Dodo Eggs

The cave passage twisted deeper into the dark recesses.  Water seeped from the walls coating the rocks with minerals and collecting in shallow crevices.  These pools provided the only smooth surfaces in the forsaken caves known as the Utapan.

Nothing grew here.  Six legged cave darters and dangerous rockshells found no prey. Even the stubborn dispora moss could not be found.  The tunnels were cursed and abandoned to all visible forms of life. 

The echo of Solomon’s footfalls traveled though the jagged halls with the speed of a frightened spirit.  It was the noise made when rocks grind and groan under tremendous weight, a noise to match the Atakaskin miner’s monolithic body. 

Solomon stood eight feet tall with mountains for shoulders and legs like the stone columns that supported his home’s Grand Hall.  Smooth, blue hued plates covered his thick flesh.  Each plate overlapped another acting like a flexible coat of armor. 

As his limbs stretched and moved, bits of light escaped from between the scales.  He radiated heat and light.  Illumination issued readily from his eyes and mouth hiding his pupils and giving his eyes the look of hot coals.  An Atakaskin’s body burnt palentite, the same bright material that glowed unwaveringly from the tips of the iron torches Solomon’s two companions carried.

“Solomon, we’ve been traveling for more than five days.  The Utapan is a complete maze.  Even more so now that we’ve outpaced even the oldest maps.”

The miner barely turned his head his eyes lighting the path before them.  “Gesper, you did not expect the maps to take us directly to our goal, did you?”

Gesper held his torch close to his copy of the cave maps looking for anything he had missed.  With a huff, the hodge rolled the map and stuffed it into his satchel.  The guide slumped a bit.  His quartz quills were laid down flat along the lean three-foot height common of hodges.  

“Well, no.”  Gesper shrugged.  “But now that we’re actually here…  I must admit I’m having second thoughts.”

“Second thoughts and a little hesitation produce only cowards!”  A second hodge called Grim called from his perch on Solomon’s shoulder.

“That’s easy for you to say.”  Gesper replied.  “You’re riding on the pride of the Atakaskin race.  Solomon hasn’t let his war hammer drop from his steel grip since we entered the Utapan!  Yes, a brave hodge you are indeed.”

Solomon interrupted them his voice low and serious.  “You are too loud.  We do not know what lies between the Rift Well and us.  What we do know is no one has made it back from this far.”

Solomon leaned back then lurched forward spewing a palentite fireball further into the cave.  Rock spires and reflective collections of water were all that could be seen.  It was a disheartening sight for those so far from their homes.  The Utapan looked like a long walk to the grave.
 
They marched for another day with the party’s pathfinder leading.  Grim’s ferret-like body moved fluidly around rock outcroppings.    He used his sense of magnetism and smell to maintain their steady decent.  Hodges were mineral creatures like the Atakaskins but their bodies did not make use of the immense strength of the palentite.  They more closely resembled the animals of the surface world and were treated little better by the powerful Atakaskin race.

They walked mile after mile with nothing changing.  Powered by the palentite, Solomon walked unceasingly covering miles in a slow, deliberate march.  His strength never wavered.  Grim and Gesper took turns sleeping on the miner’s shoulders or searching the path in front of them.

At first, the hodges spoke often.  Gesper and Grim would bicker a bit about each other’s importance, even who was selected for the trip first.  But as they journeyed from the Rog Forge, the topics wore thin.

Solomon had chosen to be sent to find the Rift Well.  The only place in the underworld where palentite issued from bedrock liquefied to release its full power.  It was a magic draught said to give Atakaskins unlimited abilities.

Now two weeks from their home at Rog Forge and a full week into the Utapan, Grim finally returned from the darkness in front of Solomon and Gesper with something more than a dower expression.  He looked as if he carried freighting news. 

The steady cadence of Solomon’s steps ceased.  The massive Atakaskin lowered his form and tipped his hammer back.  Gesper twisted into a knot with his quills raised in all directions.

“Fear not friends.  I have returned to inform you that the journey has ended.  I guess.  This is the lowest tunnel and it has come to a dead end.”

“That’s impossible.”  Solomon straightened.  “The Rift Shrine is somewhere near here.  It has to be.”

“It’s possible that there’s been a cave in.  I don’t know if you’ve noticed but the cave has widened quite a bit and I’m guessing the height has as well.”  Grim paused to pick a pebble from his quartz claws.  “I’ve made no mistake. This is the Utapan’s lowest level.”

Solomon heaved and spit into the air above them.  The scope of the cave’s cavity became immediately apparent.  The cavern they were in was over a hundred feet tall and at least as wide.  A smooth rock wall closed the entire expanse like a dam.

“Well, that’s unnatural.”  Gesper stepped forward.  “I thought I saw some script on the wall.  Solomon would you light it again?”

Another fireball arched through the cave.  Gesper leaped onto Solomon’s shoulder and stretched toward the wall.

“Ok, yes, it says, ‘The door is closed.’  That’s it.”

Grim began poking around the wall.  “This cannot be right!  The Rift Well or Tonic is supposed to be protected by the most devious of traps not sealed off.”

“Well, the others couldn’t have been stopped here.  Where are their remains?  The entire cavern is clean of everything but rocks and dampness.”

Solomon stepped forward bringing the iron shaft of his hammer parallel with the floor.  “If the door is closed, we’d better knock.”

The hodges took in Solomon’s meaning immediately and scampered away from the wall. 

The warrior’s arms seemed to swell as he strained his arms into a gigantic swinging motion.  With an earsplitting smash, the hammer’s head struck the wall.  Solomon’s form disappeared in a small explosion of earth and dust.  Only a portion of the wall fell but it was enough to hide Solomon.

Minutes later Grim and Gesper crept forward.  “That was dangerous Solomon.  You would think an underworlder would know better than to try and bring the entire cave wall down onto oneself.”

“It’s not over yet.  Step back.”   Solomon brought his arms up and shook sending small boulders everywhere.  With surprisingly little effort, the Atakaskin was free of the debris.

Grim had circled around and was already inside the Rift Temple.  “Amazing!  If anything this place gets larger.”

Gesper and Solomon stepped through the opening made by Solomon’s hammer stroke.  Their torchlight became completely lost by the darkness surrounding them.  For a few minutes, the three just stood inside the shrine waiting for something to happen.

“Gesper, do you smell that?”  Grim was stretched as tall as he could stand his opal eyes and muzzle sampling the air around them.  “I think it’s palentite.  At least part of the walls is made of palentite.”

Solomon’s eyes brunt with power offering light almost as strong as the torch he carried.  His body beneath the mineral scales glowed like hot iron.

The Atakaskin ran his hand along a thick stone pillar then blew flame along its edge.  Without warning, a line along the column erupted with light, its fire racing up the pillar and into the palentite embedded into the ceiling a hundred feet up.  The entire cavern became brighter than the noon sun within two minutes.

Grim and Gesper had to shield their eyes.  Solomon looked on them with scorn.  The hodges were innovative and brave but they were too weak.  Their role with the Atakaskin race was little better than servants.  Solomon laid his hammer across his shoulders and waited.

