Chapter 12 A Wizard No More
A voice tapped into Roland's consciousness like the faint peck of a chick tapping out of its egg. He heard the words clearly enough but was beyond trying to make any sense of them.
“My, but you lads seem tired. And being Tishaaran, no less! A bit malnourished, too, by the looks of you. Half-dead of thirst, I shouldn’t wonder. One would think these Droom had chased you for days.”
“Three.”
“Three full days! What, and not caught yet? My heavens, the dreaded knights grow lax. Or have they have at last found quarry to match their skill. Now listen to me make sport of your plight! Gamel Mageroy at your service. May I present to you my daughters.”
A door flew open. Several girls and young women appeared.
“Set up these lads with a hot bath, a strong mug of drink, and a supper, in whatever order appeals to them,” called Mageroy. “Then let them sleep. I shall check on the progress of our mighty trespassers in reading a trail trampled under a million goat tracks. Have you any idea where your horses have got to?”
“We had no horses,” said Sloat.
Mageroy’s brows disappeared into his white forelocks. “No horses? And still the legions did not catch you? Who in the shining stars did they send after you, the halt and the blind?” Chuckling softly, he left the room.
The daughters were respectful and polite and asked no questions. The instant Roland’s eyelids began to droop, long before he had finished his meal, they politely escorted him to a bedroom, where he melted into the most comfortable bed he had ever known.
Exhausted as he had been, Roland sprang out of bed at the first glow of sunrise, wondering where he was, trying to guess the significance of the hushed voices outside his room. Light reflected off the walls in the most unusual muted colors, like that of a pearl in soft candlelight. Wrapping himself in a loose, mosaic print robe laid out next to his bed, he opened the door and stepped out. He found Mageroy and Sloat sitting upon a swing on a sandy knoll facing the house.
“No better time to view the Shellhouse than the first light of morning,” said Mageroy, glowing with a pride that matched the radiant dawn.
Fighting the intense glare, Roland saw what he meant. The house glowed in a shaft of sunlight that bored through a cluster of azalea trees in full magenta bloom. Its coral walls glowed in such an array of soft colors they might have been chiseled out of a pastel rainbow, and were inlaid with conches, abalones, snail and clam shells of all shapes and sizes, oysters, and agates. A stairway of tiny white shells, complete with pearl bannister, spiraled up to a balcony on the roof. Only the doors were built of polished wood. Each displayed a large, phosphorescent starfish mounted beneath its small portal.
“My grandfather designed this,” said Mageroy. “An artist, was he not?”
“I take it we are near the sea, then?” said Roland.
“One would certainly think so. But no, we are not. This has all been imported from the coast, from near our former home.” His cheerful demeanor lapsed into wistfulness. “Our home far to the west, before the insatiable appetite of Droom claimed it. Ah, but I will not dwell on that, nor on them. We have the best of the coast with us, and we are settled in a place infinitely better than the coast. One that the Droom shall never acquire.”
Before Roland was quite ready, Mageroy led them back inside the house. The oldest daughter, a young woman with long, blonde hair and confident blue eyes waited for them at the dining room table.
“I shall serve this time, my dear,” said Mageroy. He left the three alone to smile politely and a little awkwardly at each other. A minute later, he reappeared, carrying a wide platter laden with a repeat of the previous night’s fare, only with different sauces, a bit heavier on the fruit and lighter on the seafood, and mounds of buttered sweet rolls. Not a big fan of protein for breakfast, Roland eagerly tucked in to the rolls. Only when Sloat and Roland had refused each offering twice did Mageroy stop passing the plates. As he settled into his chair and ran a hand through his long gray hair, he asked the two about their adventures.
Mageroy and his daughter listened with interest as Sloat related their story. Roland sat quietly, feeling oddly detached from the exercise. After all, this was Sloat’s mission and the decisions as to what to reveal and what to leave out were his responsibility.
When Sloat finished, Mageroy clapped clapped hands in appreciation. “Well told, gentlemen. Too incredible a story to believe, yet too original to have been made up.”
“Every talebearer should have such a gracious audience as you and--,” said Sloat, with a bow.
Mageroy nearly convulsed with laughter. “Great comets, you Tishaarans are famous for your manners and yet you haven’t the decency to remind me when I forget mine! May I present my daughter, Katra.”
“An honor,” said Sloat, with a more formal bow to Katra. “One that I hope the Droom shall not have in the near future.”
Roland rose belatedly. He thought about imitating Sloat’s low bow, but decided he would probably just look stupid. As a result he did nothing but smile at her, which made him look, in his mind, no less stupid.
“Heavens above, they shall not!” cried Mageroy. “Why at this moment the Droom are so befuddled they could not tell a footprint from a sinkhole. Even if they persist in this outrageous violation of our territory, they would need to conduct a valley-by-valley search to find you. A daunting task in this maze of dales and vales, to say the least. And I have a few arts of my own to thwart them. I expect they shall soon give it up. Especially after you gentlemen taxed them so.”
