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Special thanks go to my wonderful and patient beta readers, Ninkenate and Ozma.   Chapter Seven - The Final Battle and Epilogue ~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~+~

 

Harry was not enjoying his lesson in patience.

They had gone to a late lunch at Florean Fortescue's and Mr. Ollivander had asked that they not discuss his family's history while there. Greenbees Fine Cuisine had permanent Silencing Charms placed on each private dining suite, but no such barriers existed in the open-air venue at the ice cream shop.

The conversation had been thin. Harry had asked about the wand maker's son's visit to Japan, but that ended after a recitation of travel schedules.

Mr. Ollivander had asked Harry about his Muggle relations, but after having recently blown up his Aunt Marge, there was little about them that Harry wanted to discuss.

They had lapsed into a silence, which Harry noticed after a few minutes, was not uncomfortable. The two of them had discussed in roughly twenty-four hours a number of very important, private, and exciting subjects. Important and private. They were subjects not to be discussed for just anyone to hear. After that, trivial conversation for conversation's sake was unnecessary. They did discuss how they liked their meal choices, and they did discuss the possibility of rain later in the day. But even that had been polite chat, not conversation.

Finally Harry decided that the silence was truly comfortable. Sometimes, late at night in the Gryffindor common room on a cold winter night with a roaring fire, he had noticed that he and his friends Hermione and Ron, together or separately, could sit for long stretches, just being quietly together. Perhaps he now had a comparable relationship with Mr. Ollivander.

Knowing his temporary employer as he now did, he knew of the wand maker's quiet and reserve, but also his genuine delight in others. After this very close association ended in a few more hours with the taking of inventory, Harry could not imagine the two of them reliving old tales together at the Leaky Cauldron - singing raucous songs together and drinking butterbeer. But our young hero had no problem imagining seeing the wand master over the years and being able to stop for a very friendly but brief chat as they bumped into each other in Diagon Alley.

Based on all that he had observed, that would be enough.

They walked back to the wand shop; no one in particular stopped them to speak.

They returned to the inventory and soon, the comfortable rhythm of the work resumed.

"Mr. Ollivander, the only not knowing would be worse than finding out who were in those funeral pyres that Willen saw."

"Yes, Mr. Potter. There is nothing about a funeral pyre platform that can be good news."

And now our story proceeds toward its end...

Shortly after lunch, with a wind still very much favoring the travelers, they came around the last bend in the river and were barely able to see Loundon's Towne.

What they saw were the flames and smoke rising from funeral pyre platforms on the edge of the river.

Virtually all of those living in the great community were at the shoreline, but they were not there to welcome the returning voyagers.

All eyes were on the three blazing platforms.

Two were the size for adults.

One was just the right size to say a sad farewell to a child.

Stellan purposely ground the boat ashore just a little harder than usual. He knew none of his crew would want to deal with tying up the boat when they didn't know who had died. Most had family and all had friends on shore. The tide was waning and the boat would not drift away until roughly half a day later. There would be time before then to secure it against that event.

They all leapt over the gunwales and started running up the shoreline. As they neared the crowd they saw it parting slowly as news of their arrival spread quietly among the mourners. Willen and Stellan led those just returned from the sea. Bengt, Pandan, and Constantia, and a number of those Willen did not recognize, broke from the crowd and headed towards them.

The moment Willen had dreamed of, had worked for, and had bled over for three cycles had arrived. Constantia was before him and she was as breathtaking, no, more breathtaking than he had imagined. He'd had such high hopes for this moment, and so had she. But this was not the reunion either had envisioned.

She stood before him mixing tears of joy with tears of misery - she also had dirt smeared on her face in sign of mourning the death of a close family member.

_________________________

Four days before Willen's return, it was a typical day if you could call in any way typical the excited preparation less than a fortnight before the harvest faire.

Everybody was preparing their wares, crafts, and extra crops - anything to barter, trade, or sell. There were a number of demonstrations being arranged. Baijan the Houser was aging boards coated and uncoated with the white colored "wash" he used to slow board rot. Vanch and Lindern, and the rest of the Cooper's apprentices had arranged for the prettiest women in Loundon's Towne who used their rainwater barrels to wash their faces and discuss how their skin felt after daily washing their faces in rainwater.

Egorn the Potter and his sons had built special display shelves for their most decorative pots. The eldest boy, Jamin, had discovered a way to make a true red to use to adorn their wares. All other reds came out of the kiln looking like reddish mud. Jamin had experimented with a number of different mixtures and had developed a decorative coating that went on muddy looking and came out red.

Barlint the Cooper, who never made barrels anymore, and his brother Janks the Tiller, who kept few crops, were going to unveil a new row maker that was purported to be much better than their original design.

Meala was coordinating the preparation of various foodstuffs. When anyone first arrived the Towne fed him or her a meal as a matter of hospitality. After that, simple food was available at very reasonable prices, but there had been a resurgence of inventiveness in cooking in Loundon's Towne during the last cycle. Meala had been known for her baked balls of flattened dough sweetened with honey. She had begun adding bits of walnut to these delicacies and the flavor was even more enticing. Numerous other women of the community had developed new ways to prepare vegetables and different meat combinations.

Naelly had created a particular favorite by baking apples with honey, walnuts, and a tiny amount of a spice she had discovered that did not taste sweet at all, but combined well with the rest of the ingredients.

Conlander and Torban had created a new universal use blade. It had a handle with a wooden grip, quite the innovation. This made the blade much easier to use, particularly for long periods of time. They had come up with one more idea that should cause the new blade to be highly prized. They had asked Graller the Tanner to make what he referred to as a belt sheath. It fit the blade tightly and held it in place if you did not turn it upside down. It had a two horizontal cuts in it so that a man could place it on his belt for convenience. Several women had started wearing belts just to have such a blade easily at hand.

However, at this late date Conlander was managing all aspects of the forge and metal works for the upcoming harvest faire, because Torban was having nothing to do with faire preparations.

Torban's frenzied actions had reminded more than one long-term member of the community of Daneel the Board Cutter in his frantic days before being killed by Porto. Torban was obsessed with the defense of the towne named for him. He felt sure, and everyone agreed, that it made sense that Porto and Bonderman would arrive after the end of the harvest faire. They would want the maximum tribute that was available after the final tallying from all proceeds derived from all the days of the events. With the last two faires, the would-be Keeper and his none too subtle master had arrived after all had departed for home. That would be the case this time, they thought for sure.

But all would not be like past faires.

It was about mid afternoon, and those who could feel the weather because of bad joints or bones broken years before, or a bit of the Touch, or for whatever reason, had all agreed that a storm was coming. The air felt "odd" somehow. There was a strangely disturbing wind brushing against the cheek. What sunlight showed itself, looked like it had eaten bad food that needed to come back up. The skies might have been said to look leaden, but they looked like lead with yellow ochre mixed in. The combination was impossible, but if one could produce such a concoction, it would look like the skies overhead.

The portent of a storm added to the immediacy of completing everything needed for the harvest faire. Items in place were tied down and protected by old cloth coverings, which were tied down and tied down again. The wind would blow stronger before weakening. All wall openings and roof openings used to allow in light and cooler air in the hot summer days were closed and doubly battened.

At just the right time, that is, at the worst time imaginable, Torban looked up and saw Bonderman and Porto riding in from the west, their usual course of entry. There were more than the usual four of them. Porto was accompanied by two others dressed as he was. The similarities in their appearance did not stop at clothing. Bonderman was finally riding behind the Olive Hand - literally as he had always figuratively. The two dressed like Porto rode on either side of him. There were four warriors riding behind Bonderman.

Most of the Towne founders were there in the square, as were most of those involved in its defense. Weapons had always been stored during the day except when used in defensive practice, and then they were carefully taken to the training grounds dispersed away from town - a walk away that took at least as long as it takes to boil an egg.

It had been assumed by all that the final battle would take place on the day after the faire had ended - on the day of tribute. All had planned and prepared for that day. There was nothing to use as weapons in the square, other than the daily tools of those there working - hammers, saws, blades for utility use - not a single battle blade, spear, or bow. Torban looked to Dorgelt the Hunter who did not even have his spear with him, not that one spear would accomplish anything but the death of the bearer.

