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• Chapter One - Mr. Ollivander Tells of Willen's Luck Chapter Two - "Accio Magik!" Chapter Three - "Mah-ghee-kahl!" Chapter Four - Dragonslayer? Who, Me? Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him Chapter Seven - Final Battle and Epilogue
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Thanks go to Ninkenate and Ozma - two great beta readers.

Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him

   

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Harry was furious!

Apparently Lucius Malfoy knew Mr. Ollivander had been a Slytherin, and therefore had assumed the senior wand maker held his views on pureblood issues.

Draco's father had "just been in the Alley and thought it would be a good idea to have you inspect my wand, Ollivander."

An inspection takes only a minute or two and after a quick visual perusal, the wand is polished to a high gloss. Harry had heard Mr. Ollivander say so. The fact that he had never polished his wand did not mollify Harry's mood. Oh, he would run his wand through a gathered bunch of his robe from time to time, removing fingerprints and causing stars to shoot out of the end, but wand polish had not touched his holly and phoenix feather wand since the day he had purchased it.

Mr. Ollivander placed the two silver Sickles in the appropriate drawer and came behind the counter to where Harry had been sitting/hiding.

"Mr. Potter, I regret you had to endure Mr. Malfoy's opinions, he comes in at least once a month for an inspection. I imagine he takes comfort in having a wand master inspect his wand on a regular basis. It matters not to me, and the price he pays for a few moments' work is quite profitable."

"How could you stand hearing him after what you said this morning?"

Harry's anger was fading, but he still felt hurt and confused.

Ollivander looked at him wisely, and the slightest hint of a smile crossed one corner of his mouth, just for a moment.

"Mr. Potter, when I apprenticed with my father a century and a half ago, he told me a number of clever sayings that have stood me in good stead in business and in my personal life. The one that applies today is:

                   "Opinions are like noses, everyone has at least one."

They stared at each other for several moments until Harry started to chuckle. He had imagined Lucius Malfoy with two noses, then Draco with three, and he started laughing. The slightest hint of a grin returned to the same corner of the wandmaker's mouth; this time it stayed there a little longer.

"Ollivanders is here to serve the magical community, all of the magical community. I find a number of people personally distasteful on occasion, but I choose to hope everyone, myself included, can and will improve. Malfoy senior was cleared by the Ministry of Magic of all charges in having been controlled by the Dark Lord. Therefore I serve him as readily as I would serve Albus Dumbledore."

The look on Harry's face showed his opinion of serving the former Death Eater, duped or not.

"Now, if Sirius Black came into Ollivanders and wanted a new wand, his was broken after he was convicted, as is standard practice, I would deny him assistance and immediately inform the proper authorities."

Harry's eyes went wide at the mention of the recently escaped fugitive, still at large.

"Did you..." he gulped. "I suppose you sold Black his wand?"

Ollivander looked up for several long seconds, and said, "Yes, I did. He came from a long line of Dark Magic inclined Slytherins. A Black was the last member of the Ministry of Magic who tried to legalize Muggle hunting. Phineas Nigellus was one of the better Blacks in several hundred years. He was headmaster when I was at school, and at that, he was the least-popular headmaster Hogwarts has ever had. However, in the last two generations a few of that ancient family have tried to head towards a reasonable understanding of the way the world is going.

"Young Sirius Black was a ray of hope to me. The day his wand chose him, I knew he would be substantially different. I soon heard he had been sorted into Gryffindor - a very necessary event to help him break with the old ways.

"I had such hopes..."

Ollivander stared away and Harry felt compelled to break the darkening mood descending on his temporary employer.

"Sir, Willen is bleeding to death. What happened next?"

"Ah, yes, Mr. Potter. Thank you for reminding me of my place." This time there was a definite smile that moved all the way to Mr. Ollivander's silvery eyes.

And so our story continues...

At that moment, Willen heard the trilling of the bird. The tuneless notes thrilled his heart and gave courage where none should endure. The wolves stopped in their tracks. Willen, giggling with delirium in his pain, fancied that he saw looks of confusion and fear on their lupine faces.

"Incendio!" "Incendio!" "Incendio!"

It was the three wolves' turn to howl in pain as they loped away, on fire from head to tail.

Willen fell to his knees and then to his side from the wracking torture in his head, hand, and leg. Fiduena still screamed and he wondered why. He raised his head and saw the wolf that he had petrified coming slowly towards him. He could not see his olive branch; he had dropped it nearby but had no wherewithal to seek it out.

The wolf ripped a chunk of flesh from his neck. New blinding pain. Willen knew he would bleed to death soon. The girl was hoarsely still trying to scream. Willen hoped she would stay in the tree until the wolf had had its fill of him and left her safe.

"Oh, Constantia," he gurgled. He wanted her name to be the last word he spoke.

The wolf changed the tone of its growl to one of caution. His head still exploding in pain and his life slowly but surely flowing from his neck, Willen opened his one good eye in time to see the scarlet and gold bird crash onto his chest. Feathers dropped from it all around him, and Willen despaired that there would be another unnecessary death this day.

Willen heard the wolf advancing cautiously. The bird leaned over him and dropped several tears on his neck and on his eye. Somehow he did not hurt quite as much.

Then the bird exploded into flame! The wolf yelped and ran, never to return to this spot of dead and wounded wolves. The girl found new strength to scream.

And Willen heard none of it.

~*~

Willen never thought it would be so sunny after death. Or so windy. Or that it would smell like fresh baked bread.

Or that everything would look so confusing and that he would fall to the ground the second he tried to rise from his prone position.

"Owww! My hand! My leg!"

"Willen! You should have called. Here, let me help you back to bed. How do you feel?"

Everything looked terribly wrong. Everything was so...right there in front of him - closer than close. The face that loomed into his view was so intensely there!

He shut his eyes tightly and croaked, "Where am I? Who are you? What is this upsetting place where everything looks so odd?"

"I am Fiduena and you are back in Cahors and recovering nicely. You saved my life; don't you remember?"

Willen could tell that she had her hands on both of his shoulders. He remembered a girl from the village of Cahors named Fiduena. What was it about her?

As the memories came crashing back into his mind he opened his eyes wide, gurgled in pain at the sight, and squeezed them shut again against the discomforting vision and the upsetting memories.

It was so intense! As if two Fiduenas were there right in front of him combined into one. He twisted under her hands, grabbed her wrists and tried to push her away. His eyes were squeezed shut so tightly. He moaned, "Why are you so close yet not close at all? You invade my head through my eyes."

She was very confused by his words but leaned back from him automatically. "Willen. I've pulled away from you and I'm standing back from you a little way. Nothing will hurt you. Open your eyes slowly and try to leave them open for at least a few moments. Please look in the direction of my voice. The sun is behind a cloud for the time being and it is not nearly as bright, and I'm standing away from it. Something has happened... maybe something very good has happened to your eyes, so try to open them and keep them open for at least a little while."

He did notice the sun was not as warm on his cheeks and the brightness was not bothering his eyes as it had been. But what was wrong with his sight?

He opened his eyes gingerly. Fiduena was not as close. Her visage was not as intensely upsetting, but even at this distance she was so... vivid! There was so much more to looking at her than he had ever seen while looking at anyone else in his life.

One part of his brain told him that she was the same young woman that had danced by the fire that night before his horrid battle with the wolves. He shut his eyes again and said, "You are all right, aren't you? You weren't hurt by the wolves?"

"No. I will never be the same from the maddening fear of those few moments," she said with a sadness that hurt Willen's heart. "But I am alive and well and the claw scratch I have from that day has all but healed.

"Thank you, Willen." Her voice broke. "Thank you for saving my life. That was the bravest thing I have ever seen, or anyone in Cahors has ever heard of. Willen the Five Wolf Slayer."

More names and titles. He did not want more acknowledgements. The next title might kill him, he thought. This last title had come the closest of any so far. But he said none of this to Fiduena.

"Willen, I think you no longer have a lazy eye."

He opened his eyes and shot bolt upright and they bumped heads. She had sat down on the edge of his bedding a moment before he sat up. Now his hand hurt, his leg hurt, everything looked funny, and his head hurt.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to..."

"No, no. I sat down without telling you. I should have warned you. You're the one recovering from...." Willen felt her shudder through the bedding.

Willen swallowed and said, "What... what can you tell me of that day?" The events were rather vague to him, particularly the last moments.

"I'll tell you what I was able to piece together."

It was a new voice Willen did not recognize at all. He opened his eyes after turning his head in the direction of the new speaker. In the moment he held his eyes open he saw the face of a man probably near his own age of twenty summers, perhaps a little older. He remembered the man as the one who had danced with Fiduena several times on the night of his welcoming feast. Of course it was hard to be certain because as the man stood still, he looked like he was jumping up and down and side to side, all at the same time. Willen had thought there had been more to the look in their eyes than dancing. But the vision of this speaker was too intense for him to observe for more than a moment.

"This is Belu, Willen. Do you remember him from the feast?" When she saw Willen nod she continued. "Belu, please help me move Willen into the hut. I thought the fresh air and sunlight would agree with you, Willen. But now that you are awake, I believe it is too bright. The darker hut will help you adjust to your new seeing, Willen."

Belu asked, "What do you mean new...?"

"Shhhh. Belu. Just help me."

They grabbed his arms carefully. She took his right arm and first grabbed his forearm just behind his bandaged hand. He had not really noticed the bandage before. His left leg was stiff from the bandages on it and Willen drew in a sharp breath when he tried to put most of his weight on it.

"Lean on me as heavily as you need to, Willen," said Belu. "I have you if you have to be carried in."

Willen thought he remembered Belu as tall and now he realized he was also strong.

They placed him gently on straw bedding. As Belu lowered him the last bit, Fiduena placed a wooden cup of water in his hand.

"Midday meal will be in a little while, Willen. We will leave you here until then and see if you want to join us or have me feed you in here. You've been through much. My family and I will serve you as long as need be 'til you are fully well. Here in the darker hut, try opening your eyes for longer and longer. You will have to get used to this new... well, get used to the way things are now."

She leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on his forehead. "Thank you, Willen." Her voice cracked slightly with emotion.

As he lay there he opened his eyes and the intensity had lessened to a degree with the relative darkness of the hut. Everything he focused on, if you could call this new vision focused, was extraordinarily rich and colorful and sharp - but too much! He kept his eyes opened for slightly longer time periods each time, but would rest with his eyes closed for much longer. There was an overwhelming animation of inanimate objects. The pan hanging against the rock fire pit in the hut seemed to dance and grow and shrink and vibrate, it just seemed to be so active while it hung there not moving at all.

He had almost finished the water and brought the cup up to his mouth, for the first time with his eyes opened. His hands and the cup coming to his face so startled him that he spilled what remained on the front of his smock and bobbled the cup in his hands. The movement was so graphic, alive, and brimming with energy that he upset the cup in his hands even more and was only able to grasp it firmly when he shut his eyes.

His breathing was ragged and he tried to rest the racing heart in his chest.

"What is the matter with him, Fiduena? His injured eye works, doesn't it? Why did he have such trouble walking? I knew his leg was hurt but...."

"Shhh! He'll hear you, and I'll not have you upsetting him. Nothing is wrong with his eye. That's the problem. He has had a lazy eye all of his life. Now they both look in the same direction. I saw his face after the wolf hit him; the eyeball was barely holding on in his eye socket. It's a most particular miracle, and we don't see too many miracles in this village."

Willen heard her, and she seemed to answer an unasked question. "Cover your right eye, Belu. Now try looking only with your left. Look at my hand. It is hard to see how close it is, isn't it? Now..."

"Fiduena!"

"Calm yourself. I didn't come near you; it only looked that way. Do you see how, with only one eye, everything looks so flat? Look over at the well with one eye only. You know it is not close to the edge of Prennen's hut, but it looks much closer now, doesn't it?"

As Willen sat listening to her, he was becoming more and more accustomed to the extra liveliness of the room. Everything seemed to be jumping up and down, saying, "look at me," though most of his mind told him that there was no movement. At least he was becoming more stable and did not feel like he was falling. He sat up just a little and the room still seemed to move, but he was not as dizzy as he had been.

"But, Fiduena," said Belu. "Are you telling me that Willen sees like this? It must be very difficult."

"No, Belu, it is different now. Take your hand off of that eye quickly and use both again. Did you notice for a moment everything you were looking at seemed to jump out at you? It seemed to be bigger than usual?"

"Maybe a little. Maybe for a moment, or half a moment."

"Well, Willen has never had two eyes pointing in the same direction. He has always seen like you saw with your hand over your eye. He has traveled most of the world, fought dragons and wolves and evil men. He is brilliant at carving. Did you see that bird he carved for little Versta? It is so life like, and he released it from the wood so quickly.

"All of that, and he has never seen as well as we have. Now, he sees for the first time like we do and his mind cannot yet adjust quickly enough to the overwhelming burst of increased sight. I believe he will see like the rest of us quickly, but it is a shock to his mind that has been very busy trying to recover from his wounds."

