If you had the chance to remake the world, what kind of world would you choose?

When tragedy strikes Lucas Mack’s young life, he desperately yearns to escape its sorrow, and takes an improbable leap through the mythical maelstrom. Rather than splashing down on the far side like his neighbors, he’s transported to a magical realm where he has the power to redefine not only who he is, but the world in which he resides.

As he stumbles about trying to find his way, he meets Mia, an equally troubled fellow pilgrim. With the help of a mystical guide and an aging wizard, they navigate the enchanted land while learning to control their newfound powers. Yet this realm is more complex than they expected, with seasoned sorcerers who’ve been corrupted by the sinister side of magic.

Limited by natural law and seduced by magic’s power, they are tested as never before. Will the gift of magic bring renewed hope or drive them to the edge of the void? 

Chapter 3 – The Custodian

It wasn’t just any door. A block of cherry wood stood four paces high, capped by an ornate arch and bracketed by two golden lanterns, which glowed in the emerging dusk. Its surface bore sharp-cut geometric patterns winding around its edges, creating an illusion of depth. At eye level where a peephole might be, two bronze sculptures protruded, a vertical key, and beneath it a horizontal sword. On closer inspection, the key was hinged and along with the sword formed a knocker. For any who might doubt its intent, the blade blared the word ‘welcome.’

What could I do? The waterway lay more than a day’s hike away, and the gateway to my home had vanished. I had limited provisions, no permanent shelter, and no way back.

I blew out my cheeks, grasped the sword and knocked.

The music ceased and a moment later, the door creaked open.

At first, the chamber seemed empty, though a warm glow gave it a lived-in feel. The low-ceilinged lodging appeared comfortable in a leather-armchair sort of way, with lots of dark wood, by no means ostentatious, but more than expected in this rustic setting. On either side lay bookshelves filled with dusty tomes containing titles too faded to read. Framed portraits hung on the walls, of forest creatures great and small, all facing the viewer in an unnatural way, as if posing with a purpose.

A brazier rested on its tripod in the center of the space, its burning coals the source of the warmth. A pair of cushioned chairs bracketed it, each with a distinct back pillow embroidered with needlework pictures of fanciful beasts. The furniture appeared inviting enough, though undersized for someone of my height.

I crept closer and extended my hands toward the fire, hoping to warm my weary limbs, but in the process nearly tripped over my host, whom I’d somehow missed seeing.

A voice emanating from just above my waist let out a yelp, followed by a more polite clearing of the throat.

“So sorry. I—”

“Not to worry. Happens all the time. Hazard of my… ahem… stature.”

I glanced down at a man with bead-like eyes and a nose so protruding from mutton chops it might have been the snout of a badger. A formal coat covered his body, starting at the top with a fur collar and ending with a broad bottom, obscuring all but his gloved hands and black leather boots. In his right hand, he grasped the instrument that made the music.

He eyed his guest, unsurprised at the sudden appearance of a visitor in such a remote location.

I gaped back. Before me stood what might have been a creature come in from the woods, who’d adapted to human ways. No. Not a creature. Beyond his ability to play a melody so sublime, his eyes bore a spark that gave doubt to the question of which of us was the wiser.

My host broke into a grin, revealing the mouth hidden within the facial hair. “Welcome to the borderlands,” he said, in a voice like a prince delivering a speech from a castle wall. “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Expecting me?”

He pointed to a set of crystal wind chimes above the door. “Yes, these trill whenever a visitor passes through the portal, an advance notice of sorts.”

He collected a brass kettle from a back shelf, filled it with water, and hung it from a hook over the brazier.

As he waited for it to boil, I hovered over him trying to grasp my situation.

Once the water began to steam, the little man filled two floral cups containing a sack of tea and offered one to me, raising a finger in warning: “Best let it steep.”

Soon, earthy scents flowed through the chamber, driving away all memories of the chilling breeze outside. I settled into a chair and wrapped my hands around the steaming cup, embracing its warmth.

The man raised his. “How about a toast to celebrate the occasion.”

“What occasion is that?”

“The arrival of Lucas Mack to his new world.”

I brought the drink to my lips but froze before taking a sip. “How… do you know my name, and what do you mean by my new world?”

The man set his cup down, and his bushy brows drew together in a dark knot. “Oh, bother, I’ve been doing this so long I sometimes forget and rush through the welcome. Let me slow down and explain. You’ve arrived at the borderlands, my home and a simple albeit boring place. I am its custodian, tasked with orienting newcomers and answering their initial questions before they move on. As you’ve already discovered, my realm consists of not much more than trees, a sort of blank slate where you can practice your newfound powers.”

