The Procurement Specialist

Omarian Lightfoot

"A fucking lightning-charred branch of what?" I shout, looking over my latest order. 

Two barrels of mead, three hens, one goat, seven stalks of sugarcane, a bag of flour, and one lightning-charred branch of Elm. 

"Why can't it be simple? This is the last time I take an order from that damn wizard. Oh, don't look at me like that, Fred," I say, walking through my sparsely decorated cabin. My fingers graze one of six empty place settings around my overly prepared dining table—an irritated-looking falcon roosts on a perch above a washing basin. I saunter over.

Fred averts her gaze, looking out the window with a wholly reproachful expression that only birds can maintain without looking silly. She ignores my advance. Not until I offer an apologetic cricket does she return to her accustomed solemness. Falcons do not like cursing. 

I gently pet the top of her head. "There's always some obscure item on Eldrick's lists. 'Oh, by the way, can you bring me an emerald dragon's egg? Yes, it has to be emerald.' This is what happens when you appease wizards."

I start searching through chests and cabinets, hoping this ridiculous request will appear amidst my vast collection of random items. I pick through an assortment of kindling and twigs under my sink, discarding poplar, maple, and even pine boughs. Not a single sliver of elm left anywhere, let alone a lightning-charred one. 

Fred caws sharply three times. 

"I know. We're late." 

The bird tilts her head to one side and shakes. A few of her feathers fall onto the windowsill. I add them to a jar on a nearby shelf; falcon feathers are a precious commodity these days. A sharp, subtle crack of a foot breaking a branch sends Fred flying past my head onto the mantle above my fireplace. 

"Some hero reborn you are," I whisper. Another crack, this time closer, right outside my door. Then a knock. 

No one visits me. 

I open the door and see a thin, disheveled, black-haired boy no more than ten years old. 

"Where did you come from? How did you find me?" I say, shaking my head, shocked to see a human. "It doesn't matter. Hurry. Get inside." 

I pull his sleeve, leading him through the door, and look around the forest. 

"Are you alone?"

The boy doesn't answer. 

"Sit." 

He sits at my table tentatively, lips quivering, eyes bloodshot. I take another look at the forest, listening closely for stragglers. Satisfied, I close the door. It feels noticeably heavier. I try to turn the bolt, but it resists the motion. I can't remember the last time I locked the door. 

Fred flutters to her usual perch in the kitchen window, watching him carefully. "Fred doesn't like visitors," I say, pulling out the seat across from him. "Do you have an order?" 

He looks at me, puzzled, and shrugs his shoulders. His legs start bouncing as if it is impossible to keep them steady. 

"Why else would you be here?" I ask, feeling an unfair urgency in my voice. I exhale and compose myself. Cleary, the boy, is terrified. "Are you lost?" 

He nods. Tears stream slowly down his flushed, freckled cheeks.  

"Can you talk?" 

He shrugs again, looking around my cabin wide-eyed like something might jump out and bite him any second. He's not entirely wrong; Remigius is not predictable. Terrified or not, his silence bothers me. Fred, Remi, Charlotte, and I get along fine without visitors, we have for centuries. Well, the mason comes by every decade, but that's just proper maintenance. I clench my fists and swallow my irritation, not wanting to become known as a rude host if this uninvited guest turns out to be a customer. I remember what it feels like to be lost. 

"Boy, I'm in a hurry, so pardon my bluntness. Answer my questions quickly, and I'll see how I can help."

The boy sniffs back tears and bites his dirty thumbnail. 

"Do you know who I am?" 

The boy shakes his head.

"You are a human, aren't you?" 

The boy nods. 

"Did you make a deal with a demon?" 

He shakes his head vehemently. 

"Good. Then, by all the Gods in the universe, how did you get here?" I ask myself more than the boy. 

The boy answers with short sobs, and then his soft, innocent voice cracks as he tries to talk. "I," he starts. "I need to find the witch.”

"The witch," I say, realization hitting me like a hammer in the gut. Alana had already cost me time, and her payments were never fully developed. I brought the boy here, a side effect of my careless haste. "Why did you want to see the witch?" 

The boy looks away, swallowing hard. "Ma. She’s sick…"

I place a hand on the boy's shoulder. "What's wrong with your Ma?" 

