“I'm a wizard, yes I am... a wizzy wizzy wizard!”
Alfred saw strange sparkling energies suddenly web along the wall. “He is a wizard! A real one! In my room!”
Alfred turned to the wizard and began dancing with him. They grabbed hands and did some odd footwork, both of them giggling. Alfred looked back at the wall and saw the blue energy sparkle and spread.
“Wow! So you're memory is back?”
The old man nodded briskly, but then thought about it, and stopped dancing. “No… it isn’t.”
When they stopped and were looking at each other, they realized something was different. They saw that they were standing in a dark forest at twilight.
Chapter Five: A Dark Forest
Alfred and the old wizard separated and rubbed their hands as if something filthy or perhaps magical was on them. The eleven-year-old, in his pajamas in the middle of a dark forest, was afraid. Moonlight shone through the canopy of dark leaves, giving everything except the shadows a dark bluish hue. The magical blue sparks Alfred saw in his bedroom faded away.
The wizard looked around. “Yes, yes, I know this place.”
“You do!? Where are we?”
The wizard shrugged. “I don’t remember. But I know I knew at one time. Or rather I feel I know this. Hmmm… a new feeling as well.”
“What?” Alfred paced with bare feet, tiptoeing on the clammy forest floor, looking around, hoping to find a door or window out of this dark place.
“Danger!” the wizard suddenly said, barely whispering, glancing about with his dancing eyes, grim face, and furled eyebrows.
“Danger?!” Alfred rushed behind the old man.
“Yes, something is here, in the shadows near us.” The old man, or wizard as Alfred hoped he was, rolled up his sleeves.
“Can you take me back home? Now!?” Alfred tugged at the man's robe. The forest felt dangerous, whether something threatening was there with them or not.
Then they heard a growl. It echoed in the deep crevices of the bark of the old trees and along the quivering ends of the dark leaves. It reverberated along Alfred’s spine and at the tips of the old wizard’s hair. Alfred leapt about, causing the old man to falter in his footsteps.
“Now, now, calm down, boy! Calm down!”
“There’s something out there!” Alfred pointed hysterically in all directions.
“I know. I can feel it!” The wizard waved his hands as if to prepare a spell.
“Are you going to cast a spell? You’re a wizard, right!?”
The wizard waved his hands again. And again. “Hmmm, no. I can’t remember how.” He shrugged in a hopeless manner.
“What kind of wizard are you if you can’t cast spells?” Alfred hopped like a bunny in panic mode.
“I don’t know. I don’t remember!”
Just then from out of the trees leapt a wolf. It was a dark huge hairy beast with enormous extended limbs, and its paws seemed much larger than a regular wolf’s paws. Man-like fingers landed and gripped the ground, folding in earth and bramble. Terror-struck, Alfred could say nothing.
The animal’s growl, a low rumble, vibrated through Alfred, leaving him frozen in fear. The creature stood up like a man on its back legs. It was no mere wolf. Its snout was long and grotesque. An array of thick pointed teeth protruded from its mouth. Its ears were huge and hairy, twitching from side to side.
“Stay close, Alfred!”
Too weak-kneed to run, Alfred clung to the wizard. “Are you going to protect me?”
“No, no, I'm just really scared too!” The wizard tried to give Alfred a comforting smile. Alfred was not very comforted.
The beast growled again, spittle and steam pouring from its snout. Its eyes glowed with blood red hatred and hunger. It took a few heaving steps towards them, its paws digging deep into the soft earth.
“Stay back, dire one!” The wizard bravely stood between the wolf beast and Alfred.
“It’s a werewolf!!??” Alfred shook uncontrollably.
“Oh, a werewolf? That sounds apropos!” The wizard gave a smug acknowledgment.
The creature leapt upon the wizard, knocking him and Alfred back. He felt as if he was in a dark bizarre dream, with no will or power to defend himself. Though he had played 'Grim Wars' and fought in imaginary worlds against numerous types of evil creatures, this one was far too real. It brought waves of shivers down his spine and made his whole body limp with fear and exhaustion. He had never felt such a bombardment of sensations. The smell of the decaying leaves, the cold night air, the clammy dark earth, the spidery shadows of the trees, the serenely misty hues of moonlight, and the growling vibrations of the werewolf -- all chilled his bones and weakened his limbs.
