plants, it seemed as if some of the food and medicinal crops had self-perpetuated, and were attempting to grow and produce on their own. Fortunately, weeding and landscaping were activities at which he was quite adept, having lived for so long in a place where the forest eternally attempted to reclaim its own.

  Tvrdik paced the perimeter of the entire building, paying careful attention to every detail, and making mental notes about what would have to be done in order to make the place habitable again. There were a few rotting beams that needed to be replaced or shored up, a stone here and there out of place, the roof obviously needed re-thatching, and all the walls would benefit from several coats of whitewash. Someone had taken the trouble to board up all the windows, and he surmised underneath there might be broken panes. And that was just the outside. And yet, all the basics were there, still sturdy, somehow enduring. He suspected that Xaarus had perhaps added a little magic to the mortar of this house, rendering it somewhat impervious to the elements and the effects of time, which might have flattened a less well-protected structure.

  He was reminded yet again that this had been a wizard’s home when he steeled himself to go inside and found he could not open the door. Aging as it was, it was solid oak and sturdy, and locked fast shut. Old Xaarus was not about to yield his secrets lightly. Tvrdik tried the muscular approach, running at it and crashing into it repeatedly until he was bruised and felt silly. He tried prying it open with a stick, but the stick broke, and none of the tools he had just purchased seemed to find a leverage point. The young mage scratched his head, thinking that if his old master had locked the door with spells, they would be powerful, but everyday magic (not having anticipated a long absence, as it were). Tvrdik tried a generic spell to override any magical lock-outs, but of course it failed. He tried using passwords: names, phrases, words that might carry some meaning, with no success. If he were ever going to get inside, he would either have to be cleverer, or remember better. He had, after all, lived in this house for years, but so much time had passed, and they had almost always been with Xaarus when going in or out. In those days of peace and bustling activity before the accident, doors were often left wide open, everyone’s thoughts untainted by worry and suspicion. Of course, he could summon Xaarus in his head, but it seemed a feeble excuse for such an extreme measure, and felt a little like failure. No, he wished to master this challenge by his own wits.

  Tvrdik stood silent, breathed deeply, closed his eyes, and willed himself to travel back to those days when this had been his home. He saw in his mind’s eye his younger self and his two classmates following their master about everywhere, trying to absorb the bits of wisdom and instruction which were given out as a running commentary. He tried to listen, to recall anything that Xaarus had said to them that might be a clue. He saw them all standing before the door, Benjin and Ailianne sharing some private joke, his younger self aching to be included in their horseplay, none of them paying much attention to their teacher’s ongoing monologue. Somewhere, from the depths of his unconscious, Xaarus’ words echoed, Never neglect to be grateful for those beings and objects in life which serve you well. Bless them and say thank you. Enter your home always with blessings and depart from it with thanks…. Tvrdik had internalized this advice, and had been faithful to it even in his humble woodland retreat. It had always seemed a good and reverent practice to him. But now, opening his eyes back in the present, he wondered if there was something more concrete there. “Bless this house,” he muttered, and the door sprang open. He stepped back and shook his head in an effort to return from the uncomfortable emotional landscape of his past, half expecting some foul stench or a cloud of dust to assault his senses. But all that greeted him was stillness, and the odor of slightly stale air. He took a deep breath and crossed the threshold.

  Outside, bright sunshine still flooded the yard, but with the windows boarded up, scant light penetrated the interior of the house. Not wanting to walk straight into anything dangerous or disgusting, Tvrdik paused a moment to allow his eyes to adjust. Then, leaving the door open to admit whatever light might follow him in, he stepped deeper into what felt like a dream of his past. It occurred to him that if he was to style himself a wizard, he should probably start thinking like a wizard, using every tool at his disposal. Concentrating for only a moment, he sent up a soft glow-ball which hovered over his head and illuminated the space with a gentle, warm light. In this new light, details began to emerge. Here was the sitting room, with its comfortable chairs, small table, broad hearth, throw rugs and shelves lined with books. Looking around, Tvrdik began to suspect Xaarus of protecting everything in his home with a smattering of magic. Things were unnaturally still, yes, and covered with a visible layer of dust. But after twelve years, nothing was out of place, and there were far fewer signs of wear and degradation than one would expect. Spiders had set up residence in a few high corners, but they were mostly neat and out of the way. There was evidence that rodents might have visited for awhile early on, but everything edible or spoilable had long since been consumed or fallen to dust, and the rats and mice had abandoned the empty larder for greener pastures.

