The Wand-Maker's Debate: Osric's Wand: Book One

by Jack D. Albrecht Jr.

  Creating a wand from a stick was easy. Interlacing the magical strands to make the constricted shaft for the power to be propelled through was the difficult part. Of course, you had to use sticks that were sturdy and had an appealing shape, then clean and polish them before creating the magical structure within, but that was all just pointless aesthetics to please the buyer. The raw structure of a stick could easily contain the magical strands that those gifted with the ability of wand making manipulated. Only Wand-Makers were able to see the magical strands, and they could draw them from Archana, mold them, and bind them to create a wand.

  Gus and Pebble where the only ones in his colony who could see into that realm. He had devised a game to train his son in the art of wand-making. He would locate an item or a creature with a specific pattern of magical strands, and Pebble would have to guess what it was he had chosen based on clues. Pebble was young, however, and he often tried to play the game with his siblings who could not see what he saw. Gus had to remind him often that it wasn't fair to make them guess something they couldn't see.

  He was heading south, parallel to the tree line, in the direction of Lady Carrion's cottage. He thought perhaps she would be preparing a potato soup, as the young tubers were most succulent that time of year. Suddenly, a noise from the woods caught his attention, and he turned his head to the left and stood upright in fear; just in time to see an arrow released from a bow. Gripped with anxiety, he was rooted in place by his terror. This is going to hurt, he thought. The arrow struck his leg on the back side of his thigh, nearly severing the muscle. He screamed out in pain and then fell to the ground, swearing at the hunter.

  “You imbecile, have you ever shot a bow before today!?” He shouted, as he reached for his wand and began to heal his wound.

  “I am sorry, Sir!” He yelled, as he ran up to Gus. “I beg your forgiveness. I am so hungry that my arms are shaking at the tension of the bow.”

  “Well, that will happen if you are stupid enough to hunt this meadow!” He frowned up at a very apologetic man. “May Archana place many obstacles in your path as you hunt.” He continued to work on his wounded leg. “How long have you been hunting this meadow anyway?”

  “'Bout three days now, Sir. I fell asleep, and I awoke just moments ago and saw you.”

  “And you had to bloody miss, didn't you?!” Gus interrupted.

  “Well, Sir, you don't present a very large target.”

  “I am a full eighteen inches, as you can easily see. I didn't even move!”

  “Yes, Sir, but you only weigh about three pounds.”

  “I was eighteen inches!” Gus interrupted again. “Now I'll be seventeen and three quarters and lean to the left, thanks to you!” He had stopped the bleeding and was working with his wand to end the pain. He mumbled under his breath as he worked. “They will have to change my name to Eileen. I've never seen a worse hunter in my life. I could have fed a starving man, my pups would have been proud; but no, this idiot had to miss a perfectly easy shot.”

  He did fear dying, as anyone in the sights of a hunter would; though he feared aging to decrepitude more. In all of the stories told, very few had made it to that sort of an end. The tales of those who had lived to old age all spoke of the pain they experienced. Some of them lost their mental capacity or control of their bodily functions. There were terrible tales of disease, and the sadness of seeing all of their children die before them, loss of eye sight and being dependent on their family and friends to survive. Gus wanted to die nobly, to nourish an honorable hunter, but he feared it would not happen.

  Gus was aware, due to an encounter with a See-er in his younger years, that he was destined never to be hunted. He was determined not to die a sad, lonely death of age and incapacity, and although it was an honorable goal, when a See-er showed a person their death they rarely escaped it.

  When a hunt had been botched, there was nothing left for the hunter. Honor would not allow him another shot, at least not at the same target. So, all that one could do was hope that his attempted prey would point him in the direction of a food source.

  “My apologies Sir, I assure you I would have honored you if I had bested you in the hunt. If you were incapacitated, I would have.” He tried to appeal to Gus.

  “Yes, you proved that by not killing me after your display of incompetence!” Gus yelled back.

