CHAPTER 2

WHEN WE DOUBT

One of the hardest tests we face is when we must contemplate our own lives.

Our own worth.

For those who have built a life around their own achievements and service to others, one’s worth may seem secure.

But what about those who base their personal value upon the words and expectations of others?

Wendell blinked again.

whurr-whurr-whurr

It was a comforting sound, that stupid, insignificant, boring ceiling fan.

Calmed his nerves.

He scrunched his naked toes into the plush carpet again, wringing the fibers tightly between his ten digits, and exhaled.

Ahhhhhhhhhhh.

Of all the places in this strange world, Wendell found his greatest comfort and security here in the cottage.

Odd thing was—it was the one aspect of this world that was, without question, out of place.

Chuck, the old wizard (or mägo, as they preferred to be called), had informed Wendell that the dwelling was created by the last hero. A magical building intended as a special gift, to pass onto the Hero’s heir.

His son.

The son that never made it back from Earth.

…because they’d kidnapped Wendel and bestowed the birthright mantle upon him by mistake.

Yup, Wendell mumbled inwardly to himself, that’s me. The mistake.

His shoulders raised slightly as he forced himself to take a deeper breath, but the thought weighed so heavily upon him, he hardly moved.

This is stupid, he reminded himself, you’ve been through this over and over again. It just doesn’t matter at this point. You ARE the hero, Wendell. And why is that? Because Ithari chose YOU,….and then YOU chose the job. Full realization an understanding or not, this is now your job, and no one can take it from you.

Wendell had always felt like some form of mistake.

Oh, people didn’t ever actually say that to his face, but he knew. It’s what people were thinking. The way they reacted and treated him spoke volumes on what a monumental screwup he was.

At school, during extracurricular activities, in church, the gnomes, even Lili.

…pretty much anywhere his own parents couldn’t defend him, he found himself remarkably below average—surrounded by people willing to point out that fact.

Then there was Chuck.

The crazy old man who seemed to believe in Wendell to such a degree that he called everyone ELSE remarkably below average.

Only…in a more creative way.

And loudly.

Often pointing a finger at them.

Wendell had to grin.

Direct bloodline or not, Chuck continued to insist, as the ‘legal grounds keeper’, that the cottage belonged to the host of the Ithari, not the bloodline. She was the key. Arguing with Chuck was useless—because the first thing he’d tell you, was that the last hero told him EXACTLY what he meant…and he’d repeat what he said. It’s the gem, not the junk that determined the owner of this cottage.

Which meant Wendell was the new owner of a crazy structural maze which never seemed to end.

Wendell squeezed the carpet again between his toes.

The stupid-wonderful ceiling fan continued to whisper overhead.

whurr-whurr-whurr

From the outside the cottage looked like materials had been thrown together haphazardly creating some form of emergency structure that might not make it through the night. Nothing was square, it leaned to one side and the roof looked like it would have a hard time keeping out sunlight, let alone the rain.

And it was small.

So small, it looked more like an outhouse than a home.

Yet the moment a person entered through the front door, the cottage transformed.

Inside the lean-to was a giant kitchen and dining hall, maid and butler quarters, 42 bedrooms (that he’d discovered thus far), each with their own on suite & 21 guest rooms. The cottage also contained a two-story library, game room, a great hall, and sitting room with a three-story aviary.

That was just what he’d found on the first day of roaming.

Wendell had, over the past week, wandered hours on end. At first he just wandered aimlessly, but as the corridors and options continued to present themselves, Wendell decided to make a map.

Good thing, too.

It wasn’t long before he discovered a basketball court, racquetball court, indoor olympics swimming pool, an actual ball room (with giant oil paintings of Chuck in different poses lining the walls), a two-story laser tag arena, and a 10 lane bowling alley with a fully equipped video game arcade connected and a go-kart track.

On day three he’d found a spa and sauna attached to an exercise and weight room, armory, weapons & training room (as in sharp steel swords, shields and spears), a shooting and archery range, and a 300-seat sloping theater room with a 32 foot screen and commercial surround sound system.

He’d spent most of another day poking through a three-level magical study, equipped with a complex lab, reference library, hundreds of rare animals in cages and thousands of smokey glass jars filled with items he was too afraid to ask about.

Just when he thought his wandering was over, Wendell discovered a side hall which led to a massive roller skating ring and a DJ booth equipped with every Bee Gee’s album ever released.

By the end of the week, he’d discovered a printing press, t-shirt making machines and surprisingly, dozens of people running what looked to be an essential oils business called ‘Chucks Magical Concoctions’, which included a warehouse and cargo bay with twelve semi-truck ramps.

“You don’t honestly believe I can make a living wandering about with you and a stinky little green elf, do you?” Chuck had replied bluntly.

Confused, Wendell had wandered back through the maze of hallways and stumbled into a complex candy shop, complete with ice cream bar.

…so he made himself a chocolate malt, sat down and ate in silence.

Chuck was exceptionally pleased when Wendell mentioned he had found the bar—including the deep walk-in freezer.

The size of a small Wal-Mart, the freezer was packed with a lifetime supply of Ben & Jerry’s “Urban Jumble.”

“Well,” the wizard snorted in disgust, “what do you expect a man to do when a company makes the dumbest move in ice cream history? You have to stock up!” He winked and added, “But I think the brilliant minds at Tillimook have surpassed my greatest ice cream dreams…”

Yet of all the rooms in the cottage, Wendell’s ordinary bedroom felt the most safe.

It was simple and small, with four finite walls…and it reminded him of home.

Actual home.

On Earth…with his mom.

He took in another long, deep breath and let it out through his lips with a shudder.

Wendell wasn’t sure how long he’d been sitting at the edge of his bed, but he could see the light creeping through the slits of the blinds.

He didn’t care.

