Hearing voices doesn’t mean you’re crazy.

…but it’s not always wise to answer the voices back.

“YOU!” Wendell blurted with a gasp.

Lili hadn’t even reached the group, before he pushed past Chuck, Alhannah and Lady Tamorah to confront her.

The young girl, who didn’t look much younger than Wendell himself, skidded to a halt. The curly hair, smooth, perfect face with dark almond eyes and full lips made him weak in the knees. She was still wearing the grey fur vest she had on when he’d first seen her in the Black Market. She even had the large pouch, slung across her shoulder and chest—like in the dream.

A buckler was strapped to her forearm, a club in her other hand.

Wendell seemed oblivious to the fact that the closer he got to her, the higher the club rose.

Alhannah quickly skipped in front of him.

“Hannah,” Lili smiled, redirecting her attention, though not lowering her club.

The gnome warrior looked over her shoulder and gave Wendell a warning glance. She hit him in the leg, then turned around with a broad smile that made even her eyes grin. “You didn’t get far”

Lili crinkled one of her eyebrows, looking between the gnome and a stunned young man. “No, I didn’t…”

Wendell continued to stare. He couldn’t help tracing the lines of her face with his eyes. What is she doing here? he wondered, This is absolutely impossible. Then again, it wasn’t. She was standing in right front of him. He noticed the soft curves of her eyebrows and how they complimented the long lashes of…

He paused in his gawking. Lili was staring back. Not awkwardly, or with seeming disgust, like in the Market…but with curiosity. She squinted, as if her brain was trying to recall something important, or perhaps putting together pieces to a puzzle. She searched his face, the club slowly lowering to a safe position at her side.

Soldiers marched around them. The sound of children crying drifted out from the Great Hall. Dax ran up the steps with another armful of blankets.

Wendell frowned, which deepened the longer he stood there, staring at the girl of his dreams. The girl he’d risked his life on many occasions to save…and even once for real. Against a giant…with his bare fists no doubt!

I don’t believe it…you still don’t recognize me. After my butt kicking in the Tavern…and you don’t remember?!!

Lili’s mouth slowly opened. Her eyes grew wide.

But it didn’t matter to Wendell. He just couldn’t take anymore.

“Are we going to start fighting or something?” he asked abruptly out loud. His mind still flopped about in a fog of confusion and emotions. Spinning on his heel, he turned and strutted past Chuck, not sure where he was going. He didn’t care.

So long as it wasn’t anywhere near her.

“Uhhh,” stammered the wizard awkwardly. He shrugged at the King, “Too many thumps on the head I think.” He pointed over his shoulder, “I’m gonna…yeah—I’ll put him in my room. Okay? Right. Be back soon.”

And he ran after Wendell.

****

“What is wrong with you, son?” grunted Chuck. He quickly lifted his robe to keep from tripping on the stairs.

Lord Joram had given the wizard a tower apartment at Chucks request. It was quite a walk for the old man, but he’d told Joram it was for the view. In reality, he’d discovered that the soldiers who’d abused Dax were assigned to a post at the base of the tower.

It gave him the opportunity to drop things out the window when he felt so inclined.

“What’s wrong with me?” Wendell blurted out. He tugged at the torn collar of his tunic. He felt like the world was closing in and he was choking. He gasped a couple times, swallowing loudly.

The wizard shook his head, irritated, “We’re not going to get far in this conversation if you keep repeating me.”

“Nothing is what I think it is. Nothing makes sense. Nothing works the way I want it to. Nothing works the way I NEED it too!” Wendell paused to catch his breath, falling back heavily against the wall.

“Well,” replied Chuck, flipping the front of his hat up with a forefinger, “that’s a whole lot of nothing.”

Wendell fumed.

“Oh come on, it can’t be that bad?” He leaned down and jabbed Wendell in the shoulder, “You’re here! You’re safe!” He crinkled his nose, “Ok,…relatively safe.”

