by Roger Bourke White Jr., Nov 05
“Come. Sit. Learn.”
The young newcomer sat in the meadow grass next to the gray-bearded man with the staff. In the valley below them a small army of two hundred men was standing arrayed for battle. Behind them stood an unnaturally beautiful lady, and in front, advancing towards them, was a man dressed in shimmering robes with a large suitcase in hand.
As the man drew closer, the woman shouted a command, and the army began to maneuver. They looked good: Their uniforms were resplendent and they moved from formation to formation with razor-sharp precision.
“They look magnificent.” said the young man.
“They should.” replied the old man, “Cyreenik has invested heavily in military symbolism.”
“They are fighting that lone man?”
“The witch is. The others are her symbol.”
“He looks so confident. Not a care in the world.”
“He is Osric. He is known for his skill in counter symboling, and confidence is a symbol he has invested in. Watch closely now, these are two experienced wizards so the battle will complete quickly.”
The man with the suitcase advanced to just beyond arrow range, then with a flourish he tossed his suitcase in the air. Before it hit the ground, he tipped it with his toe and it flew up again. Before it hit the ground a second time, it grew legs and opened up to become something that looked like half organ keyboard and half apothecary drawers.
Osric opened one of the apothecary drawers and his fingers danced over the keyboard. An invisible a chorus started singing, "All we are saying is give peace a chance.", and out the drawer flew white doves, they circled around over him until they grew into a great flock, then the flock flew over the soldiers. As it did, strange things happened to the soldiers below. The sharp brass points of their spears and arrows changed into flowers, and the razor sharp formations of their maneuvers soften into something more... fluid. It was as if these hardened soldiers were transforming into peace protesters.
While the doves had been gathering and flying, the witch had been conjuring. Above her a cloud appeared and grew. It was now a dark thunderstorm cloud, complete with flashes and rumbling. When she saw what the doves were doing, she paused from her own conjuring long enough to throw a black, bird-shaped amulet into the air.
The amulet transformed into a black bird and flew at the doves. As it flew it “cawed”, and each time it cawed, it split into two birds, and they both cawed. By the time the flock of black ravens arrived at the doves, they were equal numbers. The ravens scratched and bit at the doves, and when they did, the doves’ spell on the soldiers was broken. The soldiers reformed smartly into tight formation, launched a volley of arrows at Osric, then charged him.
From Osric's keyboard, strains of "Here comes the Sun" had started floating. But as soon as he saw the arrows coming for him, he switched to a really fast version of "We've gotta get out of this place" and a shining portal appeared beside him. He kicked the organ so that it spun in the air and began transforming back into a suitcase, tipped his hat to the witch, then walked through the portal a half second before the volley of arrows landed. The suitcase got pincushioned, stopped spinning, and landed heavily. Seconds later, a lightning bolt from the thunderstorm over the witch’s head crashed to ground where Osric had been standing. The portal was gone and the suitcase was smoking slightly.
The old man stood up and walked down the hillside applauding.
“Well done, Cyreenik, Well done!” he shouted. The young man followed.
Cyreenik walked towards Osric’s suitcase, looking drained. She issued another, softer, command, and the soldiers transformed. They changed from sharp-looking soldiers into scruffy and confused farmers.
“You can all go home, now.” said Cyreenik, “Thank you for your help.” She sounded like she was dismissing gardeners after a Saturday afternoon project.
“You got his Bag of Tricks!” said the old man.
“Pfft! He has used his doves too many times, and he knows it.” the witch responded.
The old man kicked one of the dead doves. It clunked. “Brass. I think he was expecting you to try clearing them with the lightning bolt. That wouldn’t have worked and you would have been two spells behind.”
“Of course... but why are you telling me this, Alstor?”
“I’m not. I’m telling our young friend here. Cyreenik, let me introduce Wu Doggie. He is new to our world."
“New?”
“New as in: comes from an alternate universe -- one with a different science.”
“That doesn’t happen often here.”
“Nor on his world, but he is here nonetheless. And I’m trying to help him get settled in. When I learned of his situation, I immediately thought of you.”
“And why is that?” she was looking at him suspiciously.
“His strength is likely to be novelty symbols, and that works well with your military.”
“It’s true that novelty is powerful, but it’s so short-lived. I don’t recommend it for anyone.”
“I would agree... if he were from this universe. But he’s not, and it could be that his store of novelty is quite deep. Deep or not, it’s likely to be symbolism that comes quickly to him, and quick may be something he will need.”
