Storymania - Gazabelle's Last Spell by J Brian Chamberlin

Gazabelle's Last Spell (1)
J Brian Chamberlin

Menna nervously paced back and forth at the base of the wooden stairs, nearly tripping over the worn carpets in her frenzy, familiar carpets that she had walked upon countless times before. She vigorously pulled at an unruly patch of curly red hair with a silver brush which she was not accustomed to. Each yank took out a strand or so and the girl feared she would surely go bald before getting the knots out. After several glances up at the ceiling, her patience was at an end and her head was terribly sore. The brush lay discarded on a table while her tangled hair danced upon her head like a thousand angry serpents.
“Gaz, you’re going to be late, you are!” she hollered with a heavy commoners tongue. Menna held her pale white fists in tight balls and swung them around her sides in a frenzy. In doing so she kicked up a coat of dust that lingered in the air making her sneeze.
There was no response from the man she called Gaz and for a moment, Meena thought he had changed his mind. It would be for the better, she thought holding her chin in reflection. She had ill feelings towards this trip. That old goat wouldn’t give in that easily, she added with a wink. Must be having a case of the jitters.
“Gaz are you coming? I didn’t get all dolled up like this for nothing. If you’re not going to come down you can at least tell me so and I’ll begin with me cleaning.” Menna waited for a reply of sorts and for the moment, she pondered in silence. The dust had finally settled and the girl glanced around the room and all the work she had ahead of her. Books had to be stacked, a duck had to be glazed, and the place was desperately in need of a good dusting. It was during that thought that Menna heard the footsteps.
They were slow and steady and the floor boards creaked under their stress. They started in his room and stopped at what Menna thought would be the door. Probably checking himself one last time, she thought with a grin. As if on queue, the floor boards began creaking again and stopped once more at the top of the stairs.
“At this pace we’ll make the palace by sunset,” Menna snapped, her hands on her waif like hips, the smile gone from her face, her tangled mess of hair bouncing this way and that as she stretched her thin neck to look up the stairs.
It was then that he came down slowly, a pause between each step holding the wooden railing for support. Each time he reached for more, his thick hand would shake until it held a firm grip on the smooth wood. He looked out from beneath a heavily wrinkled brow at the impatient girl waiting for him and thought on how lovely she looked, even if her hair threatened to consume her.
“It’s about time, it is,” Menna added with a nod. “We’d best be going.”
Gazebell caught his image in a mirror hanging on a near by wall as he reached the base of the stairs. Where his hair was once short and dark, it was now long and white. Where his beard was once closely trimmed, it now reached his chest in a wild, unkept manner. He had gained a considerable amount of weight over the years. Retirement, he thought to himself as he adjusted his robes giving what he thought a less bulky appearance. He stood before the mirror and began straightening his clothing. His cloak was of a dark blue and a faint patterns of stars and moons in their various stages could barely be seen, woven into the fabric long ago. He wore a long pointed hat which continuously threatened to fall, it’s tip in a perpetual arch that dipped towards the floor. As hard as he tried, Gaz could not get the hat to stand straight as it once had. A certain proudness seemed to have faded from it with age. The hat was but a shadow of it’s former self and unfortunately the only one in his possession. A wizard could not be seen without his cap, Gaz thought ruefully. It simply wouldn’t be proper.
“Let us be off,” Gazabelle said with a rugged, tired voice.
Grateful to be finally on the go, Menna briskly opened the door and waited to close it behind Gazabelle.
“Ah,” Gaz said remembering something. “Almost...” He quickly turned to wooden case hanging from the wall and opened the small latch with shaky hands. The door opened with the squeak of a rusty hinge and Gazabelle retrieved a small wand, intricate engravings marked it’s length leading to a star at the wands tip. The star looked somewhat deformed as one of it’s points had broken long ago and never reattached.
“Cannot forget to bring the wand,” Gaz said more to himself then to Menna who was still waiting by the open door, a gentle breeze blowing through her tangled hair. The old man snickered to himself, looked proudly at the broken wand, and then followed after Menna who closed the door behind him.
The unlikely pair made their way down the streets and through the many vendors that lined them. Small crowds formed on each corner, some listening to news of one kind or another, others looking for a pocket to pick. Gaz observed several thieves right from the start and shook his head in dismay. Times were much different when Caliel was alive, Gaz thought. The very land seemed to have emanate a foul stench ever since the days of the fair King’s death. It has spread like a vile plague.
