13. Perspicacious

Dax pushed between them. “Everyone shut up.” Placing a large ear against the door, the other ear twitched. “Höbin, you still got your tools?”

CHOICES is the first book in the Chronicles of a Hero fantasy series. This is the story of Wendell P. Dipmier, who I’ve been writing about since 1990. I hope you’ll join me on this new adventure….as I tell the honest, complete story of this amazing 17 year old, exclusively on Life of Fiction.

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CHAPTER 13

The more experiences I have here, the more convinced I am that timing is a principle of the Universe.

I’ve read, somewhere, that there is a time and a season for everything. A time to laugh, to cry, to celebrate, to love and to mourn. There’s even a time to act and a time for patience, especially when we’re waiting on people we care about, right? I’m believing the Universe is constantly trying to teach this principle to us. That got me thinking…

What if the Universe is setting up the dominos for us…and we just have to see it?

Perspicacious was one of the less frequented shops deep in the Black Market, but one of Chuck’s favorites. The shop proprietor, Dathern Istul, had an obsession with knowledge and a talent for collecting extraordinary tidbits of information. It came as no surprise that his shop gained a reputation for its unusual and unequaled library.

I wasn’t sure how we’d ended up here. First, the wizard was speaking fondly of the shop owner and then suddenly he had a great idea. “Let’s get the boy some reading materials. He needs some schooling.”

“Yeah,” I said with a deliberate lack of enthusiasm, “I just graduated from High School a few days ago…what about my summer break?” 

They ignored me. “Here I was, set on taking a year off before I applied to community college,” I grumbled to myself, frustrated. It didn’t last long once I reminded myself that this ‘schooling’ was learning magic and becoming a mägo.

What kind of word was that, anyway? ‘MAH-go’. Sounded more like some purple and green-haired animal stylist. Get a trim for your poodle and a tattoo for yourself, while sipping a decaf soy-latte.

I’d said that out loud and got a slight ram on the head by Chuck’s staff. “Respect, son. The word ‘mägo’ means one who works with the arcane. The sorcerers, magicians, wizards, crafters, artificers, and every branch of script magic.”

So, no soy-latte.

I was just trying to avoid the thoughts of psychotic grandmothers and cannibalistic supermodels scraping at my mind. Ever since the old woman had grabbed my arm, I couldn’t shake the feeling that I was being watched. I suspected every persona I was introduced to. Every conversation was questionable. People stared at me just a tad too long, and that had me questioning everything.

We rounded a corner onto a narrow pathway of sunken stones, the blackened buildings leaning in on each other. The tattered sign of Perspicacious swung from rusted rings over a shop with darkened windows. A stubby little man pounded vigorously on the door. I wouldn’t mistake him for a child. There was too much facial hair, but he couldn’t have been much over three feet tall.

“Höbin!” Chuck shouted. “How are you, young one?”