"Really sick," he sniffs, hugging himself tightly. 

I gently rub his back and kneel beside him, meeting his gaze. "I'm sorry to hear about your Ma, but you should not trust that witch. Alana only serves herself." 

The boy looks away. I turn his chin back toward me. "I'll make you a deal. If you help me, I'll help you." He looks up, his glossy eyes displaying more gratitude than any of my customers ever had. He nods and wipes his nose with the back of his hand. A resilient boy, I think as I stand and grab the list that had fallen on the ground in the commotion. 

"Good. I must finish putting an order together. Help me gather and deliver the material; then I will take you home and see what I can do for your Ma." 

The boy nods ferociously. 

"Good, but keep up. I'm in a hurry," I say as I open an unassuming door to the right of the kitchen, revealing an expansive pantry lined with shelves holding more provisions than a man, falcon, cat, and mule could ever need. I grab a bag of flour from the shelf just inside the door and sling it over my shoulder. The boy watches me with a curious expression, like Remigius deciding whether or not to knock my teacup over. I avoid his gaze and continue my work, dropping the bag of flour by a stack of other supplies. 

A streak of tabby fur jolts through the cabin, slinking off under my bed in the back corner. "Don't be scared, Remi," I say as I walk past the boy towards the pantry. I click my tongue, but Remi does not emerge from under the bed. 

Sunlight pours in as I open the pantry door again, followed by the unmistakable smell of manure. I open the door further, and instead of shelves and supplies, there is an expansive farm with a red barn. A cow moos somewhere in the distance. 

"Damn. Opened the wrong door," I say. Fred squawks. 

I close the door and reopen it, revealing the inside of a chicken coop. White, brown, red, and black hens cluck about nervously. 

"You've got everyone on edge," I say as I grab a white hen. It wiggles in my hands. "Can you get that cage over there?" I nod towards a stack of three cages. "You're going to have to open it too." 

The boy struggles to open the cage, but after a second or two, he manages, and I place the hen in before gently setting the caged bird next to the bag of flour. "Be quicker next time; it's not as easy to hold a chicken as I make it look." 

We repeat this twice, and I admit that he improves with each bird. "Well done." 

As I stack the third cage on top of the other two, I catch the boy opening the farm door–only to see a small, sparsely supplied pantry. I turn toward him. He quickly closes it and puts an innocent face on. I shrug and return to my list.

"Why would a wizard need a goat? Excuse me," I say. The boy steps out of the way. I open the door. Long green grass protrudes into my cabin, and the unpleasant bleating of goats overtakes the clucking hens. "Hold the door." 

The boy stares at me with a stunned expression as I lead a brown goat with a white underbelly into my cabin and tie him to a hook near the back door. 

"Never seen a goat before?" 

The boy's look of perplexed curiosity asks more than any question ever could.

"Right. You don't know who I am. I'm not just a crazy old man in the forest who talks to his falcon and cat all day." 

The boy's expression turns hilariously more confused. 

"I, well, I'm a peddler, a tinker, a merchant, a procurement specialist. I supply other solitary men, women, creatures, and deities with items beyond their basic necessities." 

I didn't think it was possible, but the boy looks even more perplexed. 

"I'm not explaining this well," I say, feeling the exasperation in my voice. "I've never actually had to explain this before. Let's see. Have you ever read or heard a story where the hero runs into trouble but is saved and resupplied by a wizard or a powerful creature? Or conversely, a story where a hero is captured by an evil witch or demon whose lair is meticulously cultivated with strange, fearsome objects?"

The boy nods, though it seems a tad reluctant. 

"Have you ever wondered where these people get their supplies? How does a shapeshifter living in the middle of a forest have barrels of mead? Or how does a witch living in a bog have jars of exotic flower petals? How are the hero and his friends resupplied by an old man in a cave just when they run out of provisions?" 

I point to myself. "Me."

The boy tilts his head inquisitively.

"I'm known by many different names in many different worlds, but here in my home, you can call me Omar. It's short for Omarian Lightfoot, but Omar will do just fine." 

The boy nods, this time curtly, and I detect a slight hint of respect. 

