by Bob Blink
Wizard’s Blood
Bob Blink
Chapter 1
Randy found himself flying through the air, then landing heavily and rolling in an uncontrolled jumble of arms and legs on strangely pungent ground thickly padded with large leaves in various stages of decomposition. All of this happened before he had any chance to orient himself or prepare for the impact. His graceless flight and landing were brought to an abrupt halt by a tangle of dense bushes with vines covered in small stickers that were clustered around the base of an immense tree. The mind wrenching moments through the odd void that preceded his clumsy landing left him feeling the need to be violently sick, and he lay for moments wrapped into a protective ball trying to regain his composure while subconsciously checking himself for major damage. For precious seconds his mind was confused, lacking any sense of what had preceded his landing. Then, suddenly, he remembered. The intruder!
Unwilling to move as yet, he quickly scanned around him for the person he had tried to tackle only moments earlier. It took only seconds to establish beyond any doubt that he was totally alone. The other individual had somehow completely disappeared. How this was possible made no sense, as Randy had a great deal of experience bringing down his opponents from years of college football, and his fingers had been mere inches away from latching onto the man when the void had taken him and dumped him unceremoniously in this place. That was another thing. Where was he?
Moments before he had been in the back lot of his family’s property just outside the city limits of Boulder, Colorado. He had made a move to capture the odd man that had been mysteriously appearing and disappearing on his property for the past year, which had lead to the disorienting arrival at his current location. Another thought struck Randy suddenly. The peculiar, almost painful prickly feeling inside his brain which occurred each time he encountered the man on the small knoll in the back lot had not occurred this time.
Feeling marginally better than he had moments earlier, Randy extricated himself from the bush’s stickers, stood up, and walked slowly away from the base of the tree. He continued to scan the area, looking for any sign of movement, or any clues that would help explain where he was and what might have happened to his adversary. The forest, for that was clearly what he had landed in, was unnaturally quiet. Of course his unexpected and very noisy landing had probably shocked any creature nearby into cautionary silence. More importantly, there were no sounds that could be attributed to another human moving around in the woods.
He made a slow three hundred and sixty-degree turn, seeing nothing he recognized. Gone were the house and garage, and any indications of his property. Gone were the road out front of his property, and the houses in the new tract across the road. Gone as well were the familiar mountains that prominently outlined the skyline of Boulder. There were other differences as well. It was still early in the year at home, with small patches of snow doggedly resisting all attempts of the warming weather to disperse them. It had been cool enough to require a jacket, hence the lined windbreaker he was wearing. It had also been early in the day, just after 10 AM when he had made the leap to bring down the intruder. Here, wherever here was, the season was clearly spring, with flowers and plants in full bloom, and the temperature well into the eighties. It was also a different time of day. The sun was low on the horizon, making it early morning or later in the evening. Something, perhaps the temperature, made Randy think it was late in the day. That meant it would be getting dark soon which only made his situation more uncertain. It was likely he was going to be spending the night alone in these unknown woods.
Think, he silently demanded of himself. He was supposed to be a scientist. Well, at least he was well on track to become one. At twenty-four, he had his masters in physics with a minor in electrical engineering, and was already doing dissertation work towards his doctorate at the University of Colorado. He should be able to make more sense out of what had just happened. However, the disorientation was more than his mind wanted to handle, and for the moment at least he was only able to observe his surroundings.
“Crap!” he exclaimed suddenly.
He turned and looked back at the huge tree. Nothing other than the giant redwoods approached it in size, yet this specimen was distinctly different. The gnarled trunk was dark, almost black in color, rather than the reddish tan of the sequoias, and instead of the familiar needles, this tree had unusually shaped leaves, that were slightly yellowish in color. It rose high into the air, with the first branches at least twenty feet off the ground, and the top lost a couple of hundred feet above. It and its neighbors blotted out most of the sky, leaving the forest floor somewhat barren except for the sticky fern that had halted his tumble a bit earlier. He had been born and raised in Colorado, and was no stranger to the woods, yet he had never encountered anything that looked anything like either of these specimens. More evidence that something very unexpected had just happened to him.
Looking around, Randy tried to see if there was anything at all that he recognized. There was little enough to see. He was standing in a forest of the large trees that seemed to extend uniformly in all directions. He couldn’t really see that far, as the trunks of the massive trees soon formed a barrier to his searching. Off to his right he thought he could detect a bit of a thinning in the grove, and perhaps a bit more of the sky. He might as well have a look see in that direction.
He slipped off his daypack, and then out of his jacket as well. He was starting to get warm. The pack held pitifully few items, and even fewer that would be of much use here. He used it to carry items to and from the campus, and had not packed it with any expectation of being lost in the woods. There was his lunch, so at least he had some food. In addition, he always carried a couple of Cadbury chocolate bars just in case a chocolate craving struck. There were also two plastic bottles of water. These items he could stretch a couple of days if necessary, but if he was still here after that he was going to need to find another source of food and water. He had already decided against anything more than some of the water for the rest of the day. Given the greenery around him, he suspected there was abundant local water, but was it water he could safely drink?