Torban looked to the direction of his forge. Perhaps someone could... But there were two warriors on horseback herding towne members from that direction. There was no way to acquire their weapons.

"Lindern!" Torban called urgently.

The apprentice Cooper and unheralded Bow Maker walked quickly to the towne leader's side. There was fear under control on the boy's face.

"Lindern, you must go to Constantia's practice field."

The lad looked concerned. Constantia was not supposed to have a practice field of her own, and therefore he was not supposed to know about it.

"I don't care about my daughter's poorly concealed secret. You must go to her. You must make her stay away from Loundon's Towne. You know how she is. If she comes back before they are gone she will be fair game. She is already of age and can be taken as a wife according to our customs. They will take her if for no other reason than to ensure our continued cooperation.

"Lindern, if they fight in any way, you know my daughter will begin raining arrows on them. She will not be able to kill them all even though she has the Touch for finding her target. They will be angered by her deadly aim and her death, mark my words, her death will come very slowly. When you find her, stop her until one of us comes for the two of you. Hide her.

"STOP her, Lindern. You know how headstrong she is. You must prevail over her. Trip her, knock her out with a stout limb, and tie her to a tree if need be. Just keep her away from here and hidden."

Torban looked in a third direction and saw two more armed invaders riding in on horses. "You may have to slip by more riders. Be careful and wise as a fox. And, Lindern..." Torban's eyes looked a long way off, much farther away than could be seen. "Tell her that I love her. Now off with you, you're her friend and I'll always owe you a debt for this."

Meala had heard her husband's words and had seen the fear on the lad's face, a look that intensified as he went about his mission.

______________

Lindern had to hide while two more warriors rode into Loundon's Towne from a fourth direction. He skirted the farm field where he could still be seen from the village and then ran the route Constantia always took to her practice field.

She came out of the woods at the edge of the field where he was about to enter.

"Constantia," the boy huffed from the run, "you are finished. I wanted to see how you have improved since I made that stiffer bowstring for you. Please come show me."

He grabbed her arm and tried to usher her back into the forest. His efforts were a transparently obvious attempt to keep her away from the towne. He made it a little ways into the woods before she caught up to him and made him stop.

She stooped to look him in the face and grabbed his arms. "What is the meaning of this, Lindern? You are trying to keep me here. Why?"

He shrugged his arms from her grasp and fell back towards a tree where he tripped over a dried limb. She came to him but did not have to help him up. He had grabbed a limb and used it like a walking stick to help himself up.

She turned her head back to Loundon's Towne. "Is that smoke, Lindern...?"

THWACK!

Lindern agreed with Torban, nothing good would come of Constantia going back while the invaders were there. The boy's words were obviously truth-less; he knew he could not lie to anyone, particularly not her. He did the only thing one so much smaller and weaker could have done.

Lindern had drawn a little blood with his hit. He made sure she was breathing evenly and made her as comfortable as he could. He used a little water to clean the small cut on her head his blow had caused.

She was safe - at least for the moment. And that was all anyone could hope for - that and the soon arrival of Willen and Stellan. That, and the least amount of damage to be done to people and property by the deceitful visitors who probably were causing the smoke billowing from the direction of Loundon's Towne.

_____________________

There were nearly three hundred people in the Loundon's Towne Square, where the harvest faire was centered. There was talk of building new homes for those living to the west or south of the square so their present homes could be razed to make way for expansion.

Torban and Meala, Vanch and Taleena, Egorn and Shulla, and many others in leadership in the community naturally migrated towards the Olive Hand and his group. For better or worse, the hope for containing any damage lay in keeping Porto happy.

"Greetings, Porto the Olive Hand. You find us in preparation for the faire. Have you come for the tribute still in your storage building? This year's faire should be so profitable that we may have to build a bigger..."

"Crucio!"

Torban had walked into effective range of Porto's Olive Hand. He was down and in excruciating pain.

Many had gasped and tried to move back and away from the torture, but the warriors had herded the bulk of the crowd into a group they could control with their drawn swords and spears. Some had slipped away, but the message the usurpers were there to deliver would be made plainly enough.

Egorn stepped up and fell on his knees. Before, the Potter had bravely interceded for the leader of Loundon's Towne, and all that had been there had believed the brave little Egorn had saved Torban's life. "Great Olive Hand..."

"Crucio!" and Egorn had joined Torban in pain indescribable.

This time it was Portan who had started the torture.

Portag stepped up and applied the hideous cruelty to Trotan, the largest person in sight. The house builder joined the other two writhing on the ground.

The message was obvious. There were now three Olive Hands to fear.

Meala screamed and moved forward but Conlander transferred his hammer to his left hand and grabbed her around the waist with his right arm. Shulla, Egorn's wife, simply sunk to her knees, and her two eldest sons went to her aid rather than their father's. She grabbed each by the wrist and pulled them close against her. She could be heard forbidding them from going to Egorn's aid. They struggled anyway, and two men who had heard her grabbed their shoulders to assist her. The third and youngest son and apprentice Potter was being held back by two of the taller and stronger women.

"Mercy!" The cry came from the back of the crowd.

"Mercy!" "Mercy!" "Mercy!" More began to beseech the Olive Hands.

The moment after the cries for mercy stopped, Porto nodded to his brothers and all pointed their olive sticks at their victims and said, "Cess Sate."

The torture ended but the three victims were still shaking and needed help to rise.

Egorn's eldest son moved to help his father but was stopped. Baijan the Builder moved to help his son rise. Graller the Tanner helped him. Vanch the Cooper and his apprentice, Cinko, got Egorn back on his feet. Finally, the brother row maker builders, Barlint and Janks, reached Torban with the assistance he needed. Meala moved slowly against Conlander's resistance to be near her husband.

Porto was in a rare mood of black humor. "Welcome citizens of my finest city." Gone was the last shred of pretense that Bonderman was Keeper. Porto smiled almost serenely as he continued, "I wanted to talk to you today to ensure that the harvest faire goes as I wish it to. You have grown your towne in the past by inviting anyone and everyone attending the faire to join you here.

"This will cease. I will direct and control your growth for my purposes in the future. Have your faire. Collect your profits. If you do not deliver more tribute than last year you will make up for the lack from what you would normally have kept. I will be adjusting the percentage of your tribute to my favor soon, but if you exceed last year's tribute for this faire, I will wait and make the adjustments later.

"As you can see, I have a larger retinue of warriors, and you will have the privilege of supporting them until we conquer new villages and communities to assist you. These are the much-feared Celtic warriors of legend, so they deserve your respect. Of course the number of my forces will grow, and so will the opportunity to support them and provide for their housing and entertainment."

At this a number of the ruffians Porto had described as legendary warriors chuckled and leered at the women in the crowd. Porto gave them a withering stare and returned to his address.

"Of course some of you of age, and your sons as they reach their maturity, will be drafted into my army as I have need."

The wind was whipping up and he shouted louder and quicker. Rain would start soon and Porto wanted this towne properly cowering before he left it.

"I have been told that you have prepared to resist us. Loundon. Where is your daughter?"

"Great Olive Hand..."

Portan and Portag laughed at this title but it slowed Torban only a moment.

"Great Olive Hand, my daughter is visiting a sick family member in another towne. She returns the day before the faire. May I ask..."

"Crucio!" had Torban on the ground in agony again. Oaths and dread roiled through the assembled crowd.

"Cess Sate," Porto said only a moment later. "No, you may not do anything I have not ordered you to do. All of you! You have only the time it takes to boil an egg to go and gather your bows, arrows, spears, and swords, and bring them over to your monstrosity, the Diagon."

Nobody moved.

Conlander said quickly so his question might save him pain, "We know not what a sword is, Great Olive Hand." Conlander was now a marked one.

"They are foolish and ignorant, Brother," said Portan.

Porto said with exasperation, "The large blades you have made for the sole purpose of fighting me. You," he said to Conlander, "stay here with the woman you hold." He pointed to a number of others. "You stay here as well. The rest of you scatter and bring your weapons."

