by Jeff Wheeler
I smile at the thought of fire with fire. “Then you will drop an avalanche on them?”
“Absolutely not. My brother is with them. Someone might get hurt. I’m going to drop an avalanche on us.”
The rumble begins almost instantly.
“We should move farther from the entrance.” Confidence colors Tovenaar’s voice.
Has he gone mad? The rumble grows at the cave entrance. Will it seal the cave?
“How will we get out?” I shout, and step toward the entrance.
The wizard grabs my arm and pulls me back. A quick shadow at the entrance darkens and muffles the roar of snow. With a blast of cold, damp snow, the cave plunges into blackness.
Seconds later, yellow light flickers on the gallery wall. Tovenaar holds a torch overhead. Where did he get a torch?
“I estimate that it will take us two days to traverse this tunnel to the other side of the mountain. My brother will surely struggle for a week to go over the mountain pass. Come. We should start.”
Numb, I follow him to the rear of the gallery. “What tunnel?” I’m pleased that my voice does not squeak or break, for I do not enjoy enclosed spaces any better than avalanches.
While we walk, the gallery ceiling descends within a few feet of my head. Now the walls approach as if to embrace me, as if to squeeze me into a coffin.
“More torches.” Tovenaar pauses and points to a stack of eight prepared torches in the shadows. “Can you carry them all? No? Take six, and I’ll fit the rest through the straps of my backpack.”
He picks up two torches. As instructed, I fold my arms around the other six. The wood feels dry and smells of aged pitch.
I glance at the cave entrance and see only blackness. The atmosphere feels heavy, difficult to breathe. Did the light take the air with it?
“You’ll have to duck through here, but the passage is roomy enough on the other side.” Despite the confines, Tovenaar is cheery. “Dwarves don’t always worry about inconveniencing tall people.”
Tovenaar is not tall enough to be inconvenienced. I duck beneath an outcrop of rock.
“What dwarves?”
“The ones who dug this shortcut through the mountains. I thought the cavern entrance to the tunnel was lost ages ago. Luck was with us when my brother’s avalanche revealed it.”
“This cave opens on the other side of the mountains?”
“Of course. Well, the tunnel from the cave does. I’m reasonably certain this is the correct cave, the one completed by the dwarves. Why else was there a stash of torches? What other reason could there be?”
“What if you’re wrong?”
“Then we’ll die lost in the dark. Don’t worry about that. We can attend your lessons while we travel. That’s good busy work.”
“No!” I didn’t mean to shout. “No, Master Tovenaar. I won’t do more lessons until you tell me why those men want to kill us.”
“That’s no way for an apprentice to speak to his master.”
The scowl in his voice is intimidating, but I won’t give up. “You say I am too old to be an apprentice.”
“Hmm. Yes. Now I appreciate why apprentices are always taken very young.”
“You accepted me because you wanted my sword arm, not a student. If you expect me to fight for you, I should know why.” I stop, but he continues to walk several paces before he pauses.
“Yes, that is a good point, Eric. However, I am unaccustomed to explaining.”
“Then we can both learn something.”
“Very well, but let us walk while we talk. I’m not sure we have enough torches to light our path for two days. And don’t complain if I intermix lessons with my story.”
“Yes, Master.” When the darkness closes in behind Tovenaar, I suppress the impulse to attempt more concessions from him and hurry to catch up to the torchlight.
* * *
“New tack. What is the first Platonic solid?” Tovenaar’s torch reveals glimpses of chiseled cave walls just ahead. Behind us lies darkness.
“Master, you said you would tell me about those men . . .” Platonic solids? Is he going to make me repeat every lesson I ever learned before he tells me of his quest? How long is this current lesson? It must already be hours.
“Wizards, not just men. The first Platonic solid and the element it represents, please.”
“Yes, Master. The first Platonic solid is the tetrahedron, characterized by having four congruent faces, each of which is an equilateral triangle. It has four vertices and six edges. The tetrahedron represents the element fire.”
“Ah, despite your disrespect, I have taught you something. All is not lost.”
“Master, I am sorry—”
“Quiet. This is of some importance. Many years ago, twenty of the world’s greatest wizards gathered to create an object of immense power, a lens to capture and focus magic. My four great-grandfathers were among these men. The wizards divided the task among themselves. Each wizard would make a piece of the lens, twenty pieces in all, which when assembled, would become the greatest magical object ever created.”
“Twenty pieces.” I recognize the count with excitement. “The puzzle in your purse?”
“Of course, the puzzle in my purse. Are you a dullard? No? Then describe for me the second Platonic solid.”
“Uh, the second Platonic solid, the hexahedron or cube, characterized by six faces that are congruent squares. The cube has eight vertices and twelve edges. The cube is unusual because the other Platonic solids all have triangular faces. What did you mean that the lens focuses magic?”
“Really? All triangular faces? And what does the cube represent?”
“Oh, the cube represents solids, the things of the earth. Solid, stackable for building. What about focused magic? What about magnification?”
“The lens is an all-purpose lever for magic. You remember leverage? Good. The third Platonic solid, please.”