His attention was fixed on the small nightstand next to his bed. A tiny piece of furniture where three small objects stared back at him, taunting.

What bothered Wendell about these items, was their uncanny ability to find him. No matter what he did or where he went, they would end up in his possession once more.

Well,…that wasn’t completely true. The money pouch had been reclaimed by Chuck and he had returned it to Wendell. The leather bag had an enchantment on it allowing only Wendell to retrieve the unknown amount of wealth channeled through it. Frustrated at Wendell’s carelessness, the wizard vowed to place a seeking charm on the pouch to make sure it stayed with him.

The small redwood box contained his mägoweave clothing.

It’s not that the clothes could find Wendell—he just rarely took the clothes off.

Unless he showered, that is.

Rare cloth that could become virtually anything he could imagine, and was also perpetually clean. As in, never needed to be washed.

Ever.

Raising his shoulder, Wendell tilted his head and took a whiff of the black t-shirt. The animated smiley face on the front sniffed as well, wiggling a nose that wasn’t there.

It smelled like a spring day.

The smiley face was a whole different matter—and Wendell had just accepted the emote as the cost for such an amazing outfit.

The smiley rolled its eyes up and him and frowned.

“Sorry,” he replied, giving the emote a shrug, “I didn’t mean it that way.”

A thick black eyebrow arched upward.

“Seriously,” Wendell added. “Its you and me and Ithari, no matter what.”

The smiley considered for a moment, then nodded.

The small box contained three identical sets of mägoweave—or that’s what he was told. But Wendell had only ever put on the set he was wearing. It cleaned itself, mended itself…so why bother another identical set?

Wendells fingers gripped the sheet of his bed, squeezing until his knuckles turned white.

Then there was the letter.

The single letter.

I hate this part, he thought to himself, grumbling from his chest.

A letter that wouldn’t let him be since it had been given to him.

Strange as that sounded, Wendell was starting to believe that the piece of paper had a life of its own.

Just the thought of it creeped him out.

How long has it been? He wondered. Six months? Longer? He wasn’t even sure anymore. Close to a year, perhaps? It had been weeks to get to Til-Thorin, and he had no idea how long he was dead after that.

Well, technically dead, anyway.

Then there was the Trench Wars games, those stretched out over months…and he wasn’t sure how long they’d chained him up with Noah…

Wendell shuttered.

The letter.

I wish you weren’t real.

He blinked hard, rubbed his eyes, then looked back at the nightstand.

It was still there.

Of course you are.

The letter was enchanted. Written by the last hero himself, it was a living message to his son, connected directly to the Ithari. Using ways Wendell didn’t understand, the letter changed according the choices he made. Depending upon what he was doing, he saw the message and instruction alter to help him.

Messages only he could see.

However it worked, it really creeped him out.

But that wasn’t the worse part.

Snatching up the paper, Wendell quickly crumpled it up, glanced over his shoulder to locate the garbage basket and let the paper ball fly.

It sailed through the air, bounced off the wall and landed perfectly into the trash.

“Two points,” he whispered numbly to himself.

He flinched as he turned back to the night stand.

The crumpled letter sat peacefully on the wood surface, slowly unfolding itself. Inch by inch, the ball stretched and yawned neatly to its original shape.

The hairs on the back of Wendell’s neck stood on end. “You…are a scary little scrap of paper, you know that?”

Scooping the letter up again, he re-crumpled it and tossed it back in the basket.

He turned back to the nightstand.

The letter kicked and stretched out the crinkles until it lay flat on the wood surface.

Growling, Wendell slapped his hand on the paper, gave it a rough squeeze with one hand and tossed it over his shoulder without looking. Instead, he keept his eyes fixed on the night stand.

Nothing happened.

No ‘thunk’ sound as it landed in the empty trash can…or any sound for that matter.

“HAH!” Wendell grinned triumphantly, “Gotcha!”

He turned to see where he’d thrown the letter.

Lifting the trash, it wasn’t inside.

It wasn’t on the floor or on top of the dresser, either.

Wendell’s brows rolled forward into a scowl.

He turned around.

The letter lay perfectly centered on the nightstand, delicately open with the double crease down the middle of the paper.

No evidence revealing being smashed or crumpled.

“UNGH!! I give UP,” he moaned, “you win!”

Wendell had waited a full week once they’d gotten back from Clockworks City before opening the letter. Seven days of fighting his itchy curiosity with all his might.

He didn’t want to stress about what to do next.

I should have left the blasted thing in the envelope, he chastised himself. That’s what a smart person would have done. But no, I had to go and uncover the next piece to this frightening puzzle.

Suddenly the room didn’t feel so comforting.

Everyone wanted Wendell’s attention.

He was, after all, the ‘Hero’. The one who supposedly held the greatest magical force within his grasp. Wendell wanted to say ‘controlled’ the greatest magical force, but he still had only the faintest clue how to use the gem.

Yet people wanted his help.

Wherever he turned, people expected him to engage in the good fight, whatever that fight might be to them.

But it wasn’t really the people Wendell was trying to avoid at this point.

No.

It was the new message the letter revealed that he wanted to ignore. A single word that burned into his mind the moment he’d unfolded the paper.

RUN.

The yellow smiley face looked up at him with a weak and worried grin.

Without looking back, Wendell got up, grabbed his small notebook and pen from the dresser and left the room, closing the door behind him.

****

It wasn’t hard to hear the guys playing video games in the front room of the cottage. They’d been laughing and partying into the night, every night since they’d arrived.

The Iskari High Council didn’t appreciate the presence of gnomes in Sanctuary. Wendell wasn’t completely sure why, but it had to do with some mishap with Höbin Luckyfeller.

Something about a sheep.

Iskari were a kind people, though, and would never turn away helpless refugees of any race. However, they specifically asked Chuck, who was still stuck in the form of a gnome, to keep his ‘guests’ confined to the cottage.

