Chapter 4

“You shall not carry any wood”

The words of the Guardian, penned by Polan the scribe, year 3000

Silas

Oliver looked up at the Tree with narrowed eyes. It swayed slowly in the gentle breeze. You are the true debate, Oliver thought as he stared at it.

He shifted his eyes to the ancient, one-armed statue of the Guardian of Magic. And you. I have to disprove both of you. Show the world you’re just a myth—a manmade creation to comfort the dimwitted.

Oliver was yanked out of his reverie as someone grabbed his shoulder from behind and spun him around.

Before him stood a tall man with dark, long hair, and a neatly trimmed beard. Startled, Oliver feared the stranger would mug him, but he couldn’t help but stare, puzzled at what the man was wearing. Forest green robes that reached the knees with a black sash at the waist, the hood pulled back. Dark trousers and black, leather boots. He looked like a movie actor dressed to play the role of some ancient warrior.

“Tell me,” the man said in a deep voice. “Do you intend to destroy the world?”

Oliver raised his eyebrows, taken aback by the strange question, and the man’s strange appearance, and his strange accent. “Excuse me?” he asked with a laugh.

“Do you intend to destroy the world?” the man repeated, more firmly this time.

Oliver was about to jibe at the man, but then he realized he could be some crazy Arboler out to assassinate him. A lot of people would probably love to see me dead, he thought.

His smile faded, and his heart began to pound against his rib cage. He considered running, but the man had a solid clench on his shoulder, waiting anxiously for Oliver to answer the question. He feared that if he answered wrong, the man might pull out a knife and slit his throat.

“No,” he answered nervously. “I don’t want to destroy it. I intend to save the world from destroying itself. That’s all. Now, please let go. I’ve got to get going.”

Oliver thought he heard some sort of deep vibration start up from behind him, like the hum of a large cooling system kicking on. But he didn’t avert his attention from the tall man.

Some sort of realization flashed behind the stranger’s eyes and he released his grip from Oliver’s shoulder. Apparently, he gave the right answer because the man stooped into a low, formal bow fit for a king. Oliver glanced around awkwardly, grateful they were completely alone.

“Um… okay.” Oliver took a step back. “Thanks, but I’ve got to go.”

“Master,” the man said. “You must come with me. My world needs your help.”

This guy obviously didn’t have the light on upstairs, and the humming sound was making Oliver uncomfortable. “Thanks for the offer, but I’m sure your world will do just fine without—”

The man pulled something out of his cloak. Oliver flinched, thinking it was a knife or a gun.

It was a… stick?

A white wooden stick? It was still illegal in Salveria to carry around anything made of wood. What this man was doing was worthy of a year or two in jail. But what would he do with a stick?

The man twirled the stick around in his fingers with amazing dexterity, and a flash of bright light appeared at the tip of the stick. Oliver widened his eyes in shock, not sure what he was seeing. The piercingly white light grew brighter, causing him to squint.

The light gradually expanded to form an oval, taller than a man, resting just above the snow on the ground. White and purple strands of electricity swirled clockwise around the oval’s edges. Its center flashed white once and then became transparent, showing the trees behind it.

Except, something was different. Something…

“What’s going on here?” Oliver asked, backing away, his pulse racing. He froze, however, when he saw the tree.

A light was seeping out of it.

Long, thin slits through the tree’s bark lit up with a brilliant white light, forming some sort of design. It was like a large animal had scratched a dozen slits into a lighthouse, and its inner light was showing through. And the deep humming sound seemed to come from the Tree.

“Come, Master,” the man said grabbing his shoulder. “We have no time to waste.”

He pulled Oliver toward the oval vortex. Oliver lost his balance and stumbled in before he’d even mustered up enough breath to argue.

He fell as soon as he passed through the vortex, feeling disoriented. He rolled onto the ground and desperately tried to get to his feet but couldn’t shake the strange burning under his skin.

