A Mage's Power (Journey to Chaos) Read online

  A.K.A Trickster Help ServicePublished 2012 by Brian Wilkerson

  Copyright © Brian Wilkerson 2009

  ISBN: 978-0-9883066-0-8

  Cover Design and Illustration: Travis Pennington

  Map Design and Illustration: Brenna Albert

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and

  incidents are products of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons,

  living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved.

  Except as permitted under the U.S. Copyright Act

  of 1976, no part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or

  transmitted in any form or by any means, or stored in a database or

  retrieval system, without the prior written permission of the

  publisher (I.E. the author)

  Dedication

  To my Mom and Dad, for enduring the roughest and ugliest draft. Without you this book would never have seen the light of day.

  To T.O.M. of Toonami for “building a better cartoon show” and inspiring me when was I young.

  To Henry Henz, for sparing me a horrific embarrassment by telling me to do one more revision.

  T.O.M. and Toonami are registered trademarks of Cartoon Network. No infringement is intended by the author. He merely wishes to thank them for the programing block.

  Chapter 1 Here to Help

  The sun shone on a neighborhood that was thriving with activity. Teens played basketball in a driveway, a child drew a chalk picture, their parents applauded, and a man taught his son to ride a bike.

  “Thanks for taking time off to teach me!”

  The man ruffled the boy's hair affectionately. “You're much more important to me than work. Now I have to run an errand for your mother. I'll be back by dinner.”

  The man ran down the street while his son did another lap. He ducked behind a house and leaned against the wall. “You are no longer in need of help,” he smirked. “Son.”

  The man snapped his fingers and his form began to melt and shift. Where a short human once stood, there was now a tall, elfin creature. Long golden-brown hair fell around his shoulders with two strands around his face, where purple eyes shined with mischief. The elf-like creature looked down on his outfit and frowned.

  “This will not do. Not at all. Mortal fashion sense has diminished over the centuries.” He snapped his fingers again and his clothing warped into stylized Renaissance under a traveler's cloak.

  He waved at someone.

  “Hello! I am Tasio the Trickster, at your service.” He made an elegant bow. “Trickster by race, mind you; I'm actually a helpful guy.” The Trickster took flight and soared over the pedaling boy. “That boy for example; his father's too busy to teach him. He called for help and I appeared, cleverly disguised as his father, of course.”

  His gaze locked on an apartment building and the women inside. One of them talked nonstop while the other grimaced. I wish she would shut up.

  “I'm finely in-tuned to human suffering.” The Trickster snapped his fingers and the first woman suddenly stopped talking. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. Her friend called a doctor and they discovered she had laryngitis.

  At the other end of town, a man rushed to a fleeing bus. I wish I could catch this bus! Tasio snapped his fingers. The bus's front tire sprang a leak and lurched to a stop, thus buying the man enough time to catch up.

  “There are many ways I could have helped that boy.” The Trickster’s eyes gained a malevolent gleam. “I could have arranged for his father's company to shut down. Then he would have all the time in world.” The malevolence returned to mischief. “But I'm not that kind of trickster. If you don't believe me, then stay and watch.”

  Tasio alighted on a skyscraper and phased to the room below. A big old man shouted over his desk at a meek little guy. The old man was bald except for an enormous mustache and bushy eyebrows, as if his hair had retreated from his head to his face. His suit was covered with military medals.

  “How many times do I have to tell you, Private Eric?” the man bellowed. “Every solider has a role in the success of any mission! The unit is doomed unless everyone plays their part!”

  The guy had short red hair and wore a suit that came out of the bargain bin. All he did was nod and say, “Yes, General Hanson” at every scolding.

  Tasio patted him on the head. “What do you think? Does he need my help?”

  “And you'd better have that report ready by tomorrow!”

  “Yes sir,” Eric mumbled, head still down.

  “I can't hear you!” Hanson bellowed.

  Eric stood up, saluted, and shouted, “Yes sir!”

  “That's more like it! Dismissed!” Hanson saluted and Eric marched out the office.