Thrown back into the low-lying leaves and branches, Alfred thudded onto the spongy forest floor. The werewolf took to slashing at the wizard, swinging wildly in the air.
Alfred sat up in the bushes, covered in mud and leaves. He could just see the beast through the leaves. The werewolf looked down at its bare claws. There was nothing there or anyone to swing at. It looked slightly confused. The wizard had vanished!
Alfred gulped. The werewolf’s ears twitched, and its blood red eyes came to focus on Alfred. With a growl, the creature charged at Alfred, who sat paralyzed with terror.
As the werewolf leapt, Alfred was yanked out of the way, leaving the bestial wolf to crash into a tree. It had charged so hard, its head collided with the tree flipping its body upside down. The werewolf then slid to the ground upon its head. Out came a growling moan, followed by a gurgle of pain.
Alfred landed on roots and stumbled about but was able to stay on his feet. The wizard looked at himself, patting his body and arms. Then he looked at the stricken werewolf. “It can’t touch me!... how convenient!” The wizard seemed amused by this.
“Can it touch me?” Alfred asked with hope.
“Mmmm... probably...”
“What? Why?”
“Well, I can FEEL that it can't touch me, see! I feel it. But I can also feel that it... CAN touch you!” The wizard proudly tapped his thinking cap.
“Well, what do I do then?” Alfred continued his bunny rabbit hop.
“Oh yes...yes... Calm down, boy. This is the whole point, right? Heh heh... I'm feeling that our being here is the whole point!” The wizard patted his chest and stood proud a bit too long.
“The whole point is me? Right? You need me for something?” said Alfred, stunned, muddied and sore. “To live??”
The werewolf growled in pain and anger, jostling to get up.
“Oh right! Follow me if you want to live!” The non-spell casting wizard took off through the forest.
“I want to live!”Alfred yelled.
“Yes, yes, of course! I feel it!”
Alfred awoke from his state of fear and raced after the strange wizard. They traveled a good while in the dark.
Alfred was breathing laboriously. He had never run so hard. Though young and healthy, he was not considered much of an athlete. At school, his physical education class was pretty easy, and he never put in the effort to be any better than what was expected. Now he was running for his life, being cut and scraped by branches, feeling the sting of thorns and stickiness of plant sap. He had jabs of pain run up his feet from running barefoot through broken branches, dead leaves and who knows what else on the forest floor. Snails? Worms? Leeches? Spiders? Fungi? Ladybugs? Yuck!
“Hah! The dire wolf could not touch me!” The wizard breathed heavily too as he hurried through the forest.
“Why?” asked Alfred, barely able to keep up.
“Ah, I don’t know why it can't touch me. Perhaps I am some kind of ghost!”
“But I touched you!”
“Because I wanted you to,” the wizard winked.
“Oh.”
They heard the werewolf howling from a distance. Alfred looked back fearfully but saw only dark shadowy trees and slow rolling mist.
“Come, boy! Hurry!”
Alfred
continued to run, but everything in his body screamed with pain. “I need shoes! I’m hurting!”
“Ah hah, there’s your answer!”
“What answer?”
The wizard turned to Alfred as they ran. “I don’t feel a thing.”
“So what’s that mean?”
The wizard stopped in the forest, breathing lightly, while Alfred, stopping and bending over, breathed heavily.
“It means, my dear boy, that since you feel pain, thusly, ergo... the werewolf can hurt you.” The wizard seemed thrilled by his powers of deduction. He stood tall, arms crossed in satisfaction.
The werewolf howled again, the dreadful sound seemed closer.
“There! Run!” The wizard pointed to a small square glowing yellow light.
Alfred thought that odd to see in the middle of the dark forest. But he had no other choice. He did not know what else to do. His fear shrouded any other thought but to get to that yellow light. He ran as fast as he could through the blinding darkness of the forest. Then he saw another square yellow light next to the first one. He realized they were coming to a small dark cottage lit from within.