The pack also contained several pens, a notebook almost filled with equations and notes from his class note scribblings, as well as his iPhone, which not surprisingly showed no signal and which he turned off to save the power. He couldn’t see what possible use it could be, but as long as it had power there was always a chance something would develop. With a dead battery it would be just so much more dead weight. He also had his Kindle, another pseudo useless item for survival, and which like the phone, he had no means of recharging. There was a small compass that attached to the zipper of the pack like an extended pull that should come in useful. At least he would have something to help him hold a constant bearing when he decided to move. A very unuseful contour map of one of his favorite hiking areas outside of Boulder was also stuffed into one of the inner pockets, along with a battered but very high quality pair of binoculars.
There was one item he had slipped into the pack when he had made the decision to try and apprehend the intruder that might be of use here. He reached inside the pack and unzipped the inside pocket. His hand encountered the rough wood of the grip, and he pulled the pistol from the pack. It was an old and battered government model Colt .45 auto. It had been his father’s pistol during his military tour in Vietnam some years before. Randy had inherited it when his father died. The wood grips were chipped in several places and worn and dented on one side. The bluing was mostly gone from the frame from handling, leaving bare metal that was brownish red in places from the rusting that had occurred in the moist climate of southeast Asia years before. Randy’s father had done his best
to clean up the pistol after returning home, but the discoloration and some pitting of the metal remained. The slide similarly showed signs of hard use, and while it had fared better than the frame, the metal was bare and scratched for the first inch or so from the muzzle and the bluing was faded and only partially covered the rest of the slide. The tiny original factory sights that Randy found hard to use were also somewhat brownish in color.
Randy wasn’t much of a pistol shot. He had a couple of firearms of his own back home, all rifles, which he used from time to time. He had a kid’s .22 rimfire, and an old Ruger 10-22 he had received new as a Christmas present when he turned twelve many years before. He had used it to shoot squirrels and rabbits, and later outfitted it with a quality scope that significantly improved its ability to bring down targets. He also had a Ruger mini-14, something he had purchased for himself when he was older. For him, it had been more of a toy, and he had bought it because a couple of his friends had purchased them to use to chase rats at the local dump. His best rifle was an older Browning .300 Winchester Magnum, which he had gotten used when he decided to go deer hunting one year in college. He had found an advertisement in the local newspaper listing a number of rifles for sale which had led to an older woman who was selling off her husband’s collection after he had died. The rifle had been meticulously cared for, carefully outfitted with a 3X-9X variable scope, and was capable of more accuracy than he was able to use. His best sessions yielded an inch to an inch and a quarter groups, and even then he knew that he wasn’t enough of a rifleman to press the rifle’s limits. But he had been good enough to bag his deer two years running.
Handguns were something else again. Sometimes he and his dad had taken the old Colt and a target .22 out for practice. He had shot less than a hundred rounds through it in all the times they had used it, and had never done particularly well. Yesterday he had decided it had the authority he might need when he confronted the stranger. He had brought the pistol along despite his lack of expertise with it, along with the three loaded magazines with which it had been stored. A total of twenty-one rounds. It wasn’t much, but now he was thankful he had done so.
Holding the pistol in his right hand, he used his thumb to release the magazine that he caught in his left hand, and then set it on top of the pack. He then pulled the slide back and locked it open. He checked the pistol over, something he realized he should have done the previous day before slipping it into the pack, and picked up the magazine. It was stuffed with seven rounds of government hardball, as were the other two magazines, which was hardly the most effective ammunition, but they were all his father had ever used. He slipped the magazine back into place, carefully made sure it was fully seated by listening for the subtle ‘click’ as the magazine catch engaged, pointed the pistol away from himself, and pressed the slide release. The slide thunked home solidly, stripping and chambering a round from the magazine as it did so. He carefully lowered the hammer, and slipped the pistol into his belt. Randy wrapped up his windbreaker and slipped it into place on the back of the pack with the velcro straps, then slipped his arms back through the daypack’s straps. It was time to look around and see what he could learn.
As he stood up and prepared to start off in the direction he had selected a bit earlier, he could see that the sun was even lower in the sky. So it was late in the day, and evening would soon be upon him. He needed to take a quick look around, and then find a sheltered place to spend the night. Dark clouds were overhead, which might mean he was in for some rain. Unless he found someone or something pretty quick, he was in for a very bleak night.
Randy set off and made his way through the trees, looking and listening for anything that might yield a clue as to where he was. Nothing was the least familiar. The forest was very homogeneous, offering few clues to direction. The small compass seemed more strongly locked on a heading than he had ever seen before, but at least seemed to provide a consistent reading. It told him he was headed almost directly east, not that direction gave him any useful information. At least he would be able to retrace his path if he got turned around, a real risk in this place. Twice already he’d needed to regain his bearings after taking a moment to stare at some imagined movement that caught his attention.