“Chuck…a woman lost her little boy.” Wendell’s fingers scraped painfully against the stone at his side. The pain was somehow comforting. “…because I couldn’t use the Ithari to heal him.” The words were dry and they fell from his lips. “A woman…no,” he corrected himself, “a fatherless, poor family, who cared for me when I was wounded—and I let the boy die, because I didn’t know how to use this!” He bounced his palm off the center of his chest.

The wizard sat back on the step, deflated. “I see.”

“She saw the gem, too. Believed I was this…this Gnolaum.”

“Ouch.”

The icy wind whipped up the staircase and Wendell shivered.

“To make matters worse, I keep having this dream. Well, sort of—and Lili,” he stared at the wizard, almost pleadingly, “is always in them.” He let his head fall back against the cold stone and exhaled a long, monotone groan. “I’m going insane, Chuck.”

“No you’re not,” the wizard corrected him calmly, “You’re completely exhausted. You need a little rest, probably a decent meal.”

Tugging on Wendell’s tunic, Chuck led him to the top of the tower. Pushing open the door, he grabbed Wendell firmly by both shoulders and guided him over to the cot. With a wave of his hand, the candles in the room ignited. Clapping his hands together, the logs in the fireplace grate burst into in yellow and orange flames. “Rest. Now.”

“What about…?”

“I’ll check on your wounded friend. Robert will most likely be talking strategy with the Steward, the elves and your new woodsy-looking companions. The whole Keep is at the ready, waiting for the giants to make their move. You’re safe.” He lightly rapped Wendell on the top of the head with a finger, “…and your pretty girl isn’t going anywhere. Ok?”

“Whatever.”

The wizard rolled his eyes, “Right. Whatever.” He chuckled softly as he walked out. Pulling the door closed behind him, Chuck rapped the frame with his knuckles. “All in all, I’m seriously impressed with you, son.”

Wendell snorted. “Impressed that I keep screwing thing up? That I keep falling behind?”

Chuck scrunched his lips under his mustache, “No. That you kept trying, no matter what you’re experiencing. I don’t know if you screwed up, Wendell, but I do know you kept swinging…and you got here. On your own motivation and design, you still got here. Not bad for a kid, who’s motivation was following the words of a letter that wasn’t even addressed to him. That, young man, is impressive.”

Wendell hadn’t thought of it that way. For all the pain and discomfort, he actually had made it to Til-Thorin, just like he’d wanted. Just in time for…war.

“Thank you Chuck,” he whispered, forcing himself to smile.

The wizard grinned back, “I’ll come get you in a few hours.” With that, he waved a finger through the air and all the candles extinguished. He closed the door, leaving Wendell in the warm glow of the fire.

****

Wendell woke with a start and flipped from the cot…onto his face and the hard floor.

“Ohhh!” he moaned.

Every bone and muscle in his body throbbed aggressively. Each attempt to move sent painful shocks down his spine. He grunted and pushed, maneuvering to get back into bed. At least he was warm. The room was toasty, the fire still going in the hearth. It was a modest sized room, circular in shape. The hearth and bed were joined by a small table and two chairs between them, pushed up against the wall. Upon the table was a pitcher and basin, along with a cloth, neatly folded. Standing in the center of the table was a mirror. Small and oval shaped, atop a dark pewter stand.

Wendell stared at the pitcher. He rolled his tongue around in his mouth. Pasty and nasty. Yuck. He also had to pee and wondered where the bathroom…

His foot banged against a wide-rimmed bucket next to the cot.

Please don’t tell me…he leaned over and looked in. Is that? He leaned down, ever so slightly and sniffed…and regretted it. OH WOAH! He stood up abruptly and fumbled over to the table. Pouring water into the basin, he scooped up a handful and sipped it up. Swished it around in his mouth. Not too bad.

