🚀 go-pugleaf

     The angry whistle of wind down the house's chimney was a constant
companion on a cold December day, but Nathaniel Wynn hardly heard it as he
watched his son struggle relentlessly with unforgiving math homework.
Quietly, Nathanial's common-law wife slipped next to him and into his arms,
so the couple could watch their son's undampened determination. For a
moment Nathaniel listened to the wind blowing and felt his heart swell with
a pride and happiness so acute that it was nearly an exquisite pain. There
was no place that he would rather be at this moment, nothing that could
take him from his perfect household, no force in the universe that could
sunder his happiness.
     "Does he ever give up?" whispered his wife Sharon to him. He shook his
head and grinned.
     "Only sometimes," he whispered back, keeping an eye on the determined
boy. "Little tyke's got a whole lot of stick-toitiveness." Nathaniel
watched Jack work for a moment longer before drawing Sharon into the living
room. The two sat on their couch, arm in arm, enjoying their time together.
     "I see that Jack's got a little friend," said Nathaniel, smiling.
"When did he show up?"
     "You only just noticed Tweety?" asked Sharon, beaming. Under normal
circumstances, the woman was beautiful; but when she smiled the woman's
entire soul seemed to light up with an inner fire that melted Nathaniel
over and over again. "Jack's been taking care of him since migration season
started. The little dear flew into our window and broke a wing."
     "There Jack goes, taking care of any little critter that skitters
across his path," replied Nathaniel, not unkindly.
     "He takes after his mother," replied Sharon, winking at her husband
who chuckled.
     "You mean he's going to be one of those... what did you call them...
Incanters of Life thingies?"
     Sharon shook her head, smiling a touch. "No. There's only one at a
time, and I'm it at the moment. I highly doubt that I'd be so lucky to
produce someone who embodied an aspect of the universe."
     "He just gets his healthy respect for life from you, then," nodded
Nathaniel, doing his level best to understand deep cosmological phenomenon.
That his head had not yet exploded from the pressure was Sharon's first
hope that he was beginning to come to an understanding. "Too bad, really.
Was hoping he'd take after dear old dad."
     Sharon laughed and shook her head. "The world isn't ready for another
'All Chemist'... it wouldn't be able to contain all the explosions!
Besides, you and your icky science..."
     Nathaniel grinned at Sharon's teasing wink and took her arms in his.
"Icky science? Icky science? That icky science work that I'm doing is
helping make great advances in the field of pharmecuticals, thank you very
much, something that the magician of Life should appreciate!"
     "Oh, she does, she does," replied Sharon, making a face before
laughing. "But all those powders and smelly chemicals... magic's so much
cleaner."
     "But magic is a boondoggle that I can't wrap my head around," replied
Nathaniel, taking Sharon's wrists lightly and pulling her to him. "So I
leave that to my darling wife and put my best foot forward in what I do
get. Now tell me that I get a kiss for your impertinence."
     "Never," replied Sharon, leaning closer to her husband. "But you may
have a kiss for my love."
     "Fair enough," replied Nathaniel, also leaning close for the kiss.
Outside, the wind howled and a pair of eyes watched, their owner's soul
silently echoing the wind.

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              Frobozz Magic Productions Presents

                     Spotlight On...#28

                All Chemist, Mystica, Jack Wynn

                      A Tale of the Past

                   "Footprints in the Snow"

