The Sorcerer's Stone

By Shannon M. Wendt

"All this should be mine," she muttered softly. Her plain but not unattractive face showed the signs of chronic petulance. A deep wrinkle marred her brow, belying her age of sixteen years, and her plump lips looked as if they had never carried a smile.

"Ah, yes, so it should," a grating voice replied.

Turtrine jumped slightly and turned her cold gaze in the direction of the voice. "You startled me, stranger. I did not hear you enter."

The tall, gaunt man bowed with a ridiculous, theatrical flair, his long black robes fluttering back to the ground. "I am Egult, at your service. If I presume correctly, you are the lovely Turtrine."

The girl's scowl deepened and she turned back to the window. "I do not wish your company, stranger Egult. In fact, if you do not leave immediately I shall inform my uncle, King Keos, of your detestable behavior. Spying on his niece, indeed!"

The man's face hardened into a glare, accenting the sharp angles of his bony face. "Stupid creature! If you are foolish enough to rid yourself of a small inconvenience when the solution to a larger problem is at hand, so be it! I bid you good day, miss."

Turtrine turned to stop him, but within a second's lapse, the stranger was already at the far end of the long hall. As much as she desired it, she did not call after him. Lady-like women such as herself did not scream, shout, or yell. Turtrine's training had made it clear that decent woman--and especially women of royal lineage--spoke in a meek, submissive, soft voice. This, contrary to what the men thought, was not an act of timidity but one of quietly wielded power. The more urgent the lady's need, the softer her tone. Else, how could she get her suitors near her perfumed, powdered face or make subjects strain to hear--and obey--her every word? In truth, even if she had deigned to yell after the mysterious man, her voice would not have traveled more than a few paces at most.

Before she could change her mind, he was gone, and the anteroom bustled with the flamboyantly clad nobility just released for mid-day court recess. Turtrine scurried up to Gheldyne, her aunt and queen, and curtsied briskly. "Does my Lady have need of me?" she said, her eyes lowered in mock deference.

"Yes, child. I have some chores that need be done. 'Tis more important for Adamiv to attend to her studies, so you shall not partake of your lessons today. Here is a list I've compiled of your tasks." She paged through a small pile of parchment pages in her hands, mostly containing the latest court intrigues rather than anything of true use or respectability. She handed a scrap to Turtrine inscribed with intricate, beautiful writing--she hadn't written it herself, of course; in fact, she was nearly illiterate.

"I presume you shall be busy the entire of the day. Attend to me tomorrow at the morn. I wish you a good day, child."

Internally, Turtrine cringed at the false sweetness of her queen's voice. She wishes me a good day, indeed, when in truth she loathes me, she thought. Nonetheless, she looked up at her aunt with a gracious smile and curtsied deeply, her drab gray dress ribboning on the floor. "As Her Majesty desires, it shall be done."

Turtrine stood in her shift in her small bedchamber, peering out the glassless window. She thought of the small cruelties of the day and the general injustice of her life. When she was young and her own father was king, Turtrine had been prepared for her future life of sovereignty. Wise men and women from all over the world had come to teach her the arts (both fine and otherwise), history, philosophy, manners to befit a queen, several languages, and even some strategy and woodsmanship. Although she appreciated the opportunity, she never understood why her father went to such measures. She was the only child of a king whose dynasty would end unless he remarried and sired a son. She would never rule in this land where only men could wield the kingdom's power. Why had she been raised as if she could?

Above all, she hated remembering. The memory of her father and of her life before his death was too great a contrast with her paltry life now. Her father had been a good and wise man who treated everyone in the kingdom with respect. His death had been a shock to her--to everyone. No one imagined that he would die in a hunting accident on a windy autumn day at the age of forty-one. Everyone thought his reign would be long and peaceful, and that he would be known as the great old king of Rilde. Turtrine's father had been her idol and hero, and the life he had provided for her had been rich beyond measure.

Now, she lived among boors. Her tutors had been sent away--a mere lady-in-waiting has no need for them, after all--and she was left with the company of her uncle's family. Her cousin Adamiv could scarcely count stitches, let alone manage translating the brilliant works of Kisnod or Teia. The king practically required help in remembering to attend court. And the queen...Mercy! Although she had a clever cruelness, she was far from wise. Turtrine thought, if she must use me as a tool, why doesn't she draw on my true abilities? Why must I be little more than a maid, when she could use my knowledge to further her devious plots? Although my life would be no nobler, at least I wouldn't be so horrendously bored.

