Wind of Fortune

The windstorm was unexpected and brutal.

A young man was caught in its midst, shielding his eyes from the wild winds that swirled about the fallow meadow, stirring up granules of dirt and foliage. He staggered about, his sense of direction of no use in the blinding storm of dirt and dried wheat that lashed at his exposed skin. He stumbled to and fro, as if the wind were playing games with his equilibrium.

Suddenly, the toes of his right foot sank into the earth, a small hole snaring them. Panic swelled inside him as he felt the sharp pain of his ankle rolling in a manner it was not capable. He collapsed to one side and floundered on the ground helpless against the fiery pain. His scream of anguish was barely a whisper of noise in the din of the savage wind. He grasped for his ankle, but saw that half his foot was wedged inside the hole. He tugged at his ankle with all his might, but found the ground engulfing his foot to be unyielding.

This can’t be, he thought, pounding the ground around his ankle with both fists. Am I to die a loveless wretch in the middle of this field?

Despairing at his situation, the young man laid back, sobbing as more dirt and wheat sailed through the air, slapping against his face. He choked and spat as the dirt whipped the inside of his mouth. He sat upright, ripping chunks of grass from the ground to vent his mounting frustration. He violently shook himself, screaming at the top of his lungs, pulling in vain at his stuck ankle. He leaned back and furiously tugged. His gripping slipped, and his back slammed on the ground. All hope abandoned, the young man covered his face with his hands and wept.

He cried so loudly that he hadn’t noticed it at first when the wind died as suddenly as it had swelled. As it sank in that the wind was no longer a threat, the young man calmed and peeked between his fingers. He listened for the wind, but silence had replaced the shrill whistle of the wind. Slowly, he took his hands away from his face. Standing over him, an old man in tattered robes smiled down upon him.

“The wind. What happened? It died ever so suddenly!”

“Wind? What wind,” the old man asked, his voice soft, but effervescent.

“The wind that was just raging about and caused me a most unfortunate plight, you dolt,” the young shouted in response.

“Hasn’t been any wind all day, boy,” the old man corrected.

“What?” The young man was beside himself. How could anyone possibly not have noticed all of that wind? “Are you completely mad, old man? There was a wind storm tearing through this meadow not even a moment before your arrival!”

“You don’t say,” the old man asked.

“No I did just say,” the young man shrieked. “Oh! It’s no use with you.” He slammed himself back on the ground and stared up at the sky wondering about the wind.

“Dear me, my boy. Seems you are caught in a gopher hole.” He pointed at where the young man’s foot was stuck.

“So it would seem. Mind helping me out of this mess?”

“But of course, where are my manners,” the old chuckled as he stooped down on one knee. He grunted loudly as he tugged at the lad’s foot. To his surprise, the ground did not give way. He scratched his head in confusion.

“What? Tell me I am not trapped here in this meadow,” the young man pleaded. “Oh, by the will of Allaelia, I am as good as dead.”

“Now, then, lad, it does absolutely no one any good to be so sullen.”

“You are not the one who is to meet his death by gopher hole,” screamed the young man. “I’ll be as morose as I want.”

“Fair enough,” the old man conceded, flopping down on his rump beside the young man.

“Please. If you can’t be of any help to getting me out of this mess, then kindly allow me to die alone.” The young man’s face cringed as another wave of sorrow further agitated him. “Alone, I shall die. Alone…and without love.”

The old man patted him on his shoulder. “There now, boy. We are never truly alone in the final moments. Why the messenger himself comes to whisk away the souls of the recently departed.”

“Well isn’t that just fine. We all have a welcoming committee of one to look forward to in the end.”

The old man leaned over the younger, crinkling his brow. “Say, you are a rather glum sort, boy. Keep up this attitude and you’re likely to depress the only visitor you are likely to have this far out from town.”

The young man cleared his throat, but did not speak. He instead turned his face so he would not have to look into the old man’s sparkling eyes. The liveliness of the old man was beginning to make the younger man feel nauseated. He coughed and licked at his lips, disgusted and annoyed at the gravity of his plight.

“The names Tom Killian, if you care to know,” the old man informed the younger.

Gritting his teeth, the younger man sat upright and held out an open hand that Tom graciously accepted. Tom displayed a mouth full of yellowed teeth with his smile. The sight was ghastly to the younger man and he felt his stomach heaving. He leaned to one side expecting his insides to rush out violently from his mouth. But no contents spilled forth. When he had collected himself, the younger man sat himself upright once more.