“Meaning no disrespect, sir,” said Sloat. “You carry the wisdom of years on you. How do you move about so quickly?”
“What a polite way of saying that I am old!” laughed Mageroy. “Why, I am a wizard; at least I was. That is how I move as I do. Now, now, the questions are pointed in the wrong direction! Wizards never reveal anything about themselves, not even ex-wizards. Code of the council, you know. I want to hear more about this puzzle of the Cold Flames that has you all in a dither. Katra is an expert on realm lore, quite a scholar in her own right and, despite my relentless discouragement, seems inclined to take up the wizardly mantle. Her expertise, aside from her delightful company, is why I asked her to join us. My dear?”
Katra stared into space as if trying to retrieve some long-discarded bit of information from its vaults. “There has been unrest in the Fourth Realm of late,” she began. “We hear rumors of strange folk abroad in the land, none more unsettling than the report of a Third Realm Raxxar horde stealing north under cover of darkness. Tempers run alarmingly high among the beasts these day. And the Droom, as you have witnessed, have adopted an even more aggressive attitude than usual.”
“Which I would not have thought possible,” growled Mageroy.
Katra smiled indulgently. “But we are aware of nothing to equal the intrigue you speak of in the lower realms. And although we have heard whisperings of something resembling a Cold Flame here in the Fourth, I never gave it credence. The mark of the Fifth Realm appearing in our realm? That would be more than unusual. Impossible is more like it. And yet you bring tidings of Cold Flame way down in the Second? I shudder even to contemplate what such a thing could mean.”
“As do we,” agreed Sloat. “The Cold Flames are known to us as the sign of the Fifth Realm and nothing more. But we really know nothing of that realm save what is told in a few songs and stories. We suspect that the Flame lies at the root of much evil, but of this we have no proof, nor do we understand the nature of the threat it could pose. Have you any insight into what the Cold Flames mean?”
“The function of fire is quite different in the Spirit Realm,” said Katra. “The Fifth is a place without material reality. Neither heat nor cold has any meaning in such a world. Thus, the flames of that realm carry no heat. Of course, they are not cold either, but fire without heat would seem cold to us and so we name them Cold Flames.
“In a land without physical reality, there is nothing of substance for fire to burn or consume. Nothing can be destroyed or chemically altered in a world where chemistry does not exist.”
"From what you are saying, it doesn’t sound as if fire could exist there at all,” said Roland, growing intrigued with the growing complexity of this riddle. “So where do the Cold Flames come from?”
Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
“Cold flames do exist in the Spirit Realm,” insisted Katra. “I once came across an ancient manuscript in the archives of Orduna that explained their function.”
“What would that be, if I may ask?” said Sloat
.
“Travel.”
“Travel?” replied Roland, Mageroy, and Sloat together.
Katra smiled. “You make a splendid chorus.“
“So that’s it!” said Roland, his pulse racing. For the first time since arriving in the realmlands, he dared hope that he might actually find a way back home. “I could never figure out how I got sucked into this world. I remember being surrounded by fire, but since it didn’t burn or anything, I figured it had to be a dream or an illusion. But if Cold Flames are a means of travel, it makes sense. That’s what brought me here. Cold Flames brought me here. And if they brought me here, they can take me back.” Turning to Katra, he asked, “Do you know how the Cold Flames work?”
Katra shook her head. “No. The Flames remain a mystery to me. I have yet to learn of any manuscript that mentions anything about their history, their nature, or the way in which they function. All I recall from the scraps of documents I have found is that, being spirits, Fifth Realmers can transport themselves wherever they wish by means of fire.”
“Spirits, you say,” broke in Mageroy. “Only spirits can travel through the flames?”
Katra nodded.
“Wait a minute,” said Roland, his hopes suddenly dashed. “How could I have traveled through the Cold Flame? I’m not a spirit.” Or am I? This whole business with the Fifth Realm was getting eerier and more confusing by the moment.
Mageroy ignored him. “If Cold Flames have been spotted in the lower realms would that not imply that someone from the Fifth Realm is trying to travel in the lower realms? Why, that is nonsense!” He dabbed at the sweat welling on his brow. His laughs had become short and windy, empty of mirth. Whoever or whatever lived in the Fifth Realm made him very nervous. “Fifth Realm powers hold only in the Fifth Realm. Fire is no means of transport in the lower realms. Not even for a spirit. Cold Flames can do nothing in the lower realms. They cannot even exist there: realm law is realm law.”
“I cannot dispute anything you say. I am only telling you what I know,” said Katra, calmly.
“Lady Katra,” said Sloat. “It is clear to me that we shall not be able to make sense of the Cold Flame conspiracy unless we know more of the Fifth Realm. Would you be willing to instruct us?”