Far, far away from the main populace.

That had left Enid, Tabbermain, Vin, and Doddle with little to do.

Höbin Luckyfeller had departed the moment they’d arrived in Sanctuary. First, because of his not-so-shining reputation with the High Council, and secondly—so he could get back to his daughter, Alhannah.

Escaping Clockworks City with little more than their lives, the four gnomes no longer had a home. So they accepted Chucks gracious offer to stay with the mägo and made themselves at home among the impressive appreciation of gnome technology. Late night movies on the big screen, video games, even taking the mägo’s new interactive holo-gameroom for a spin…though they all wondered where Chuck had gotten that from.

Electronic entertainment paired with Belgian Waffles, Pumpkin Pancakes, and an unlimited supply of eggs, sausages and flavored popcorns made the gnomes as happy as mice in a cheese factory.

In fact, they were having so much fun, Chuck invited Elder Käshen—the only Iskari with a respect and appreciation for gnomes and their dark magic—to join them.

Heck, he even let Fred in from the garden at night to participate during his hour off from being cursed.

…IF he kept his foul mouth shut.

Wendell wagged his head in disbelief, but had to smile.

Medieval surroundings, wizards, streamlined technology, video games among houses still using candles for a light source…and enchanted beings all having popcorn and movie night together?

Sounds like a fantasy book.

Yet there was a profound peace within the walls of the cottage. It was a place where guests could enter and be…whoever they were, whatever that was…and feel safe.

Feel wanted.

Just like Chuck makes me feel, Wendell smirked. Even while depressed about your staff being broken, you’re taking care of others to ease their burdens.

Wendell had grown extremely fond of both the Chuck and Dax. All the dangers they’d been through. Danger’s they’d overcome. It shocked Wendell, remembering the relief and intense gratitude he’d felt upon seeing both the wizard and Dax entering into Morty’s warehouse.

Then there was Alhannah’s tutelage. All the time she’d spent with him and the skills he’d learned under her hand. Willing to teach Wendell when even Dax, charged with his protection, refused to.

All three had quickly become his closest friends.

Almost…family.

Alhannah.

His heart lurched with worry. What’s happening with you now? Höbin’s not sent us word…at least none that I’ve been told.

The last time he’d seen the female gnome warrior was after they’d won the Trench Wars competition.

When the rain had fallen and he’d transformed back to human form.

He shook his head then, trying to clear the fog from his mind. Ever since he’d returned to Sanctuary, it had become harder and harder to concentrate. The moment he thought about Dax or Alhannah…both at the brink of death, Wendell became useless. His heart clenched in fear and worry and his world spun out of control.

Then there was Lili.

The deep brown curls of her cascading hair complimenting dark eyes and long lashes, with a smile that…

He winced.

Wendell still couldn’t quite understand the deep pain in his heart. He knew Lili the least out of his companions, yet it was her good opinion he desired the most.

Why? He swallowed. Why do I care so much about what you think? About how you feel? He leaned against the wall. You have got to let this go, Wendell. She doesn’t see you. None of this matters.

But it did matter.

The thoughts didn’t just frustrate him, they angered him. None of it made sense. In school there had been plenty of girls he’d liked or been sweet on, but when they rejected him—and they always did—he didn’t hang on like this.

You’re being an idiot, Wendell.

Yet he couldn’t deny the intense feelings every time she was near.

Liliolevanumua mattered to Wendell.

When she was near, Wendell felt…more whole.

Complete.

It was at that moment that he realized, he’d never felt this way about anyone.

Alright—you may not see me now…but you will. Sooner or later the hero of the gem is going to get your attention, fair lady. Until then I’ll just keep developing my manly-man skills and chip away at your defenses.

He paused and smiled to himself.

You don’t even realize that I know your actual name, do you?

No one had ever spoken Lili’s full name out loud, except for Chuck. Wendell guessed he was the only one who knew her real name…and the mägo only did so when he was frustrated with her or was chastising her—and only at a whisper.

Liliolevanumua.

It had taken a few tries to write the name down in full, but he’d figured it out over time. Scribbling what it sounded like on scraps of paper when possible. Lili-oh-lay-vah-new-moo-uh.

Then he’d practiced and practiced until the name rolled off his tongue.

Liliolevanumua.

And some day I’m going to call you by name. What will happen then? What will you think of me when I notice you. The real you?

Placing a hand against the wall to steady himself, Wendell inhaled slowly until the white stars, blinking in his peripheral vision, faded.

Let it go, he told himself. There’s nothing you can do yet. You have to get back on track. You have a responsibility to learn how to use this gem to its fullest capacity. People are counting on you.

Pushing himself upright, he snapped at himself firmly, Get it together!

Not wanting to attract any attention, he tiptoed past the top of the staircase and wandered down the single hallway which led to the waiting maze beyond.

Wendell loved wandering these halls where the rooms never seemed to end.

The cool carpet felt soft under his feet as he flipped the cover of the notepad back, examining his sketches and scribbles.

“One bedroom, two bedrooms, three bedrooms,” he softly whispered to himself, turning the corner at the end of the first hallway. Ten more steps took him to a main intersection.

Straight ahead was a triple wide set of stairs leading down. That was where the activity area of the mansion was: the courts, exercise room, swimming pool and bowling alley. He’d never walked the full length of the area, but stopped at the indoor go-cart track and turned back.

For all he knew, there could be a football astrodome down here somewhere.

The hallway to the left doubled back towards the way he’d come, which contained more bedrooms and guest suites…which were set up like mini apartments. This is where the current guests were being housed. Wendell noticed a few towels crumpled up and thrown in the corridor.

He rolled his eyes. For all the genius of the gnomes, especially the techno-mägo, they definitely are slobs.

Wendell turned to the right and ventured down the last available hallway. This was as far as he was willing to go until now. Unlike the rest of the mansion, this corridor didn’t look new.