The rough rock of the outer caves had been carved smooth with friezes and fine sculptures scaling the walls.  Smaller statures and busts sat undisturbed on pedestals hewed from the stone columns.  Buttresses spanned the distances between the pillars and the walls crisscrossing the vaulted ceiling like cobwebs.  It was impossible for common eyes to take in the scene with each detail pulling in your attention.

“Uh, yes, amazing.”  Gesper finally managed a look around.  “Have you noticed the incredible work done on the walls but the floor is just smooth stone and the space is just open.  No seating, furniture, memorials, nothing!”

Solomon turned his glowing stare toward the hodge.  “The monument is the shrine itself.  The Rift Shrine is the greatest testament to Atakaskin power.  Look about you can trace the ancient history of my people etched into the walls.”

Without warning, Grim sprinted on all fours past Gesper close to Solomon.  “That rock moved!  It moved!” 

All three turned and watched as the dust and stones that had been scattered by Solomon’s hammer blow began collecting.  The stone wall separating the shine from the cave began reassembling as if time were running in reverse.  Rock hopped then flew into place exactly were it had rested. 

Solomon moved as quickly as his thick legs would move but the wall was finished in seconds.  The hodges called out in fear and rolled into their protective crouches.

The Atakaskin warrior brought his hammer into the reformed wall with the added strength of a running start.  It’s iron head breaking through with even greater intensity than before.

He shook the twice-smashed rock from his shoulders.  “There, you have nothing to worry about.  Should the magic of the shrine heal itself I will open a fresh wound.”

Grim unwound, then Gesper.  Both shook with fear.

At Solomon’s gesture, the three began marching through the shrine.  The Rift Shrine was lit from all sides by the burning bands of palentite.  Several wings spanned to either side but all ended at long neglected shrines to Atakaskin greats.  At the far end, was an archway held open by the steady grips of carved warriors only slightly larger than Solomon.

“This seems strange.”  Gesper began.  “The scale of the work and the almost scaffolding like buttresses above our heads would preclude an Atakaskin from doing any of this work.  Look closely.  Each scale on every figure is accurate to the finest detail.  Solomon’s three thick fingers would not be well suited to this kind of work.”

“My people are skilled and agile enough for any task.”  Solomon’s voice sounded annoyed.  “Do not presume to know too much.”

Near the archway, hanging like a loose thread was a narrow stone pillar with the bottom portion knocked away and unseen.  All three stopped to take in the marvel.  It was only as wide as Solomon’s palm.  There was nothing connecting the stone to the floor and yet it hung from the high ceiling.

“This is wondrous!”  Gesper jumped at it to get a better look.  “How does this just hang?!  It must weight tons and yet it just hangs there completely unsupported!  And look the symbol for the Rift Well is etched into the bottom!”
 
Grim ran up beside the other hodge his quills quivering with excitement.  “Also look at the carvings on it.  They look like us!  Amongst all this indescribable sculpture, the most noteworthy work has hodges on it.”

Gesper continued.  “And I think those notches are for climbing to the buttresses above.”

“The symbol is right here!  The scrolls tell us to look for the symbol.”  Gesper set his shoulders.  “Go ahead Grim.  Hop off my shoulders, see if you can reach it, and start climbing.”

“Enough!”  Solomon’s shout echoed with such strength it felt as if the shrine shook.  “You are fools!  The Tonic nor the Well would be unguarded!  What you are playing with must be a trap and we will not just walk into it.

This quest is mine and the treasure is for my people.  It would not be accessible only to hodges!”

“We’re sorry Solomon.”  Grim began.  “We saw something wondrous and like animals we raced to the bait.  Good fortune be with us, it’s a good thing you’re here to protect us.”

They continued to the archway, which was actually the beginning of a tunnel.  It was unlit and without the statuary of the shrine.  The top edge was level with Solomon’s head.  Grim and Gesper had no difficulty walking through however, Solomon felt compelled to dip his massive shoulders.

Darkness reclaimed them until Solomon breathed flame on the palentite Grim found near the archway.  The chamber was volumous but nothing as large as the shrine’s entrance.  The walls resembled those of the Utapan’s caves only without any rough outcroppings.  At the far end, was another tunnel.  A short stack of rocks holding a silver flask sat in front of the opening.

“Look!”  Gesper picked up a broken blue scale.  It was chipped around the edges and covered in dust.  “I suppose we’ve arrived.  But were is the trap?”

Grim stepped forward a bit.  “It’s here.  I can smell it.  It’s something I’ve smelled before but never this strong.  Hmmm, I cannot be sure what it is.”

Solomon’s expression didn’t change.  The light coming from his eyes and the yellow glow coming from under his scales only intensified a bit. 

“You may wait here.  If you see me fall, you may flee.  I have no doubt I will be attacked before I reach the second archway.”

“And where would we flee to?  The wall protecting the sanctuary has no doubt healed by now and we cannot…” Gesper stopped, realizing that Solomon was ignoring him.

Treetops like spires surrounded Rudolph’s small cottage.  Built from stone and rough-hewn timber it was a lonely but sturdy home.  It was planted in its location as strongly as the trees around it.

Rudolph was a hermit of sorts and a landowner, which in Eastern Europe made him a wealthy man.  No roads, trade routs, or rivers wound through his hills.  His lands were far removed just as he wanted them. 

Except for his poor health, Rudolph lived exactly as he chose.  He didn’t farm or bother with the little lords or dukes located on every border.  Rudolph lived modestly on timber sales from his hilly, heavily forested lands.
 
Visitors were turned away except for Erwin.  The young man was a woodworker’s son from the nearby village of Hildagriff.  The boy was nine years old and was allowed to journey over the hills to visit Rudolph. 

They would walk the woods or spend the entire day playing chess. 

Erwin was learning much of the woodworker’s trade from his father.  He had carved both of Rudolph’s chess sets and other small items around the collage. 

The young man would listen as Rudolph described distant places the trade routs led, boats on the great seas, and the magic beings that inhabit the woods.

“Their names are Rudavich and Slobadon.  They are gardeners but not the simple type we know.  They grow plants that are not found anywhere else in the world.  But they despise each other and are very distrustful of anyone else.”

“Why do allow them on your land?” 

Rudolph laughed.  “Rudavich and Slobadon were both here long before I was.  They don’t bother me and I never disturb them.  Oddly enough, they do a better job protecting my lands then I do.  The wolves that wander these woods are theirs.”

Erwin moved his bishop.  “Then why do they fight?”

“They don’t fight exactly.  In fact, they are both caretakers of the same hidden garden.”  Rudolph studied the board as he spoke.  “The garden is an inheritance they received from their father almost two hundred years ago. 

Problems arose when Rudavich and Slobadon began arguing about which plants belonged to whom.  They work the same garden but have been at each other’s throats all this time.

You see, the garden grows plants and small trees from seeds saved from Creation’s first garden.  Almost all the plants contain some spark of magic.  Now you are the only other person to know about the garden’s existence.”