Cyreenik thought for only a moment. “You are right. Whatever story he is a part of is likely to develop quickly.”
“Speaking of doing things quickly: Are you going to retrieve Osric’s Bag of Tricks? That is quite a prize.”
“I would, but it is likely to be booby-trapped. He was too inept.”
“On the contrary, that raven amulet was brilliant! How long have you had that?”
“Oh that! I got it last week. It was effective, wasn’t it?”
They examined the suitcase, and it appeared the victory was complete and sweet. Not only was Osric’s suitcase protected by only minor booby traps, the doves had all come back to it, and they were now a pile of magic clockworks clustered around the suitcase. They had been trying to get back into their drawer when the spell was broken. Cyreenik opened their drawer – it was rattling a bit -- and allowed them to hop back in.
“We must get this young man a prophecy.” said Alstor, the old wizard.
“He doesn’t even have that yet?” Cyreenik stared at him incredulously.
“He’s that new.”
“This means a trip to Prophecy Mountain. Would you care for company?”
“That would be delightful.” said Alstor.
Alstor turned to Wu Doggie, “The trip to Prophecy Mountain is always one of mystery. At its summit is a small temple, and in that temple is the Book of Prophecies. It is said that in that book lies a prophecy for each person in our land. You are now part of our land, so we should seek out yours.”
“How far is it?” asked Wu Doggie.
“You can see it there.” Alstor pointed to a large, symmetric mountain, blue in the distance. “By foot, the journey will be four days, if there are no incidents. But there are always incidents on a journey to Prophecy Mountain.” Cyreenik nodded affirmatively, “Always.”
“Hmm… I have an idea. If novelty is to be my symbol, why don’t we go to the mountain by an alternate route?” said Wu Doggie.
“What did you have in mind?”
“A hot air balloon.”
“A what?” said both Alstor and Cyreenik.
“Some uncommon magic from my native world. You don’t happen to have access to a whole lot of cloth, do you?...”
In four days, with the help of Cyreenik’s farmers and black smiths, and a Turkish rug seller, their balloon was finished. In a scene somewhat reminiscent of the Wizard of Oz, they launched.
“How do we steer this?” asked Alstor.
“The fates will steer us.” replied Wu Doggie, “I’m getting to understand this place, a bit.”
And he was right. A half day later, after a ride that was both wondrous and hair-raising, they landed on the top of Prophecy Mountain. They all went to the temple, and there, on an alabaster altar, in the center of the main hall, was the telephone-book-sized Book of Prophecies.
Alstor put on his glasses and opened the book to a random page.
“We need to find your prophecy.” he intoned, “Lets see….”
“The Titan of Truth who would turn the Tide of Terror must tap dance in a tutu on Tuesday.”
He looked at Wu Doggie and shook his head. “You’re not the Riverdance type, are you? Ever told anyone, ‘Clog yours!’?”
Wu Doggie looked mystified.
“I didn’t think so….”
“He’s a bit short for a Titan.” added Cyreenik.
Alstor scanned down the page further.
"Try this: 'Our rogue rebel will rebel against rotten cotton rags and be richly rewarded with round, red rubies.'”
“Huh?” said Wu Doggie.
“Not obscure enough.” sighed Alstor, and he scanned down the page further.
“Clark the Clerk clucked as he watched the clock click.” mumbled Alstor.
“What?”
“Sorry... A tongue twister. Whenever I get into this book I always start thinking of tongue twisters.”
“You will never find his prophecy that way!” a deep-throated, matronly voice said from behind them.
Alstor and Cyreenik turned and gasped, “The Prophetess!”
A dignified elderly woman in a shimmering white dress was looking at them from the doorway to one of the temple’s darkened niches. “Yes, I’m here for a little prophet making.”
She strode up to the book and quickly leafed through half a dozen pages. She would leaf, look at a page, look up at Wu Doggie and shake her head, and leaf through some more pages. A few tries at this, and she slammed the book closed in frustration.
Dust flew everywhere and all four were coughing up a storm. As they recovered, The Prophetess looked at the cover. “Oh, this is last millennium's edition. No wonder! I’ll be back in a moment.”
She took the book from the pedestal and walked into another dark niche. There were sounds of things being moved around, then she came out with a shiny new book, placed it on the pedestal, and got out a “dust shaker” which she applied liberally to the book. “Must keep up appearances, you know.”
This time, the first time she opened it she said, “Ahh....”
Wu Doggie, Cyreenik and Alstor all leaned forward, “Yes....?”
“The novice noveler will have his story end here.”
-- The End --