Ceramic DM- The Renewal ( Final judgement posted)

As an aside, I'll note that I chose to begin my World of Warcraft addiction in the time between the original contest and this one. I'm really proud to say that I put down the game for a while and churned this story out. I say that, looking at the time stamp, dreading the morning to come... Oh, and this is my first attempt at anything remotely humorous. We'll see how it is when I reread it.


***

Working for the Weekend

“You shouldn’t be here,” Gavin said, furtively looking around the office. “I am trying to work.” He puffed up his chest with self-importance.

Tinsdale found himself envious of his friend’s job. Even with his position in litigation, he found himself with only sixty hours of work a week. But Gavin, in his lucrative programming job, easily clocked eighty hours a week. Even with the nice suits he had acquired, Tinsdale paled in his friend’s shadow.

“I’m sorry Gavin. I just had an odd premonition this morning. You do know what day it is…”

“Sure I do. It’s Samhain. But that doesn’t mean anything to us anymore.”

“Of course it does…” Tinsdale poked out his bottom lip and set down a snow globe he had been examining. He would have to get one of those for his office. Gavin always had the best trinkets.

“Please Tinsdale. You’re probably just spooked because of all the children dressing up.”

He could feel his cheeks color. He had sensed ill tidings on the wind this morning while polishing his silverware. Yet Gavin was right: the imagery associated with Halloween had probably enhanced those feelings as the day pressed on. So many children reveling in worship of ghost and goblins were unnerving.

There was a rustling by the door to Gavin’s office. The glass was opaque, so you could only see shadows of those outside. A tentative knock sounded at the door, interrupting their conversation.

“Curse you Tinsdale, that’s probably my supervisor. I can’t be seen socializing on company time! She probably has more projects for me.” A dreamy look appeared in Gavin's eyes at the thought. He turned upon Tinsdale, pushing him towards another door. “In the server closet, now!”

Tinsdale found himself rushed into a cramped room dominated by a rack of whirring computers. He watched as Gavin pushed the door close behind him, failing to close it completely. His friend had nothing to worry about – Tinsdale would never jeopardize his job (unless he could take it for himself). He squirmed in the closet, as there wasn’t much room beside the noisy computers.

“Come in.” he heard Gavin say, followed by an exclamation of “Moinker!” That sparked Tinsdale’s attention. Why would Gavin curse in their native language? He leaned against the doorjamb, trying to catch a peek through the crack in the door. Three figures stood in the room with their backs to him. Each wore an oddly familiar white suit.

“I’ll not go back, you know. I have work to do!” There was a rough sound, and Tinsdale could finally see Gavin as he was shoved into his chair. He looked worried.

“You face the Face, faerie!” The voice was deep and raspy. Tinsdale strained forward, bracing himself against the racks, hoping to get a better glance at the strangers. This time it paid off, as one of the trio turned to examine the room. It had a monstrously large orange head with shaggy brown hair. As the creature’s gaze passed over the closet door, Tinsdale clamped his hand over his mouth to stifle a scream. If only he could have stopped his bladder as well…

“I think not, hobgoblin!” More words ushered from his mouth, but these were not the dialect of their home, but instead were drawn from the arcane tongue. Bluish sparks of energy formed between Gavin’s fingers as two of the monsters closed in on him. Then there was a loud crack and the pair was hurled across the room.

“Run, Tinsdale!” Gavin screamed. Tinsdale faltered, still unsure if he should reveal himself. It wouldn’t be so bad to hide here. He still had half an hour before his deposition… “Run!”

The last plea shook Tinsdale from his stupor. He threw the door open and looked about the room. The two hobgoblins struck by the blast were on the floor with thin trails of black smoke rising from their chests. They were groaning, as the blast had only stunned them. Gavin was struggling with the third assailant, yet Tinsdale knew there was nothing he could do to help. He was, after all, only a lawyer. Taking his friend’s advice, he fled from the room and abandoned him to his fate.

Emerging onto the street in a blind panic, he ran down the sidewalk with his arms waving frantically in the air. People stepped to the side to avoid him. He knew he needed to get away from the hobgoblins, who probably wanted nothing less than to roast his head on a spit. They knew where to find Gavin at his job, so they might know to find him at the firm, or even worse, at the courts. Tinsdale doubted if citations of contempt would slow them down.

As he reached an intersection of roads, he saw something that could potentially save him. Off to his left, barricades blocked traffic access to 9th Street. Beyond he could see people marching to the tunes of a poorly choreographed parade. There would be a number of people there, offering a great place to hide.

Tinsdale slowed to a walk and moved through the barricades, nodding briefly to the police officers stationed there. He considered beseeching them for aid, but decided against it. They looked hard at work watching for wrongdoers, and if there’s one thing Tinsdale could respect, it was hard work. He had briefly pondered a career as a policeman, but that whole prospect of danger strongly went against his beliefs.

“Nope. The one thing I don’t need is danger. Not me…” He took a glance to his rear hoping to see Gavin sprinting to catch up with him, but there were only the policemen standing idly in the street. He let loose a sigh and moved into a crowd currently entranced by a series of fire trucks crawling past.

People were dressed for the occasion, no few of which gave Tinsdale pause. Little boys in masks and cowls. Little girls with butterfly wings. Large girls wearing fishnets… oh, perhaps they weren’t in costume. Tinsdale did his best to blend in with the masses. This was an enjoyable distraction, although the nagging voices in his head reminded him that not only was he on the run from vicious assailants, but also he would be late for his deposition this afternoon. Judge O’Rourke was not known for her patience.

“Look at the funny man, mommy!” the girl with the translucent wings said in a screeching voice that carried above the crowd. Tinsdale winced, knowing that she was pointing to him. How appropriate that a girl dressed as an insect would laugh at him. Some things never changed.

To his relief, Tinsdale noted that she was pointing out into the street where the procession continued.

To his horror, he saw that she was pointing to an orange-faced man wearing a white jumpsuit decorated with bizarre caricatures.

A hobgoblin.

And there were at least five of them, each searching among the spectators as they walked. As horrible as their appearance was, not one of the oblivious crowd participants noted their presence. They blended perfectly with all of the other costumed freaks.

Tinsdale willed himself to be still as the bestial gaze of the hunters passed over him. If he could only act disinterested, like one of the crowd, then these hobgoblins would miss him. Sure, they had found Gavin with ease, but that was Gavin. He had probably announced his presence on the Internet or in one of those computer games he worked on. Tinsdale however, was a modest, mousy type, and knew how to not draw attention to himself. As he continued the mantra in his head, the patrol of hobgoblins moved past his spot.

A peal of laughter erupted from Little Miss Butterfly beside him. “Look Mommy! That man wet himself!” She pointed directly at him, drawing laughter from nearby patrons, and the attention of the hobgoblins. As he watched with horror, one of the nearby creatures looked directly at him and pointed.