The large trees that blocked much of the sunlight, rising high in the air and separated only enough to give each other room, made up the majority of the vegetation, leaving the ground barren except for the strong smelling leaves, and the odd bush that clustered at the base of many of the trees. Gray rocks of all sizes were randomly scattered amongst the trees, some as large as cars, and occasional gullies that looked like they carried water at some time cut randomly across his intended path. There was nothing that resembled a trail, and nothing that gave any indication that anyone other than he had ever come this way. He heard a few animals in the underbrush, but never saw any. A few small birds jumped from branch to branch, or took off as he approached, but they also were a variety he was unfamiliar with. After less than a half mile, his trek came to an abrupt end. The forest suddenly opened up allowing him to see the sky, and for miles across the country. A short distance in front of him the land dropped away in a sheer cliff, dropping hundreds of feet into a valley far below. As far as he could see was a wilderness filled with the giant trees. There was a distant double waterfall and a raging river that flowed through the valley below, but nowhere was there any hint of civilization. Neither was there anything about the terrain that was remotely familiar. A sudden fear clutched him. Somehow he had been transported to an unknown place, seemingly unpopulated. He had almost no supplies, very little food and water, and no idea which items in this strange forest might be safe to eat. More importantly, he had no clue how to ever return home. He had no idea of the method used to transport him here, and even the strange intruder which had to be in some way behind the relocation was nowhere to be found, not that he would necessarily help him even if he could be found. Randy had the feeling the man would be more likely to kill him than consider helping him.
Taking a deep breath, he felt the panic ease a bit. There was nothing to do about it tonight. For now, his first priority was shelter and safety. He already felt the first drops of rain, which meant he should get his shelter set up before things became even more difficult. Tomorrow he would have more daylight to search and hope for answers. That meant he shouldn’t get too far from where he arrived here; at least not so far he couldn’t find his way back. He had seen a cluster of rocks sheltered by a stand of the large trees a little way back the way he had come. He would make a camp there.
Randy made his way back to the rock pile he had seen, picking up pieces of dry wood that would be useful for a fire as he went. He really didn’t want to spend the night in this totally foreign place without a fire. Who knew what kinds of critters roamed these woods at night, and a .45 auto in the hands of a near novice was hardly protection. Before long, the planned campsite came into view. It was good he had started back when he had, as the rain was already starting in earnest. He could hear the heavy drops drumming against the large leaves above, and after a while water began to cascade down through the leaves and to the ground. While some of the water was obviously trapped in the trees above him, the leaves seemed to direct the water to the ground and around the base of the tree itself. Still, there were areas that remained dry and he was pleased to discover the rock pile provided even more protection than he had expected. With a minimum of effort he was able to fashion a bit of a roof from the limbs of a dead tree he found nearby. He set up a circle of small rocks to contain his fire and built up a pile of smaller twigs and pieces of dried leaves to start the fire.
Of course there were no matches in his pack. He didn’t have a lighter or a flint, or any of the things that would make starting the fire easy. This was one thing that wasn’t going to be a problem for him however. The last time his father had caught him doing this he had been less than ten years old, and the subsequent beating and threats to never do anything like “that” again had
only partially produced the intended results. Randy had never let anyone see him, but he had experimented with his “talent” frequently over the years. In fact, it was the desire to understand his ability that led him into science in the first place. His ability to do these things stood in stark contrast to all he believed as a scientist, and had caused him considerable worry over the years. Now, he had a real need for his ability. He focused on the kindling and prepared for the mental strain he associated with urging his talent into existence. Much to his surprise, instead of a small wisp of smoke that gradually blossomed into fire, the whole pile of smaller twigs and leaves burst suddenly and effortlessly into a full blaze. Randy jumped back in surprise. He knew he could call fire, but it had never been like this. The blaze had appeared with virtually no effort, and with a strength he had never seen before.
The sudden brightness provided by the fire startled more than Randy. A sudden scurrying in the rock crevices behind him had him twisting around and grabbing for the pistol at his belt. Moments later, having jumped away from the fire and the comfort of his shelter, he found himself with the .45 extended in both hands while staring across the top at an odd creature approximately the size of a large squirrel. It had the same furred body and bushy tail, but the head was unlike anything he had seen on such a creature. It was vaguely feline in appearance, with distinct pointed ears and eyes not unlike those of his pet back home. Sharp claws, also reminiscent of his pet clutched at the rock on which it perched. After a momentary face-off, it hissed at him, and bolted for the safety of one of the trees nearby. It scrambled up the side, and apparently feeling safe once up the tree, turned and glared at him while half hiding behind one of the branches.
A sudden chill made him shudder. He had a bit of a premonition about where he might be, but rejected it immediately. It simply couldn’t be. Those had been daydreams when he was younger about a place where people could do what he had just done and a whole lot more. It was a place where technology was limited and talents like his weren’t uncommon. Still, curiosity finally got the better of him, and he looked over at the pile of wood a few feet away. Without returning to his seat, he focused on one of the medium sized pieces, and willed it to move from its position on the woodpile over to the fire. He was only mildly surprised when it rose to his bidding and settled onto the fire that was burning nicely by now. He had been able to move very tiny objects before, and then he was usually nauseous afterwards. Moving the chunk of wood, easily hundreds of times heavier than anything he had ever attempted, was effortless. Suddenly he felt a chill and the hair on his arms stood up.