He couldn’t remember how long it had been since he’d cleaned himself. Heaven only knew what he must smell like to other people. He leaned down, splashing his face with water. He jolted upright, his face stinging. He snatched the base of the mirror and held it up to his face. Small cuts across his cheeks, nose and forehead. He’d taken more of a beating than he thought. His fingers traced the curve of his jaw. You know, Ithari, this would be a whole lot easier for me if I didn’t have to feel all the pain! Those creatures hit like a TRUCK.

He opened and closed the hand he’d struck Dax with. It felt sore, but the bones had already mended for the most part. Wendell looked back into the mirror—studied the cuts on his face. That’s odd, he thought. These are minor wounds…why are they still on my face?

The reflection in the ornamental mirror stared back. Ungh. You look like…crap, Wendell. He ran fingers through dirty, tangled hair. The waves knotted together and snagged. He tugged several times before his fingers pulled free. What the?? The mirror revealed what looked to be the remains of a bruise on the left side of his face, and his bottom lip still looked unusually large compared to the top. He looked a mess.

He set the mirror back down.

It was still quiet outside. The window to his room was bubbled glass, which didn’t allow a view. Wendell grabbed the latch and pulled. Packed snow fell in, onto the floor as the wind whipped past him. “BRRRRRR!” he shivered. The sunrise hadn’t come yet. Will there even be a sunrise? The clouds of the storm looked determined to control the sky. A light fog had formed over the land…but Wendell could still see the flames of the enemy camp and the glowing embers of Woodside.

How long have I been sleeping?

He yawned and stretched his arms. Wendell knew the peace wouldn’t last, but it still felt good, in the moment, to have the quiet. He shut the window once more and sat down in front of the fire.

His mind went to Evan he wished he’d gone with the blacksmith. Make sure he was looked after. He smiled to himself. That was a lie. He wanted to go so that when Evan awoke, he’d have to admit that Wendell indeed knew and had associations just like he’d told the blacksmith. He wondered where the soldiers had taken Evan…and how he was doing. Miriam and Livi would be with him, of course, his mother being ever attentive.

Wendell rubbed his hands together, then spread his fingers wide. His joints felt sore and stiff.

“So here I am,” he said aloud. The heat felt good on his skin and the leather tunic quickly warmed up. So now what?

His stomach growled.

It was an ugly sound, rolling across his belly. Wendell smacked his lips and realized he’d refused to eat the raw meat caught by Evan and the farmer. They had been afraid to draw the attention of others, so they ate the meat immediately after the kill, so it was yet warm. It grossed Wendell out. So badly so, that it had been at least two days since he’d eaten. Now that he took notice, he felt a headache coming on.

“Food. Right,” he said, annoyed, and got to his feet. “Well, let’s at least be presentable when we go asking for food. We might scare someone with this matted hair and banged up face.”

Great, he thought, now I’m referring to myself in the third person? He sighed, yup, I’m gong crazy.

As he turned towards the table, he almost fell over. His hands shook.

On the table was the pitcher of water, the basin, the mirror…and the letter.

The cream paper had been unfolded and propped up against the basin.

His hands quickly patted the back pockets of his mägoweave.

Empty.

No, no, no, no…

He’d just washed his face. He never pulled the letter form his back pocket, Wendell was certain of that. He stared at the letter for a long while before reaching out to pick it up.

Twice he hesitated, curling his fingers in, like offering one’s hand to a stray dog.

This is… No. Wendell refused to say “impossible” …because there it was, staring back at him. He quickly snatched up the letter and flipped it over, inspecting it. There weren’t any unusual markings on it, no extra folds. It looked just like the last time he’d pulled it out.

Curious, he read through it again.

Wait a minute.

Wendell’s eyes shifted from the letter, to his own hands holding the paper itself. They were trembling.

When your hearts become one, so will your power.

You will speak with the elements, even the intelligence within the elements and shape them to your will.

Then and only then, can you be the hero our world requires and destroy our enemy.