“I hope a witch flies in your room and turns you into a frog tonight!” Tinsdale sneered at the little girl, and then bolted off into the crowd. The mass of humanity seemed to congeal around him, slowing his pace to a crawl. He could only hope that this would also slow his pursuers, for he dared not look behind him. People shoved and complained as he moved past, the air moist with the heat of hundreds of bodies. Were he not running for his life, he knew he would pass out from the stench.

As soon as he found an accessible side street, Tinsdale broke from the crowd as fast as possible. His mind raced, trying to think of who he could call for help. Sadly, his only real friend was Gavin, and calling him was no option. If he were still alive, Tinsdale doubted he would want to talk to him. He wouldn't want to talk to Gavin were roles reversed. Even though it made complete sense at the time, he had abandoned Gavin in his hour of need. The man would likely carry a grudge.

Two hobgoblins emerged from the mouth of the alley in perfect time for Tinsdale to run straight into their arms. The foul odor of the crowd was nothing compared to the stench wafting from this pair. There was no escape from their clutches, and Tinsdale had never studied witchcraft like Gavin. Poor Gavin…

“Fellows, can’t we be reasonable about this?”

A dull clang heralded his descent into darkness.


***


Searing pain woke Tinsdale from his concussion-induced sleep. He immediately sat up, realizing the pain was not at his head, but instead at his feet. He couldn’t reach them, as his hands were bound together. So were his ankles, now that he examined them. His feet didn’t look to be on fire from this angle, but they sure felt like it. He tried to scrape the soles against the wood he sat upon, but it helped none. All he could see was that there was some kind of blackness along the soles. He dearly hoped it wasn’t his skin turned to ash, not that he could do anything to stop that.

After a few minutes and a good amount of tears on his part, the pain in his feet lessened. Only then was he able to take stock of his surroundings. He was in the bed of a pickup truck speeding under dimming skies. How long had he been unconscious? He wasn’t alone, as there were two hobgoblins and his friend Gavin, tied up the same way he was.

“Gavin! You’re alive! I was so worried…” Gavin shot him a foul look and remained silent. “Oh please Gavin; it was a horrible, stressful situation…”

“You left me!”

“You told me to run.” Tinsdale tried to raise his hands in protest, forgetting that they were securely tied.

“I didn’t mean it!” Gavin said. There was an uncomfortable silence, which brought Tinsdale’s mind back to his throbbing feet. He looked and noted that Gavin’s feet were also covered with a tarry black substance. Small zigzagged lines marked the bottom as if they were crude approximations of commercial sneakers.

“What’s on our feet?” Tinsdale asked.

“Some kind of tar and magic runes. I believe they did it to prevent me from casting spells of lightning.”

“But I can’t cast lightning. Why’d they do it to me?” Tinsdale turned to get the attention of one of the hobgoblins. “I can’t cast lightning, see?” His captor snorted, blowing his fetid breath into Tinsdale’s face.

The drive continued for upwards of an hour, taking them away from the city and off into the hills. Passing cars became fewer and fewer as they moved away from civilization. Tinsdale vaguely seemed to recall this area, although he rarely chose to leave the city.

“Where do you think they’re taking us?” he asked, not expecting an answer from his sullen friend.

“I’d imagine we’ll do what they said. Face the face.”

“You don’t mean…”

“Yeah,” Gavin said, his lips curling down into a frown. “The Face.”


***

If Tinsdale had thought the initial pain of his tar-covered feet was bad, he had not considered the agony of walking on them. The only benefit to the covering was that he did not feel each miniscule pebbles that blanketed the path they walked upon. Otherwise, the march was one of pure misery, randomly punctuated by shoves from their guards.

They had driven into a rugged area of stony hills sparsely populated with brown grass. The sun had begun its descent to the accompaniment of an insectile chorus. Ideas of rescue or escape took on a humorous tone in Tinsdale’s mind. He considered yelling for help, wondering how the echoes would sound. No, he knew this area, and he knew what awaited them below.

They were prodded down a path to a series of buildings that had suffered great erosion over the years. Masonry had fallen apart, leaving chimneys with no rooms to heat. Small sections of walls acted as cemetery markers where palatial buildings had once stood. As they navigated through the ruins, they approached one central structure that possessed more integrity than any others. Tinsdale could feel the ruin for what it truly was – a holy place.

As they entered the building, both he and Gavin were pushed to their knees. The ceiling of this structure was only half there, allowing the light to stream down upon the features of the walls. Two passageways flanked the opposing wall, rounded by arches formed from brick. Below the two archways was a yawning portal that led into the depths of the earth. The effect was that of a giant face formed from broken masonry. Yet the pair knew it was much more than that.

“FOOLISH CHANGELINGS!” a voice boomed out amid a backdrop of grinding stone. As it spoke, the passageway-eyes seemed to light with every word. “DID YOU THINK YOU COULD HIDE FOREVER?”

“Well, yes…” Tinsdale began, receiving a blow to the head from an unseen hobgoblin hand. “No,” he corrected. “No, your… eminence.” How did one properly address an immortal spirit that manifested itself as a giant stone face? It could probably kill them both with a solitary breath. He hoped he hadn’t offended it.

“YOU CHOSE TO ABANDON THE WILD HUNT AND LIVE IN THE WORLD OF MEN? DO YOU THINK YOURSELVES CLEVER?”

“Well…” Gavin began, earning them both clouts on the head. “No, no. We were foolish, Lord… Face?”

In truth, they had been clever. They had volunteered to go with the Wild Hunt as it ran its yearly journey across the mortal world, but it was a ruse on their parts. When their Sidhe brethren had been distracted by their hunting, the two of them had stolen off to hide in the glorious city. Once the night of Samhain had ended, the barrier between worlds strengthened, trapping them in the present world.

Contemplating their current predicament, Tinsdale mused that moving to a different city would have been truly clever.

“OUR KIND CANNOT STAY IN THIS DREARY REALM. WHY RISK ALL, ABANDONING OUR CAREFREE WORLD?”

Tinsdale stole a look at Gavin, wondering how to explain it. No good excuse came to mind, and so they spoke the truth, in unison.

“We wanted to work.”

“WHAT?” the voice of the Face boomed out. Tinsdale imagined he could hear grunts of disgust come from the hobgoblins behind them.

“We wanted jobs like the man-folk,” Tinsdale began. “We’ve been loafing for centuries, and we wanted the change. Our lives were so boring. You can’t imagine how many days I spent lounging by streams, hoping for something to do.” He stuck out his tongue as the horrible thought.

“OUR KIND DOES NOT WORK! THAT IS THE PROVINCE OF MEN. YOU SHALL BE TAUGHT A LESSON THAT WILL NEVER BE FORGOTTEN.”

This was better than Tinsdale had hoped for. The year he spent working in the courtrooms could finally pay off.