                       Part One of Two

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     Carefully, trying not to move too much, Jack trailed along behind a
rabbit that hopped through the freshly fallen snow of a mid-December
morning. There was no school the next day, no homework to be done that
evening, and so the boy spent his time playing in a vast wintry theme park
that tended to be the most seasonal of all amusement centres. Slowly he
stalked across the large yard of his parents' house so as not to spook the
rabbit which he tailed. Inwardly, he was glad that none of his friends had
been over when he had spotted this mundane miracle. They tended to think it
great sport to toss rocks, snowballs or any other missile close to hand at
living things, delightedly watching them scurry away. Jack found the whole
practice completely repulsive, feeling that it was infinitely better to
watch the going ons of living creatures as a spectator, not as an intruder.
However, fear of being labelled a misanthrope kept him from crying out too
much in protest, though no one seemed able to understand why he refused to
pick up something to hurl at the innocent creatures that he came across.
Alone and happier for it, Jack continued to walk after the rabbit,
hunkering down in the snow as it settled into a depression to get beneath
the wind.
     Where the hand came from, Jack could not tell. One moment he was
peacefully watching the small creature - nearly invisible in its dip - and
the next a hand descended upon the rabbit, picking it up by the scuff of
the neck. Jack jumped and looked up, to see a tall man dressed in a grey
parka examine the small animal with a detached curiosity. The boy froze,
unsure what to do at this moment. This man was in theory a trespasser on
private property and as such, subject to immediate challenge. In practice,
however, Jack knew that he couldn't summon the courage to speak out against
him, particularly if he moved to threaten the boy. Possibly his ten-year
old legs could get him to the cover of the bushes which outlined the
perimeter of his parents' yard, but what then? That would take him further
away from the house, not closer to it. For the first time he cursed his
mother's love of nature and desire to have a semi-isolated home in the
country. There seemed to be no easy avenue of escape. Except perhaps for
talk.
     "Who are you?" asked Jack, with all of the confidence of a ten year
old who's just discovered a frightening stranger on familiar property and
has no easy getaway route. This amount of confidence, if you think about
it, could be comfortably expressed as a negative value. The man continued
to examine the rabbit for a moment, ignoring Jack's question and sending
said confidence into a downward spiral, if a grounded object could be said
to spiral downward. He decided to try again. "You shouldn't be here."
     "Hmmm..." said the man, his eyes fixed on the rabbit. "Winter coat
ragged, malnourished and thin, not enough fat to keep warm... two, possibly
three days until your span's run its course, little one." With a searing
flash of light and the cloying smell of charred fur and flesh, the rabbit
was immolated in the man's hands. Jack stared in horror as the stranger
tossed the carcass to Jack's feet, sending up a hiss of steam as the torpid
body melted snow and ice. He looked up angrily, balling his fists futilely
against the man who could so casually incinerate an innocent life. The
stranger rolled his eyes patiently and sighed.
    "You are your mother's son, aren't you?" he asked with an amused shake
of his head. "What I just did was a kindness. I gave that poor, suffering
creature the only joy that it could know: an eternal end to its hungers,
pains and sorrow."
     "I could've fed it... kept it warm... you didn't have to do that!"
cried Jack, feeling tears springing to his eyes. The stranger sighed and
shook his head once more, no longer amused.
     "Would you have taken in the next rabbit, Jack? Or the one after that?
Or the one after that? What would've happened when your house was overrun
by starvling bunnies, your father, mother and self all going hungry so that
the little beasts could selfishly gorge themselves on what was rightfully
yours? Sometimes a culling is necessary, Jack. Your mother should know
this, but why she never passes it on is anyone's guess. Death balances out
life and makes it possible."
     "But..." began Jack, looking down at the pitiful corpse. "You...
enjoyed it."
     "Yes, I enjoyed it," replied the man with a slight nod of his head. "I
enjoy returning to death what is no longer necessary to life. I enjoy it
because... I serve life through death." The man's smile looked genuine, but
Jack felt himself chilled to the bone. "Speaking of serving life, would
your mother be in, Jack?"
     "Mom?" asked Jack, thrown by the sudden change in topic. "Why?"
     "She's an old friend." replied the man, the smile growing to cover his
face and whatever half truth he'd just told as well. "And it's been _so_
long."
     "I... don't think she's home," lied Jack, shaking his head. The man in
front of him chuckled and reached out a hand, against which Jack