It looked ancient.

The carpet ended three steps from the hall of mini apartments. The friendly paintings and pictures that lined the walls suddenly ceased to exist. Even the the ceiling lights cast a fading glow across the carpet, eventually being eaten up by the darkness.

Almost like the older section of the cottage refused to participate in the overall comfortable feeling of the place.

Wendell had stood here many times over the past two weeks. He’d stand and stare into the dim light, the cobwebs and dust beckoning to him to take the next step.

He never did.

Okay Wendell….

This time he didn’t turn. He didn’t leave.

He simply stood there and stared back.

You belong to me now. True hero or not, Chuck says this place is now my stewardship. Annnnd…this is Chuck we’re talking about. What’s the worst thing that could be hidden in this cottage?

Besides, the old mägo hadn’t said there was a room off limits. He’d specifically asked that question to make sure. No, Wendell was the actual owner of the cottage now, Chuck had told him…so he had the right to wander.

To go wherever he wanted to.

Wendell took a single step forward and stopped.

This is where I want to investigate next.

As his eyes adjusted, he could see hints of stone and heavily textured walls. The cottage transformed the further he went…

Like walking through the frame of an old oil painting into the past.

“Välo,” whispered Wendell, exerting a portion of will while forming a mental image of light overhead. The hallway slowly revealed its secrets as the soothing, even light extended beyond Wendell.

The floors, walls, and ceilings looked like they had been attached as a modern addition to a worn and unkept castle. Thick cobwebs draped lazily across his path, but never touched the newer addition. Carpet changed to wooden floors, eventually twisting into stone. Egg white walls faded to a dingy grey, its smooth texture convulsing into the hard ridges of river rock, supporting metal sconces where torches hung instead of overhead lighting.

Wendell took a second step forward.

…then a third.

He wasn’t comforted.

Seeing the stone surroundings, it brought back ill memories of when he’d first arrived on this planet. Being dragged off by Dax, a short, half naked elf that looked more like a troll, while Wendell screamed and kicked.

Heck, he’d even slapped Dax at one point.

Wendell grinned.

The cold, hard surface of stone seemed to be the preferred architectural resource used in this civilization.

“Teho,” Wendell said louder. The light instantly increased around him. “Let’s see where this leads, shall we?”

The hallway wasn’t very long. At least, it was shorter than most in the house—with four doorways he could see. The end of the passageway turned abruptly and vanished to the right.

Oh this is ridiculous, he said to himself and forced his legs to walk forward briskly.

The moment he reached the first torch on the wall, there was a loud, FWOOSH!

…and the torch burst into flame.

“YEARGH!” Wendell fell backwards, startled.

He caught himself against the opposite wall and slapped a hand over his heaving chest. “Gah! You stupid, stupid…,” and he growled from his chest. “What is WRONG with you people?!”

He looked down to see the smiley hyperventilating, cheeks flushed.

“Sorry about that, buddy.”

The smiley rolled its eyes.

One by one the torches along the hall came to life, each igniting to fill the space with light and a measure of warmth.

What is WITH all these theatrics? Then yelling, “Can’t anyone just leave a torch alone until someone LIGHTS the blasted thing!?”

But Wendell hesitated.

“What are you afraid of?” he grumbled to himself after a moment. “You’ve already seen terrors and horrors, dead bodies and smiling faces on people who wanted you dead. How could any of this be worse than what you’ve already experienced?”

Good question.

Sadly, you know the answer to it.

There was more.

A LOT more in this world he’d yet to experience and no clue what that ‘more’ would actually be.

Could it be worse?

Could it be terrifying?

Yes.

You’re not helping, Wendell, so shut up and get moving. This house-thingy…place…belongs to you now. Swallowing hard, Wendell ignored the trembling in his legs and marched up to the first door, grabbed the brass latch and pushed.

Old hinges creaked in objection to being woken up.

Wendell expected sheets of cobwebs or layers of dust, but the doorway was swept and clean.

FWOOSH! went the torches around the room, bathing the space in brilliant warm light.

Wendell growled.

The room was square, perhaps fifty feet across. The ceiling was surprisingly low, with thick arched beams of deep red wood, meeting at the center in a tongue and groove fashion, heavy wooden dowels holding it all together.

Throughout the room were seven tables, each of varying size and type, scattered about in a cluttered and hopelessly unorganized fashion. It looked as if each surface held a specific project. Bottles and jars, books and beacons, caldrons and mechanics tools were systematically placed around whatever was being worked on.

Massive bookshelves and tool benches lined the walls, while in one corner, a giant wooden cabinet stood, doors open wide revealing dozens of labeled jars fighting for shelf space.

See? Nothin for you to be sacred of, you ninny. It’s just a work shop.

Wendell weaved in and out of the tables, drawn to the unusual sight at the rooms center. Propped up on vice grips atop the biggest of the seven tables was a sleek, brightly painted, oversized tricycle.

Painted azure blue with red and yellow airbrushed flames along its metal frame, it was six times the size a child’s toy. Over the two back fenders painted words said ‘TRIPLE THREAT’ in chunky white letters that looked like they were made of hairs woven together.

Wrenches lay scattered across the surface of the table, several holding down the corners of an unrolled set of schematics. Propped up on a set of greasy rags and leaning against a giant ornate gold trophy was a jet engine.

Wendell leaned over the schematics, squinting at the score of scribbled notes.

The drawing was titled ‘Tweaks For NEW Land Speed Record’. Big red arrows pointed to a single bar with a massive clip welded on the end.

The scribble said…Beard Stabilizer?

Below the scribble was a detailed note. “Must cut the wind drag from my beard. Don’t care what those judges say, I’m not cutting this manly-mans facial hair. Remember Chucky-boy, it’s not only your trademark, the ladies love it! Test the Beard Stabilizer at first opportunity.”