“What horrible, yet justly deserved punishment will we receive, oh Great Face?” In response, the rocks around them rumbled as if in deep thought.

“Might I suggest years of toil in the Mines of Boria?”

“NO…” the voice said in a distracted voice.

“Perhaps tending to the Endless Orchards day in and day out?” Gavin suggested. Tinsdale nodded, mouthing the words ‘good one’ to him.

“NO…”

“If I may suggest…” Tinsdale began.

“SILENCE, CHANGELING!” Mollified, Tinsdale clamped his mouth shut.

“YOU ARE CLEVER ONES, I SEE THIS NOW,” the Face announced. “YOUR PUNISHMENT IS THUS: YOU SHALL FOREVER RESIDE IN THE FROLICKING GLADES.”

They waited, ready for the twist that would make it unbearable. When the Face remained silent, Tinsdale prompted it. “And…?”

“AND NOTHING!"

It dawned on them that this was the very thing they had sought to escape. A life surrounded by the laziest of the lazy, with no tasks to be done, and no responsibilities to attend to. It was a life without meaning!

“HOBGOBLINS, TAKE THEM AWAY!” The Face said, with its eyes dimming as it settled into silence.

“Please reconsider, Great Face! Perhaps we could de-thorn roses for a century or two?”

“How about mucking the Great Stables?”

“Anything but this…”

Good luck to your Orchid!


Aaron Blair
Foren Star

First two judgements send, Im a bit short, but my mind is overflowing with....stuff.

A bump for goodness! And for those who are a bit punchy after staying up late into the night, working on entries!

My round 1-1 judgment sent to Alsih2o. I'll do 1-2 tomorrow.

Thank you, authors - this is fun!

Madddman vs Sigurd

Let me tell you about the worst day of my life.

It began in a most humiliating way. The night before, I'd spend the evening at an all-you-can-eat crab shack, throwing back beers and crab legs like there was no tomorrow. We closed the place down, and I managed to stumble home.

Now naturally, I was quite hung over and slept until almost noon. I had collapsed on the couch, rather than sleeping in my room with the door closed. Now why might you ask do I always make sure my door is closed? Because of Brutus. Brutus is my bulldog, and he's a heck of a dog, but he ain't right. Let me tell you about Brutus.

Brutus is almost fourteen years old. He's as loyal as can be and smart as a tack. Literally. A thumbtack could outsmart him on a good day. He's usually not the freshest dog in the neighborhood, given his propensity to sniff out the foulest smelling stuff he can and roll in it. I end up giving him a bath at least once a week, more than that if he gets into a funk.

One more thing about Brutus. He LOVES seafood.

So I awake, hung over and belly aching from last night's binge. Not only is my old smelly dog laying on me, but he's licking the inside of my mouth. I guess the smell of seafood was too tempting to him and he was trying to get him a taste.

Anyway, I go to yell 'YALLGEEOUNDOUN' at him. I don't know what it means, but but father said it, his father said it, and so on. Its the only phrase guaranteed to get a dog's attention. When I go to yell though, a deep rumbling in my belly tells me something is amiss. A horrendous belch erupts into my mouth, and therefore Brutus's mouth.

I pushed him off me and ran to the bathroom to rinse my mouth out. Obviously Brutus disliked the taste of twelve hour old used beer, he was just as disgusted as as I was.Picture #1

I had thought that was the worst of it, but it had just begun. I went into my hall closet to get my 'special friend'. Now I'm a pretty lonely guy, but I'm pretty handy with tools and electronics. So, as all young geeks dream I built myself a girlfriend robot. She was not quite complete, all I had managed to get her to do so far was complain that I didn't buy her enough stuff and ask me 'What's wrong?' any time I'm not talking.

Appearantly when I had stumbled in the night before I'd walked into my closet door. She was there, but had fallen apart! I would need to get some new screws to hold her together. That would mean I had to go to Radio Shack. I hate radio shack.

So I bagged the pieces up and hauled it out to my car. My neighbor gave me a weird look. I wonder what his problem was. Like he'd never seen someone haul a girl-bot off in a sack before. Picture #2

I managed to get her into the car and drove off toward Radio Shack. Traffic was unusually bad, there had to be something going on. As I turned a corner, I realized why there was so much traffic. This was the day that the Reenactment Society was having a battle! They were reenacting Lawrence of Arabia or something. Picture #3

I finally managed to make it past the mounted drunken reenactors and wheeled into Radio Shack. I walked in and asked the clerk if he had any screws. I was in luck, and managed to get the last pack. Triumphant, I returned to my car to return home and re-assemble Robo-Girl.

Just when I thought things couldn't get any worse, I turned the key and heard nothing. The car was utterly dead. If I was going to salvage this day, I'd have to hike back to my house. So I threw Robo-Girl on my back and started huffing down the street.

It wasn't long before I got back to the Re-enactors. They were completely blocking the street, there was appearanlty some kind of disagreement. It seems that at the end of whatever battle they were playing out, the end had to involve a pair of elephants, one from each army meeting and mating in the middle of the battlefield. They had the two elephants (don't ask me where the got them – I don't want to know!) but the magic wasn't happening. If I were going to get Robo-Girl home and back together, these elephants would have to hear music.

Now I know a thing or two about elephants. I spent a semester working at the zoo, and I had to feed the things every day. The thing about elephants is that they are very particular about mating. The crowd didn't help anything, and they weren't doing the dance. You see, when one elephant loves another elephant very much they start a special dance, wrapping their trunks around each other and looking into the other's eyes. Only then, can the magic happen. And these elephants didn't look like they were in the dancing mood.

I got one of the re-enactors and gave him some direction. Told him to just keep her steady and I'd guide the other elephant into place. With a little patience we might just make it happen.

It was going great. I mean they were cautious at first, but when they got up close and started wrapping their trunks around each other I thought we were in business. Picture #4

Then, my fortune turned south again. Just as when I had awoken, I felt a great disturbance in my guts. I could tell it would coming up and I was utterly powerless to stop it. The belch was loud and clear in the crisp air, audible for nearly a mile. The bull elephant I was riding trumpeted in surprise at the disturbance and pulled to the side. So quickly, in fact that I slid off his back and landed right on mine.

The female was both shocked and offended at the male's reaction, and bolted. She didn't trample any of the re-en actors. No. She ran at the only open spot that had opened up, the one where I had walked in. The one where I had sat down Robo-Girl's sack. Her huge foot mashed Robo-girl into a million pieces. She then took off down the street.

The re-enactors started trying to calm the now enraged bull,to little effect. As the cause of all the commotion, I managed to slip away and return home, dejected. I was still hung over, my Robo-Girl was destroyed, and my feet were killing me. At least it couldn't get any worse.

As I traveled home, I noticed that the female had headed toward my place. Its pretty easy to track an elephant, especially through a suburb. I soon arrived home and found the perfect end to the worst day of my life. The elephant had dropped a nice little (and by little I mean freakin huge) pile right in my front lawn. It would probably take me hours to clean up.