“Floyd Brennagan.”

A spark of recognition ignited in the old man’s eyes. “Ah! Of house Brennagan no doubt. Well, sir, it is a mighty pleasure to meet you. Oh, I should’ve known I was in the presence of someone important by the manner of clothing you’re wearing.”

”Yes, yes, all very good to know one another,” Floyd mentioned as the smell of Tom’s rotting teeth assailed his nostrils. Floyd shook his head and waved a hand before his nose to clear the air. “You ever consider oral hygiene, Tom?”

“Oral what?” A look of perplexity crossed the old man’s wrinkled features as he tried to comprehend that fancy word.

“Hygiene,” shouted Floyd. “It is basic care of one’s personal appearance and health.”

“Oh, that,” Tom chuckled. “No, wouldn’t do me no good this late in life.”

“Well it would most certainly do others you happen to meet some good,” Floyd chastised. Tom simply shrugged his shoulders. “Look, Tom, would you mind going to town and fetching some help for me? My family, as you must already know, is quite fabulously wealthy and would pay you quite handsomely for rescuing one of their sons.”

“Would be a pleasure to help you out, young Floyd.” With a great effort, Tom managed to get to his feet, groaning as he stood there a moment and rubbed his lower back. “Boy this age has sure got the better of me, Floyd. Do yourself a favor and hire a company of men to care for you when you’re my age.”

“Sure thing,” Floyd sighed. He leaned onto one elbow, watching Tom as he ambled off through the meadow. “What a strange old man.”

With nothing better in mind to do to pass the time, Floyd reclined onto his back and placed his hands underneath his head to act as a pillow. He gazed up at the sky and watched the clouds floating along in the sky. Gradually, the need for sleep crept upon young Floyd. He did not resist his body’s petition for a rest and closed his eyes. He drifted off to sleep and soon was dreaming of the day he planned to set sail for the distant shores of Calishadir.

A chill breeze wafted through the meadow when Floyd awoke to the crunch of boots on the dried wheat. He blinked his eyes open and yawned. A fit of laughter broke out among a pair of men that approached his position. Floyd sighed heavily, recognizing the laughter of his two brothers, Cecil and Vaughn armed with shovels they had balanced on their shoulders.

“Just great,” Floyd mumbled to himself.

As Cecil and Vaughn came to Floyd’s side, they stabbed their shovels at the ground. Clumps of dirt and grass were shot into the sky and slapped against Floyd’s face and neck. Floyd stared hard at his brothers wishing he were on his feet so he could commence a long overdue strangling that both deserved.

“You know, I almost didn’t believe it, when Tom here said you were caught by a gopher hole.” Cecil paused to let a few giggles escape his body while he leaned on Vaughn for support. “But, now I see that is quite true. Oh how we’ve been so worried about you back at the manor, Floyd.” Cecil’s tone was dripping with sarcasm, Vaughn bursting with giggles.

“Spare me your mirth,” Floyd snarled defensively. Cecil and Vaughn giggled all the louder at Floyd’s rising anger.

“Cecil, I do say,” Vaughn stated. “That our brother here is quite a buffoon.”

“Oh, how so,” Cecil asked, feigning surprise at the notion.

“Well, you see here,” Vaughn squatted next to Floyd’s boot and teased at the laces tucked around the lip of the boot. “If one were to simply undo the laces, then by my great and ingenious calculations, the foot should simply slip out of the boot.”

The meadow roared with the laughter of Cecil and Vaughn as they rolled over each other. Floyd fumed as he watched them prancing around like pixies. Begrudgingly, Floyd untied the laces of his boot and as Vaughn had suspected, his foot slid quite easily out of the boot. With no pressure from his foot, Floyd was able to remove his boot from the hole.

The brow above Floyd’s right eye twitched as he sat there staring at his boot, feeling dreadfully and utterly embarrassed. This was by far the worst embarrassment of his life. He knew he was doomed to relive this moment through his brothers for the remainder of his days spent in Oscothe. Not a day would go by without their taunts and their teasing of how stupid Floyd truly was, of how he lacked the common sense to complete simple tasks like untying his boots.

Tom sauntered over to Floyd and patted the young lad on the shoulder. “Sorry about your brothers. If I’d of known they’d be so hard on you, I would have seeked some other helper. My apologies, mi’lord.”

“Not your fault, Tom, you’ve done a gentleman’s work by assisting me out of my predicament.”