"It's not a glamorous business, but someone has to do it; otherwise, we wouldn't have any good stories." 

Remigius reemerges from under my bed, meowing as he takes the long route around the table to avoid the boy. "He distracted me. I know. I know. We're late. What's next? Seven stalks of sugarcane, what could one wizard need with so much sugar?" I say, petting the cat and returning to the pantry.

I open the door, and a vast, windy field of sugarcane stalks appears. "Hand me that machete, please." 

The boy looks at the sharp, red-handled tool on the table to his right.

He didn't seem to notice it before. 

"Come on. We have to hurry." 

The boy hands me the machete.

"Wait. Stay there. Grab these as I hand them to you. Don't knock anything over." 

I chop down seven tall sugarcane stalks with the efficiency of a much younger, leaner man, handing them to him two at a time. I hold my breath as he narrowly avoids knocking over my supply of Robin's eggs. 

"Careful," I shout. I have a customer who would be furious if you damaged those eggs." 

Fortunately, his technique improves, and we make it to the last item on the list with my cabin and possessions intact. 

"Now for the lightning-charred branch of Elm, fucking Eldrick," I say. Fred shrieks loudly. 

"A thousand apologies, madam," I say, winking at the boy. "I don't know why I keep that bird around sometimes." 

Again, Fred shrieks. This time quicker and more demanding. I simply smile. "How would you obtain a lightning-charred branch of Elm?" 

The boy shrugs. 

"I don't know what I expected. We'll obviously need to start with an Elm tree. Come on," I say, walking toward the front door. The boy follows. 

I try to unlock the door. The stubborn mechanism continues to resist, but few things in this universe are more stubborn than me. My persistence pays off, and the bolt slides into an unlocked position. "Remind me that I need to oil the lock later," I say as I step out into the forest. 

"So, what's your name?" I ask, closing the door to my cabin behind him.

"Todd," he says quietly.  

"Todd, eh. Just when I was starting to have hope for you. The only other Todd I knew nearly drowned in a puddle. Just stay close. I wouldn't want you getting lost and running into someone who isn't as friendly as me."

The fog clears as we walk through the forest, like a curtain opening. The ground is damp and muddy, but the boy doesn't seem to notice that I don't leave footprints. His lack of elementary observation skills is concerning, especially for someone named Todd. 

"There should be an Elm tree just around the bend," I say. 

We start to turn around a slight bend in the path that seems to curve with my movement. It's not an established road, but it's as if I'm creating the path as we walk. We pass a row of mulberry bushes, and I snag a few berries and offer Todd a handful. He takes the juicy black berries with an appreciative nod. 

"Good. If you had turned down mulberries, I would have set the wolf on you." 

Todd's eyebrows raise in concern.

"A little cliche, I know, but they make great villains even if most wolves I've met are sweethearts. Jennifer is not a sweetheart, though." Todd indulges me on a long tangent about the history of wolves in my forest, earning a hefty helping of my respect.

"Ah, here we are." 

We stop in front of a large Elm tree. A storybook beam of sunlight illuminates the fountain-shaped canopy of serrated oval leaves. Clouds pass over the forest, erasing the beam and leaving us at the base of the tall, suddenly dark tree. 

"Go on." 

The boy steps forward. I gently tug on Todd's shoulder. "You'll need this." I hand him a long metal rod. He takes it, examining it like it holds the secrets to life, the universe, and everything. 

I can't contain my laughter. 

"I'm kidding," I say, taking the rod back. "It's not even storming yet. Go get us some more mulberries while we wait." 

"Don't get lost. The big bad wolf is out there."

I hand Todd a basket and a red-hooded cloak and start cackling with laughter. 

The boy returns a short time later with the cloak slung over his forearm and a basket full of mulberries, purple stains seeping through the intricately woven fabric. I'm precariously balanced and on the lowest branch of the Elm tree. Several metal rods have been driven into the wood. 

"My, what big teeth you have," I laugh while driving in another rod.

Todd's jaw clenches as he puts down the basket. His disgruntled, narrowed eyes betray the passive facade he's trying to hide behind. I jump down from the branch, confidently landing mere feet before him.

"Now we wait. Can I have your hood, Little Red?" I say. 

Todd hands it over slowly with a strangely menacing grimace. 