Porto raised his olive stick into the air and mumbled something that shot green stars into the air.

"NOW! HURRY!" he shouted, and the crowd ran in fear.

The crowd returned in the time it nearly took to boil an egg, but there was egg boiling to watch. Porto had moved his assembled crowd to the nearest end of the Diagon. By that time it was obvious that Porto's men had been busy. The platform being built to accept the larger boat was on fire, as were the fishing boats of three of the four brothers. Ludno's boat and Stellan's were not in. The larger goods transporting boat was being built in a very small estuary just around the bend west of the community. Apparently it had not been discovered.

Perhaps three out of four of the bows in the towne were stacked against the wall. Dorgelt had all of the spears thrown on top of them. There had never been that many battle blades, now identified as swords, distributed by Torban and Conlander, but eleven of the fine blades were brought there as well.

"These will not burn, Porto," said Bonderman who had dismounted to supervise the destruction of the weapons. He continued, "They are of excellent quality though I do not like the long grip..."

"We will take them with us," Porto interrupted. "Proceed."

Five skins of strong drink were emptied on the pile of weapons and Portag rode near. He raised his olive stick said "Plindabel Doletang!" The weapons stack burst into flames. The Diagon caught fire also at that end.

Porto turned and addressed the towne leaders assembled before him, but also loud enough for all to hear, in spite of the increasing wind. The rain started.

"There ends the means of your resistance to my rule. Look behind you. The boats to sink our boats and your river fortification are being destroyed. You, where are the other two boats?"

He addressed Conlander, who still held Meala in his right arm and the hammer of his trade in his left. "They are fishing boats, Great Olive Hand. Yesterday they were here and these three were gone." Conlander lowered his eyes and head, and stooped to lower himself in the evil Druid's presence.

Porto stared him for a long time, but the large handsome man did not look up.

By this time Torban and Egorn were standing alone and had drawn near enough to intercede with the Olive Hand again if need be, whatever the cost to them in doing so.

The rain had started but the wind had lessened a bit, it no longer caused the raindrops to sting the skin.

It was time.

Porto raised his voice even louder. "I will be back after the faire with even more warriors." He pointed to the burning weapons. "Thus ends the tools of your resistance and now I cut off the head."

"Avada Kedavra!" "Avada Kedavra!"

Torban and Egorn fell on their faces without a word.

After the expected gasps and cries, Porto shouted above the turmoil, and the wailing Meala and Shulla, "That ends those who have resisted in the past, and the leaders of your pitiful community." He spat out the last word as if it were a disease. "As I said, I will return after the faire with more warriors and I will remake Porto's City into my image. These are my brothers - Druids and Olive Hands in their own right and power. Remember, no one can kill a Druid. We will leave you to bury your dead, but I remind you not to consider any more foolish attempts at thwarting my plans, my men will leave you with several "reminders."

The six warriors on the ground near the remaining towne leaders had drawn their swords during the gathering of the weapons. Their swords delivered in mere moments the reminders.

Bonderman struck first and removed Conlander's left hand from his arm. Naelly ran to her husband and a warrior took off her left foot near the ankle. Cinko was struck on the right arm almost exactly between the elbow and wrist. He was drawing his arm away so it was merely cut badly, not removed.

One warrior fancied himself a great swordsman and decided to deliver a precision wound. Vanch no longer had his right ear. Trotan lost three fingers on his left hand; barely missing losing the hand altogether. And with the removal of his foot, Janks the Tiller would limp behind a row maker from then on - if he lived at all.

Except for Conlander, the wounds and choice of those wounded was random and senseless.

That was the point.

Porto wanted all in his city to live in fear of the vagaries of fate - a fate he controlled.

_____________________________

Lindern was wiping her face with a cloth to remove the raindrops when she awoke. They were under a tree that was providing a little cover from the increasing rain. He had struggled to drag her to the poorly sheltering tree after he had hit her. For a moment, as she awoke, she just smiled up at him, wondering why she was in this position. Then she remembered.

She rolled and sprang to her feet. Lindern, no fool and very well aware of Constantia's temper, moved so the tree now acted as a barrier of sorts between himself and the furious woman.

"I was only obeying your father. He is head of our community. I had to..."

"Silence, little man. Explain quickly." The anger was leaving her face before this sentence was finished. Constantia knew Lindern would die for her without hesitation. There would have to be a very good reason for him to have hit her. She straightened and assumed a position that caused the lad to come out from behind the tree. The rain made what normally would have been a soothing sound as it fell on the leaves.

"Torban sent me. Porto and Bonderman were riding into towne. There were two more dressed like Porto, and at least six other warriors. They rode in from different directions and were herding everyone into the square. I had to hide to escape and come to you.

"Your father said that I was to do whatever I had to keep you out here. Constantia, we were unarmed, with no hope to get to our weapons. Torban knew something bad was going to happen. He didn't want you there since you are now of age. He also feared you might use your bow and get yourself killed. He was very afraid."

"Lindern," she had calmed but was still upset by the event, and her head hurt fiercely. "How do you know that my father was afraid? He has never..."

"Because..." He did not want to say. He paused but knew it would come out.

"Why, Lindern? Tell me." She was not angry, but there was an increasing mixture of agitation and trepidation in her voice.

"Because..." The lad knew that the reason was not good. "Because he told me to tell you that he loves you!" There was pain in his words.

Constantia turned and began to run. She hardly slowed at all to pick up her bow and quiver of arrows as she sprinted home at top speed.

The smoke had lessened to only a smudge in the rain. Lindern ran as fast as he could in a futile attempt to catch her. The concern on his face multiplied with each step.

_____________________________________

The wounded had probably saved her sanity. Shulla still raved from time to time, but Meala had seriously injured people to help. Intense consuming work has spared many from lunacy over the ages.

Conlander had been protecting Meala when he'd lost his left hand. She'd acted in the only way she could, and sprang to grab the stump and stem the blood flow. He almost broke her grasp as he screamed and lurched towards his new bride of less than two moons. She had fallen and was gaping at the blood flowing from her leg in a torrent.

Meala's commanding roar galvanized those nearest her, just enough people to accomplish what was necessary. Meala realized in a moment what had to be done - something no one had seen or heard of before.

"Bengt, grab Naelly's leg just behind the cut and squeeze it tightly as you can. Like this. You must stop the blood from leaving her body."

The Miller was normally a bit squeamish of the slightest cut or scratch when red showed, but this was not a normal time, and no one disobeyed Meala this day.

"Barlint, can you see this? Did you hear me? Stop Janks' blood from flowing. However hard you squeeze, it will not hurt your brother more than dying will. Taleena, help Vanch hold his hand over his ear."

"BE STILL!" Conlander had been trying to break free to go to Naelly. The shout quelled his efforts for the moment. He kept saying her name in quiet despair.

Pandan the Tiller had been listening and had his hand over the cut on Cinko's arm. Vanch held his head where his ear had been and checked on his apprentices. Baijan held his son, Trotan's hand in a manner that accomplished what Meala was demanding of the others.

Meala saw that her instructions had all been followed, and saw that all eyes turned to her. "We must make our way to the pavilion."

A stand of wood was being erected at the usual focal point of the harvest faire. It was made of boards and anyone could climb up and be seen and heard by all in the square, if they shouted loudly enough. Torban was to speak there, at the start of each day, to welcome all visitors. The boards were smooth, and they had been wet from a drizzling rain in the morning. Baijan had slipped on the surface. He and his son had started a fire and were heating pitch to spread on the boards. They would cover it with sand, just before it cooled and hardened, and the surface would not be slippery.

Meala shouted, "Don't let the ones who have lost a limb walk. Carry them, but keep the cut up in the air so the blood will not drain." There were enough men nearby, who had snapped out of the shock of the moment, to carry everyone but Conlander. She looked around in desperation. Many stood unmoving, watching the spectacle. They were useless unless she shamed a few into action. She was about to curse, something no one had ever heard her do, when she felt Conlander's body being raised to a position to be carried. Before she could turn to see which men had him, Conlander was moving towards the fire. Meala could not see at first who had him; it was almost as if he was hovering towards the fire unaided.