His face reddening as his brothers’ laughter continued, Floyd shoved his foot back into the boot and retied it. When he was finished, Floyd stood and straightened out his clothes. He stared for a moment at his brothers. Every time they glanced at him, a fit of laughter overwhelmed them and they stumbled about, leaning on their shovels as they found it increasingly difficult to stand upright.

Seeing that his brothers would taunt him every waking moment of his life from this point forward, Floyd stuffed his pride away and made his decision to leave for Calishadir. He smiled to himself in spite of his brothers’ raucous behavior. Let them have their fun. In the morning, he would depart for the ports down by Dancorb in the south. He would then catch a chartered vessel that would take him across to the wondrous lands of the jungle kingdom Calishadir.

Recognizing the look in Floyd’s eyes, Tom grasped him lightly by the cuff of his shirt. “Say, are you gonna be ok, sir?”

Floyd turned a proud smile upon Tom. “Yes, I will, Tom. Tomorrow, I seek my fame in a land fraught with danger. Tomorrow I leave this wretched life behind.”

“Glad to hear that, young Floyd. I was hoping you’d be the adventurous sort.” Tom smacked him on the back and shook his head as he watched Floyd’s brothers. “And one of them is next in line to run Oscothe,” Tom sighed.

“Indeed,” Floyd snickered. “Let them have it. I don’t care. I’ve no legacy here. I’ve no love binding me. I’ve nothing but the world before me. Just a minute,” Floyd shouted, his mind finally wrapping itself around what Tom had said. He snapped his gaze at the old man, staring hard. “What do you mean you hoped I would be the adventurous sort?”

“Ah,” the old man cried, pointing a finger into the sky. “I have not as of yet properly introduced myself.” He dipped in a low bow and a thick cloud of smoke billowed out from where he stood.

In less than a moment, the cloud of smoke had filled the area. Blinded and choked once more, Floyd stumbled and fell down hard on his rump as his right foot became lodged again in the gopher hole. He coughed and waved his arms frantically as the cloud began to dissipate. Where once the old vagrant of a man had stood, there appeared a man of youth and splendor.

A wild mane of flowing golden locks dangled below his shoulders and curled about his biceps. His eyes were like polished emeralds, glistening with an inner fire. A finely manicured mustache curled along the contours of his upper lip and ended in spirals halfway up his cheeks. His breeches and tunic were of a satin darker than a raven’s plumes. A crimson belt adorned by many jewels held his pants slightly above his lithe waist. His boots matched the spectrum of his outfit, and were both tied off with thin cords of silk.

The meadow had grown silent. Both Cecil and Vaughn stood with mouths gaping open. Their shovels clanged against one another as they hit the ground. Floyd, numb from the entire experience simply stared at the magnificent person in his presence.

“As I have said before, I am Tom Killian,” the former old man informed his spectators, his voice no longer soft was rigid and smooth, the voice of a hale and hearty man. “And you seem to be stuck again, Floyd.” Tom’s lips curled behind his mustache in a sly smirk.

His head spinning, Floyd looked from his foot back to Tom, finding it difficult to believe what he had just witnessed.

“Allow me to better assist you out of the hole this time, Floyd.” Tom clapped his hands together and the hole about Floyd’s foot parted, allowing the stunned boy to remove it without any trouble. Another clap of his hands and the hole gradually faded from sight, a fresh clump of grass appearing in its place. “There that’s better,” Tom decided.

“Who are you,” Floyd asked, absolutely mesmerized.

“Tom Killian.” A quizzical look crossed Tom’s features. “Have you not paid attention to that the last two times?”

Floyd rose to his feet, shaking off the foliage that had collected on his breeches. “No, aside from your name, I mean, who are you really? How did you do all that transfiguration morphing ability thing you just did back there, Tom? I’m not certain if my poor throbbing head can stand another moment of this suspense!”

“I am a man of many talents.” Tom took on an air of utmost importance, throwing his hand dramatically into the air as he spoke. “I can conjure a ball of flame.” He demonstrated this talent with a flick of his wrist, and a small crackling ball of flame formed in his cupped hand. “I can also cause it to change colors.” Further showing off his ability, the flames of the fire flowed from one shade of red to varieties of green and purple and blue. At last, Tom closed his fist and the fire dissipated. “But that’s not all I can do, my friends. You see a wizard should be well versed in all forms of magic.” Tom finished his speech with a quick wink aimed at Floyd.