“Now I know you’re lying.  You talk like they are hundreds of years old!”

Rudolph sat up as if offended.  “They are!  Did I not say the garden grows magic?  They eat from it and stay healthy.  If only they would share with me.  Then I wouldn’t be looking at death as closely as I do now.”

Erwin made another move, one that would win the game.  Rudolph wasn’t trying.  “The land is yours.  Why don’t you demand this magic fruit as rent?”

“Never, boy.  I fear their wrath as I fear my coming death.”

Erwin was interested in hearing more about the location of the garden but Rudolph swore he’d never been there.  “The wolves would turn me aside whenever I came too close.”

The boy left shortly after their game.  Rudolph’s poor health meant he needed a great deal of rest to have enough strength for his chores each day.

Several days later, Erwin returned to the cottage.  The door was still bolted shut and a foul odor eased from the windows.  Erwin called and received no response.  Finally, the boy smashed through a set of shutters.  He found Rudolph dead in his bed.

Erwin ran back to Hildagriff bringing back his father and several other men.  He cried as he ran.  He was sorry that death had finally claimed the old man and that Rudolph had to wait days before anyone discovered him.    

When Erwin and the village men arrived, Erwin’s father immediately sent the boy into the woods.  “We will call you to return once the grave is finished.  You will be allowed to say goodbye.”

The woods seemed especially quiet as Erwin walked through them.  He kept to paths he and Rudolph had walked together.  The tears slowed but they did not cease.

“So, Rudolph the mighty has finally died.”  A voice like gravel startled Erwin.  He jumped as he found the speaker.  It was a man who appeared mature but not old.  He was tall in a long, gray robe.  His beard was cut short.

“You know, your friend was once a mighty warrior.  It’s how he won these lands many years ago.”

“Sir, who are you?”

“My name is Rudavich and I too grieve over the loss of our mutual friend.”  He paused as he reached into his robe and pulled out a dark green stone the size of a walnut.  “Shall we retrieve his spirit?”

Erwin wiped the last tears away.  “Sir, he is dead almost four days.  My father and others dig a grave for him now.  No cure will help.”

Rudavich smiled.  “You are correct.  His former body is worth little now but if you place this seed in the corpse’s hand, a tree will grow that will house his spirit.  After twenty years, the tree will have grown enough to cut down.  The heartwood inside will contain Rudolph’s essence.  At that time, he may find a way to communicate with you.”

Erwin took the glossy green-black seed from Rudavich’s outstretched hand.  It had an oily feel.  “Sir, I must confess that I do not believe you.  I do this only because Rudolph believed in your magic.”

“Very well.”  Rudavich leaned forward.  “One other thing boy, the soulbind tree you are about to plant will begin bearing fruit after its third year.  After the first frost, you must come here and pick up all the seeds and burn them.  The ground Rudolph’s house is built on is saturated with blood of the wretches he slew.  Do not let another soulbind draw upon the souls of evil men.”

Years passed and a tree did grow behind Rudolph’s old home.  It grew rapidly widening over and inch each year.  The bark glistened with an oily sap that seemed to constantly drip from the narrow leaves.  Seeds like the one he put in Rudolph’s hands did drop three seasons later.  Erwin picked them up and burned them just as he had been instructed.

Rudolph’s land changed over the years as well.  Lords from nearby claimed Rudolph’s lands and parceled it up.  However, besides the vicious wolves, a poisonous nettle began growing in patches around the edges of the land.  It’s spines cut through leather and made horses and men alike terribly sick.  The land was forsaken as cursed.

The poisonous plants and wolves did not disturb Erwin.  As a grwon man, he came and went as he pleased.  He had taken his father’s position as Hildagriff’s carpenter and woodsmith.  Using a small saw cart, he would leave the woods with short logs from fallen trees as he needed.

He thought of Rudavich and his brother.  Sometimes he would wander the hills looking for the brothers or at least the one man he did see.  It seemed hard to believe that they even existed.  Yet, Erwin had never seen a tree like the soulbind and poisonous thistles.  They were there.

Twenty years erased much of Erwin’s hope regarding the soulbind tree.  He continued to pick the seeds each fall but he wasn’t sure why.  He had almost forgotten about Rudavich’s promise.  He decided to make this year’s trip to the dark tree his last. 

Erwin entered the forest and spied the tall gardener sitting on a rock near the soulbind.  While Erwin had grown into manhood, Rudavich looked exactly the same.

 “I see you have your saw with you young Erwin.  That’s good.  I need to do this quickly for it is dangerous for me to be gone from my garden too long.”

Erwin replied, “Rudavich?  Is that you?”

Rudavich dismissed him.  “Bring your blade.  Hurry.  I will take the other end and help you.  Then I will release heartwood.  Let’s begin.  I haven’t much time.”

Erwin hurried to comply.  “Why are you doing this?”

Rudavich took his side of the saw and worked it with surprising strength.  “I seek allies in my struggle against my brother.  But our garden is shielded against common men entering it much like the poison nettles that now protect the land.”

“Please excuse me, but I don’t understand.”

“I will have a servant.  Rudolph has the extended life he wanted and you will met your old friend again.  There is nothing else you need to understand.”

With Rudavich’s strength the men cut through the soulbind in surprising time.  The tree swayed for a moment then fell to the ground with the snap of tree branches.  The ancient gardener then reached into his robe again and threw a yellow dust over the tree’s length.

“Step back Erwin.  These are yut spores.  They will have everything but the heartwood decomposed by tomorrow.” 

Wherever the yellow looking spores landed bulbous mushroom head grew covering the bark in mere seconds.

Rudavich cleaned his hands across his robe.  “When you come back tomorrow, I won’t be here.  Take the heartwood back to your shop and carve it into a statue with a man’s shape.  Rudolph should be able to communicate with you then.”

With those words, Rudavich turned to the woods and disappeared.  Erwin watched the ferocious mushrooms for another couple of minutes.  Some of the mushroom caps were beginning to sink into the soulbind’s trunk.  It reminded Erwin of a hungry animal.

When Erwin returned the next day, the mushrooms were a pile of dried husks.  A breeze picked up the yellow flakes and began carrying them away.  What was left was an odd shaped length of wood.  It was four feet long and nearly seven inches thick in places.  The ends were rounded and the exterior was still covered in an oily sap.

Erwin picked it up.  Its warmth surprised him.  The wood’s entire length seemed to vibrate under his touch. 

“Could it be true?”  Erwin thought.  “Is it possible that a Rudolph’s spirit inhabits this wood?”

Erwin put his other work aside and spent the next two days carving on the soulbind’s heartwood.  He notched in arms and legs.  The figure would be three feet tall and six inches across the shoulder. 

He was shocked the first time he saw the carving move.  His chisel had just knocked out the wood connecting the arm with the rest of the body.  The wood sounded like it was splitting but it didn’t shatter.  It only bent and the arm moved.

Erwin worked through the night sure now that a spirit was contained in the wood.  With its ability to move on its own, there was no need to split the wood for joints.  Erwin carved a brimmed hat, shirt, trousers, and a sharp sat on the end of his worktable.  It looked more like an elf than Randolph.