I had lived a hard couple of days with little to look forward to, slept poorly on the ground despite the pine needles, and after walking so many hours, my feet ached. I gazed half-dazed into the green liquid steeping in my cup, but his last words snapped me awake. “Newfound powers?”

“All who travel here are endowed with the potential to do magic. In the borderlands, you can dabble in the art, create structures, change the landscape, whatever simple pleasures you fancy. After a time, you may want to continue to the enchanted land. Now where would you like me to begin?”

I took two sips of hot tea, and let the burning sensation assure me this was no dream. The question sputtered out between gulps. “The… enchanted land?”

“Yes, of course. In the world you left, magic has faded over the centuries through disbelief, until it has all but vanished, but I suspect you’ve heard its stories from long ago. You likely considered them fairytales. Though embellished over time, it turns out most of them are true. So where did such wonders go?” He waved his hands to encompass the tree he lived in and all that surrounded it. “It’s here!”

“You expect me to believe I can now do magic?”

“I expect nothing but know you’ve already performed some. Whenever an enchantment is used, the air vibrates a bit. Those of us more experienced can sense it on their skin. You must have felt it as well but are too new to recognize the sensation.”

Images of odd events of the past days sprung to mind, all unexplained, yet I remained unconvinced. “Let’s say I accept what you say. Why would I want to continue to this so-called enchanted land.”

“Because nothing’s here but trees and the changes you make, an appropriate place to practice the craft. If you take to the magic, you’ll soon want to do more. The enchanted land is a world much like yours, with one exception. While its inhabitants have no supernatural powers, pilgrims like yourself dwell among them. The common folk call them wizards or sorcerers and either admire or fear them, depending on how these travelers have chosen to behave.”

“Is that my fate, to become a conjurer in a strange land?”

“That depends on if it suits you. If not, you may choose to return home, but the power will be lost.”

I pictured my cottage above the lake, once a cherished home but now barren and empty. My head spun. “What you ask me to believe is too much, and despite your claim, I feel powerless and worn out from the long day. My greatest dread right now is spending another night exposed in the cold on the ground.”

A laugh emerged, starting from deep within the custodian’s belly, more of a chortle, a sound discordant with my mood. “You misunderstand. You control the magic in this world. If it’s a shelter you desire, you can conjure up tree branches, a rope, and a lean-to in the wink of an eye, as you did before.”

Despite my tendency to be polite, I growled at him. “A lean-to? I don’t want to live out my days in a lean-to in the woods.”

“Nor shall you, unless you lack the imagination to dream of more.”

When his words failed to lift my spirits, he rose to his feet and shuffled so close, his face lay a hand’s breadth from mine.

With two fingers, he raised my chin until our eyes met. “Oh, bother, here I go again. Either I’ve lost my touch, or the new generation of pilgrims have grown more skeptical. I beg you to believe. This world is yours to make of what you wish, not a curse but a blessing.”

My heart began to pound. I had believed in magic as a child, imagining alternative worlds, all more pleasing than my own, but these dreams became brittle with age and shattered. My prior life offered no magic, only vague hope that too often turned to despair.

Do I dare to dream again?

“If your world is such a blessing, can I banish death? Can I bring back the one I loved?”

The custodian’s brows dipped at the corners. “I’m sorry. Like all things, magic has its limits. You may create most anything so long as you imagine with enough conviction, but you must stay within the rules: you may conjure memories as in your sleeping dreams, but these are ephemeral—you cannot change the past or violate the laws of nature. Your opportunity is to bring to life waking dreams fresh and new.”

I sat up straighter, pressing my back to the chair. Could it be, a world to make as I saw fit? The maelstrom had proved to be a form of magic I could not otherwise explain. The brook and the birds in the trees did come to pass as I’d imagined them, but even if true, would such power be enough? The borderland was verdant, wild, and unknown, a blank slate—possibly a paradise, maybe an illusion. I recalled the world I came from, plagued by discord, illness and death, less paradise, more hell. Was that the nature of things?

I took in a breath and released it in a long stream. “I seem to have no choice.”

