Fairy Tale Part two

Little Stinker In A Magic Realm:

A Fairy Tale

By Vellumcore

Part Two

Later...



The Wizardly adorned figure made his way through the dark forest north of the village. He despised the Mage apparel he wore, the robe and cloak heavy and cumbersome. He sorely missed his red Sorcerer's leather, feeling naked without it. He despised the Mage form altogether which he was stuck with for the time being. How weak and unprepared for battle he was like this.

As he strode along the trail, he thought about Magic. How confounding and insipid Mage magic was, with its long, drawn out incantations of arcane phrases which needed to be memorized, then chanted. For a Sorcerer, there was no need for such nonsense. He simply established his urging, brought forth the powerful magic flowing through his veins by will alone, and in a moment of raw energy, let fling from his fingertips his spells of devastation.

For his spells were of destruction. He could incinerate anything or anyone in a moment. He could zap a foe with electricity, or freeze him into a block of ice. He could even cause great meteor showers to rain down upon whole armies if his will was strong enough.

It was unfortunate that he had only Mage magic at his disposal while in this form. He was strong enough in magic to make some of the confounded chants work, but the study and memorization of the incongruously phrased incantations infuriated him. And unfortunately, he was unable to cast the most exotic and powerful of Mage spells.

But, as confounding as Mage magic was, he hated even worse the miserable magic of Witches, which sadly, he was forced to use in his plan. It was a vile magic, and he despised it. It was magic which actually required the use of ingredients brought together in stringently particular recipes for the making of brews. What low born magic is this, he thought. But, as his misfortune would have it, for his scheme to work, only Witches magic would do.

He arrived at his gloomy shack in the woods. It was time to check on his captive. Inside, he moved to the iron door which enclosed his prisoner within. He'd decided to use a simple enough magical seal on the door to keep him locked away. It was not exactly necessary, but he was never trusting of mechanical locks. More importantly, he thought it would be useful to use a Mage spell so that he may practice the insipid art.

To gain entry to the dungeon, he began to speak the phrase he'd created to lock and unlock the door...

...but he forgot it.

"Blasted, confounded Mage magic!" he grumbled. He was forced to turn to the aid of the mushrooms he kept on his desk for just such an occasion.

Afterwards, he entered the stone foyer and down he went into the dank chamber. "Little man, are you still alive?" The Wizardly figure snickered snidely.

"You can't do away with me that easily, Jackoby. My god, man, what has gotten into you?" Altoon pulled at the chains fixing his arms to the stone wall.

"Silence! Speak not of Jackoby. I can't bear to hear that name more than is necessary.

"You can't bear to hear your own name?"

"You bore me, little man. I've come to check on your whiskers. Lift your head that I may see your chin."

"What madness do you speak of, lunatic?"

Such insipid magic..., that of witches, thought the Wizardly figure. For his scheme to work, it galled him that he'd actually need a few lengths of stubble from this little man's beard to mix into a brew. Insipid Witch magic!

It had been so easy with the other one because his beard was long and thick to start with. It was no trouble at all, decked in disguise - for he and the Wizard were no strangers - purporting to trip into him out about the village that day and come away with a few strands of whiskers. He wouldn't have even bothered taking his likeness, but gaining a foothold within the keep made his plans that much easier, not to mention the benefit of having Jackoby out of the way. Far easier to get his hands on Altoon, who seemed never to leave the Keep during his stay.

But this irascible little man, so clean shaven and pretty. Hmph! He decided when all was done, the Duke's new form would be a lowly weasel. No more fluttering around in the rafters. It was unfortunate that they needed to be kept around at all while he held their likeness. Though it did much to cheer him knowing that once the weasel came to be, the raven could be disposed of for good.

"Your chin is still as smooth as a cherub's bottom. Hurry up and grow some whiskers!"

"You'll not get away with this, Jackoby, whatever it is you plan, I swear..." But Evonbik was already gone.

***

Mikey and Drago where making no headway at all. Like he and Drago, all the people and creatures in the village were just as mystified as to what had happened to the dashing Duke Altoon. They were respectful to him, and tried to answer all his questions, but they were no help.

Wandering through the outskirts of the village, Mikey and Drago sat upon a log by the river to rest. Before long, they heard the sound of fluttering. Looking up, they saw the raven glide in for a landing.

"Hello Mr Raven. Have you come with news?"

"Caaw, caaw," said the raven, stamping the claws of its feet on the ground.

"Don't you want to talk with us?"

Nothing.

"A raven it is, and it is a raven, but strange as it is, and is as it's strange, talking does not seem his forte, and his forte in talking is nay."

"I get it, Drago."

They continued on south. But the raven stayed with them. It made an incredible ruckus, flapping and caawing like a rabid animal. Mikey had a sense it was trying to tell him something, and he found it annoying that the only creature in this realm who seemed to have information actually could not speak. He thought everything could speak around here.