In response to the wink, Floyd began itching at the back of his own head. He began wildly swatting at the air behind his head. “Hey!” he protested. “What is this?” He spun hoping to see whatever it was that pestered him, but nothing could be seen. Then he felt something pricking at the back of his neck again and he spun around once more but met only the capricious grin of Tom. Floyd narrowed his eyes in warning that he didn’t approve of whatever game Tom was playing.

The wizard approached Floyd, sizing him up with a drawn out stare from his head down to his feet. “You are a sturdy lad, I must say,” Tom observed. When he was in front of Floyd, the wizard bent over and had a look at Floyd’s backside.

“I beg your pardon,” Floyd asked angrily, taking a step back away from Tom.

“Worry not, young Floyd.” Tom straightened and brought both arms behind his back and clasped his palms together. “I don’t fancy your sort.” He peered around Floyd at Cecil and Vaughn, realizing that they were still around. “Would you two like to join us over here,” Tom asked.

With stupid smiles painted on their faces, the two brothers approached and nervously stood slightly behind their brother on either side. They leaned forward, each placing a hand on Floyd’s shoulders.

“That’s much better,” Tom said, studying the three brothers with interest. “Yes, this is the sort of trio I could use in my voyage.”

All at once, the brothers inhaled sharply in alarm. “Voyage, you say?” Floyd was the first speak, his mind still playing with the idea of leaving for Calishadir in the morning.

“Yes, a voyage. A voyage that will carry us on the winds of fortune.”

“Well, it sure does sound better than sticking around here any longer,” Floyd said. “When do we leave?”

“Floyd are you truly mad,” Vaughn argued. “Do you even know where this wizard plans to go? Do you even know for how long you might be gone?”

“Not just the young Floyd, here,” Tom announced to the group. All eyes shifted nervously to look at him as he spoke. “I wish for all three of you to join me.”

Cecil and Vaughn both shrank back from the effervescence the wizard exuded and huddled together arm in arm. The world as they knew it was large and mostly shrouded in mysteries. Never in their lives had they ventured beyond the borders of Oscothe. Now, presented with that option, they both were frightened and couldn’t think of one good reason why they should go on a voyage with a stranger who had the bad habit of changing forms.

“You know if my brothers are scared about the prospects of seeing new lands, then why bother with them,” Floyd teased, staring coldly at his brothers.

Not wanting to appear cowed for any reason in front of their brother, Cecil and Vaughn looked at each other and silently agreed to follow the whims of fate and see where this misadventure would lead. They returned to their brother’s side, taking one side each, but standing a little more erect and sturdy, going so far as to stick out their chests to show their courage.

“Good,” Tom congratulated the trio. He eyed each of the brothers for a moment. “Now, we must go back to that wonderful manor of yours and prepare ourselves for a journey of discovery.” He threw an arm about Floyd’s shoulder and pointed with his free hand, indicating that Floyd should lead the way back.

“Now then, earlier, you asked me about the wind, remember that, Floyd?”

The young man eyed the wizard sternly. “Yes. What of it?”

“That was my doing,” he began to explain.

“What,” Floyd exploded, shoving Tom’s arm from his shoulder. “What do you mean that was your doing? You brought on the wind when I was minding my own business trying to forget about the day? You even went so far as to set up that damn hole that nearly ended my life? And for what? Did you suspect that I belonged to a noble house before you ambushed me? Did you suspect that I had two brothers and would stand for no more of their cruelty? Did you, a devious spell weaver, invade my mind and discern the very fact that I have been planning to leave my crummy home because I’m sad and lonely and so damn depressed all the time about having to live with my family?”

Tom was pleasantly surprised at Floyd’s outburst. Cecil and Vaughn were both in shock at what they were hearing. Their brother had never before lost his temper. They looked at each other worriedly, wondering if they had really been too hard on Floyd all his life.

“Of course,” Tom said after a tense moment.

“Oh.” Floyd seemed to visibly calm as if by magic. “Well, now that makes some sense. Well met, Mr. Wizard,” Floyd said, slapping a palm on Tom’s forearm before continuing on the way back to the manor.

Cecil and Vaughn both looked after their brother in awe. Then they looked at the wizard beside him. Their nerves tingled with excitement as their part of the world was beginning to seem very small and insignificant. Perhaps this journey the wizard spoke of would indeed make for a nice way to spend the summer, or however long it would take.

“You boys coming,” Tom asked with a sly look over his shoulder.

With stupid grins, Cecil and Vaughn trotted off to catch up to their brother and the wizard.