that since I was brought here and told to bring it with me, then it stands to reason that I should be able to gain some benefit by the information contained within. Why else would they have bothered? And who exactly are “they?” Realizing some questions are going to have to wait, he opens the book and rereads the first couple paragraphs. Two sentences grab his attention:
Rhyme and meter are the most effective forms of spell construction.
Maintain a visualization of the effect you wish to produce.
Sounds easy enough. What the heck, let’s give it a try. Best to keep it simple. He spies a small stick lying on the ground. Concentrating, he creates a visualization of the stick rising off the ground. Now for the words…
Little stick that I have found,
Float three feet off the ground.
Mimicking the action of a dozen different wizards from literature and film, he raises his hand toward the stick and speaks the incantation. With the utterance of the first word, an odd sensation grows deep within his body. Sort of like water rising behind a dam. The growing pressure is not an entirely unpleasant feeling. The utterance of each word causes the pressure to build. As soon as the last word is spoken, the dam breaks and the power surges forth. He can almost see the magic flowing from him to the stick, though it’s probably just his imagination.
The stick slowly rises from the ground. It reaches nearly a foot in the air before he becomes so excited at the effect he has wrought that his concentration breaks and the stick falls back to the ground with a clatter.
I DID IT!!!! James ol’ boy, you are one amazing wizard! Cavorting around with jubilation, he races over and examines the stick which just a moment before had been floating in the air. He hesitantly reaches out and touches it. Seeming normal, he picks it up and examines the wood more closely but doesn’t see anything out of the ordinary. Feeling a little cocky, he formulates another set of words, visualizes the effect he desires, then tosses the stick into the air yelling,
Stick who once on the ground did lie,
Stay your course there in the sky!
His verse wouldn’t win any poetry contests; but then, at the moment he’s more into functionality than artistry. This time he is determined to maintain the visualization. With the utterance of the last word, the power once again surges forth. The stick’s flight through the air comes to a sudden halt six feet above the ground. As it floats motionless in the air, James controls his excitement so as to maintain the visualization and not disrupt the spell.
He comes to the stick and grins while walking around where it hovers in mid-air. Moving his hand over and under the stick, such as what a magician might do to prove to his audience the absence of supporting wires, he encounters nothing. He then reaches out and places his index finger upon its wooden surface. The stick moves the barest of a fraction, but otherwise maintains its position. Placing his hand under the stick, he ceases concentrating upon his desire for the stick to remain motionless in the air and it drops into his hand.
“Yes!”
Quite pleased, he smiles at his success. I could get to like this. Then sadness comes over him when he thinks of how his grandparents are going to feel when he doesn’t come home. I may never make it home. Oh my God! What about Dave? He saw me go through the door. How will he take it? I guess the best he can, that’s all any of us can do.
Reaching into his backpack he removes one of the candy bars he had brought along and munches on it while contemplating his next course of action. Savor it while you can. No telling how long it will be before you can get another. Then the reality of his situation sinks in. What am I going to do for food? Shelter? Toilet Paper??? The thought of using leaves doesn’t bother him half as much as it had before that one camping trip with his dad oh so long ago. He smiles wistfully at the memory.
Realizing that leaning against the log isn’t going to improve his situation, he finishes the candy bar then takes a really good look around the clearing to determine by which direction he should leave the meadow. Other than the stream, there was naught but trees and more trees. Each direction looked as densely forested as another.
By the position of the sun, it is a little after midday. Which kind of surprises him as it had only been mid- morning when he and Dave departed the bus on Commercial Avenue. Maybe time works differently here?
One of the things that little creature had said was “to get your sorry butt to the village of Trendle”, wherever that may be. The forest looks unforgiving, lacking even the most rudimentary type of path. He’ll have to forge his way through a tangle of underbrush when he leaves.
Trendle. It would’ve been more helpful if he would have at least told me which way to go! Sighing, he pulls a quarter out of his pocket, Heads- North or South, Tails- East or West. Flipping the coin in the air he lets chance be his guide. He grabs the quarter on its descent, flips it on the back of his hand and looks, Tails. East or west then. Taking the coin one more time he tosses it up into the air. Heads- East Tails — West. This time he allows the quarter to fall to the ground and come to rest. Tails. West it is.
Determining where West lies by the position of the sun, he shoulders his backpack. A touch of excitement mingles with his fear and apprehension. Sure, he had no clue where he was or even if he would ever find his way home. But beneath such a beautiful blue sky on a warm summer day, things didn’t seem quite so bad. He had worked magic hadn’t he?
En route across the meadow to the forest’s edge, he spies a sturdy branch lying upon the ground. After removing the smaller twigs and branches, he soon holds a stout walking stick. Turning back to the forest, he pauses upon reaching the edge. His excitement dims as he stands there about to enter an unknown world. What lies beyond these trees? What secrets may be hidden within? Beneficial ones? Or those less so? Taking a deep breath, he pushes a tangle of undergrowth out of the way and enters the forest.
Using the walking stick to aid in clearing a path, he forges through the underbrush lining the edge of the clearing only to find more beyond. James had always liked being in the woods, even ones as overgrown as this. Time spent in the outdoors had always brought him a peace that could never be found in a city or around other people. His dad used to take him camping in forests similar to this one when he was little. Good times.
James soon realizes that this forest is nothing like the tame camping areas where his dad had taken him. For one thing, this one has no paths. The bushes and trees have become an entangled mess, at times forcing him to push his way through, often with painful results. Walking across the uneven ground soon has his ankles aching. Bleeding from a myriad of scratches and scrapes, his feet protesting, the adventure was over and all he wanted to do was go home.
An hour into the forest, a growl from his stomach reminds him that his last meal had been some time ago. Within his backpack still remained a single candy bar. But not wanting to consume the last of his food, he sighs and leaves it where it is, much to the loud protest of his stomach.
Time passes as he continues making his way through the forest. The sun gradually makes its descent toward the horizon. The shadows begin growing long. In the deepening gloom, his imagination turns the surroundings into a veritable host of frightful beasts. Every sound makes him jump, every shadow contains a monster. After the sixth murderous beast bent on his destruction turns out to be an old stump overgrown by a bush, he figures it to be time to find a place to hole up for the night.
But there was no place. All about him was nothing but trees and more trees. Sleeping upon the ground held little interest as he didn’t want to be awakened by a hungry carnivore. He turns his attention to the upper boughs and locates a sturdy one forming a crook with the truck that has accessible lower branches. Climbing never having been one of his strengths, it takes several attempts before making it off the ground. He reaches the limb chosen to be where he will spend his first night upon this world and settles down in the crook. Leaning his back against the tree trunk, he tries and fails miserably to get comfortable.
The forest descends into a place of haunting shadows and mysterious noises as the night gradually deepens into darkness. Hungry, scared and exhausted, he clings to the tree. His body hurts from hundreds of scratches received from pushing through obstinate bushes all afternoon. The throbbing from his feet and ankles lends another level to his misery. Shifting around as best he can, he simply can’t find any position that is comfortable. It’s not long before his bottom begins to hurt then grow numb, forcing him to continue moving about in a fruitless attempt to alleviate his discomfort.
In the tree scared and alone, the light gradually fading away around him, for the first time he truly knows what it means to be alone. The intricate canopy of leaves prevents even the smallest glimmer of starlight from coming through. He sits there in the dark, head resting against the bole of the tree and listens to the sounds of the forest. Off in the distance he can hear the passage of some large creature as it makes its way through the