She had last looked at Torban as he lay face down in the sand. It was only a few moments between his death and the butchery. Conlander had restrained her during that time. She had seen, and could still hear, Shulla by Egorn's still frame. Her two younger sons knelt by her, vainly attempting to console her. At that time, Jamin, Egorn's eldest, had stood over them, looking on.

Jamin was but a boy of fourteen summers, but he stood at about his Potter father's height. He was rail thin, and surely did not have the strength of a man yet. He would reach his seventeenth summer in three more cycles, but after this day, few would call that future day his day of maturity.

Conlander was the next biggest man in Loundon's Towne after Trotan, but Jamin had lifted the Smith onto his back and swiftly carried him to the fire. Meala was barely able to keep up with the youth and hold Conlander's arm in the air. This feat of impossible strength startled everyone into the actions Meala had demanded.

Conlander lay on his chest on Jamin's back. Meala wasted no time shoving his stump into to the fire to cauterize it, and then into the pitch pot to seal the wound. Conlander's howl was bestial, and he passed out with the pain. Naelly was already unconscious but she woke just long enough to scream her agony as loudly as her husband had, and returned to her unfeeling state.

Janks was in excruciating pain, and a part of his mind knew his fate would be decided in moments, as his life spilled on the ground. But logic was gone this day, and he viciously fought the process he had seen going on before him. Barlint stopped his struggling brother with one blow of his fist, and through tears, insisted that he perform this lifesaving horror on his twin. Meala had been burned badly on her fingers in the process with Conlander and Naelly, but the pain had not registered in her mind quite yet - like many other pains from this day.

Meala wiped the pouring rain from her face and looked to Vanch. She placed Conlander's blade from his sheath in the edge of the fire and walked to the Cooper.

"Lie down so you won't fall, Vanch."

"But Meala, surely..." As she spoke, still in shock, Taleena still held Vanch's severed ear in her hand.

Through clenched teeth Vanch said, "Stand back, my dear wife. Meala is right. You will help them get me to our hut if I too pass out." He did not feel as calm as he sounded, but Taleena did as he had asked.

Vanch groaned a guttural sound few would have called a man's, but did not faint. The hot knife blade seared the wound shut.

"Please tell me, Meala, that this has stemmed the flow. I do not want to clean pitch out of my hair." The hysteria of the moment produced a macabre humor in some. "Please see to Cinko, Meala. I'm fine." The senior Cooper tried to get up but did not succeed with his first attempt.

Baijan, through tears, succeeded in cauterizing the stubs of his son's three outer fingers on his left hand. As Meala inspected the Builder's work, he said, "He will still be able to swing a hammer and hold a board in place. As to a one handed Smith..."

Meala looked to the motionless husband and wife before turning to the apprentice Cooper.

Cinko was in his sixteenth summer, and a good Cooper in the making. He was not Vanch's favorite, that would always be Lindern, but he was a good barrel maker, and improving with each passing fortnight. It was known that he was not a fearful lad, and he would prove his bravery for decades to come, but this was a hard day for a boy of only sixteen summers.

"You don't have to take my arm, do you? How could I be a Cooper if you...? Please don't...! Please!"

"Quiet. Lad. Its not that bad," said Pandan the Tiller who held his arm wound sealed.

Vanch barely made it to his side. "I will make a special set of jigs for you if the worst should happen, Cinko. You'll be a skilled Cooper to the day you die. But please let Meala see your arm. She'll do what is best for you. I'm here for you, son." The senior Cooper was frantic to be reassuring.

Meala examined the wound. "Cinko, you will keep your arm, and probably regain most of the use of your hand, if not all. You do not need the fire or the pitch, but I must pass the hot blade through the cut. I will do it fast but it must be done."

"I am here, son," said his master. Vanch looked gruesome with his horribly disfigured ear that had been seared moments before. The smells were hideous, but no one noticed.

The lad nodded wordlessly. Meala pulled the blade from the edge of the fire, burning her hand once again but she felt little this day.

Vanch said, "Look away lad, best not to see."

But Cinko shook his head and barely said, "Quickly, please."

It was quick. Meala did not want to prevent the muscles from mending together if possible, so she touched the blade only to skin and flesh around the muscle. He was bandaged soon and on the mend.

The rain was pouring. From the time that the last amputation had been made on Janks, to the time all were over the worst of the immediate danger, was only the time it took for winter river water to come to a boil. But to Meala, it had seemed like a season ago since her husband had died.

Her husband...

Before she could cry the tears she so badly needed, she saw her daughter run into the square and make her way to her side. How would she tell Constantia what had happened?

______________________________________

Willen,

     I had to tell you what happened with the power concentrators
you sent. But how rude of me. First, let me thank you on
behalf of the magikal community of Remers for your kind
gift of three additional concentrators. (I have adopted the word
"magikal" to describe those of us with the Touch as you call it.
My hope is that we will lean towards magik from the too easily
corrupted and corrupting Old Way. I also hate what you tell me
the name 'Druid' has become in so many places.) It is amazing the
carrying abilities of your Phoenix. I have tried having Beemy carry
heavier weights and he can lift more than I had thought.

     Just to see what would happen as you suggested, I gathered
eleven of my closer Druid associates outside of Remers in a dirt
area with a number of piles of dried leaves and firewood. I added
my magik stick to the experiment. So we had two olive wood and
embedded unicorn hair carved sticks, and two with dragon
heartstring. (You are right, magik stick and every other name
for these marvelous devices of yours will not do.) I added mine
to the experiment because I did not experience the surge of
power that you described when I began using the one you sent
me. I was not going to give it away unless someone was
obviously "chosen" by it.

     When we got to Plilgen, and he picked up one of the dragon
heartstring embedded sticks, we saw the red sparks or stars you
had described. He obviously was much more powerful than he
had been with his unicorn hair wrapped stick and with a unicorn
hair embedded stick.

     Also unusual, was the fact that the first heartstring stick he picked
up did not act that way. It was the second one. All three other sticks
would light fires, but barely, for him. But he was setting piles
of leaves on fire with the fourth stick at distances of three and
four man lengths away.

     These eleven with me that day were all ones I can trust. Three
were students who have had family members killed by this
new wave of disreputable Celts. The other nine are long time
friends that lament with me the changing values among our
people. They all committed to never use your sticks with
anything but the Latin-based magik you have discovered, not
with the Old Way. They have also committed to keep all of this
a secret.

     At the end of the day, Rantapt, one of my students, found that
an olive wood - - rather let me say, by the end of the day
another of your creations, an olive wood carved stick with an
embedded unicorn hair, had chosen Rantapt. It was the first
one he picked up, but he tried the other three, and none of them
acted as this one had. His stick was the one you first sent
me. I gladly gave it to him. I kept the other unicorn hair stick
and it has worked as well as the first - that is, it worked a little better
than any hair wrapped stick but not at all like the sticks that had
chosen Plilgen and Rantapt. Now I am a bit envious. If one of
your future creations sings about me.... Well, I am happy things
are progressing in the development of magik and your craft
of manufacturing power concentrators.

     What comes for me comes.... Who's to say?

     Save the girl. Save the towne. Write of your victory soon.

     Eirran

______________________________

"Meala, did you notice, the way Porto spoke, someone has... cough, someone has been telling him about us...."

"Rest, Conlander. You must sleep and recover, we need you." She choked back a sob. "I'll need your help. You are the only.... Naelly is resting well. You heard her. Her baby is safe, and I believe she should be able to carry the child her full seasons. I will not let anything stop that, but you must be here to raise your child. You must be here to help guide our city and forge strong weapons and devices we all need..." Tears ran down the new widow's face.

"Who ever heard of a Smith with only one hand, better that..."

"Never say that again." There was metal in Meala's voice harder than any Conlander had ever forged. "You can run almost as fast as the fastest of us with your damaged leg. You'll forge new metal products for Loundon's Towne with your stump. If you sleep now, you might be able to help with our defense. You won't be able to fight, but you will be needed."