Hearing the girl's theories, Willen's mind was so crowded with thoughts running in all different directions that he squeezed his already closed eyes even tighter.

"But mark my words, Belu. I will help him. I will help him as much as is needed; even if I have to guide him back to his Constantia myself!"

Constantia!

Willen reached into his smock and it was not there.

"Fiduena! Fiduena! FIDUENA!"

"I am here, Willen. Are you all right? Do you hurt? What's wrong?" There was concern in her voice matching his desperation.

She approached him so quickly that it seemed to Willen she would collide with him. He closed his eyes and feebly held out his hand. His mind told him that she would not come anywhere near colliding with him, but his eyes were screaming at her rapid approach.

Of course she did not run into him. He opened his eyes and tried to focus very carefully on her. The problem was that she seemed to be too in focus. He closed his formerly lazy eye for one instant and shook his head and forced it back open. That didn't help.

"Please don't move, Fiduena."

"I am not moving hardly at all, but I will be very, very still." She was relieved that it was not pain that called her in. She placed one hand on the bedding and one on the hut beam nearest her. "There, I am braced and will not move."

He stared at her for what seemed to him to be a long time. "Where is the carving of the girl that was around my neck?" His voice quavered with fear.

"I have it over here. It is safe. The leather thong was broken and I cleaned...that is, I tried real hard and I cleaned almost all of the... of the blood off of it. But I did not want to scrub it too hard. Can I move to go get it for you?"

"Please." Willen swallowed in relief, closing his eyes in thanks, not in dizziness.

With deliberate slowness and as smoothly as possible, she walked back and handed it to him.

He ran his hand into hers too hard but she brushed off his apology.

He held the carving with both hands and slowly moved it in his fingers so he could see it. The back of the carving was to him, but the piece of holly was singing louder than it ever had, louder and more joyously than when he had carved it. Louder and more joyously than when he had first placed a unicorn hair round it. Fiduena had replaced the leather strip with a lighter colored and suppler piece of rawhide, but Willen did not notice it.

Finally Constantia's face came around into view - into the view of both eyes at the same time - for the first time.

There was no focus problem. His vision of her face in the holly was not too intense, because gazing on Constantia would never be too much for him in any way.

He looked at Fiduena and said, "Do all faces look like the way this carving feels?"

She looked at him oddly. Then as if in revelation she said, "Yes, Willen. All faces look like the way her face feels to you in the wood. I can't wait for you to see her again with both your eyes at the same time. This is Constantia, isn't it, Willen? She is most beautiful. You carved an image here that is almost alive. You must truly love her."

All Willen said was, "Yes," quietly. But that one word told her, and Belu, of a love they could only aspire to for themselves. Two millennia from that time, when the fairytale love story was invented, those tales would unknowingly follow a pattern laid down by the love story of Constantia and Willen.

Tears streamed down Fideuna's face, but the usually very observant and considerate Willen did not see them. Neither did he hear Belu's single quiet sniff from the doorway.

Fiduena looked at Belu and smiled through her tears at the man she would marry during the next summer solstice.

Willen saw none of this at this moment. He just stared at the face of his ladylove and noticed there was a crease on her left cheek that looked like a small scar. He thought that it might have happened in his fight with the wolves. The beast that had bitten his neck had probably done it.

_______________

"It is nothing, Mother. That huge House Builder, Trotan, is fine with a sword and able to throw a spear even farther than Dorgelt, but I should have never let him try a bow. The second he started to pull back I knew he would break it so I screamed. I startled him into turning my way and releasing the arrow. He barely nicked me."

"He did more than nick you. This will leave a very noticeable scar on your face, right here on your left cheek where it will be so obvious. I don't want your pretty face marred."

"Yes, Mother." She reached out and placed her hand on her beautiful mother's much more obviously burn-scarred face. "And we know no good man will ever want a woman with a scar on her cheek."

Meala smiled demurely and then said, "What do you think Willen will say about this scar?"

Constantia looked off, far away, as if she could see him from where she sat. It was a long moment before she spoke and Meala had almost finished with tending the cut when her daughter finally said, just above a whisper, "Willen has a number of scars of his own. He won't mind this one."

Her mother shivered on that very warm day.

_______________________________________________________

_______________________________________________________

As the holly woodcarving sang to Willen on the first day he had ever seen it with both eyes pointed in the same direction, the tune of the piece of wood was joined, in harmony, by a distantly-familiar trilling just behind Willen. He slowly turned his head. It was difficult to maintain balance and not over focus, and everything immobile in the hut still seemed to be moving in all directions at once, but he felt like he was gaining control, at least a bit, of his ability to see.

Willen could not imagine how he had not seen what was perched not a man's length away from his pallet.

"Oh, and, Willen," Fideuna said, "he seems to be recovering nicely from his burning. He should be able to fly soon. In all of the stories we had to drag out of you that feast night, you never told us you had a sunbird. How could you keep something as amazing and wonderful as that a secret?" ______________________________________________________

Eirran still loved to fish. The Fishers, who went out into the river, and sometimes even the sea, still thought Eirran was a bit daft to do for relaxation what they did for work. Still, they never told him what they thought. Of course they used nets and he used a hook, but that wasn't the only difference in their methods.

They concentrated hard on their work. Fishing, the trade, was not terribly dangerous, but it was dangerous nonetheless for anyone not paying close attention to all of the lines, nets, booms, and spars of the sails and any other hazards that might catch the inattentive unaware on a fishing boat.

Eirran had dropped a hook, line, and worm into the lake on the other side of Remers from the river. He drowned more worms than caught fish. If the occasional fish that did hit the worm didn't immediately pull on the line, Eirran would never know that he had succeeded in his task.

On this particular day, a fish hit his worm and hook and was able to drag the pole out into the lake and eventually release itself from its death trap.

The moment before the fish hit the hook, Eirran dropped the pole, convinced he was finally about to see what really happens when you die. There was a cracking sound like the breaking of a medium sized branch that had been long dried. Eirran was sitting on a boulder at the water's edge and was thinking about dropping down to the ground with his back to the boulder. Sometimes he liked to sit and contemplate, and sometimes he just liked to sit.

The pop occurred, he released the pole, instantly saw to his left what had caused it, fell over to the right side of the boulder, and scrambled rather quickly for one of his age to place the huge rock between himself and the creature that had just appeared before him.

Eirran felt certain it was a phoenix. Most of the Celts would have called it a sunbird because the sun in eclipse appeared to have a bird shaped aura around it, similar to wings. The bird in the sun was associated with the bird that had a scarlet body and wings and golden tail feathers, beak, and talons. Everyone knew it by description. Everyone knew that, on occasion, it would molt like many other birds did. But unlike other birds, it would then burst into flames and then emerge as a young hatchling.

His people called it a sunbird. Those who spoke Latin called it a phoenix, deriving the name from the phonetic spelling of the original Egyptian name of the bird of legend. (Of course the only ones of the Celts that spoke Latin were the ones of the Old Way that Eirran himself had trained.)

Legend. Everyone knew about the sunbird/phoenix and had heard tell of a brother's wife's cousin's great uncle once removed that had seen one - but no one he knew, and Eirran knew many, had ever actually seen one.

Eirran couldn't say that anymore. But he feared that he would never say anything ever again. Some thought that the phoenix/sunbird appeared to take you to the great beyond.

After several very long moments, Eirran carefully peeked around the boulder and saw the brightest colored bird he had ever seen, picking through the small clay cup he used to hold his worms. The bird finished its snack, knocked over the clay cup, which rolled off of the rock Eirran had sat it on, and shattered on the rocky soil. The bird then made the sound Eirran assumed was normal for a phoenix and raised its leg to him.

Even though he felt strangely encouraged by this sound, Eirran still ducked back behind his shelter, wondering if a phoenix pointed a talon at its victim before taking him "on beyond...." Then Eirran realized that he had seen, but not initially recognized in his fear, a piece of what looked like parchment attached to its leg.

"Could it be?" he muttered. He smiled and said aloud, "That boy!" He leapt up from behind the boulder, all trepidation gone with the mere thought of the possibility.

"Did Willen send...? Did he...? How did that boy...? No, I must say man now. He is in his twentieth summer and must be fulfilling my Seeing in more ways than one if you are with him now." It never occurred to Eirran that anyone else could be sending him a winged messenger other than Willen. The only others that knew of this discovery were all a part of Remers. Beemy and Plilgen's owl were the only owls that had shown the talent thus far. "But you are a sunbird, a phoenix. How? Well, my feathered mystery, I doubt seriously if you will tell me, but perhaps this note will. Thank you very much."

     ......and so, my dear friend, if you have read this far then
this sunbird has succeeded in performing like your owl, Beemy.
Willen's Luck delivers me to a better condition after nearly killing
me, once again. I have a new set of scars and pains, a sunbird
for a friend it seems, and better sight than I ever knew possible,
even though I still fall whenever I awaken and open my eyes and
have not remembered the intensity of my new sight.

     It has been two days since leaving Cahors and I am moving slower
than I did before, because of my frequent stops to rest my aching leg.
My right hand is sore also. Both seem stronger than yesterday so I
hope to increase my pace soon.

     I plan to head a little south and west of Baldet's Keep and try to
find a Fisher willing to take me to Albion. I am not sure of when
the seeds were planted, but I believe it is well more than two moons
until harvest. I wonder if more of Willen's Luck will slow me,
but surely if I am to reach my destiny, it needs to come to my aid
instead. Fate has lent its helping hand too often.

     Eirran, I never thanked you properly that day we parted. In the
note I wrote to go with Beemy I wrote my thanks, but not to my
satisfaction. I would be dead many times over by now if it weren't
for you. Therefore, I never will be able to thank you adequately.
Instead, I will try to make you proud of me.

     Perhaps that will be thanks enough - though I doubt it.

Gratefully,

Willen

None of his friends would have believed what appeared in Eirran's eyes at that moment.

______________________________________________________

"And now that I have placed the wreath of union over your entwined arms," Torban said, "We pause for an unusual but I believe wonderful reason. We follow the traditions to join a man and woman as husband and wife, but Conlander wants to stop here for what might become a new tradition. He will explain."

The huge "Smith" cleared his throat and still spoke with the slightest tremble, "My beautiful Naelly, this wreath is not enough for me. I want all to know that this day, this well-known symbol of the wreath of union, goes on in my heart forever more. I have fashioned this small golden wreath for your finger to go with you always and remind you each moment that you look at it, that I am united to you forever. I have one of silver for my finger. Silver for me to tell that I have worth, but gold for you to tell all that you are much more valuable."

While he spoke of his small silver wreath he attempted to place it on his middle finger. He was nervous and his fingers had swollen. Naelly helped him place it on the next smaller finger down from his middle finger, away from his thumb. When Conlander spoke of her golden finger wreath he started to place it on her middle finger. Naelly would not allow it. She redirected his effort to the like finger on her hand. The finger wreaths went on their left hands for practical reasons, they used their right hands for most tasks, both being right-handed.

"Members of Loundon's Towne, and all gathered guests," proclaimed Torban to one and all within the booming of his delighted voice. "I now stand back to allow you to gather around and greet the newest family of our community, Conlander the Smith and his Lady Fair, Naelly."

The first to Naelly's side was Constantia who had stood with her best friend on this important day. "Oh, Naelly. You are the most beautiful bride I have ever seen. I am so happy for you."

If one's objectivity was completely heartless, it might be said that even on this day Constantia was still more beautiful than Naelly, but barely. Naelly had blossomed under Conlander's attentiveness - she bloomed like a most beautiful flower in the loving sun. Constantia never knew why Naelly had hesitated at first to Conlander's heedfulness, but Constantia insisted that her friend allow the courtship to begin. Two visits from Conlander to Naelly's family hearth for evening meals and a slow walk around the square after each meal, and Neally blushed at the idea of Willen as her love. It was a foolish childhood fancy, and now she prayed each day that the traveler would arrive early enough and with olive sticks or whatever necessary to save her friend Constantia from the boorish Bonderman.

"Constantia, in a little more than a moon, right after the harvest faire and... well, I'll stand with you at your joining to Willen. Standing with each other, it is what we've discussed since we were little girls, do you still wish it?"

"With all my heart, with all the joy I have for you this day, and with almost as much eagerness as I want Willen to walk back into Loundon's Towne and into my life."

They smiled the smile of long familiar friendship on a most wonderful occasion, but Naelly would not stand with Constantia on that day they envisioned not too far in their future.

______________________________________________________

Willen was skirting a series of rocky outcroppings, not too dissimilar to the rocks where he had battled Grang the Dragon. It was hot, muggy, and rained as he walked, and his dragon skin cloak was on the carryall. Willen did not mind the rain running down his back. It was cooling. At nightfall when the temperature dropped, he would change to another smock and breeches he had under the protective skins on his carryall. Less than two moons ago he had owned only the clothing he wore and had to go naked when he washed or mended it. Now he owned three complete sets of clothing. He wondered if there were more than a handful of people, within ten days in any direction, who could show such prosperity. It wasn't pride. He laughed aloud at the idea that he was prosperous. How many of his previous childhood notions now lay destroyed?

