Debut of a Boy Magician: A Project Spellcheck Short Story

Have you heard of Fleece Village?

…No? Well, I don’t blame you.

East of the Axaltan Curtain and north of Tana Coast is the humble Kingdom of Lancet and its many vibrant provinces. Aries is the smallest of these provinces, but our proud and sturdy people have been responsible for the vast bulk of the Kingdom’s crops and livestock for countless generations.

Search for the smallest of even these humble villages is a fifty-acre settlement with eleven families, a couple dozen trees, and an ungodly number of sheep. We scarce and happy few call ourselves Fleece Village, and I am proud to count myself among them.

As for my name? Call me Meeko.

Now, Fleece Village may be tiny and out of the way, but it’s still a fun place to live. It’d be ungrateful to ever get tired of the same old horizons, especially when the sun hits the lakes and mountains just right in the morning. If you ever get hungry, you can always climb a tree and grab an apple, or just try and whack it off the branch. Bored of watching the flock? The sheep’ll love it when you play a jolly banjo tune; doesn’t matter if you’re just string-fiddling or going all out with your favorite jingles. If you’re searching for a thrill, the odd fox, goblin, or sheep hawk comes around once in a while, but they’re easy to shoo off if you spot ‘em quick. And hey, if you were really good, maybe you could tag along with one of the traders and see a trading post. I even got to visit Stockenhut for my birthday once!

That’s what life was for a lot of years, and I was happy with it. Then came along one mysterious traveler, towing into town an unforgettable day.

Most people who come in from the rest of Lancet are merchants who’d prefer us over the other villages for the sake of bargains; actual passersby have always been a rarity. Yet even among those few, this gray-haired fellow, who arrived one day with the chilly fall winds, was unlike anything I had ever seen. The stitches and seams in his robes clued years of adventure, and his eyes were like… it was as if he wanted to go back in time, or maybe do something over. And then, there was his hat: large and pointy, with a large ring for a brim, as if plucked from olden years—or a beaten-down scarecrow. Simply beholding him from afar brought me nostalgia for something I never even knew that I didn’t know.

Beneath a fruitless tree, the visitor set himself down, putting his strange sat behind him among dried red leaves. With Jack’s skeptical approval, I walked slowly up his hill and offered apples, water, and a place to stay the night in, if he so desired. Though he accepted the food and drink, he claimed he didn’t intend to stay in this village for long.

He chewed slowly on each bite of apple and swallowed with a satisfied look. Then, once he dipped his canteen into the pale of water, he turned his face to mine. I watched his bushy eyebrows curve and his apple-dampened lips bend into a smile.

“I bet you’re wondering where I’m going,” he said with a voice gruff and weathered.

“I assume you’re curious to know where I’m going.” He asked with a voice gruff and weathered.

I hesitated at first, unprepared for him to speak so casually.

“Are you?”

I couldn’t help but confess with a nod.

“I’m traveling to the east,” he answered, “to a place the maps call Ramhorn Grove.”

Of course, I knew about Ramhorn Grove. You could see it from Fleece Village far in the distance. From afar, its large trees betrayed nothing but a typical forest, but its innards were said to be a home for countless dangers, from sinister goblins to hulking snappers. What could entice anyone aside from the most courageous or foolhardy of explorers to enter such a place?

“Stories as old as Lancet itself tell of the grove holding incredible magic phenomena just waiting to be discovered,” The old man continued as though seeing into my thoughts. “Rare and ancient creatures, tomes and treasures hidden away by the remnants of the Majus clan, and…”

He stopped for a brief moment. He leaned forward and his grin widened. “What I tell you must never escape your lips. Can you promise?”

I nodded again, without even thinking.

“Until now, it had only been a rumor amongst magicians and poachers, but now I know with absolute certainty: Concealed within the deepest depths of the forest, at the mouth of a hidden grotto...”

The old man stifled from laughter and broke into a light, joyful cough.

“Fairies,” he continued. “A hive of fairies dwells at the heart of Ramhorn Grove.”