instinctively recoiled. The stranger chuckled again and reached further,
ruffling the boy's hair.
     "You don't trust me very much, do you?" asked the stranger, staring at
Jack with a bemused look. He waited for no answer but pressed on. "No, of
course you don't. Very sensible, Jack. Very sensible indeed. Your mother
taught you not to talk to strangers, didn't she?"
     Jack nodded slowly. "Yeah."
     The man's smile turned sardonic and his eyes seemed to bore into Jack,
peering deep into his soul. "Then why are you talking to me?" he demanded,
making Jack's heart thump with fear. Such intense scrutiny made the boy
feel unclean, in ways that he couldn't express.
     "Because..." began Jack, but no words came for the fear. Anything that
he said would be inadequate to counter the man's dark presence.
     "I can answer that question for you," continued the man, nodding at
something. "I'm different, aren't I?"
     "Well..."
     "I'm not what you're used to. You want to know what I am, what I'm
doing here. If I'm a danger. If perhaps... I'm not."
     "You're not?"
     "I didn't say that," said the man, with a cold, sarcastic smile.
"That's your lesson for today, Jack. Believe in something only if you've
got proof. Do you have proof that I'm not dangerous?"
     Jack paused for a moment, then shook his head.
     "Then the best policy is to remember that I could become dangerous at
any second. Remember that, Jack. Faith, hope and trust are noble ideas, and
I know that your mother believes in them firmly. And you should too."
     "I do..." said Jack, hesitantly.
     "Good," smiled the man. "But only believe in them for as long as they
can't hurt you. When you run into something that you don't know about, that
you can't understand... get rid away from it, fast."
     "Because... that way I can wait until I have proof?" asked Jack,
trying to surround this concept. The man laughed, beaming coldly at his
pupil.
     "Excellent, Jack. Excellent. You've grasped it utterly, which is quite
a feat. It generally takes experience to learn that particular lesson.
Innocence is such a drag factor. I must leave now, but I expect you to keep
thinking about what I've told you. Will you do that for me?"
     Jack nodded. "Who... should I tell mom you are?"
     "No one," replied the man, taking a step past Jack. "I'll come back
later, when you're ready to trust me to see your mother. You don't trust me
yet, do you?"
     Jack considered that for a moment, then shook his head.
     "I do believe that there's hope for you, little moppet. Good bye, and
do bury that thing."
     The man walked three steps and then faded into the blur of the light
blizzard which had come out of nowhere. Jack looked down at the carcass of
the rabbit as the snow whipped around him, tugging and grasping at his
coat. He leaned down to dig away snow, exposing slumbering grass and soil
which he carefully cut into a grave for the charred rabbit.
     The wind howled.
***
     For some living in the early 70s, a television was considered an
essential appliance, bringing as it did affairs of the day and light
entertainment into the home. In Nathaniel Wynn's household, the television
was to the occupants as red meat on Friday was to a devout Catholic.
Several radios were scattered through the house, happy concessions to a
primitive form of 'connectivity' that linked Canada from coast to coast in
the form of the CBC, the only station which could entertain all three
members of the household. On this blustery day, all radios were silent
while the Wynns found ways to entertain themselves. Jack, intrigued by the
windows to the outside world to which he listened almost daily, fiddled
with a crystal radio set that had been a birthday present months earlier.
Upstairs, Nathaniel and Sharon reclined on a couch, taking turns reading to
one another from _A Tale of Two Cities_, combining their love of literature
with their love of spending time together. Unheeded, the wind outside
moaned.
     "Ow!" yelled Jack suddenly, as he jabbed his finger with a sharp wire
from his kit. He put injured finger in mouth to sooth the pain just as he
heard a most peculiar sound. Static seemed to emit from the radio's ear
piece, though neither battery nor many of the wires had been connected.
Curious, Jack put the small white piece to ear and listened.
     "Hello Jack," spoke a static-laced voice through the white noise.
"Remember me?"
     Jack blinked and nearly fumbled the radio kit. "You... you're the man..."
     "...who intruded upon your property the other day? Of course. You have
a wonderful memory for voices, Jack. I thought that I should call and check
to see how my favourite little student was getting on. Have you been
thinking about what I told you, Jack?"
     Jack nodded before remembering that he was engaged in a voice-only
conversation.
     "Yes," he said, forgetting to wonder at the lack of a microphone
pickup on the set.
     "Have you come to any conclusions?"
     "I don't think I like it," replied Jack, feeling very uncomfortable.
Talking to strangers was one thing, but talking to strangers on an
incomplete radio set that had gone untouched for months was quite another.
