Bumblestook: Book 1, The Accidental Wizard (29 page)

“Actually,” the Wizard replied thoughtfully, “it was those very
differences
that eventually led me to realize how
much
Fiona and young Bumblestook have in common.”

“Fiona is nothing like Farley,” Livie spat.

“On the contrary,” Bartholeumous said, raising one large hand to forestall her protests. “They are remarkably alike in several ways. The night of Fiona’s Naming Ceremony, I was unable to foresee what part she was destined to play in the Great Story of The People. Similarly, Bumblestook’s future has remained hidden from me. They also share the power of Empathy—most unusual between one of The People and an ordinary Human. And finally, there is this
adventure
they have gotten themselves into. It has all the earmarks of a True Quest.”

“What?” Lance and Livie staggered back visibly shocked.

“But that’s impossible!” Lance said. “Farley’s
Human
, for gosh sakes! Humans don’t do Quests.”

“Isn’t that illegal—or-or-or at least against the rules?” Livie sputtered.

“Not at all,” Bartholeumous replied. “Have you forgotten your History? Long ago, before the Separation, our ancestors lived openly alongside Humankind and such alliances were not entirely unheard of.”

Lance and Livie, having participated (as did most children of The People) in voluminous hours of required instruction; recalled that there were, indeed, historical records of Quests involving partnerships between magical and non-magical folk.

“But that’s
Ancient
History,” Lance protested. “It’s just not done anymore.”

“Tis true, the last documented case occurred ages ago,” Bartholeumous acknowledged.

“Then, what makes you think they’ve gone off on a Quest, now?” Livie challenged.

The Wizard eyed her keenly. “As you well know, a legitimate Quest takes on a life of its own. Circumstances, events, even people—
especially people
,” he added with a wink and a nod, “find themselves, completely unwittingly, contributing to its purpose. A
true
Quest will not be denied, despite efforts to hide its existence or keep it from coming to pass. So you see, it is quite telling that our efforts, to find the children and bring them home, have been successfully thwarted at every turn. In fact, I have reason to believe that these events were set in motion years ago,
in this very garden
.”

Livie’s pale face turned several shades whiter. Her eyelids fluttered, as she sagged back against her husband’s chest, muttering through stiff lips, “But Fiona’s too young, and she’s had no training… What have we done? What have we done?”

Lance put his arms around her, holding her close. “There, there, Liv. We only did what we thought was best. What’s done is done. Perhaps there is something we can do now, to set things right.” He looked over his wife’s bent head to the Wizard, who nodded solemnly.

“You can start by explaining what took place here eight years ago.”

“It was just a little blue rattle from Farley’s diaper bag…” Livie began.

“And a single strand of hair from his brush,” Lance added.

“You passed them off as Fiona’s.” Bartholeumous finished, raising one bushy brow as the couple nodded, shame-faced. The Wizard chuckled. “I never did quite believe that ridiculous rattle belonged to Fiona. Tell me, what was her
actual
Cherished Possession?”

“At the time it was a spinning top carved from the tip of a Unicorn’s horn. Now it’s a certain teardrop-shaped crystal,” Lance replied ruefully.

“We just wanted her to have a normal life,” Livie explained.

“A normal
Human
life,” Bartholeumous amended.

“Yes,” Lance admitted, nervously running a hand through his hair. “We wanted to give her the childhood we never had. From the moment we were born, we were groomed to be the ‘Great Heroes of The People’. It was all we ever knew. Our entire childhood was spent preparing for our Life’s Quest. Don’t get me wrong, it was quite exciting, but also exceedingly dangerous! Living here, among the Humans, we felt perhaps Fiona would be better off living their
kind of life, at least as a child. They seem to get along just fine
without
the magic—
or
the danger! We
thought
later
, when she was older, there’d be plenty of time for that, should she want it.”

Bartholeumous shook his head and chuckled softly into his beard. “Unfortunately, your quasi-Human lifestyle has lulled you into thinking that Destiny is something one creates for oneself. It is a common belief among Humans and may in fact be true for Humankind—it would explain their remarkable resilience. But for one of The People, Destiny is part of our culture and heritage. It cannot be dodged indefinitely. It
will
catch up with one, sooner or later. Still, it was a good effort! Besides, it is due to your finagling that I was able to discover the existence of the boy.”