He lifted his head slowly and watched the stranger jump through the oval, landing gracefully on his feet. The man spun the white stick around his fingers and the vortex disappeared.

He clasped Oliver’s arm and hoisted him to his feet. Oliver staggered as he looked up at the oddly-dressed stranger. “Are you okay, my lord?” he asked.

“What did you do to me?” Oliver said. “My skin burns!”

“As does mine. I thought you’d be used to it by now. It fades shortly.” Oliver noticed the man was shaking his hands, also suffering from the effects of the vortex. “I brought you to the mortal world, as directed by your Holy Instructions, my Lord.”

“Mortal world?” Oliver’s head finally stopped swimming and he took a good look around him.

He was still in the Capital Grove. The Tree was still there. As was the statue of the Guardian of Magic, but it looked different. Everything looked different. What was it?

No snow.

He looked down. He stood on the grass, littered with pinecones and leaves. No concrete. No pathway.

He looked up. The trees had leaves. All of them, not just the Tree of Life. Green, wide leaves danced in the breeze along their branches. The sun was no longer overhead, but just at the horizon; he couldn’t tell if it were setting or rising. The two moons were visible in the dim sky. The statue of the Guardian had both of its arms. The arm that was missing now held a long staff that oddly looked like it was made of wood.

What’s going on?

“My name is Silas Jarrah,” the man said with a salute, right fist over his left breast. “I am the General of the Salverian Army. We desperately need your help, my lord.”

“Why do you keep calling me lord?” Oliver asked, hardly looking at the man and still trying to come to grips that there was no snow. It’s not possible.

Silas bowed his head. “Forgive me, master. Would you prefer a different title? Perhaps Deliverer? Or Great Guardian?”

“No, I’m no lord or defender or… whatever else. Just a Branch Leader.”

Silas kept his head bowed but raised his eyes in confusion. “Branch Leader?

“Yeah, you know, the Seculars?”

Silas still looked confused.

“Okay, this is too strange,” Oliver said as he walked away, trying to backtrack. Everything looked so different when there was no snow. No pathway. No artistic statues. No… anything that looked familiar. His panic level intensified.

What’s happening?

He looked back at Silas, accusingly. “What did you do? Where did all the snow go?”

“There is no snow here, my lord,” Silas said. “It is midsummer here in the mortal world.”

“Summer? No, it’s winter.” Oliver darted his eyes back and forth. “And where is the pathway? How do I get out of here? My hovercar should be on the north corner of the Grove.”

Silas stood up and strode by Oliver. “I will lead you out, my lord.”

“No, thanks. You’ve done enough already.” He started walking in the opposite direction.

“Master, the Justice Hall is this way. The Grand Arboler and the seven Justices will want to see you.”

Oliver paused. Something familiar.

He eyed the strange man. “Is this some sort of trick? Did you drug me with something? You’ll regret it if you did.”

“A trick, my lord?” Silas tilted his head, looking more puzzled than worried. He was nearly a head taller than Oliver with a thick, muscular build—a man not easily intimidated.

Flames, I need to ditch this guy, Oliver thought. “Look, can you just point which direction the Justice Hall is? I’ll make it there on my own.” He remembered the Justice Hall wasn’t too far from the Capital Grove.

Silas pointed north, and Oliver began walking at a fast pace, passing by Silas and hoping he wouldn’t follow.

He did.

While walking, Oliver fished through his coat pocket and brought out his personal drone. “Call Terick Oakley,” he commanded.

“I’m sorry,” a female voice said from the drone’s speaker. “There is no signal.”

“No signal? We’re in the middle of Magen City.” He saw on its screen that it spoke the truth. There was absolutely no signal. “Fly up and show me where I’m at.”

The drone buzzed to life. Four rimmed propellers popped up and lifted itself into the air while detaching the screen, leaving it in Oliver’s hand. The drone quickly flew high above the trees and rotated, pointing its small camera at the surroundings.