He was liable to get grounded for this.
     "Of course, of course," replied the voice, sounding for all the world
as though he had just nodded. "We differ and where there's difference
there's dispute, and where there's dispute there's learning. I'm not at all
displeased, Jack. Are you ready for your next lesson?"
     "Next lesson?" parroted Jack, not having realised that there was going
to be a succession of instructions. "What do you mean?"
     "Simply put, Jack," replied the voice. "Today's lesson is about
knowing whom to trust. Name the people you trust more than anything else."
     Jack leaped right in, knowing the answer immediately. "Mom and dad,
course."
     "Of course. Have either of them ever hurt you?"
     "Well... once, dad had to give me a spanking..."
     "Did he want to hurt you?"
     "No. He didn't hit hard."
     "And because they don't want to hurt you, you can trust them, right?"
     "Right..."
     "How do you know?"
     "What?"
     "How do you know that they don't want to hurt you, Jack?"
     Jack paused and thought on that for a moment, with all of the logic
that a ten year old could muster to the cause. "Because... they're mom and
dad..."
     "That's not very good, Jack. Try a little harder. _Why_ do you know
they won't hurt you? Proof. Always submit proof."
     "Because... they haven't before?"
     A low chuckle sounded over the radio ear piece. "Very good, Jack. Very
good. Eventually, if they don't hurt you over a long period of time, you
can learn to trust them, can you not?"
    Jack considered that for a moment. It made so much more sense to him
than the binary of trust and no trust which he had been presented with the
day before. Trust a little. Build it up. Let people a step into your heart
at a time. It wasn't a negation of his mother's teachings, just an
expansion upon them... wasn't it?
     "I... think I get it," said Jack, nodding slowly.
     "Do you? Good... good... and I sincerely hope that one day I can earn
a spot of trust from you Jack. I certainly hope that you haven't come to
trust me yet; that would be disappointing in the extreme."
     Jack paused for a moment, doubts shifting within him. He found himself
unwilling to feel trust for this person who seemed able and willing to kill
with a thought, but at the same time, a fascination was forming within him
and strangely, Jack did not want to disappoint him.
     "No... not yet," said Jack, uncertainly.
     "Good. Very, very good. Keep working on that radio, Jack. You'll get
it eventually."
     Suddenly the voice was gone, and no amount of confused chatter could
bring it back. The basement was quiet. In Jack's ear, only static roared.
***
     Sharon frowned slightly, looking pensively at her hands, with which
she fiddled. Nathaniel, carrying two steaming mugs of hot chocolate,
quickly set them down and sat beside her.
     "Hey dear, I know that look on your face," he began. "What's wrong?"
     "Would 'vague sense of unease' answer your question?" asked Sharon,
glancing around the room as though she were seeing it for the first time.
"I felt the strangest twinge just now."
     "Twinge?" asked Nathaniel, putting a cup of steaming chocolate into
his wife's hands. "Like what?"
     "Like... magic being used," finished Sharon, considering for a moment.
"It's been a long time since I've tried to assense anything, though... I'm
far too rusty. That's why it was only a feeling."
     "How close would it have to be, then?" asked Nathaniel, sipping his
drink. "And is this something we should start fretting about?"
     "I don't know and I don't know." replied Sharon.
     "You told me that Jack had the talent to be a wizard-type. You think
maybe he's doing some of that... what did you call it... wild magic stuff?"
     "No," replied Sharon. "No, definitely not. Jack has an overwhelming
amount of potential but no manipulation ability, wild or taught. He'd need
training or some way to tap his potential to create any sort of mystical
phenomenon. He has neither."
     "In that case," replied Nathaniel, "Maybe it's time for Nathan and
Sharon to go away for a while and have All Chemist and Mystica come out to
investigate?"
     Sharon smiled. "I do think you're right, dear. And I swear, you've
been looking for a reason to put on the colours for how long now?"
     "Since the sixties, of course," replied Nathaniel.
     "Last year?"
     "Earlier sixties, love," replied Nathaniel. "Now don't get all
smart-alecy with me or I'll have to spank you."
    Sharon snorted. "I would dearly like to see you try to spank the
Incantantrix Vitae, the Defender of Life, the Closer of Wounds and the
Healer of All."
     "So would I, but we're on duty now," replied Nathaniel, grinning.
"Time to start mixing up some fresh chemicals, I think."
     "And I need to lay some protective wards and incant a few divination
weavings. Nate... are we really jumping back into service just because your
wife's having a touch of anxiety?"
     "Is there any better reason to do it, Sharon?"
     "Nope. Just needed to ask," replied Sharon, with a grin. "Come on.
Tonight, Mystica and All Chemist ride again!"
***
[Continued In Part Two]