Mageroy stood and slammed a fist on the table, forcing a smile to his lips. “Now, now. This is all bad for digestion. I have never heard such a lot of frightened sheep’s talk in my life. You have no Droom breathing down your necks and so you invent fiends and High Realm conspiracies just to keep your hearts beating properly, is that it? Like children cowering in the dark, scaring each other witless with their ghost tales. Enough! No more plots and intrigues! Get your rest now, and tonight we shall hold a celebration in honor of our guests.”
“Really,” objected Sloat. “You do not have to-”
“Do not play Grumpy Gus with me!” answered Mageroy in mock severity. “We shall celebrate. And there will be severe consequences for anyone who is not suitably lighthearted!”
However Sloat spent that day was of no interest to Roland. Not surprisingly, the sturdy Tishaaran recovered quickly from the ordeal of the chase. He eagerly accepted Mageroy’s invitation to explore a nearby set of spectacular coulees. Roland, however, was totally exhausted, his senses fried, and his grip on reality tenuous at best. After declining the invitation, he expended no more effort than it took to walk out behind the Shellhouse to a grassy ridge that rimmed a large sandy depression on three sides, containing the sand like a sugar bowl. For most of the day, he lay there in the warm sand, free from worries or even thoughts about the realmlands, contenting himself with innocent pursuits that held absolutely no ramifications, such as studying an ant colony, or lying on his back and watching the clouds rearrange themselves into abstract shapes, or just drifting into a delicious sleep. Occasionally, one of Mageroy’s daughters would bring out a basket filled with fruit and bread, cheese and wine, and spend a few moments in pleasant conversation.
Around sunset, Mageroy and Sloat sought him out to escort him to the outdoor feast in honor of the guests.
“Yesterday, I wouldn’t have cared if I never ate outdoors again,” said Roland. “But it is so peaceful out here, I can’t think of anywhere else I’d rather eat. Is this, like, unusually warm for this time of year? It seems we only just passed out of winter a few days back.”
“Fourth Realm weather can change day to day almost as much as it does from season to season,” said Mageroy.
“Particularly if we meddlers get involved. But the weather in the Thousand Valleys is more pleasant than in most places or any realm, and I take some credit for that.”
Roland thought he was kidding and laughed along with the joke. Sloat, however, saw into the matter. “You have ways of influencing the weather?”
Mageroy shrugged. “Well, yes, to some extent.”
“Really!” exclaimed Roland, “How does that--”
“Now, now, a wizard never gives away secrets. Not even retired ones. Will you join us for dinner?”
“Is it just going to be us three?” asked Roland.
“No, all my daughters shall be there.”
“Good. Then count me in.”
“Are you suggesting, Master Roland, that my company alone leaves something to be desired?”
Roland started to deny it, but then he stopped and broke into a smile. Feeling unusually cheeky after a day of utter relaxation, he said, “I’ve been traveling a long time with Sloat and a few others, and to be honest, none of them are much to look at. And while you are a seriously good-looking dude, your daughters are off the chart. I would love to spend some time with them."
“Sir Roland, you are a shameless flatterer!” scolded Mageroy, with a twinkle in his eye. “You shall have your wish and you are free to converse with whichever daughter you will. Mind you, I said converse, only. I warn you, I am protective of my own and have a cat’s eyes in the dark. But come, let us be going. The blindfolds, if you will.”
Blindfolds!
Roland felt as though he had been slammed upside the head. Mageroy was smiling as usual, but the blindfolds he dangled were anything but hospitable. Caught off guard, Roland vainly tried to read their host’s intent.
“What is this, a game?” he asked.
Mageroy shrugged apologetically. “No. No, it is not.”
Sloat eyed the blindfold, then Mageroy. His jaw set, he planted his feet firmly in the loose sand and locked stares with Mageroy. He neither blinked, nor made any move to comply with the request.
“I understand your reluctance,” said Mageroy, softly. “It seems harsh, I know, to treat guests so, especially strangers who have reason to be wary of everyone in this realm. But I declare before the Creator that I am your friend, that I would blindfold my wife (may she rest in peace) were she in your place. Were I your enemy, would I not have given you over to the Droom? Please bear with me. In the end you may not only excuse my actions but applaud them.”
Sloat ground his teeth for a long time as he sized up the wizard. “Were I in my own realm, I would be inclined to trust you,” he said, finally. “But here, in a strange realm? We had a travel companion who warned us that secrets bring nothing but trouble in these realms. Forgive me, but I will not put on a blindfold.”
Mageroy considered this, nodding slowly. “We seem to be at an impasse, then,” he said as he dangled the blindfolds. “For I cannot take you to our destination without these.”
“Then we must leave, and thank you for your hospitality,” said Sloat.