"No sense of humor. Noted." 

I take the cloak and shake it out. As I lay it down, it turns into a large, plaid picnic blanket. I grab the basket of mulberries and sit, gesturing for the boy to join me. Todd shakes his head but sits cross-legged, nearly toppling over as a bright flash of light crashes close to the tree. 

"Good timing," I say as the storm rolls in. 

Rain falls on the tree, steady, drumming, yet we are untouched by the precipitation. Puddles form a stride away from the blanket. I watch Todd look up, trying to decide if some canopy protects us, but he only sees a dark, cloudy sky. 

"I don't like rain," I say.

Lightning strikes the base of the Elm tree. The forest rattles with immediate thunder. "Shit," I say. "Missed." 

A moment later, another lightning strike hits one of the metal rods in the branch. I jump up excitedly, and the storm clears almost instantly. Rays of sunlight appear, and the forest floor happily swallows the puddles. I climb the tree to examine the branch. The boy remains sitting, jaw slightly ajar.

"Damnit," I say, jumping down. "It didn't work. Toasted, overcharged, completely unstable. Fuck, shit, piss." 

Fred shrieks from some unseen tree. "What are you doing out here, Fred?" 

The falcon doesn't respond. 

"Fine. Go home." 

I continue on a tirade of cursing, searching, and thinking until I make eye contact with the boy. I feel a sinister smirk creep onto my face. "You. You can do it. You're perfect. You aren't magical, you aren't a God, you aren't some feral creature or easily disturbed bird. You're ordinary, perfectly bland." 

Todd's eyes widen, and the boy steps backward. 

"Oh, don't worry," I say, closing the distance between us and placing a hand on his shoulder. "It will be fun, just the experience you need. Do you want to go home or not?" 

Todd exhales slowly, closes his eyes, and steps forward.

"It's quite easy, but I can't do it," I say.

The boy shakes his head.

"I just can't, not anymore. It's not that hard. You just need to catch a bolt of lightning." Thunder roars ominously in the distance, echoing my statement. Todd's lips quiver.

"You're the one who went searching for a miserable, lying witch. Where's your sense of adventure? I'm certain a favor of this magnitude will go a long way in aiding your mother."

The boy licks his lips and nods slowly in agreement.

"I thought that would take more convincing," I say, pressing my finger and thumb into a makeshift instrument and whistle three times. Steady, marching footsteps drum in the distance. 

I cower behind the boy. "Jennifer must have heard the commotion." 

A haunting, jingling sound grows more apparent as the creature creeps closer. I grip his shoulders tightly. "She hates that collar I make her wear," I say, trembling. Todd looks back at me, concerned, just as an innocent mule totters out of the forest carrying a pack of supplies. 

I keel over laughing. The mule lazily approaches me, nudging me with her nose. "Hi, Charlotte," I say, petting her playfully. The boy crosses his arms in frustration. I search her pack while she nibbles on some grass between my feet. I pull out a narrow glass jar with a black lid. Other than its oblong shape, it seems completely ordinary, a perfect match for Todd. 

"Here we are," I say, handing the boy the jar. 

Todd shrugs and holds the jar by his fingertips like the canister is a venomous snake poised to strike. 

"I won't hurt you," I pause. "Yet." I let a friendly smile slide onto my face. 

The boy tries to give it back to me. I pet Charlotte behind her ears, ignoring the boy’s gesture. I rummage through her pack again and find what I'm looking for, carefully tucking it into my pocket. Then I make a clicking noise. Charlotte turns around and starts the journey back to my cabin. 

"Alright, get up there," I say, pointing at the Elm tree. Todd offers me the jar one more time. I laugh. "Go on. You're much younger than me." 

The boy looks at me, then at the tree, then at the jar, and then back at me, his eyes begging for more information. 

"It's easy. Climb to the top of the tree, open the jar, catch a lightning bolt, close the jar, and climb down." 

I gently push him toward the tree. He nearly trips but takes slow, deliberate steps forward until he reaches the trunk. Todd turns back to me. His stunned, reluctant expression makes me want to find a new volunteer, but that seems like too much work. It's my fault that he's here anyway, so I settle for rarely-spoken words of encouragement. 