As he dragged his carryall he thought back to that day when he had first fought Grang, and then to the day he had finally defeated the flying leviathan. In that first battle Bordo had died and, when Willen had first awakened from his wounds, he'd chastised himself ruthlessly for having used magik to kill. Just before Willen had become fully mobile from those injuries, he and Aldertan, the wise retired Keeper of Aldertani Keep, had sat by a stream and chatted about this. Willen remembered that conversation as he walked.

"So, in spite of all of Eirran's cautions, the first time I used magik in fighting, I killed. I am doomed."

"Didn't Eirran say that you would become hardhearted and turn toward evil if you killed using magik?"

Willen nodded without looking up.

"Look into my eyes, Willen. Has your heart become hard over this? Does following in Porto's ways appeal to you in any manner?"

"No," he said after a bit of reflection, "The very thought sickens me even now. If anything, my heart feels both hollow and heavy burdened, not hard. I feel like an open sore in many ways." Then he sat up straighter and looked determined. "As to Bordo, I know I did not directly mean to kill him, only to save you. Death was an unforeseen consequence of my actions. Porto kills people with the same feelings I have when I kill a roach or rat, just one more inconvenient creature out of the way...."

"I believe you have your answer, Willen. You did not and do not want to kill. You are not like those who kill indiscriminately. You suffer in your heart because you had to kill to save lives - for which, let me repeat my gratitude. I believe Eirran would agree with us, as we look at this. As long as you kill sparingly and, how did Eirran say it 'with compassion for what the evil ones might have been,' you will not become like them.

"One day, Willen, at the coming harvest faire, you will face Porto, Bonderman, and the others. You may have to kill all of them yourself, perhaps more. There is no guarantee that Porto will not recruit others to follow him. Each death, by the sword or through magik indirectly, will take a little of your soul. I fought my first battle as a young man before my father died and made me Keeper. I killed then, and in many fights since then, more than I can count, and a day does not pass that I do not think of those I have killed. But the alternative was to have them kill all of this Keep, rape my mother and sisters, and enslave all of those within days of here.

"Willen, I would pick up my sword again and face all of them at once to stop such a thing. You would too. That is why I believe my son, Aldini, needs you as a friend. That is why I believe you two will be friends."

After Willen had killed Grang, Bordan, and the three warriors, again Aldertan had sought out Willen in his recovery bed to discuss this same subject.

"Willen, how do you feel about the deaths of Bordan and the three others?"

"I wondered if you would approach me on this, my friend. We always talk of this when I lie in this bed. Can I move to another?" They chuckled with no mirth. "I...feel... numb... hollow... and unfeeling. I am sorry they had to die but after meeting Reldy and then Kailty, and hearing of their cruel treatment.... Well, it was easier to kill Bordan with magik, indirectly with magik of course, but.... am I becoming like Porto?"

"Did you see any other choice, any way out, any other possible course of action, Willen?"

The young man, hurting in body and spirit, pondered this for several moments. "No. The two Druid brothers were the root of this evil, and they had to be rooted out." They both smiled sourly at his pun.

"As for the other three.... Do you know why I fought them, Aldertan? We had Kailty, I saw Reldy's blow to the big one's head. I could've let them go. They would have escaped and most probably would not have bothered us again. Do you know why I fought them, all at once, producing the deaths of three I had never met before and whose names we will never know?"

Aldertan concentrated on Willen with earnest intensity. He felt that he would learn a valuable lesson in the next few moments.

"I realized two things. In that instant all was clear. First, those three, together or individually, would have raped, pillaged, and killed their way to their homeland unless someone stopped them. Second, and even more important, if they made it to their homeland, other Druids would want to know where the brothers had found olive sticks. I hope Bordo and Bordan were too greedy to share their knowledge of this location, for your sake. I will be long gone, back to Albion or dead at Aldini's hands before any other Druids of their ilk stumble into this Keep. I hope their secret died with them.

"And that is what chafes me like sand in my collar. I am glad that they died to save you and save all they might have attacked on their way out of here. I feel a bit jaded by their deaths. At least I did not kill the three with magik, but doesn't that make me guilty of a hardening heart? I do not grieve like I did at Bordo's demise. Oh, Aldertan, why does it have to be so hard?"

"I can offer faint comfort, but there is comfort in the fact that you struggle with this. Willen, if one of them had killed me or Haana would it have made it better for you?"

"No! Never, of course not, it's just..."

"Willen, you are destined to fight and fight again most probably. You do not defend freedom once and it is over. I have seen nearly fifty summers since reaching the age of maturity, and I have had to fight and kill in nineteen of those cycles. I had to in order to maintain the safety of my family and those who depend on this Keep for their homes and livelihood. Do you think I wish it so, to end the lives of so many? Of course not, and you will never wish anything but peace for yours and yourself.

"You will find peace from time to time, but the peace of the grave will be the only lasting peace you will know. But if you want true peace even then, teach your children and grandchildren, and teach them to teach all they influence, to feel as bothered by this as you do now. And Willen, strive to maintain your uneasiness over this. Never stop hoping for true peace for yourself and your heirs. Hope and pray that I am wrong about the future, but never live in any way that sees you ill prepared to defend your peace and freedom. What peace is there in being slaves to those who conquer, rape, pillage, and kill?"

As he traveled, Willen thought often of these conversations. He usually had to pull out the carving of Constantia's face and concentrate on her to calm the whirlwind in his mind. Love, started and embedded in loving her, and love for all those of Loundon's Towne, including Caedric, gave him the peace and determination he needed to go on.

He knew his destiny lay beyond fighting and killing Porto, and anyone else that had to die.

~*~

Sleep came dearly on the nights that these thoughts crowded his mind.

That very night the fire was down to coals after he had banked it for the evening, and he still stirred. He had not written in his scrolls in several nights so he decided to do so. First he had to bring life back to the flames. He needed light to record his musings and observations. He had been thinking about one idea all during the time he should have been falling asleep - Eirran thought the unicorn hair had been the secret to power concentration. Solely on his observations of Porto who had no such hair, Willen had been convinced that it was the olive wood that was the secret. The thought that plagued him was, which one was right? There was evidence for both.

A thought entered his mind that cinched his inability to sleep: What if they were both right? Porto obviously had power with the olive wood alone that rivaled any combination Willen had seen. Eirran could do nothing with birch sticks alone, but could do any magik Willen discovered with a birch stick and a unicorn hair. What if Eirran had both a unicorn hair and an olive stick? The olive stick concentrated power by itself and the hair did the same with any stick apparently. What if Eirran had both?

Then Willen winced. What if Porto had both? That would be truly dangerous. Of course Porto did not have Latin, but the Old Way and a lone olive stick had been deadly enough to kill Felden.

Willen had sat up with this thought, and had leaned against a nearby rock. He'd picked up a stick and was twiddling with it randomly while thinking. At the moment of that last thought about combining the power of the unicorn hair and the olive wood stick, Willen absentmindedly broke the stick in half. His hands were at each end of the stick, which was a little longer than his hand and forearm, and the break occurred in the middle right in front of his face. He did not break it over anything like his knee.

The branch was not completely dried and he had not snapped it in two. The branch had split down its length. The thin heartwood in the branch had parted in one of the pieces. Willen found himself looking into the small trough in the piece of branch where the heartwood had once been, but had vacated.

If lightning had flashed across the sky at that moment and everything was as bright as day, Willen couldn't have seen any more clearly how to make the power concentrator sticks even MORE powerful.

Willen dumped all of the wood on the fire that he had gathered at dusk to use for cooking breakfast. He would "Lumos!" two more times this night to gather additional firewood for light.

He examined over twenty of the olive sticks on the carryall to find three that he thought might split properly. He took the first one and used his small blade to try to cut along the length of the stick. Willen was a master carver. He would never admit it, even to himself, but he was the best carver he had ever seen, but he was. However, cutting along the stick was very difficult. Finally, on the third stick, he separated the wood barely adequately. The first two had fallen apart. He frustrated himself even more when the two pieces of the third split stick broke in several places while he tried to gouge out the small strip of heartwood. He practiced stripping out the heartwood on the parts from the first two sticks he had failed to split, but he did not improve at all. These sticks or branches, about the thickness of his thumb, were not cooperating with him, and wood almost always did what he wanted it to do - if it could.

The two damaged fingers on his right hand made carving a little difficult, but Willen was left-handed - one more fact that Caedric had made fun of. But Willen only used his right hand to brace what he was carving. The stiff fingers would become more flexible over time, but Willen compensated for them and carved now as well as he had before the fight with the wolves.

He tried three more sticks with similar irritating results and no increase in his skills. He went to his carryall to select three more sticks and then stopped to think things through. At this rate he wondered if he would have ten working power concentrators from the dozen dozen sticks he'd brought with him in the carryall. He thought about all of this while he stared down at the cut strips of olive wood.

The cut strips of olive wood!

Branches are difficult to carve unless you work with the stick's grain, and even then it is hard to accomplish much. To carve whatever you want, you must carve with wood cut from logs, or much larger, thicker limbs at least. His holly log carving of Constantia was about as small around a log as you would use for intricate carving.

These cut strips had been sawn from logwood and had a square cross section as long on each side as his middle thumb joint. He took one back to the fire. He examined the grain and chose a side to cut length-wise down the strip. He worked a crease down one side and up the opposite side. He went back over each crease, making each cut deeper, Willen kept checking to ensure the cuts on opposite sides were headed towards each other and would not fracture the wooden strip unevenly. He was tempted to rush the process in his anxious anticipation, but patience won that battle. The last run of the blade down one side of the strip parted the two pieces. They were nearly perfect. He compared the two pieces and determined that they would be able to fit back together again almost seamlessly.

He examined both pieces of the split strip for quite a while and chose the one that felt right. Then he cut a small "vee" groove down the center face of the half he'd chosen.

He pulled a bit of inner horse hoof from his back sack. He took a little water from his water skin and worked it into the piece of inner hoof to create a small amount of hoofglue. Working quickly, the glue would dry almost immediately at this thinness, he ran a bit of the glue down the length of the "vee" groove with his fingernail. He placed the unicorn hair in the groove and pulled it tightly from both ends. The hair was coated with the glue and embedded by the glue in the groove. He blew on it to help it dry. He set it by the fire to speed its drying.

Next he worked more water into the inner hoof material and created a bit of paste. The working time for this would be longer but Willen knew he could not rush this. On the piece of strip without the hair in the groove, he worked the paste the entire length of the strip on the blade cut side. He made sure there was no glue near the edge that would seep out. Later, when he began finishing the solidly rejoined strip of wood with increasingly smoother stones, he did not want a coarse seam of glue to show and mar the power concentrator's appearance and feel.

He rejoined the halves and no glue appeared at the edges. In the firelight, it almost looked like it had not been parted. He wrapped several rawhide strips around the creation so a firm bonding would occur. Now the hard part began. The hoofglue dried to the touch in the time it took to boil water. But for the glue to firmly dry throughout, he knew it should sit in the rawhide bindings for a day. By the earliest trails of light of the dawning sun, Willen counted three new power concentrators that he'd fashioned together in this manner. When they had dried throughout he would spend a great deal of time on each, rounding them like sticks and creating a smooth surface.

He lay down exhausted by his dead fire. He covered his eyes with the sleeve of his smock to block out the early morning light. It would be another hot and muggy day. He would sleep until heat or hunger woke him and then he would walk on, dragging his carryall. In the next village he would ask for flaxseed oil. He imagined that flaxseed oil, cooked with some fire soot, should make a fine waterproof coating for the rounded and smoothed wooden strip.

As he dozed off Willen never wondered how he knew all of this would work together. He had picked up the inner horse hoof because it was malleable and he thought he might shape it in some fashion. He had not known at that time how to make hoofglue. He had cut wooden strips in half before but had never glued anything to anything else. He had only smoothed wood with his blade before, not progressively smoother stones. Coating wood to waterproof it had never occurred to him, and cooking flaxseed oil with soot for a protective coating was being done in only one other place in the known world, or unknown world for that matter.

Willen's Luck?

Willen's Curiosity?

Willen's Wisdom???

______________________________________________________

Willen!

Where did you ever get #}#}Ph{{o]l*x*#*#......

The words were terribly smudged and only a few characters could be made out. Willen lowered the return message from Eirran and said to the sunbird, "Well, I guess I should have known better than to open this note in the rain." He liked having someone to talk to. "Is that a name? The word is smudged by rainwater and then I tried to brush it off, which made it worse. But I can make out a P-H-O-L-X. Pholx. Is that a name or something? Hold it. Is that your name? Did Eirran somehow winkle your name out of you?

"Pholx! Pholx!" Willen spoke it aloud to get his tongue around it.

The sunbird/Phoenix decided to trill at that moment. Maybe it did not like having that word shouted at it. Maybe it was hungry and tried to announce the fact, and Willen did not understand it yet. Maybe the bird decided that it liked that word and answered to it.