Fairies?! It was said that they kept to the hidden pockets of the Lanceti wilds, but to know that fairies lived within reach of Fleece Village?! I drew back in shock so suddenly that I nearly tripped and stumbled down the hill as the old man leeched off the humor of watching me. “I suppose I should tell you that this will not be my first encounter with the fairy folk, either. Oh, they’re a quirky folk, let me tell you. No fans of outsiders, either, though that can’t be helped, given their… economic value.”

He bit into his apple one last time before he began to lift himself from the crinkly autumn grass. Rising to his knees, he laid the expended apple core and allowed it to roll gently down the hill.

“I’ve spent a lifetime exploring as much of Lancet as I could, but I am not afraid of knowing the world is past men like me anymore.” On his feet, the old man, turned around and fixed his gaze on the empty tree above him. “The Magic Renaissance is well past over, and it’s about time this old magician finally took the hint. I will earn the trust of the fairies, then I will retire to a life of peace among them.”

Picking up his hat by its pinched, pointy peak, he slowly began to descend down the hill, but each step was slower than the last, until he found himself completely stopped.

“And yet…”

The way he turned around, I wondered if he had forgotten something important, but there was nothing left beneath the tree save a freshly-carved apple core. I didn’t realize until after a few seconds that he was actually looking at me, assessing me from the top of my ink-black hair to the toes of my muddy boots.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “An old man can’t help but spill his mind to youngsters, and simply watching you listen has gotten me feeling nostalgic for adventures long past.”

He looked at me, then he looked at his conspicuous cap as he held it by the hem with both his hands. His head tilted down towards it, but then he fixed his gaze back and approached me one last time, and held out his hat for me to take. “Indulge me for a moment and try this on. I want to see if…”

He didn’t wait for himself to finish his sentence, or for me to hold out my hands and take it from him. instead, he lifted it up and plopped it right on my head. After brushing the hair that flung into my eyes from its impact, I adjusted the hat and finally discovered its silky-soft texture for myself. More than that, though, I felt an unusual, uncanny sense of familiarity. It was like it was destined for my head, despite me having never been much of a hat person in my life!

“Well, I’ll be!” He said cheerfully. “You look like a true, magician in the making!”

I looked up the hat. In retrospect, it made sense that magicians would wear such silly things. It seemed 

“Well, it sure looks good on you!” He said cheerfully. “You look like a real magician in the making!”

So, this was a hat for magicians? I suppose they would wear something so odd-looking, but that trivial revelation only opened more mysteries about this old man. Unfortunately for my curiosity, his next smile would be his last, giving one final nod before he turned to face his destination far over the hills.

“From now on, that hat is yours to keep. Think of it as a good luck charm, or a memento to commemorate the day we crossed paths. Or, just maybe, that hat will be there when it’s time for your great legend to spring forth.”

Having spoken his last, he strolled down the hill with a pleased chuckle and left our village for the horizon, until his spec vanished behind a crowd of trees. I was left with one hat and too many questions to leave unanswered.

Years have come and passed since that day, and I spent many hours and days filling in those wide-open blanks. Eventually, I learned the story of a man named Thrupert Coronius, whose description was nearly a perfect match to the old man I met so long ago, and who was renowned as likely one of the greatest and most storied magicians in history. Through his tale, I learned of the “Magic Renaissance” that marked a century of powerful magics and the rise and fall of whole groups and guilds of magicians. All my makeshift studies enlightened me to so many epic stories and mysteries across Lancet’s history that I finally realized that perhaps there was more that awaited me than a life bound to Fleece Village.

Now, at last, my day has finally arrived. It took a lot of convincing to assure Jack that I was ready, but I have earned his blessing to leave my shepherd’s life behind. I have bid farewell to all my friends in Fleece Village, promising to come back someday once I had seen everything I needed to see. Then, I stood below the empty tree on that fateful hill, standing right next to the sapling born from the seeds of that old apple core beneath its elder tree’s shadow.

This is where my journey begins. I have a sack full of fresh fruit and a canteen of water, that lucky old hat atop my head, and a whole world ahead of me to discover. Now, it’s off to Ramhorn Grove, where I hope to pick up where I left off. Look out, Thrupert, and look out, Lancet! My quest to become a magician begins today!