“Amazing,” Silas said, looking up. “I saw others like your flying friend in the Ascensions. Truly remarkable.”

Ascensions? Oliver continued walking, pointedly ignoring the crazy man while he stared down at the screen in his hands. What he saw made his stomach sink. “Where are the skyscrapers?”

“Skyscrapers?” Silas said it like it was a nonsense word.

Oliver thumbed a control stick just below the screen, controlling the drone’s flight. On the screen, he saw treetops that stretched forever to the south. Mount Spruce with the sun peeking up behind it in the east. Tree Valley Lake to the north, and a broad collection of buildings emitting smoke. It was difficult to see any detail in the buildings due to the lack of light, but Oliver could clearly tell that they weren’t nearly as big as they should be.

“Nothing is as it should be!” Oliver said aloud, his eyes wide. “Mages, I’m in downtown Magen City! I shouldn’t be able to see the lake or even the mountain! Buildings are supposed to be in the way! And where is all the flaming snow?”

“Firstly, I’ve never heard of snow on fire,” Silas said. “And second, as I said, it is midsummer here in the mortal world, my lord.”

Oliver studied Silas as his drone automatically descended from the skies and landed gently in his hand, reconnecting with the screen. “Okay… Silas. Tell me what’s going on. What do you mean by the mortal world? And why do you keep calling me lord?”

Silas hesitated to answer, looking unsure why he needed to answer such strange questions. “Well… because you are the Guardian of Magic.”

Oliver blinked.

“What?” he asked, not certain he heard right. “You think I’m…”

He fell silent.

“Well… aren’t you?” Silas asked, looking concerned.

Oliver shook his head. “Are you joking? You’ve got to be joking.” He looked around the forest for hidden cameras on the trees. “This has to be some sort of prank.”

“No prank, my lord. This is serious. My country needs your help.”

Oliver laughed nervously. “This was good. I don’t know how you pulled it off, but I’m not in the mood for it right now. So, bye.” He resumed walking to the north, certain he’d pass by some sort of visual effects curtain any moment.

Silas followed close behind Oliver, looking troubled. “You’re not the Guardian?”

Oliver laughed again. “Of course not. That’s why it’s such a good prank. I’m the last man on Merith to be the Guardian of Magic. The idea of it is flaming hilarious.”

Silas groaned. “How can this be? How could I make a mistake? You said the key phrase exactly…”

“What key phrase?”

“Here,” Silas offered a small parchment with writing on it. “See for yourself.”

Oliver kept walking but took the parchment and observed it. It was paper made out of a strange material; not typical hemp. Some sort of sturdier material. On it were the words: I intend to save the world from destroying itself.

“Isn’t that what you said?” Silas asked. “I’m certain I heard you clearly.”

“How did you know I was going to say that?” Oliver asked, handing back the parchment.

“The Holy Instructions said you would?”

“Holy Instructions?” Oliver huffed. “That silly handbook of the Arbolers? How could the Holy Instructions know what I was going to say? They were written thousands of years ago.”

Silas shrugged. “The Guardian is wise, my lord. His magic is beyond me. There is much about the Guardian’s Appearances I don’t understand.”

“Well, that makes two of us.” Oliver looked back and forth, concerned that he hadn’t found how the prank was done yet. We’ve been walking for a while now, he thought. And this still looks like an empty forest without any snow. “What do you mean by magic? There’s no such thing as magic.”

Silas was quiet for a moment and then bellowed a loud laugh. “Oh, that is good, my lord. Now I see. You are playing the prank on me! I didn’t know you were so humorous, master. I was beginning to worry that…”

He stopped, realizing Oliver was completely serious.

He leaned forward. “You mean it when you say you don’t believe in magic?”

“Of course. Can you prove otherwise?”

Silas’ face paled. “Then, perhaps I did make a mistake…. How could that be? Where did I go wrong?”