Turtrine watched the cloak of night slowly overtake the countryside. Soon, she would have to light the oil-burning lamp that she kept hidden away for nocturnal reading. She saw a figure walking in the garden of geometrical hedges. He was tall and lanky, wore a long, black cape, and he hovered several feet above the ground. Egult, she thought, why didn't he tell me?

She leaned out theng in the stone wall. "Egult!" she called, but the breeze stole away her barely-audible voice. Egult was floating farther away, toward the dense thicket of Gnarlwood. Frustrated and frantic, Turtrine searched her bedchamber. My flute must be here somewhere, she thought. Then, in her third and final chest, she found the bone-carved tube. Without haste, she put it to her lips and blew. The sacred song taught to her by Rofig, the good sorceress, caught a current of air directly from Turtrine's window to Egult's left ear. In all of Rilde, no one but those two could hear the sound.

Within a second, Egult hovered outside the window. "You called, my lovely?" he said, eyeing the modest neckline of her shift with disappointment. "You should have dressed more appropriately for our clandestine meeting, my sweet."

Turtrine crossed her arms over her chest, but otherwise ignored his prurient implications. "Why didn't you tell me you are a sorcerer? Perhaps you can aid me after all."

Egult nodded. "Come to my workshop tomorrow at the ninth hour. Follow the path through Gnarlwood. Take the first two left forks, a right fork, and a left fork. You shan't miss it. If I am not there, wait for me out of doors and I will attend to you presently. Oh, and you must come tomorrow. My workshop has a tendency to change location at whim, but it will be there tomorrow."

"Left, left, right, left. Ninth hour. I'll be there."

As Egult drifted away, he turned and said, "Oh, and wear something more...scandalous, won't you?" He chuckled to himself as he flew home.

The next morning, while the nobles gathered in the opulent courtroom, Turtrine dressed in the highest-necked, bulkiest gown she could find and sneaked out of the castle--not a difficult task considering that none of the servants paid her any attention whatsoever; in their minds, she, a dispossessed former noble, ranked even lower than they.

She wandered through the nearly invisible, labyrinthine paths of Gnarlwood, progressing and backtracking, until she found Egult's nefarious workshop. A few brusque raps on the door brought no response, and, after looking furtively around, Turtrine pressed the door's lever. Not surprisingly, it was locked. From her pouch, she removed a gnarled metal tool and began working on the keyhole. Her "locksmithing" lessons had not been in vain, and, after only four attempts, the door creaked

Inside, Turtrine found no light source--not a window, candle, or lamp--and she was forced to work in the dim light provided by the door. Only a bookshelf and a table furnished the cabin. The bookshelf held a paltry three volumes--books of spells, Turtrine presumed--and the table held a glass orb, a miniature burlap sack, and some baubles that looked worthless to her untrained eye. The lack of chairs and lights did not surprise Turtrine--a sorcerer has no need of either, after all--but she was taken aback by the lack of apothecary jars containing herbs. What kind of sorcerer is this strange Egult, she thought.

Her snooping adventure proved to be shorter than she had anticipated. She untied the intricate knot of the sack (a skill taught to her by her father's ship's captain on a summer voyage long past) and emptied the contents into her hand. She snorted in disgust. What a fool this Egult is! she thought. She dropped the iridescent rock veined with gold into her pouch, walked outside, and locked the sorcerer's door.

By the time Egult appeared on the path, whistling a lewd tavern hymn, Turtrine sat leaning against a tree, looking characteristically furious. "How dare you keep me waiting, you worthless wretch! Must I remind you who I am? The king would have you expelled from the Sorcery Guild and banished from Rilde!" she hissed.

Egult laughed. "And you would tell him what? That you entreated me to prolong his life, to grant him the son he so desperately needs? You are a fool, child! He knows my type. You have no power over me."

Turtrine maintained outward hostility, but rejoiced internally. My charade is effective then, she thought. No, Egult, I am not the fool. That honor belongs to you alone. She glared at the man and growled, "Fine, then. Let us get to our business so I may be rid of your foul presence all the sooner."

He laughed again. "Your radiance beguiles me, my lady. Please, follow me and we shall get your task underway."

