The Unsuspecting Mage

Harold fumed silently as he walked down the sidewalk, his chin on his chest, and his fists shoved into the pockets of his slacks.

I can't believe I let Mark talk me into staying out late last night when the big account with Xerox was due today! he berated himself. Now, he has all of my projects, and I have two weeks off to consider my future with the company.

Harold passed by people unhindered, an unusual thing in downtown Houston during the lunch hour, but he never noticed. It wasn't like people noticed Harold anyway. Standing just five feet four inches tall, pleasantly plump and dressed in a casual business suit, he looked quite like a few of the other thousands of businessmen in the big city. Even his brown, shoulder length hair, worn pulled back into a ponytail, wasn't something to comment on. His brown eyes, downcast and dark, remained unseen, and his facial features, while nice to look at, were not enough to make dinnertime gossip.

Harold, depressed and disgruntled, glanced up at a familiar corner where he usually turned left to go to lunch at his favorite deli. A glint of sunlight from across the street to his right caught his attention as he began to turn. He looked over.

Crammed between a gaudy vidoe store with a garish neon sign and ads painted right on the windows and short office building owned by CPAs according to the sign on it, was a quaint little bookstore.

It had books lined up in the display windows on either side of the little wooden front door. The door itself, had a small window in its upper half, and hanging from the lintel above it, was a small wooden sign. Painted blue with a big green lizard crawling around the upper left hand corner, it read: Serendipitous.

I don't ever remember seeing that there before, but I had to have because it looks quite old, Harold thought, curiosity nibbling at him. I wonder if they have anything good there?

An avid reader with wide ranging tastes, Harold eagerly haunted the area's bookstores and went to outlet warehouses as well, looking for new books to read.

He carefully crossed the street and stepped up to one of the display windows. Squatting down, he read the titles on the exposed spines of the books on the windowsill, and he was dismayed to see that he had read them all. Sighing, he got to his feet and peered into the main portion of the window to see further into the shop. He frowned when he found he couldn't.

That is certainly strange, he thought. Well, I might as well go inside.

With that, he stepped up to the door and lifted the old fashioned latch to let himself in. Walking over the threshhold, he stepped aside to allow the door to quietly close behind him while he looked around.

Despite the big windows in the front, the light within was softly diffused and golden. Everywhere he looked, Harold saw books. They overflowed from the ceiling high bookshelves and sat in stacks by the windows. He was delighted.

I must be in heaven, he thought.

Happily, he began to peruse the shelves, exclaiming when he would find out-of-print editions of old classical favorites and musing over the newer titles that tempted him to buy them. Finally, he chose a rare edition of a volume by J.R.R. Tolkien and a couple of new thrillers by Stephen King and Jeffrey Deavers.

Approaching the front desk, which had an old fashioned cash register sitting on it, he looked around.

I wonder if anyone is here, he thought. Awfully strange to have a shop open for business and not come out to help someone when they come in.

"Have you found what you were looking for?" a melodious male voice asked just as Harold had turned away from the desk.

Startled, Harold jumped and spun around, his heart pounding.

Before him now stood a tall, stately looking gentleman with a long white beard, bushy eyebrows and long white hair. He was dressed in a white buttoned down Oxford shirt and charcoal gray slacks.

Put him in some robes and pointed hat and give him a staff, and he'd look like Gandalf in that new movie they did of "The Lord of the Rings" that's out right now, Harold thought.

The man smiled and held out his hands for Harold's chosen books.

"These are very good choices," he said as he rang up the books." Tolkien was a favorite of mine."

Harold watched him carefully place the books in a paper bag.

"That will be forty-seven fifty." the shopkeeper informed him.

Harold paid him and reached for the bag. The man stopped him with a gentle hand on his arm.

"One moment, please," he said to Harold."I have a book you might like."

"I don't want to buy any more today," Harold said, but the shopkeeper had already turned away to the bookcase behind him.

"This is not to buy, Young Man," he said, chuckling."It's for you to borrow."

He picked up a leather bound tome with brass snakes entwined in the shape of a circle on the cover. Harold frowned at the sight.

That can't be what it looks like, he thought.

"Not this one," the old man said to himself."Bastien isn't done with it yet."

Harold wasn't sure he'd heard right so, he kept quiet. The shopkeeper put the book away and rummaged around some more.

"I really need to go now,"Harold announced, picking up his purchases.

"It's right here, the silly thing," the man said, and he turned around with a small red book ,about the size of a paperback novel, in his hand.

It was done in red leather that Harold found soft to the touch when he took it from the old man. Embossed in gold leaf was the single word: Magicka.

"I'm not so sure about this,"Harold said, frowning, but the old man just smiled.

"Just read it,"he bade Harold."I'm sure you'll enjoy it."

With that, he turned and walked away. Not wanting to be rude, Harold put the book in his bag with the others and left the store.