  Room after room revealed the same story – things almost eerily untouched, as if left out for the morning, frozen in a moment that seemed an eternity ago. Room after room Tvrdik passed through, the glow-light
preceding him, lighting up familiar passageways and spaces, all just as he had last seen them. His conscious mind was busy tallying up the work that needed to be done, relieved at the lack of serious damage. At the same time, a deeper part of his psyche was encountering a veritable parade of memories, and, as Tashroth had warned, ‘ghosts’ of his former life. There was the kitchen, its oversized hearth and counters lined with pots and bowls and utensils, pantry shelves that had always been crammed with foodstuffs, medicinal herbs, tinctures, salves and ointments. Next, a small refectory, where they had gathered around the long wooden table for meals, or at other times, to study, write and debate the theories, philosophies and methodologies Xaarus had presented to them.

  Heading into the school annex, he crossed the room they used as a main classroom, with its large teaching slateboard on one wall, and workstations around the sides where they had done laboratory and practical work. Beyond was the dormitory, a spacious room where they had all slept at first, but which had been partitioned off into separate, more private cubicles as they had gotten older. There were bathing facilities off to the side, simple but functional. Stepping into his old cubicle, Tvrdik gazed at his old sleeping pallet, desk, shelves of books and small collection of possessions as if they belonged to someone else he had once known a hundred years ago. There was the triangle-shaped bit of glass he had spent joyful hours with, turning sunbeams into rainbows, the favorite quill pen he had fashioned himself from the fallen feather of a hawk, a dust-covered lesson book, where he had jotted down every word of wisdom that had fallen from Xaarus’ lips. Seeing these once-treasured items sent a stab of nameless pain through his being, but he did not reach out a hand to touch them. Likewise, something kept him from stepping into the spaces that had belonged to his schoolmates. It still seemed a violation of sorts to invade their small, private sanctuaries. Tvrdik stood still in the middle of the dormitory for a few minutes, blinking behind his glasses, uncertain of his feelings. Then, he turned and walked back through the annex, the kitchen and the parlor to the other end of the house, the older section, containing Xaarus’ private apartments. Rarely did he remember setting foot in this inner sanctum. Rarely were any of them invited to cross into Xaarus’ private world, where the Master retreated at the end of each day to pursue his own interests. Here were Xaarus’ own bedchamber and bathing area, his extensive private library, and his laboratory. Somehow, now that he was taking possession of the house, and knew he would need every resource that Xaarus had amassed in order to fight the coming darkness, Tvrdik didn’t feel quite as reluctant to intrude here as he might have. Entering the bedchamber, he cast an objective eye over the simple, but comfortable appointments. Everything was covered in dust, and it was obvious that the drapes and wall-hangings, as well as the bedclothes and probably the rugs, mattresses, and cloth-covered chairs would all have to be replaced. A simple cleaning would likely take care of the rest.

  Conscious that space in the palace would be at a premium as the lords began to arrive for the Council Meeting, the young mage resolved to begin in the bedroom so that he could at least sleep here as soon as possible. Moving into the adjoining library, he gasped at the vast assemblage of books, parchments and scrolls of all shapes, sizes, ages, languages and subject matters that lined the walls floor to ceiling. Scanning the titles of those nearest him, he realized the priceless treasures he had inherited, and imagined spending many happy, constructive hours here attending to his own further education. A comfortable chair and a separate hearth invited the visitor most warmly to stay and partake of the wisdom collected in that room. Tvrdik sighed and longed for leisure to enjoy such bounty. It might be some time before that dream was realized. But, meanwhile, there was sure to be some immediately helpful information among the volumes surrounding him. He would do his best to locate everything that could be useful for the current situation.

  One final door led to Xaarus’ master workshop - his laboratory. It seemed a surprisingly vast room, considering how modest The Cottage appeared from the outside. Tvrdik’s eye took in the tables piled with beakers, test tubes, glass pipettes and flasks; the shelves of liquids, powders, tinctures, oils, salves, drying herbs, preserved and floating objects or bits of who knows what in jars. There were detailed anatomical and cosmological charts, drawings and maps on all the walls, and mechanical models ranged about the room. Heavens, was there no subject of inquiry in which Xaarus had not dabbled? There was one special corner piled high with parchments and scrolls, various schedules and graphs, and a host of timepieces of all sorts from all over the globe. Some sort of magnetic or generating equipment seemed to be tossed into the mix nearby, all arranged as if the master would return presently after having a sandwich. No doubt, these were the elements of Xaarus’ last great project; it was likely that he had vanished from that particular corner twelve long years ago. Tvrdik shivered to think of it, considering also that there was probably no one on earth who could begin to comprehend the neat rows of calculations and formulae laid out before him, and no hope of anyone ever reversing the process to bring Xaarus back. He sighed. It was certainly a task far beyond his own limited brain, at least for the foreseeable future.