Whatever the inscrutable bird meant at that moment, Willen and everyone else called that sunbird Pholx from that moment forward. What Eirran had meant when he'd written that first line would not be cleared up until 376 B.C.

Willen continued reading the letter under a rocky ledge that allowed plenty of light but kept him and Pholx dry.

     I was delighted to read your message and see that Willen's
Luck has caused you to prosper without killing you. The
unicorn hairs you sent have allowed us to train with power
concentrators the very brightest young ones whom we've
discovered have what you call the Touch. I have gained
tentative permission to begin training them in the principles and
theory of magik as well. My brothers do not want to abandon
the Old Ways but agree that it has been polluted.

     They asked me to ask you the near impossible. When you
have saved your Constantia and Loundon's Towne (they say
"if you save them" but I have confidence in you) - when
you save them, would you consider traveling to Remers to
consult with us, teach what you have learned, and tell of all
your travels and discoveries?

     You will have traveled farther than all but a tiny number of
all humans when you reach home again, and they ask that you
embark on a journey nearly as long to come see us. I do long
to see you again and to meet the fair Constantia. And my wife
and daughters want to meet the legendary Willen - Dragonslayer,
Manslayer, Wolfslayer, Inventor of Magik, and my friend.

     Now, as to your journey yet to be completed. Baldet's Keep
has been sacked by the Celts, lately arrived from the homelands -
those that go on to Albion. They have their small port but move
along the coast south and west seeking a new port, we suspect.
The Celtic communities in their path of advance are widely
dispersed and are all small. These hooligans ravage and scorch
for sport as much as booty. You should head four parts north
and one part west instead of straight north. This route will bring
you to the coast much sooner but farther from Albion. The
ruffian Celts and disreputable Druids still travel only from their
one port across from the white cliffs of Albion, so if you find
a Fisher willing to risk the journey, which means one you can
bribe, run up the coast of Gaul carefully and then cross due north.

     If you do not hit land in three days sailing, head east. Approach
the coast carefully and inquire where you are. If you head east
you will probably touch land at Gaul and can head along the coast
more and try north again.

     It is on a dangerous sea route that I send you, because if you
head past Albion to the west of it, you might sail off the end of
the world. That would ruin your plans for children, not to
mention grandchildren.

     I cannot really explain it, although if you ever meet Plilgen
(I can hope you might visit one day), he will bore you to sleep
with his preposterous theory that the world is round! I've
never heard of such balderdash. But he says that's why harvest
comes earlier the farther north that you are. The fact is that round,
flat or whatever, the harvest does come sooner the farther
north you are.

     That's the bad news. Albion is farther north than wherever
you are now, therefore the harvest and the harvest faire in Albion
will come sooner than the harvest comes to the farmers you speak
to today.

     Do Not Dawdle, Willen!

     I do have friends where you are going. As you adjust to four
parts north and one part west, you will be heading to the area
where my friends, Ninato and Nerta live. They have moved
to that area for the wide-open fields and the large rocks. They
had this wild theory that they could create a way to harmlessly
distract ignorant or violent people to leave them alone. It
has to do with subtlety and subterfuge and something they
call "hiding in plain sight." I accused them of being daft and
going to the region for the strong drink. They do grow delicious
grapes there that make delightful wines.

     Anyway, recently they sent word by caravan that they have
succeeded. If they have, that means that if you are able to find
them, it is because they decide to let you find them - then they
can help you find a Fisher to take you home. I will write to them
by Beemy and tell them to look for you. Give Ninato a slap for
me, and give his lovely wife a hug for me. She is a terrific cook.
That is reason enough to try to find them.

     Discover more magik, save Constantia, save Loundon's
Towne, save Albion while you're at it. You're young; that
will keep you busy for a while.

I am proud of you, son, (What are you staring at?)

Eirran

______________________________________________________

The loudest scream heard to date in Loundon's Towne occurred, unfortunately, when most were not around. Though many missed it, it was fortunate that Caedric was not there either.

Dorgelt, Torban, Stellan, all the Fishers, all of the archers, and all of the blademen seemed to be elsewhere. It would have been comforting to most to have seen the sight, but those present told of the wonder of it.

Egorn the Potter and Vanch the Cooper were the eldest male members of Loundon's Towne present, and they had their apprentices with them. Vanch's four were there and Egorn's three. Torban had never found a Potter willing to come to their community, and none came of their own volition. So Egorn was growing his own Pottery industry by raising his three sons in the trade. All three showed his skill in the craft and all three showed their mother's gift with the Touch in mending broken items of clay.

The scream came from Naelly and it occurred when she heard a popping sound, drawing her attention to a bird the size of a swan, which had appeared right before her. It was scarlet all over except for its golden beak, talons, and tail feathers. It made no advances towards her and remained still once it had appeared. The hut she and Conlander were making into a home was on the opposite side of Towne from Torban's forge. Conlander and Torban had expanded his existing forge rather than build a second one for the younger metalworker. The two men got along very well. Even though Torban was more experienced, and he had the Touch for working metal, Conlander was a quick study. Because of the noise of the grinding wheel he heard no scream and missed the entire event.

Constantia heard the scream and bolted from where she was drawing water. She was not dressed in her fighting attire nor did she have her bow. The items were in the opposite direction of the scream and she did not consider retrieving them. She ran into Rezala's hut, grabbed her bow and arrows without explanation, and ran out - the scream needed no explanation.

Pholx sat through the entire commotion soundlessly.

"Do we try to kill such a bird? It hasn't moved but it is both beautiful and frightening. I was looking right at where it perches and it appeared out of nowhere. It didn't fly in."

"Naelly, it has done nothing but sit there, correct?" When she nodded, Constantia continued. "I hate to destroy such beauty. Have you seen one like it before?"

A crowd of onlookers were gathering, drawn by the scream, but none came near the two, other than Vanch and Egorn, and they had little to offer the discussion.

"No, I haven't, Constantia..."

The second Naelly said her name the bird flapped its wings and reached into the air for flight. It flew towards them but circled before drawing too near. Constantia had an arrow in the bowstring and had it halfway pulled back when the most wonderful sound in the world occurred.

All of those present were soothed by the bird's dulcet tones and lilting trilling.

Constantia's heart swelled to the point that she felt it might burst from her chest and join the bird in flight. Her heart's dream, hope, wish, and desire of nearly three summers felt their first beats of confirmation in the birdsong.

She raised her arm perfectly to receive the bird, even though she had never seen a falconer or any other bird trainer do so. At that moment she breathed out in hope the name, "Willen." Everyone who saw her expression, and within earshot of the bird's song heaved a collective sigh of relief. They too felt the first stirrings of belief in what Constantia had known in her heart all this time.

Constantia reached up with her left hand and untied the small bobbling piece of wood from its talon. She turned it in her hands and saw the same image she saw when she gazed into a pool of still water. It was the handiwork of the man she had loved and believed in all this time, while few others considered it possible.

She saw the scar on the right cheek of the carving. In her childish dreams as a girl of thirteen summers, she had begun to imagine a Willen, tall strong, brave and powerful, arriving in Loundon's Towne just in time to save her from the marital clutches of Bonderman. As she matured, and as she and her parents gained more insight into the powerful little Olive Hand behind the large and brash would be Keeper, Constantia slowly became convinced that it was Porto who would eventually claim her should no one intercept his intentions. This realization had fueled even more of her fantasies of a triumphant Willen changing that outcome. He would be tall and strong and a mighty warrior. He would have olive sticks and whatever else would be needed to defeat Porto and Bonderman.

Confirmation of unproven long held beliefs is, well, it is wonderful.

______________________________________________________

Porto sat at the grandest table in the jumped up rickety tavern. It had been less than three summers since it had been built, and it was so ramshackle and in such disrepair, that all Celts said that it proved it was their right to take over existing townes and communities. "If we were fated to be farmers and laborers, we would have been born with the skills of those miserable workers and not the strong arms and power to lord over such servants. The high and mighty Celts of Gaul look down their noses at us because they have built their townes and farmsteads. Labor gives proper Celtic warriors and Druids a bad name."

"Did you say something, sir?" asked the scullery wench carrying a large tray of mead. She was a native to Albion and proof of the superiority Porto felt regarding his particular ilk of Celts and Druids.

"No! Blast your eyes," he said half rising and drawing back his hand to hit her.

She lurched away to avoid the blow, dropping the tray of mead she carried to a table beyond him. Porto had been sitting there for most of the afternoon and all others seated in the dilapidated inn had entered since then. He sat back down, satisfied that he had proven once again that he was superior to all.

He sat alone because he chose to. He knew it would be late in the day when his brothers landed at the jetty, if they landed today, blast Captain Wollo's eyes also, unreliable boatman that he was.

Porto had demanded the large table and then had sent Bonderman and his two warriors to the jetty to wait. Let this unceasing rain cool his hot stupid temper.

"You ruined our libations, little man," said a Bonderman sized ruffian who had recently arrived and had sat at the table behind him.

Without looking up, Porto sniped over his shoulder, "You'll survive your thirst."

A hand grabbed his outer cloak, the one covering his obvious robes of a Druid. His pointed hat lay drying over the miserable hearth fire.

When the stupid Celtic underlord succeeded in bringing Porto up off of his bench and around into his face, holding the little man a head's height off of the ground, Porto had his olive stick poked up the left nostril of his assailant.

Gasps rang out in two versions: one type of gasp came from those who had known who Porto was, and the second type of inhaled breath came from those who just realized who he was.

The brothers Bordo and Bordan had delivered all of their olive sticks thus far to the very richest and most politically powerful Druids in the homeland. They paid the most. Most of the olive sticks went to those who were never at the forefront of the Celtic advance into Albion; they only went into already conquered areas. All olive sticks ended up in those hands - except for five of the sticks.

After keeping two themselves, Bordo and Bordan had sold the other three -at unheard of reasonable prices- to their childhood friends, Porto and his brothers, Portan and Portag.

The two sets of brothers had grown up together in the same cold fruitless village in the homeland. They had shown remarkable talents in what Willen called the Touch and had succeeded in gaining admission into the Lyceum of the Old Way. Though they were gifted, and Porto felt sure he was the most gifted in a generation, he found out quickly, once he had begun attending, that they had been accepted for one reason alone - the father of Bordo and Bordan had made it a requirement of his continued cooperation as Dragon Master. He had traveled as a young man with those that had stolen several dragon eggs from their nests. He alone of those on that expedition had kept his egg alive long enough to hatch and survive, he alone had trained his dragon, raising it with his children as if it was his offspring also.

Therefore, he was the Dragon Master.

Shunned at the Lyceum by those of noble and wealthy birth, and neglected by the more authoritative instructors of the institution of the Old Ways, Porto had led the four others through their education with one purpose in mind - revenge and domination.

The political powers that be of the homeland were a corrupt regime teetering on collapse. Therefore it was at its most grandiloquent and ostentatious. Porto had been ignored by the instructors of prestige and name, thus he became the protege of every instructor slighted and relegated to second class status in the instructional cadre. These were, to a man, the more talented of the training staff who had been placed in second class status by the more powerful, yet less powerful. These shunned second class instructors turned to cultivating the darkest of talents in the Old Way and also cultivated any student similarly shunned.

They found in Porto a student wanting to overthrow and dominate. They thought that he would end as the rest, hunted and eventually killed as a threat to the stability of the homeland, but not until he had disrupted the pampered lives of those the disgruntled teachers hated.

Unique to Porto was the fact that he understood this scenario. His uncle had died this way. Porto had led his brothers and friends through the Lyceum, served faithfully in every dirty demeaning job he was assigned, and quickly rose as high as he would - to a position where he was essential to keep the vaunted position of a useless functionary afloat. He would never be allowed to leave that position.

Bordo and Bordan inherited the dragon, went south, and came back with olive sticks. All others in their band of raiders had died in the journey, conveniently, and they were given charge of their own expeditions to gather more olive sticks.

When a call went out for Druids, a title returning in vogue for those training in the Old Way, Porto's superior was discovered dead in the wrong bed, conveniently, and Porto asked to be sent with the new invasion waves heading to Albion. The new functionary wanted his own toady in place to handle the details so Porto gained his permission.

Of all those with olive sticks in the invasion waves, Porto was the only Druid out taking over villages and Keeps. The others, politically powerful enough to acquire an olive stick, had been also politically powerful enough to acquire cushy positions in already invaded areas and already subdued communities.

Most of those with olive sticks could only perform relatively simple feats: starting fires, calling small objects to them, tickling a dancing girl; only a few could actually use an olive stick in a truly compelling way. All of the Old Way could accomplish these simple feats because they were using olive sticks from those four aceituna trees on the Aldertani Keep, and they did have what Willen called the Touch. But only a small percentage were truly powerful with the olive sticks - that is - powerful enough to kill or torture.

Those few discovered that could kill and torture were kept by the politically powerful to use as weapons, or they were eliminated. All five of the two sets of brothers had this capability. Bordo and Bordan used this "talent" without censure because they were the Dragon Masters. Porto and his brothers had to be more subtle.