He unlocked the cabin door and entered. Turtrine followed. He pointed at the daub-and-wattle ceiling and it began to glow, immersing the room in lime green light. "Make yourself comfortable, my lady, and do forgive your humble surroundings. I am but a poor sorcerer. Here, pull up a chair."

Turtrine gasped as she was lifted up in the air, cradled in a sitting position by invisible currents. "You'll find it's quite comfortable once you get accustomed to it," he said. Egult, too, floated cross-legged in the air.

He paged through a book that soared over to him, and when he lost interest in that, it dropped haphazardly to the floor, and Egult began toying with the baubles on the table. Turtrine watched in impatient silence but did not interrupt. Her attention was focused on the burlap sack. It was obviously empty, and yet he hadn't touched it or seemed to notice.

Finally, he looked up from his tinkering. "Well, well, well. Lovely Turtrine, what shall we do about your...situation?"

She glowered at him. "What do you mean? You're the sorcerer! You should know."

"I see," he said, "let me rephrase, then. What would you like to have done about your situation?"

"I still don't understand what you're asking. The Kingdom of Rilde, by all rights should be mine. That is what I want--to have what is mine."

Egult suddenly became excited. "Shall we kill the king, then?" he said, his voice rising in both volume and pitch.

Turtrine remained staunch, nearly the polar opposite of Egult's animation. "I wish no one dead. I merely want what is mine," she said, enunciating each syllable with care.

"And what makes you think you have a right to such claim? You are nothing but a girl, after all. Ruling a kingdom is a job fit only for m--"

Turtrine cut his words off. "Oh, and our dim-witted oaf of a king has a right to rule?"

"A right, yes. He could use improvement, to be sure, but he is better than any woman."

"He doesn't have the ability! Neither he, nor his wife, nor his daughter have the training that I have. I am my father's daughter. He raised me as if I were his son. Tell me, sir. What do I lack? In what way am I inferior to that imbecile who seats his worthless rump on the throne?"

"If you find yourself so superior, then why don't you do the kingly thing and have him euphemistically removed from office?"

"That, sir, is not the kingly thing, as you call it."

"Ah, but there is precedent."

"Yes, precedent from equally worthless fools who fashioned themselves as kings."

"Child, if you will not hear the call to violence, then I shall not assist you. You bore me with your talk of standards and morality."

Turtrine smiled at him, an awkward, unpracticed, and unbecoming grin. "You are mistaken, sir, for you will do exactly as I wish." He understood instantly, and grabbed his empty burlap sack. He stammered for threats and insults, but found none. Turtrine dropped the sparkling stone from her own pouch into her hand and showed it to him. "Proceed, please. Speak the words of indenture."

He mumbled the words that every child of Rilde knew by heart. "I am honor bound to grant any single wish that is within my power to grant. You may not wish for more wishes or use any other such trickery to bypass the Laws of the Stone. When your wish has been fulfilled, you must return to me my stone, and you will never again be able to use its powers over me. I can offer you no words of advice but these six: take care in what you wish."

Although at first Turtrine had been disappointed by Egult's lack of enthusiasm during his utterance (when actors portrayed the words of indenture in plays, they always did so with exuberance and anguish), in the end she was thrilled to be in such a rare position. She had imagined that she would take everything calmly and with grace when she had formulated her plan the night before, but in truth, she never believed that she would find the stone--no sorcerer worth his scrolls was so careless with his stone.

Her plans hadn't progressed to the extent that she had figured out the precise wording of her wish. Now, her over-excited state made the prospect of lucid thought impossible. Although sorcerers were not permitted any means of communication until the wish was asked, they were not precluded from doing anything else. Egult whistled impatiently and tapped his long, yellowed fingernails against the table. Turtrine simply could not concentrate.

"I wish for the Kingdom of Rilde to be under my power and authority," she blurted.

The tapping and whistling ceased. "As you wish, child," Egult said with no emotion whatsoever.

"Is it done? Is that all? How did I do?"

"It is done. There is no need for you to continue loitering in my workshop. I'm sure you did as poorly as other magic-less buffoons. You never heed our advice. Now, return me my stone and go bask in the glory of your precious queenship. I trust we shall not meet again...at least, not if I have any choice in the matter."