Tugging at the greasy rags, he uncovered the name on the trophy.

Morphiophelius Smith.

Wendell laughed out loud. “Of course you’d make a rocket tricycle!”

Each of the tables contained a specific project.

One table held a giant fish bowl filled with glowing red creatures. The table had several perfectly round empty glass containers resting on white cloth bunched up underneath them. Silver webbing rested by each container, small netting, it looked like.

Wendell stepped closer to look at the filled globe.

Tiny tentacles and bulbous eyes stared back at him. Dozens of them…watching wherever he moved.

Wendell reached out his hand, motioning a finger to tap on the glass.

Fangs lashed out violently on the other side of the glass, snapping needle teeth at Wendells outstretched hand.

Wendell flinched back.

Yikes.

Another table had what looked like clay clumps…

A half finished body of a man lay in the center. A small scrap of paper had some rough notes scribbled onto it, surrounded by semi-formed body parts.

“Olen Cheat,” Wendell repeated, puzzled.

Wendell ran his fingers over the words smudged with clay. “There has to be a way to get around the stupid eye and use a golem of my own make. Use smaller parts of each element to give the beast a jump start…”

Jumpstart? What the heck are you doing, old man? And what is Olen?

Picking up the roughly formed head, Wendell turned it over in his hands. The brown clay was still moist and cold. Huh. You should be dried out by now, left alone in this room with no circulation.

Not that Wendell was any real artists, but he had played a lot with sculpting in school. The muscle proportions were well done. It looked a lot like a grown man. Even the face was shapely and smooth, cheek bones and ears, even the eyes looked…

“Almost life like,” he blurted out loud, admiring Chuck’s skill.

The eyes of the clay head blinked opened…and the mouth smiled.

“ARGH!” he screamed, hands flailing.

Before Wendell could respond, the clump of clay tumbled over his fingers and out of his grip…dropping onto the table.

SPLAT!

“Ooo,” he swallowed, “Not good.”

Leaning forward, he could see one eye of the creature and half its mouth, which was no longer smiling.

“Sorry!” Wendell blurted out. “Oh my goodness, I’m SO sorry!!” Using two fingers, he gently peeled the face from the surface of the table. Ohhhh, this is definitely not good. Its features were now flat and merged together.

“HAHAHA!” snorted a voice from behind Wendell. “Bout time someone smacked that stupid grin off his face!”

Wendell spun about, but saw no one. “Who’s there?”

There was a loud sigh, and then, “Me!”

Wendell frowned, peering from table to table.

“Me! Me! MEEEE!” the voice yelled louder. “The perfectly crafted guitar on the back table…shEEsh!”

Propped up on a table near a corner of the room was a beautiful rosewood twelve-string guitar. In the dim light the strings and tuning keys gave off a slight glow.

Wendell gingerly placed the smushed head of the golem onto the table and approached the instrument.

“You can…talk?”

“Nope. I give off a faint hallucinogenic oder from the lacquer coating on my wood that creates mild levels of insanity from those around me.”

“Oh, I…”

“…of COURSE I can talk, stupid boy!” It coughed, clearing a throat that didn’t exist. It calmly added, “Now get me out of here. Come on, tut tut.”

“Excuse me?” Wendell frowned, raising an eyebrow.

“Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said get…me…out. Off this table, out of this room and into the vast world outside. Now get a move on. I have places to go and people to impress.”

Wendell folded his arms. “Why should I take orders from an inanimate object?”

“Oh, so NOW you’re cautious? Drop clay face over there on his unfinished pucker, but you won’t rescue a trapped, lonely, highly valuable yet critically underused instrument?”

There was a drawl on the word ‘valuable’.

Wendell shook his head and turned to leave. “Maybe another time.”

“Wait!” the guitar cried aloud, panic plain in its voice. “Where are you going? I can help you! Serenade the ladies, get the girl…ANY girl!” But Wendell kept walking to the door. “PleeEEEASe don’t leave me in here with this junk! I don’t want to be alone again…that crazy wizard doesn’t visit often…”

Wendell opened the door, but paused to turn and smile.

“I’ll come back soon. I promise.”

He walked through the door and pulled it softly shut behind him.

“THAT’S WHAT THEY ALL SAY!” screamed the guitar. It was followed by creative language Wendell didn’t recognize, but was confident that it wasn’t very nice.

Wow. The weird around here just jumped to loon.

But Wendell had to smile. This was more fun than he thought it would be.

Skipping to the next door, he pushed it open without hesitating.

Oh…my….

The room was utterly dark.

…except for the thousands of planets revolving in midair.

Okay, it was probably millions of planets, so let’s just say there were a LOT of them.

Perfect colorful miniature planets, rotating in their course high overhead. Brilliant stars sparkled in the heavens, no sign of walls or a ceiling. Even the magical light source he’d created, which still followed him as he walked, didn’t affect the darkness of this universe.

Nudging the door closed, Wendell looked at his feet.

He could feel the stone floor under his feet, but…

The actual visual of the stone was gone. For a moment, Wendell felt a surge of vertigo, not knowing where to reach and steady himself.

Which way is up!?

Calming his breathing, he stretched out his arms and tried to take it all in. Giant globes of light, all in varying sizes floated about the space overhead, each its own collection of colors, nothing colliding. The brightest globe was a deep blue and green planet, with two smaller globes floating nearby.

“Is that…,” he wondered. Elämä?

The planet he was standing on…but no, that wasn’t the case. Wendell wasn’t actually on Elämä. The cottage was on  Iskari-Käläm, one of the smaller moons nearby. That was, if these were indeed the main planet and moons! The great sun blazed at the center of the universe, while ten other planets revolved slowly around the blazing sphere of light and heat.

Wendell couldn’t help but gasp in awe.

