"There's something I've neglected to tell you," said the Magician. His colored creations floated and twisted about his hands. "I've neglected to tell you that I'm not really a magician." The colored bits of stuff promptly vanished into thin air.

"Ah!" said Dog-1, "If you are not a magician then how did you make all of those things appear and then disappear?" Dog-1 seemed infinitely perplexed on this point, and his little eyes strained to look at the Magician's hands and sleeves; his wet nose trembled to gain scent of what his eyes were not seeing.

"Yes," agreed Dog-2. "Those things could not have happened without some sort of aid on your part!"

The Magician smiled as the other Dogs joined in. They were funny creatures, dogs; he found he rather liked their simplicity. "That's just it; I haven't a thing to do with any of it!"

The first Dog—One, as he was often called—snorted. "But we saw those things around you. They were plainly of your manufacture. How can you say that you had nothing to do with it when it is obvious that you did?"

"Now, I never said that I had nothing to do with it," said the Magician. "I just said that I was no magician—"

"Actually," came the slow, contemplative voice of Dog-5, "That is precisely what you just said. Your exact words were, I believe, ‘I haven't a thing to do with any of it.' Correct?"

"Yes, that's what I said, but if you had allowed me to finish my statement, you would have heard me go on to explain how having ‘nothing' to do with something and ‘not a thing' to do with something are two entirely different things altogether."

The Dogs did not speak. They stood, contemplating their companion, with cocked heads and open mouths. Dog-5 blinked audibly. When the Magician was through being amused at their confusion, he began to explain himself more fully: "Well, it's all in the wording, really. Nothing means just that—nothing. The same is true for not a thing. See, I am not a magician at all. I am incapable of performing feats of magic. I alone, that is. But I do have a bit less than a thing to do with it. I am the tool of the magic. Wait, strike that. . . . Hmm, I seem to have lost my place. See, I use the magic as—"

"Wait," said Dog-6, the ever amiable one. He wagged his tail with a little smile on his face. "I am no longer sure if you're a magician or not, but I know you for a great storyteller. Why not explain it in a story?"

The Magician rubbed his chin, the stubble there making little grating noises under his hand. "Not a bad Idea, Six."

There was a chorus of glee from the other dogs as the Magician found a cozy patch of soft grass in which to sit under the shade of a tree. Dogs-6 and -1 vied for space in the Magician's lap and he eventually found space for both of their heads. He sat, stroking their sun-warmed fur with ambidextrous hands and gazed for a moment into the sky, collecting his thoughts. The Dogs waited patiently for him to begin, surrounding him in a rough semicircle. At last the Magician was ready to begin.

"Once upon a time—" There were objections immediately, cries of "That's no way to start a story!" "It's overdone!" and the like, but the Magician proceeded serenely, unmindful of (or perhaps just amused at) their quarrel over style preferences. "—There was a man. Just a man, mind you, much like any other. You know, all the basics: two legs, two arms, thr—er, two eyes, and so on. I won't bore you with what you no doubt already know of human anatomy. . . ."

This man was of a particular breed, which, since this was long ago, was obviously an old breed, though they weren't so old back then, if you follow me. His kind was known as "Merheekan." The Merheekans lived in a land called, appropriately enough, Merheeko. These people typically had dark hair, skin and eyes, for they were decedents of an even older breed of man, the name of which is forgotten in time. Men (and even some dogs) had names in those days, and our protagonist was no different, even in that respect. He was known as Heyzeus.

Now, Heyzeus was a pretty poor man. His village, called Nakarine, based wealth upon how many shiny trinkets they had in their collection. Heyzeus had never had much attraction to shiny trinkets, so he was deemed poor. (At this point the Dogs interrupted to inquire about the idea of "wealth," but the Magician silenced them, explaning it was too difficult to explain.) The reason poor Heyzeus was poor was because he made his living by building shelters called "houses." Houses were built from wooden frames and covered in baked clay. Unfortunately, all the people in Nakarine lived in tents because the weather was so hot. Besides, they considered houses made from things of the ground and that grew out of the ground to be filthy because they had no respect for the earth. So, Heyzeus was not only considered to be poor, but a little below par intelligence-wise as well. But Heyzeus was a nice guy and nobody in his town gave him much trouble. Even his father, who had wanted his son to grow up to do something more useful than build filthy houses permitted him his artistic freedom.