  Tasio was in a mock salute. “Hanson used to be a general.” The Trickster phased through the wall where Eric was slouching and gave him bunny ears. “Eric here is a private.”

  I won't finish in time . . . Eric shuffled to the elevator and lazily pushed the button. Tasio followed him in. I'll lose this job . . .The unemployment clerk's gonna glare at me again . . .

  The doors parted to reveal a handsome man leaning casually against the far wall. “So, Private Eric returns from another battle with the General. Are you KIA yet?” The lame military puns continued impacting as Eric advanced in the other direction. They had little effect, as they were the same ones from yesterday. He turned a corner and his mood suddenly improved.

  “Hey, Eric,” said a woman passing by. “What's up?”

  “Emily! I'm . . . uh . . . I'm writing a Reguffin. Report! I meant report! H-hanson wants me to wr-write a report on the company's newest acquisition.”

  Tasio danced like a little kid watching puppies. “Aw! Would you listen to that stutter? See how his cheeks color?”

  The wimp navigated the cubicles on his way to the exit. Not because they were a maze, but because he had to avoid his coworkers. If he didn't, he would bump into them, which would cause a scene, which would draw more attention to him, which would make it even more painfully obvious how useless he was. So he had to be aware of everyone moving in the pathway; behind him, in front, and to both sides. They never noticed him, so he had to get out of their way.

  Tasio made a great heaving sigh. “See what I see have to work with?” He spoke with the frustration of someone holding a ketchup bottle over a burger. “Now if only he would ask.”

  Eric trudged out of the building, but he picked up his pace when he saw his car being towed. “Hey, that's my car!” He tripped over his own feet and stumbled on the pavement.

  “Sorry, but the computer said you missed the last payment. I gotta do my job.” The tow truck driver turned on the radio and drove off.

  Eric lay flat and groaned. “Well, at least things can't get any worse.”

  Tasio grinned. “Ohhh, you shouldn't have said that.”

  A clap of thunder greeted Eric's words. With rain falling on him like the waste of mocking birds, he walked down the street. It continued until he reached his apartment and stepped through the front door, where it abruptly stopped. Dripping water, he passed the front desk. There, a man was leaning back and reading a newspaper. When he heard the sloshing, he dropped it.

  “Eric! You're soaking wet!”

  “I know.”

  “What happened to your car?”

  “It was impounded.”

  The man pounded on the desk. “You made your last payment! I saw you do it.”

  “Apparently, something went wrong.”

  The man grabbed his coat. “That does it! I'm giving those grease monkeys a piece of my mind.”<
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  “You don't need to do that,” Eric said quietly.

  “Eric, you need to stand up for yourself! Or this will keep happening.”

  “I know . . .”

  Eric walked to the elevator thinking, I wish I could be confident like Alex. Tasio chuckled. It was the excitement any bottle holder feels bubbling up when the ketchup finally sags down.

  The elevator dinged and Eric stepped off. He groaned when he saw his door open. Inside the kitchen/living room, a man with the frame of an orangutan sat on his couch, watching TV. On the cushion to his left was a carton of milk and on the cushion to his right was a bowl of nachos.

  “Oliver, what are you doing here?”

  “Watching my soaps.”

  “Why are you watching them here?” Oliver grabbed a handful of nachos and stuffed them in his mouth, dropping crumbs. Eric said nothing. They'll brush right off . . .

  “I'm recordin' the game on my TV,” Oliver said while chewing and dropping more crumbs.

  Eric sighed. “Oliver, I've had a bad day. Do you mind leaving?”

  Oliver took a swig from the carton and some of it splashed on the couch. Still, Eric said nothing. There were plenty of stains on his couch already; what was one more?

  “Now? But it's just getting good! See, Gregory just slept with Patricia without knowing she's his sister and Stephanie walked in on them and got jealous because she wants to be in bed with Gregory but won't admit it. After the commercial, there's going to be a catfight!”

  Tasio shook with chuckles.