And Brutus had rolled in it.

Moral of the story kids? If you drink to excess your dog will lick the inside of your mouth and an elephant will stomp on your robot girlfriend. So be good!

Bilboian Trek

The car skid across the pavement, shrieking like a wounded cat. Liza sighed in relief as she barely missed the snail sliding across the street. (1)

“What the Hell, Liza?” yelled Ryan.

“There was a snail.”

“A snail? Who cares about a snail? This is a race, Liza. I’d rather see snail entrails and stay in the lead than come in second again.”

“It reminded me of The Grapes of Wrath. I couldn’t hurt it.”

“The Grapes of who?”

“The Grapes of Wrath. It’s a mundane book with a chapter about a turtle in it struggling to cross the street. A truck hits the turtle and flips it over, but it still makes it across. I wanted the snail to get across too.”

“They devoted a whole frickin’ chapter to a turtle crossing the street? No wonder they’re called mundane books. What the Hell does “grapes of wrath” mean anyway? Was it a growth spell gone out of control?”

“No, it was from a hymn.”

“A what?”

“Before the Magic Revival, people used to sing hymns to a god. I think it’s the god that started Christmas. You should read more mundane novels.”

“Why? Any time spent reading something other than a magic book is a waste. It’s my magic that’s going to win us this race.”

“Except for the times magic isn’t allowed,” muttered Liza.

“What?” snapped Ryan.

Liza bit her lip and refrained from arguing further. She felt the eyes of the camera elf boring into her and squirmed in her seat. He was perpetually silent, which Liza always translated as disapproval. She turned her thoughts back to the snail and wondered if it would have an easier time crossing the road than she would crossing the country with her husband.

The race had seemed like a good idea at the start. They both needed a vacation from work, and the prize would open up new possibilities for Ryan’s magic. Requirements for the team were one human sorcerer and one human mundane. The race was to cross America in a mundane car with strict rules guiding when magic could be used and when it couldn’t. The camera elf not only filmed the couple, but watched for any rule breaking.

They had fought so much during the audition that Liza was sure they wouldn’t be accepted. However, the letter arrived welcoming them to the Bilboian Trek, and Ryan had begun his plans for when he won the prized Arkenstone. They started with 9 other teams, and had managed to stay in while four others had been eliminated. Each round had a magical prize to help the winning team on the rest of the race. Ryan steamed with anger every time they missed first place, which was four times. Now, they drove along with a comfortable lead, heading toward New Orleans.

“There’s the clue!” shouted Liza. “It’s on the broken ‘Welcome to New Orleans’ sign.” She began slowing down the car as they approached the sign.

“Don’t slow down!” shouted Ryan. “Are you stupid or just crazy?”

“What do you mean? We have to get the clue!” exclaimed Liza, continuing to slow the car.

“I’ll use telekinesis. Don’t stop!”

Liza floored the accelerator as Ryan rolled down the window. She watched in the rearview mirror as he threw some sort of dust out, snapped his fingers and slowly pulled them in while the clue floated to him.

“When did you learn how to do that?”

“I’ve been reading my magic books. Not your stupid little novels.”

“Well, how was I supposed to know you could do that?”

“You could ask. Hey, slow down the car, the clue can’t catch up.”

In the rearview mirror, she saw the clue tailing behind the car like it was flying on a kite string. She slowed down, but the clue seemed to slow down with the car. She slowed down more, but still the clue didn’t go through the window to Ryan.

“What the Hell? Stop the car idiot and let me get the clue.”

Liza slammed on the breaks causing Ryan to fly forward and bump the camera elf. He always refused to wear his seat belt.

“Are you trying to kill me?’

“You said stop the car.”

Ryan jumped out, grabbed the clue, jumped in and Liza floored the accelerator once again. He ripped open the clue and read, “Elevensies: Nuts or Doughnuts? Choose to travel to a candy factory and make a batch of pralines to send to a candy store or serve beignet to hungry hobbits until you are tipped with the clue. Magic is forbidden in both places.”

“Let’s do the pralines,” said Liza. “With that one, there’s a definite ending point.”

“You are stupid. Remember? I’m allergic to peanuts. We have to serve the hobbits.”

“You don’t eat the nuts. You mix ‘em in with the chocolate.”

“What if I get the oil on my hands? We have to do the doughnuts.”

“But we might have to serve a hundred hobbits before we’re tipped with the clue.”

“It’ll probably only be like a dozen. Here’re the directions.” Ryan read the directions to the famous beignet café, after which ensued yelling about the way Liza was driving and how they were going to get there last if she kept it up. Liza gripped the steering wheel tightly. Beads of sweat broke out on her forehead as his shouting grew in volume.

Finally she parked the car and said through gritted teeth, “We have to walk the rest of the way.”

“No, we run. Chris and Alex have probably caught up by now after your spectacular display of ineptness.”

“Why don’t you drive?”

“I don’t drive mundane cars. I still don’t understand why that’s what we have to use. The elves made them illegal years ago.”

“You could’ve learned when I did for the show. I’m sure we’re using them because all the mundane roads are out of use, and they don’t have to worry so much about accidents happening with outsiders on the Trek.”

“This way,” pointed Ryan, running around the corner. They were dodging through crowds of people, elves and hobbits seeing the sights of the French Quarter in New Orleans.

Liza followed, and soon they arrived at the café. Fifty years ago the café would’ve been filled with people enjoying the famous beignet, but since the Revival, hobbits had been the main consumer. They were fast and small, and whenever a human went to sit down, they found themselves on top of a hobbit who would claim he had been there the whole time. Usually the human would walk away embarrassed, but occasionally one would start a row and find himself gasping for air amidst rings of pipe smoke.

Liza and Ryan were welcomed by a stout, red faced, female hobbit wearing an apron. “Welcome to our café. We certainly can use your help today. Take an apron and start handing out the beignets and coffee. The ones with the clues have been here the longest and will be here all afternoon. You might have to serve them a couple of times before they relinquish the clue.”

“What? That’s absurd,” said Ryan. “This is a race. Do you understand what a race is? We can’t wait around for a silly hobbit to make us serve him over and over.”

“Ryan! Don’t be rude!” exclaimed Liza.

“I have half a mind to refuse your help,” said the owner. “You treat my customers that way and I’ll kick you out. Clue or no clue.”

“He’ll behave,” said Liza pulling him away. “You can’t treat people that way. She’ll kick us out and then we’ll have to do the pralines.”

“Stupid hobbits. They would be much more productive if they did things other than eat.”

