The Wizard Thorn Berry

Chapter One - the Beginning

It was the beginning of Spring. The snow had melted, and flowers were starting to pop up in flower boxes, and planting beds in front of homes. The human city of Manitoba, is situated at the foothills of a vast mountain range, called the Rockies because of their steep sides. While many have tried to climb these mountains, no one has ever made it very far. Manitoba is also a day's walk from the Great Sea, called the Nile Sea, to a small village, called Argus, comprising mostly of fishermen, and those who provide services to the owners of boats and their crews.

The air in Manitoba was still a bit chilly, but it didn't stop the children from going outside to play in the sunshine. On this particular day an old peddler came to town, as he does every year, and the children were always drawn to this old man because of the stories he told. He talked of Elves, Fairies, Dragons, and more. He almost always would recount stories of the Wizard Honey Bea, and how she had helped those in need.

While his stories were basically true, he did sometimes "create" some extra items in his stories to make them more interesting to the children. He wasn't a tall man, about five feet, eight inches, always dressed in a long gray coat, gray pants, gray shirt, and dusty gray boots. His hair was a long shaggy gray. He was just a gray man. But his eyes were a deep blue that seemed to look into a person's soul, and they were always happy. They seemed to smile and dance when they looked at you. He enjoyed the children as much as they enjoyed his stories.

While the young would listen with rapt attention, the adults were of the mind that the peddler had made up these stories just to entertain the young people. And when asked by their children if his stories were true, the adults would say no. There is no such thing as fairies, or dragons, or elves, or flying horses, or any of the creatures the peddler had told of. And there was certainly no war of long ago, or ever for that matter. As the children aged, many simply started to agree with their parents, that the stories he had told were make believe fantasy.

Sometimes the children would try to follow the old peddler, but he would take his mule and cart into the woods and vanish. While most were more interested in the stories of dragons and elves, one boy was much more interested in the Wizard Honey Bea and her exploits. Today was no different, as soon as Thorn heard the peddler was in town, he was off to the town square where the peddler would entertain the children.

Thorn was a young lad, tall for his 15 years, and thin. His hair was a dark brown and came half way down his ears, eyes were a brilliant green, and over all a rather attractive young man. He was outgoing and friendly, but while not the leader of his group of friends, he was well liked by boys and girls alike.

Once there the old man was starting a story about giants, and explaining how they helped in the war of Long Ago. Thorn sat and politely listened, but when the story was finished, his hand instantly went up.

The old man looked at Thorn, "Let me guess Thorn, you want to hear more about the Wizard Honey Bea."

Thorn lowered his hand, blushed a bit, and wondered how the old man knew his name. "Sir, Honey Bea sounds more like a female name; and to be called a Wizard, shouldn't it be a man?"

Smiling, the old man replied, "Most would think that, but a Wizard is much greater than a Witch or Warlock. A Wizard can call themselves a toad if they wanted. So, wizards can be male or female." Thorn nodded that he understood.

"Have you ever met the Wizard?", Thorn asked.

"I have, from time to time, crossed paths with her."

A little girl quickly asked, "Is she pretty?"

"She can be, it all depends on her mood and the situation."

"But that is it for today dear children", the old man stood and stretched, "I must be on my way, there are a lot more towns I must visit." He walked over to his mule and cart, "I'll see you again, when the snow melts and the flowers start to bloom, or as you say, in the Spring." With that, he led his mule away. Some of the children followed, but only to the edge of town; Thorn tried to walk with the peddler to ask more questions, but the old man was reluctant to provide much information.

Then, as they approached the edge of town, Thorn asked, "How did she become a Wizard?"

The old man stopped, and looked intently at Thorn, "Why would you ask such a question?"

Thorn was taken aback, he thought it was a normal question, "I don't know . . . surely you don't just wake up one day and you're a Wizard. Is it handed down from Father to son, or is there a Wizard's school, or what?"

Nodding, the old man thought for a moment, "I guess you could say it is handed down and there is a school."

"So, it's both?"

"Yep. See you in the Spring." Then he started to lead his mule on down the road. As Thorn looked at the mule, it turned its head toward Thorn and winked.

That startled Thorn, but he thought, "No, it couldn't have actually winked at me, must have just blinked at me and I couldn't see the other eye to realize it blinked. Mules don't wink at people." And he headed back towards his home.

Adults didn't believe in Wizards, or any of the fanciful creatures that the old peddler talked about, and there were times even Thorn found some of his stories a bit too strange. Still, for some reason, he sincerely felt that this Wizard Honey Bea was real.

Spring turns into Summer, and Thorn often thought about the Peddler, and different questions swirled around in his head. How did the Peddler know his name, he never called any of the others by name? Did the mule actually wink at me, or is just my imagination? Why was my question about how the Wizard became a Wizard, such a surprise to him?

He couldn't ask his parents about any of this, they'd just say that the stories were just that: stories to entertain. And he shouldn't let his imagination get so carried away.

He was old enough that most of his friends had decided that the stories told by the Peddler were just make-believe, and they didn't come and listen as much as the younger children or Thorn. Another question came to his mind, the old man never repeated a story, each one was unique. Oh, they may have included the same characters at times, but no two stories were the same. How could he not repeat a story . . . unless, each of the stories were in fact real.

The fall and winter were cold and wet, and while distracted by school, chores, and playing with friends, Thorn would still continue to ponder about the old Peddler and the Wizard.

He was determined to get answers the next time the old man returned in the Spring. He had questions, and would demand answers, well, respectfully demand answers.

Yet, every spring, year after year, the old peddler would somehow manage to never give Thorn a satisfactory answer to any of his questions. The old man was as much an enigma as the Wizard Honey Bea.