This is amazing. Even pictures from the Hubble telescope from Nasa don’t look like this!

Step by step, Wendell forced himself to scoot forward into the open space amidst the rotating heavens.

A soft, warm tingle, like a tiny flame, started at the back of his head and washed over his body. His eyes grew wide, trying to take in the vastness of the scene, while the crystal clear Universe rotated around him.

A shooting star suddenly flashed in front of his face.

He laughed out loud.

This is so… but he stopped. Something felt wrong with trying to label what he was witnessing. As if it were an insult to use finite words. It was too magical, too wonderful, too…

So Wendell didn’t.

He just allowed himself to feel it instead.

Gratitude.

Wow.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

“I wondered when you’d show up”, he whispered. “You and I have to work on this relationship, you know.”

For all the instruction he’d been given by the High Elder, from Chuck, even from trying to figure out the Ithari on his own, Wendell understood very little about how to communicate with the most powerful artifact this world had to offer.

A double fist-sized diamond embedded in his chest.

The Ithari.

…and that’s a problem.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

“Well, I’m just glad you’re here.” Wendell rolled his eyes. “I mean here, here, with me,…” He shook his head. “Alright, this is starting to sound stupid. I am glad, Ithari, that we are here, together, you and I…and that I can feel your presence.”

Yeah, that sounded a bit better.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

Wendell grinned.

Cool.

When he looked back, he could see both the door and the single wall it was nestled in—but not the rest of the room. The walls seemed to fade and vanish altogether, opening to the Universe itself.

Wowwww.

Wendell cautiously reached up and tried touching the glowing planet he assumed was Elämä.

A tiny spark flared at his fingertip, though he felt nothing, and the world expanded larger than the others. The visual was a bit disturbing, the universe fleeing as the room dropped towards the planet, expanding and rotating in front of his face. The sphere was surrounded with clouds and water.

Elämä.

Again, that familiar tingle of warmth expanded from the back of his skull and washed over his body…

Tha-THUMP-Thump

He recalled science fiction movies, where characters would use advanced computers that seemed to float in midair. Tony Stark using his technology to develop the most amazing Ironman suits flashed through his mind. Curious, he lifted both hands, trying to pinch the light of the image and pulling in bigger.

Sure enough, the world expanded and Wendell found himself sinking through the clouds. The mass of the planet grew to fill the room, the sky fading out as the land came into view. Oceans, islands, mountains, continents with rivers, lakes, …and what looked like civilizations.

Pinching the image again, Wendell flicked his fingers outward, zooming towards the biggest continent.

Most of the land was green, filled with forests and mountains surrounding its borders. Across the land mass he noticed bright pin points of white light.

Wendell pinched the image in front of him and zoomed in again.

This is incredible. A 3D map of light that shows me…how much? How far does this go?

He pinched and pulled the image again and again, dropping closer to the ground until he found the source of one of the white lights. The image was a mountain range, formed in a tight loop around the light.

Wait a minute.

Wendell pulled again, this time directly on the white light itself, his hand motions slow…until it settled into a solid image.

The landscape was a narrow valley with a black triangular platform at its center. Three ramps, one on each side, and three stone claws, reaching up from the base, as if clawing at the sky.

“It’s a Prime Gate.”

Now it made sense. The mountains, the small valley the Gate sat in….Wendell was looking at Tämä-Un.

“This is the Tillman Highlands.”

Tha-THUMP-Thump.

The first place Wendell had ever traveled to upon the surface of Elämä itself.

Where he’d seen the terror of the Vallen for the second time.

Huge, muscular, green creatures over seven feet tall, protruding teeth and an open viciousness wrapped in ragged armor and rusty weapons.

When his party had arrived, which made up Elder Gaidred and Elder Altorin from the Iskari High Council, along with Dax, Alhannah, and Chuck, the Vallen were waiting for them. Though he’d been told to stay hidden, it didn’t lessen the fear he’d felt during the bloody confrontation.

Grabbing the image in trembling fists, Wendell pulled the image towards him.

It shifted freely, like a panning scene from a movie. Trees and mountains flew by in a blur. Wendell pulled again, racing across the landscape towards what he knew to be north. Up the path he’d walked and out into the Highlands. He followed the river and jumped over the massive lake he’d avoided with Evan and his family.

Slowing his motions, the scene brought a small castle came into view…and Wendell halted the movement with a palm altogether.

There, before him, was a giant mountain range, blocking what he was told, was the valley of Andilain. At the base of two giant monoliths stood the fortress he knew too well.

Til-Thorin Keep.

Where he’d died.

Without warning, Wendell’s legs started to buckle. Stumbling backwards, Wendell caught himself—his heart pounding, eyes fixated on the keep.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

No. What are you doing to yourself, Wendell? You idiot. Why would you want to revisit…No! I don’t want to see this. Not again.

He spun on his heels and ran from the room, slamming the door behind him.

All he could do for several minutes was lean against the outside wall, taking refuge in the barren hallway, his forehead against cold, rough-cut stone.

Breathe Wendell. In and out. Just…breathe. It’s over. You don’t have to go back there. At least not any time soon, so stay calm.

Images of Lili cornered by a Täuku mägo flashed before him.

It had all gone so horribly wrong.

What troubled him more were the dreams. Over and over again he’d dreamt of a sequence that had not come to pass the way Wendell thought they would. The flames from the torches never obeyed his commands. Wendell had no clue how to command fire.

The evil mägo seeking the young girls life did.

Then again, Wendell wasn’t sure anymore that the Täuku was truly after Lili. It’s more likely he…or it…was after the Demoni Vankil seal, not her.

Stop it, Wendell. You did the only thing you could think of and it didn’t work out. Just let it go.

But had it all gone wrong?