The custodian took a step back and drew himself up, seeming taller than his limited height. “No choice? My boy, you’ve been given a wonderful opportunity. You should be rejoicing like—” He stopped in mid-sentence and took a moment to reflect. “Forgive me. I’m so much more accustomed to this world than you who just arrived. It’s late now. You’re weary from your journey and confounded by the sudden change. I have a modest guest room. Stay the night with me. Get some rest and ponder what I’ve told you. Perhaps in the morning, things will be clearer, and you’ll be more enthusiastic to start on your way.”

He led me to a small room with minimal furnishings: a bed not quite long enough to hold my frame, a wooden table with two drawers, and a desk with a brass candle holder. Not a place for guests to linger, but preferable to the shelter from the night before.

I kept the candle lit and lay down, staring at the flickering shadows it made on the rafters of the ceiling.

I might cause memories to appear, but these would be ephemeral. The past cannot not be changed, but whatever else I can imagine with conviction will come to life. No choice. I’ll go out tomorrow and explore this new world, magic or not, and see if I can do a better job than the gods did with the old.

I rose and blew out the candle. As I lay back in the dark, I whispered to Addy: “Illusion or not, I may have found the land of dreams.”

I arose the next morning well rested but only a bit less confused. The custodian served me a biscuit with jam and honey and a fresh cup of tea, and waited until I finished before offering to answer my questions.

I glanced around the chamber, an unlikely hollowed-out tree that a hummingbird had guided me to. The whole experience from the time I’d made the leap had been strange. Once I exited this front door, I had no idea what to expect, but likely would be on my own. Or would I?

“Will I meet others like me in the borderland, travelers from the real world?”

The custodian stood and circled the room twice, as if making certain to phrase his answer better than the night before. At last, his lips curled into a curious smile. “Fewer pilgrims pass through the portal these days—too many skeptics and non-believers. Those who come stay here a brief time, and either move on to the enchanted land or return to their homes, so meeting someone here is possible but rare. In the enchanted land, you will meet lots of ordinary folks, but they will not be like you. Other conjurers, however, settle there, all much more experienced. For better or worse, you will encounter them.”

“Why for better or worse?”

He paused and gazed up at the rafters. When he looked back, his pleasant smile had turned into a frown. “If you stay long enough, you’ll discover how the power can change you. It brings out more of your character, both its strengths and… its flaws.” His frown deepened, and his brows drooped. “For what is magic if not the bending of reality to one’s will. If one’s will becomes corrupted, so too will the magic, and thus evil defiles an otherwise peaceful world.”

I raised a hand to query him further, but before I could state my concern, the smile returned.

“And you may meet Lyra.”

“Lyra?”

“The transition can be challenging for pilgrims—a multitude of choices. You might achieve your dreams in the end, but many are unsure of what to wish for, so the forces that created this realm provided Lyra, part guide and part helper. Of course, you may never meet her. You may be one of those so sure or your intent as to have no need. She was put here as a facilitator but has developed a mind of her own, and appears only to those she deems needy.”

A multitude of choices.

I knitted my brow. “After I pass through that door, which way do I go. North? South? Can you give me some direction to start.”

“The choices are yours, not mine.”

“Then at least lend me a map?”

“A map?” His voice rose an octave. “To the world you’ve yet to create?”

I sighed and gave a deep shrug. “How about provisions to last a day or two while I figure this out?”

“No need.”

He urged me to stand in front of the small table fronting the brazier.

“Place you pack here, close your eyes, and imagine what you’d like to have in it.”

I set the pack down, grimacing as it settled, half empty with little left inside, closed my eyes, and waited a few seconds before opening them. The contents remained unchanged.

“Remember,” the custodian said, “always with conviction.”

I squeezed my eyes shut again and held them this time, thinking of Addy at the lakefront on a blanket with a basket of food she’d prepared for a summer outing. I pictured the feast in such detail my mouth watered.

When I opened my eyes this time, I gasped.

The pack on the table bulged with provisions.

About the Author

The urge to write first struck at age sixteen when working on a newsletter at a youth encampment in the woods of northern Maine. It may have been the wild night when lightning flashed at sunset followed by the northern lights
rippling after dark. Or maybe it was the newsletter’s editor, a girl with eyes the color of the ocean. But he was inspired to write about the blurry line between reality and the fantastic.

Using two fingers and lots of white-out, he religiously typed five pages a day throughout college and well into his twenties. Then life intervened. He paused to raise two sons and pursue a career, in the process — and without prior plan — becoming a well-known entrepreneur in the software industry, founding several successful companies. When he found time again to daydream, the urge to write returned.

David now lives in the Great Northwest. He no longer limits himself to five pages a day and is thankful every keystroke for the invention of the word processor.

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