"This shall be the first step in overcoming your obstacles and achieving what you so desperately crave," I say, almost spitting the words out. I'm not sure if I hid my contempt. I hate sounding prophetic; there are enough magic mirrors and oracles doing a poor job already. I have no idea if Todd will do anything more worthwhile than healing his mother and saving me a few hours of trial and error. 

"That's it. You can do it," I say. "Think of your Ma. You can do anything," I gag on the platitude. Todd can't do anything, and we both know it, but the boy starts climbing the tree. 

I sigh contentedly. 

Hauntingly dark storm clouds roll in, looking a little angrier than I intended. The boy pauses halfway up the tree as thunder shakes the limbs. "You're doing great," I shout. He's not. He's doing fine. How hard is it to climb a tree?

Photo by Felix Mittermeier on Unsplash

Fred lands on my shoulder. "I thought I told you to go home," I say, scratching under her beak. "I know. I didn't think he’d make it that far either." 

The boy nears the top. The sky is black; distant lightning illuminates the tree in blinding flashes. It starts to rain. "Are you ready?" I call. Todd doesn't answer. I don't know what I expected. I can't see amongst the dense foliage.

"Open the jar," I call, hoping the boy can hear me. 

A bright flash crashes into the top of the tree. Roaring thunder immediately follows. He didn't catch it. 

"Open the jar," I scream. "Open the jar."

Another bolt strikes the Elm, but there is no thunder this time, only a hot, white light glowing like a candle at the top of the tree. "Grey Gods, he caught it," I say. Fred doesn't shriek as if she, too, is equally amazed. The rain stops. The clouds evaporate, revealing a blue afternoon sky. I watch the light slowly lower itself through the leaves of the tree.

The boy jumps from the tree, victorious, holding the light above his head. A wide smile stretches across his face, and his hair stands straight up. I laugh. 

"You did it," I say, raising my arms and joining his celebration. "Now go get a branch." 

Todd's elated expression dampens to match his soaking-wet clothes. I gently punch his arm. "I'll get it. You earned a break." He actually did - I had doubts. 

I climb the Elm, looking for a branch thick enough to sustain a charring without bursting into flames. After carefully examining two nearly identical branches, I snap off my first choice. In my experience, your gut is right most of the time, and mine has grown in both girth and trust. 

Todd sits on the blanket, trying to get his hair to settle back in its usual direction. I approach with the forearm-length branch of Elm that is far too big to be a wand but not nearly big enough to be a quarterstaff. I start to rethink my choice, but a quick shriek from Fred reminds me that we are running low on time. 

"Right, we need to hurry," I say. Please hand me the jar. Thank you. You might want to back up a little bit. There you go." 

I place the blinding white jar at the base of the Elm tree and approach with the branch out in a dueling stance. I press the tip of the branch onto the black lid. It hums and spins slowly, letting short bursts of lightning escape. The bolts attack the Elm branch like a ferocious whip, leaving black scars along the brown bark. Pain reverberates up my arm, but I hold the branch steady. I only need a few more seconds. 

The lid spins faster before flying off into the air. Thunder booms around us, knocking the boy over. A brilliant flash precedes devastating darkness until a soft white light glows from the branch shaking in my fingers. A curl of smoke rises from the tip. 

"It's done," I say, breathing heavily. 

Todd stands up. I watch him swallow hard and stick a finger in his ear. My ears are ringing uncontrollably as well. 

"Let's go," I say, patting the boy on the back.

We return to my cabin. My ears are still ringing hard enough to make walking difficult. I place the glowing branch next to Eldrick's other supplies and review the list. 

"Two barrels of mead, check; three hens, check; one goat, check; seven stalks of sugarcane. One, two, three, four, five, six, and seven. Check. A bag of flour, check. And one lightning-charred branch of Elm. Fucking check." 

Fred squawks softly.

I open the large barn door next to the pile of supplies and whistle for Charlotte. The mule walks over, flailing her tail innocently as I attach her harness to the wagon. Well, it's more of a carriage than a wagon. I added a thick cushion to the driver's seat a few years ago. Then, I had to renovate the body to make it easier to carry bigger loads and more comfortable for Remi. I even painted the outside white and designed these intricate flower boxes that grow vining purple Clematis and ivory Honeysuckle. I like flowers.