  Oliver picked his nose. “I'll leave as soon as my soap's over.“

  Eric trudged to the only other room in his apartment, his bedroom. He changed out of his wet clothes and sat at his desk. Every so often, Oliver would laugh or cry or turn up the volume and Eric would lose his train of thought. It's so hard to focus with Oliver here . . . I hope the soap ends soon.

  Night fell as Eric continued working. He didn't hear the TV, but he heard snoring instead. Oliver must have fallen asleep . . . I can't ask him to leave now. That would be rude. The snoring disrupted his focus even more. Eric dropped his head on the keyboard.

  “I need help . . . someone help me.”

  Ecstasy appeared on Tasio's face. It grew wider and wider and wider until it split his face. The ketchup had finally left the safety of the bottle and splatted on his burger. Now he could eat it! With a cry of happiness, he threw up his arms and shouted, “YES! Finally!” He spun on the desk and tapped his new friend on the head. “Hello!”

  The human stared at the elf-like creature.“AHH!” . . . and jumped away; tripping over his chair in the process. This sent Tasio into a fit of laughter and he rolled in midair. “Who . . . what are you?”

  Tasio regained his composure and bowed. “I am the Trickster Tasio and I am here to help you.”

  Eric stopped trying to get up and stared. “Help me?”

  “Yes, help you.”

  “With my report?”

  “And other things.”

  “I'm dreaming, it's the only possible—” Tasio flicked his forehead. “Ow!”

  “Feel that?”

  “Yes!”

  “Then you're not dreaming.”

  Eric glared at the smiling trickster. “Then I've had a mental breakdown!”

  Tasio put a hand to his chin. “That one is harder to prove you wrong on.”

  Eric looked skeptical. “You said you were a trickster, so is this a trick?”

  “Rest assured, your life will be better once I have helped you.” His obnoxious grin was hardly convincing. “If you need reassurance, here's my resume.” Tasio reached into his mouth and pulled out a small scroll. It was so old, the paper was yellow and frayed. The edges were torn and the metal clasp holding it together was red with rust.

  “This is a list of all the people I've helped.” He removed the seal and let the paper roll out. The list fell to the floor and raced across the room. Then, in complete defiance of the laws of gravity, it rolled up the wall, across the ceiling, down the other wall, and back to the floor. Eric's mouth fell open as it created another line. The process repeated until the north and south walls were covered in ancient, moldy papyrus. The scroll stopped in the center of the room, where, under its own power, it turned to the east wall and continued rolling. “Where do you want to start?”

  Eric shook his head. “There's no way you've helped all these people.”

  Tasio placed the back of his right hand to his forehead. “Oh no! Someone found out my secret!” He made a dagger out of his left hand. “With this, I atone for my lie!” He stabbed himself and collapsed on the floor. Eric's eyes widened and he rushed to Tasio's sprawled out body.

  “I'm sorry! Don't die!”

  Tasio's body sprang like a mechanical trap. “Kidding!”

  Eric screamed and grabbed his heart. “Are you trying to give me a heart attack?!”

  “No, of course not. I'm here to help you, remember?” Tasio smiled at Eric's anger. “You see, I'm immortal. I've been alive for a zillion years.” He leaped and sat crossed legged in midair with his hands in his lap. “Would you like to see my resume or not?” Eric looked at the papyrus that was currently his carpet and wallpaper. Suddenly, his head started throbbing.

  “I don't have time! I have to do this report!”

  Tasio floated to Eric's desk and speed typed for one minute. Then he printed a pile of neatly collected papers with the title “Eric's Report” on top. “Now, do you have time?”

  Eric shrugged. “I guess so.” Tasio's face lit up like a light.

  “Wonderful!” He dove into the ancient scroll and pulled out the very beginning. “Okay! Here is where humans were first starting out; they had to eat meat raw and were cold in the winter, so I gave them fire . . .Here's where humans wanted to settle down so I showed them crop domestication . . .When humans wanted to go from here to there quicker, I showed them the wheel . . .Oh, here's a good one! The Great Vowel Shift . . . that was a lot of fun . . .” Eric's eyes grew heavy. The stress of his day was catching up to him and Tasio's list went on and on and on and—

  “WAKE UP!” The poor human was scared out of ten year’s growth. Tasio lay back, laughing and pointing at Eric. “You make the funniest face when startled.”