Menna caught several pairs of eyes following her and Gaz as they crossed one street to the next. She saw what she thought to be hand signals of some kind and then a different pair of eyes began following them.
“I think we’re being set up, we are.” Menna was in awe as she quietly warned Gaz. She absent mindedly rested an arm on Gaz’s shoulder as she looked around in her bewilderment at the busy, winding, and filthy streets she seldom traveled.
“The streets are no longer a safe place to be, even during the day.” Gaz didn’t turn to look and kept his head low as to attract as little attention as possible. “Stay close to me and you’ll be safe enough.”
It wasn’t long before a sickly little man came up behind Gaz and reached into his robes looking for whatever was worth taking. He must be part of a guild, Gaz thought to himself as he watched the boy attempt to conceal himself behind a vendors tapestry. Gaz looked ahead and it was then he could feel the shift in pressure, the small deft like hands searching for some morsel of value. It was shortly thereafter that the same boy yelled out in pain and began sneezing uncontrollably. He held his hand as if it were touched by a flame and when he went to blow on his fingers to cool them, a fine powder filled his nostrils sending him into a forceful sneeze.
“Away with you,” Gaz shouted, the heavy folds of his cloak shook like thunder with his booming voice that came alive with a depth and ferocity Menna rarely witnessed.
Meena was shocked; The whole thing happened in an instant while her thoughts were elsewhere . She had still be observing the chain of communication that was passing from one thief to the next and so on. The boy was running off down an alley cursing and sneezing before Menna even turned around.
“What did you do to him?” Menna asked frantically.
“Gagiva Root,” Gaz answered as he readjusted his robes. “Makes the flesh burn to the touch and when inhaled, makes the victim sneeze.” Gas looked back in the direction the would be thief ran. He shall recover in a day or so,” Gazabelle added with a slight nod nearly toppling his wizard’s cap.
“A day?” Menna asked with a snort. “That poor sap will blow his brains out before then.” Tears came to her young eyes as she tried to stop herself from laughing. She looked at Gazabelle who was quietly watching her, a sour look across his old face. He let out a heavy sigh and began walking on trying to stop his crooked hat from falling.
“Really Gaz,” Menna said catching her breath. “You need to get a sense of humor, you do.” Having forgotten about the dangers of the streets, Menna started laughing again knowing the poor pick pocket would still be sneezing long after she had retired for the night, her wild tangles resting peacefully on a soft goose down pillow. The more she thought on it the more she laughed, her heavy giggles mingled with the noise of the streets as Gazabelle walked onward unable to get the joke.

The two were greeted by Royal Guards at the main gate leading to the palace. Gaz’s entrance was about to be refused until he pulled forth a letter indicating his approved request for an audience with Prince Horace. The guards looked back and forth at one another, a certain degree of uncertainty passed between them. Their expressions revealed an obvious distaste for Gaz’s clothing of choice yet the papers were valid and so they were forced to admit them, ridiculous hat and all. Gazabelle and Menna were unwillingly escorted into the palace and down an elaborate hall which led to the future King’s throne room.
“Once inside, remain quiet. I will do all of the talking,” Gaz warned with a crooked finger.
Menna was too busy taking in the fanciful paintings that lined the stone walls. Oh how I would love to paint like this, I would, she thought as she walked besides Gaz. She knew he was saying something but failed to comprehend exactly what it was.
They were led to a pair of large wooden doors, the kings crest was carved upon each. In the old days, Gaz thought, doormen would be stationed here dressed in their finest ready to open the doors to the throne room. The doors were opened by their purposely distant and apparently uninterested escort and Menna absentmindedly began smoothing down what she could of her tangled mop of hair.
As they entered the throne room, a court jester dressed in a typical costume of mismatched colors and bells jumped out at them and began dancing around like the fool he was supposed to be. Menna failed at controlling a giggle while a startled Gaz fought to straighten his forever slipping hat.
“Get away from me you buffoon,” Gazabelle hissed between clenched teeth as not to offend the waiting Prince.
“Relax, Gaz,” Menna said softly. “He’s only trying to make you laugh.”
The jester had proceeded to crawl on all fours and then pealed a mock banana while making the sounds of a monkey.
“I said buffoon, not baboon you idiot!” Gaz’s voice cracked through the silence and all eyes turned to see the Prince’s new visitors.
The escort nervously cleared his throat and as etiquette called for, stepped before Gazabelle and Menna and bowed to the Prince. “Sire, may I introduce to you Gazabelle.... the wizard,” he said with a uncomfortable pause, “and his assistant.”
