Dillard stammered.
"Poppy-cock! I've had enough of this 'wand-talking' dribble."
"Now you know wand-lore as well as I, Daughter...I mean Mistress Winterbell," Jarvis said. "There is mention of-"
Huffing and turning to her father, Mistress Winterbell calmed herself and returned her stare to me. "Yes well if this is indeed a sentient wand—and I'm not conceding that it is—the wand belongs in the hands of a master mage."
I could see the coveting notion through the glazing in Winterbell's eyes. She knew precisely what it would mean to have a sentient wand. She was after the prestige of such a possession, not the academic nor the exploratory ramifications. There was no chance in the seven-hells I was letting that hulking overgrown lump of a woman get her perfumed gorilla-mitts on my handle.
Winterbell reached out faster than I would have expected for such a lumbering creature. Once her fat fingers wrapped around my handle, I let out a jolt enough to bring down a Yeti. It didn't bring her to knee, however, but I felt the welts rising as I disappeared from her grasp.
Dillard felt the same wash of relief when I reformed in his holster—my holster. He pulled me free from the sheath, welcoming the return of a treasured friend and companion. That is how strong our bond grew in the short time we were already paired.
"It would seem that Sparkle has other ideas of where she belongs," Jarvis said. His smile hid behind a forced face. "Perhaps you-"
"PERHAPS NOTHING, Wand-Warden," Gretchen fumed. She turned to Dillard. "You are not responsible or talented enough to garner a bonded wand. I shall begin expulsion processing immediately."
Jarvis cleared his throat. Knowing the predictable nature of his daughter, Jarvis must have presumed her likely reaction to my refusal to submit to Winterbell's possession. "You can't expel a petitioning mage once a wand is paired. Only a failure to prove symbiosis in the bond trials-"
"Yes, yes...of course, you are correct...father." The bitter taste on her tongue translated in her tone and shift in stance. Brushing off the front of her gown and robes, Mistress Winterbell stood straight and lifted her nose to the sky. "So be it. When the Dullard—Dillard—fails to prove his capabilities of the bond, the wand shall be...shall be returned to storage. And Dillard Muckledun shall return to obscurity."
Winterbell spun on her heels, forcing those around her to stumble back. "Come along, Prudessa, we will finish our conversation on-" she caught herself. "Just come, girl."
Before closing the door behind her, Winterbell glared back at Dillard. "Wand-Whisperer, indeed!"
Chapter 9
Jarvis, as Wand Warden, had among the most extended list of credentials when it came to wand-lore, seconded by his daughter—Mistress Gretchen Winterbell.
"She has been a force of nature, that daughter of mine. Ever since her mother left when Gretchen was barely past flowering." Jarvis looked away as he dredged up the memory. "She grows like bristle-thorn, and looks like a dwarf's hairy ass, her mother said. She is not natural. Those were her parting words."
"I tried my best, teaching her all I knew of wand-lore. That gave her something to focus on." Jarvis shook his head. "Perhaps in hindsight, I created a monster. She has set her sights on you Sparkle, the power she might attain."
"Sparkle says that Gretchen—Mistress Winterbell—hasn't the right mix to bond on a conscious level with a wand...at least not with Sparkle."
Jarvis gave Dillard a head-tilted once-over. "But what is it about you though." Jarvis raised his hands in a show of no offense. "Not that I mean any disregard, Dillard. It is simply that there is more to this than your ability to link minds with Sparkle."
"You mean the whole Wand-Whisperer thing? I don't know."
Jarvis sighed and scratched his head. Jumping with unexpected vitality for someone his age, Jarvis turned and dug through his piles of books. Since they were tucked away in his private chambers, Jarvis was intent on picking my core for information without prying eyes...or ears. There were volumes on wand-lore, but very little to nothing on the sentience or mind linking of wands.