Conlander looked at Meala. His face showed his embarrassment at his words. "I'm sorry for what I said. It's the pain and not my real thoughts. I will swing a blade on the last day of the faire and fight with Willen and Constantia and you and everyone else." He looked into her eyes. "What is it, Meala?"

"Most are saying they do not want to fight. Dorgelt gave them all of the spears, the easiest weapon for most to carry. Caedric is beside himself wanting to say that he warned us but..."

"Caedric," he said with a start. "I'll wager Caedric is the one who told Porto about our plans to fight. He is always gone and gathering information for us for pay, why couldn't he sell our information to Porto?"

"That's it," shouted Dorgelt. "Caedric must be the traitor. We must hang him now." The Hunter had been standing on the periphery of the hut in a black mood.

Meala had directed that all of the wounded be brought to her home. It was large, and right at the edge of the square. With a will of amazing industry she had thrown the table and chairs and several other items of furniture out of it in the time it took for those she had directed to bring bedding, to come back with the pallets needed. The rain fell hardly at all inside because Pladro the Thatcher had just re-thatched the roof a few days before.

"NO, Dorgelt. Torban did not fully trust Caedric, but the little Fisher would have never betrayed..."

"Well, he did betray us, Meala. Who else could it have been? He is gone all of the time. He had the opportunity."

"One in three of our community has been away more than a day in the last season, including yourself. You cannot convict him of treason on a..."

"Well, I'll just have to get a confession out of him." Dorgelt was at the doorway, and Meala was following him. "Gefter, Hallef," shouted the Hunter. "Come with me... Look! The little traitor runs! Quick, lads!"

Caedric was indeed running away. He had been near the wounded's hut, and had heard the discussion. Running just proved the guilt many would believe of him.

Meala heard a groan from Janks and ran back into the hut. "Barlint, is there a problem with your brother?"

"No, he turned in his sleep and bumped his stump. It shows no sign of bleeding. If you want to save Caedric's life, you had better act now. I don't think Dorgelt wants a confession; he wants a death. I will watch your charges and call you if anything changes. Even Conlander sleeps. The strong grain drink Bengt the Miller distills had worked its way."

Meala had saved Cedric's life. But not before Dorgelt had beaten him, leaving Caedric in a lot of pain, with a number of cuts and bruises, two black eyes, and at least one broken rib. But Dorgelt had not been able to beat a confession out of the little Fisher. No matter how hard Caedric was struck, he responded only with denials and protestations of innocence. They had beaten him in the rain and the water on their hands made cutting his face easier.

When she had wanted him released, Dorgelt and a small crowd he had stirred had insisted the Fisher be bound and gagged. He had run. Most considered that tantamount to a confession.

At the end of the night Meala took stock.

The fight was gone from most of Loundon's Towne. Shulla was sitting under the rain beside her husband's body, which was wrapped for cremation. Her two youngest sons sat in the mud with her, and Jamin stood over them with a waxed cloth cover, attempting to keep them dry. Most of the towne's weapons were gone. Her daughter was a driven near-mad woman trying to re-instill courage in a beaten people. Three of the wounded might still die from their amputations, if the green death got to them.

The harvest faire was coming, and they could not postpone it or call it off. There was a formidable fighting force coming to take over forever. They had the probable traitor cornered, and many wanted to kill him immediately if not sooner.

And her husband, the meaning of her life, her first thought upon waking and the dream she always dreamed, was dead.

She wanted to die herself, but too many people needed her.

She stepped out into the howling wind and rain. It instantly soaked through all of her clothing. And she cried through most of the night.

__________________________________

The moment Willen had dreamed of, had worked for, and had bled over for three cycles had arrived. Constantia was before him, and she was as breathtaking - no, more breathtaking than he had imagined. He'd had such high hopes for this moment and so had she. But this was not the moment either had envisioned.

She stood before him with tears of joy and tears of misery conjoined - she also had dirt smeared on her face in sign of mourning the death of a close family member.

They were wordless for a moment. "Constantia, the dirt, who...?"

"My father..." She made s sobbing sound, and the tears came in a torrent. Since the attack three days earlier, she had not cried until that moment. It was as if he was the only one she could share her grief with, as all of her closest - at least all who could still stand of her closest friends and relatives, gathered around them.

"Hello, Willen, we've missed you." They were simple words, but Meala spoke them with meaning, even though she had a hollow look in her eyes. "Porto, Bonderman, and others came three days ago and killed Torban and Egorn, and wounded six others. Two lost their feet - one you have not met and the other is Naelly - you remember Naelly, don't you?" She continued, not waiting for any acknowledgement of her words, or even that she was talking. "Naelly's husband lost his hand. You've not met him either.

"Willen, you've much to learn, and I dare say, much to tell. But we must return to the funeral pyres. It has rained too much for the past three days, and we have just found time today..."

Meala stopped speaking, and with the same distant look, she turned to walk back to where she had been standing before the funeral pyre platforms.

Constantia stripped herself from Willen and took her mother's hand, as they returned to the burning farewells.

Willen heard Stellan inquire about the child's pyre, and the response was that it was for the lost hands and feet, Vanch's ear, and the fingers of someone Willen did not know. It was a relief to hear that a child had not been killed.

Willen and Stellan walked right behind the two bereft women. Shulla never left the fire of her husband, and would not acknowledge Willen's return for days. As they walked to the spot of family grieving, Willen scooped up a hand full of dirt and smeared his own face. He felt very close to Torban, and no one would challenge the returned traveler's right to smear his face.

As he walked, he could not help but hear the loudly whispered questions and statements.

"That is the Olive Hand, Willen? He is so young." "That is the boy that left here? He has aged so."

"Why, that is dragon skin he is wearing. I saw it once when I was a lad. Where do you suppose...?"

"He carries one of Torban's battle blades. Why does he need that if he is an Olive Hand?"

He's so young. He's so old. He's so strong. He's so thin. He's so brave. What can he do?

"What happened to his lazy eye?"

The fires only burned for a little while longer in what was the manner of grief. When the burning wood had fallen in, and the flames had died to an expected state, Meala turned and faced the people there. She had intended to go to her hut and check on the injured. Instead she turned and spoke to Willen.

"You know nothing of what has happened. I have to ask you a question without knowing whom you face or who'll help you. My daughter and I will stand with you, but I cannot promise anyone else. They want to take Loundon's Towne and rename it Porto City, and place us under their heels.

"Willen, will you fight like you promised? You do have the Olive Hands, don't you?"

All of what he had seen and experienced and knew of his limitations were of no consequence to the answer.

"I fight for Loundon's Towne. Your husband's name shall never leave this city on the Tameas. You will spit on the grave of Porto the Druid."

Meala looked at him and took his hand. Constantia took the other. The widow said, "I must speak, and try to give courage to the fearful. Please stand with me. They need hope, and you are all I have right now."

"Listen. Listen! LISTEN!" The murmuring all but died, and she continued in her loudest voice that wasn't a shout. "Willen the Olive Hand has returned. He has the olive sticks," she looked to him and he confirmed this with a nod. "We still have some bows and arrows and a few battle blades."

There were "no's" coming from the crowd now and she had to shout. "There is still a chance. Won't you fight for your homes, for your lives, to live as we want to...?"

"It's not our lives. It's our DEATHS!" came a shout.

"Yeah, he's just one man with a stick," shouted another.

"You've lost your husband. Do you want mine dead, too?" Those words were cruel.

"Besides, he's just one man, still a boy really." It was Dorgelt. He did not have a spear since he had given his up on that day, but he had a long pole with a sharpened wooden point. He held it in both hands - not in a menacing manner, but he could act from that position.

The Hunter continued, "I remember the clumsy youth the traitor, Caedric, despised. How is he going to defend us against Druids and Celtic warriors and...?"

Dorgelt spun around from the crowd he was addressing, and lunged at Willen. The lunge had not been serious enough to harm Willen. Perhaps the intent was to strike fear in the returned traveler, and prove he could not defend them against the invaders.

Dorgelt's wooden spear lost its point. It seemed like the sound of the blade in the air was heard only after Willen had drawn it and swung it. In a second flash the wooden spear was cut into two pieces in the Hunter's hands.