Because he paid a large tribute to those officially over him, Porto's success in taking over Keeps and communities gained him official approval and blessing to act alone. Even those vain fops understood the lesson of the fable they had never heard, the fable of the goose that laid golden eggs.

Porto's plan was simple. He had made a list of the names of dozens of dissatisfied Druids held in check by those weaklings in powerful positions over them.

When his brothers arrived with thirty armed men instead of his current three, and when Bordo and Bordan took over the Aldertani Keep and ensured a steady supply of olive sticks, the five would begin his plan to rule the world.

Porto's Plan was simple:
   1) Consolidate Porto's holdings this summer.
   2) Take over the heart of Albion over the next two summers.
   3) Conquer Gaul over the next five summers.
   4) Storm the homeland the next two summers.
   5) Demand submission from all Celtic tribes over the next cycle.
   6) Conquer all Celts who resisted, and the rest of the world over the next ten summers.

Simple.

He would be Emperor of the world at the age of forty-five summers and would have many sons to follow in his glorious rule. Sons given to him by his many wives - the first of which would be Constantia.

Simple.

The underlord froze in place when he realized what was invading his nostril.

Porto said with great satisfaction as he saw how wide the young snotty's eyes were, "Do you know who I am, you young pup?"

To the underlord's credit, or stupidity, he bristled at the 'young pup' comment and responded, "You are a Druid wanting to start a fire in my nose. Do you know who I am?"

"You are Flidag, third son and most spoiled and ill-mannered of the whelps of Krido." Porto knew that Krido, though wealthy, was in terrible disfavor in the capital of the homeland. "Please allow me to complete your education, I am Porto, have you heard of me, boy?"

His derision was tangible and the use of his name effective. Porto was known as the only Druid in Albion who could kill with an olive branch who was not under the thumb of an overlord.

Porto had calculated all possible outcomes and he decided on self-serving mercy. He slooooowly removed the olive stick from Flidag's nostril, wiped what came with it on the embroidered cloak of the one trembling before him, and said, "You will remember my mercy this day when I or one of my brothers call on your assistance in the future. If your father and I were not such good friends, you would not be feeling the dirt being shoveled on your face.

"Barkeep, mead for all of brave young Flidag's friends at my expense. Music! Music, I say!"

The lyre player hesitantly resumed his torture of the badly tuned instrument.

As Porto sat back at his empty largest table, a quiet voice spoke in a tone that carried enough to be heard by all, "Helping with the education of our future leaders I see, brother."

Portan and Portag stood at the edge of the space the largest table commanded. Bonderman was with them. Easily the largest warrior in the room, Bonderman made tiny the two Druid brothers, taller than their older brother.

"Wait outside with the others, Bonderman, you do not want to tax your mind with these discussions." With his final dose of venom tastefully dispensed, Porto greeted his younger siblings. The three locked arms and sat closely at less than half of the table so that they could converse without being overheard.

"You took your own sweet time coming to these warm and sunny shores. Wollo said that you had so many volunteers that it took a long time to pick the thirty you wanted. I thought you needed time to spend all of the golden bits I sent you on your appetites."

Ignoring Porto's sarcasm, Portan said, "We told that witless sailor that to give him some reason to report to you. We did have many volunteers but the thirty meanest and most bloodthirsty were simple enough to cull from the crowds. We had them fight and the moment we had only thirty left unwounded we stopped the fight by killing a few of the wounded with the Killing Curse. That got everyone's attention.

"The real reason we did not come with Wollo in the last moon is that Bordo and Bordan had not returned." Of course Portan did not mention that it had taken a while to run out of gold bits buying all of the "delicacies" they desired.

Potag added, "They still had not come back when we left. I fear they have died. They were almost three moons behind schedule and you know how punctual they usually are. Do you suppose Grang turned on them? Who would keep a dragon as a pet?"

"He wasn't a pet, fool, he was a tool. If the beast died they could not have made it back on foot before you left. It is beyond the point. What we must accomplish we can do without them or more olive sticks for the next season or two. They can join us before hard winter.

"Here's what I have planned. Less than a fortnight from here..."

______________________________________________________

The hysterical laugh that echoed through the mansion in the Keep of Remers so startled Glanis that she dropped the clay pot of drinking water she was bringing to her husband.

One of his many eccentricities was bathing - regularly - at least once in seven days - sometimes more - in water - with soap. She knew all of that water and soap couldn't possibly be healthy, and he did so with the opening in the wall to outside air flung wide. Fresh air, soap, water; he should have died from it a fortnight of summers ago, but the old Seer lived and was remarkably healthy. Heaven help her, she even enjoyed the decadence and ill wisdom of a bath herself at least once for every two times he did. She smiled and blushed and admitted to herself, never to her husband, that it did make the times of marital closeness more enjoyable. The blush continued. Maybe she should join him....

The screamed laughter occurred; she dropped the clay pot, her husband came running out of the room that contained the large half-barrel he used for bathing. He was howling, dripping soapy water, and had forgotten his clothing.

"Yaaaa-Haaahaha Ha! Would you look at this!"

"Eirran, you old fool! This will kill you. Dry yourself and please clothe yourself before you catch your death."

"But, Glanis, look. Look! Isn't it the most marvelous device you have ever seen or heard of?"

"Congratulations, you daft father of my many daughters - who are coming to dinner soon - so are you the inventor of the "carved stick" or does credit for this breakthrough lie with another?"

By this time Glanis knew she would need to cover Eirran if it would occur. When he was in a Seeing trance he was always clothed and sensible. This must be more of the new, what was the Latin word by way of the Greek - tekhnologi? Yes that was it. Eirran said that tekhnologi is something discovered or invented to improve the way someone does something. Generally, his new tekhnologi turned out to be a device that needed to be cleaned up after.

Glanis wrapped a robe around her husband of thirty-eight summers and said, "Tell me about it, old fool that I love so well."

"I'll do better." He held out a small piece of unrolled parchment. "I will read to you the note from Willen."

"Oh, how is the dear boy? Did he conquer something new? How badly is he hurt this time, and how many young girls' hearts has he conquered?"

"None. Amazingly, Willen's Luck has been quiet lately. Oh, he did indicate that he named his phoenix Pholx. What sort of name is that for a Phoenix? I ask you."

Pholx had popped from the room for bathing into their room for sleeping. The phoenix gave a brief trill and both received a boost of good feelings.

Glanis said, "Ohhh!" with the slightest shiver. "I do love it when he sings even one note. Well, this beauty too seems to like the name. Maybe "Pholx" is a new word in majik, does Willen tell of any new spells he has created?"

"No, he doesn't. Oh! I was going to read to you about this marvelous new instrument of majikcal design and ingenuity. Here, let me read...

"Eirran,

"Daya, daya. I'll skip to the good part.

"...so I looked at the empty channel where the heartwood of
the branch was and it hit me that I needed to put the unicorn
hair inside of the olive stick. Sticks themselves are too hard
to cut like needed so I have carved a 'magik stick' I guess you
would call it, out of a strip of olive wood. The unicorn hair
is inside this stick. I joined the two halves back together with glue,
and after shaping, I coated it with a flaxseed and soot mixture
to prevent warping from moisture and any other water damage.
It works a little bit better for me but I am hoping a truly
powerful one with magik will find it stronger than Porto with
his olive wood stick.

"See, my dear. See how beautiful, how sleek, and how efficient. These are marvelous days to be alive. What could possibly be left to invent?"

"A husband that pays attention to what he's doing."

"What, my dear?"

"Nothing, dear. Have you tried it?"

"What?" Eirran had hardly taken his eyes or apparently his mind from his new power concentrator.

"Have you tried it to see if it is indeed more powerful? What is the spell you two usually cast to test different things?"

Concentrating on his wife's question, Eirran had lowered the new combined and internalized unicorn hair carved olive stick to his side with it pointed out and away from him. Subconsciously he remembered Willen accidentally setting him on fire one afternoon in the dungeon, but he did not remember the lesson completely.

"What spell? Oh, do you mean the Incendio spell?"

The end of the couple's bedding pallet caught on fire and it took several clay pots of bathing water to put it out. Pholx's song was barely able to give Eirran courage and calm Glanis from violence.

Eirran knew there would be no marital closeness tonight.

______________________________________________________

Willen sat by the fire finishing and smoothing another power concentrator. The phrase magik stick was shorter but he didn't like it. Power concentrator would not do either. Internalized-unicorn-hair-carved-olive-wood-strip was descriptive but did not roll off of the tongue. Besides, this one had a dragon heartstring in it. He just knew a dragon heartstring would be the right magikal concentrator for Torban. Specifically he 'knew' he was making it for a Metal Forger.

It had been an unnerving discovery for the briefest moment, but then, like most discoveries, it seemed perfectly natural after the fact. Everyone knew all the different things you could do with a clay pot, but who had figured out how to make the first clay pot? Now that he had discovered so many aspects of magik, Willen had a much greater appreciation for that first unheralded Potter, forefather in trade to Egorn, the Potter Willen did know.

One night after eating his meal, Willen went to his carryall to remove several strips of olive wood. He'd planned to work on them by the fire before sleeping. He had held the dragon skin cover up at one corner and reached for a wood strip when it slipped from his fingers. He quickly reached down for it, not wanting to have to crawl under the carryall to retrieve it.

Just as he grabbed the strip of olive wood with his fingers, it touched one of the coils of dragon heartstring. The redder than fire sparks Willen had seen somewhere before shot out of the end of the strip of wood. Pholx trilled with great excitement, adding to Willen's sense of well being and his 'knowing' that this was more than just a random event - it had meaning of some sort.

Willen's Curiosity said "what if...?" and there was nothing else to do but break out the dragon heartstring reel and cut a length of heartstring as long as a man. He also took out one of the olive branches.

First he cut one length of the heartstring about as long as a unicorn hair. Then he tied a small knot in the end at the tip of the olive branch. He wrapped the heartstring in the same manner as he had the unicorn hairs for all those seasons, and held the other end with his thumb. There was nothing else to do but point the new combination down at several dried leaves on the floor of the woods.

"Incendio!" The leaves caught fire. The spark was definitely stronger than the olive branch alone and only slightly less powerful for him than the wrapped unicorn hair and olive wood power concentrator. Of course there was nothing else he could possibly do that night except make an olive wood strip concentrator with an internalized dragon heartstring in its center. He had to fashion a deeper groove than needed with a unicorn hair, a heartstring is thicker than twenty unicorn hairs, which is rather thick as far as hairs go.

Willen decided to cut half the depth of the groove on one half of the split olive wood strip and cut the other side of the groove in the joining piece. He didn't want the heartstring to be off center in the olive wood strip, and this would maintain maximum strength in both halves.

The first embedded dragon heartstring and olive wood power concentrator gave Willen problems, gluing the two halves together properly. The grooves had not been quite deep enough and the glued pieces had parted at one end in spite of the rawhide wrappings. The second one he produced to his exacting quality standards, and it proved to be more effective than the wrapped heartstring or unicorn sticks at casting spells. The idea proved to be sound and he now knew of two animals that could be called magikal creatures.

By this time, if Willen thought about his two damaged fingers they seemed stiff, but if he just used them without thinking about the injury, he was as dexterous as he had always been.

Willen would occasionally look at the heartstring power concentrator he'd made for the metal worker in Loundon's Towne, his friend Torban. It still warmed his heart when he thought of Torban telling him on the day he left that he would now consider Willen his friend. The other heartstring concentrator he felt sure was for Egorn the Potter, at least he felt pretty sure. He'd remembered Egorn's wife Shulla had the Touch, and he believed he remembered that Egorn did too. He'd also made a unicorn hair and olive wood magik stick with Shulla in mind.

He thought about how he had acquired quite a number of unicorn hairs and several small reels of dragon heartstring. What else might work? With all of the hairs and heartstrings Willen wondered how many concentrators he would eventually manufacture. He pondered the fact that when he always thought of manufacturing the concentrators, he did not use the words "make" or "craft" or "create." Funny, he had never heard of the word manufacture until he had met Eirran, yet that was the only word he applied to the process of rendering a finished power concentrator.

Willen fell asleep that night wondering if there was a better word, a simpler word to use other than power concentrator, something more elegant than magik stick.

______________________________________________________

The sun had barely cleared the lower hills off to the west when Willen had completed his morning efforts. Aldini had warned him after he had healed from fighting the three warriors, that when one does not use his sword fighting abilities for as long as five days, the swordsman loses a little of his skill and reaction time. Longer periods of disuse would cause a greater lessening of skills and agility.

Therefore, every morning since recovering from his battle with the wolves, he'd practiced a varying routine of cuts, thrusts, parries, spells - anything and everything he could think of, in as many different combinations as came to his imagination. While he "fought" using his blade against invisible foes, he imagined a variety of different combinations of enemies - Bonderman, Bonderman and his two underlings all swinging their swords at once and in varied orders, and the combination of Bonderman and Porto. For the last he ducked and rolled quite a bit, imagining dodging the spell that had nearly killed him. He practiced bringing up his sword and then his carved internal unicorn hair olive wood stick, sending out spells to petrify already motionless trees and not setting fire to rocks that he imagined as attackers.