The wooden figure looked around using its joints.  Its eyes didn’t have pupils but it did seem to turn toward Erwin.  From inside the wooden figure’s chest, came the wrenching sound of splitting wood.  It was taking in air!

Then the woodman produced a voice that sounded like a notes from a woodwind instrument.  “Erwin, my boy.  Look how you’ve grown!  It’s me, Randolph.”

Erwin sat down his chisel.  “Randolph, is that really you?  I didn’t know if I made the right decision when you died.”

Rudolph brought his arm up.  It was a stiff motion.  “Yes, you did fine.  You see I am reborn into a different existence.  It is one of near immortality.  I knew Rudavich would approach you.”

Erwin’s old friend then hopped off the table and unto the floor.  Rudolph wavered a bit still unstable on his new legs.

“I’m returning to Rudavich now.  As a creature of magic, I can now enter his garden!”  Randolph’s wooden head creaked upward.  “Fear not my friend, you may still return to the land at any time.  I will find you.  When I’m not assisting Rudavich, we can take our walks or even a game of chess.”

Erwin did return to the forest to see his friend.  Randolph would ride on Erwin’s shoulder as they walked the same old paths.  But Randolph’s mood changed as time went progressed.  He became less and less available and often a week or more went by before Erwin saw the wooden man.

“Slobadon and Rudavich continue to fight and things have become very bitter.”  Rudolph began one day in his woodwind voice.  “I assist Rudavich which has allowed him to cultivate a larger portion of the garden.  This angers Slobadon and I fear he is planning some recompense.”

Another year passed and Rudolph stopped coming to his meetings with Erwin completely.  The carpenter searched the woods for his old friend but could not find him or the garden. 

Soon after, Erwin received an unexpected visitor at his home.  It was past midnight and Erwin had been asleep for hours when a pounding at his door woke him.  He lit a candle before opening the door. 

The man looked like Rudavich but was broader with a slightly longer beard.  He pushed past Erwin walking straight to the worktable.

He picked up Erwin’s chisel.  “We have never met but I’m sure you know me.  I am Slobadon and you are Erwin the carpenter who worked Rudavich’s soulbind slave.”

There was no question in his statement so Erwin didn’t respond.

Slobadon opened his robe and dropped a leather bag on the table.  “Behind your home is a small cart filled with soulbind heartwood.  I need it carved into puppets less than two weeks from now.  This bag is filled with Roman gold.  It is enough to for a man of your designs to do whatever you want.”

Erwin stared at the bag.  “But I thought soulbind needed a grave and years to grow.”

“Do you think you were the only one picking up soulbind seeds?  I knew of my brother’s plot immediately after he approached Rudolph.  I planted my trees over the site of an ancient battle and hid them with a special vine.”

“What about Rudolph?  If I craft your servants, will he come to harm?”

Slobadon’s look took a dark cast.  “The woodman will not be harmed.  If you fail to do as I have asked, you will.”

“Then I agree.”  Erwin took up his hammer.  “I will begin now and you will have your first servant before another day passes.”

The woodsmith worked tirelessly for the week and a half.  He added a different hat and slightly different features to every soulbind statue.  And just as Rudolph had done they seemed to spring to life as he neared completion.  When they were finished, most simply jumped off the table and disappeared without even a word.  Others took a moment to thank him in some ancient tongue.

With his increased power, Slobadon forced Rudavich from the garden.  Without produce from the garden Rudavich grew weak and his advanced years began to catch his body. 

But the banished gardener was not done.  He still had Rudolph and his pouch of magic seeds.

Rudavich kept a cutting called leech vine.  It was a purple leafed plant that fed ferociously off of magic and covered ground faster than advancing fire.  It would consume the garden in minutes destroying every magic plant.  The vine would also consume Slobadon’s soulbind servants and would likely take Slobadon as well.  After ingesting the garden’s produce for so many years, both brothers were traced with magic.

Rudavich had a plan for saving the garden.  In addition to his own seed pouch, Slobadon’s seeds would be enough to replant the garden after the leech vine died. 

“Rudolph,” He took the woodman near the garden.  “Slobadon will take a bath today and he always removes his pouch.  Go into the garden, steal the pouch, and then run to the tall razor grass on my side of the garden.  Half buried in the grass you will find an iron lockbox.  Crawl inside with the pouch and wait.  The iron will protect you from the advancing leech vine.”

Rudolph agreed.  He walked through the garden past a small army of beings similar to him.  They recognized him as one of them and didn’t raise any protest. 

Rudolph pitied them.  Within two hours, the earth would reclaim their precious second lives.

Taking Slobadon’s satchel was simple.  The gardener relaxed in the sun resting beside a spring feed stone basin.  He ran cups of cool clear water over his limbs then wiped off the water with a glossy yellow leaf.  Slobadon closed his eyes and cradling his head between stones.  

Rudolph snatched the seeds then made his way to the razor grass on the other side of the garden.  He knew Rudavich wouldn’t wait beyond what was deemed necessary for the task.  If the box wasn’t reached in time, all his efforts would become for naught.

The iron safe box was right were Randolph was told to find it.  It was covered in dirt and rust but the sides were still thick.  He crawled inside just as a cry came out.  Slobadon had discovered his seeds were missing.

Rudavich sat on with his back against a common oak.  He was near the edge of his garden looking at it one last time.  He could see the soulbind puppets moving small mounds of dirt and watering the creation era plants he had raised.  Between his thumb and forefinger, he spun the dried leech vine.  Finally, he heard this bother’s cry of distress.

He stood and walked to the garden’s very edge.  One end of the vine was placed in the ground with the leaf pointing into the garden.  Rudavich watered it and stepped away.

The purple vine did nothing for a minute.  It had been dormant for over a thousand years.  Then color and fullness rushed through the stem and leaf.  The growth end of the vine lengthened sinking into the edge of the garden.  Then two sprigs sprang up, then four, ten, and anther seventeen.  Everywhere the vine took root the ground and plants went gray and died.

The deadly purple creeper began taking the garden much faster than even Rudavich had expected.  Magic was taken and pulled into the decaying earth.  Rudavich saw the first soulbind servant become tangled in the leech vine.  A low whistle of fear came from its wooden throat and then it was dust.

Rudavich couldn’t watch the last reservoir of creation’s magic being so savagely taken so he turned away.  He heard his brother cry out again but he did not turn to look. 

“A new garden will rise up in its place.” He told himself.  “Another place of magic that I do not need to share with my foolish brother.”

When the leech vine reached the garden’s edge it died.  Normal grasses and ferns could not sustain it.  With the magic gone, it withered and went dormant.

Before entering, Rudavich burnt the land.  He would not risk reactivating the vine and suffering the same fate as his brother.  The iron box Randolph was hiding in would heat but not harm his servant.

Later, the iron box was located and freed from the charred ground.  Rudavich opened the box.  Inside was the dried wooden shell of Randolph.  His wooden form stiff and lifeless with one arm holding open the satchel.