Any visitor coming into Nakarine would see the whole outskirts of the village filled with empty houses because that was where Heyzeus would build them, there being no other good place for them. After building so many houses, he became very skilled in the art of house-building and many of them were as cool (if not cooler), to live in as tents. Houses had the added bonus that they did not flap in the wind. Heyzeus, however, had trouble convincing people of this. He got his friend, Wholeo, to talk people into visiting the houses, for Wholeo was a very smooth talker, indeed. "See?" Heyzeus would say to the visitor, "Is this not much cooler than that tent in which you live?" And the lucky villager would flap his fan, wipe some sweat from his brow, and say in reply, "No. Not only is it much hotter in here, it is also filthy like the earth you built if from. What is wrong with you, Heyzeus? You're not such a bad man. Why don't you become something useful like a llama-herder or a cloth-maker? Our tents are always in need of repair, as you know."

Try as he might to argue, Heyzeus always ended up at a loss for words, and the villager would leave him standing alone in his house to go back to their tents which they thought were cooler. Now you see the nature of the human mind: It makes real whatever it has been taught is real. In actuality, the newer designs of houses were quite a bit cooler than the flimsy tents the other villagers lived in; the trouble was convincing the villagers of that.

Heyzeus, being a kind man, was never angry with the villagers. He was frustrated and wished that they would listen to reason and at least try out his houses before condemning them. A lot of care had gone into building them, and he hated to see them wasted, sitting empty outside of town.

He took to sleeping in his houses, one after the other, each night. He tried constantly to think of what else he could do with them besides use them for himself. One night while he slept, however, he had a terrible dream. In this dream, a great storm came out of the West, sweeping down upon the town of Nakarine in the blink of an eye. The storm was in the shape of a bird of prey, with great gleaming eyes of lightning, the likes of which none of the villagers had ever seen in their lifetimes. All the tents and people in them were destroyed, but the houses survived. Heyzeus woke up in a cold sweat with tears still wet on his face, fearing for the life of his people. He felt guilty for building the houses in the first place and for wanting people to move into them at all. But a voice from nowhere told him that he was not to blame, and that he was there to warn his people. The voice said that he should meditate upon his vision before informing the village. He sat in his house for a whole seven-day, eating nothing and trying to understand what he should do.

On the eighth day, he went to the center of town as the sun reached its zenith. There was a tall platform used for making public speeches, made from the stump of a once-living enormous tree. He climbed to the top and was able to see a great distance. There, on the horizon, was a barely visible band of dark gray. At first he thought this was just a trick of the heat-glimmer, but then he heard a voice whisper in his ear, "It is true. Warn them. Help them." He knew then for sure that his dream had been true. He turned to the few people who had come to the platform to see what silly Heyzeus was going to do next. Heyzeus pointed to the Western horizon. "There is a storm coming! I have seen it in my dream and it will tear this town apart as a wild beast tears flesh from bone!"

One skeptical villager climbed up to the top of the platform, which was a tight fit with him and Heyzeus both there. He looked sharply to the West. He stood looking with his eyes all squinted up for so long that Heyzeus thought for sure he must have died there and already gone stiff. Finally, the man turned around and said, "I see nothing."

He climbed back down while Heyzeus looked after him, dumbstruck. He looked back to the West. He could see the shimmer of storm clouds plainly enough, still barely visible. He accounted it to the other villager's poor eyesight and nothing else, and started up again. "I have seen this storm in my dreams. This storm will ravage this village because it is built from weak tents of cloth. But I have also seen that the houses I built will survive the storm because they are made from the earth itself and are more durable. Please, please move into the houses, my friends! Otherwise you may well lose more than your valuables during the storm!"

"He's a fool," said the villager who had come up to look. "There's no storm coming, else we'd see it. The sky's clear of any ill clouds."