The Prince was sitting across an intricate looking chair, one leg lazily dangling over a jewel encrusted arm while balancing the Kings crown on a booted foot. He half glanced up at the intruders and upon a double take perked up as if some excitement was being offered to break up the monotony of the day.
“So,” the Prince started playfully displaying a collection of unusually large teeth, “what have you brought for me?” The young prince eyed Menna who was a flushed by being in the presence of royalty.
Gazabelle straightened his back slowly as not to loose the hat. Menna pulled her eyes away from the Prince long enough to see that Gaz appeared ten years younger. A look of pride came upon the old man’s face which also showed in his posture. With his back straightened, his expression tight, Gazabelle took a deep yet silent breath.
“Well don’t keep me waiting in suspense!” The Prince snapped. “I’ll be King tomorrow and an audience with me won’t so easily be granted.”
“I apologize,” Gaz began, his voice cracking under the stress. “I have come to you to offer my services.” Gaz bowed slightly and the hat took a near tumble.
“Your services,” the Prince repeated, a slight chuckle to his tone. “And what could you possibly do for me?”
Gazabelle retrieved the fallen hat and placed it once again upon his head. His composure was nearly gone. “I offer to serve council as the King’s Wizard.”
There was a long pause which Menna didn’t quite know what to make of. Those in the court looked back and forth to one another nervously, no one seemed to want to make the first sound. The silence was almost deafening, Menna thought, until the Prince started to laugh. Not only had he the teeth of a horse, but he had that laugh of a donkey and it took all Menna had to restrain herself. She saw a shade of red come to Gaz’s face as his new found youth seeped from his body. Once again he appeared old and weak and her heart sank as she watched his age wrecked posture return. Thoughts of the Prince and his horse like features drifted far from her troubled mind.
“You want to be my.... Wizard?” The Prince asked hysterically. The rest of the court joined in and it caused a cacophony of sound that Menna desperately wished would cease.
“All of the Kings of yesteryear had them,” Gaz interrupted. “It wasn’t that long ago that I served your Grandfather, King Caliel”
“Do not speak to me of the dead!” Prince Horace shouted with the slammed fist with one hand and a pointed finger with the other. Immediately, the room grew quiet once more. “Not while I mourn the loss of my Father and King, the son of the man you hold so dear!” The Prince had risen and Gaz bowed slightly indicating he intended no disrespect, his palms stretched outwards, his head lowered.
What a good performance, thought Menna. Everyone knew Prince Horace hated his father and was only waiting for the day the old man would drop dead. The crown was hardly cold and he was already was swinging it upon his boot like a toy. Some even went as far to say that Prince Horace robbed the King of his final breath with the aid of a silk pillow. Or perhaps it was his wretched daughter, Princes Pistella that committed the deed. Both brother and sister where a vile pair as were the loyals that served them.
The prince once again took his seat but not before placing the crown upon his thick black hair and casting a contemptuous scow at Gazabelle. “I am in no need of a Wizard, old man. Do not insult my intelligence by offering to be something created long ago out of the need to scare small children to bed. I should have you thrown into the dungeons for wasting my time.” The Prince was studying a finger nail, the anger had seeped from his voice, his attentions were already elsewhere. “No be off with you and your... street rat.” The Prince lifted a brow in Menna’s direction as he occupied himself with removing some dirt with a small silver blade. “I have other matters to attend to.”
Her first reaction was to lash out at the Prince but even she knew what a mistake that would be before the thought was even finished crossing her mind. How dare he talk to Gaz that way, she thought in the old man’s defense. What a terrible King you will become.
Gaz sensed the conflict within Menna and wanted to act quickly should she forget herself and say something they both would regret. Menna was not the type to remain quiet when words hung heavy on her heart and Gaz was all too aware of it. With a slow deliberate movement, Gaz bowed to the Prince forcing Menna to do the same with a gentle hand placed on her back. He then turned and led her out of throne room as commanded by the Prince.
“You should give him a piece of your mind, you should, “Menna whispered to Gaz and she scowled at the Prince over her shoulder. “He called me a street rat, he did,” Menna reminded Gaz as he led down the hall by which they came. They were about to pass through the main entrance when something large and pink blocked their path. Princess Pistella and several of her hand maidens were in this midst of some gossip or another when Gazabelle and Menna came upon them. Menna fought hard at controlling her expressions, but the pink dress the Princess wore was just too hideous and Menna felt a look of disgust cross her young face like a wave of sickness one gets often from an unexpendedly strong drink that contorts the face upon swallowing.