“Come on, Ryan.” Liza put on her apron and loaded a tray with coffee and doughnuts. She had been a waitress once and smoothly wove her way through tables, handing out doughnuts and collecting money as if she had worked there for years. She didn’t mind not getting the clue right away because she was earning much needed money through tips. The Trek gave them only a small allowance to get by on each round, and her tips might be enough for a magic taxi when they had to go places the mundane car wasn’t allowed. She could sense Ryan’s agitation, however, and wished they had been able to do the pralines. She was sure most of the other teams were at the factory by now, and knew it would be another close run to the finish for this round.

“Just give me the clue!” yelled Ryan. “I can see it in your pocket!”

“I don’t like the way you’ve been servin’ me. Bugger off.”

“Why---“

“Let it go Ryan. Go sit down and I’ll get the clue.” Red faced, Ryan stormed off and let Liza continue the work.

“If you weren’t so good, I’d make the both of you leave now,” said the owner when Liza went back for more coffee. “But all your customers have been praising you, so just don’t let that one back in.”

“I’m sorry ma'am,” said Liza. “He’s a bit out of sorts today.”

“How many times have you made that excuse?”

Flushed, Liza continued serving until one of the female hobbits said, “Here ye go, lassie. You’ve earned it, and thanks for the service.”

“Thank you, “ said Liza bowing. She scurried back to the kitchen and thanked the owner before showing Ryan the clue.

“About time. I thought you’d never get it. Did you have to talk to every freaking hobbit about the weather?”

Liza tore open the clue and said, “We have to go to the Mardi Gras museum. It’s the checkpoint. Let’s go!”

Ryan whipped the map out of his backpack and started shouting directions as they ran through the streets. As the museum came into view, they saw Chris and Alex stepping off the podium.

“Damn it, Liza!” exclaimed Ryan as he threw his map to the ground. Liza continued running, fearing other couples were close behind. She arrived at the podium and had to wait a minute before Ryan arrived and a woman next to the elf Glofindel acknowledged them. “Welcome to New Orleans,” she said, throwing beads over their heads.

“Thank you,” said Liza.

“Liza and Ryan,” said Glofindel. “You are team number two.”

“That’s good,” said Liza. “I was worried we were last.”

“We would’ve been first,” exploded Ryan, “except you had to pass the time with every hobbit in the café!”

“Thank you, Glofindel,” said Liza stepping away from the podium. He always made her uncomfortable with his penetrating eyes, and Ryan always embarrassed her with his pouty scenes. They went towards the tent where they had the mandatory interview before their twenty-four hour rest started. She heard Ryan yelling but didn’t listen to the words.

After refreshing herself and being made up for the camera, Liza sat next to Ryan for the interview. Ryan went on about how the race was a real growing experience and he was so glad to be sharing it with his loving wife. He was frustrated about coming in second again, but he was sure they would be first next time.

Liza said less than usual. She tried to say how Ryan was really strong and she was inspired by his forceful personality, but it seemed hollow this time. As if their relationship was puffed up like one of the beignets she had served with nothing inside. She left the tent after the interview without waiting for Ryan.

“Baby!” she heard him calling to her. “Baby, wait up! Is something wrong?”

“What do you think is wrong?” asked Liza, feeling a surge of freedom away from the camera. “You’ve been yelling at me for three days straight.”

“Ah, baby, you know that’s just for the cameras. They chose us to be the fighting couple. They want us to behave like that.” Ryan put his hands on her shoulders and pulled her to him. She wanted to resist, but found herself relinquishing as usual.

“But what does it matter how we act for the camera? We’re not one of the couples trying to land a screen roll. We just want the Arkenstone.” He gently pushed her head on his shoulder and she felt the tension of tears brimming on her eyelids.

“But I want people to remember me. I want them to recognize my name because I’m going to be the most powerful human sorcerer around.”

You want them to remember you as a jerk? she thought to herself, but, instead, said aloud, “I need to go for a walk. I’m not ready to sleep yet.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“No, I want to go alone. Go back to the hotel.” She felt his eyes watching her and knew he wouldn’t follow. Sleep time was too valuable to him.

She wandered aimlessly through the French Quarter seeing snatches of life but mainly thinking about her own. Ryan always had an excuse for yelling at her from a bad day at work to acting for the camera. He pushed her to the verge of break down and then was the most romantic husband ever for a few days after. When they were first married, it had been all romance. Then, over time, she found herself excusing his shouting by saying things like, “What other husband has hot paraffin and massage oil waiting for his wife when she gets home from work?”

The words, “Original Silmarillions” caught her eye as she walked by an antique bookstore. She had been told that when the elves first took over, original Silmarillions would sometimes go for $1000 a piece. It had turned out that most of The Lord of the Rings was true, and those that knew their elven histories were ahead of the rest of society when it came to dealing with the elves. The elves had actually apologized for the Silmarillion saying that after teaching Tolkien how to write The Lord of the Rings, his elven tutor had thought he could handle the other stuff on his own. She didn’t realize he would revert to his dry professor ways. They rewrote the Silmarillion, which became a best seller as all elvish books did, and the old Silmarillion didn’t hold its value.

Much like me, thought Liza. What value do I have anymore?

After several hours of wandering and eating, she made her way back to the hotel room and found Ryan asleep. Choosing the empty bed, she flopped down and stared blankly at the floor until sleep overtook her hours later.

“Guess what?” asked Ryan, shaking Liza to alertness. “Terry and Donna were eliminated! One less team we have to worry about!”

“Oh, that’s too bad. I liked them.”

“There’s no room for sentiment. This is a race. We need to gather our stuff, eat and get going. You’ve been sleeping for hours.”

Feeling like she had only slept one hour, she dragged her body off the bed to take a shower. After gathering new equipment and eating, they left for the next round of the race. Ryan ripped open the clue and read, “’Travel to Amarillo for your next clue.’ Amarillo? That’s a long ways from here. What’s the deal?”

“That’s the deal,” said Liza pointing to the money. “They only gave us $100. At the price the elves are charging us for gas, there’s no way we can make it to Amarillo. The challenge is to get more money.”

“But that’s ridiculous! They barely gave us enough money for the last round! What are we supposed to do? Beg on the streets like the poor kids?”

Liza fished into her pocket and pulled out her tip earnings. “Where did you get that?” asked Ryan, amazed.

“Tips,” said Liza simply.

“You’re beautiful!” exclaimed Ryan. He planted a kiss on her forehead and they started their mad dash to the car.

At least, thought Liza with the camera rolling behind her, I should get a reprieve from yelling for awhile.

It was tight, but the tip money got them to Amarillo. Liza was exhausted from driving, but Ryan was fresh from sleeping in the back most of the time. His telekinesis spell was successful this time, and the clue came flying into the car from the Welcome sign. “Serve it with a Smile,” he read after opening the clue. “The orcs are tired of frying burgers and fries. They want to become managers at Elronalds. One of you must train an orc to smile at three customers as he serves them their meal. Magic may be used.”

“Great,” said Liza. “This should be easy for you. You do an excellent charm spell.” She looked in the rearview mirror and saw Ryan’s race looking like a glob of dough.