Until such time, protect the seals and seek Ithari’s children. Keep them safe or they will be used against you. They will speak to your ears through your heart. Trust your heart, for you will find it at Til-Thorin.

He slumped down onto the edge of the cot, staring at the words over and over again.

“That…can’t be right,” he whispered to himself.

Help me.

“Woah!” Wendell cried out, jumping up and spinning around.

Reactively, he snatched up the fire poker next to the hearth, gripping it with both hands. The letter crumpled under his fingers. His head bobbed up and down, peering into the shadows of the room. Slowly he squatted down, looking under his bed and the table. There was no one in the room with him.

“Hello?” he called out softly, raising the poker higher.

Help me.

The plea shifted to weeping. Wendell opened the door to the apartment and walked into the narrow landing at the top of the winding steps, still gripping the fire poker. His ears twitched, straining at the faint hint of noise around him. He turned his head and noticed it came from down the stairs.

Leaving his door open, he crept down the steps—sliding his back against the wall. When he reached the bottom of the tower, he paused again, listening. The crying had stopped.

“Where…are you?” he whispered.

Nothing.

He grasped the letter and quickly put it up against the stone wall. Wendell brushed his hand roughly over the surface to smooth out the wrinkles. As he did so, the paper straightened itself…all but the original folds fading. His eyes darted to the end of the letter:

They will speak to your ears through your heart. Trust your heart, for you will find it at Til-Thorin.

Ok, heart. Emotion. Right? That has to be right—you’re emotional with your heart. Aren’t you?

The base of the tower was linked to a long hall that passed through the Keep’s kitchen and eventually connected to the Great Hall. Wendell could hear someone moving about. He set the fire poker down, leaned it against the base of the stairs.

His ears perked, picking up the crying sound.

Where are you? Tip-towing through corridor and into the kitchen, Wendell followed the weeping.

A portly looking man was fast asleep on a stool in the corner, propped up against one of the long tables. Small puffs of flour appeared as he snored heavily, his arm draped over a rolling pin. A small fire popped in the open hearth of the opposite wall, where a giant black pot hung. White foam seeped out from under the lid, dripping down the side of the container and into the fire. The flames hissed back.

In front of the small fire was a black mastiff. It raised its massive head, watching Wendell for a moment or two, then thought better about wasting its energy. It yawned, licked its snout and went back to sleep.

Wendell crept quietly around the open sacks of flour, sugar and spices..finally getting past the cook.

The hallway branched off. One direction lead to the Great Hall—which he could see, the other ending with a wide set of steps leading down. He lingered in the stairwell, staring into the darkness.

What am I doing? This is nuts.

Counting to three, Wendell took a step…

“Can I help you, m’Lord?” asked a servant, appearing from the Great Hall. She heard snoring from the kitchen and briskly marched to the prep-table. With a kick of the chunky cooks chair, she sent him sprawling onto the floor, frightening him out of his slumber.

“Oy!” she snapped aloud, “Wake up, you! We have tiny children to feed out there—no noddin’ off!!”

The cook gave the woman a nasty look, but got up from the floor without a word.

Satisfied, she turned back to Wendell. “Anything at all?”

Wendell gave a last glance down the stairwell and shook his head. “No.,” he said meekly, “I’m…fine, thank you—just…going to bed.”

He returned to his chamber, closed the door and rested his forehead against the wood.

This is nuts. He clenched his eyes tight. Bonkers, he told himself. First I get chosen by mistake, get given a job I’m unlikely to succeed in, left to fend for myself, now I’ve gotten TWO kids killed because I didn’t know how to use the ultimate power…and now voices are talking to me that only I can hear. Lovely.

Help me.

Wendell flinched. The voice permeated through his skin and the room around him. He pushed away from the door, tossed the letter onto the table and slapped his hands over his ears. Gotta shut this out. Relax. Stay calm, he told himself.

But all he could do was pace.