He hoped that Torban realized what a fine sword he had designed and created. If so, then he would have made more, and hopefully there would be those in Loundon's Towne who could use them with some degree of skill.

Each morning he would start his routine and worked up a sweat, then practiced at least twice as long as the time it took for the water to begin to flow from his body. That time took longer and longer so daily his practice times increased.

As he walked around his fire to cool one day (if he didn't at least one muscle would grip him with pain) he noticed Pholx appear and swoop in from a distance. He circled, calling in the tones that always made for a better day, and then alighted on Willen's outstretched arm.

He noticed the sunbird had his carved image of Constantia in holly wood with him. Willen was most grateful to have it back. Having it was like having a little bit of his lady love with him, but he had not been able to think of any other way to communicate that he was alive and making his way to her, other than sending the carving. It was obviously her, and she would definitely recognize his handiwork.

So he was glad the carving had returned, but he worried that Pholx might not have found her.

"Hello, Pholx. Here, have some grain and dried chicken, boy. I know you don't like the flesh of a fellow animal with wings, but it's all I have and you must be hungry after your trip."

Willen untied the carving from the sunbird's talon and it hopped down for the fare set before him. Willen had to find more food soon, this was his last.

He took the carving in his hand. It always sang to him for just a moment when he brought it up to look at, but this time it sang louder and more joyously. Willen just knew all was right with the girl, by now woman, of his dreams.

He felt something unusual on the back of the carving. He turned it around, and there was a thick lock of darker than dark hair tied tightly together at both ends and attached to the carving with glue on the two strips of cloth tying the lock together.

Willen's heart thrilled as if Pholx were two sunbirds singing to him in harmony.

Constantia's hair!

Just a little bit of the one he loved. She had realized that he'd sent the sunbird, and she wanted him to know she was waiting for him to return. If at all possible, Willen's resolve became even more focused. He ate quickly and made his way just a little bit faster that day than the day before. His smile faded very rarely for the next few days following.

The carryall was heavy. Eirran's design made it much easier to drag than carrying the weight of his goods in any other manner, but it was still a load that tired his legs, arms, back, and every part of his body. It even seemed that his clothing was becoming tighter with the effort each day.

A number of peddlers he had met on the way stopped him to ask about markets behind him, but all of them mostly wanted to examine his carryall. How much he could carry was a marvel to each of them.

Willen felt sure that he was approaching the sea much further to the west than where Stellan had landed him many seasons before. The very fact that he headed four parts north and one part west ensured this, but he had visual confirmation when he saw a rock formation to the east, that had been to his west while traveling south.

_________________________________________________

In the early afternoon, a fortnight later, he walked out of a copse of woods into a wide field with a series of differently sized stones, standing on end, in what appeared to be a fairly straight line. They ranged in height from waist high to nearly twice as high as a man. The carryall usually announced his approach on rock or sand or gravel, but in this field's lush grass of that summer of 382 B.C., he was making little sound. However, he was obvious to anyone looking his way.

Willen saw two people at a distance. As he approached them he observed that they were concentrating on something that was not apparent from where he was. They were looking up above what looked like a burned down hut. There was no smoke so the fire could not have been too recently, but there was nothing left more than hip high at most, of the remains of the dwelling.

The two were gesticulating oddly. As he approached them Willen noticed more details. The two were a man and a woman, a little younger than Eirran, and it seemed by their animation, that they were arguing. Though it was his practice to call out to those he neared that had not seen him, Willen did not want to interrupt their, er, conversation. He did not like surprises jumping out at him but he wondered, how could he, dragging the carryall and moving at a pace of a normal walk, have possibly gotten this far without being noticed. Soon their words were understandable.

"I still say that someone will become nosey and want to search through the ashes to see what they can salvage."

"That is why it looks so badly burned down. No one will think there could be anything worth having left in this rubble. It isn't even quality rubble."

"You old fool, if there was nothing here to be seen at all, then no one would want to search."

"You are older than I am, woman."

"By three days, besides, I didn't say 'older' I said old. My age is irrelevant. It is the age of the fool I mention... Oh, look, here comes someone. Let's see if he walks past. Don't move."

"Now who's the fool? If we are invisible he cannot see us whether we move or not." But they both froze in place. They stopped in the most odd and unnatural position, as if that helped them the more to not be noticed.

As Willen neared to within easy conversational distance he heard, "I think he is going to walk right past."

"Shush! We are invisible, not sound proof."

Willen could not remain in silence. His grin burst into a laugh. "You are neither sound proof nor invisible."

The two relaxed from their odd poses and were about to resume their argument when Willen said, "Are you two Ninato and Nerta?"

The man and woman looked surprised for a moment and then reached into their robes to draw out sticks with unicorn hairs wrapped around them. Willen's reflexes spared him from a painful experience.

He fell to his left into a roll and came up behind a rock standing on its end about as high as his chest. The roll helped him dodge a blue bolt of light from the woman's power concentrator that dissipated into the air about a man's length past him; Willen had noticed it during his roll. He came up with his internal unicorn hair olive branch and shouted as the woman was about to cast another spell. The man was shaking his stick like it was malfunctioning.

"Stop! I mean you no harm. Are your names Ninato and Nerta or am I wrong?"

The woman stopped in mid cast, but held her stick and hair in place. The man raised his like it would finally work but his face looked doubtful.

"Are you a Seer, young man?" said the woman. "Or a fade sent to deceive us?"

"I am neither. If those are your names, Ninato and Nerta, then I have a message for you from my friend Eirran who is a Seer."

The two seemed to relax a bit, or maybe it was just curiosity.

"I am Ninato," said the man with more courage on his face than was in his voice. "What is the message?"

Willen decided to tell them rather than show them. "Sir, Eirran said to slap you for him, and to hug your pretty wife. He also said that Nerta's cooking was worth the trip alone."

They placed their power concentrators in their robes and both came forward with their hands extended. "You must be the famous Willen. Please come into our small house. We live not quite a day's journey from here, but this is where we live as we construct our subterfuges. Please join us for supper. Eirran did not exaggerate my wife's cooking skills; there is an excellent eel stew and fresh bread."

Willen had had little eel during his life, but had enjoyed what little he had tasted. His mouth watered; then he became truly excited when he realized that eel is a sea creature. He must be near the sea.

But before he asked about his location, he had to ask, "Come in? I see no hut anywhere."

"Show him, my dear," said the woman proudly.

Ninato came forward to Willen's side and touched his shoulder while pointing to the burned hut. He flourished his hand in a particular way and said, "Welcome to our humble hut, Willen, friend of Eirran."

The burned ruins shimmered and were replaced by a quaint hut of a design unseen in Albion, but very common in Gaul. Willen fell to his knees.

"Very good, my dear," she said. "You have frightened the Dragonslayer Wolfslayer. Now I'm impressed."

As they finished eating Willen summarized their explanation, "So, the subtleties are the rocks, randomly placed on end, scattered in ones, twos, and occasionally threes until those interested are led far away from where you don't want them. The subterfuge is to create the massive rock display outside this hut that will capture their fervent thoughts and make them enthralled with that location, which is far from where you have your community. Then you use your illusions and disillusions to hide your buildings and make the place where you do live look undesirable or dangerous, or both. That is the 'hiding in plain sight,' am I right?"

"Yes. That describes the theory succinctly. How we actually do it is very complex, but that expresses it pretty well, don't you think, my dear?"

"Yes, my brilliant husband." Her praise was sincere.

Willen had learned that even though the two could argue like none he had ever heard, in an instant they could be a loving, almost cloyingly sweet, affectionate couple.

He asked, "Could you teach me how to do this? I would love to help Loundon's Towne hide from our enemies. It could help us avoid a lot of bloodshed. I'll kill whoever must be killed, but I'd rather not hurt anyone."

The two had come to admire Willen in the afternoon, evening, and morning they had known each other. Eirran had written them about him in a terse note that Beemy had delivered. Nerta had almost killed the owl for supper. The aerial message delivery method had been discovered after the husband and wife had left Remers. Beemy had hopped around the field from upturned stone to upturned stone where the two had been working, trying to avoid her and gain his attention for the small bit of parchment tied to its leg. Finally the note had been noticed, read, and a return message of greeting had been sent with an update on their progress at deceiving their enemies.

Nerta explained, "Willen, we are developing these ideas and methods as we go. The one thing we can tell you is that we can do nothing individually. We both have to cast every spell as you call them - amazing idea, that. A replacement for the Old Way to fight the misuses and corruption running rampant among this new wave of our despicable brother Celts and Druids..."

"Dear, back to the point."

"Huh? Oh, yes, yes," she said. "Well, we both must do our parts simultaneously. I am not exactly sure what he says, nor he me. To compound that, we find we do and say things differently each time. When we finish this field this afternoon we will have completed the entire planned system of subtleties and subterfuges and will go back to Hirel to record our results and try to codify what we have done. We cannot travel the length of Gaul and now go to Albion to help those under attack. We must spread our knowledge by written word and perhaps some sort of training program or something."

Ninato chimed in, "As it is, we will not leave Hirel and go back to Remers. Eirran did not know that Nerta had been ill in Remers. We are not sure what has been the cause of her improved health - it may be the sunnier weather, the reduced heaviness in the air from being near the sea, or maybe just the longer summer and shorter winters here, but Nerta has bloomed here into the flower I first married. We miss Remers and our friends, but we will not go back to her death."

She sat quietly holding his hand as he rubbed her arm. They were obviously in love in spite of their occasional yelling sessions.

"As it is, the youngsters we brought with us to Hirel, and those Celts nearby that have joined us, are a delight. We both are adored and are able to teach what we know to those who think we are brilliant," she said with the slightest blush. "Ninato is brilliant and I enjoy receiving the portion of acclaim from his brilliance that splashes on me."

"Nonsense, my dear. Who is the one who is ten times more powerful with the unicorn hair power concentrator? I can barely light a fire with mine."

"I might be able to help you with that, Ninato." Willen had been so preoccupied during their time together with questions on their protective schemes, that he had not told them a thing about his recent discoveries. They had not realized that his internal unicorn hair carved olive strip was the next step in the advancement of power concentrators. "Please excuse me."

He walked outside to his carryall intending to grab one of the many unicorn and olive stick combinations he had manufactured. But when he pulled up the dragon hide covering, he felt one of the olive wood and dragon heartstring combinations tug at his hand. He picked it up with curiosity and heard a very different song come from it. He thought about the lack of abilities that his host had with the unicorn hair he used, particularly in comparison to his wife. When Willen thought of Ninato, the song from the heartstring filled carved stick grew louder.

Willen took that heartstring power concentrator in and one of the many unicorn hair examples. By the time he had walked back in he had decided on a course of action. He was not going to just hand Ninato one of his devices.

"Let's step out back to the patch of ground where your chickens occasionally scratch." They followed him out and he kicked several small piles of dried leaves together. "I want you each to start a fire with your sticks. You first, Ninato."

They were curious about the lengths of carved wood in his hand but had not made the connection yet.

Ninato pointed his unicorn hair wrapped stick towards the first pile. Willen noticed he used the same birch wood that Eirran had said was so common around Remers.

"Plindabel Doletang!" he said and a small flame sprung from the leaves that barely caught.

"Please hand your hair and stick to Nerta." And after he did as Willen said, "I want you to learn the fire staring spell in magik. It comes from the Latin Eirran taught me." Willen had the carved concentrators in his cloak. "The spell is 'Incendio!'"

"Magik is the New Way and a spell is...?"

"A spell is a piece of magik."

"Just speak Willen's 'spell,' husband." Both husband and wife were not the most patient, Willen had observed.

"Incendio?"

"That's it. Well said. Now take the hair stick and point it at the next set of leaves and cast the spell."

"Cast? Like when Eirran goes fishing. Did he make up that word?"

"Husband," she pressed him to respond.

"Incendio!" The fire that started this time was much brighter and had a larger flame instantly.

"Now, Nerta, you use your unicorn hair stick and the Old Way words."

They both looked at him as though they did not quite know what he was attempting to accomplish.

She said, "Plindabel Doletang!" and a flame erupted that was much larger than her husband's with that spell, and a little brighter than his with the Latin.

"Nerta, now please try the Latin spell."

"It was, "Incendio!" right...?"

The leaves nearest the tip of her stick and hair, a small pile right by her shift, burst into the largest set of flames seen yet and caught her shift on fire.

"I'm sorry, my mistake. I did not make it clear why I wanted you to not have a power concentrator in your hand when you try pronouncing the words. I did the same thing to Eirran's smock in the early days.

"But each time you cast a spell, and by the way, Eirran did provide the word 'cast' for sending out a spell," he said with a grin, "each time one of you casts a spell we see what happens and I am learning how to help people. This is an interesting comparison. Please be patient with me.