Again he heard the howls and growls of the werewolf – this time with the sound of its feet pounding upon the forest floor. Now all he could think of was getting into the cottage. He leapt at its door, banging his tired and beaten body against it. It would not open.
Then he heard the werewolf snarl right behind him. Turning, he saw it leap! The hairy beast suddenly flew by him as if yanked by an invisible leash. It yelped as it crashed into nearby bushes.
“Down, foul beast!” a booming voice yelled, much different from the wizard’s. Then a bright searing light blinded Alfred. “The Father of Light repels you, cursed brother! You know its power! Begone!”
The werewolf got up, cowering, and ran off. As suddenly as the light had appeared, it was gone. Alfred's eyes adjusted quickly to the dim light in front of the cottage. A cloaked man stood there with a staff held out like a weapon. He turned to peer at Alfred.
Alfred, breathing hard, peeled himself off of the small wooden door.
“Who are you?” the booming voice asked.
“He is the one,” the wizard said, stepping out of the forest.
The cloaked man turned. “Who are you that comes into the night like a ghost!?” The man slowly waved his staff at both wizard and boy. Then he paused, peering closer at them. Alfred winced, shivering in shock and fear.
The wizard smiled warmly. “I know you,” he said with confidence. “You were a boy. I knew you.”
“Tirnalth?” the cloaked man said, as if expelling years of despair.
“Yes, that was my name! I am Tirnalth, the wizard!” the old wizard or rather Tirnalth said. “But I must warn you that I have no memory. I can not recall who I was. I did not even know my name, until now.”
“I am Verboden,” said the cloaked man, bowing on one knee. “I was a young servant to you many years ago. I was a cleric in the Order of Light, but now, in these troubled times, I am but a hermit. The last we have known of you is that you were to give up your life to the Dark One to lessen his sway upon Gorbogal.”
“Hmmm,” Tirnalth nodded. “Dark One? Gorbogal? Yes, those sound important... serious... dangerous. I seem to remember...”
“They are the bane of the land. All has been lost. The people are scattered.”
“What? That sounds really serious!” Tirnalth said.
Alfred tried to stand apart from the door but fell back against it. Verboden and Tirnalth looked at him with pity.
“We should take him inside. There we can talk. I am glad, Tirnalth, that you have returned, even if just in spirit. I fear, though, that the Dark One has succeeded.” Verboden lifted Alfred in his arms and opened the door.
“Take care of the boy first,” said Tirnalth, entering the home behind Verboden.
It was a small cottage with a bed, two chairs by the fire, several pots for cooking, a table and some baskets with mushrooms, wild roots, herbs and the like. There were several walking sticks and staves and jars of stored provisions.
Tirnalth looked about with an old man's smile. “It’s a nice little place you have here, Verboden.”
“You truly do not have your memory.”
Verboden laid Alfred on the bed. Spent and in a hot sweat, the boy fell asleep. Verboden washed his many scrapes and cuts, applying a green paste to them and speaking soft ancient words.
“Tell me, Verboden. Who am I?” Tirnalth sat in one of the chairs and pulled a pipe from a small basket next to it. He looked at the pipe in curiosity, wondering how he knew to pick it up. Then he looked down and saw smoking leaf and a set of long branches. He stuffed the leaf into the pipe, thrust a branch into the fire, placed the flickering flame on the leaf and then puffed at his wonderful little pipe.
Verboden smiled, seeing Tirnalth's old habits. After cleaning and bandaging Alfred's minor cuts and abrasions, Verboden gently placed a blanket over him and then sat down next to Tirnalth.
“Some memories not even the Dark One can take.” Verboden nodded to the small stool where Tirnalth acquired the pipe and leaf.
“How was my memory taken and why?”
Verboden looked to the sleeping Alfred and then spoke quietly, “All I know is that you knew you had to confront the Dark One, the one who must not be named. You had to dissuade him from aiding the evil witch Gorbogal. You had to give him something he wanted, and so you sacrificed yourself. You gave him your soul. But I wonder if all the Dark One could take was your memory. After all, you are a servant of the Father of Light.”
