'Yes,' Logan nodded, 'but I don't see…'
'That second dream was, in all truth, the first dream,' the Smythe went on. 'I had to first wait until you had arrived in Sparrill, see who you were, and then go back in time and warn you. That was what I meant by it must have worked. Is all this understandable?'
'The second dream was the first?' Logan repeated unsteadily. 'Like in a time warp or something?'
'Crudely put, but yes. I couldn't do anything until after the wind had picked someone up and I learned who that someone was. All right?'
The young man rubbed at his forehead, the astonishment in his eyes replaced by puzzlement. 'So there's no special reason?'
'None whatsoever,' replied the magician. 'For any of us.'
'Any of us?' Logan echoed. 'It certainly made a good choice with you! You became the Smythe!'
'My being the Smythe has hardly anything to do with who I am,' the businessman answered. 'It's not some inner calm that allows me to be a spellcaster here, it's where I'm from. Matthew, you and I are very different here-we don't belong. Because of that, the land senses our difference. What makes this land so different is its magic. The two differences then-us and the magic-clash, and yet, also merge. It was no accident you stumbled upon the Jewel, my boy. You are attracted to magic just like magic is attracted to you.'
'What am I, some kind of magnet?' the young man retorted.
'In a sense, yes,' the Smythe responded. 'Because we are not of Sparrill-not of this world-all magic and magical items attract-and are attracted to-us. It's the strangest twist on 'opposites attract' that I've ever heard of!'
'But I don't want to be a spellcaster,' Logan cried. 'I want to go home.'
Jonathan Smith stroked his chin. 'Not me, my boy,' he said. 'I wanted to stay. I was sick and tired of my life on Earth and was quite glad for the change of pace. Of course, you're not a spellcaster the first day you set foot in Sparrill-it's a slow, lengthy build-up-but I muddled through. I survived. And now'-he motioned about him-'now I am the Smythe, second only to Zackaron.'
'Is Zackaron from Earth too?' Logan wondered.
'Good heavens, no!' the wizard declared. 'Zackaron has the gem in your saddlebag to thank for his powers.'
'What you're saying,' Moknay said from one corner, 'is that Logan is capable of becoming the next Smythe.'
The Smythe turned on the Murderer. 'Quite so. Quite so. In fact, that's the whole reason for the wind. Sparrill's magic knows it must have a vessel in order to be used-for the good of the land, of course. Still, once Logan's here, it's up to him who he sides with.'
'I don't want to side with anybody!' the young man shouted. 'I just want to leave this place. That's why I came here-not to be your bloody replacement!'
The Smythe sighed somewhat and leaned forward in his seat. 'Yes, yes,' he said, 'that's your choice as well. But these 'mistakes' are vital to the land. That, my boy, is something I've come to learn since being here. Mistakes are a vital part of anyone's life… even to something as vast as Sparrill itself.
'You and I, Matthew, are mistakes. And we ourselves suffer from a number of odd accidents. Like the Jewel. As I said before, your leaping astride Pembroke's horse was not accidental, and yet, it was. It was no accident that the Blackbody blamed you first for upsetting the natural Balance of things, and, then again, it was. And it certainly was no accident that you camped by the Ohmmarrious so you could talk to the Sprites, and yet, it was. Is all this understandable?'
'Yeah,' muttered Logan, 'my life here's nothing but one big contradiction.'
The Smythe chuckled at the quip. 'Hardly, dear boy, Hardly. Can you remember what Groathit said to you the first time he faced you? You denied he was there, saying Sparrill was a dream and everyone in it was created by you. Groathit then said, 'I should think not… although… we may become so later.' He was referring to the power you could hold. The power that could, indeed, make Sparrill… or unmake it.'
'Is that why the Reakthi-scum are hounding friend-Logan?' Thromar queried.
'Partially,' the Smythe answered. 'True, if Logan stayed he would be as great as-if not greater than-I am. However, our difference to the world makes both magic and magical items easy to find. Think what Vaugen-or Mediyan-could do with a man who could gather together every single magical force in the land.'
'Destroy anyone who dared stand in their way,' gulped Moknay.
'Or else Matthew could help us,' Cyrene remarked. 'He could help the people destroy both Reakthi and Mediyan.'
'I told you before I don't like that attitude of yours, Cyrene,' the Smythe barked at her.
'I'm not going to work for anyone,' Logan said. 'I had guessed that everyone wanted me because I was different, and I was right. Well, I'm sick and tired of being so different, and I want to go back to my world where I can just fit back in with all the others like myself.'
Thunder boomed from outside.
'Uh… perhaps we had better hand over the Jewel?' Moknay nervously suggested.
'Ah, yes, the Jewel,' the Smythe responded. 'You know, Matthew, I'm really ashamed of you. You've had the ability to halt the Jewel all along.'
Logan's anger exploded at the wizard. 'What do you mean? Am I a spellcaster already? Can I do more than take out my fucking eye?'
The sorcerer winced at the foul language. 'No, no. Attaining the magic takes a long period of time, as I mentioned previously. Of course, being in the areas of great magical concentration speeds up the process, but, even your close proximity to the Jewel hasn't transferred any magic to you. The nearest time you used any force was when you took in the powers of that talisman. But, as for the Jewel, you must remember, Pembroke was Zackaron's servant-boy. He was no spellcaster.'
'Stop talking in riddles, damn you!' Logan spat. 'Answer me this: Can you send me back home?'
The stone chamber was silent.
'Yes,' the Smythe finally whispered.
Another clap of thunder resounded from outside.
'Answer this, then: Will you send me back home?' Logan demanded.
The Smythe got up from his chair. 'If you so wish it.'
The fury boiling inside Logan gradually subsided and relief washed over him. This 'mistake' would be cleared up-Logan would be free to return to his world and his way of life. After all that time of uncertainty, ignorance, and fear, Logan had finally found his way home.
The young man cast his gaze on the three behind him and his guilt crept back into his brain. Druid Launce died to get you here, it told him. Mara was injured trying to save your life. Moknay and Thromar risked their necks to find you. Cyrene gave herself to you in thanks. And now you are just going to leave them? What if your reversal of the wind's 'mistake' causes some major calamity worse than the Jewel?
'It won't unbalance anything if I go back, will it?' he questioned the Smythe.
The spellcaster waved him off. 'No. The wind will probably pick someone else up once it realizes you're gone… hopefully. I'm afraid my time as the Smythe is about up. I'm getting old-even here.'
There seemed to be an aura of despair radiating from the long-haired businessman, and Logan felt the guilt grow. The Smythe had come to love his new world and had hoped to pass on his position to someone with similar feelings. Logan, however, had only tolerated this land. True, he had admitted to himself it had good points, but he still longed to return home. A pity he couldn't pop back to Sparrill whenever his own world grew monotonous.
The Smythe turned away from a bookcase and eyed Logan. 'You're sure you want to go back?' he inquired.
The young man gave his companions one last glance. 'Positive,' he replied.
'Very well, then,' the wizard sighed. He took a few steps toward a corridor. 'We'll have to go into my workroom. These are my living quarters. Can't have any magical smoke seeping into the bedcovers, now can we?'
Although the magician resumed his usual jesting, the gloom still hovered above him. Logan's guilt caused sorrow to twinge in his heart, but he refused to be persuaded by remorse. Not even tears from Cyrene would stop him from going back to his rightful world.