As they moved on towards the southern reaches of the village, they would see the raven continually stop, flutter about and caaw madly, then fly off to the north. Always, it would return to them soon enough as they continued south, resuming its mad cackles and caawing. Mikey stopped once, and the bird turned and flew again to the north. When he continued on south, the raven returned to swoop down upon them, then headed back north again. Mikey stopped and turned in that direction. The raven began sailing smoothly in circles, stopped caawing and came in for a landing out in front of them. It flapped its wings, stuck its chest out proudly and bobbed its head excitedly.

"I think it wants us to follow it," said Mikey.

"I think you are right, and right, think I, are you."

Off to the north they went, following the black raven. They came upon a trail in the forest and continued on. Soon they came to the gloomy shack in the woods. The raven settled on the ground in front of the door and began pecking at it, flapping its wings, as if something important was at hand.

Without trepidation, Mikey made for the door, opened it, and began to go inside.

"It may not be wise, and wise it may not be, for I am loathe to enter inside, and inside I loathe to be."

"Oh, c'mon, Drago. Man up! Look." Mikey knocked loudly on damp wood of the door. "See, no ones home."

"You go first, and first go you."

"Follow me." And in they went.

Inside, among scatterings of dank furniture and a large, musty bookcase, Mikey found a desk cluttered with all manner of things. The oddest of them were five planted mushrooms. Each had a plaque below it. "Third of every Five", said one, "First of every Five", said another and so on.

Mikey saw the iron door. It was solid, flat in texture like everything else in the realm, and it had no handles - only a small, square port hole with iron bars. It would not budge. He peered into the port. He saw a dark, stone passage leading to stairs downward. He could hear slow, steady drips of water from somewhere inside, and the musty air drifting out of the port hole smelled of rot.

"Hello in there," he called, hearing the slight echo of his words.

Nothing.

He called again. Then he heard, very faintly, a call from within, coming from the bottom of the stairs.

"Hark! Can you hear me?" it came, far away, almost inaudible. "I'm down here. Get me out of here, I beseech thee."

"You hear that, Drago?"

"I did indeed, and indeed I did."

"Duke Altoon, is that you," Mikey shouted.

The very faint voice drifted up to them, "It is I, Duke Altoon. Get me out of here!"

Mikey scratched his head. "How," he yelled. "The door won't budge."

"I know not," came the suddenly dejected sounding reply.

Mikey and Drago began a search of the dwelling. There had to be a key of some sort. But it bothered Mikey that there was no handle or keyhole. What mystery is this, he wondered.


The raven had entered with them. It then began to flutter about the bookcase. It hovered about the volumes, moving along the rows of books, and Mikey got the distinct impression that it was reading the titles. Soon it seemed to settle on one particular book. With its beak, it began pecking at it, and in time, it was able to tilt it out far enough from the shelf so that it fell to the floor.

Mikey Picked it up and read its title:

29 Wizard Spells - of the 29 Word Phrase Variety.

Mikey sifted through the tome. The raven flew over from the bookcase and perched on his shoulder. It peered down at the pages as he flipped through them. When he got to page 18, the raven fluttered its wings and cried, "Caaw, caaw."

Mikey looked at the spell. Locking Spell with 29 Word Phrasing. Huh?

He read the text which explained the spell. "It says here a Mage must create, then speak the particular phrase, imploring his magic forth as he does so, and..." He closed the book with a slapping sound. "And, poof," he ad-libbed the rest, "the door locks or unlocks. Mr Raven, my dear friend, you are a genius!"

Mikey scratched his head. He looked at Drago, who only shrugged in return. "So, Mr Raven, what then is the phrase?"

The raven flew off his shoulder and began to flutter about the desk. It landed beside the mushrooms and bobbed its head at them.

Mikey studied them closer. Of what interest could they be, he wondered. "Are these important, Mr Raven?"

"Caaw, caaw." A great flapping of wings ensued.

"Hmm..." Mikey touched one of them, the one that was identified as 'First of every Five'. It began to speak:

"With through to it turns be."

"What?" Mikey looked at Drago. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I know not, and nay do I know."

Mikey touched it again, and it repeated the same thing. He touched the one reading 'Second of every Five'. It began to speak:

"The my forge be the its."

After much consternation, Mikey suddenly bristled with understanding. "The phrase is locked away in these mushrooms. By using the plaques, we can piece it together. Do you see, Drago?"

"I do see, and see, do I, indeed. Continue on, for my memory is good, and good is my memory, if you continue on."

Mikey touched the Third of every Five:

"Magic veins a this lock only."

"You getting this? Perhaps we should write it down," said Mikey.

"No need, and need not, as I said before, and before as said I, my memory is good, and good is my memory indeed."