"Do you see that small piles of leaves over there?" Willen pointed to the leaf pile just over the two man lengths away. "Please aim at the right one, Nerta, and try to light it using Latin."

She tried with her combined hair stick and nothing happened.

"Now, take this one and try, it uses an olive stick with a unicorn hair embedded in it."

Once again Nerta tried the same spell at that distance and nothing happened.

Willen said, "Hmm. I wasn't expecting that. Use that stick to light this pile right here."

She did and it did not light.

Willen stared at her. "Now I am confused. Erm.... Please hand it to Ninato. You try it at a distance." As Ninato tried and failed, Willen felt the olive wood and dragon heartstring carved

"Ninato, please try the pile at your feet."

"Incendio!" cried Ninato and the fire started. At that event the carved stick in Willen's robe began to sing a bit. Willen remembered that it had insisted on coming with him.

Willen drew out the magik stick in his robe. "Ninato, this is a carved olive wood stick with a core of dragon heartstring..."

"Oh, Willen, that is too valuable to you. I would be afraid to borrow it for even a minute. I'm amazed that you think it will act like a unicorn hair. What makes..."

"Ninato, please try it. It is very important," Willen insisted.

Willen handed it to Ninato, handle first. The second he released it and it was in Ninato's grip alone, the redder than fire sparks flew from the end and Willen heard a song from the wood and heartstring.

Ninato almost dropped it but he was afraid to let it hit the ground. The sparks stopped in a moment.

"Curious, most curious," Willen said. "Did you hear a song just now, either of you?"

Ninato answered slowly. The look on his face was one of stunned amazement. "Um. I heard a small bit of a tune for a moment, barely. Was it my imagination, or your magik?"

"I just don't know. I'm too new at this myself," said Willen, struck with curiosity. "Please point it at the far leaf pile and cast the Latin spell for fire."

Willen's host turned slowly. He looked as if he thought it might bite him at any moment. He pointed it at the distant pile and said with a great degree of concentration, "Incendio!"

Both piles of leaves and a piece of wood two arms length beyond burst into flames! Nerta fell on her face, but Ninato stared at the carved stick in his hand as though he held the key to the world - but only for a few moments.

Ninato shuddered for a moment and then reversed the stick in his hand. He walked to Willen and gave it to him, hand end first.

"Willen, I thank you for letting me see the future, but I do not know if I can be trusted with such power." Saying this he turned to walk back to his wife.

Willen grabbed his arm. "Ninato, did you "See" that you could use the power to bend men to your will?"

The elder man lowered his head and nodded in shame.

Willen asked, "Then were you repulsed by your thoughts and wanted to never wield such power for such evil?"

Ninato raised his head without pride but with determination and nodded to Willen.

"My friend, if I may call you friend, you have proven you can be trusted with such power. The one who delights in what evil he can cause with the power concentrators I manufacture, well, I will have to take it away from him - fight him if need be. Magik is not intended for conquest, but for service and protection of those in need.

"Please take this olive wood and dragon heartstring carved stick. Though I had not met you yet, when I made it, I made it for you. The stick actually told me that. It chose you. Please use it well."

Ninato swallowed, hesitated, and then gingerly took the stick back from Willen. "I will be careful, Willen. I promise you I will use it with all the wisdom I can, and with all of the guidance you can give me before you go on your new way."

______________________________________________________

"Constantia! CONSTANTIA! It's Willen's bird. Come, come quickly." Lindern was out of breath. He had run from the half finished boat docking structure to her private archery practice area. Lindern was the only one who knew where that site was.

"Don't try to keep up with me, Lindern. You are exhausted. But I must run now." She turned and ran with the same grace with which she did just about everything.

Lindern walked and ran after her as best he could.

Constantia was winded by the time she made her way through the woods to the water's edge where Stellan, Caedric, Ludno, and his brothers had run their fishing boats aground.

Pholx, a name unknown to all there, had suddenly appeared overhead, circled once, and then landed on the main boom of Stellan's fishing boat. The new goods transporting boat was under construction up the river a bit in a small jetty. It was barely close enough to see a little of the progress highest above the water line.

Stellan was feeding Willen's bird strips of raw fish he was hacking off the flank of a cod from his catch. The bird slowly gulped down another strip as Constantia made her way over the gunwale and towards the stern of the boat.

"Hello, my pretty bird, how is Willen? Did you have a good flight? Is Stellan being a good host?"

The trilling tunes in response thrilled everyone there, and once again gave them courage and hope for the future.

"I didn't really know what to do with him or even if he was here to see me. But I sent Lindern, and I see he found you. There seems to be a piece of parchment tied to his talon. I did not try to retrieve it."

She approached the bird confidently but slowly, not wanting to startle it. The parchment was retrieved and Stellan assigned a hesitant mate to continue feeding the bird all it wanted.

There was a flat table-like surface near the capstan where Torban's metal bar raised and lowered the sail and the anchor. They spread out the parchment.

It was an odd drawing that made no sense to them. There were curved lines and several items drawn in different locations. In the upper right side of the parchment there were drawn seven stars in the shape of a ladle or dipper. The star on the end away from the bowl part of the dipper was at the top and there was an arrow drawn straight up, pointing to that star.

In the upper left there was a drawing of a girl, a very pretty girl with dark hair. From the girl there were two wide lines that curved, getting slightly wider apart until midway across the parchment where they split and parted, one going up and one going down. A series of arrow lines went from the girl to the parting point. There a boat was drawn. Arrows were drawn from the boat to a curvy line drawn down the right side of the parchment and parallel to that side for a little less than a third of the way from the top. That line then curved toward the middle of the parchment where it made several shallow curves until it reached the center and two-thirds of the way down.

At that point there was great detail in the curves with a prominent outreaching part of the line. Where it curved back down, there were three small circles arranged in an irregular pattern. The curving line continued down the length of a finger, then curved to the left and formed a bowl like shape with a smaller lip off to the left. The line ended after that.

The arrow lines from the boat went straight to the curved line on the right where a smaller boat was drawn. An arrow left that little boat and crossed the long curved line where an arrowhead pointed to a stick man with what looked like a circle around its neck with a dot on it. A smaller picture of what looked like the same girl was drawn with an arrow pointing from it to the dot on the circle.

Arrowed lines left the stick man and went straight down to the bottom of the parchment, circled, and came back up to the left to the place on the curved line where the odd shaped 'bowl' and small circles were. Where the arrowed lines circled and came back up, there was a small stick man with what looked like a tiny stick in the nub of its hand. Stellan's finger followed the line with the stick man to the odd shaped bowl in the curved line. At that place on the parchment right under the bowl was another stick man with the stick in its hand and the circle and dot around his neck.

The second drawn boat on the upper right of the long curved line had arrowed lines heading along the curved line leading to the same point at the oddly curved bowl. Twice along this arrowed line there was a small drawing of a bird. The arrowed lines from the boat ended at the oddly shaped bowl with the small circles where another small boat was drawn.

Finally, there was an arrow drawn from the final stickman to the last boat drawn in the bowl.

They took several long moments to examine the parchment. Torban arrived and looked on. Constantia and Stellan finally looked up and began talking at once. Stellan finally spoke.

"I think this must be a map - it is a drawing of what the land and the sea of an area looks like if you could see it from a bird's eye in flight, very high up. The only map I have ever seen was of an estuary where there were many hidden rocks and shoal waters. This area is not familiar, and there is hardly any of the detail I saw on that one map."

"I have heard of a map," said Constantia, "and I think I know what one is, it shows you the way to somewhere, correct?" Stellan nodded and she continued, "I was going to say that the stickman could be Willen. It is his bird."

At that moment Pholx fluttered to the place on the sail boom near where they were. No one knew where it had been hidden on the bird, but he dropped Willen's carving of Constantia on the parchment and it landed on the larger picture of the girl.

The clouds broke and the sunshine of recognition shone through the darkness.

"This large drawing of a girl's face is you here in Loundon's Towne, Constantia. The arrow shows my boat taking Willen to the coast of Gaul."

"Yes, Stellan. The stickman is Willen with this carving around his neck. He went down here to the south of Gaul," her finger traced the route. "And down here he holds a stick... He found the olive sticks!"

She turned and shouted to the crowd that had gathered on the shore, "Willen has the olive sticks and is heading home to us!"

There were a number of cheers and shouts and backslappings going on while Constantia and Stellan turned back to the map. He said, "This must be the coast of Gaul. I have never sailed this far down before, this neck of land extends out and there are several islands here. That should be obvious but it may not be at all. I could sail off the ends of the earth if I go far enough out to the west."

"Look, Stellan. Willen has drawn a bird several places along the way." She turned to the scarlet and gold creature looking on. "Is that you, pretty bird? Has Willen asked you to fly with Stellan and show him the way?"

Pholx gave forth with a song of sheer delight that warmed every heart within earshot, save one.

With a look of Loundon determination Constantia ignored her father and declared, "I'm going with you, Stellan." She stood a little taller than the Fisher and tried to push up on her toes to punch home her demand.

Before Torban could protest, Stellan held up his hand to him and said to her, "It is bad luck to sail a boat with a female aboard."

Constantia snorted a stifled laugh and said, "Stellan, you don't believe that. You have had plenty of women and girls on board bringing them here to Loundon's Towne."

"No, the female I talk of is you. The bad luck will be mine when your mother hears I have taken you with me." Stellan smiled and said, "You may talk with honey in your mouth to your father and succeed, but your mother will not have any mercy on me."

Stellan took a half step back and shouted his orders. "We sail with the morning tide for the longest journey we have ever attempted. Pack the hold with provisions. Gather your weapons of choice. And I'll drop into the sea any man who tries to help Constantia stow away."

______________________________________________________

There is a set distance between Loundon's Towne and the Aldertani Keep at the southern coast of Gaul. Over five times that distance away, going two parts west for every one part south, and before you sail off of the end of the world, you come to the south and east coast of a huge land mass that none of those alive in Gaul or Albion or Etruria or the Celtic homeland would ever know about. In the same year that Sir Nicholas almost lost his head, Europeans would discover this land.

The people of this coast took in their harvests at the end of each summer, and then prepared to pay for their bounty. Sometimes the storms came before the harvest had been gathered, but usually these storms arrived afterwards.

Some cycles they were blessed and no storms appeared. Some cycles there would be the hint of these storms but they would not arrive. Some cycles one big storm would impact, and others might come nearby. Once in a lifetime several storms would cast their fury on the same part of the coast.

Sometimes a village was badly damaged. Sometimes there would be moderate damage. Sometimes a village would be gone.

Those of this coast tried every manner of appeal to all sorts of deities to end the visits of these storms, but they kept coming.

However, these storms never made their presence felt in Albion and Gaul...

...except just before harvest time in 382 B.C.

______________________________________________________

"Well, good morning, my cheery feathered friend of Willen's, I see you have returned to me. Do you bring correction or confirmation to my navigation?"

The sunbird gave out a song of joy for a few moments and Stellan's boat crew was happier than they had been in days. They had been sailing three parts west for one part south during most of this time, always keeping the coast in sight. All feared that they would be approaching the end of the world soon. Stellan calmed their fears by pointing out that the seas were not rushing towards an abyss, so the end must still be far away. That settled their concerns but it did nothing for his. Who says there is an abyss? Why not just a massive sea serpent flinging boats off of the edge?

The wonderful trilling of Willen's bird cast all fears aside, and they all bravely set their faces like rock to conquer any sea or sea serpent the day might bring.

It was the sea that worried Stellan the most - and the weather. The seas were "restless" in Stellan's mind, and appeared to be a bit greener than usual. He could feel that the pressure of the roiling winds seemed "too light" or something like that. The sun seemed ill in the hazy sky. He wondered if this was what the world was like at its end.

Encouraged by the tuneless tune coming from the bird, Stellan continued his conversation with the winged creature, "Well, we have sailed past the protruding tip of land on the parchment map, and now I can see one of the islands on my starboard. Will it be a day, or a week before we see Willen? And how will we see him? Do I go close inshore and risk grounding, or do I stay back from the land in safety and sail past him? Do you not know or do you know and keep it a secret?"

The crew worried when their master carried on such one-sided conversations with the bird.

Pholx perched near the tiller in the back of the boat throughout the morning and even hid its head for a while. It appeared to be sleeping. Closer to lunch than supper in the mid afternoon, Willen's bird took wing without any notice and flew off with purpose, flying parallel to the shoreline. Stellan followed that course because it was the course he had been on all day.

About the time Stellan began looking for a place to beach his craft for the night, the bird returned. When he had sailed west on the coast of Gaul farther than he had ever been, he became cautious about sailing at night. When he had sailed past the small port that was as far west as Ludno had been, he became concerned about sailing at night. He started looking for a small river or inlet where he could beach in safety for the night.

They had passed the previous four nights in such small coves or river outlets, and with the sea, wind, and sun behaving as they did, Stellan was not about to sail during this night.