"No," said Heyzeus adamantly. "I can see it just barely, on the horizon though it's almost invisible. And on the strength of my dreams, I am sure it is headed this way. I fasted on this dream for one seven-day! I meditated all that time and talked to the Great Mystery! I plead only for your safety, all of you!"

Someone laughed loudly. "So, you are crazy from hunger as well as simple!" the same voice yelled. A chorus of laughter arose.

"Maybe," said a kinder woman when the laughter had ceased, "this dream of yours came through the Gate of Lies? And the storm you see brewing is nothing but a fancy of your imagination?" More people were gathering to gawk at Heyzeus.

He only shook his head. "A voice told me that the dream was true. Please, I beg of you all, move into the houses with your children and valuables, if only for the duration of the storm. It seems slow now, but it will sweep down upon us with a terrible vengeance."

"Ah-ha! He hears voices in his head! He's mad for sure!" cried another villager. Heyzeus tried all the harder to keep his dignity before the laughing masses.

"We've lived through storms before, Heyzeus," said the Chief. "I believe that this is just another of your attempts at heresy. You're trying to get us to go into those dens of filth that you call ‘houses.' They'll probably fall in around our ears the instant we set foot in them."

"No," cried Heyzeus, his strength beginning to fail him. "I swear that is not so! I only want you all safe! If there were some other way besides the houses, I would surely ask you to it!"

"Let us up there to see this storm, Heyzeus," said a voice, followed by a few others in agreement.

"Gladly," said Heyzeus, and he climbed down to allow the others up. He was met by the faces of unkind people when he descended, however. The Chief's idea seemed to have become the general consensus. He averted his face from their mockery, wiped streamers of spittle from his forehead and cheeks as he dodged the feet aimed at his ankles. He did not run, but neither did he walk with much pride, back to his favorite house—the one furthest East.

After many people had been up to the platform and had seen nothing, the crowd dispersed itself. Not long after, people began trickling into the house Heyzeus occupied. Many of them seemed ashamed to be there, others were obviously mocking him, but Heyzeus treated them all with equal respect.

Perhaps a dozen people moved in that very day. Heyzeus was sad to see that Wholeo was not among their number, but Wholeo had never been one for inclosed places and one would be lucky to catch him even in a tent. By nightfall, nearly everyone who was moving in was well tucked-in and resting.

Heyzeus stayed up part of the night, writing in his journal so that there would be proof of his testimony before the storm came. He had just put out his light and was on his way to bed when the door suddenly swung open. There stood the Chief and two of his deputies. Behind them stood Wholeo. Wholeo looked ashamed.

"What is this?" asked Heyzeus.

The Chief motioned for his deputies to seize Heyzeus. "Son, I'm sorry to do this, but it is the feelings of the village of Nakarine that you were lying to us all. You're a heretic, and for that you must be punished. We can't have the people of the village perverted by your dirt dwellings. You've corrupted them with your lies." (The Dogs laughed at the Magician's impersonation of the deep-voiced Chief.)

"What is Wholeo doing here?" asked Heyzeus.

"He is the one who told us of your plan. He also showed us where to find you."

Heyzeus looked at Wholeo not with anger, but with pity, which was altogether much worse, though it wasn't intended to be. Wholeo slunk into the darkness and wasn't seen again while the moon hung in the sky. That night Heyzeus was kept tied up in the prison tent. He was given no food or water. In the morning they dragged him out before the public for his trial.

Several people that Heyzeus did not know very well said some condemning things concerning his actions. Wholeo was not present. The Chief deemed that Heyzeus was to be tied up to the top of the platform the very next day, to wait for his storm.

He lay up there, all bound up, from the moment that the sun rose and all through a full night. During that time the storm coming from the West had become visible to everyone in the town, but they all called it a coincidence and brushed it off with little concern. A new law was also made, forbidding people from entering the houses. Many of them moved out, but a few families barricade themselves inside and no one was willing or able to retrieve them.

