Kim Acuff
Doom
“Here you go, Master Vandar!” The boy dropped a large, foul smelling bag on the
floor. “Ten pounds of Dragon do!” The old man looked at the bag, and then looked at the
young boy.
“And why, pray tell, did you bring ten pounds of draconic feces?”
“That‟s what you said. „Doom, go get me ten pounds of dragon…‟ well, stuff.”
“Doom, do you know what we use dragon manure for?”
“Yes, sir. Fertilizing the plants.”
“And who fertilizes the plants?”
“I do,” Doom said less surely.
“ And what is it I do?” Vandar continued calmly.
“You teach, and umm… write in the book and umm… well, umm…”
“I mix the potions.”
“You mix the potions!” Doom repeated loudly.
“Now, what potion would I have to be making to ask for that?” He pointed at the
bag.
“I don‟t know, sir.”
“That would be because there are NO potions, spells or admixtures that would
require such a mess, and certainly not in such quantities!”
“So what do you want me to do with it?” Doom asked picking the bag back up.
“Do… what… you… always… do… with… it,” Vandar ground out.
“Yes, sir,” the boy murmured.
“And Doom?”
“Yes?”
“Bring me ten grounds of dragon sand. And be careful with it.”
Vandar turned back to the table overloaded with glass vials and containers. A
bubbling cauldron held a deep purple mixture. Vandar lifted a deep red bottle and
carefully measured three drops into the small cauldron. If mixed exactly, the potion
would be a potent healing tool and pain reliever. If not, it would make a poison.
Thunk.
“Ow… Oops.”
Splat.
Vandar sighed. “I‟ve got to get a better apprentice,” he said to himself.
Over the course of the next week, Doom managed to knock over an entire shelf of
crystal vials, to set the drying shed on fire, and to poison several of the local sheep by
giving them the wrong medicine.
“Doom, it‟s time you and I had a little chat.” Vandar settled down in a chair for
this painful talk. “It has been eight years since I came and got you from the foundling
home in Trade Way.”
“And I am grateful. Til then I had to fight for food.”
“Yes, Doom. Now please don‟t interrupt. Our agreement was that I would teach
you to read and write, and teach you the alchemical arts. You would continue this
tradition, adopting and teaching another. However, you have proven yourself without the
ability for the arts. Or anything else for that matter. Your clumsiness is a detriment to my
practice. I am afraid I have no choice but to send you away.”
“But sir! Why?”
“In the past week alone you have destroyed at least a platinum worth of glass
alone. I cannot have you around and continue my work. I am sorry, but you must find
your own way in the world.”
“But…” Vander held up his hand to break off Doom‟s argument. Doom closed his
mouth and rubbed at his eyes to stop the tears. Vandar handed Doom a loaf of bread
wrapped in a cloth.
“If all else fails, at least you can become a scribe for a temple.”
Doom left quietly. Vandar watched him walk away, head down. With a sigh
Vandar returned to his chair. Now he would have to begin again, with another child,
another eight years before he could hope that his magic would be passed on. Plus it
would be a full day‟s journey into Trade Way to the foundling home. Ah well, he thought,
I should prepare for the journey.
Doom made it into the village and to the Shepherd‟s Hall. The village had been
founded around the wool trade and the Inn was owned by the Shepherd‟s Guild. During
the night, as he tossed and turned on the floor of the common room, he thought, What am
I going to do?
Life without Master Vandar seemed lonely and frightening and the remembrance
of a starving belly haunted him. But the only way he could go back would be if a miracle
happened… What if he used a spell, maybe a spell to make himself less clumsy? Doom
vaguely remembered reading about some spirits that could be summoned from the
Aethric plane, helpful wish granting spirits. Doom spent the night plotting and planning.
The next day Master Vandar left just after dawn for Trade Way, and Doom snuck
into the farm house he had called home. Doom thanked whatever person started the
rumor about Master Vander casting protection spells on the house. No one in their right
mid would break into a wizard‟s house, thus Vandar never even locked the doors.
Taking a book of summoning spells off a shelf, Doom began skimming through
the book to find a spirit that might be willing to help. By late afternoon he had managed
to locate the necessary ingredients and draw out the symbols required for the spell. After
double and triple checking the words, drawings and ingredients, Doom prepared to cast
the spell. The sun was sinking below the horizon and Master Vandar would be home
soon. He must hurry.
Vandar kicked the horse into a faster trot; the sun was setting and he wanted to be
home soon. Unfortunately, there were no boys of the proper age in Trade Way, so Vandar
was forced to return home empty handed. He grumbled to himself, cursing the fact he
would have to wait or travel to Camelyn, the capital city. As he approached his home he
noticed that there were candles lit within. What in the name of Arda is going on in my
house? He thought. Suddenly a blast of magical light lit up all the windows. Vandar slid
off the horse and sprinted for the door.