“The moment you let someone convince you of things you can’t see with your own two eyes, my friend. Magic is only in stories.”

“I’m sorry, I think you misunderstood,” Silas said. “I’m not mistaken about magic. But I do think I mistook you for the Guardian. I wonder if I can go back….”

Oliver shrugged. “Well, at least you know who I’m not. That’s a step in the right direction. I can’t help with magic though. There is only so much crazy that can be cured at once.”

Silas pulled out the white stick again out of his robes. He twirled it around his fingers as he had before, and when he was finished… nothing happened.

He furrowed his eyebrows. “Strange. Why won’t it work?” He kept spinning the wand in a blur. Oliver watched with amusement, likening Silas to a little child trying to hit imaginary pixies with a rod. After a while, Silas stopped and looked at Oliver. “We can’t go back.”

“Back where?”

“To the Ascensions; your world. I guess I’ll have to take you to the Justices to see if they know why the portal isn’t opening.”

Oliver laughed. “I’ll go on my own. You can stay here and keep trying to do… whatever it was you were doing.”

Silas gave Oliver a flat stare, aware that he was mocking him. Oliver didn’t care if he offended the eccentric man; he needed to leave him and figure out what was going on. He turned and walked away, heading north.

He took a few steps and heard something loud behind him, like the sound of a miniature rocket launching. He spun around and gasped.

Silas held a different stick in his hand—this one dull and brown—and was aiming it skyward. Spewing out of the tip of the stick, was a long jet of bright, hot fire.

Oliver yelped, falling to the ground, unable to believe his eyes. He could feel the heat threatening to singe his eyebrows. The roaring sound was intense. The flames danced in the air as if caught in a whirlwind directly above Silas.

After about a minute, the fire died out from Silas’ stick, but a whirlwind of air kept blowing out of it, fanning the flames that had caught on the surrounding trees. The trees burned quickly, the branches were already turning black, consumed by the fire.

Silas chucked the brown stick away and pulled out another one, this one yellow. He twirled it around his fingers and thrust its tip toward the burning trees. A jet of water shot out of the yellow stick like a firehose.

How? Oliver couldn’t see any water source nearby. The water was somehow inexplicably, inconceivably, incomprehensibly appearing directly out of the yellow stick’s tip.

Silas drenched the trees with water, putting out the flames and filling the air with putrid smoke. Some of the water splashed on Oliver’s face. He wiped it off and stared at his wet fingers.

This is real, he thought, getting a headache. No illusions. No tricks. This is really happening!

Eventually, the water stopped spewing out of the yellow stick and Silas chucked it to the ground as if it were as dull as an apple core. The bearded man strode over to Oliver and looked down at him. He sat on the ground, his mouth wide open.

“H—how…?” Oliver finally said.

Silas smiled but looked curiously again at Oliver. “Magic.”

“Magic?” Oliver was having a tough time breathing, his heart racing, about to have a panic attack. “No! It was a trick!”

Silas folded his arms, looking curiously at Oliver. “Is there no magic in your world?”

Oliver didn’t respond, his mind swimming. In my world? he thought, looking around at the unfamiliar forest without any snow. I’m in a different world….

Silas pulled another stick out of his cloak, an ordinary reddish-brown stick, and twirled it around his fingers with amazing speed. He thrust the tip at Oliver, causing him to flinch, but no fire or water came out; instead, a beam of light shone on him, like a flashlight. “Here,” Silas said, offering the stick to Oliver. “See for yourself.”

He hesitated to take it, fearing it would turn into another oval vortex, but he eventually wrapped his fingers around it and pulled it close to his face, observing the harmless light coming out of its tip. It was impossible! A light was emitting out of the stick, but there was no light bulb, no fuse, no wick, and no scientific explanation.

He had seen it with his own two eyes. The evidence was abundant. He couldn’t deny what was clearly right in front of him.

Magic. Was. Real.