Turtrine sat upon her throne overlooking the courtroom filled with bickering nobles. "Enough! Enough! Recess!" she called, but only Jopiz, the herald to her left heard her above the clamor below.

He blew a few notes on his trumpet and bellowed, "Her Majesty Turtrine of Rilde demands a recess." After exchanging whispers with the queen, he continued, "of one hour's duration."

The crowd curtsied in unison before they filed out of the courtroom and again when Turtrine entered the dining hall. Why must I endure their infantile squabbles and incessant bickering, she thought. She had come to despise the nobles, and in truth, they did not much care for her. The men thought her position insulting and the women resented her power. Turtrine enjoyed only one of her sovereign duties, and that day came but once a fortnight. The commoners usually had legitimate claims and questions to bring before her. Addressing those required skill, thought, and justice, but unfortunately, most of her time was spent dealing with the noble's frivolous needs.

She was lonely, too. The nobles were too suspicious and wary of her to risk entering into friendship with her, the commoners treated her more like a deity than a fellow human, and none of the servants would consider treating her as anything but their master (although she had tried to develop a camaraderie with Jopiz). She had no idea what had become of her aunt, uncle, and cousin after her visit with Egult, whether they were dead, misplaced, or simply ceased to exist in the first place, but she knew that she missed even their imperfect company. Gheldyne had a cruel streak, but at least she pretended to be nice. Adamiv may have been hopelessly dense, but she was never unkind, and it was pleasant to have a companion near her in age. Besides that, she was charmingly gullible, and she looked up to Turtrine in all respects (except when it came to boys).

Turtrine sat in the upper tier of the dining hall and looked out over the throngs of colorfully dressed nobles. They seemed happy--even joyous--with their cheers, flirtation, and friendly bantering. Watching them, Turtrine admitted defeat. I am the epitome of misery, she thought. This is not my life. If I truly were queen by my own right, I would not rule a kingdom like this. What a fool I am for wishing something that isn't mine.

She caught Jopiz's attention in the livery line and motioned for him to approach. After she whispered her instruction, he turned, a trifle puzzled, trumpeted the hall to attention, and yelled the announcement. "Her Majesty Turtrine of Rilde hereby proclaims the remainder of today and all of the morrow a holiday in honor of all workers!" The ranks and files from the scullery maids to the dukes cheered, and for the first time, saluted their queen with a toast.

Turtrine spent most of the next morning wandering lost through Gnarlwood. Egult's workshop had moved, and was now located past the fourth right fork. She knocked on the door.

"Hello! Who is there?" Egult responded.

"It is Turtrine. I must speak with you, sir. It is a matter of some urgency."

"Why of course! Who could refuse Her Majesty Turtrine of Rilde? Please, just give me a moment to tidy up. The place must be respectable for her queenship." Turtrine heard banging and clanging sounds from within the cabin and caught whiffs of something remarkably fetid, but as promised, Egultd the door after just a few minutes.

"Well, well, well. What, pray tell, may I do for you, Your Highness? I must say you look as lovely as ever, though a bit...worn about the edges. How long has it been now? Why, it must have been at least ten months."

"Eleven, actually. Egult, that is what I wanted to talk to you about. Can you reverse my wish?"

"Reverse your wish? Child--oh do please pardon me--My Queen, it simply isn't possible. The Laws of the Stone absolutely forbid it. Don't worry, you'll get used it. I can't imagine being queen is all that trying. I've never heard royalty say 'Oh, my life is so dreadful. It's all work, work, work.' Come now, do you expect me to pity you?"

"No, there's nothing particularly wrong with being queen. My life simply doesn't seem to be...right. It is not my life to lead. It is almost as if I borrowed someone else's life. Please, I just want things back in their proper place."

"Is that what you wish, then--to have everything returned to its proper place?"

"Yes, but I have already used up my one wish. You cannot grant me another."

Egult smirked. "Actually, I can." He picked up the burlap sack that still lay on the table and walked over to the back wall of the cabin. He touched it, and it became transparent. Egult's workshop was not a cabin, after all, but a complex interlocking of rooms, an elaborate sleight-of-hand deception.

Keos, Gheldyne, and Adamiv stepped out of the now visible room, which appeared to be a storeroom of sorts. Egult walked back to the table (and to an aghast Turtrine) and dropped the rock from its sack. "This, dear child, is not my stone. It is merely an humble everyday rock. I will not tell you where my true stone is. Let us just say that I would never be so careless with it." He pointed at the rock on the table. "This useless piece of rock was just bait for a trap you eagerly fell into."