  For a moment, the glow-ball danced away from him, and in its pulsing light, his eye caught something else in another corner, something that captured his full attention. The young mage edged over to where the light pointed, and found himself standing before three tall, sturdy, beautifully crafted wizard’s staffs, each carved from a different sort of wood, and each crowned with a different color crystal. He reached out a trembling hand and ran it along the nearest, which was tall and sturdy, of knotted black walnut, and tipped with obsidian. The parchment wrapped around the center had a word scrawled across it – no, a name. He willed the glow-ball closer, and bent his head to read, “Benjin.” Startled, he pulled back, eyebrows knitted together. Xaarus must have been making these staffs of office for his students when the accident occurred. To win one was a rare and much desired accomplishment. A wizard’s staff had to be made by hand, crafted with care of specially selected materials, by one who understood such things. Properly matched with the recipient, it became like a living thing: a flexible extension of one’s powers, a partner for a lifetime or for many, and a visible sign of prestige which afforded one respect and privilege among townsfolk and cottagers alike. Tvrdik had never dreamed that they all had been so close to being thus gifted, thus honored by their teacher. What they had missed!

  He barely touched the next one as it stood there, slim and supple, of pale birch topped with a clear quartz crystal. It was light and graceful like its intended owner. He did not have to read the parchment to know for whom it had been intended – Ailianne. But that meant the third staff…Tvrdik hesitated a moment, and then purposefully reached out his right hand to grasp it. Tall and strong, of solid oak, it was more gnarled than the others, and seemed to bend in odd, unexpected ways until it found its way up to the faceted violet amethyst fixed at the tip. It seemed to fit his hand, and himself, perfectly, and felt lighter than expected. In a flash he already felt as if he had carried it all of his life, and would feel naked without it. He was thinking of Xaarus at that moment with such awe and gratitude that he was almost not surprised to see the master’s image floating before him, and hear the old wizard’s voice clearly in his head.

  “I was going to give it to you for your nineteenth birthday. I had completed them all and was only waiting for the right moment to present them. I am glad you have it now – it was always intended to be yours. You have certainly earned it these last few weeks. Go ahead – hold it… lift it… point it. How does it feel?”

  “Oh, Master, like nothing I ever imagined! Like a part of my soul manifested – a way to reach further, faster, deeper, more powerfully – like I was born to wield it.”

  Xaarus’ image was grinning with delight, “I thought I had done a rather good job on that one. But, then, the raw materials presented themselves somewhat magically as well. That enti
re branch was torn by lightning from its mother oak deep in the wood not so far from that waterfall of yours. Legend had it that the old tree sheltered a fairy ring. And the amethyst was given to me in trade by a miner in exchange for an elixir that cured his little boy of a rather severe croup. He was most grateful and a bit mystified, as he said a strange feeling came over him when he first pulled it from the earth, and he knew it to be the proper payment. But you and I do not raise an eyebrow at such omens, do we boy. I knew it was meant for you – you are twice the healer I will ever be.

  “Master, you do me far too much honor. My skills have barely been tried.”

  “Nonsense, each of us has our peculiar strengths. And besides, I have knowledge of your future, remember?”

  “Then tell me, Master, so far you have been right about everything, but despite my faith in you, and in our cause, at times I feel terribly inadequate to the tasks laid out for me. Are we destined to succeed in this venture then?”

  “I cannot tell you that, my friend, for you stand in a place in history where every road you choose at every crossing changes the outcome. I can only say that I am very proud and gratified by what you have accomplished thus far. And I mean everything. Tvrdik the man is, as I had hoped, every bit of what Tvrdik the boy promised, and more. You will see.”

  Tvrdik bowed his head, inwardly grateful for, but uncomfortable with, such praise, even if no one else could hear it. But as Xaarus’ image began to fade, he came to attention.

  “Master – the house?”

  “Take it! Use it. Everything you find here is yours to assist you. I will always be very close to you here. I will do what I can to help and guide you. Keep all your senses tuned, boy, and your eyes open…” This last was like an echo from a great distance, and he was gone again, leaving Tvrdik to question if the encounter had been real at all.