  “Once again, I beg your forgiveness, Sir. I will leave you to heal and be on my way.” He roused himself to leave.

  Gus watched as he gathered his belongings, still healing his leg with his wand. Healing a severed muscle took time, even with a great wand like his. His anger had finally begun to subside as the man headed back into the trees. Honor got the best of him, and he hated himself for giving in to it.

  “Wait, hunter!” He watched as the man came striding back.

  “Sir?” He halted about half way back, afraid he would be verbally assaulted again.

  “You are the world's worst hunter!” Gus barked at him. The man looked thoroughly annoyed, and Gus knew he should be happy to have survived their encounter. After a long moment, each staring hatefully at the other, Gus began again with less anger in his voice. “But you showed honor in your hunt.” He paused again. “If you travel in that direction you will go another three days without food.”

  “I will be in your debt, indeed, if you tell me which direction to travel.” The hunter approached, and knelt in front of Gus.

  Gus took a deep breath, angry at himself for giving up the information. The hunter did not deserve it after the terrible way he had performed with his bow, and yet Gus felt pity for the young lad.

  “A short walk to the northeast,” he shook his head, not believing he would help the fool that had put him in such a foul mood, “there is a meadow, slightly larger than this one.” He got up, testing his weight on his leg and wincing. “There are about four hundred prairie dogs living there.”

  The man stood, looking in the direction he had indicated, eager to leave yet aware that Gus had not finished.

  “Listen up, boy!” Gus was angered by his inattention.

  “But the light is almost gone!”

  “Yes, and sight is only one of your issues. That lousy aim of yours is another. So listen to me!” Gus paused and pointed at the ground for him to kneel again. The hunter shot him an irritated look, but he did as he was told. “Twenty minutes in that same direction you will find a raspberry bush. Stop-there-and-eat!” He gritted his teeth with very pronounced pauses between the words. Then Gus walked close to the man and kicked him in the knee with his newly healed leg. “Then rest! You will hunt much better if you can handle the tension of the bow, you fool!”

  “Yes, you are right, thank you, Sir. You honor me.” He bowed to show respect. “May I have your name?”

  Gus looked at the man, weighing in his mind if he should tell him. Deciding it would be more torturous if he did, he quickly replied, “Gus.”

  The man's face went white, and he asked, “The…”

  Quickly Gus replied, interrupting the man again, “Yes, that is me,” as he shook his head, “and no, I'm not going to be making you a wand today! You have gotten quite enough out of me already, haven't you?”

  The man backed up, nodding his head in agreement. “Yes, Sir!”

  “Now, be off with you.” The man began to walk northeast. “You might be able to curry some favor by ridding me of another mouth to feed, mighty hunter!” He called, with a snort of bitterness as he resumed his walk south toward Lady Carrion and her wonderful food.

  He hoped that he would catch her making dinner for herself, although she would gladly make him dinner if he asked, it did not feel the same as showing up just as she pulled a minced meat pie out of the oven. She was a talented cook, and he knew she loved to be appreciated for it, so they both benefited from the arrangement. Besides, the minced meat pie was well worth the gas it gave him. After the incident with the pathetic hunter, he could use a warm, home cooked meal. It was shortly after eight, by hi
s reckoning, and that was about the right time. His evening might still have a high point left.

  Time passed quickly as he complained to himself while walking toward her home. As he approached, he could smell fresh baked bread and beef stew, and could see the smoke coming from the brick chimney as he made his way to the cobblestone path that led to her door. His mouth watered in anticipation of the meal.

  A bright flash in the western sky, in the direction of Stanton, stopped his progress. That's odd, he thought. He did not see any clouds, perhaps they are setting off some more fireworks. As he approached the steps, he felt a strong gust of wind that set in the chill from an already cold day. He could not wait to step inside and feel the warmth of the fire, and eat some of the delicious food he could smell. At last, he came to the door and pulled on the rope she had dropped down for when he visited, and he heard a bell chime within the house.

