MEDICAL FACT: Those who continue to breathe repeatedly, tend to outlive those who do not.
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK! came the rap on the door.
Wendell in a panic, spun round and flipped over the corner of his bed with a heavy thud onto the floor.
The door to the apartment creaked open. Floating white hairs of Chuck’s massive beard peeked around the edge of the door. His face contorted into a battle between shock and amusement as Wendell grunted and lifted his face up from the floor.
“Mahan’s pink panties, son,” he snickered, “what are you doing down there?”
With a grunt and a huff, Wendell jumped to his feet and brushed himself off. “Somethings not right!”
Chuck wandered in and closed the door behind him. “I couldn’t agree with you more…but I assure you, they have medication for just about anything.”
“No,” Wendell squinted at Chuck, “The storm out there, Til-Thorin—this whole situation of being here…somethings bothering me. I feel it to my gut. I just don’t know what it is!”
The wizard looked nervously at the young hero. The time alone seemed to unhinge him, not refresh him. Wendell paced the floor, gnawing on his fingernails, several of them now red or bleeding. His eyes darted about the room, refusing to focus on anything longer than a fleeting glance. The sound of the popping fire was drowned out by Wendell’s labored breathing.
“Son, you need to calm down.”
With a jerk, Wendell spun his head around at the wizard, like someone had slapped him. “Calm down?!” he gasped, “How on Earth can I calm down?”
“You’re not on Earth, my boy,” Chuck corrected him gently.
“EXACTLY!” Wendell exploded, then tore another piece from his nail bed. “I have no idea what I’m doing here! This is so far over my head and I can’t piece this puzzle together, Chuck!!” His voice cracked with the last sentence. The frustration changed to pleading, and one of Wendell’s eyes began to twitch.
Chuck opened his mouth, but Wendell pushed roughly past him to get to the table. He snatched the letter and waved it in the wizards face. “And then there’s this!” Shoving the paper into Chucks hands, he slumped down onto the edge of the cot and let his head fall into hands.
“I’m sorry my boy,” Chuck hated adding weight to the load, “but only the hero can read this—you know that.”
Wendell moaned.
Help me.
With a yelp, Wendell jumped from the bed and latched onto the wizards robe. His movement was so sudden and sporadic that Chuck nearly fell over backwards. His hands went up to protect his face.
“Is…there a problem, son?”
There was a crazed look in Wendell’s eyes. They flicked back and forth, locked onto Chuck’s face—staring, studying, pleading. He finally let go and rubbed his temples firmly, clenching his eyes tightly together.
“Do you ever hear…voices?” The question sounded more like a whimper.
The wizard stiffened upright and looked over both shoulders like a mad dog chasing his own tail. “What have you heard!?” He shuffled in close, and with a softer voice, “You can’t prove anything, I tell you. Not a blooming thing!”
“Chuck…I’m talking about me. Me! Ok?”
The wizard rolled his eyes. “Oh,” he said casually and then abruptly grabbed Wendell’s head and tilted it to the side. Chuck tugged on his earlobe, shining a small flashlight into Wendell’s ear canal. “What you picking up? Weather channel? Stats on the races, maybe? If its the Mormon Tabernacle Choir, I’m not interested.”
Wendell slapped his hands away, “No! That’s not….no!” He sighed heavily and rubbed his temples again. The weight he felt on his chest…against his very skin was so heavy. Suffocating. It took constant effort just to take in a breath.
The weeping grew louder in his mind and ears. “I’m hearing a child’s voice, crying. Calling for help.” He looked down at the crinkled letter in Chucks hands. “Somethings…coming. I don’t know what, or when, or how…,” he choked and swallowed with a cough. “I just know I’m running out of time.”
Chucks calm, knowing eyes accompanied the kind, supportive smile. “Then let’s figure this out, shall we?”
Wendell nodded and sat down at the table.
“We already know what’s coming,” the wizard said, without a hint of sarcasm, “we just have to look outside.”
Wendell shook his head. “That’s the first thing I thought as well, but my gut says no.”
“You’re…gut?” The wizard frowned, but the look of resolve on the hero’s face was unmistakeable. He tossed the letter onto the table and pulled out the second chair. “Fine. Your gut.”
“…and I don’t think that army is here for King Robert…or to invade the Kingdom.” Wendell’s hand slowly reached out—his fingers clawing the letter up under his palm. He made a tight fist and dragged it off the table.
“Oh, now you’re just being silly,” the wizard dismissed, “Of course they are! There are thousands of Vallen out there, Wendell,…and they have Tauku mägo. This is no joking mat…”
“Then why send forces south?” Wendell blurted out, cutting him off.
The crazed look conquered his face once more and his voice trembled. “Why split your forces at all, if invasion is the real goal?” He gritted his teeth, “I’m not saying I’m right…what would I know? But it doesn’t make sense. Not to me, anyway. The women and children forced back here proved there’s nowhere for the people to flee. So causing a panic isn’t their strategy either. We’re boxed in. For a reason.” He gasped for air.
The lines around Chuck’s eyes and forehead deepened. He glanced down at the letter. “Seriously, you have got to slow down. You’re starting to sound like Olivia Jane Ray.”
Wendell stared back in confusion, “Who?!?”
Chuck sighed deeply, recalling a fond past. “Now there was a high-strung sweetie. Cute as a button, sharp as a razor,” he smiled wide, “but when her mind got going, when she panicked, her mouth moved faster than a gnome strapped to a rocket-launcher! That girl could spit out a whole conversation before you could say oh-my-goodness…” He laughed, “No matter how fast she talked, you could understand every word the girl said.” He shrugged, “Course, she was so adorable, you didn’t always care if you did. Loved that about her.” The wizard looked up, “But you don’t make any sense at all!”
Even in the dim light, the wizard could see the dark rings under Wendell’s eyes.
“Where are the seals hidden?”
Chuck coughed, saliva going down the wrong pipe, “Seals?…as in…the Demoni Vankil seals?”
Wendell continued to stare. The twitching in his eye ceased.
“Only the last hero knows where the pieces are,” Chuck confessed, his frown deepened to a scowl. “Why?”
“I think one of them is here, in the Keep.”
The color drained from the wizards face. “Woah, woah, WOAH! Time OUT!” he shouted, standing up and waving his arms about. “If that’s true—we have problems way bigger than…,” he spun around, pointing at Wendell. “Wait, how would you know something like that?”
They both looked down at the crinkled letter gripped tightly in Wendell’s hands.
“Why are you gripping that?”
“I don’t know.”
“Read it.”
“I already know what it says.”
“Read it to me, then.”
“Why?”
Chuck lowered his head so the thick white of his eyebrows overshadowed his pupils. “Because,” he said in a slow, deliberate tone, “I was around the last time Ithari chose a host…and I know for a fact that you’re not the only one using that body. So why are you gripping that letter?”
Wendell sat upright in the chair. His free hand scratched the gem through the tunic. Huh. When he looked back up at the wizard, he found a softer expression staring back.
Chuck pointed at the letter.
Wendell unfolded the paper and scanned over it, doubtful.
His mouth dropped open as he came to the signature.
Through Ithari, my heart is always with you.
Your Father.
P.S. …had any dreams lately?
In the distance, a horn blew.
