Shadri's First Tale

This issue's Editor's Choice is Eric Lee's "Shadri's First Tale." In his submission, Eric told us, "Bear in mind that this is meant to be read to children...but read by older kids or adults, and is meant to entertain BOTH parties. (Quite good, I've noticed, at keeping two kids out of your hair at once.)" We agree. This is a story that is simplistic at first blush, but a great example of story-telling. And isn't what we're all trying to do here? More of Shadri's tales will appear in future editions of Demensions.

     Longer ago than anyone remembers, and much farther away than you can imagine, was a world not so very different from our own. It had wet places and dry, hot places and cold, rocky places and soft, and all the things in between that went into making a whole world. Including people.
     These were a quiet, scaly people; on the whole, rather nice. There were, of course, nice ones and mean ones, cheerful ones and angry ones, honest ones and some that you wouldn't want to leave alone in your house. And all the ones in between that go into making a whole people, but, on the whole, they were mostly rather quiet. They liked for things to be warm, and soft, and damp, with lots of green growing things to eat, and plenty of squishy mud to play in.
     After a time, they began to encourage the green growing things that they liked to grow closer together, so that they would be easier to get, and so they invented farming. They also invented farm chores, but that was a problem they dealt with as best they could.
     They also found that a lot of them together could get more done than a lot of them by themselves, and so have more time to play, and so they began to live in bigger groups and closer together until they invented something very like cities. But that, too, was a problem that they dealt with as best they could.
     Now, on the particular night that we are talking about, the particular person this tale concerns was not dealing with things very well. He had just discovered that he was not a farmer. He had been trying to be for several weeks, now, but he had not done well. This would not be a terrible thing, in the ordinary course of things, but he had already discovered, in just this manner, that he was not a barrel maker or a cook, not a clothing maker, not a lamp maker, a cloth weaver, a weapon smith or a thief or a fisher. He had tried to be many things, and had not found one that he could say that he was, and this made him very sad and a little afraid, for he was running out of time.
     There was this rule, you see, that said, from the time that a person's first grown-up scales appeared until the last of his baby-scales were gone, he could go anywhere, and try his hand at any way of earning his keep, and anyone had to let him. Shadri's baby-scales were almost gone. He had, in fact, only three left in that small, itchy spot on his back, and people were beginning to look at him in a way that said he ought to have found his place by now. He thought so, too, and he was beginning to wonder if he would ever be good at anything.
     So, on this particular night, he placed his other shoes into his pack atop his better shirt, placed the pack on his itchy back, and left the farm. He was not exactly certain where he ought to go next, or even in which direction, and he was, before long, quite cold and lonely, and just a little afraid, but these were problems he dealt with as best he could, and the best he could do right now was to keep walking, so that was what he did.
     Eventually, as is bound to happen if one walks far enough, he got someplace.
     It was not much of a place, being simply the valley that lay over a particularly high rise in the road, but there was someone camped in the valley, and that someone had built a fire, and on that fire was a kettle from which came the wonderful smell of a stew of fish and green growing things, and that made it a place Shadri was eager to be, at that particular moment. Yet, he stood for a while, hesitant, and watched the figure at the fire. About this figure, he could tell exactly nothing, for it was wrapped in a blanket entirely, and it moved not at all. Not a twitch. So Shadri stood and watched.
     Finally, though the shape by the fire still never moved, a voice drifted up to him.
     "Will you stand there all night? Now that you aren't breathing so hard, I can hear your stomachs grumbling from here."
     The voice sounded friendly, and he could hear his stomachs as well as anyone, however keen their ears, so he made his way down the hill and into the circle of firelight.
     The stew was quite good, and the stranger not terribly talkative, and Shadri fell asleep where he was, not terribly long after he had eaten his fill.
     He woke up stiff, as you will, when you sleep on the ground, but not cold, for he was wrapped in a warm blanket.
     "Good Morning! I trust you slept well." The stranger was seated next to the ring of stones that had held last night's fire, arranging twigs to build another. "I haven't far to go, today, and I feel that I would like to rest here awhile longer. We'll have a good breakfast, soon."
     Saying these things, the stranger laid a final twig, then spoke three words while staring into them. A trickle of smoke, and a flicker of flame appeared in the twigs, beneath a shape, made of pure light, it seemed, that hung over the fire-pit for just a moment before vanishing. It was a thing of such beauty that Shadri uttered a small cry of dismay as it disappeared. The stranger heard, and turned to him.
     "Do not be frightened," he said. "It is true, I used the p'taa, but I am only a simple traveling spell-maker. I make shows for the people, and sometimes small cures. I will not harm you." Shadri had heard the stories, like any child, about the wizards. That they stole children, and ate them, he had never believed. After all, why would they? He wanted to see that shape of light again! He thought he might have seen how it was made, and it had been so beautiful, he had to try. As the strange wizard turned to rummage in his pack, Shadri crept from his blanket to the edge of the fire, and laid a twig upon a rock. He knew that fire could be a dangerous thing, and he was very careful to keep his effort small, and he spoke the three words in barely a whisper.
     The shape that appeared before him, just over the twig, was fainter than the other had been, and vanished even more quickly, but it was just as beautiful. He hardly cared about the wisp of smoke that curled upward from the twig, and then died. It was the shape he wanted to see! He spoke the words again, just a bit louder. The shape returned, stronger, this time, brighter. The tiny twig burst into a small flame and was consumed. Shadri reached for another.
     "So, you have the talent." The voice startled Shadri, so wrapped up he was in the beauty of what he had made. The wizard laid a hand on his shoulder. "And caution, too. That's very good. You are traveling under the search?" That was what they called it, when a child was looking for his place in life.
     Bubbling with excitement over his new discovery, Shadri poured out his tale almost without hearing himself, and called the shape to hover over another twig. His excitement got the better of him, this time, and the twig vanished in a flare of flame nearly as long as his arm.
     Startled, he sat back, and looked up at the wizard.
     That was how Shadri found his first teacher. He would travel with him for some time before he was ready to go to the temple for more teaching, where he would learn all the nine times nine names of power, and would go on to be the greatest wizard his world had ever seen, (yes, this is that Shadri) but that is another story, and a few more than that, besides.
     This is the end of this story, how Shadri found his calling, and this is what he learned from it: There may be many things that a person can do, to make a living, but for every person, there is one thing he can do to make a life, and you should never stop looking until you find it.

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