Chapter 42

“Atop the walls of Magen City, a duel most tragic

Evil Lennox would face the very Guardian of Magic.”

Chief Justice Resin, year 2004

Instructions

Magen City grew quiet.

They’d all watched several mages fly over the walls to chase Lennox, bent on the obvious intent of executing justice on him. Oliver knew from personal experience that people in this time period did not take lightly to false guardians.

Then, in nearly perfect unison, everyone’s eyes locked on Oliver.

A Forid captain stepped forward. “Lord,” he said. “We now realize how blind we were to follow the likes of Lennox Elmson. We beg your forgiveness.”

The captain knelt.

Once again—this time far grander than all the others—everyone bowed to Oliver. Like a ripple through a pond, tens of thousands of people—Salverians, Barklians, and Forids alike—fell to their knees and lowered their heads in complete submission to him. The ripple spread around buildings and even through the broken southern gate. It spread along the southern and western walls and across the cobble-stoned street, as far as the eye could see. Through the gate, Oliver could see a mere fraction of all the invading mages and soldiers, also kneeling in respect, even though they couldn’t see him.

It was a moment he would never forget. Every other time people had bowed to him, he’d felt ashamed because he’d believed it was fake. This time, however, the sight of multiple nations bowing down to him was perhaps one of the most awe-inspiring things he’d ever seen. It topped the day he saw magic for the first time. It even surpassed the day he became the Secular Branch leader.

Overall, it was a definitive confirmation of the hard-to-accept truth. I am the Guardian of Magic.

He spotted Silas and Ashley. They knelt along with the rest. That meant a great deal, especially after Ilan’s death.

The silence was staggering. Crickets in the night chirped loudly.

A speech. Of course, they want another speech. Oliver cleared his throat, preparing to do what he did best. He smiled, took a deep breath, and opened his mouth.

“WAIT!”

Oliver let out an exasperated sigh, deflating his lungs. Everyone turned their heads to look at the person who spoke.

It was the Grand Arboler. He hobbled through the crowd, coming from the direction of the Guardian’s Palace, waving a white wand in the air above him. Perplexed soldiers and mages made way for the old man.

“Don’t say a word, you big ash barrel!” Parley said. “No speeches!”

Oliver watched the man approach, his mouth agape. Unsure if the man meant to chastise him or to challenge him to a duel, Oliver fell into a defensive stance, gripping his white staff.

“Oh, keep your robes on, I’m not going to fight you!” Parley said. “There’s not enough time, though I’m sure I’d give you a run for your money!” The old man gave a winded laugh at his own joke as he finally reached Oliver, right in front of the gate.

As the Grand Arboler approached, Oliver took a close look at the white wand in Parley’s hand.

It was flashing.

Exactly the same way future-Oliver’s wand flashed before he time traveled, a slow, rhythmic pulse of white energy coursed through it. Oliver quickly recalled what that meant.

“Life needs you to leave, now!” the Grand Arboler said, as if reading Oliver’s thoughts. He handed the wand over to him and bent over, his hands on his knees, panting. “Ah… that was quite the run. I tell you what… I am not quite the renown athlete I used to be.”

Oliver could feel the energy pulsing through the wand and into his own hand. Not only did its light flash on and off, but it also vibrated whenever it lit up.

I can go home? he thought. Why now?

“He’s leaving?” the Forid captain asked.

“Yes. Sorry everyone!” Parley said. “No speech; no instructions for now. Life has called the Guardian to another Age that needs to be saved immediately.”

Oliver looked at the old man. “How do you know that?”

“Why, I’m the Grand Arboler, you rotten barkscum. I know everything. Life treespeaks to me, remember? She also wants you to take this.”

He handed over a leather bag. Within were the Scrolls of magery, which contained everything needed to teach a civilization how to use magic. Oliver raised an eyebrow. “She told you that I—?”

“No time for questions!” Parley interrupted. He pushed Oliver gently in the back. “When Life calls, you go! Okay? Now, go!”