It was the last thing Rudavich saw before realizing that he had fallen into a trap.  The satchel taken from Slobadon was filled with skull nettle powder the most absolute of poisons.  Slobadon’s seeds must have been kept safe somewhere else and this bag was a decoy.

Rudavich dropped the iron box.  The breeze had stirred the dust and he knew it was already too late.  He could taste the skull nettle on his tongue and sense it in his nose.

“Slobadon!” He screamed.  “Slobadon!  Help me!”

Rudavich’s eyes went red and he fell to the ground.

************

Erwin never learned what happened deep inside Hildagriff’s woods.  He watched but never again saw the soulbind men he carved.  Rudolph, Slobadon, or Rudavich were not heard from again.  Not long afterward, the wolves dispersed and the poison plants that cursed the land died back. 

Erwin used the money Slobadon had given him to buy all of Randolph’s land.  He built a small estate home on the site of the hermit’s cottage.

He knew death would eventually come for him as well.  But unlike most he was prepared.  Erwin wore a gold pendant that was set with a greenish-black seed the size of a walnut.  He had saved one of the soulbind seeds and one day he would tower over his land. 

Kabao ran through the forest fighting the night’s darkness and hard rain.  The branches swayed along with the wind’s terrible howl.  Her clothes were wet with the chill seeping to her bones.  She had caught a glimpse of the goat running this way and with luck she would soon catch it.

The gate where she kept her small number of goats had been blown open by the storm.  Echoing thunder and lightning bothered the animals but usually didn’t throw them into the panic her flock was in when she arrived.  Kabao managed to capture most but this last one made it all the way to the woods.

Above Kabao’s head, illuminated only when lighting lit the sky, was one of China’s magic dragoon’s.  It’s large head and serpentine body weaved just above the treetops swimming through the storm as a snake.  Its name was Ioda.

The dragon peeked through the trees watching with amusement as the peasant woman chased her goat.  It was the dragon, not the storm that opened the gate.  Ioda’s jade teeth, fore claws, and eyes sent the animals into a panic not the lightning.

“She is close to catching the billy.”  The dragon thought.  “If I am to have anymore fun with this chase perhaps it’s time I sent it moving in the other direction.”

Shrinking in size to only fifteen arm lengths, the dragon dipped into the trees.  With the speed of a falcon, it snatched the goat with one claw then coiled below the next rise.

Kabao was fighting for breath and praying that she would catch her goat soon.  She ran over a swell in the land and was ambushed by the dragon’s wide maw.  She let out a scream and fell backward onto the wet ground.

The dragon reared up and laughed.  Thunder and the dragon’s roar mingled further freighting Kabao.  After a moment, Ioda blew a huge plume of green fire into the sky.  The storm responded by calming into a drizzle.

Ioda bent its head down to Kabao, it’s lips bent back into a satisfied grin.  “Woman, why are you running after your animals during such a storm?  Is your husband still cozy in his bed?”

“I have no husband.  The farm I live on belongs to me but is in my brother’s name.  Only after I marry will I truly have it.  And my brother forbids it.  He wishes the land for his own heirs.”

The dragon’s jade eyes looked hard into Kabao’s soul.  Dragons do not see as normal people.  When a soul is present, they are unable to see the natural appearance even through a reflection.  Dragons care nothing about the physical appearance.  It is part of their magic to view only the very structure of the soul.

Kabao appeared as a medley of strong colors.  Under the fear and shock, Ioda could see intelligence, character, and loneliness.  This woman had a beautiful spirit.

The dragon reared back transforming into a man with one hand still on the goat.  “My name is Ioda.  My lady, what is yours?”

“I am Kabao.”  She took a step back, unsure what would happen next.

“Kabao, I will be your husband.  My hundreds of years as a dragon have become a bit boring.  I wish to taste life as a human.”

“But why would a creature as powerful as a dragon ever agree to become human?”

Ioda grinned again, this time with only a touch of additional warmth.  “I wish a son.  I want to experience what only humans can.  You see, dragons are born only when unfiltered moonlight threads together with a powerful bolt of lighting.  It is a magical process and very rare.”

Kabao looked upon Ioda’s new form.  He was a good-looking man with broad shoulders and a straight back.  The only thing that marked him as different was the powerful green color to his eyes.  Even now in the middle of a darkened forest, they glowed like vibrant jade.

“But what about my brother?”

Ioda stepped forward and took her hand.  “We dragons have amazing good fortune and can grant many wishes.  I think your brother will find his life much improved without keeping the yoke across your shoulders.”

A year later, a son was born to Ioda and Kabao.  The boy was large and healthy with eyes that were the same blazing shade of green as his father.  They named him Tzen.

And yet, human life eventually lost its appeal for Ioda.  His magic and good fortune made the farm profitable but life as a human was still hard work.  Tzen grew but was much more human in characteristics than Ioda had hoped. 

While dragons lived for hundreds of years and had access to many magic powers, the boy would grow old like his mother and eventually die.  Ioda’s mischievous spirit overtook him and he decided to leave.

One evening after Tzen was put to bed, Ioda invited Kabao to talk with him outside their home.

“Kabao,” He began.  “It is time I returned to my old ways.  Life as a human is hard and I have had my fill.  I wish to stretch my body between the earth and sky.  You may marry again for I will not return.”

Ioda’s eyes flashed green and his body morphed into the massive dragon he once was. 

“No!”  Kabao screamed and jumped at Ioda.  She grabbed one of the dragon’s long black whiskers and would not let go.  “You cannot leave!  You have made obligations to me and to our son!”
   
Ioda gave a chuckle that sounded like large drums.  “Woman, a dragon kind cannot be leashed by human bounds or ideas.  Now release my whisker.” 

“Your son has yet to grow!  He needs his father!  You cannot leave him like this!”

“Very well,” Ioda took his jaded claw to his muzzle and twisted off the whisker from which Kabao clung.  “I hoped that my son would be dragon in shape and power but now I see that is impossible.  The whisker is my final gift.  It holds a portion of my powers.  The whisker is impervious as I am and will bring the boy good fortune all of his days.”

Before Kabao could reach him again, Ioda uncoiled into the sky like ribbon.  The dragon was gone a second later.  Kabao was alone with only the six-foot whisker lying across her palms.

Years passed, Tzen grew and Kabao remarried.  Kabao’s second husband was a good man who adapted Tzen as one of his own.  But as he reached adulthood, it was clear Tzen was nothing like his half brothers and sisters.

Tzen’s eyes were a fantastic shade of a jade-like green.  The young man had the dragon’s vision as well.  Instead of flesh and bone, people were outlined with indescribable colors that represented every thread of the human soul.  Tzen knew the color of heartbreak, integrity, affection, hate, and remorse.  He could judge men’s character with only a moment’s glance.

The only faces he saw were those of the dead.  Those whose souls were gone and only the body remained.

Even using a mirror, Tzen never knew what he looked like.  He came to put very little value in his appearance.  He wore his hair long and rarely shaved his face at all.