As both parents exchanged puzzled looks, Bartholeumous explained. “The Book of Ages tells us of the coming of a Humanchild, possessed of great power, who is destined to become one of the greatest champions of our people. But it does not reveal the manner of his coming—only that his involvement will occur
entirely by accident
. I assume that neither of you actually
intended
to draw young Bumblestook into the Great Story of The People?”

“I should say not!” Livie proclaimed indignantly.

“We had no idea that using Farley’s hair and rattle in the Ceremony, would affect him in the slightest,” Lance said.

“Even a wet-behind-the-ears Wizardling of the lowest order could have told you that! That is why we say, ‘Leave the Magiking to the Professionals!’ It is always the amateurs that give Magic a bad name, what with their mixed-up mis-spells, flim-flam fortunes and whatnot!”

“We’re really very sorry,” Lance said contritely.

Livie added miserably, “Truly, we meant no harm.”

Bartholeumous looked upon them with compassion. “You could only do what you have done,” he said kindly. “As I have said, Bumblestook’s coming was foretold, but not the specifics of his involvement. It took the two of you to fulfill that part of the prophecy. I am sure that is how it will be written in the Book of Ages when this tale is done.”

A look of pain crossed Livie’s pale face, like a dark cloud briefly blanketing the moon.

“
This
is going in the Book? Can’t you just leave this part out?”

As Bartholeumous merely raised an eyebrow in response, she threw up her hands in defeat.

“So much for our great,
secret
plan! In the Book for all to see!” Folding her arms across her chest, Olivia lifted her chin defiantly. “Well, there you have it. The whole sorry mess. Maybe
now
we can move on to finding the children!”

“Not quite yet,” the Wizard told her.

Strands of Livie’s hair rose in a pale ghostly halo and her ultramarine eyes flashed with silver sparks. (It was a natural defense mechanism, similar to a rattlesnake’s rattle or a porcupine rustling its quills. It warned others when she was seriously ticked off—
not
a pretty sight.)

Lance placed his hands firmly on her shoulders and moved her stiffly aside, placing himself between his wife and the Wizard. “We’ve told you everything. What more could there be?”

“There is one thing that still puzzles me. If you recall, during the Naming Ceremony, a strand of the child’s hair was analyzed to identify the greatest weakness, so that the Gifting would be of utmost benefit. The hair revealed a case of clumsiness so severe that it was life threatening. Such an extreme trait would not occur naturally. It is apparent that the child had, indeed, been cursed,” Bartholeumous explained.

“But, why would anyone bother to curse Farley?” Livie asked.

“Precisely my point!” Bartholeumous said. “The outlaw Wizards often attempt to curse
our
newborns before their Naming Ceremonies. They do this in the hopes of weakening future generations, hampering them with any number of annoying traits and causing the Presiding Wizard to waste the child’s Gift. But the question remains. Why would the Overlords bother to target a harmless
Human
baby?”

Lance frowned, and one hand rose to rub his temple. Suddenly, he gasped.

“Come! There’s something you should see.” He whirled about, heading down one of the cobblestone paths. Bartholeumous and Livie followed him to the little koi pond, where he stood looking down at the garden bench. He pointed to the set of jagged grooves on the edge of the stone seat.

“The evening of the ceremony, I left Farley’s rattle here, on the bench,” he explained. “When I came out to get it, I saw these scratches, but in all the excitement I forgot about it—until now.”

Bartholeumous leaned forward to examine the scratches. He brushed his fingertips over them (much as Lance had done, years ago). They glowed briefly, with a sickly green light.

“These marks were made by either a Gargoyle or a golem. Most likely a golem. Gargoyles have a conscience, golems do not. I suspect it was planted here, somewhere in this garden, when you first took up residence and before you had a chance to set up the Wards. It would have lain hidden and dormant for years, until awakened by the birth of a child of The People.

After that, it had but a day or two to fulfill its evil purpose, before the protection of the Great Water rendered the baby practically invulnerable. Only the proximity of a child’s possession, left unguarded prior to the Naming Ceremony, would have activated it to carry out its dark mission. Obviously, it transferred the curse it carried, onto Bumblestook’s rattle—but why? An object belonging to a Human child should not have set it in motion.”