"Right." Mikey touched the fourth mushroom, and it began to speak:

"That I lock chant let key."

And lastly, the fifth:

"Courseth deign let which this."

"Well?" Mikey waited for Drago to speak the phrase.

"Ahem... and ahem." Drago's wings stopped flapping, and he gently landed on the desk, suddenly losing his enthusiasm for zigging and zagging. "I cannot speak the phrase, and the phrase I cannot speak."

"Why not? You forgot the words, didn't you?"

"No, and no. It's simply not in my ability to speak that way, and my ability..." Mikey cut him off.

"Okay, okay... I get it. Here, lets do it again, but this time I'll write it down."

And so he did. He read the phrase:

With the magic that courseth through my veins, I deign to forge a lock. Let it be this chant which turns the lock, let this be its only key.

"Sure enough... 29 words." Mikey's heart beat with excitement. He ran to the iron door and hollered down to Duke Altoon. "Hang on just a second... we'll have you out in a jiffy."

"Hurry."

Mikey moved to the iron door and readied himself to speak the phrase. He took a deep breath, not really knowing why... it just seemed like the thing to do, then he opened his mouth to continue.

But he stopped. "Hey, Drago, it says in the book that a Mage must speak the phrase, and draw forth his power while doing so. But I'm not a Mage. How am I supposed to cull magic out of this phrase?"

"Well, and well. I certainly cannot speak it, and speak it I certainly can not." Drago buzzed up again closer to him, his wings humming a single, steady note. "What you fear may be, and it may be that what you fear, but it is my belief, and the belief is but mine, that you do indeed possess the magic needed, and the needed magic is possessed by Thee."

"You think?" Mikey palmed the back of his neck, unsure. "That sure would be cool, bro. But I don't ever remember doing anything like that before." He cocked his head a moment and smiled. "Boy o boy, just think of all the fun I could have in class if I could do magic."

"Child's play in class is one thing, and one thing it is in class that child's play is, but matters at hand require a strong mind now, and a strong mind matters at hand now require." Drago zipped away from him and settled near the desk. "Proceed, silly boy, and silly boy, do proceed, let it be shown to us your power, and to us, let your power be known."

"All right... here goes."

Mikey read the phrase. Nothing happened. He read it again, and again, nothing happened.

"You mustn't just read, and just read mustn't you, you must memorize with focused mind as you do, and with focused mind must you memorize too."

Mikey steeled himself. He endeavored to really concentrate hard, the way he had always done when attempting his most glorious pranks. Before even beginning the phrase, he imagined the door opening before him. He kept that image in his mind, willing it, demanding it to happen in his mind's eye. As such, he began speaking the phrase, though he did not read it this time, he recited it while staring at the door, for he had it memorized in his mind.

Upon the last word, the door began to glow in a blue light. Mikey stepped back, awed. The light fluttered and began to look like blue water dipping in wave-like fashion. Soon it began to ripple outward from the center the way the pond in the woods behind his house did when he tossed rocks in it. The intensity of the blue became greater, until, in a bright flash of electricity, the door simply disappeared.

"Caaw, caaw," squealed the raven, flapping its wings in a whirlwind of motion.

"Awesome," shouted Mikey, his heart pumping with adrenalin.

"Great power flows through your veins, silly boy, and through your veins, silly boy, does great power flow." Drago zigged and zagged excitedly before returning to his hover, his hat magically staying in place.

The raven suddenly took to the air and swooped past Mikey's head, then went straight through the door and down into the dungeon. Drago began zipping this way and that, and, not to be left behind, hurried after the raven.

"Hey, wait for me," cried Mikey, and hurried down the damp steps.

In time, they released the shaken prisoner and helped him along up the narrow stairway and out into the forest. They had found the key to Duke Altoon's shackles lying right in front of him on a table; it's close proximity to him all that time had nearly drove him mad. Much of his stay in that noxious smelling chamber had been spent trying to figure out a way to bring that key to his shackles. But he possessed no magic, for that's what it would have taken.

"It is Wizard Jackoby who is responsible for this," announced Altoon with great concern. "We must get to the Princess with haste, for I fear he may bring harm to her." Duke Altoon was moving on his own now and with great intent.

"How can it be, and be how it may, that the good Wizard Jackoby has turned astray, and astray has turned good Jackoby the Wizard?"

"I don't know, Drago, but we must go at once and find him. I fear he has lost his mind. But first we must see to the Princess's safety."

"I never did like that guy," said Mikey. "He seems about as grouchy as Mr Levine."

"Who?" asked Altoon.

"Never mind. Off to the Keep." And away they went.

***

Fairy Tale Conclusion  (E) A young boy goes off to a magical realm. Conclusion. #1943873 by Vellumcore

Word count: 3001