The dragon’s sense of beauty also inhabited Tzen’s mind.  Using the narrow end of Ioda’s whisker, he would script the most beautiful poetry.  He stretched the ability of the Chinese language in order to describe the true essence of the human spirit.

The rest of the dragon’s whisker was looped over Tzen’s shoulder and around his waist where it served him as a belt.
 
Ioda’s gift did indeed bring Tzen good fortune.  The governor of the Xiolin province delighted in Tzen’s talents.  The governor invited Tzen to live in his court to be his chief scribe and councilor. 

One day, ministers from the Emperor’s Palace in Shanghi began appearing at the court of Xiolin’s governor.  Tzen had never before seen such a motley group of fools.  Their spirits were covered in pride and ignorance.  They proclaimed changes in the country’s laws. 

They were ridiculous decrees such as shortening the hems for all officials by six inches and lengthening the cuffs by the same amount.  Some were contradictory.  Others nullified laws that had come into effect only months previously.

This confusion and the sorry men the Emperor was using worried Tzen.  “With barbarian’s prowling at China’s borders, the emperor is spending his time chasing cats and collaring birds.  But worst of all are these emissaries that wear the imperial colors.  They are buffoons!”

The latest group of officials was the worst.  They make a mockery of the governor’s hospitality sending back their roast pork three times and demanding all the best accommodations. 

The words they brought from the Emperor were just as disheartening.  “Tzen, you are called to the Emperor’s court.  Your poetry has reached his ears.  Now he wants you as a member of his court.  We are to be there in a week.”

Tzen arrived in Shanghi amidst a festival of confusion.  Poets, storytellers, musicians, and singers stood on street corners shouting their work to every passerby.  Much of the work was poor and obnoxious to the ears. 

“What is the meaning of this?  Why do the arts suffer at the hands of so many unskilled craftsmen?”

An official colored by arrogance and little else, replied, “One year of required service in the army has been changed to one year of arts performing.  The Emperor has a fine ear for wordsmiths and wants to pick the finest from every man.  We have generals who check on their men everyday rating their work.”

Tzen was furious.  “True poetry is not drawn forth like water from a pump!  It is like a spring that erupts fresh and cool from the rock of the earth!  Most generals know nothing about the scripted word.”

With a raised eyebrow, the official responded, “Are you questioning the son of heaven?”

Inside the palace, Tzen was allowed a bath and change of clothes.  He shaved his long beard and oiled his hair.  He was given the red robe of a royal currier with gold embroidery around the hem and collar.

The Emperor’s inner court was as loud as the streets.  Ministers, generals, and governors stood in small groups yelling to the attendants.  They were bidding for the chance to address the emperor who sat on an elevated throne seemingly unaware of the chaos in his court. 

One of the attendants drew a number from a porcelain vase shouting it above the din.  The minister whose number was drawn would approach the throne.  A gong sounded and all quieted as the lucky minister made his case.
 
Tzen had never seen such a collection to idiots.  He saw the self-seeking, the cowardly, the stupid, and every other type of vice common to men.  Tzen expected to look upon the emperor with even greater contempt but was instead shocked by what he saw.   The emperor was blanketed with wisdom, understanding, and good fortune. 

He looked again.  Floods of mischief and amusement continually overwhelmed his soul and hiding his good sense.  It took Tzen a moment before he recognized the Emperor as the Chinese dragon Ioda.

Ioda was focused on the current minister and had yet to notice Tzen’s presence.  The dragon in human form nodded then shook his head one reaction after another confusing the pleading minister.  Ioda’s soul colored like that of a new rose petal, he was having fun.

“That is the purpose of this.”  Tzen thought.  “The dragon is tying China into a useless knot just to amuse himself!  He has replaced every wise minister in China with a collection of fools!”

The gong sounded again.  The attendant behind Tzen pushed him in the direction of the throne.  “If I am presented before Ioda, he will recognize my soul!  I must disguise my heart.”

Tzen cleared his mind of everything but amusement and wonder.  He hid the wisdom of his heart and thought only of the chatter of monkeys.

“Mighty and wise Emperor!  We have brought before you the poet of Xiolin Province!”

Tzen closed his eyes and kept his thoughts on peace.  He went to his knees and crawled to the steps of the emperor’s throne with his head bowed.  “Great Lord!  How pleased I am to serve you, oh Son of Heaven!  What is your wish?”

Ioda studied Tzen.  He saw traces of good sense and fortune.

“This one may be no fun at all!”  Ioda thought.  “Only idiots amuse me.  And yet simple amusement taints his soul, I will give him the opportunity to impress me.”

Ioda looked down at Tzen.  “You shall present me with an amusing story tomorrow morning.  I want a story of foolish people and the folly they amass.  I will enjoy it over my breakfast.  If it does not amuse me, you will be sent back to Xiolin tied to the back of a wild horse.”

“Yes, my lord.”  Tzen backed away slowly making sure to mask his soul with appreciation.

A plan came to Tzen almost immediately.  “My father is a god of mischief and trouble.  His power to do evil is nearly endless.  Dragons are impervious to blades, spears, and poisons.  Only by his thirst for trouble can he be manipulated.”  

Tzen undid his belt a bit freeing the narrow portion of the dragon whisker.  He sat at the writing desk in his chamber.  The whisker was looped over the shoulder of his writing hand and the tip was placed into the bottle of ink.  With perfect calligraphy he began to write.
  
The next morning a guard knocked on Tzen’s door.  “Bring your work poet.  The Emperor wants to be entertained while he eats his grapefruit.”

Tzen had not slept at all.  He had worked all night preparing a story that would save his land and people from being the dragon’s toy.  It was finished just as the sun rose.  Tzen gathered the rice paper and began following the guard to the Emperor’s quarters.

Ioda was sitting in a gold studded chair lined with silk. He was fully dressed even at this early hour.  “Welcome poet, stand near the door.  You have a strong reputation amongst your own people.  This is also true among the royal storytellers.  Now you get to amuse me.  Begin.”

Tzen covered his soul with fear.  It was what Ioda would be looking for and the best disguise.  “Lord, I passed through a small village of ignorant people on the road here.  Their silly behavior has inspired my story.  I have titled it after the village’s name Shan-do.”

The story centered on an evil goblin that could change his body to gold.  To cause turmoil, the goblin crept into the cottage of the village elder and made himself into a gold statue of the local god.  The elder was thrilled to have been so blessed and word spread through the village of his good fortune. 

The next night the goblin relaxed his form and crept to the neighbor’s house.  He sat under the villager’s bed and recast his body in gold. 

The next morning the elder found his golden stature missing and had his men search every home.  When the stature was found under the neighbor’s bed, the elder had the man thrown into prison.

Two nights later, the goblin entered another man’s house and hid in his pantry.  The elder again had the village searched and another man was thrown into prison.

Over and over the goblin played his game and over and over the elder had his good but simple villagers thrown into the prison.  Soon, over half of the village was either in prison or had felt the harsh lash.

Ioda laughed and laughed at the clever goblin’s evil tricks and the way it manipulated the foolish elder.  “Very good!  Your story had pleased me indeed!  Where did you say this village was?”