“I-I can’t do this one,” stuttered Ryan.

“What?” yelled Liza. “This is your time. You’re always saying your magic is going to win the race!”

Ryan suddenly sat up straight and said, “If I do a charm spell, I’ll lose valuable components for other spells which might cost us the game. You’ll have to train him.”

“Me? But I’m exhausted. If you’re not going to use your magic, fine, but this one has to be your challenge. Your fresh and I’m dead. I’ll be double dead if I try to talk to an orc!”

“I’m sure it’s completely safe. Look how you handled the hobbits. They loved you! The orc will love you too.”

“I’m not doing it,” said Liza. “It’s your turn. I had to serve the hobbits by myself because you made them mad. You get to do the orc.”

“Well look whose not being a team player. I’m carrying this team alone while your wandering around and then sleeping way late so we barely start on time today. Now you’re refusing to do a task that is clearly better suited for you. You’re just going to have to do it because I’m tired of carrying this team by myself. Show a little spunk and quit being such a loser.”

Liza saw out of the corner of her eye the camera turning towards her. She felt blood trickling down her chin from biting her lip so hard. Silently she drove to Elronalds, parked the car and wiped the blood off her chin so she wouldn’t give the orc any ideas. All fast food chains, except for one, had been shut down by the elves. When they found out that the orcs actually preferred the taste of burgers and fries to human flesh, the orcs had all been put to work in the Elronalds as cooks.

Ignoring Ryan’s calls of “You can do this, baby. It’ll be easy,” she walked through the entrance.

“Where’ve you been? We thought the first contestants would be here hours ago,” said a tall woman. “Feermor is getting anxious and causing trouble in the back. It’s not good to make orcs wait.”

“It was a long drive,” said Liza. She followed the woman back amidst roars of impatience. Humans shot out of their chairs and out the doors, fearing the orc might come out to the dining room. As she walked into the kitchen, she saw a fat, black orc with hollow yellow eyes standing in mustard and pickles. (2)

“You train?” he asked.

“Yes,” said Liza.

“Finally! Start now!”

“Uh, let’s wash up first.”

“No! Serve first!’

“Well, customers prefer their mustard on the burger and not on the server.” Liza’s voice was thin and quivery.

“I prefer the mustard in me.”

She stared blankly at him for a minute and then suggested, “Why don’t you just lick it off your arm then?”

“Umm, yeah.” The orc turned his yellow eyes to his arm and licked it clean.

“You missed a spot on your apron,” said Liza, trying to by more time.

“Huh?” he bent his head down and cleaned off his apron. “Serve now.”

“Okay,” said Liza more confidently. “How’s your smile?”

“What?” growled the orc.

“Your smile,” said Liza. “Like this.” She grinned tightly but the orc just stared.

“I don’t smile.”

“Um, but you have to when you serve.”

“I don’t smile.”

“But if you want to be a manager, you have to smile.”

“I don’t smile!” roared the orc.

Liza felt her hands shaking. Ryan would already be done with this task by now, and she didn’t even know where to begin. She thought about stories she had read in the paper about orcs taunting hobbits whenever they could. “Um, how do you feel when you find a hobbit without anyone else around and you pick him up and shake him until all his pipe weed and snacks fall to the ground?”

“That feel good!” said the orc, baring his teeth and narrowing his eyes to a slit.

“That’s it! That’s the look,” exclaimed Liza. “Think about shaking a hobbit when you ask ‘May I help you?’ And again when you say ‘Have a nice day.’”

“Hobbits funny fellows,” said the orc going out to the cash register. At least I didn’t have to train him to read, thought Liza.

It took six customers before he served three with a smile. He ended up roaring at the three others when they couldn’t make up their minds. With relief, Liza took the next clue and headed for the car.

“See baby, you did it no problem,” said Ryan.

Ignoring Ryan, she got into the car and ripped open the clue. She read it to herself and then started the car.

“Where are we going? What’s the clue?”

“We’re going to Clovis.” She pulled out of the parking lot without giving Ryan the rest of the clue. Eventually he grabbed it and read it to himself. He started making up excuses about not being able to do the next task, but Liza just ignored him. As she drove, her eyes began to droop. They were going to fall behind because she couldn’t drive anymore and Ryan didn’t know how. She rolled down the window and danced in her seat, but her eyes kept getting narrower and narrower. Finally she pulled over.

“What the Hell, Liza?” yelled Ryan.

“I can’t drive anymore. If you want to, be my guest, but I have to rest.”

“The other teams will catch up.”

“I’d rather that than be dead on the side of the road. I’m sure our camera elf agrees.”

“You can’t do this to me, Liza!”

Liza looked out the window, ignoring his rant. The sun was setting, and the heat was shimmering with an orange glow, causing the desert to look like a sea. A tree with white leaves caught her eye (3), and she stepped out of the car. She could hear Ryan yelling in the background, but kept walking toward the tree. A door opened and closed, but still she kept heading for the tree. She stood under it, basking in the beauty of the blossoms. It was mid-summer, and she’d never seen a tree blossoming in the summer. “This is beautiful,” she said.

“We are rebuilding Lothlorien.” Liza whipped around and saw the camera elf standing with the camera held down at his side.

Startled because he had not said a word since the trip began, she stuttered out, “In the middle of a desert?”

“The climates are changing. Partly because of what humans have done, but partly through the natural way of the world. Why do you stay with him?”

“Well, he can be funny and romantic,” said Liza automatically defensive.

“I didn’t ask why you joined him, I asked why you stay with him.”

Liza stared at the tree. She imagined the blossoms falling to the ground like snow, but the tree remaining unchanged. “I guess change frightens me. It’s easier to stay with him than to think about finding someone new.”

“Must there be someone? This tree is alone now. One day it will have many neighbors, but for now it is growing strong by itself.”

Liza had never imagined her life alone. As a child she had had her family and as an adult she had Ryan, straight out of high school.

“You don’t need Ryan or anyone else to identify yourself. The orc liked you. The hobbits liked you. They didn’t like you and Ryan. They liked you.”

Liza turned from the tree to the camera elf. He had never even given them his name. But then, she realized, they had never asked.

“A question for the audience,” he said before she could ask. He lifted up the camera and said, “Why are you on the race?”

“To win the Arkenstone.”

“That’s why Ryan is here. Why are you here?”

“I-I don’t know.” She turned toward the car and climbed back in, suddenly no longer tired.

“Finally,” said Ryan. “Let’s get going.”

Numbly, Liza started the car, wondering why she was in the race, wondering why she did anything. It was all for Ryan, she realized. She had a job so Ryan could have a big house. She had no kids so that Ryan could have peace. She was on this race so that Ryan could become a better sorcerer. When was she going to do something for herself?