Willen spun the blade into the air to catch the light, and kept it there with his right hand. He drew his carved olive stick with his left and raised it to send red sparks into the air. Though the rain had stopped, it was still overcast, and the sparks were very obvious against the leaden skies.

Willen roared, "I am Willen the Olive Hand. Hear ME!"

All there heard him. Those recovering from their wounds heard him in Meala's hut. Caedric heard him in his prison hut.

Willen hated what he was about to say, but he just knew that this proud speech would be essential to the survival of the towne. It was as important for him to be bold now as it had been for him to be self-deprecating before those who'd feared him at the Aldertani Keep, when the trees had bent to talk to him.

"I am Willen the Olive Hand. In Gaul I am known as Willen the Dragonslayer. I have killed a dragon, and I have killed two Druids who were its masters. In Aldertani Keep I am known as Willen the Three Slayer for the three Celtic warriors I killed at one time. In Cahors of the Carduci I am known as Willen the Five Wolfslayer. I will FIGHT!"

He put his blade in his left hand and held up his damaged fingers. "But I bear the scars of these battles. They mark my hand and my neck, and many places on my body. I will face all of your foes, alone if need be, but if I kill only half of them, the other half will step over my dead body and rape and pillage and kill like you can never imagine.

"But if you stand with me, if you fight also, WE CAN WIN!"

Even at this, most of the crowd turned away. But a single screech caught the attention of all those present after the crowd had parted into two distinct groups.

Pholx descended on Willen's arm, and began trilling the longest tune he had ever sung in Willen's presence. Those who were leaving felt a sense of well-being and some felt hope. Those committing to the fight felt their courage soar on eagle's wings.

And one impure heart was struck with fear.

_________________________________

Willen had spent the entire day that he had arrived in mourning. He and Constantia had no time together alone. That night he had slept with Stellan on a mat in his hut. They were both so emotionally drained and disheartened with what they had found on their return, that there was nothing to say. But Willen did ask one question.

The hut was neat, but had no sense of a home about it. What was missing was obvious. "Stellan, why have you never married?"

After a long silence Willen had almost given up on an answer. Perhaps Stellan slept soundlessly.

"Because, Willen, the one I love loves another. Good night."

The next day Willen spent time talking to everyone. He started with the founding families of Loundon's Towne, but saved Meala for last. He ate breakfast with Vanch the Cooper who had a smaller bandage on his head than the day before. He spoke with Pandan the Tiller and Bengt the Miller. He lunched with Meala, and afterwards, she and Constantia took him to see the wounded.

That first horrible day Constantia had left his side only when she returned with her mother to the shed behind their hut to sleep. The place where Willen had once bedded down was the nightly resting place of the two women, now that their hut was a makeshift infirmary.

________________

Conlander was sitting up; he even rose to his feet when Willen entered and they locked right arms before he nearly fell back to his pallet.

"So you are the lucky man smart enough to see the beauty of Naelly," said Willen with a smile.

Conlander beamed. "I fancy she may have had eyes for you at one time, but I won her heart. She is doing well, but she lost more blood than I did, and then there is the baby..."

"Yes, Constantia told me. Congratulations. Is all well?"

"Meala says that the baby is well, and that Naelly will recover, but I long her the smile that captures me.

"That is the original blade, isn't it?" Conlander nodded to the sword at Willen's side, and received a nod. "Torban told me that it was the first. All of the blades he had made since this one, and all he and I have made together for that matter, sort of 'call' to him, but this one, he said, had sung to him. May I?"

Willen handed it to him and stood back so Conlander could move it around and feel the weight and swing of it. It glowed a bit, and Willen thought he heard a few notes of a tune.

"Conlander, do you have the Touch?"

"No. Torban had the Touch for metalworking, and though I would like to think I have a talent for it, he was always ahead of me with that Touch."

"I am not sure you are right there, Conlander. The Touch is a bit of what I call magik. Magik needs a power concentrator to accomplish all that it can, but the ability to do magik shows itself with the Touch. You do not have the Touch for Smithing, but you have it, I believe, for fighting with a sword, that's the name the Celts give these wonderful blades."

"Yes, I heard them use that name before this." He held out the stump of his hand.

"If you have the Touch for anything," Willen continued, "you probably can do a broad variety of magik. Er...I think a person will probably always be very strong, if not strongest, in the area where the Touch shows itself. There is a young girl in the south of Gaul who was marvelously aware of how to care for the sick. She did not make a bandage out of thin air or stop bleeding with her voice; she just knew what to do. When she used an olive stick with a unicorn hair in an emergency, with the proper spell - that is the proper words of magik, she was able to seal a deadly wound and prevent imminent death from bleeding."

"And you saw this happen, Willen?" Conlander asked.

"If I took off my smock and showed you the huge scar on me, you'd know why I am so impressed with her skills."

The wounded Smith looked at him in wonder, and said with a start, "Willen. Could you do a spell on Naelly? I think she will mend, but she is so depressed by the lost of her foot. She used to always dance around our hut, so happy with our life together. I just...you could take my foot and put in on her if..."

"I don't know what can be done, Conlander. I wish Haana was here, that's the girl's name with the Touch for healing. If I could, I would wave my Olive Hand and restore all of you. But Haana and I did a lot of research about restoring what is not there. There is a young man that she loves, and he had lost his eyes - more Druidic cruelty. But that is not fair to say. I should say that my best friend can be considered a Druid. He bemoans the evil of Porto and his generation, but I cannot condemn all those of the title Druid, several of them have helped me a lot..."

Willen stared off for a moment. "Um...where was I? Oh. Haana and I tried every combination of words and spells and anything with a shred of hope, but nothing could restore eyes that were gone. I'm sorry. I cannot say that one wiser than I in magik couldn't...but..."

"Conlander." It was Naelly in a weak and timid voice. "You would give your perfectly good foot for me, and go without a foot or hand?"

Though still a little weak from his wounds, Conlander was making a quick recovery. He had lost less blood than the others who had lost limbs. The Smith almost knocked over Willen, making his way to his wife's side.

"My foot, both legs, and both arms, my very life for you if need be, my beautiful Naelly. How could... why would you doubt it?"

"Oh, Conlander, it's just that...well, that you are so much more handsome, and I am just..."

"Just the most beautiful, sweetest, kindest holder of my heart and my happiness. The sun and the moon and all the stars revolve around you, my Naelly. There is no one else in the world. Tell me who made you believe you were of little worth, and I will strike them dead in a moment. Did I not tell you when I put this gold wreath on your finger that I am of worth, but you are so much more valuable? Saying so was not a clever speech to sell gold and silver finger wreaths to others, it is an eternal truth.

"Please get strong, wife of my dreams, the world needs your presence to make it a better place."

"Oh, Conlander." The tears of joy streamed from her face and his tears joined hers. There was not a dry eye in the hut.

Hope sprang anew in that hut that day. No one present for those words would ever be quite the same. Willen was glad that he was there, and that Constantia was also. They held hands for the first time during Conlander's confession of love to his wife of less than a season.

That afternoon, six days after he lost his hand, Conlander got up off of his sick pallet, and only returned to it to sleep near his wife. He did not return there to recover. He invited Willen and Constantia to Torban's forge. Though it was his as much as Torban's while they forged metal together, and now all his, the forge would be known for generations to come as Torban's Forge.

"Are you sure you should be out and about, Conlander?" asked Constantia. "Mother says that..."

"Your mother has much on her mind. I have one thing on mine - defeating Porto. You feel the same, don't you, Willen?"

"I promised Meala she could spit on his grave. Burning will be too good for him. Let the body of such a man take its time going on." Then Willen thought better. He thought of what Eirran had taught him. "It is a waste and a shame. A man such as Porto with such power - what if he had used it for good, to help people? It's a pity."

He looked up to see the stunned look on his companions' faces.

Constantia started, "I will never think well of the murderer of my father. How can you say that?"

Willen stared at her for a long moment. "Constantia, if my friend, Eirran, rode into Loundon's Towne tomorrow and helped us as I know he would, you would the bless the day of his coming. Porto may be even more powerful than Eirran for all I know. Can you not wish that he had come in peace to build rather that subdue?"