"You know if you help me load, I could get you home faster," I say as I throw sugarcane stalks into the back of the wagon. Todd ambles over with the hustle of a hibernating bear. Despite his lack of haste, we load my wagon efficiently. "I'll get the branch," I say, picking up the stick. It vibrates in my hand, and I can feel the power coursing through it. I place it in the back of the wagon, nestled safely between the barrels of mead and far away enough from the animals. I'm unsure if it will harm the mead, but I know it will hurt the chickens if they peck at it. 

I climb onto the seat and grab the reins off the hitch. "Are you coming?" I ask as the boy stares at me dumbfounded. He climbs up, and I courteously scoot over, knowing my seat has grown rather large in my old age. I whistle once, and Remi hops into the back of the wagon. I whistle again, and Fred lands on my shoulder. I whistle one final time, and Charlotte starts pulling the wagon. The mule moves much faster than Todd expected. I laugh, watching him try to find something to hold onto as we traverse the surprisingly even forest floor. 

"It's not too far. Maybe you can tell me about this home of yours," I say.

Todd shakes his head and looks down. “It’s nothing special,” he says after a long pause. 

I give up on the riveting small talk and pass the time by humming an old tune that is either unfamiliar to the boy or he blatantly ignores my musical ability. I might never decide if I like him. The forest is quiet. Tall pine trees line our path. Fred circles above us, looking for a snack. We haven't traveled more than a mile when I ask the boy to see what Remi is doing in the back. 

When he returns, the forest is gone. We are now traveling through a rolling countryside, looking at a tall, spiraling tower. Fields of wildflowers bloom under a bright sun. Todd's head swivels back and forth like a skittish barn owl. 

"I told you it wasn't far," I say.

On the eastern horizon, the boy stares at a dark cloud hanging ominously over a volcano. It is a little derivative, but still, a perfectly picturesque evil landscape. "I don't know whose side Eldrick is on, and I certainly don't know how a goat will help him, but I'm paid well to be neutral. Oh, don't look at me like that. The good guys win most of the time, but everyone needs supplies. I lost contact with my conscience centuries ago."  

As we get closer to Eldrick's tower, the boy looks at me, concerned. Something swoops out of the air just over our heads. An emerald-colored wyvern flaps its massive wings, shaking my wagon and rattling the contents. The hens cluck loudly in the back. The goat rams the wall, trying to escape. Goats hate dragons. Todd's petrified look suggests that he realizes the goat's intended use. I shrug. 

"I simply provide the items requested," I say, shaking my head. "Stop giving me that look. My services are necessary." I don't know if I'm trying to convince the boy or myself.

The wyvern circles us again, this time lower as if smelling its next meal. We arrive at the base of the tower. A massive set of marble stairs leads to an equally enormous door. A fire-breathing dragon is carved into the door. It appears the fire is coming towards us as Eldrick opens the door. "He's redecorated," I whisper. 

The wizard descends the stairs in a flowing black robe with his hands tucked into his ridiculously baggy sleeves. "Omarian. The hour grows late," he says, his bushy grey eyebrows furrowing. 

"I'd wager I'm right on time," I say, pointing at my wrist, a gesture the wizard does not understand. "You've done a little renovating since my last visit. I see you were able to hatch that dragon's egg. I wasn't entirely sure it was fertilized."

"Kymbir is all that I could have hoped for and more," Eldrick says. 

"I'm glad you are satisfied."

The wizard nods and watches the wyvern land next to the staircase. I get off the wagon and start unloading the material. Todd helps without me asking, garnering a hefty portion of my respect. We place the items at the bottom of the staircase. Eldrick watches without a word. A decaying, sulfuric scent drifts by on the wind. "Seems like things are progressing," I say, placing the last of the hens on top of the stack. 

Eldrick looks at the boy. It seems like he considers changing his response in light of the unexpected company. 

"Who's that?" the wizard says, pointing at Todd. 

I glance over my shoulder. "An impartial observer."

"As you say, Omar. Regardless, the Great War has begun. I have many preparations to make," the wizard says. 

"I'm sure you're quite busy. We won't be long."