Mageroy’s eyes turned into wells of profound sadness. “That would grieve me greatly, and I am certain you would come to regret it as well. Mr. Sloat, Mr. Roland, I am solemnly sworn to offer no reason for the blindfolds. But for you, I will take a risk that comes perilously close to breaking that word. I will tell you a story. If I tell it well, I may persuade you to put on the blindfolds without revealing more than I ought."
He invited them to sit in the sand, but Sloat declined, and Roland followed suit, still wondering what could be weighing so heavily on this formerly jovial host.
“As I have mentioned several times, I was once a wizard,” said Mageroy, pacing back and forth across the sand. “It is a serious calling. One does not take it up lightly, nor does one lightly cast it aside.
“Wizards are entrusted with secrets beyond the reach of all other mortals. They are allowed to walk through many of the veils that shield the Almighty from the view of even the most devout. They are invited, every so often, to walk upon holy ground; to listen to the very heartbeat of God, and feel the breath of the eternal presence.
“A wizard’s calling bears him to the edge of the mystery that lies beyond the Fifth Realm, to the verge of heaven itself. To savor the peace that passes understanding. But such privilege comes at a price.
Again, he invited his guests to sit. Sloat declined as before. But by this time Roland was beginning to sense that there was more awe and wonder than peril in what Mageroy had in store for them. He sat in the soft sand and found it still warn from the fading sun.
“No one can walk through the veils without first surrendering their life," said Mageroy. "Upon accepting the staff of office, a wizard no longer lives for himself, but only for creation.
"You must take a blood oath to become a wizard?" asked Sloat, still studying him with suspicion.
Mageroy smiled. "There is no blood oath involved. Not even a vow. Nothing formal or even dramatic. It might be easier if that were so. You see, a wizard is not a zealot who burns so intensely with the fire of passion that he is willing to die for it. In surrendering his life, a wizard gives up passion itself. He gives up desire.
“Surrendering a life without dying is harder than you can imagine. Not even the strongest, most resolute wizard can do it without some regret. A wizard will never feel the intensity of joy, nor the pleasure of a desire fulfilled as he once did, as does the rest of humanity. And yet, while the wizard feels no desire, he will often feel the empty void where desire should be."
Sloat and Roland glanced at each other and shared a moment of bewilderment.
“I saw that," chuckled Mageroy. "Let me give you an example. Because they have chosen to surrender life, wizards cannot share deep relationships. They give of themselves constantly, and yet they cannot accept gifts in return, for they have sacrificed their wants and needs, and so there is nothing one can give them. Wizards can love, for true love is the act of giving up one’s self. But it is difficult for them to be loved. They will be the greatest friends you will ever have, but it is nearly impossible to be their friend. They will give their lives for you, yet can seldom enter the circle of camaraderie. Your deepest secret is utterly safe with them, even as they carry the heavy burden of secrets that are not theirs to share."
"You make it sound as though being a wizard is a curse," said Sloat.
"On the contrary, being a wizard is a blessing and a great privilege," said Mageroy with a tinge of sadness. Though the price is dear, there is a profound peace that lies beyond those veils in the garden of the Lord that makes it not only worthwhile but intensely satisfying."
“For most wizards, that is. Not all. I am one who found the price to be beyond my means. I found that I could not give up my life, my wants. I am one who needs to share love, to receive it as well as give it. I need to feel deeply, to experience pain as well as joy, sorrow as well as fulfillment. I need to surround myself with friends and family and to be not just their guardian, but truly one of them.
“The decision to abandon wizardry is not one that I regret. It allowed me to share, although for too few years, the love of a good woman. It allowed my to feel the deep pain that came with losing her to death. I continue to share the immeasurable joys of the children we created, and of living my life among the creatures of the world.
“Do not think me wrong for discarding the cloak of the wizard. Or that my decision brands me as weak or morally lax or selfish. It merely means that I am not cut out to be a wizard. Few people are, and while wizards have a special calling, that does not make them better than others."
He paused and looked deeply into their eyes. Roland stared back into the blue orbs and was stunned by their intensity. They brimmed with joy and pain and serenity and regret.
“I am telling you all this because it is a serious thing to have passed through the veils and then renounced wizardry. I have been entrusted with secrets that only a wizard ought to possess, visions that I retain although I have reneged on the price of those things.
“And so I have been given an alternative method of paying my debt. I have been entrusted with an assignment, and that assignment is the reason for these blindfolds. That is all I can say,” he said, holding out the blindfolds in his open hands. They seemed heavy in his hands, and for the moment, he appeared years older than before. “Either accept this condition or let us part as friends.”
Sloat scratched his beard and studied Mageroy for a long time. Finally, he nodded and accepted the blindfold, although without the habitual Tishaaran grace. Roland felt relieved as he followed suit. He was not certain what the old man was talking about, but he sensed that such a story could come only from an honest heart.