  “Come in, Gus.” Announced a delighted voice from inside. Gus walked in through the small door she had hinged especially for him. “You are just in time; I was pouring a bowl of stew. Would you like some?” She asked knowingly, as she ladled soup into a second bowl. Her light blue dress and white apron swirled around her ankles as she gathered dishes and bread to accompany the stew. Her long brown hair was tied back in a tail to keep it out of her way while cooking.

  Not wanting to give his intentions away, and acting his role in their mutual arrangement, Gus spoke with an affectionate flare.

  “Why, Miss Carrion, I was just in this area and wanted to see if I might borrow your sink to wash my sticks before I brought them home.” He swept one paw out before him and bent his small body in an exaggerated bow as she turned toward him. “However, I would be a fool to turn down such a delightful smelling meal from a beautiful lady such as yourself!”

  “Oh, Gus, you are such a flatterer.” She said with a genuine smile, as she moved to make sure her spatula wand could be seen in her belt. “My days of being a Miss are long since over, as you well know,” shaking her finger playfully at him, “but I am delighted to have your company, as always.” She turned back to cut bread for them both. Gus set his satchel of sticks on the ground in front of her sink and climbed up to the table while she finished preparing their meal.

  He heard a commotion outside, and stood erect on his hind legs to allow him to see past Lady Carrion out the window. There were several men running through the meadow. One man stopped, catching his breath, and spoke to her nearest neighbor. His arms waving wildly, and pointing in the direction of Stanton, he appeared to be in a panic. Lady Carrion cast a confused look at Gus as they watched a second man run up to her house and knock frantically at the door.

  “Come in.” She said timidly, not knowing what to expect. Gus remained standing to better see him as he entered.

  The man opened the door only enough to stick his head in, and reported, “Something occurred at the palace during the ratification ceremony. The palace collapsed in on itself. We are asking all able to lend aid to report immediately. The situation is dire.” Then, just as quickly as he had arrived, he fled, running toward the tree line to continue spreading the news. The door slammed shut where his head had been. Lady Carrion looked baffled, but Gus patted her hand and then jumped down to the floor.

  “Do you still have the wands I left here for safe keeping?” Gus asked, thinking quickly.

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Give me a lift to the sink. I'll rinse these sticks while you grab the wands and your bag.” She lifted him gently, and went to find the wands he spoke of. When she returned, he had a pile of clean sticks sitting on the edge of the counter. “Put the wands in at the bottom, and make sure they are covered; I don't want to mix these up.” She did as he said and held her bag at the edge of the counter so he could push in the sticks and jump in himself. “You will pardon me for hitching a ride? My left leg isn't what it used to be and I would just slow you down.” He kept speaking as she grabbed her cloak and the bag and headed out the door. “I'll have these made into wands by the time we arrive in Stanton.”

  “Why so many?”

  “Because today, I am giving them away.”

  3 – Rude Awakening

  This is not what I expected, Osric thought to himself as he lay motionless, his head pounding in rhythm with his heartbeat. He could hear voices, but they sounded muffled and far away. This feels more like waking up than dying. He was certainly in enough pain to be dying. He had always imagined that death was a release from pain and suffering, but every muscle in his body ached as he strained to breathe. Breathe? Do the dead breathe? Osric reached up to rub his temples in an attempt to ease his headache and grazed his knuckles on stone. His eyes jerked open but in the dark he could not perceive anything to determine his surroundings. Dust, I smell dust! He tried to call out, but his throat was dry from the cloying dust and he managed very little sound. I survived? I can't believe I survived!

  What could have happened? Osric was mystified. As he moved his hands along the ground beside him, he felt debris scattered on the smooth marble floor he lay upon. How could he have lived through the explosion? He had no wand. He was so close to the source; he knew there was no way he could have survived such a blast. Yet there he was, still on Archana, or at least he thought he was.