“Okay, okay!” Oliver decidedly did not like the foul-mouthed Grand Arboler, nor did he enjoy being pushed around, but he knew the old man was absolutely right. Future-Oliver had told him to leave as soon as he saw the Wand of Life flashing. No delays. Lives likely depended on him arriving on time. “I’m going!”

“Good! I’ll take care of things here.”

Oliver twirled his staff in an ebony Carving. He had to do it slowly; it was still a difficult routine for him. Finished, he Cast ebony, pushing gently off the ground. He slowly floated upward, tens of thousands of eyes following him. He looked down at them, trying to find something final to say—something for all of the people in this time period.

“Thank you…” he finally said. “For showing me who I truly am.”

He twirled his staff again and Cast willow. A blast of wind shot out of its tip, pushing Oliver up and over the walls. The night’s cool wind buffeted his hair and robes as he soared through the air.

He flew directly toward the Tree of Life to the south.

When he landed before the giant Tree, he noticed a new Carving had appeared on its trunk as if scratched through its bark by a massive bear, allowing the pure white light from within to escape through the slits. The Carving was remarkably simple.

“Will this take me home?” Oliver wondered aloud. “Or will this take me to another Age?”

Fidgeting with the white wand in his left hand, he approached the Tree—the god of this world. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on its trunk and asked, “Where will this send me?”

He waited patiently for an answer, listening carefully for the motherly voice that’d spoken to him before.

“It was maple, wasn’t it?”

The voice he heard was clearly male, deep, and sharp. Oliver turned around and saw Silas and Ashley descending from the air, landing gracefully on the grass. They tossed their ebony-willow staves to the side, letting them fly off into the sky.

“What do you mean?” Oliver asked.

“Maple,” Silas repeated. “That’s how you survived the lightning.” He looked at the white staff in Oliver’s hand. “With a staff that never runs out of magic, you can Cast maple, and as long as you’re touching it, it will continue to heal you.”

Oliver smiled and nodded. The pain from the lightning had hardly been noticeable. Casting maple with the Staff of Life in his hands virtually made Oliver invincible—indestructible. It also made him extra perky, relieving all his drowsiness and exhaustion, and replacing them with an overwhelming amount of energy. Too much energy. Growing antsy, he twirled his staff and canceled maple.

“Thank you…” Silas said, “for saving my life. Lennox almost had me there.”

“Just returning the favor,” Oliver said. “You saved me at Cambium when Lennox almost killed me.”

They smiled for a moment. Oliver glanced at Ashley. Her expression was difficult to read with her dark skin and with little moonlight peering around the leaves. The least he could tell… she was not smiling.

Oliver lowered his gaze. “I wish I could’ve saved him…” He paused. “Believe me, I gave myself a good beating for not saving him… or at least I tried to.”

“So have I,” Ashley muttered.

Oliver looked up. “But the truth is… Ilan saved me. He believed in me when no one else did. Especially when I didn’t believe in myself.”

They were silent for a moment.

“He would have loved to have seen you now,” Ashley said. “He was right all along. You… are the Guardian.”

A deep hum from the Tree seemed to grow louder. Oliver jumped. “Guess it’s time to go.”

Silas nodded, looking at Life. “This is what it looked like when I used the Guardian’s Wand to travel to your world, except the Carving is slightly different.”

“I wonder if Life will send me back to the moment I left.” He raised the white, flashing wand out in front of him and performed the Carving inscribed on Life’s trunk. When he finished, a white light appeared at the top of the wand and then slowly expanded, ripping a man-sized whole in the fabric of space and time. White and purplish electric sparks lined the outer edges of the vortex. In the center was an image of the new world he was about to jump into.

It looked dark. Nighttime. He thought he saw some snow on the ground, but it was too dark to tell.

Is this home? Oliver wondered. A thrill rushed through his veins at the thought of finally returning home. He stepped toward the vortex.

“Hey Shorty!”

Oliver turned around.

“Will you ever come back?” Ashley asked.

He looked at the vortex and then back at her. “I hope so.”

She smiled. Even Silas smiled. “Take care,” he said, placing his fist over his heart. Ashley mirrored the gesture.

Oliver returned the salute, promised to himself to never forget this Age, turned, and then walked through the vortex.