"You are rare with this ability to connect with your wand, but not the first I think. The same can not be said for your ability to commune with the wand of another mage." Jarvis unrolled a set of vellum scrolls. Its edges flaking away and ink fading. "This is the oldest account of wand pairing that I know of. Go through this and any of the other books on the back shelf that might help guide you."
"What will you be doing?"
Jarvis winked and pulled out a notepad. "Learning where the information is faulted or missing. I think Sparkle can fill in some blanks."
DILLARD READ VOLUME-upon-volume and scanned through scrolls, looking for more on what the extent of his ability to talk with wands meant. Neither of us was satisfied with the only information I had, based on my first and only other such bond. The singular thing we could deduce was that for some reason, my connection to other wands as a species of magical sentient instruments must be accessible to Dillard.
I decided that exploring our personal histories might provide finer details. Now being a wand of a certain age, I felt it prudent to present only the most necessary of particulars without divulging my full timeline. A lady does not share her age, regardless of race, creed or branch. It was—at that time—enough to know I was forged from a living Rowan tree, carved from the end of a sturdy branch and not cut free until fully formed.
The spell that cut me free severed a part of the Rowan's life-force and stored it within my core. It was a female Rowan, rarer than the tree species itself at the time. None of that ancient species of Rowan tree existed in our current era, so something of that extinct lineage had something to do with my nature.
"I do remember I was used in forging more wands by my first master—that's what we called them those times. But our mind bond evolved over a far longer period. It was not as it is today."
Jarvis postulated on this information and deduced that over time mages began to become more attuned to sentience in the wand without putting a proper name to the process. It made sense that it was genetic, just as much as the older the wand, the more thoroughly formed the consciousness.
"I fear the younger and further detached from those first generations of wands, the duller the sentience becomes for the wand." Jarvis was excited at the prospect of this revelation. He began taking notes at a furious pace. "And what of the original Rowan wands created by Sparkle?"
"She says they were not made of Rowan. Her Druid bond-mate experimented with other materials to make more instruments of magic. Perhaps those preceding generations made more Rowan wands, but she is not certain."
"And what of your own family tree?" Jarvis asked.
I told Dillard my suspicion, but he refused to believe it possible. My first bond-mate was a Druid master mage. The line of Druids was thought extinct; the line of Rowan wands was equally believed diminished. Surprise!
Chapter 10
Not understanding the full ramifications of possibly being a Druid descendant, Dillard put those thoughts aside. It was more than enough that his ancient wand has worked with such historical magics and mages, but somehow, he had to live up to some preconceived expectations. These worries did not assist in his magical exercises in wand bonding.
Dillard refused to let go of the new-age techniques. I tried to instill in him the problems they imposed on my ancient experience and knowledge. He shook and wiggled me about, trying to coax some new type of magic from me.
"Could you please stop wiggling me about as though you just finished making water," I told him. "It's of no use trying to extract blue pigment from a red berry."
Understanding my willy reference, Dillard flushed but did not relent. He continued to flick and fidget, trying to force out magic in a way which I was not familiar nor comfortable. We were two bulls in a standoff for dominance.
"Would you stop pissing about already?" I was getting right miffed—and a bit dizzy if I'm forthright. "Dillard, using a wand takes finesse and flowing
movements. I should be an extension of you, not just a tool for zapping old men in the arse!"
Jarvis rubbed his hind end, remembering the jolt he ended up with while trying to light a candelabra. "She fighting you Dillard?"
"Yes, the obstinate old twig. She says my technique is...dodgy."
"She isn't wrong, Dillard," Jarvis offered. "Perhaps you should let the use of a wand be less like trying to use an implement and rather a part of you."
Of course, Dillard was at a loss with what Jarvis meant, until the man offered an ingenious proposal. He grabbed a piece of twine from his desk and after cutting it in twain, used it to tie me to Dillard's forefinger. Doing this provided instant improvement.