Turtrine was speechless. She walked backwards until she touched the wall, and dropped to her knees. She looked up at her uncle and tried to speak, to tell him that she was worthy of any punishment he wanted to bestow upon her, but no sound emitted from her throat.

Gheldyne spoke. "Turtrine, we knew that you could either be our greatest ally or our greatest enemy, but we had to test you to find out which. The test wasn't whether you would take the bait of a sorcerer's stone--no mortal could withstand that desire. The test was what you would do after you were granted your supposed wish. We were going to give you a twelve-month before revealing you as a traitor. As it happens, we need do no such thing. You passed the test well."

Adamiv walked over to Turtrine, took her by the hands, and pulled her upright. "Now, please. Can we go home, dear cousin?" Turtrine nodded dumbly, still unable to determine whether to laugh or cry. Egult said that they could go, that the spells that had been woven to keep aloft the illusion of Turtrine as queen had been broken, but he asked Turtrine to stay a moment longer so that he may speak with her.

That night, Turtrine stood at her glassless window and looked out over the castle grounds. The fields and gardens were vacant at this late hour. She spoke to the breeze. "I wish to have everything returned to its proper place." She wasn't certain that that was what Egult had wanted so she said it again, as loud as her feeble voice could manage. "I wish to have everything returned to its proper place." Nothing happened. It seemed such a strange request. Turtrine simply shrugged and started preparing for bed.

As she undressed, a small pebble fell out of her shoe. Turtrine didn't notice. She put on her shift, climbed into bed, and had her first decent night's sleep in several months.

The next morning, she woke and dressed for the day. As she was walking down the turret steps to the dining hall, a scullery maid wished her a good morn and curtsied. Turtrine thought nothing of it. In the dining hall, she sat in her usual place among the lower knights and their wives. They all stood when she approached, and one of them, Knight Fretrig, said, "What a surprise and an honor for you to join us today, my lady."

Turtrine didn't know what to make of his remark, and simply answered, "The honor is mine." After a moment's deliberation, she decided that everyone was in remarkable good spirits today and that was that.

After breakfast, she returned to bedchamber and was startled to see Rofig, her old jovial tutor, there searching the floor for something. "Sorceress Rofig! How I've missed you!"

Rofig laughed. "But, child, I've been here all along. Here, let me show you." Within an instant, Rofig's short, plump stature morphed into the tall, lean physique of Egult and back again. "Turtrine, dear, you had better get comfortable for a long tale." She complied, sitting down of the thick blankets of her bed.

Rofig began her story. "Many years ago when you were but ten, a woman devised an evil plot to make herself ruler of all Rilde. She married your uncle, a good-hearted though thoroughly stupid man. Then, when you were twelve, she had your father poisoned, thus putting her husband on the throne. With his level of intelligence, it was easy for her to rule through him; she aimed no higher than that.

"She had me and all your other tutors banished from Rilde. She was smart enough to know that you could easily overtake her when you grew older, so she did everything in her power to keep you docile and uneducated.

"What she didn't know was this. Your father was no fool. In fact, I'd say he was the wisest king to bless Rilde--and in my two hundred years, I have seen my full share of kings come and go. Your father knew that Gheldyne was cunning and unscrupulous, and he foresaw her threat to his life. He drew up a decree allowing the sovereignty of any ruler of Rilde to pass to the eldest child, regardless of gender. He gave me that document for safekeeping, and instructed me to use it only when I was certain you were ready.

"I came to Rilde last year disguised as Egult and built up a reputation as a corrupt sorcerer. Gheldyne quickly took that bait, and questioned me about possible ways of dealing with her troublesome niece.

"I believe you can follow the rest of the story from there. Yesterday, I put this miserable looking pebble in your shoe, and asked you to make your wish. The pebble, of course, is my true stone--no sorcerer's stone is as gaudy as that other thing. I wish I hadn't needed to use the stone this time--I had hoped to keep your wish for an emergency when you were older--but the sorcerer's oath required that it be done this way.

"There is only one last thing, one final piece of advice. If ever you are given a single wish, the only right thing to do is to make no wish at all. Anything else messes everything up."

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