"Yes, but he didn't-"

"I know as well as you, remember I am the first one he tried to kill, even before Feldin died on that first day--"

"Willen..." started Conlander.

Willen broke in to finish, "Can you understand a little of what I am saying, my dear Constantia?"

"Willen..." said Conlander again.

"I can never like Porto, but I could wish he had been a good man," she conceded.

"That is all I ask. I will spit on his grave right after your mother and you do. He has eaten three cycles of my life, but I am better for it, and I have the scars to prove it." With this he nuzzled the scar on Constantia's left cheek with the knuckle of his left hand. "But mark my words, I will be sad because of what he could have been, even in the frantic moment of battle when I end his life."

"Willen." This time Conlander broke through to them. "You say Porto tried to kill you and failed. Is that true? He says that no one can kill a Druid, but it is rumored that a man a Druid failed to kill can take that Druid's life. That's why they're so careful with the deaths they personally commit."

"Yes, Conlander, that is what they say. I have other friends among the Druids. Two of them, Nerta and Ninato, have told me of this old legend, which this new generation of Druids has been telling everyone. My friends did not know if it is true, but there are some wild tales. But knowing that I can kill Porto under this way of thinking presents a bigger problem."

Finally Constantia asked, "What could be a bigger problem than killing Porto?"

Willen stopped just before the door to the forge that Conlander held open for them. "Why, getting his two brothers to try and fail at killing me. You know I am going to have to kill all three of them, don't you? Oh, and I can't use magik. It would make me like them, or probably worse if I kill all three of them with it."

Constantia had walked in first and turned to look at Willen for his answer. After he spoke, Willen walked through to the forge, leaving his ladylove staring at Conlander. Both of them had cold stones in their stomachs about Willen's casual words of the impossible feats he must accomplish. They were aroused from their trance by Willen's next words.

"Conlander, what did you want to show us?"

On that day, Dorgelt had followed Porto's orders and had retrieved all of the battle blades he could find from the forge. He had turned over all of the spears and the swords of the few who had shown promise with the sword.

Conlander knocked some of the wood off of a pile and almost fainted when he bent over to remove more. Willen jumped to his side with reflexes that surprised even the very agile Constantia. He helped the Smith to a stool and then pushed the wood aside. There was a wooden box buried at ground level, and he opened it. He retrieved ten beautifully finished swords - each a near perfect twin for his blade that Torban had given him three summers before.

"Beautiful work," Willen said. "Yours or Torban's?"

"We worked on each together, so we could say they were ours. This one," he grabbed the one with a black ring around the end of the grip, "is mine."

Conlander stepped back with the blade in his right hand. Rather than being weakened by the effort, it was as if he drew strength from the blade. In a moment that seemed to stand still Conlander gave a brilliant demonstration of most of the fighting swings, thrusts and parries that Aldini had taught Willen over many fortnights. At the end of the impromptu exhibition, Conlander was flushed to a degree, and a little winded, but he also looked refreshed in some ways.

"And no one has trained you in the use of a sword in battle?"

"No, Torban asked me the same question. I just do what seems right to do somehow."

"Torban was right to think you have the Touch. That proves it. You must come with me. You too, Constantia, your young admirer, Lindern, says you are a master with the bow, and that you were from the start, even with the wrong sized bow. That also sounds like the Touch. We must gather the others."

Willen had spent most of a day talking to everyone he used to know, and everyone they'd told him to visit. He wanted to learn everything he could about everything, but quickly realized he would need a season, not a day or two, to learn of all the new marvels and all of the interesting new people that now made up Loundon's Towne. These next few days had to be dedicated to the coming battle.

There was one visit he feared. In the shed behind a hut there was one person that had always caused Willen to tremble. He went inside alone, but Constantia waited outside.

The lone figure inside opened and then shut his one good eye against the light. "Who is it?" said a tremulous voice. "Please don't beat me. I didn't mean to spill my food but with my hands...." As a shadow loomed over him he rolled back onto his hands, yelped in pain and somehow scrambled back against the shed wall. "Who are you? Please don't hit me again, I will confess to whatever..."

"Caedric, it is Willen. Who did this to you?"

There was a little relaxation, but not much, from the man on the floor. He looked up against the background light and stared bleary-eyed at his visitor. "Willen is a skinny lazy-eyed wastrel. You cannot be he, sir. He must have died, and you come in his place. They send you to beat me. Please, sir. I won't tell them who you aren't. I'll even confess to whatever you say. No more beatings....pleeezzzz..."

Willen was on his knees and helping Caedric up to a sitting position. He took out his small blade, and as Caedric drew away in fear, he cut the ropes that tore at the cuts in the Fisher's wrists.

"Caedric, I am Willen. And I will not let them beat you anymore. Who did this?"

"They come at night. I cannot see as well as I used to, Willen, and with my hurt eye, and the darkness.... But they want me to confess to betraying Torban. I will confess if you promise me they won't beat me. Cough."

Caedric spat a small amount of blood.

"I won't let them beat you. But tell me. I only want the truth. If you did it they won't beat you, and if you didn't, they won't. But I must know the truth. Did you, in fact, betray Torban? Did you betray Loundon's Towne?"

Caedric was crying pitifully out of his one good eye, and who knew what that was coming out of his bad eye. "Willen," Caedric gulped, "Torban gave me a home when no one else would. He wouldn't let them make me leave, even when I made him so angry. I would never...." Caedric's speech degenerated into more pathetic crying.

"Constantia!" She came to the door. "Did you hear? Do you believe him?"

She stared at the pitiable creature on the floor in Willen's arms. "Moments ago, I would have said it was him. He did run when they went after him-"

"I was afraid!" Caedric was hysterical. "I heard someone say to hang me. So I ran. Constantia, your father, your mother, they're... they're, my only friends... I wouldn't..."

"God help me, Caedric, but I believe you," Constantia said. "Let's get him out of here. They have left him in his own waste and the cuts are near to the green."

"Oh, No!" cried Caedric.

"They aren't, yet, Caedric. We should be able to stop it. I should have never forgotten about you, and my mother will not be pleased with your treatment. We are not barbarians like the Celts and Druids that invade us. Willen, let's take him to our hut. Mother will be there, I think."

Willen had cut the ropes on Caedric's hands and now his legs, and they both helped him try to stand, but he couldn't. One under each of his arms, they walked him slowly out.

As they reached the square to cross it to go to the hut where care was being given, Stellan came running up.

"Have you decided to hang him, Willen? Did he confess? I have never trusted him but Torban did and..."

Willen interrupted him, "And that is why we will treat him better than a rabid dog. He has told me he did not betray us, and I believe him."

"WILLEN!" Stellan shouted. "After the way he treated you, the stories you told... And he ran."

They had stopped with Caedric between them and he whimpered in their arms.

"That was another lifetime and I choose to forget it. Torban and Meala took me in when all wanted me kicked out of the village. And even though Caedric was the loudest wanting me to go, Torban chose to let him stay.

"If Caedric did indded betray us, then there is nothing more he can do to harm us, and I don't believe he did it. But if he were Porto himself, I would not want him treated like this. I will kill Porto, but I won't treat him like a diseased animal."

"Well," said Stellan, "you better not treat him in with those people. As long as he is suspect, no one will want him in with wounded innocents. And mark my words, I believe he is guilty, but if you choose to treat him, take him elsewhere. Oh, take him to my hut. I sleep on board most nights anyway, and I'll not have him bleeding on my boat."

Dorgelt was furious, and so were many others at Caedric's improved status, but Meala was not, nor was anyone that was hurt that day, or their families.

______________________________

It was not until the second evening after he'd arrived back home, that Willen was finally able to have a private conversation with Constantia. Before parting to go to sleep, they stood in the dark, out in the center of the square, lit only by one of the summer community fires. A few in the towne still stirred. The newly reunited couple were alone in plain view.

"Constantia, we've hardly talked. Oh, there has been plenty of talking but... you know."

"I am glad to see you, Willen. I prayed for your safe return each day. I never let them forget you. I knew you'd come back."