  He thought through the events leading up to the explosion, and the two pulls of his gift had him baffled. He had never experienced his Portentist gift triggering for two simultaneous events. Thoughts continued to cycle through his head as he tried to unravel what had caused it, but he had no information except for the crowd looking behind him with excitement. Whatever they had seen, they did not seem to fear it. He had felt, with his gift, that what was happening behind him was momentous, but it had not felt threatening. Perhaps he could learn more later; right then he needed to focus on where he was and how to get out.

  He seemed to have a fair bit of room on each side of him. Above was another story. When he tried to reach up, his hands encountered stone within a hand's length above his waist. He pressed against it with as much strength as his could at the awkward angle, but it did not budge. His sword was still at his side, secured in its scabbard. He could hear movement near his feet but he couldn't see anything. Without his wand, he could not move the stone that trapped him. Hopefully, what he was hearing was an attempt to find survivors and they would be able to free him. If not, it could be days before he died of dehydration. As the worst parts of that death started to cycle through his mind, he felt a sharp pinch at his calf.

  “Ow!” Osric yelled, as he instinctively kicked his leg. He felt his leg connect with something just below his knee and assumed it was the creature that had bitten him. Getting eaten alive by rats had not even crossed his mind; he was sure that would be worse than dehydration. He tried to pull out his short sword, but the hem of his tunic got caught on the guard and he tugged it halfway up his chest trying to get the blade free. However, there was no room to swing it if he needed to, so it would be useless against rats in the enclosed space.

  “Thats was rude!” A young voice cried out, “I am's just checkin' for survivors. What'd you's kick me for's?”

  “Well, you could have asked if I was alive. You did not have to bite me!” Osric was not in the mood to apologize to his assailant.

  “Well, you's did not move when I came's in here, so's I thought you's were dead.” Osric did feel a little bad for kicking a child; the voice could not belong to anyone over the age of six. “Was bitin' you's so's I could wake you's if you's was just sleepin'.”

  “I can't see in here. I thought you were a rat!” Osric slid the half drawn sword back into the scabbard. The guard was cold on his skin but there was not enough room to pull his tunic down.

  “You's shoulda lit your wand.”

  “I lost my wand before the explosion.” Osric was growing tired of explaining himself. “Look, are you going to help me, or question me all night?”

  “Night?” He giggled. “It's is mid'day already. This is my second ti
me through's the bottoms of the piles.”

  “And am I going to be rescued or what?!” Osric was tired of the word play. He needed to get out and start an investigation into who had caused the explosion, but to do that, first he needed a wand.

  “Oh, yes, I hope's so. I gotsta wait for the go go so's I know nobody will be smooshed when I lifts this wall off of you's. It could makes another guy go smoosh if I do's it now.” He said, as he lit the tip of his very short wand.

  Finally, seeing he was talking to a prairie dog pup, he stopped thinking about being eaten alive. Osric guessed him to be about seven inches tall, and very plump. His fur was mostly dark brown, but it lightened to tan on his belly and paws.

  “How many survived?” Osric asked, looking around in the poor light. He could barely make out a pair of legs to his right; the rest of the man was doubtless pinned beneath tons of stone wall and ceiling. Osric looked away, not wanting to see what could have been his fate. It was a gruesome sight. He tried to focus on the conversation instead.

  “So's far, just you's.”

  “How old are you?” Osric asked, letting the annoyed tone in his voice die. After all, if he had to wait until help actually could come, he could at least be polite company. The young prairie dog jumped down to flat ground behind Osric's head, and linked wands to communicate with someone outside the palace. Light emanated from the diaphanous image hovering over his small wand, but Osric could not see from his pinned position on the floor who he was conversing with.

  “I found a live one Pa, I'll wait for you's to tell me it's a'right, I'm's puttin' up a marker so's you know where I am.” Then he sent a bright blue light with his wand through the stone above them after the image had disappeared. He answered as he turned back to face Osric. “I's four, but my Pa says if I keeps practicin’, I can be makin’ wands better'n Eni in a couple years!”