Tzen bowed again.  His soul dressed with excitement over the emperor’s compliment.  “It is a township only a day’s journey up the river.  It is called Shan-do.”

Another laughed escaped the emperor.  He turned to his nearest attendant.  “I have decided to relax for the next week.  I will be in my inner chamber and I do not wish to be disturbed for any reason.  Minister Chan will see to the palace’s affairs.”

Then Ioda looked back to Tzen.  “You are now a full member of my court.  You may leave and go as you will but when I return I want a poem on the magnificence of my court.  You are dismissed.” 

Tzen captured another brief glimpse of Ioda before turning toward the doorway.  He could see mischief welling up in Ioda’s mind.  The dragon had taken the bait.

Tzen slept the remainder of the day and arranged for a horse to ride that night.  But he had no intention of returning.  Tzen knew that Ioda was flying somewhere in the darkened skies above him. 

When Tzen arrived at the village of Shan-do, the people where in a squall about the discovery of a solid gold stature.  A sudden and severe storm had caused a mudslide and the statue was found with its golden brow showing from the mud. 

The villagers paraded the golden statue about inviting all to see then placed it in the elder’s home.

Tzen did not go to observe the golden god.  He knew that if Ioda was able to see he would recognize him and become suspicious.

A full moon illuminated the village that night.  Tzen sat outside the inn waiting for Ioda to move.  He sat around a corner so the dragon would not see him for Tzen’s soul would glow bright in the surrounding darkness.  Several hours after midnight, Tzen saw the golden stature climb from the elder’s window and run over to another’s home.
   
Tzen followed keeping to the shadows and avoiding being seen by any of the villagers. 

Tzen slid into the window and crept through the kitchen.  He peeked into the bedroom and saw Ioda resting just behind a pot.  The dragon’s spirit had entered into a sleep but still glowed against the room’s darkness.  Ioda’s soul would not stir again until it was touched by another soul.

Carefully, Tzen crept into the bedchambers.  There were other souls in the room but they were covered in the deep blue of slumber.  Tzen wrapped his hands in the hem of his robe before picking up Ioda’s still body.  He then turned and escaped the same way he came.

In the woods near Shang-do, Tzen unwrapped the dragon whisker from around his waist and bound the golden statue tight.  He was sure not to touch Ioda with his hand for fear of waking the dragon before he was finished. 

When all six-arm lengths of the whisker were tightly bound, Tzen went ahead and touched the top of Ioda’s body with his finger.  The powerful spirit inside the stature stirred. 

His gold body shook before discovering it was tied.  “What is this?  Where am I?  Who are…” At that instant, Ioda’s soul sight recognized his son.  “The poet of Xiolin?  Tzen!  What are you doing?  How did I not recognize you?”

“I am part dragon Ioda.  You gave me the dragon’s sight.  I recognized you the instant I saw your soul illegally perched on China’s throne.  My emotions were hidden from you although you could have seen though my disguise if you had been wary.  I do not know what you have done with the real emperor but your days of playing with China are ended.”  

Ioda laughed.  “Son, again you disappoint me.  I will simply shape change back to my dragon body.  Your leather bindings will snap like a silk thread.  A dragon kind cannot be leached by any human bond or idea!  I told your mother that when I left.  Did she teach you nothing about me?”

Tzen ran his fingers across the whisker.  “She taught me that you are mischievous and not worthy of trust.  And she taught me that a dragon whisker cannot be broken only plucked.  You are held tight by your own magic.”

A new color enveloped the anger in Ioda’s soul, it was a bright streak of fear.  Tzen felt the gold statue vibrate as it tried to change shape.  The whisker quivered then tightened under the unbelievable strain of Ioda’s magic.  But it would not give.

Tzen took the captive dragon to the river.  Using a small fishing boat, he navigated to the deepest part.  Ioda sat on the other side.  Streaks of brilliant emotions tore across his soul. 

“You cannot do this!  I am a dragon!  Tzen, stop!  You have proven yourself to be clever!  I’ll give you anything you desire!”

Tzen reached over, picked up the golden statue, and dropped it into the water. 

The master poet and scribe took the knowledge of Ioda’s tomb to the grave.  Since then, no dragon has meddled on such a scale with the affairs of men. 

Elias wandered down from one of the thickly treed hillsides of early Europe.  Below him, a village clung to the meandering river like an infant’s hand around his mother’s finger.  Perhaps here he would find shelter and food for the night.

The wizard had followed a deer trail through the woods.  With his wand before him, the recent hoof prints glowed white.  Elias never traveled the trade routes used by the common people, he found using nature’s shortcuts much faster.

He had been in the thick forest looking for a tree he knew no longer existed.  The moonroot tree grew only when sunlight was filtered by Luna’s surface.  Only the wood from the thin, barkless tree was suitable for wands and no real spell could be completed without the curved five-foot staffs.  It grew tortuously slow and had been loosing ground to more vigorous, sun-soaking specimens for hundreds of years. 

Wizards, mages, and seers were always a thin profession limited in number by the difficulty of their art and the scarcity of the moonroot.  In fact, a suitable moonroot had not been found since Elias claimed his wand in 563 AD.  During his long life, Elias has had two apprentices leave in frustration and disgust after years of searching the Roman Empire and then the Germanic lands for moonroots.

Self-pity and shades of bitterness marked his thinking like a scar.  “And now it appears I am the last to walk in the wizard’s shoes.”

Elias looked around him.  He closed his eyes and let his presence reach into the earth and touch the clouds above his head.  The magic didn’t speak to him in terms of tribe or nationality.  It showed him rivers, mountains, and the great seas. 

“I am near the fertile land of the Franks.  To the East, lies Saxony.”

The village below looked vigorous with the occasional ox drawn wagon rolling along the hard packed roads, its axel in desperate need of grease.  Small stone cottages were built haphazardly around the town square like a spilt box of children’s toys.  Two thick spires from the town’s cathedral pierced the sky and nearby were larger, two story structures one of which was an inn.

Elias made his way to the town and stopped before the inn’s wide door.  There were no sounds coming from the inside.  A good inn always had commotion of some sort. 

The wizard went inside.  Its common room was dark with canvas draped across every other window.  It was an obvious sign that the owner of the inn was in mourning.  He approached the woman who had appeared from the kitchen at the sound Elias’ entry.

“Welcome to the Le’Porta sir, but I am afraid your welcome isn’t what it should be.  The owner has died and his young widow is in no spirit to care for guests.  As you can see we are in mourning.”

“Lady,” Elias replied.  “All I require to eat is a crust of bread and salted meat.  All I need to bathe is a large tub filled with rainwater.  And all I need to sleep is a straw filled pallet.  I will pay in silver.”

The woman looked down.  Elias saw that she was a mature woman whose hair was still mostly brown with hints of gray.  Her strong posture had fooled him into mistaking her for a younger woman. 

“They could use the money.”  She pointed to the kitchen door.  “I will serve you.  Go to the kitchen, on one wall is a large iron washtub.  While I am preparing your bed, you may start the fire in the hearth, take water from the rain barrel and heat it to make your bath.  When you are finished your meal will be waiting here by the fireplace.”

