taking a break from study, sitting out in the gentle sun, the two men were talking, and Tvrdik thought his master looked oddly transparent. Still, they continued. “Set your intention always for what you wish to create, Tvrdik, and stand behind it with all your passion and belief and power. In that way, you will always draw the circumstances you wish for. Allow no room for doubt, and you will be successful, and safe…”
“I do not ask for safety, Master. I believe in this cause. I know some of the dangers I will face, and I am not afraid to die.”
Xaarus laughed, and seemed to un-form with the laughter. The last words that passed his lips were, “My dear Tvrdik, you are not supposed to die ; you are supposed to win !” And he was gone, dispersed on the four winds. Tvrdik sat gaping in awe and dread at the empty space before him. All afternoon he sat there motionless, waiting, hoping against hope that the old wizard would reappear just one more time. By midmorning of the next day, it became apparent that Xaarus would not be coming back. Slowly, deliberately, Tvrdik rose and began to put his house in order.
With careful deliberation, he selected a few treasured possessions and essential items which would be needed for travel: food, water, a bedroll, firestones, tools, notes, a few books, several medicinal herbs, and an assortment of other useful items. He packed them in several small pouches and one large carry-sack, then piled everything else he owned or had made neatly inside the little cottage. It was then that he had bathed, laundered his threadbare clothes, and dried them at the hearth, and taken up his best knife to trim his wild hair and to shave the unruly whiskers from his face. The knife came along. The fire had to be extinguished and tamped down, dirt spread over the last glowing coals. Then he stood in the little makeshift doorway and looked around the place. So much of his young life had been poured into this place, so much of his heart. But memories of despair and grief lived in the walls as well. He doubted he would ever see the humble little cottage again, but wanted everything to be in order just in case, or perhaps to serve some passing traveler in need. He placed the palm of his right hand on one of the stones in the nearest wall, bowed his head, and sent a message of thanks. Then he turned, without looking back, and strode out of the clearing to spend a few moments with his beloved waterfall.
Sitting now at its edge, playing with stone and light and water, the young man tried to inhale and hold within the feelings of peace and security that always came over him in the water’s presence. He would need them in the days to come. He pulled off his spectacles to wipe them clean, but fumbled and almost dropped them on the rocks below. Quick reflexes saved the day, and he let out a sigh of relief. Of all the possessions he had managed to preserve with exacting care over these long years of isolation, his glasses were the most valuable. He needed them without doubt, and they would not be easy to replace. He could conjure a pair; any apprentice wizard could transmute matter from one form to another, but those creations rarely kept their shape for very long, and no one yet could just materialize real items out of thin air. Some things were just better done the old-fashioned way. Gingerly, he placed the wire arms back on his ears and settled the bridge on his nose, giving it a little pat, as if to say, close call, old friend, but all’s well now . Then he uncoiled his long legs, stood up, yawned, stretched, and dissolved the magical barrier that had been keeping him dry. Putting his hand in the spray, he intoned, “Ancient, magical place, you have been my companion, my strength, and my inspiration for twelve years. The time has come for me to leave your serenity and rejoin my fellows in the world. I offer you my thanks and blessing, a wish that you will continue undisturbed in your perfection, and that I
“I do not ask for safety, Master. I believe in this cause. I know some of the dangers I will face, and I am not afraid to die.”
Xaarus laughed, and seemed to un-form with the laughter. The last words that passed his lips were, “My dear Tvrdik, you are not supposed to die ; you are supposed to win !” And he was gone, dispersed on the four winds. Tvrdik sat gaping in awe and dread at the empty space before him. All afternoon he sat there motionless, waiting, hoping against hope that the old wizard would reappear just one more time. By midmorning of the next day, it became apparent that Xaarus would not be coming back. Slowly, deliberately, Tvrdik rose and began to put his house in order.
With careful deliberation, he selected a few treasured possessions and essential items which would be needed for travel: food, water, a bedroll, firestones, tools, notes, a few books, several medicinal herbs, and an assortment of other useful items. He packed them in several small pouches and one large carry-sack, then piled everything else he owned or had made neatly inside the little cottage. It was then that he had bathed, laundered his threadbare clothes, and dried them at the hearth, and taken up his best knife to trim his wild hair and to shave the unruly whiskers from his face. The knife came along. The fire had to be extinguished and tamped down, dirt spread over the last glowing coals. Then he stood in the little makeshift doorway and looked around the place. So much of his young life had been poured into this place, so much of his heart. But memories of despair and grief lived in the walls as well. He doubted he would ever see the humble little cottage again, but wanted everything to be in order just in case, or perhaps to serve some passing traveler in need. He placed the palm of his right hand on one of the stones in the nearest wall, bowed his head, and sent a message of thanks. Then he turned, without looking back, and strode out of the clearing to spend a few moments with his beloved waterfall.
Sitting now at its edge, playing with stone and light and water, the young man tried to inhale and hold within the feelings of peace and security that always came over him in the water’s presence. He would need them in the days to come. He pulled off his spectacles to wipe them clean, but fumbled and almost dropped them on the rocks below. Quick reflexes saved the day, and he let out a sigh of relief. Of all the possessions he had managed to preserve with exacting care over these long years of isolation, his glasses were the most valuable. He needed them without doubt, and they would not be easy to replace. He could conjure a pair; any apprentice wizard could transmute matter from one form to another, but those creations rarely kept their shape for very long, and no one yet could just materialize real items out of thin air. Some things were just better done the old-fashioned way. Gingerly, he placed the wire arms back on his ears and settled the bridge on his nose, giving it a little pat, as if to say, close call, old friend, but all’s well now . Then he uncoiled his long legs, stood up, yawned, stretched, and dissolved the magical barrier that had been keeping him dry. Putting his hand in the spray, he intoned, “Ancient, magical place, you have been my companion, my strength, and my inspiration for twelve years. The time has come for me to leave your serenity and rejoin my fellows in the world. I offer you my thanks and blessing, a wish that you will continue undisturbed in your perfection, and that I
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