Once inside his apartment, Harold sat down on the couch and took out the red book. Despite his misgivings, not being into magic of any sort, he began to read.

Harold blinked and yawned. Glancing at the clock on the table beside him, he saw that several hours had passed. Frowning, he tried to think of what he has been doing that so many hours had passed without his noticing. The book in his hand told him nothing as he couldn't remember reading any of it.

I just sat down to read, he thought, getting confused.

On impulse, he jumped up and headed back to the bookstore.

Something is going one here, he thought as he did so.

It was eerie with the video store's lights out and the whole street empty, a strange thing on a place where there were always people on the street, even at night like this. The bookstore, itself, was also dark.

"Hello?" Harold called out, after trying the lock and finding it open, he had let himself into the store.

He saw a light shining from beneath a door off to one side behind the counter, and he went to it. Pushing the portal open, he stepped into a small sittingroom.

"So nice to see you made it, " the shopkeeper said, coming through another door a moment later, and he grabbed Harold by the arm.

Before he could protest, Harold was shoved through the second door, and he found himself in a large forest. The door was nowhere to be found. A dirt road though, crossed in front of him, disappearing into the distance in either direction.

I feel like I've been through the wardrobe, but I doubt that I am in Narnia, Harold thought.

As he looked around, he saw two men emerge from the woods further down the road from him. One of them obviously spotted him because he pointed at Harold and then, the two men started towards him.

Unsure of what to do, Harold simply watched them approach. He got a better look at the pair when they got closer, and he regretted staying put.

One of the men was tall, and the other was short. Neither looked very reputable. The tall one actually resembled a weasel with his pointed nose, narrow face and small, close set eyes. His long brown hair was lank and oily.

He wore oft patched clothes that were dirty and stained from long use and little cleaning. A pair of daggers hung from his belt, and a short sword dangled against one scrawny hip. His boots were as filthy and travel stained as his clothes.

The short one looked more like an emaciated mole with his rounded chin, and his blue eyes were deep set in his cadaverous face. His blonde hair was lifeless, and he constantly licked his thin lips. He looked a bit surlier than the tall one, to Harold's thinking.

He was dressed like his companion, but he only carried a brace of wicked looking daggers for weapons. He fingered one of them as he looked Harold over greedily as the pair drew closer. When he wasn't licking his lips, he had an odd smile on his face.

When they got with reaching distance of Harold, the pair stopped, and the tall one smiled at him. Harold nodded politely, trying not to show his unease.

"Hello, Friend," the tall one said."I'm Gavin, and this is my pal, Bren."

"Hello,"Bren fairly hissed, showing a large gap between his front teeth.

"Hello,"Harold replied, resisting the urge to step back away from the pair.

He didn't want to anger two such well armed men as they were.

"You're not from around here, are you?" Gavin asked, looking Harold over.

"Is anyone with you?" Bren demanded next, looking past Harold before he could reply to Gavin.

"Um, no, I'm not from around here,"Harold said,"but I am supposed to meet someone here."

Gavin laughed, and the sound was low and evil. Bren's grin widened, and Harold paled.

"Come now, Friend," Gavin said, elbowing Bren as he did." Who could possibly be meeting you way out here in the middle of nowhere? I think you're lieing meself."

"We hate liars," Bren put in as he slowly drew a dagger from his belt.

"Indeed, we do,"Gavin agreed, and he drew one of his knives as well.

Trembling, Harold wasn't sure what to do, having never been in a situation like this before. Suddenly, an uncontrollable urge to open the red book he still carried overwhelmed him. Hardly daring to look down, he opened the book and glanced at the page.

"I think you should be punished for lieing. Don't you, Bren?" Gavin was saying.

Harold barely heard what he was saying because he was too busy staring at the words glowing on the page before him.

Blazing in red and gold letters a good two inches high were the words:

Read me, Stupid. Read out loud.

Read what? Harold thought, and the words changed as he watched.

They now read:

Burning hands meet thy doom
Send you screaming from the room
Run but before you tire
You'll find yourself on fire.

Harold repeated the words aloud, wondering what they meant and hoping they weren't meant for him. They were certainly gruesome enough.

Then, Gavin screamed. Startled, Harold looked up and was horrified to find the man almost in his face, his knife raised to strike him. He widened as in the next moment, his would-be assailant dropped his knife, and his hands burst into flames. Gavin tried to beat the fire out on his clothes and only succeeded in spreading the inferno.

"Bren, 'elp me!" he screamed, growing desperate.

Bren dropped his own knife and tried to help. He batted at Gavin feverishly and was horrified to find the flames jumping across to him. Soon, both men were covered in fire, and they fell to the ground, writhing. Horrified, Harold closed the book and fled down the road.

What kind of place is this? Harold thought as he ran. That was terrible!