The boy helps me carry the barrels of mead as Eldrick details the latest geopolitical news from his world. I don't pay much attention. The eccentric wizard is my only client here. I'm confident he will survive whatever skirmish arises from his "Great War." We finish unloading the wagon, leaving only the lightning-charred branch of Elm for Eldrick to inspect. I still feel the power coursing through it as I hand it to him. 

"You have it," he says, with an almost sinister smile. Eldrick tries to take it from me, but the branch shocks him, and he recoils. Kymbir shoots a blast of fire into the air. I hold the branch steady.

"Payment will be double," I say. "This was not easy to obtain." 

Eldrick shakes his hand as he takes the branch from me. His teeth chatter, and his fingers clench around the wood, but he takes it, and I'm relieved. "Double? Omarian, surely we can negotiate. Your price is steep already." 

"Payment is double if you want me to fulfill another order. I will take our usual payment, but our relationship will end." 

The wizard considers this for longer than I expected. I would not be upset if he wanted to end our arrangement. There are always more clients. 

"What if we decrease the frequency of the orders?" Eldrick asks, staring at the glowing branch. 

"I have a very precise schedule, Eldrick. I will not accept stale payment," I say, trying to amplify the seriousness of my routine.

Eldrick looks at the branch one more time. I see his muscles relax and watch a monstrous expression flash across his face. "Fine. I will pay double."

"Let's get it over with," I say. 

Eldrick nods. 

He removes his hood and kneels in front of me. I place a hand on his shoulder and bend until our foreheads touch. Eldrick gasps as our heads connect. "Hold still," I instruct. 

The wizard breathes heavily as I collect my payment. Our minds connect, and I take what I desire. Eldrick starts sweating. A double payment is quite taxing on the customer. "Almost done," I say. His whole body starts to convulse, and I grip his shoulders firmly. I finish the ritual and release our bond. 

"Done," I say. 

Eldrick collapses onto the ground. Kymbir rushes to his side like a well-trained dog. The wizard struggles to catch his breath. I help him to his feet. His legs tremble, but he is able to balance using the wyvern's head as a crutch. "I didn't think a double payment would be so painful. I feel empty, lost," the wizard says. 

"I've had a client pay triple. It nearly killed him, but he recovered, and so will you. It will take longer than usual, but in a few days, you should feel normal.”

"I hope you're right," Eldrick says. His voice sounds as feeble as he looks. 

I pull a piece of parchment from my sleeve and hand it to him. The wizard nods and carefully tucks the paper into his robe. "May your feet find the road, Eldrick," I say. 

"And yours," he coughs. 

I nod to Todd, signaling that our work is done, and we get back in the wagon. 

"Will you bring me an apple from the back?" I ask after we have traveled a few miles through Eldrick's fields. 

The boy grins and shakes his head. "You're learning. Fine. Just this once," I say. 

His eyes widen with excitement. I wave my hand in a grand gesture across the horizon, and a dense fog covers the land. I wave my hand in the opposite direction. The mist clears, and the once beautiful green landscape dissolves away into a familiar forest. Todd shakes his head, unable to comprehend the magic at work. 

"Some things are better left as a mystery," I say as we approach the cabin. 

The boy snorts.

I open the door to my home. He steps in, still nodding in disbelief. I whistle twice. Fred flies in through the kitchen window, and Remi follows as I close the door behind the boy. I don't lock the door. 

"It's time to get you home," I say. 

The boy nods.

I walk through the kitchen, scratching Fred's head as I pass her. Remi strolls arrogantly in front of the pantry door. I open the ordinary door, revealing his home. "This is something special. I know this wasn’t the adventure you had planned today, but thank you for your help,” I say, pulling a clear, corked vial from my pocket. “This will cure your mother." 

The boy kneels the same way Eldrick did, but I help him stand. "You earned this, Todd. I wish you well. Perhaps we will meet again one day."

Todd smiles and slowly walks to the door, looking at Fred, Remi, and me, then back at the forest. He takes a step into the door but stops halfway through. He turns around. "Omar, what did Eldrick pay with?"

I make up my mind. He's a good kid. I smirk as I hand Todd a rolled-up parchment. "Ideas," I say, closing the door.