“The octahedron has eight congruent triangular faces each of which is an equilateral triangle. The number of vertices is—”
“Never mind that. What element does it represent?”
“Air.”
“Yes, air. And?”
“And last is the icosahedron. It’s twenty congruent faces are equilateral triangles. It represents water.”
“The last?” Tovenaar raises an eyebrow.
“Last? Yes, last. The four elements of creation are fire, earth, wind, and water. There are no others.”
“You are sure?”
Now I am less certain. “These are all that you’ve told me.”
“Yes, yes. I have told you of no others, but that does not mean that there is no more.”
“What else can there be?”
“The fifth element is aether.”
“Aether?”
“Aether composes the things of heaven, the things beyond man’s ken. Magic is constructed from aether. Hungry? Here. I saved a few strips of jerky in my pocket.”
I take the dried meat and gnaw at one end while I ponder the fifth element. “If it is beyond our ken, how do we know it exists?”
“Sad. A boy your age. Did you learn nothing before you came to me? I must have you study solid geometry. As Euclid so profoundly proved, there are exactly five Platonic solids, no more, no less. You omitted the dodecahedron bound by exactly twelve congruent, regular pentagonal faces, not triangles. Note the implied punctuation of a five-sided pentagon face for the fifth solid. If there are five Platonic solids, then there must be five elements of the universe. Everything in our world is made of water, air, earth, or fire. What elemental purpose can remain except for aether to give substance to the heavens and to provide command over the other four? Quod erat demonstrandum. This torch is all but finished. Hand me another. What, only three remain? They will have to be enough. This spot is as good as any. Let us sleep and light the next torch when we awaken. Don’t complain. Now that you have the tools you need, I can tell you the rest of my quest tomorrow.”
I recognize t
he finality of Tovenaar’s QED declaration, but I suppress my doubts about his reasoning. “What do Platonic solids have to do with you assembling the puzzle into the lens?”
“Assemble it? My quest is to destroy it.”
* * *
I have almost worked out the sore spot in my left shoulder from sleeping on a pointy stone when Tovenaar asks the obvious.
“Is that the last torch?” The torch he holds flickers and threatens to die. Darkness squeezes our pale sphere of light.
“Yes, Master.” I hand him the last pitch-saturated stick of wood.
He ignites it using the hot remnant on his dying torch. The pitch sputters and catches. He twists the torch to redistribute the flame. The flame spreads. The light expands and pushes back the shadows.
“Stay cheerful.” He thrusts the torch ahead and smiles. “We must almost be there.”
“Yes, Master.” Right now I would rather have another strip of dry jerky than an extra torch. I talk to take my mind off the hunger. “I don’t understand why the lens was divided into twenty puzzle pieces.”
“A precaution. All the wizards would have to agree to the assembly before the lens could be used. If even one disagrees, then the lens is useless, but there is another important reason. Can you guess what it is? Recall the rules of magic. Which seems most important for any enchanted object?”
A rock trips me, but I recover without falling. “I wondered about that when you said the lens was created by your great-grandfathers and other wizards. That must have been years ago. How did they overcome the third rule of magic: magic is not permanent?”
“Very good, Eric. I am pleased with your insight. Rule three is why wizards seldom waste time enchanting objects. They would expend years of their lives only to have the power in the object decay. The genius of the lens design is that twenty wizards worked on the lens. Each piece aged its creator only a year or two. However, the power of the lens would not commence until the pieces are assembled, hence there is very little leakage of magic from the talisman. Each puzzle piece could last for centuries and still exert full power when assembled. Moreover, the lens is not intended to be magic. It is intended to amplify magic.”
“It all seems too good to be true.” Is the cave warmer here, less damp? A faint draft touches my face.
“Exactly. It is too good to be true. Rule five of magic—”
“Rule five?”
“Yes, five. The rule of the conservation of magic, a consequence of the first and second rules, but important enough to get its own number. You never get something for nothing. Someone must pay the price of magic by aging. Magnified magic is usually for difficult situations and requires even more aging.”
“Then what advantage is the lens to a wizard?”
“The lens allows the wizard to shift the burden of aging to someone else. The person aged need not even be a wizard. Not only is this use unethical, in my opinion, it is dangerous. Do you understand the consequence of exercising power without cost?”
“No, Master.”
“You’ve used magic long enough to understand. What’s the first thing you think of when you decide to use magic?”
“Uh, how much will I age?”
“Exactly. Would you think twice before using magic if it cost you nothing? Would you use it for every trivial matter without regard to what others had to pay?”
“I don’t know. I don’t think so. I wouldn’t want others to pay.”
“Every access to power begins with good intentions, with the argument that with great power one could do great good, but as the power becomes easier to exercise, then it becomes easier to abuse. The user soon thinks of himself as deserving of privilege because his goal is to do good. Soon, he loses sight of doing good for others and focuses only on his own good. The easiest abuse for a wizard is to make himself younger by aging others. No recursion. Then you have practical immortality and unlimited power.”
“Are you sure every wizard would do this? Surely some cannot be tempted.”
