Brian Pratt - The unsuspecting mage

The wolves are remarkably like the ones you would expect to find in a forest back home. In fact, all the animals he has seen so far have been very Earth-like. If it wasn’t for the little creature and the fact that he can do magic, he could very well be back home on a campout.

He and his dad had gone camping a time or two. It was one of his few good memories of his parents. They would go up around Yosemite and backpack, do the nature thing. His dad would catch fish and they would have a fish fry. When they returned home they would tell his mom about all the fish they had caught, both real and imagined. She would then say how good he is and how proud of her little man she was.

What would dad say if he could see me now? I’m starting a bit rough but I have food and a weapon, as well as my health; I’m managing.

“ You’re doing fine son,” his dad would say.

“ I wish you were here with me, Dad. I don’t remember all that you tried to teach me. I sure miss you.”

“ You’re alive James, be happy. You’re in a bad situation but you’re making the best of it. I taught you self-reliance and I’m mighty proud of you.” His father stands there with a smile, the smile he always wore when James did something he especially liked.

With a tear in his eye James walks over to his father and gives him a hug. His father returns the hug warmly.

Crash!

Startled out of his daydream, James finds the spit that had once held his lunch burning in the fire, and his dinner running away in the mouth of what looks like a small dog. Stupid, daydreaming fool! Lurching to his feet, he races after. Running under bushes and around trees, the dog quickly out-paces him and is gone, along with his lunch.

“Damn!”

Returning to his fire, James takes his spear and looks around the clearing for more rabbits or an acceptable substitute. Nothing! His yell and the chasing of the dog must have scared everything away. No use sitting around here! Using his foot, he puts out the fire by covering it with dirt. Grabbing his backpack, he stalks off with self-deprecating recriminations running through his mind, and a fierce growl in his belly.

No more than half an hour goes by before he has found, killed and begun roasting another small animal. Not sure exactly what it is, or was, it kind of looks like a squirrel but the size of a small cat. This time he keeps his wits about him and remains alert for any scavengers who might happen by.

The aroma of roasting meat makes his stomach cramp. Impatient for the meat to be done, he removes it from the fire when it has cooked “enough.” Taking the meat to a nearby tree, he sits with his back against the trunk and proceeds to eat.

As he bites into the roasted meat, the juices run down his chin. Never has anything tasted so good. Of course, I’ve never been this hungry before in my life. Wonder what grandma would do with this if she was here? Thinking of his grandmother’s cooking brings back the feeling of homesickness.

It seemed like he had just started when the last of the meat had been stripped from the bone. He feels much better now that he has something more substantial than berries in his stomach. A nearby stream provides the opportunity to clean his hands and face, as well as a much needed drink. He also washes the blood off his “skinning” stone and places it in his backpack. More than likely, he will have need of it again.

Refreshed, he grabs his backpack and spear and sets out once more in search of Trendle. If it wasn’t for the possibility of meeting the same fate as Seth, he would be enjoying himself.

The nearby stream flows in the general direction so he decides to follow it. There is less of a chance of being turned around if he uses it as a guide. Also, it might eventually lead to civilization. Streams lead to rivers, rivers to lakes and ponds. And where there is water, there are usually people.

Berry bushes along the streambed hold numerous berries. After eating a dozen or so he gathers a number of the ripest ones and wraps them in a leaf before placing them in his backpack.

The rest of the afternoon proceeds in similar manner as the morning; forging through inhospitable undergrowth bent on barring his way at all cost, relieved only by all too infrequent clearings. He did encounter one meadow that was rather extensive boasting two fair sized pools. Both were crystal clear, and in the afternoon sun, could clearly see their bounty of dark-green fish with twin red stripes near the tail.

An hour before nightfall, the land began a more downward slope that ends at an abrupt drop. The stream flows over the drop to cascade down the uneven surface in the guise of a small waterfall only to form a small pond thirty feet below. An area to the right of the water would make an ideal campsite. With the wall of the drop at its back, and flanked by the pond on one side and a large fallen tree on the other, it will provide a modicum of shelter through the night.

He first tosses his spear to the clearing below, then works his way down the side of the drop. Once at the bottom, he rests his pack against the backdrop then starts gathering wood for the fire. After a sufficient quantity has been gathered, he takes his spear and sets out in search of game. It doesn’t take long before another rabbit has met its end. Back at camp, he uses his skinning stone and preps it for the fire.

Using the same spell as before, he soon has the fire burning merrily and places the rabbit upon the spit. Sitting there with the waterfall sprinkling into the pond twenty feet away, he listens to the fat pop and crackle as drips fall into the fire. He feels good. Another day has passed without mishap. He’s getting the hang of this world, magic hasn’t been too difficult, at least not the simple spells he has attempted.

Turning the rabbit occasionally for an even cook, he relaxes and enjoys the peaceful interlude. The aroma coming off the meat is wonderful. He gets up and walks over to the pond. It is a clear, sparkling blue. Kneeling at the edge, he takes a good long drink. The water is so pure and crisp that he doubts that there could be anything like it back home.

With the sun descending below the treetops, night is fast approaching. Returning to the spit, he checks the rabbit, sees that it is not quite ready, then grabs his backpack and removes the berries he had gathered earlier. Unwrapping them, he pops three in his mouth then sets the others aside to have with the rabbit.

By the time the rabbit is fully cooked and the outer skin is a dark brown, shadows have fully enveloped the campsite. Taking the rabbit off the spit, he settles down against the backdrop and eats with a gusto only starvation can provide.

Once his hunger has been satiated, James discards the carcass quite a ways from the camp to prevent it from drawing predators. On the way back, he gathers more wood, having no wish to freeze through another night. Already with the sun down, a chill has crept into the air. Keeping a fire going all night will bring him comfort and hopefully safety from curious animals.

Stoking the fire, he settles down to sleep. Lying on his back and wishing for a blanket, he stares at the night sky and watches as the night deepens and the stars come out. Events of the past two days play through his mind. It would be hard to credit the truth of it all if he hadn’t been living through it. What happened to Seth now seems like a bad dream, one from which he knew there would be no awakening.

Magic is real. He wondered how much he dare try. In the role-playing world, magic is fraught with dangers, especially for those unschooled in its use. The book on magic gave very little actual instruction in how to work it; mainly just theory and suggestions.

He grins upon thinking about the little ditties he threw together for his spells. How simple and unimaginative they were. Not at all like the flowing, poetry variety of spells one finds in books. But they had worked, hadn’t they? And isn’t that all that really matters? The book hadn’t said anything about increasing the effectiveness of a spell by upgrading the wording used.