Wendell lifted his head from the stone.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

Lili had shown up in the Roadkill Tavern and Wendell had stepped in. He was so motivated, he’d tried fighting two Vallen warriors and almost got himself killed in the process. Not exactly the smartest move, but he’d risked his life.

For her.

Next he’d run into her at Til-Thorin. She’d stolen and broken one of the Demoni Vankil seals, and he still tried to save her.

By sacrificing himself a second time.

Even when she tried to run, Chuck had said something to her to get her to stay. Now she was part of the group.

In fact, the old mägo seemed to be growing fond of Lili.

He breathed softly, “We’ve even become friends of a sort.”

Huh. He scratched his head, pondering. I…guess things aren’t turning out so bad after all.

Pushing off from the stone, he shuffled over to the third door.

We’ll figure that one out later.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

The familiar warm feeling washed over Wendell once again.

Tha-THUMP-Thump

Grabbing the latch on the door, Wendell pushed.

Creaking loudly in protest, the sound of the doors movement sent shivers down Wendell’s spine. Like nails across a chalk board, the thick wood mass scraped along the tiled floor.

It also resisted.

He pushed harder, forcing a grinding moan as the door shuttered forward over the stone surface.

Overly curious, Wendell poked his head through the crack he’d made. The light he’d created for himself drifting overhead to light his way.

Wendell took a single sniff and sneezed.

The room seems quite awkward from the previous places he’d seen throughout the cottage. Most rooms we large and lavish, but even the plain rooms had a vast amount of space to move about in.

Not this room.

This room was a long and narrow space, with a single table at its center, surrounded with high back leather chairs. It looked like a meeting room for executives…than had been sawed in half.

The other odd thing was the thick layers of grey dust and cobwebs hanging from both chair and table. Everything was covered.

Squeezing his chest through the opening, Wendell kicked the dust, dirt and small rocks from the track of the door so it could be propped open fully.

“Teho,” he said louder.

The light hovering over him expanded, growing brighter to match the image he held in his mind. Shadows scampered a retreat as the full measure of the room came into focus.

“What could you possibly be doing in…” but Wendell’s question was swallowed up by the goodies ready to be explored.

Whomever had been meeting here, forgot to take their paperwork with them.

Papers and scrolls lay scattered across the long, narrow wood surface. Detailed maps adorned the table, propped open using candlesticks as paperweights. Most of the areas depicted didn’t look familiar to him, though a few locations had names: Andilain, Tilliman Highlands, Pävärios, which he knew was the island where Clockworks City was located. One of the maps was stretched out across the length of the table. The sketching looked like a huge ravine, separating Andilain and a snow country area called Ambasere.

Etched across the diagram of the ravine were two words: Dragons Chasm.

At one end of the map was a small carved piece of wood in the shape of a skull and crossed bones painted red. Throughout the rest of the chasm were small pieces of wood with tiny flags protruding out the top. Each flag had a symbol and a name etched into it, except one.

Along one edge of the chasm was an odd shaped piece of metal with its name etched into its side, rather than a flag protruding from it. Wendell leaned down and squinted.

“H1-C-FIN101?” Scratching his head, he looked at the flags. “Kahtoo…hmm…Ambasser?…Ill-morega?…I don’t…” he winced, “I’m murdering this, I just know it.”

A small scrap of paper lay crumpled and discarded at one of the corners of the map. Wendell picked it up and unfolded it.

“If you’re going to help me, then learn to pronounce the countries properly, so you don’t make us look bad in front of the royalty, alright? Here’s a cheat sheet. - Chuck”

Wendell smirked. So I’m not the ONLY one who struggles with all these names, huh?

Spread out above the scroll was a smaller world map of deep brown paper, half folded in on itself. Pulling one of the corners back, Wendell noticed the names across Humär matched the ones on the note he held.

“AM-bass-eer…Kah-TOO-loo…DARE-en-gard…ill-MOR-yah…YOK-em-set…A-MEE-sah…” He grinned to himself. “Still not sure what H1-C-FIN101 is, but not too bad when you have a cheat sheet!”

The pieces were somewhat scattered through the chasm but none were even close to the red skull.

“So who is this skull guy over here?”

This looks an awful lot like a war room.

At the center of the table was a set of golden cups with a giant pot. Its huge belly of gold was wrapped in wires of silver braiding, twisting their way up to form the intricate handle.

Wendell sniffed.

Curiously, he sniffed again.

Is that…mint?

He leaned between two of the giant chairs and squinted at the pot.

…steam?

Wendell touched the side of the golden pot and instantly yanked his hand back.

“It’s hot!”

Only then did he notice that for all the dust and webs strewn around the room, the tray, pot and glasses across the table were all spotless and polished.

Wendell smacked his lips. He hadn’t eaten anything yet today…and he was thirsty.

“I wonder…”

Scooting one of the chairs aside, he lifted up one of the golden cups by the dainty silver handle, checked to make sure it was empty, and then carefully poured himself a portion of what he hoped was tea.

The sounds of the liquid bubbling and filling the cup echoed in the silent space, steam rolling upwards as Wendell poured.

How long this has even been here?!?

Lifting the cup to his face, the strong mint aroma encouraged him to breathe deeply, allowing his shoulders to relax.

He took a sip carefully.

Mmmmmmmmm.

The flavor was soft yet penetrating. Mint fused with Wendells senses, prompting another smile.

“So you like your tea around here as well. Good to know.” He looked up, as if talking to anyone who might be listening, “I love mint tea, just for the record.”

One end of the table was also littered with what looked to be various posters. Some looked like ones he’d seen in movies—hand made art, drawings of criminals, because they didn’t have a printing press. Though he couldn’t make out every word, the money offered looked plain enough.

Wait a second. Wendell tugged a slip of paper out from under a loose stack and squinted at it.

Is that? Oh no. That’s just too funny.

Drawn by someone who obviously hadn’t seen Dax personally and was using a second hand description, his face looked up with what Wendell assumed was a fierce growl.