  Eric gave the floating trickster a nasty look.

  “Now, let's see your case.” Tasio reached behind his waist and pulled out a second scroll. “Eric Watley, twenty-one years old, grunt for Hanson Enterprise. Vital Stats: Intelligence—bottom of the class. Strength—defeated by milk jugs. Speed—outrun by turtles. Confidence—huh?” Tasio scanned the page, and then the other side. “The stat isn't listed. There's just an 'N/A' thing where it should be.” Eric dropped his head, knowing it to be true. If there was one thing his older brother, his parents, and his coworkers all agreed on was the fact that he was spineless.

  “Eric Watley, you have the lowest stats of anyone I have ever helped. Oh wait, here we go . . . it says you are comparable to a rock.”

  Eric perked up. “A rock? Like I'm tough and enduring?”

  “No. It means you're dull, don't move unless pushed, and aren't likely to change throughout your life.” Tasio patted Eric's head as the human cowered again. “But a master sculptor like me can help you become a fine work of art.” Tasio put the scroll away. “Now, you should get some sleep because I will help you first thing tomorrow. Off you go.” Tasio scooted Eric to bed and tucked him in.

  An alarm clock rang and Eric slammed it off. Rubbing his eyes, he sat up. No sign of Tasio or the papyrus wallpaper.

  Must have been a dream. He rolled out of bed and changed from his T-shirt and boxers to his pitiful business suit. Of course, it was a dream. A dream brought on by stress. He walked to the bathroom to brush his teeth. An elf appears out of nowhere and says he'll help me. It's ridiculous. He grabbed his briefcase and opened the door to the kitchen. The sight that greeted him drove all thoughts of “dream” from his mind, and made him drop both jaw and briefcase.
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  There stood Tasio at the stove, in a frilly pink apron. He was even humming a little tune and swaying to the beat. The Trickster must have realized he was being watched as he spun and beamed.

  “Morning, honey! Sleep well?” Eric blinked, then blinked again. He rubbed his eyes and pinched himself. Tasio was still there and he was still wearing a pink apron.

  “I think I'm still sleeping.” Tasio carried a frying pan filled with waffles, eggs, and fruit to the table and placed it next to a glass of milk.

  “Now, dear, we went over that last night. Must we discuss it again?”

  Eric walked straight to the couch and shook Oliver awake. Never once did his eyes leave Tasio. The moocher groaned and rolled over. Eric continued shaking until he woke up. “What's up, pal?”

  Eric pointed at Tasio and asked, “Do you see a golden-haired elf wearing a pink apron?” Oliver looked at Tasio, who waved, then back at Eric.

  “ . . .no.”

  “But he's right there!” Eric grabbed Tasio's arm and shook it. “You don't see him?!”

  “Eric, there's nothing there.” Tasio made funny faces.

  “He's making funny faces right in front of you!” Oliver's hand passed through Tasio.

  “Eric . . . maybe you should see somebody,” Oliver said, getting more unnerved by the second. “You've been under a lot of stress lately.”

  “You got a boogy in your left nostril,” Tasio observed. “Tell 'em, Eric.” Eric relayed the message and Oliver found that he indeed did have a boogy.

  “Is this some kind of imaginary friend? You know, to avoid acknowledging that you were staring at my nose?”

  Tasio jumped on Oliver's head, perched on his shoulders, and made a big show of checking the man's hair for bugs. He ate one and celebrated by beating his chest and hollering.

  “NO!” Eric shouted. “Look! He's on top of you! Tell me you see him!”

  Oliver slowly backed out of Eric's apartment, into his own, and locked the door. Tasio phased back in and pouted.

  “How rude. That was a fabulous imitation. The least he could have done was notice.”

  Eric groaned and rubbed his forehead. “Why can't he see you?”