Harold ran until he was too tired to run any further and then, he just walked. He tucked the book into a back pocket as well, too scared to open it or get rid of it. Once night fell, he reluctantly left the road and curled up in some bushes to sleep. He had once read about how dangerous forest roads could be, and he didn't want to meet any more people like Gavin and Bren if he could help it. He didn't want to die in this strange place.

Morning found him stiff and sore from sleeping on the hard ground and very hungry as well. He managed to find some wild strawberries growing close by, and he ate as much as he could. Replete, he took to the road once more.

It was nearing noon when he found himself entering a small town. Women gathered about a well in a tiled square, and children played under their watchful eyes. Harold, happy to find a town, approached a young lady. She looked him over, frowing.

"Hello, I'm Harold. Can you tell me where I am?" he said, and fear flashed in the woman's eyes.

With a cry, she fled the square, and the others quickly followed. Before he knew it, Harold was alone in the square.

Now that's odd. What did I say? he thought.

He wandered down a cobblestoned road and found himself in a market place. He skirted it, avoiding eye contact with the men who watched him with cold, wary eyes.

"Here, what you think you doing?" a deep voice demanded, and Harold found himself confronted by a large man in armor. "You the one that scared the women, talking to them and breaking the law? You causing trouble."

Harold backed up into the alley behind him, shaking his head as he went.

"No,I..I mean, I didn't mean to," he stammered."I meant no harm."

The burly man advanced on him, driving him further back.

"I think you cause trouble, break the law," he said."You mean no harm, but I do."

Harold found himself with his back to a stone wall, and the red book was back in his hand. He couldn't remember when he'd taken it out of his back pocket, but it didn't seem to matter. It demanded to be read once more.

Oh no, he groaned to himself, not again.

"I think I break the pretty face of yours and no more trouble from you," his attacker said, chuckling.

The book seemed to open on it own, and a new set of words blazed on the page.

Fears from deep in the night
Fill your mind full of fright
Want to cause others pain
Then you will go insane.

Harold found himself reading the words aloud without a second thought. He looked up to find the man arrested in mid swing, a pained look on his face. As he watched, a horrified look came over the man next, and he clutched his head.

"No, no!" he moaned."Go away! Go away!"

With a scream of terror, he fled from the alley, leaving a much bewildered Harold behind. When the guard didn't reappear after a few mintutes, Harold quickly left the alley as well. He found another side road and took it out of the marketplace before anything else could happen.

He was brought up short when a figure stepped away from the doorway it had been lounging in. Fearful of another attack, Harold clutched the red book to him.

Not very tall, the cowled figure was dressed all in grey and was definitely female.

"It's about time, Mage. I thought I was going to have to go looking for you," a lovely voice said, and she lowered her hood.

Harold found himself staring at the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen. Then, his brain registered what she had just said to him. He shook his head.

"You are mistaken," he told her." I am no mage."

"Sure you are. Now, follow me. I was told to lead a fellow who matches your description exactly, and I don't want to be late," she told him, smiling, and she turned away without another word.

She led him to an inn and went inside. Mystified, Harold simply followed her.

I'm not a mage, he told himself over and over again. There's been a mistake.

Knocking twice on a door once they had gained the second floor of the inn, the woman opened it. She stepped inside and held it open for Harold. He stepped into the room beyond it and stared about him.

The room was dominated by a large oak table with several men seated around it. One of the men was the man from the bookstore.

"You!" Harold exclaimed, incredulous. "You did this to me!"

"Watch your tongue, Mage," his guide warned him." Master Gandalf is to be respected."

The storekeeper chuckled and waved her off.

"He has every right to be upset with me. However, his destiny could no longer be denied so, I acted as I did," he said.

"You can't possibly be Gandalf, he's a storybook character. He's not real," Harold protested.

"Oh, but I am real. We are all real. Who do you think helped Tolkien with his books in the first place? Do you really think he could have created such a world as his all by himself? Really now," Gandalf replied. "This is Merlin, and that young man is Sandel. He's currently working with an author so, he's not well known yet. We all help authors so that our worlds are known to others, and in this manner, we are able to spot the true mages, male and female, from these new worlds."

Merlin nodded sagely.

"Then, we bring them here to train,"he told Harold. "Like you were."

"But I'm not a mage!" Harold exclaimed, and he slammed the red book down on the table before him.

"Think about all that has happened to you since you came here,"Sandel bade him. "Try to explain that and the red book you carry."

"It's this blasted book that did everything, not me," Harold retorted.

"That is merely a spell book. You did the rest,"Gandalf told him."You are a true mage."

"Haven't you ever dreamed of being a mage, of doing magic?" Merlin asked gently.

"Yes, but I never suspected it was true," he said softly, sinking into a nearby chair.

He raised his eyes to Gandalf, beloved of all the characters he'd ever read about, and the legendary mage simply smiled.

The Unsuspecting Mage

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