Vandar burst into the workshop to find Doom casting a spell.
“I call for Draghor,” Doom shouted, finishing the spell.
“NO!” Vandar screamed, recognizing the name of the creature Doom had just
summoned.
“Master Vandar!”
“Doom! You idiot! You mean Draupnir! Draupnir!” Vandar snatched the book
from Doom‟s hands and then grabbed the boy by the arm, shoving him.
“We have to get out of here! Now!”
“But…”
“Now!” Vandar dragged the boy with him as he fled into the woods.
“Draupnir, not Dragnor. You summoned the wrong creature. What in the name of
Arda were you doing anyway? Summoning is terribly difficult and almost always goes
wrong!”
“The writing was hard to read. I wanted to not be clumsy, so I could be your
apprentice still.” Doom hung his head. A roar sounded from the house. They watched as a
large lizard, walking upright, came bursting out of the house. His thick green scales
blended into the darkness, long arms ending in long claws reaching for Vandar‟s
forgotten horse. With a scream the horse died, the creature fed. The two waited in silence
until the monster went searching for more food, off in the direction of the village.
“See what your stupidity has done? Dragnor is a monster and he will feed on any
living thing. You have summoned death and destruction. Magic is not to be taken lightly,
nor used to make your life easier!”
“Fine! I am an idiot! Since I made this mess I will fix it!” Doom stormed off
towards the house. Vandar followed him.
“Where are you going? What do you intend to do?”
“I‟m going after it. All I ever wanted to do was please you, but since I can‟t even
do that, I will fix this and then leave.” Doom‟s throat closed. Tears fought to escape his
eyes as he pulled the axe out of the cutting stump behind the house.
“You can‟t kill it with a metal weapon.”
“Then how?”
“I will show you. Come with me.” Vandar went into the house. Moving around
the ransacked room Vandar collected a book, a bottle, and a vial of liquid. Doom
followed him, straightening as much as he could.
“We need to corner him. Then you will throw this mixture in his face while I cast
the spell. It should suck him through the bottle and back into the Abyssal plane where he
belongs.”
“Okay.”
“Don‟t drop that bottle.”
“I won‟t.”
“Don‟t miss his face.”
“I won‟t.”
Vandar looked at Doom‟s grim face and nodded.
“Let‟s go.”
The two men hurried to the village, finding a wake of destruction following the
beast. Fortunately the sheep pens had distracted him from the center of town. Doom
charged in, facing down the bloodied creature.
“Time to go home!” Doom dodged around the creature‟s claws with an agility
born of knowing he had little to lose. Master Vandar‟s voice boomed in a different
language.
Suddenly the world went fuzzy and Doom felt like he was being yanked through a
waterfall. When the world stopped spinning, he opened his eyes to find that the sheep, the
village, everything had been replaced with a dank cave and the smell of brimstone.
“Blast! We shouldn‟t be here.” Doom noticed streaks of blood on the floor,
leading down a tunnel exiting the cave they were in.
“Look, the creature, Dragnor, left a trail behind. Master Vandar, are we in the
Abyssal plane?”
“It appears we are.”
“So, you made a mistake.”
“Yes.”
“This mistake… it can‟t be blamed on me?”
“Well… We wouldn‟t be in this situation without your foolishness.”
“But you are the one that brought us here?”
“Ummm… Yes.”
Doom smiled. “So Master Vandar, how do we get home?”
“I‟m not sure.”
Doom fought to keep from laughing.
“Though I am sure I will figure something out. Not to worry. Well, I guess some
good came of this. You managed to keep from breaking the vial.”
“I did. But then I no longer had to please you. I knew I could do it.”
“A measure of confidence. Astonishing. Now what have we learned from this
experience?”
“You need to be nicer and I don‟t need to try to do things the easy way.”
“Good.”
A sudden roar echoed through the cave.
“Any ideas?”
“You‟re the wizard. I‟m just an apprentice. You figure it out.”
“Uppity brat,” Vandar mumbled under his breath.
“What was that?”
“Nothing, let‟s get started before Dragnor stumbles upon us and decides he is
hungry.” They started down the tunnel opposite from the trail of blood.
“I thought he was always hungry.”
“Reminds me of a certain young man I know.” Another roar echoed past them.
“His stomach growls like yours too.”
“Very funny.”
“Keep your sarcasm to yourself, at least until we find a way out of here. Arda and
his mighty hammer help us,” Vandar sighed as they walked onward.