A Fool and His Folly

A wizard-for-hire gets wrapped up in his work.

The moon peeked over the top of Thunderhead Mountain and cast a deceptively tall and thin shadow of the short and fat wizard named Bromley. The wizard chose not to wear a hat, a decision that brought needless attention to the top of his gleaming bald head. Thick tufts of wild gray hair grew out of his sideburns and blended into a long scraggly beard. A cane, adorned at the top by a petrified dragon’s egg, took the place of his staff. Bromley’s belly hung over his elaborately tied cloth belt and several satchels, and tinctures dangled at the hip, giving him an even wider appearance.

Yergon, the villager who employed Bromley’s services, observed the wizard from a distance with a mix of curiosity and frustration. Small beads of sweat formed a stalwart community on Bromley’s brow, and Yergon thought the wizard might collapse dead at any minute. Cryptic symbols were engraved in stone over the entrance to catacombs at the base of the mountain and Bromley read them in whispers. With each passing moment Yergon missed his wife, Agatha.

“Bromley, is this the correct entrance, or not?” Yergon asked.

“It is, to be sure! The language is an older dialect of Endish, but one I understand quite well. As you’ve heard, not only am I a powerful magician, but I’m also a master of linguistics,” Bromley replied.

“Yes, I’ve heard — mostly from you. What about the warnings? Villagers tell stories about the terrors that lurk in these caves.”

“A few dire warnings, to be sure. Nothing a wizard and his trusty sidekick can’t handle.”

Yergon huffed at the mention of a sidekick. Bromley continued to use the word, even as a hired hand. The wizard demanded a healthy sum for his talents, including lodging and food, of which he ate more than his fair share. Hiring magicians of any sort came at a steep price, especially for one who could mix curative elixirs. Bromley advertised those desirable skills and constantly reminded Yergon of his worth.

“The mushrooms growing inside the catacombs. They are the last of the ingredients?” Yergon asked as they stepped through the entrance.

 “They are necessary to help reverse the effects of the poison coursing through Agatha’s veins. Your bride’s health and youth will be restored, to be sure. Now, let’s be quick about it,” Bromley said.

The wizard held up his hand, recited an incantation and a tongue of fire hovered over his palm. Bromley lowered his hand and the fire bounced forward, illuminating the walls and directing their paths. He waddled forward at a comfortable pace, exhaling heavily with every other step.

After a number of forks in the tunnel, the two men arrived at the opening of an expansive cave. At the center, a large glowing ruby balanced on top of a rock pedestal. The ruby cast a red light on the ceiling and walls, including an outcropping of mushrooms. Around the base of the pedestal much of the floor moved in rhythmic waves — thousands of large spiders with their many eyes fixed on the jewel. Entranced, the arachnids swayed side to side, unaware of Bromley and Yergon. 

“Collect the mushrooms,” Bromley said. “The spiders are spellbound and can’t harm you.”

Yergon stepped around the outside of the cave, hugging the walls, careful to avoid getting too close to the distracted creatures. After plucking a few mushrooms growing between the cracks, he turned to find Bromley flinging magic dust over the sea of eight legged critters.

“What are you doing?” Yergon asked.

“When I pluck the ruby from its cradle they will awaken. This sleeping powder will ensure that doesn’t happen, as I prefer to eat and not be eaten,” Bromley said.

“Are you not compensated enough? You put us both at risk!”

Bromley ignored the protest, lifted the giant ruby up and slid it into one of his satchels, which extinguished the red glow. He untied two small glass bottles hanging from his waist, gave one to Yergon, and said, “The powder won’t keep them asleep long enough for us to exit unseen. This is an invisibility potion. Drink it.”

Bromley downed the liquid in a single gulp and Yergon did likewise. When they finished, the villager bent over with a terrible cramp and watched as his feet pushed through the soles of his boots, and his pants and shirt began to rip as he grew larger. His torso pressed against the tunnel while his arms and legs stretched lengthwise. Wedged on all sides, Yergon could not move. Bromley backed out of reach and sneered.

“What did you do to me?” Yergon asked.

“An insurance policy. Brandywine for me and a growth potion for you. In a short time you’ll shrink back to normal size, and if you’re lucky, the little ravenous beasts will be quick about their work.” Bromley exclaimed.

“What of my Agatha?”

“All I need is a single mushroom, dried, crushed and steeped in water. I’ve got plenty already. Agatha will be just fine after I personally nurse her back to full health. Then, when she learns of your demise, I will be there to comfort her, a supportive and familiar presence, to be sure.” Bromley exclaimed.

Yergon bellowed a deep laugh as much as his predicament would allow.

“I already know this you foolish wizard. Agatha will be fine. Not because of you, or any mushroom, but because she isn’t really sick,” Yergon said.

“Who is the fool, then, villager? I’ve got the jewel and you’ll die for nothing.”

“You’re wrong. It wasn’t you who brought me here to die, but the reverse. Agatha once had a sister, a young impressionable beauty, victimized by your sorcerous ways. You murdered her husband, stole her fortune and transformed her into a monster. The very same monster that hovers over you now — to be sure!”

Bromley looked up, mesmerized by a multitude of red beady eyes and large, drooling sharp fangs. The black beast clamped down on the wizard, injected her venom and weaved a tight webbed cocoon around his thick body. Paralyzed, Bromley could do nothing but watch in terror, a future meal for a large family.

Yergon eventually shrunk down to normal size. Before leaving he turned to see the jewel put back in its rightful place. Thousands of tiny abdomens scurried across the floor and around the rock pedestal. In unison they turned and stared, a horde of nieces and nephews watching the villager.

“Auntie Agatha sends her love,” Yergon said.