The car spun through the miles faster as Liza spun through her life. She heard Ryan saying something about contestants passing them, but she didn’t see them. Clovis approached, and she saw Shelly and Dillon stopped before her, trying to figure out which way to go. She slammed on the brakes but Ryan said, “Keep going, idiot. I’m going to fly the car over them.”

“No, Ryan. We’ll be disqualified. You can’t use magic on the car.”

“You can’t use magic on the mechanics of the car if it breaks down. It doesn’t say anything about enchanting it.”

“Yes it does. You can’t do this!”

“We’ll buy off the elves. I’m not going to be second again. I’m going to be first for once.”

“But this isn’t even---“ her words ceased as the car began to float over the other contestants cars. Ryan yelled at her to keep steering because she still had control of the direction. Too late, she went to turn as the car hit electrical wires. She heard a pop and saw the camera elf cast a spell at Ryan and then the car swung gently down, hanging from the wires. (4) Ryan rolled back into the rear window since he didn’t have his seat belt on. The camera elf floated out and opened the door for Liza and floated her to the ground. Ryan was screaming and beating on the window for someone to let him out.

“What are you going to do now?” asked the camera elf.

“Are we disqualified?”

The camera elf nodded.
“I liked serving doughnuts. Maybe I’ll go back there.”

“Alone?”

Liza looked up at her husband and nodded.

“Glofindel will find that satisfactory. Good luck.”

“Thanks,” said Liza, smiling. Walking away, she felt a surge of independence. She wondered if the snail had made it across the road as she finally had. She had certainly been flipped upside down, but it was Ryan who was left spinning in his shell. Maybe someday he would make it to the other side, too.


(1) Why did the snail cross the road
(2) You want a hotdog with that?
(3) New U2 album
(4) Hangin around

Well, that was the swift kick in the butt I needed to get me writing again. Thanks for the opportunity! It was fun!

Who says your done yet

Judgement first

Big Toms Entry!

Finals Week

"Elsorae Magnae Tannas Elvor Massus Mazai!"

Trent had just enough time to see the look of horror cross Jack’s face before the magic took effect. That was not the expression Trent expected or wanted. Trent had been working hard on his transformation spells. Finals were just three days away and he had to get a good transformation grade if he wanted to be a senior next year. That was why he had turned to Jack. Jack was the top transformation mage in this year’s senior class. Jack was also broke and willing to tutor for reasonable rates. They had spent several hours working on a simple transformation. The goal had been to give the target wings. A simple spell that would get Trent past his requirements. Yet something had gone wrong. As he watched, Jack began to melt. His entire body seemed to turn into a thick liquid and melt down before his eyes. Jack tried to say something, but his mouth was too far-gone to form understandable words. Then things began to happen rapidly. The thick liquid began to steam. Trent knew what this meant. Jack was shrinking. The water steaming off was extra essence dispersing. Trent desperately wanted to stop it, but things were happening too fast and he was too confused. Finally, the steam cleared, leaving a liquid residue on the ground. Trent looked in horror at the result of his mage craft.

Jack was now a very large and lively snail.

Several thoughts raced through Trent’s mind. The first was that he was definitely going to fail transformation. The second was that Jack was going to exact a very high price for this screw up. The third was that he had to turn Jack back to Jack without any of the teachers finding out. If the teachers knew he had muffed a transformation spell this badly they probably wouldn’t even let him take the tests out of fear for their own safety. This was the thought that stuck. First, Trent tried to reason through the spell. If he could find the error, he might be able to reverse it. Unfortunately, he really had no idea of what he had done wrong. He chuckled slightly at the irony that the one person who could have easily told him no longer had a mouth because of him. Finally Trent conceded to himself that he would need help. He had a few other friends in the senior class who might be able to bail him out. He just hoped he could get to them quickly. Scooping up Jack, he headed back to the dorms.

His first stop was Bertol’s room. Bertol was both a clever mage and a nice guy. Trent figured Bertol might be willing to help him out for friendships sake. If not, he hoped he still had a few bucks left for bribery. His frenzied knock brought Bertol to the door.
“Trent, you look terrible. What’s wrong?”
“Bert, I just had a little screw up with a spell, I am hoping you can help me reverse it.”
“Sure thing, what kind of spell?”
“Transformation.”
“Well Trent, I can’t imagine any of your transformations would be too tough to reverse.”
Trent winced at the jab. Normally he would have taken such a joke in stride. But today he was a bit frazzled.
“Bert, please, this is really serious. Look!”
Trent held out the snail for Bertol to look at. Bertol studied it carefully for a few seconds, trying to sense out the magic.
“Wow, nice spell craft. I can’t read anything on that. What was that snail originally?”
“Jack!”
Bertol’s face dropped at that. He’d assumed that Trent had grabbed a lab animal and couldn’t fix it. He had thought that human transformation would be well beyond Trent’s abilities. The realization of how serious the situation was and how much trouble his young friend was in hit him hard.
“Trent, you have to take him to professor Higgins right now. One more screw up in this situation and Jack could be beyond recovery.”
“Bert, I know that. But if they find out I did a human transformation like this and screwed it up they will flunk me for sure! My mom sacrificed for 15 years to send me here. I can’t get thrown out. Please, you have to help me turn him back before anyone notices!”

Trent wasn’t exaggerating. His father had left when he was a baby, and his mother had worked two jobs to make ends meet. When he had been ruled gifted at nine years old, his mother had sworn that she would get him into The Oxley School, where he could get a mages pedigree that would guarantee his future. She had done it by working 16 hours a day, 6 days a week and praying for him every Sunday morning. Now all of her work and sacrifice was about to come crashing down unless he could somehow save Jack himself. Trent couldn’t face his mom if he failed. He couldn’t reverse his spell. Now it was becoming clear he couldn’t get Bertol to save him either. He did the only thing he could. Trent began to cry.

“Oh, Trent, I’m really sorry man. I want to help you, but I just don’t see how. I can’t tell what you did, man. The spell is just really knotted together well. I can’t read it. You can’t tell me what you did. But there may be one way out for you. We both know there is one guy around here who specializes in screwball magic. Maybe he can sort it out for you.”

Trent immediately knew whom Bertol was talking about. Mackenzie. Mackenzie was something of a legend at the school. He had arrived here on a full scholarship because his mana ratings were the highest ever registered in a child his age. A lot of folks speculated that the increased amount of mana had also warped his mind. Certainly Mackenzie was a strange sort. Mackenzie was perhaps the most random person Trent had ever encountered. The man seemed to have no impulse control whatsoever. Add to that the fact he had both the magic and skill to make things happen, and you had a walking field of surrealism on campus. But, Trent had to concede that if there was anyone who could undo a screwball spell, it was Mackenzie. The real trick was convincing him he wanted to do it. Mackenzie neither asked for nor gave favors. If you wanted something from him, you had to find a way to make him want to do it. Otherwise, you were on your own.