“Sadly, the history of man is repeated yielding to temptation, and beneath it all, a wizard is simply a man with some special skills at manipulating the aether. Anyone who expects that they are different from other men, that they can wield great power and remain uncorrupted is a fool. I should know. It was my father’s grandfather, Amos, who designed the lens. He knew full well that magic is conserved, nonetheless, he believed that he could do great good with the lens. My mother’s grandfather, Claudius, was no fool either. He insisted that all the wizards must agree to the assembly of the puzzle, and that the aging from its use be equally spread among them and their descendants, not extracted from anyone outside the families of the twenty.”
“Wait. How did you get all the pieces? I thought the fail-safe was that each wizard held a piece of the puzzle, and they all had to agree to the assembly.”
“Accidents befell those who disagreed with Amos. Somehow, after their deaths, Amos acquired their pieces of the puzzle.”
“Accidents?”
“None could prove murder, but I have little doubt that my great-grandfather was a ruthless man.”
“Did he kill the other nineteen, including your other three great-grandfathers?”
“No, but he acquired seven pieces before the others realized that they must oppose him. Unfortunately, two of the others also began to murder and steal other wizards’ puzzle pieces. Amos died from poisoning a few years after starting his acquisitions. Some suspect my great-grandmother of sacrificing her husband to save her children from the effects of the lens, but I believe that it was my grandfather who killed his own father. Not long after Amos died, every piece of the puzzle was held by some member of my family. Hmm. This torch is about to go out.”
“You inherited the puzzle pieces?”
“Not exactly. Damn, there goes the torch.”
“We can use magic to make light.”
“Wait. Let your eyes adjust. A faint glow awaits ahead. Yes, see it there?”
“Master Tovenaar, you said no one could resist the allure of power, yet you have all the puzzle pieces and have not assembled the lens.”
“Eric, every night, I take out the puzzle pieces and stare at them. I dare not join even two of the pieces, for then I would be lost, compelled to complete the puzzle. I know this because in my dreams, the puzzle promises me the lens as an instrument for doing great good in the world.”
* * *
The tunnel narrows and the ceiling dips low enough that I have to duck beneath a stone outcrop as we round the bend. Tovenaar tells me that this will be the narrowest stretch of tunnel, but despite his warning, having no room to swing a sword makes me feel vulnerable, insecure.
Now the tunnel is brighter, and Tovenaar casts aside the remnants of the last torch. Sunlight illuminates the far end of the tunnel.
Someone stands in the entrance. She takes a step back so the sunlight washes over her. Her face, her form astonish me. I am speechless. Is she real or illusion? My mind flashes back to the long winter in the cabin and Tovenaar’s discussion of magic versus illusion:
“Convincing someone that you’ve done magic is better than doing the magic,” he said. “Call it an illusion.”
“Illusion?” As so often happened when Tovenaar shifted the conversation, I felt as if my foundation was shaky, and I needed to rebalance myself.
“Illusion. Something that appears to be one thing but is really something else. Romantic love, falling in love, is the most obvious example.”
“Don’t you believe in love?”
“What? Of course I believe in love. I’ve been in love numerous times, and I’ve been lucky enough to love some of the women I was in love with. I married five of them. I probably have many children, and I love them all, particularly the ones I don’t know.”
“Where is the illusion?”
“The illusion is that you fell in love with the person you met. What really happened is your mind imagined someone different from the person you met, and that
illusion is what you fall in love with. If you are lucky, you will love the person after the illusion fades. Like magic, an illusion is not permanent. Cheer up, Eric. This is only one example of the power of illusion in every person’s life. A more dangerous illusion is when you believe yourself different from what you are. You’re still a young man. Perhaps I was too quick in choosing these examples. With experience, you will understand what I mean.”
The girl in the cave entrance waves at us. Her smile compels me into the present.
“She is Princess Helen.” Tovenaar waves back. “As I requested, her father sent her to meet us. Sending that message from these tunnels cost me a week of aging. Worth it. She will guide us through the kingdom.”
Princess Helen! I am smitten as if she wields a sword, smashes my armor, and pierces my heart. Never has the first sight of anyone affected me thus. Love. For the first time in my life, I understand the word. I’ve seen the face of love, and it is Helen’s.
We approach the entrance and the cave expands. The tunnel opening grows larger.
Yet Helen still fills the opening. Is she taller than I am?
Her image shifts with my approach. She is not standing in the entrance. She stands back from the entrance. She is taller than I am. It matters not. I cannot take my eyes from her face or ignore her lithe figure.
When we reach the cave entrance, I realize that she is not close to the entrance at all. She adjusts her blouse, clasps her hands at her waist, and smiles while she waits for us beyond the tunnel. Now I can better compare her to the world around us.
She is twice my height, at least twelve feet tall. She is a giant, but the realization comes too late to sway my affection, too late to engage my reason.
“I brought food,” she says.
Food! I’m starved. She is an angel. I am lost in her presence. I love her with all my heart.
* * *
Tovenaar makes the introductions, but I only hear her name, Helen. Helen, Helen. Music accompanies her voice when she speaks.
“You remind me of my younger brother.” She hands me cheese and bread. “He just turned six.”