“You don’t like my dress?” The Princess asked as she wiped away the remnants of some kind of desert from her lip with a silk cloth. “Have you something to say about it?” The Princess asked as she stepped up to Menna, nearly knocking her over with her bulk.
“Of course not, Milady,” Menna lied with a dip of her head. As her brother resembled a jack ass, Princess Pistella had the charactersitics of a sow and the taste of clothing to go with it. “Your dresses are lovely as always, they are.”
Princess Pistella walked around Menna looking up and down across her thin figure. She began studying the plain dress Menna wore and wrinkled her nose at the apparent make. “Commoners,” the Princess said to her hand maindens who all joined her in a laugh while looking down at Menna..
“I don’t like this dress,” Princes Pistella said to Menna as she rubbed her chunky hands along the fabric, smearing a good quanitity of chocolate across it. “Should you be visiting the castle again,” she looked over her shoulder at her awaiting group, “and I doubt you will be, I don’t want you wearing it again. Is that clear?”
Menna looked at Gaz for support but found none in his pale gray eyes. He appeared to be lost in his own thoughts.
“I said, is that clear? Are you a poor dresser as well a deaf?” The Princess looked to her hand maindes for their support which was quickly offered in the form of more giggles and whispers.
“Yes, Milady. It is clear.” Menna bowed her head more to look at her stained dress. When she looked up the Princess was awaiting additional comments which Menna knew would be futile.
Feeling quite satisfied, the Princess was off again. “Now where were we?” she could be heard asking as the small group turned the corner and dissapeared from view.
Menna looked down at her ruined dress and up at Gaz who shook his head sorrowfully. The day had been disapointing for both of them. Gaz gently guided Menna out of the courtyard and down the street towards his awaiting cottage, all the while Menna left behind a trail of tears that quickly disolved into the dry busy streets.

The following morning, Gaz was awake before the birds, pacing this way and that, mumbling things uncomprehensible, and shouting out once and while upon reaching some evasive conclusion. Menna lay awake and found herself starring up at the ceiling, making comments of her own under a sleepy breath. Throughout the night, she heard the sounds of chests being pushed around the room above her and the scramble for things they contained. Apparently Gaz was having some difficulty in finding that which he was so desperately searching, for Menna heard what sounded like many books tossed to the floor only to be followed by another chest being opened, its items being tossed this way and that. For a moment she thought on helping Gaz find whatever it was that tormented him so but then thought better of it. These were the things he insisted on doing alone.
The sun began making its easterly accent and the noises of the day began filtering in through Menna’s window as she lay there twirling her long red hair. It was the day of the Prince’s Coronation and all of the townspeople would be up early and about, preparing for the festivities ahead. She forced herself out of bed and through the door leading into the cottages main living area. It was a small dwelling, but much more then the common person could afford. Gaz mad a wealthy living in his younger life and Menna was grateful for such a nice place to call home. In return, she cooked, cleaned, and dealt with his constant rampages and meanderings. Half awake, Menna pulled her robes about her as the morning still had a bite of an autumn chill. Good morning for a fire, she thought wiping away at tired eyes. It was then she saw it draped over a nearby chair. She reached for it instantly and held the floor length gown up to herself marveling at the perfect fit. It’s forest green color brought out the color of her red hair even in the dimly lit room.
“It’s beautiful, it is!” she could not help herself from saying.
“I’m glad you like it.” Gaz was sitting on a step hidden by the morning shadows, his words nearly made Menna jump from her pale skin.
“What are you doing sitting there in the dark?” Menna asked temporarily forgetting about the dress.
Gaz forced himself to stand, reaching the wooden railing for support and letting out a deep sigh from the strain such movements caused him. “Contemplating,” he said with a smile. Gaz moved into the light and admired the color on Menna. “I want you to wear it today. We’re going to the Coronation,” he said with a wink.
“We’re going to the what?” Menna gently tossed the gown across the same chair that it once rested on and followed after Gaz who was returning to his room upstairs at a slow but steady pace.
“We’re going to the Coronation,” Gaz repeated without looking back. “Everyone else is going, why should we not as well?”
Menna stumbled for words to say and in finding none, settled by throwing her hands up in the air in exasperation. It was turning out to be a strange day already and the sun had not even fully risen.

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