Relieved of the conscious thought—holding onto a wand—Dillard was more focused on the conjuring of spells. There was yet resistance to my hinting and sublimation of ancient movement, but we were getting somewhere.
Dillard managed to eventually master the basics of our bond. Fire, wind, lightning...all the elemental magics were flowing quickly enough, but producing more elaborate or complicated conjuring was proving evasive. Perhaps he was distracted by the noxious odor coming from a cauldron Jarvis was brewing. Being linked as we became, it afforded me an odd connection to Dillard's senses.
"Why are you fighting me?" Dillard asked. He lifted me to his face, pointing me to the sky, trussed to his finger. "Can't you even try something new?"
"And what is your issue with trying something old?"
"The younger and newer ways improve upon the old," Dillard protested.
"Just as the older the wand the closer to sentience and power."
Dillard had no valid argument, so he went back to trying to focus his abilities, but the malodorous mist polluting the room proved too distracting. Dillard turned and jabbed his hand out toward Jarvis's vat of bubbling muck. A stream of energy shot forth from his entire hand and slid along my exterior before enveloping the caldron, evaporating it into nothingness. The recoil of the magic coated my innards. Disgusting.
"What is...was that stuff?"
Jarvis half smiled but spoke with the disappointment of requiring starting his batch over. "Mage Paste—used for entrapping magic."
Dillard sat with a thud of defeat. "Where did it go?"
Jarvis laughed. "I'm sure we'll find out soon enough. You look tired, Dillard. Perhaps that is enough for now."
Jarvis got up and started to leave. "You are welcome to rest here and use my books for more research. We'll talk more in the morning."
Chapter 11
As Dillard sat, tired from the day's exercises, he unbound me from his finger and discarded the twine. His stomach rumbled, and even I could feel the ache in his belly. It had been days since last he ate anything of substance. But when he turned to a volume on producing organic objects from conjuring, I had to warn him.
"We are not prepared for that type of casting, Dillard."
Ignoring my warning, Dillard thumbed through the pages until he found something of interest. "Oh, this will do nicely."
"Dillard, you can't simply make food appear from nothing. That goes for any conjuring. Making something from nothing is not advisable."
"Ah, but you didn't say impossible."
No, it is theoretically possible, and I have experienced it once in my long existence, but the results were...not as expected. They never did fix those stones at the henge.
"You need to transmute—using what you have on hand or stored. The components of spells and conjuring must be easily obtained, unless you want to spend excess time and energy attempting to gather the constituent particles from the universe. Having a select collection of items stored in your wand makes conjuring more straightforward and less dangerous.
Dillard thought for a few moments on what I shared, but that didn't curtail his curiosity or reckless nature. He lifted me to his face and waved me over the table, calling forth an apple pie. Nothing happened.
Undeterred, Dillard waved me about a few more times until achieving a result.
An apple flew in through the window and pelted him squarely in the side of the head.
"No pie, but you certainly called forth an apple." Jarvis laughed as he entered the room, restarting his Mage Paste concoction. "You realize that you won't be required to prove your bond in such extreme."
"I know," Dillard admitted, "but I have everything stacked against me with your daughter and Prudessa. The more I know and demonstrate, the more likely my passing the certification."
Dillard turned back to the apple and pointed at it using me as an instrument. "See I have a component." He thought of an apple pie and funneled his will through me.
I hadn't the patience to stop him. Best to let him learn the hard way.
The apple began to wobble and bounce.
Dillard pushed more concentration into his spell, his white-knuckled fingers gripping me hard. As the apple went still before shriveling into a fly-attracting rotten lump, Dillard became more determined.
He mastered the calling of fruit from the orchard outside but was yet grasping the point of needing all the components. Dillard eventually conceded my point and collected some ingredients from Jarvis's discarded lunch. Crusty bread and a few bits of sugary tart, combined with his apple on a plate.
Dillard renewed his efforts and concentrated on forming his pie of apple and refuse.