Elias went to the kitchen and used his moonroot staff to begin a fire.  He levitated the entire rain barrel bringing it into the kitchen with only a few light pushes and poured it into the iron washtub with strength from his shortest finger.  Then he dipped his wand into the water until it was at a near boil.  Once he replaced the rain barrel, Elias found the lye soap to was his clothes and body.

“I wonder,” he thought as his body soaked.  “Would it be worth my time to ask my hostess about the innkeeper?  Perhaps I can help if it doesn’t take too long.  I have many miles to travel before reaching the coast of Britannia.”

After his bath, the wizard dried his clothes with a touch of the moonroot and went into the commons area where he expected to find his meal.  Elias entered the room and saw the woman tending to the fireplace.  On the table behind her, was a plate and a wooden cup.

She stood suddenly when she noticed his presence.  “Oh, sir.  I have prepared some venison for you along with an old carrot or two I found in the cellar.  There is some new milk in the cup though.”

Elias sat and began eating.  “This is good.  Thank you.  What is your name, dearest?”

“Inge.”  She sat down on a stool across from him.  “It’s not a pretty name but it is sturdy, I suppose.”

“You grace it with you actions and stature.”  Elias took a bite.  The meat was tough but it would suffice.

She pointed to the moonroot wand on the table next the Elias.  “I notice you carry a walking stick.  Do you have a poor leg?”

Elias laughed.  “No lady, this is a thin branch of willow from my homeland.  It has no value other than to remind me of where I’ve been.”  He gave his wand a dismissive gesture.  “Why don’t you tell me what became of the innkeeper and why you now care for this place alone?”

“Almost a year ago, the Frankish lords came through with an army.  They were on a campaign to punish the barbarian Saxons for raids some ways to the north.  The men of this village were promised a share from what was taken.  Most went and returned with less money than they had hoped for but at least they came back.”

Inge paused and whiped a tear from her cheek.  “Four men did not return.  The innkeeper was one of them.  Like my husband, they followed the sword and it turned on them.”

“You mentioned a widow earlier.”

Inge turned to the fire.  “Yes, actually all were married with at least one small child.  They are still in mourning spending most of their days at home weeping for their husbands while family and others help care for their children.”

“And you take care of the inn?”

“I do more than that but their grief does not abate.  They wail and cry as they lack even bodies to bury.  I don’t know how long this can last.”

Elias took a drink from his milk.  He joined Inge in looking toward the fire. “How long have they been so distraught?”

“Almost four months.”

“Go and fetch them.”  Elias touched Inge’s shoulder and she turned.  “Bring these widows to me and I will help them.  Don’t ask me why or how just do as I ask.”

Inge brushed her tears away with the tips of her fingers.  Elias’ words didn’t make sense right away.  Then she nodded, “I will do so, but please do not toy with these women.  They are fragile like egg shells.”

While she was gone, Elias finished his meal and considered the spell he would use to help these women.  He considered changing a few rocks to gold, their wool garments into silk, or the dust at their feet into salt.  The wizard took a deep breath casting aside such simple ideas.  He had something better.

Inge returned with four distressed looking women one in the midst of crying.  They were young and in the flower of their beauty.  But before him now they looked haggard, wilted, and dying. 

Elias motioned them to his table and all including Inge sat.  Evening had come and the fire was the only light.  It weaved the women’s darkened spirits into long shadows that glided along the wooden floor.

“Life has dealt harshly with you.  The heart that warmed you and the arms that supported you have been reclaimed.  I cannot take death and raise it unto life but I can offer you husbands that will meet your greatest desire.  I know of men who will love you with every drop of their blood.  If you will accept them, they will offer you your lives back.”

One of the widows spoke up, “How can you offer us this?”

“I have recently passed through a village that has lost many women from a harsh plague only two years ago.  Many strong men survived the pestilence but their wives and children did not.  I say again, if you will accept these men they will restore your hope.”

“We do not know these men.  How do we know they can support us?”

The old wizard smiled.  “Very well, tell me what you need and I will bring you such a man.”

The first widow, a woman named Brena, spoke first, “My husband owned a large farm and was strong.  I need a man who can shoulder a plow and till the earth himself.”

“I know of such a man and once he meets you he will love you with every once of his amazing strength.”

The next widow was called Rachel.  “My husband was the innkeeper.  My next husband must be clever.  No penny or detail can escape his notice.”

“Indeed, I have a suitor  with a great deal of cunning and perception.  In fact, the first thing he will notice will be your beautiful eyes.”

Trena spoke, “All I want is to be protected.  My husband worked the land and protected his sheep.  He let nothing threaten his family or our small home.”

“There is a man in the next village with an iron will.  And yet, he will be willing to lay down his life for you.”

The last widow was named Catherine.  “I want a handsome man of course!  I want to look upon him with not only love but also pride.  He was the mayor’s son and destined to govern this village.”

“I know of such a man.  He is well proportioned and well liked but he will bow to wash your feet.” 

Then Elias looked upon Inge.  “And what about you?  Do you not desire another husband to help warm your bed at night?”

Inge smiled but it was a thin pained look.  “I want what is hardest to find.  My first husband was kind above all other things. And for many years I have waited to meet another.”

Elias marveled at her.  “Lady, I will search for a man worthy of your wisdom.  Pray that I find one.”  Then he stood and spoke to all of the widows.  “I leave this very moment!  I will return in only one week’s time.  Go home and prepare them for new husbands.”

The wizard picked up his moonroot wand and tossed a couple of silver tokens onto the table.  The women stood as he left but no one said anything or bothered him with another question.  He had woven his words with such conviction and confidence that all felt certain they could believe him.

Elias wandered the woods for days.  He came across a tall stag with antlers that sat on the deer’s head like a crown.  The wizard pointed his wand at the stag and it instantly changed into an equally handsome man.

With another stroke of the moonroot soft birch bark was woven then transformed into fine new clothes.

They traveled together until Elias found the wide hole of a badger den.  He drew the creature out and bent it into another man.  This one formed his hands into fists giving Elias and the other man a wary look.

“Be at peace.  You have nothing to look after here but this worthless soil.  I will take you to one worth protecting.”  He gave the badger clothes in the same fashion.

A day later, a fox crossed the wizard’s path.  Elias pointed with the wand and another man was formed.  “Your wit was keen in the forest and it shall also be so in the world of men.  Come with me.”

The last animal was an ox that had somehow wandered from its owner.  It stood in the forest clearing munching contently on the tall grass.  Elias reworked the four hooves into hands and feet.

“Stronger than any natural man are you.  And even stronger will be the love I have for you to share.”

The week had nearly expired before Elias and his men reached the woods at the village of widows.  He had searched for any animal that exuded kindness and had failed. 

“What man can I find that is kind or wise enough to love the older woman?  Perhaps I can be Inge’s new husband?  I have wasted enough of my life searching for the moonroot trees.  I know they no longer exist.  If she will have me, I will marry her.”