“We let Fiona play with it,” Lance admitted sheepishly. “Just in case you could tell she’d never touched it.”

“So, the curse that was meant for Fiona, accidentally fell on Farley. And the Gift of Extraordinary Balance and Grace, meant to counteract the curse, went to Fiona,” Livie said sadly.

“Fortunately, Bumblestook also received the protection of the Great Water, which (although unable to lift the curse) rendered it harmless,” the Wizard concluded.

“So, what do we do now?” Lance asked.

“And how does any of this help us find the children?” Livie interjected.

Bartholeumous closed his eyes and bowed his head in thought. Several minutes passed as Lance and Livie exchanged uncertain glances. Finally, the Wizard opened his eyes and raised his head.

“As long as we work against the Quest, we will continue to be thwarted in our efforts to find them. The only way to catch up with them is to contribute to its purpose. First, we must determine exactly what that purpose is and for
that
we will have to go elsewhere. Come.”

He gestured to them to follow, then strode down the path toward the oak tree.

“Where are we going?” Livie asked, as she and Lance hurried after their enigmatic guest.

The Wizard halted at the tree and retrieved his staff. “We will travel to one of our strongholds, Heart-of-the-Mountain. It is nearby, in this very mountain range. There, we will enlist the aid of the High Mage himself. To speed our progress, I must first establish a Doorway. If you have no objections, this old tree should do very nicely. ”

Using the tip of his staff, Bartholeumous deftly sketched the outline of a Doorway, in electric-blue light, against the trunk of the tree; muttering the accompanying spell. Reaching into his cloak, he withdrew a piece of palm-sized, crystal amethyst. Bringing it to his lips, he spoke the words which would set their journey in motion.

“It is time.”

Farley awoke (for the umpteenth time) after spending a restless night, tossing and turning, within the cramped quarters of the Indian hut. Thoughts of his missing parents, the discovery of the Bungaree and Gr-r-rog and the uncertain future, besieged and bedeviled him. Beside him, Fiona had slept soundly, undisturbed by the curious events of the previous evening, or the hardness of the cold, bare floor. Just outside the hut, Tom and Yap (no strangers to sleeping on the ground) slumbered peacefully in their animal forms, curled up tip o’ the nose to tip o’ the tail.

As Farley crawled out of the hut, Tom and Yap raised their heads to look at him curiously. He waved them back to sleep and padded across the dark floor. At the entrance to the station, the glass door admitted the first, faint glow of early morning light, as the earth’s rotation brought the San Gabriel Mountains into the path of the Sun’s golden rays.

The boy stood looking out the door. His wild, unruly hair stuck up every-which-way, like storm-tossed waves. His clothes were as wrinkled and rumpled as a discarded paper bag. An image swam before his bleary eyes; his mother sitting on the edge of his bed, a pile of his clean laundry beside her. She picked up a t-shirt, gave it a shake, then laid it out flat; folding it with quick, efficient movements.

“See? Even this plain-ol’ t-shirt can look nice, as long as you keep it neat and clean.
Neat and clean, clean and neat! That will keep you looking sweet! Clean and neat, neat and clean! Sweet just like a jelly bean!
” She sang in a high, soft, quivery voice; reaching out to give his cheek a soft pinch, as they laughed together merrily, in that good-old time.

Farley’s eyes filled with tears, as he attempted to smooth the wrinkles from his shirt with the flat of his hands. Another image arose; his mother’s face, next to his in the bathroom mirror. Mouths foaming with toothpaste, lips stretched into rabid smiles, they subjected their teeth to a vigorous scrubbing with rotating toothbrush heads.

“
Ake air uh oor eeth, an ale ake air uh oo-ooh
!” his mother sang out, while continuing to brush.

In the mirror, Farley’s reflection looked quizzically at hers. “Huh?”

His mother’s head ducked out of sight as she bent to spit and rinse. When she reappeared in the mirror, untamed curls bouncing merrily, she flashed him a shiny-white, minty grin.

“
Take good care of your teeth, and they’ll take good care of you-oo! Just remember that, whatever else you do-o-o! If you brush ’em right, every morning, noon and night, Your teeth will be your best friends, your whole life throu-ough!
” she warbled.