Tirnalth watched as his smoke swirled up into the small rafters. “The God of Light – yes, I feel that is my salvation. My soul is not mine to give. But my memories are. So I am not completely destroyed. I am not completely gone.”
“But you are without your memory, your powers, and your knowledge?”
“All can be regained or relearned or whatever. I am not worried.” Tirnalth continued to puff.
“Not worried?” Verboden ignored the smoke lingering about him. “You truly do not have your memory!”
Tirnalth glanced at Verboden, wondering what he would say next.
“Once Gorbogal knows you have returned, as powerless as you are, she will hunt you down as she has all the wizards. Her power is supreme. She destroyed the line of kings many years ago and scattered the people. Men of the Westfold now hide in holes while she curses the land with plague and darkness! What hope do we have in a brainless wizard!?”
“Silence!” Tirnalth suddenly boomed, much as he would have when he was a great wizard.
Verboden looked away. Both men sat in silence, Tirnalth staring at the fire, Verboden looking at Alfred.
“This one is but a soft gangly boy. A peasant you found lost in the woods, I would think, though he looks well fed,” Verboden finally spoke.
Tirnalth was deep in thought.
Verboden turned to the wizard, “Tirnalth? Why have you returned?”
Tirnalth finally looked at Verboden, “I can not remember anything.”
“If you can not remember, if you have lost all your powers, then we have no one to stop Gorbogal. The Father of Light has abandoned us.” Verboden added another log to the fire and prodded it, crouching close enough to see the flames reflected in his eyes.
Tirnalth stood and walked over to where Alfred was sleeping. “I do not even know his name.”
Then he turned and smiled warmly at Verboden. The cleric did not look reassured.
“It feels right, standing here, back in this place, with this -- I suppose it is my smoking pipe,” said Tirnalth, puffing greedily. “And with this boy here, I can feel it.... the line of kings has returned!”
Verboden’s eyes widened in wonder at the remark, but soon the shadow of doubt filled his face.
Chapter Six: Verboden the Cleric
Alfred woke, yawned, and stretched. “What a crazy dream that was!” he thought to himself, shaking his head. He had
to tell his mother. He sat up. “Mom!?”
Suddenly, there was the crashing sound of wood banging on the floor. “Oh, my dear boy,” Tirnalth said. “Don’t call out for your mother!”
Alfred saw that the old man from the dream had just entered the room with some firewood.
Then Verboden rushed in. “Is everything okay?”
“Who are you?” he asked. “Why are you still here?” Alfred cringed in the bed, thinking it was his own.
“Here?” Verboden smirked. Then he sighed, realizing that Alfred had every right to be frightened and confused. Verboden and Tirnalth pulled their chairs up in front of Alfred and sat down.
“What is your name, boy?” Verboden asked.
“It’s Alfred.”
Tirnalth nodded assuringly at Verboden. “Doesn’t ring a bell.”
Verboden sighed and then spoke softly, “Alfred, Tirnalth here is a wizard, a great wizard.”
Tirnalth shrugged. “No recollection!”
“He has no memory because he gave it up to save the line of kings. Well, long ago, to save your mother who was bearing you.”
“Where’s my mom? Where am I? She’ll be worried, you know. And she’ll call the police.” Alfred covered himself more, then looked down at the rustic wool blanket and realized it wasn't his. He glanced about the cabin at all the medieval looking props.
Verboden asked Tirnalth, “Do you know what or who the police is?”
Tirnalth shrugged. “I have no memory.”
“Oh yes, of course,” Verboden shook his head, then spoke to Alfred. “We will explain everything. If I am right, your mother will know where you are. She... fled... I think to protect you.”
“Protect me? Why? From what?”
“To protect you from…” Verboden hesitated, choosing his words carefully, “...from harm.”
Alfred eyed Verboden and glanced at Tirnalth, who kept his old man smile. “Protect me from what? From that werewolf? Was it really a werewolf? Was it really real?” He did not like the idea of being in a place where there were actual werewolves.
Alfred: The Boy Who Would Be King (Alfred the Boy King Book 1) Page 5