Problem was, the art was so bad it looked like Dax was constipated, not angry.

Maybe being constipated made Dax angry?

A bounty of 6000 silver for his capture and delivery was displayed at the bottom of the poster.

“Wow, that’s a lot of money. What were YOU up to?” Wendell snickered, sifting through the pile. He continued to laugh as he pulled out a second, then a third notice, each different and each increasing the offered bounty…and all for Dax’s head.

“Sooooo my guardian is a professional criminal?!?” Wendell chuckled, tossing the papers back in a pile. “I think we’re going to have a little talk when he wakes up.”

It seemed a bit odd (but not completely impossible) that Dax could be the center of crime. He did, after all, have an impressive temper…AND, if he wanted, could teleport  anywhere he wanted.

Dax could be the perfect thief.

This is stupid, Wendell corrected himself. Dax might be rude, but he’s a good guy. Besides, even if he was a thief, what was he trying to steal and why? He’s looked out for me and saved my life, so…Wendell was determined to give his friend the benefit of the doubt.

We all deserve a second chance, right? Besides, for all I know these horrible drawings could be Vallen posters.

Sheets of paper lay scattered at the opposite end of the table, scraps torn from a scroll, quill and ink nearby.

It looked like lists were being made.

“Woah.”

In the shadows a few steps from the table, a large scroll was nailed to a larger slab of wood, hanging from small chains.

Wendell moved the light to rest over it.

At the center of the parchment was a hollow bust of a male. The lines were scribbled roughly with charcoal or other writing material. No facial features had been added to it, but it was easy enough to recognize it was male.

Fragments of paper, string and small nails riddled the slab of wood in a crazy string collage. Small spikes were also perturbing from between stones, extending the maze outside the slab of wood.

It looked a lot like a crime mystery TV show, where the cops or FBI try to figure out the connections in a mob syndicate.

The center sheet, with the outline, were connected to dozens of other faces sketched out. Some were drawings, some were printed pictures and even paintings torn from their frames. Everything weaved about, looping around nails, but every single posting eventually came back to the central rough-sketch of the male.

Under the sketch were the words: The Kid.

Using his finger, Wendell traced along the string, following the complex web of information.

He instantly recognized the sketches of King Robert III, Lady Tamorah, a photo of Dax throwing a piece of bacon at the camera…even Chuck was up there. There was even a thick blue string, which stood out, linking directly from the center picture…to a picture of Lili, smiling up at the camera as she’s eating a piece of cake.

But there were more.

Many, many more whom Wendell did not recognize, strings connecting them to the unknown male at the center.

Further out, there were locations. Places like the Dragon’s Chasm…The Forest of Andle, what looked like dwarves near a giant volcano, and even Til-Thorin’s Keep.

Wendell’s heart sank. This is about me.

Tha-THUMP-Thump!

Touching the string branching out from the faceless male to Chuck, Wendell followed it further across the board, down to a sketch of an island.

On it was the word Elämäkäs.

Under the word was another.

‘Underlings’ in plain English.

Suddenly his stomach twisted into knots.

Without looking back, Wendell set the tea cup down on the table, walked to the door and pulled it shut in a cloud of dust.

I don’t want to know.

Wendell looked up and down the hallway, his hands slightly shaking.

Calm, Wendell. Stay calm. It’s alright. Everything’s going to be alright. This is your home now. You belong here. No matter what you see around you, this is…home.

There was still one more door.

Unlike the others, this one had a frame, fortified within a frame, fortified within another frame. Dozens of thick stained and worn square sections, inlaid with intricate patterns, perfectly interlocking without a sign of peg or nail.

The door itself looked battered and scratched, yet strong. Black iron wrapped the outer edge of the door, as well as down its center, while rivets shaped like diamonds protruded at six inch intervals.

At its center was a single black lever.

Wendell reached out…and hesitated.

Fingers curled into a fist as he stepped back from the door.

A growingly familiar feeling seized his chest.

What are you so afraid of, Wendell?

He looked down at both his hands.

Rotating them, he opened and closed his fingers. Long, boney fingers which had barely done an honest days work in his life. Fingers expected to save other people. Fingers expected to fight some evil psychopath everyone was afraid of.

People much smarter and stronger, not to mention a heck of a lot braver than he was.

That’s what this is all about. Everything you’re finding in here just cements what you’re going to have to go through. What you are going to have to experience and overcome.

But you’re going to let them down, Wendell.

“You know why?” He asked aloud, still staring intently at his hands.

Because you’re still the coward. You are STILL the village idiot. You are STILL the one everyone scorns and mocks, because you’re useless.

“Which is why you have to push through this, Wendell,” he growled back. “You have to grow the flip up and start taking responsibility for yourself and the life around you.”

Nodding to himself he reached out, gripped the black lever of the door, and pushed.

Nothin happened.

He pushed again. Harder.

Again nothing.

“Oh, come ON,” he spat, “I finally get some courage and you won’t let me in?”

Wendell rattled the door with all his might and body weight.

It didn’t budge.

Locked.

“Figures,” he grunted. “I guess it’s time for breakfast then.”

Yet the moment he turned to walk away…

‘Click.’

Wendell froze in mid-step.

‘Squeeeeeeak.’

Turning his head ever-so-slight, Wendell glanced back over his shoulder.

The door was open.

A thin crack of blackness stared back at him, just inches wide.

Daring Wendell to turn.

Daring Wendell to enter.

Swallowing, he whispered, “Teho,” imagining a small nova overhead.

The hall flared with blinding light, chasing every shadow from him.

Every shadow except for the blackness within the room.

With a thought, Wendell sent the blazing light into the crack of the doorway and into the room.

The light vanished.

No, no, no, no….

Wendell reached out cautiously to close the door.

The door opened further.

Wendell ran.