As the winds kicked up and blew great waves of sand over the flapping tents, Heyzeus thought he heard a familiar voice below him. He could not look down, but he was sure it was Wholeo. "I am sorry that I aided them," he said. "They tried to bribe me, threatened me, and finally tortured me. I was weak to tell them such lies as I did. I am not trying to make excuses, Heyzeus, I just . . . I—I don't want you to die thinking that. . . . I don't know. I don't expect your forgiveness, nor do I ask for it." Heyzeus said nothing. He could tell that his friend was crying, though he did not know how he knew. "Only a few people are still in the houses. I think everyone else will be lost."

"Why don't you go into a house?" asked Heyzeus.

Wholeo offered a bitter laugh. "Oh, you know me, never one for tight spaces. I want to untie you, but there are guards down here. . . ."

"Go, Wholeo," said Heyzeus. "Go to the house."

"Heyzeus," he pleaded, "I can't—"

"Wholeo," Heyzeus said very solemnly as the wind became louder. "I forgive you for what you have done. Do not dwell on it any more than I will. Now, do as I tell you: Run. Run as far and as fast to the East as you possibly can. Do not look back here and do not speak another word until you have reached the sea. Now, go."

At his last word, lightning struck so near the platform that they could feel the tingle of the electricity through their skin. Wholeo screamed mutely as the thunderclap tore apart the air. Then he turned and ran, and he did not look back. Tied to the platform, Heyzeus could hear the cries of the villagers, clinging steadfastly to their trinkets and their tents. Sand, blown by the wind, scratched at his chest and face until he could feel the blood being drawn off by the wind. He saw tents flapping away into the distance out of the corner of his watering eye. He thought he saw a person up in the air as well, but closed his eyes before he could be certain. Freezing rain pelted onto the earth, bludgeoning the sand. He knew tents were coming apart all over the place. They flew off like gray and drunken birds. He heard the screams of the villagers, even over the wind and thunder, but that was the last sound admitted to Heyzeus's poor ears, for a pole from the framework of one of the tents drove itself into his heart, killing him.

When the storm had passed, only the dozen or so people who had gone into the houses survived. Everyone who had not been in a house was dead or dying, except Wholeo. No one is quite sure what happened to him, though most like to think that he made it safely to the sea.

"Some say," concluded the Magician, "That he wanders the earth even now, though he no longer has a name."

"Does he?" asked Dog-2, whose eyes shone brightly from his story-trance.

The Magician shrugged. "Who knows? What does it matter? It's only a story."

Dog-6 snorted. "Only a story," he muttered with something like a chuckle.

Dog-1 cleared his throat. "So, what relevance does that story have to what you said earlier, about having ‘not a thing' to do with the magic?"

"I thought it perfectly obvious," smiled the Magician, knowing quite well that the parallel was by no means easy to discern. "Answer it yourself by answering this question: "Did Heyzeus bring on the storm?"

"Of course he didn't," said the ever-pragmatic Dog-5. "The dream was prophesy. How could it be done by him?"

"Exactly," said the Magician. "Heyzeus wanted people to move into his houses, and then believed in that dream very intently. What if that were enough to make it happen, just as he seemed to allow Wholeo to escape to safety. Or maybe the storm (or some outside power) gave him the dreams. It has the capacity to appear both ways, doesn't it?"

"So, which is true?" asked One.

The Magician's eyes brightened. He lifted a finger like an exclamation point. "Ah! You've got it! They both are! That is what I was trying to get at."

"How can they both be true?" asked Two.

The Magician's only reply was a mystic wink.

"I still don't see it," said Dog-1. He sat up to scratch behind his shoulder. Dog-6 yawned in the Magician's lap and licked his now-vacant right hand. "I rather liked the story, relevance or no." The other Dogs seemed in agreement with this sentiment and each began his ritual of reawakening to the real world. The magician got up to stretch, much to the disappointment of Six.

"It's only a story," said Dog-9, repeating the Magician's own words.

"Perhaps it is," said the Magician, but the twinkle in his eye betrayed him.

"By the way," Dog-5 said, "What happened to the people who moved into the houses?"

"Oh, they lived long, happy, prosperous lives further to the North where they didn't have to worry about hot and cold because they kept wind-machines in their shelters." They walked on in contented silence, and the Magician did his little tricks for them to ease the miles they wandered.