Willen's bird circling convinced him to not stop in the slight indentation in the coast he had spotted, but to sail past the small bit of protruding land ahead. At worst he would beach in the lee of the outcropping.

The bird began to circle the boat, fly on down the coast, fly back, circle the boat again, and then begin the process once more. The bird's trilling gave everyone the courage to push on a little further. Soon the bird reached its farthest distance and circled there, flew back to the boat, circled, and then flew back to that same location and began circling in earnest. It never flew back to the boat but circled over the same spot.

That location was a small river inlet that had no village around it. It would probably be ideal for the night, Stellan thought.

As he turned into the inlet, he saw a solitary figure standing on the western bank and two times the length of the square at Loundon's Towne away. Stellan approached cautiously, what could one man do? And the bank was clear for a long way past the solitary figure, proving there was no trap. But the sailors looked for one anyway.

The boat's master thought the man looked a bit like Willen. Though the lad had passed the age of maturity and had been considered a man when Stellan had met him, many continued to grow after that time, and almost all filled out more. This man had Willen's profile and could be a Willen grown a half a head taller. But Stellan doubted it.

This man had the look of a warrior, a powerful confident leader who was used to respect. He had a battle blade at his side and wore an oddly shimmering green cloak. He was tanned and obviously muscular under his cloak. Then Stellan noticed the clear penetrating eyes, both eyes, staring at him and smiling. No, this could not be Willen, Stellan thought of the lad's lazy eye. Stellan lightly grounded the boat and left it cautiously to greet the man and discover if he had indeed found a place to rest for the night.

As Stellan hopped over the gunwale, he tightened the battle blade Torban had given him around his waist. He had not been in Loundon's Towne long enough at any stretch of time to train with Conlander in swordplay, but he could hack his way with the best of his crew if need be.

The powerful looking young man slowly approached the beached craft, and when he reached the point where he need not shout, he said so all could hear, "Hello, Stellan. I'm glad you made it. My drawing must've worked."

Had the smallest bird landed on Stellan's shoulder he would have fallen over with the imbalance. It was...

"Willen? Can that be you...?"

"It is," he said as he moved forward and embraced the boat's captain. They parted and Willen knew he had some explaining to do.

"But...but... your eye? Willen, how...? What...?" He rushed forward and embraced Willen again. "I'm so glad to see you, and to see you are safe and well. Constantia..."

Willen stiffened slightly and interrupted him, "She's well? Bonderman hasn't...?"

"No, Willen. She waits for you and thinks of no one else."

"Nor I, nor I. We've much to tell each other. But first we must hide your boat. A Celtic raider sailed by yesterday at this time. They didn't see this inlet but they could now, if we do not prepare."

"Willen, how could they not see it then but see it now?"

Willen smiled, stepped close to his friend, placed his hand on his shoulder, and turned him upstream of the inlet. "This is how." And a dozen people with landing ropes and cut river rushes appeared out of nowhere.

Stellan fell to his face, as did his crew, who were now able to see that their captain could.

"Willen, are you in league with a devilkin?"

"No, Stellan, I don't know what a devilkin is, but I don't like the sound of it. Regarding what has just appeared before you, have no fear," he said loud enough for the crew to hear.

His bird trilled a few notes and they calmed.

"Thank you, Pholx."

"Is that his name, Pholx? Do you own him? Do you talk to him too? Does he understand? I feel the fool talking to him like he understands, but I cannot stop it."

"Yes, his name is Pholx. I consider him more of a friend; I don't own him. He saved my life and I may have saved his once. I'm not sure. He definitely understands me because you are here, aren't you? I think I can understand him. I guess I can feel what he wants me to know. He has to be patient with me.

"But come. Let's hide your boat and walk a little ways to where we are staying tonight. The village is not too far down the coast."

"But, Willen, why didn't they build the village here at the inlet, that would be the obvious thing to do?"

"That's why. Never do the obvious when you are trying to hide in plain sight."

"Hide in plain sight? Willen, what...?"

"We have a lot to talk about my friend."

______________________________________________________

"A dragon? A dragon that you faced twice and finally killed. Three huge Celtic warriors at once. Five wolves dead or dying out of six. And now you're an Olive Hand - no! You make olive hands so you're the Olive Hand Maker." Between the information Eirran had written to Nerta and Ninato, and what they had forced out of the reticent Willen, Stellan now knew most of the accomplishments of his young friend.

Willen asked, "Stellan, what is this about an Olive Hand, as if it is a title like Fisher or Potter?"

The Fisher looked at his friend, and then at Ninato and Nerta. They had talked through supper and into the night. Who knew what time it was, even if time systems had been invented yet? Most of the talking had been between Willen and Stellan with the other two adding insights, comments, and questions to round out the conversation and force Willen to tell of his many adventures and misadventures.

Stellan answered Willen's question. "I just thought you would know since it was you who discovered the facts. The title existed before I arrived at Loundon's Towne. They call Porto the Olive Hand because you found out about the olive stick he carries and kills with. They only told me like you had, about your journey to find olive sticks. Now that your bird - you say it is a sunbird or a phoenix and it is named Pholx, correct? Once Pholx brought that carved medallion of Constantia to us, a few have started calling you Willen the Olive Hand - Constantia chief among them. By the time this parchment you drew came to us by way of Pholx, and we discerned its meaning, nearly everyone was referring to you by that name. At least they were when I set sail; it was less than a day after your bird popped in with the map. Of course Olive Hand Maker is too long. People are already shortening such trade names. Metalsmith has become Smith, a name Torban dislikes, but he will always be the Loundon, so no matter.

"I told you, didn't I, Willen, that with all of our growth we have a number of all types of trade names. Baijan the House Builder cannot decide if he wants to be called Houser or Builder. I think he leans toward the latter. A lot has changed since you left. By all accounts Loundon's Towne is almost three times bigger than when you last saw it.

"You know, in a way, you have inspired a lot of it. I myself would not have gone there if we hadn't met. People have from time to time reminded themselves about your sacrifice and your quest and they redouble their efforts. Of course not too many days go by without Constantia reminding someone about how it is going to be after you get back and fight Bonderman and Porto. Some wonder why so many are training to fight if you are going to come back with olive sticks, but if nothing else, they don't want to stand by and let you do all the fighting. You have in large part, directly or indirectly, inspired the increased growth of the largest community in all of Albion."

Willen blushed a bit at these words but he thought back to the description of Constantia.

Tall - nearly up to Willen's eyes. He was glad he had grown some. Stellan had said that she stood straight and fearless. Willen had not been too sure he liked the idea of his future wife being a fighter and dressing the way Stellan had described. But he thought that so much had changed and he should accept whatever he found with gratitude when he made landfall at Loundon's Towne.

He remembered the powerful use of magik that had come from Haana that had saved his life. How could he not want women to find their part in magik? Loundon's Towne was their home too, and they would be savagely treated if the fight went to the brutes like he had fought in the hills of Aldertani Keep.

"Where are you, Willen?" Nerta asked.

He smiled sheepishly. "In the middle of a fight for my life."

"In the past or the future?" Ninato asked.

"Both, I guess." He shook his head to clear his mind and guessed the thoughts on the couple's faces. "No, I'm not 'Seeing.' I'm only remembering and wondering.

"But it is so good to see you, Stellan. What do we need to do to leave tomorrow as early as possible?"

"My men filled the water barrels before we left the boat. The food is ready to carry when we leave. Oh, thank you again, Ninato and Nerta, for turning out all of these provisions from here in Hirel. You and your community have been most helpful."

"We are glad to help," said Nerta. "Willen's gift of an olive hand - I'm not sure I can get used to that name. Anyway, that gift and what it portends is worth many times what you take with you. But we'll support all of those fighting this spread of rogues, ruffians, and warped Druids to the fullest of our abilities. I am ashamed to call myself Celt or Druid based on what we have seen and what you report, both of you."

Stellan said, "Well, Willen, the only thing to stop us tomorrow is the weather. Now that you tell me that we are far from the end of the world, the odd winds and sunlight, and the strange seas must mean a storm, but it is the makings of a storm unlike any I have seen. But if I remember correctly, you like a good storm for sea travel, don't you, Willen?"

They ended their conversation for the evening with a good-natured laugh about Willen's sickness during calm seas and sturdiness on deck during very rough weather.

______________________________________________________

The unheard of event of a tropical storm making its way back east across the large sea to the coast of Gaul and Albion delighted Willen and struck fear in the hearts of the crew.

The day they left Willen had eaten half of a large breakfast when Stellan asked him if he wanted to see all he was eating again.

Nerta and Ninato, and almost all of the small hidden village of Hirel were there to wave the sea voyagers off and reset the breach in their Illusionments. They saw Willen walk on board the steady, grounded boat and run to the opposite side in sickness. Stellan helped him back to the starboard gunwale to wave weakly goodbye.

All on shore walked quickly to the mouth of the inlet as the boat backed down the waterway. They saw it heave and list as it hit the rolling, unsettled waters of the sea. An ill feeling wind came from a different direction causing the boat to bob around like a piece of unfettered driftwood. Willen stood at the stern with a much healthier look on his face.

The villagers returned to Hirel to prepare for the storm. It had already dropped in violence from what would be called a millennia later a hurricane, but this storm still held plenty of life in the winds and waves - and barrels and barrels and barrels of rain.

It was as if the storm had been custom designed for Willen. The winds were favorable and backed at just the right moments to grant a speedy trip with few tacks, luffs, or any other course changes. The violence of the boat's pitching and yawing settled Willen's stomach, and he shouted with delight at every jerk of the boom and creak of the boat's seams. Willen even enjoyed joining the bucket procession bailing water from the seams and rain.

They made an unknown record passage that would not be broken for over five hundred years and even then the record beater needed a new sail design to accomplish it.

The rain slowed as they entered the mouth of the Tameas River. The winds had backed to where they were now assisting our voyagers to make a hasty passage upstream. As things calmed, Willen became a bit restive, but he did not become sick. Stellan mentioned that he might have finally found his sea legs. Halfway to Loundon's Towne they stopped for the night. Willen wanted to run on ahead along the bank of the river, but Stellan told him that the boat would arrive sooner than he could run the distance, even with the night's layover.

Shortly after lunch, with a wind still very much favoring the travelers, they came around the last bend in the river and were able to barely see Loundon's Towne.

What they saw was the flames and smoke rising from funeral pyre platforms on the edge of the river.

Virtually all of those living in the great community were at the shoreline, but they were not there to welcome the returning voyagers.

All eyes were on the three pyre platforms.

Two were the size for adults.

One was just the right size to say a sad farewell to a child.

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Author's Historical Notes - -

Pholx - In research leading up to this story, correspondence was initiated with Professor Albus Dumbledore to ascertain if there was any possibility that Willen's phoenix, Pholx, could be, or could be related to Dumbledore's phoenix, Fawkes. Here is a portion of the headmaster's reply:

     The phoenix, or sunbird as you rightly identify it, can live
indefinitely, if you consider dying in the blaze of burning,
and arising from the ashes as a hatchling, a continuation
of one life and not the start of a new life - which, in this
case only, perhaps it is. The only way to end the life of
a phoenix is to destroy it in some way when it is a helpless
newly reborn creature. Devouring it would suffice.

     Now, as to the name of my feathered friend: when I first met
Fawkes and began the long, tedious, but worthwhile effort
to befriend him, I asked him his name. Upon hearing it I
began writing it as the common British name of "Fawkes."
I never asked him how to spell it."

Mansion - from Latin - a separate dwelling or richly appointed apartment in a castle or Keep.

The Upturned Stones - According to Madam Lupinia of the Institut d'Francais d'Gaulish Magikae, prehistoric fields of upturned stones, known as menhir, (the stones, not the fields) are very common all over France and have no verified reason for existence or origin. She states that they do distract tourists from nearby villages. The field that Willen described where he met Nerta and Ninato is most probably the menhir of Champ Dolent, which is 10 to 15-km south of Hirel. You can find a map locating Hirel, Dol de Bretagne, and the menhir here: www.pays-de-dol.com/carte.htm.

Constantia Carving Sketch - The multi-talented Madam Lupinia sketched the carving of Constantia from the historical documents.

Gaulish Names - Madam Lupinia was also kind enough to inform this researcher of the meaning of the following names, all of Gaulish origin, for the following from this chapter:

Belu - Gaulish for "spark."

Versta - Gaulish for "rain."

Glanis - Gaulish for "jewel or diamond."

Nerta - Gaulish for "beauty."

Ninato - Gaulish name loosely meaning "river."

 

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Disclaimer--- What belongs to J K Rowling is J K Rowling's. Everything left is mine, I guess, but remember the old adage: "There is nothing new under the sun."

 

However, that which is mine is copyright 2006 Aaran St Vines.

 

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• Chapter One - Mr. Ollivander Tells of Willen's Luck Chapter Two - "Accio Magik!" Chapter Three - "Mah-ghee-kahl!" Chapter Four - Dragonslayer? Who, Me? Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him Chapter Seven - Final Battle and Epilogue
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