Mackenzie had his own senior cabin. More correctly, he had a small laboratory he lived in and no one on the faculty was willing to move him out. Trent approached the door with a deep sense of dread. He almost turned and went to the professors. Almost. Then deep in his head, he heard the disappointed voice of his mother. Mackenzie was scary, but a devastated mother was terrifying. He opened the door and went in.

Trent expected to see many things when he went into Mackenzie’s room. He never expected the sight before him. Mackenzie was wearing some sort of strange Ape costume. It appeared he had just spread his lunch all over the floor. Several freshmen cowered against the walls, trying to stay out of his way. Mackenzie seemed to be in the middle of a long stream of extremely imaginative epithets when he noticed Trent. Trent was afraid Mackenzie’s rage would be turned on him. Yet Mackenzie suddenly got very calm. He quietly stared at Trent through his monkey mask for a few moments, and then spoke quietly and seriously.

“Trent, I need for you to answer a question for me. Do I look like a real gorilla?”

Trent stammered for a few seconds, suddenly at a loss for words. It wasn’t that he didn’t know the actual answer. Mackenzie looked like a geek in a rental costume. However, Trent was not sure what would happen if he actually gave that answer. If Mackenzie thought he was supposed to look like a real gorilla and Trent naysayed him, Mackenzie might be sore at him for weeks. Trent didn’t have weeks. Luckily for Trent, his stammering seemed to be an adequate response as Mackenzie spoke again.

“Of course I don’t. This is obviously a costume, and not a very good one. The problem is, that shouldn’t be obvious. I put one bad mama jama of an illusion on this thing, and it just fizzled out the minute it was challenged. See, you can’t eat through this mask because the mouth is closed. I postulate that if you make a strong enough illusion, however, you can actually defy reality. My test of this was to try to make this outlandish costume so real; I would fool myself and eat my sandwich. As you can see, that didn’t work. It’s too bad, because that was a really good sandwich and I am really hungry. I don’t suppose you have any food on you?”

Trent saw an opening and decided to try and get on Mackenzie’s good side with sympathy.

“Sorry man, I didn’t bring a lunch today. I planned on hitting the cafeteria. It’s Meatloaf day. It really sucks about your sandwich. Too bad there isn’t some magic to put it back together.”

Mackenzie stared at him for a few moments, and then slapped his forehead with a big, furry paw. He laughed slightly and tapped his forehead a few more times before speaking.

“Trent, that’s why I like you. You may be a pathetic mage, but you have a real knack for pointing out the obvious. And that’s just what I needed right now. Stand back and watch some real magic at work!”

At this, two freshmen bolted for the door. Trent wanted to follow them, but he knew he was getting a positive response from Mackenzie and that meant he still had a chance to save Jack and his high school career, so he gritted his teeth and remained. Mackenzie began weaving some sort of spell. Trent could not tell what Mackenzie was doing. It literally sounded like he was casting in another language. Magic had its own language, and even if you couldn’t handle the particulars, you could usually get the general idea of what another mage was doing if you could hear the spell. Trent could not understand a single syllable of this magic. He could, however, sense the immense power that Mackenzie was building up. Suddenly the entire room seemed to bend and twist, and Trent had a sick feeling in his stomach. It felt like he had ridden a roller coaster 10 times in two seconds. He closed his eyes to try and fight the disorientation. When he felt that the magic was subsiding, he opened his eyes. The sight he beheld was truly awesome.

Mackenzie was now a real Gorilla. More, he was some sort of infernal gorilla with flaming eyes. Trent was frozen with fear at the sight of this awesome beast. The gorilla looked at him and smiled. Then it raised a huge sandwich in one great paw and bellowed. It thrust the sandwich towards its mouth with a great sweep of its arm. In the next instant, Mackenzie was a man in a bad ape suit and there was a sandwich tossed all over the floor.

“Gee, Mac, I guess that spell didn’t quite do what you expected it to do. I mean, it didn’t really fix your sandwich.”
“Nonsense, Trent. The spell fixed my sandwich perfectly well. I just got lost in my own illusion and made the same mistake. I just turned back time on that action to before when I tossed the sandwich. I forgot that doing so would also turn back the illusion on the suit.”
“Oh, I see,” said Trent, “instead of repairing the sandwich, you altered time so that the sandwich never was destroyed. That is really amazing.”
“Actually Trent, it isn’t that hard. Too hard for you probably, but not that hard. I have saved more lab equipment that way.”

And Trent knew the answer to his problem.

“Look, Mac, I screwed up a spell earlier today. If you will reverse that spell for me, I will personally get you two meatloaf dinners and deliver them to your room. That will solve your food problem without dealing with the sandwich and the illusion.”

Mackenzie seemed to ponder this for some time. He finally looked at Trent and removed the mask. He was smiling beneath the mask. The smile slowly turned into a laugh.

“What the heck did you do that has you so worried?”

Trent decided honesty was the best policy at this point. Slowly, he opened his hands and showed the snail.

“What’s that?” Mackenzie asked.

“Jack. I told you, I screwed up.”

Mackenzie’s laugh grew stronger and stronger until he dropped to his knees, helpless with mirth. It took him some time to recover enough to speak.

“Ok, let me guess, you have no idea how you did that, and Jack is the only one you know who could undo it. So you come to Mackenzie the magnificent hoping for a miracle. Well, Trent, today is your lucky day. I have one miracle left, and the asking price is two meatloaf dinners and the best laugh I have had this semester.”

Mackenzie again chanted, and again Trent felt the magic. Then everything seemed to reverse. Black was white, white was black, and the colors were all over. He had a strange sense of motion and realized he was returning to the point where he cast the transformation. He floated by the old wizards Oak, and the sight of it in this strange twilight place was had to describe. It appeared that everything but the Oak existed, and the Oak was a bright light of non-existence, while strange energies crackled all around. Then, as suddenly as it had started, it ended. Trent was standing by the road with Jack and heard himself chanting.

“Elsorae Magnae Tannas Elvor…”

He realized he only had a second to fix the spell and no idea how to do it. In desperation, he tried to twist the final word so that the spell would fizzle out.

“…Massus Mackenzie!”

Jack stared at him. Then he shook his head sadly.

“Trent, that wasn’t even close.”

Trent knew it wasn’t close and was grateful for it. He didn’t want to tell Jack that though. He just wanted to rest from a very harrowing day.

“Yeah Jack, I know. Listen, I am just tired. Let me rest and maybe I can do this on a smaller scale later.”
Jack and Trent turned to go back to the dorms, and stopped in their tracks. They stood slack jawed for a few moments. Finally, Jack found words.

“Well Trent, your transformations may be sub standard, but apparently you are making great strides in teleportations.”

Hanging from the power cables was the Principals car. Suddenly expulsion didn’t seem like such a bad fate to Trent. But he sucked it up as best he could.

“Jack, we are going to return to the dorm. And we will never speak of this day again.”