I was pleased when he eventually achieved the makings of a pie, but he had yet to apply the necessary heat for cooking.
Dillard began producing a flame. After singeing the edges, he realized heat was needed and not a direct fire. Dillard adjusted his efforts and enveloped the confection with a bubble of cooking warmth. Turning up the heat to cook faster, Dillard began to struggle. Before he realized his misstep, the pie started to churn and shake.
The exploding food, coated everything around, including poor old Jarvis. I think the man was bleeding patience faster than a slaughtered heifer.
Chapter 12
"I think you need a break young Dillard," Jarvis insisted. "I will clean up this...mess."
Dillard felt embarrassed—I presume—as it was a new sensation to experience. It wasn't the only new feeling I garnered. Failure was alien to me. I admit I had my fair share of disappointing bond-mates, but having only one previous bond expanding into a full link of body and mind, this was extraordinarily foreign. My first master was Druid and excelled in magic long before creating me. This new partner...well he was a tadpole just growing his legs.
As we walked down the promenade, Dillard's mind was awash with a heady mixture of emotions that stirred my crystalline core. There was no way we would pass the trials in this state. He had the essential abilities mastered to prove our bond, but his performance would be mediocre at best if I did nothing to improve his mood.
"Dillard," I said. "It isn't all bad you know. Conjuring is a skill as well as an art."
"You have a point I presume."
"Testy...my point is that becoming a master artist takes skill as well as time. You have the skill, and now with our bond...plenty of time."
"What does that mean?"
"We gain from each other as partners in magic. You have youth and vitality with a bloodline bound to great power and ability. You only scratch an itch that lingers beneath the surface of your being. I am able to gain from your experiences and power, just as you gain from mine."
"And what do I get from you?"
"My experience, use of my core. And then there is longevity."
Dillard stopped his stride in the center of a busy foot-traffic lane. More than a few bumps and jostles were accompanied by curses as he blocked the way. "What? You mean I will live longer?"
"Yes, my bond-mate."
"How long?"
"So long as you don't do anything stupid or get yourself killed? I don't know. Certainly long enough for your willy to get as wrinkled and creased as me."
Thinking immediately of his man-hood, Dillard failed to realize the ramifications.
"Our
lives are as bound as our magic."
Dillard needed time to grasp this, so I felt a distraction would help ease into the new revelations coalescing his thoughts. His headache began to make me throb.
"Dillard, Why don't we have a little fun and simple practice."
He pushed my voice away for a tick, but then slid me from my holster. Pulling me out and twirling me—horizontal—in his right hand, my tip spinning on his left forefinger, Dillard contemplated giving up. But a sprinkle of hope lingered on the edges of his thoughts. That was my chance.
"Let's do some food shopping, and let me be the purchase sack."
Eventually, Dillard stood and approached a vendor cart. I knew playing to his unsatisfied hunger would work to my advantage.
"Buy some eggs and store them in my core by making them disappear."
Dillard complied.
I directed Dillard next to a cheesemonger where he sampled then selected a pungent yet tasty wedge of fine goats-milk hard cheese. He enjoyed the sharp flavor and heady texture, though I felt they forgot to shave the goat in the making.
As we worked our way through the booths, sampling and purchasing wares, Dillard's mood lightened along with his step. His hunger abated alongside his faltering confidence. But as with all moody mages, his disposition swung with pendulous disregard back toward defeat. My attempt at distraction—though equally an exercise in Dillard's ability—was stultifying him.
Dillard made our way back to the shop and through the cluttered cloister of texts and supplies in Jarvis's residence and business. To this day I'm unsure why he went back to Jarvis's instead of our own chambers, but his comfort with the old man was evident.
Dillard told Jarvis of our day in the shopping center of the city, and how he stored all his purchases within me. When he attempted to remove his purchases from me, his efforts produced nothing but a pile of dust.
The Magical Book of Wands Page 18