"I came close to dying so many times... well, I don't want to think about it." He held his finger up to his neck and pointed to the small scar. "I was bleeding to death in a battle with six wolves, and I would have died had not Pholx landed on me and done... I don't know what, but before I passed out, I think he cried on my neck and eye - the lazy eye - it was destroyed. The tears of that bird stopped me from bleeding to death, and not only saved my eye, but somehow my eye back where it should have been all along, I guess."

She shivered in the evening heat and Willen saw a tear in her eye.

Quickly he said, "I don't tell you this to earn your pity. Willen's Luck has delivered me into terrible situations where I have come out battle scared and much better for it. No, I'm mentioning that fight so I can tell you two things.

"First, the last word I wanted to be on my lips was your name."

A small sob escaped her.

"But happily, when I came to, I was having trouble seeing because my eyes had never looked at the same thing at the same time. It was the carving of you that I was first able to focus on, and for the next few days, as I adjusted to this new way of seeing, it was always you, your carved image, that I could look at and focus on clearly.

"Constantia. I went after olive wood because I was focused on you. I endured prison focused on you. I learned Latin thinking about you. When I thought I could not do magik, it was thinking about you that sprung open the abilities I needed. I fought dragons and Celts and Druids to come back to you. I had to save you from Bonderman and Porto."

"Who did you save me for, Willen?"

He could not look in her eyes. He was losing his courage, and if she did not know.... "I saved you for your father and mother. I saved the most beautiful girl in Loundon's Towne because I knew the towne would go to pieces with you going to those.... I saved you for yourself to be free to choose the life you wanted."

"So, I get to choose. It is all up to me, and you expect everyone to abide by my decision? I can decide on anyone, and you will enforce my decision? You will fight Porto and Bonderman, and all of these Druids and Celtic warriors and whatever, for me to have what I decide on?"

Willen felt this was not going the way he had hoped. He felt like Constantia had someone else in mind, and he was going to have to be her champion, to fight for her to have him. In an instant, he realized he would spend his life in silence about his love for her. Instead, he would serve her and whomever she chose. This would be a destiny he could live with, as long as she was happy and safe.

"Constantia, I will serve you and protect you... and help you have the one you love, whatever it costs me."

She looked at him oddly and then spoke, "Well, besides my father, there has been only man I have loved. He was a boy that left Loundon's Towne a long time ago. I doubt we'll be able to find him."

Willen resigned himself to another quest after fighting the battle at the end of the harvest faire.

"But, Willen, the boy has returned the kindest and most gentle man. He stands before me now, and no woman has ever been as loved. The boy is now a compassionate warrior and a hero that all look up to. He is the only man I have ever loved, ever will love. He has saved my life because I have thought of him always, and I have done what had to be done because I knew that you, Willen, were coming back to me. I became a warrior because you would be one, and I wanted to be worthy of you. I wanted to stand with you as your true partner in life, and fight for our future."

Now, Willen had tears in his eyes. The dream that he hardly dared dream, but had dreamed day and night, every day, had come true. She loved him. She wanted him.

She had the slightest hint of irony in her voice as she said, "So, you are at my command to give me what I want, are you? Well, seven days after we finish the fight, I desire that you stand at our union ceremony to become husband and wife. Do you agree to obey this request?"

"With all my heart, my wonderful Constantia."

"Then I agree to love and obey you for the rest of my life."

___________________

As was their practice of only a few days, Willen joined Constantia and Meala at the tiny shack behind their home - now an infirmary. After breakfast the next morning, Willen and Constantia visited those still there, three wounded. Trotan had gone back the night before to his family's large hut. Cinko went home to his family, and Vanch was under Taleena's tender care. The three amputees were still in the hut, but Conlander only slept there to be with Naelly. Meala had stemmed his blood flow quickly, but the other two had lost more. Also, loosing a foot limited movement much more than loosing a hand.

Janks looked much more chipper than the day before, and Barlint was enjoying discussing the special barrel he was going to make to attach to Janks' stump so he could walk behind a row maker. Willen had heard of the wonderful device that increased food production, and he solicited a demonstration from Janks himself, when he was recovered enough to show his invention. The twin brothers were delighted to receive the interest of the returning hero, and immediately went into a brotherly argument about how the walking barrel should be designed.

Next Willen and Constantia went to Naelly's side. She had been moved to the other side of the hut once there was more room, to give the couple a little more privacy.

"Naelly, I fear you are trying to break your promise to me," said Constantia.

Weakly Naelly said, "I would never break a promise I made to anyone, especially you. What promise are you speaking of?"

"I need you to stand with me in seven day's after the harvest faire, when I join with Willen. How will you fulfill your promise if you are still here on this pallet?"

It took a moment - maybe a moment and a half. Conlander looked at his wife and hoped. Her eyes opened and she tried to sit up. Conlander put his hand behind her and hid his stump from her view behind his back.

"Constantia. Could I sit with you on that day, by your side, in a chair?"

Carefully avoiding her wounded leg, Constantia threw herself into her best friend's arms. "You need to eat cow's meat to restore your energy. You have to try real hard to get better. I cannot have you fainting at my side when I am joined."

"And that is not all," said Naelly shyly. "We want you two to stand by us as family guardians when we present our baby to the community next spring." Only Naelly, Conlander, and Meala had known of the child to be, until now.

It was a joyous morning.

________________________________

Later that morning, those that Willen had thought would have the highest possibility of having the Touch, and therefore succeeding with magik, joined him at Constantia's archery field. Those present were Bengt the Miller, Pandan the Tiller, Constantia, Conlander, Stellan, and Meala.

Shulla was still in a shocked state that she would never really leave. She would accomplish her work and love her children, and be a fine grandmother, but she would stare off into the distance for long periods of time, and awaken screaming in the night at least once a fortnight for the rest of her life.

Vanch the Cooper and his wife, Taleena came last and brought with them, Lindern the apprentice Cooper and accomplished bow maker, and Jamin, Egorn's son and apprentice Potter - now the senior Potter in all of Loundon's Towne.

"I told you about these two, Willen," said Vanch. "I don't have the Touch, but these two do. They are too young to fight, but they may be useful in some way. They promised that if I let them come, they would not try to join in the battle, but only do what you say."

Willen was expecting most of the people there to be powerful with magik, particularly with the olive wood power concentrators. These community founders were some of strongest memories he had of people in Albion with the Touch. To confirm this Willen followed the procedures that he and Eirran had developed through their time together, and had refined with their correspondence. They used piles of leaves and sticks at various distances.

No one was remarkable. Jamin was rather powerful with an olive wood and heartstring power concentrator, but he was shaking in fear when he tried. Conlander was the strongest with a dragon heartstring carved stick. But he was still weak from his wound, and just a little bit of magik weakened him further.

Some were obviously better with dragon heartstring and some with unicorn hair. At first, Constantia was weakest of any them, and with both types of cores, but her determination drove her to do better on the third or fourth attempts. All of them were able to produce a small blaze with most of the sticks at very close range, except for Stellan. Absolutely nothing happened for him with any version of Willen's creations.

Stellan was not surprised. "I've never believed I had any aspect of the Touch, and no one has ever thought so. Thank you for including me in this, Willen, but I told you as much last night."

Nothing went as Willen had hoped, and he stopped early. He had planned to teach them a few spells that might help in battle, such as the Body Bind Spell, but he was discouraged, and stopped then and there. But he still took the opportunity to try to embolden them in the midst of his discouragement.

"Now that I have seen your abilities, I will have to plan what spells you can use. We will have to fight with regular weapons anyway. Magik will help us, but we cannot use magik as a weapon. We will not kill with magik; it would poison our souls and make us as evil as Porto and his brothers. Magik is stronger than the Old Way of Porto, but it seems that as individuals, Porto is stronger than we are.

"In spite of this we can still win. But we must decide, those of us right here. I am going to fight them. But you do not have to. I am an outsider as far as they are concerned. If I kill a number of them, including one or all of the Druids, perhaps they will not take their revenge on the towne. You can tell them that I am unknown to you, and that my attack was as much a surprise to you as it was to them."

"Willen..." Vanch tried to speak but Willen raised his hand.

"Before you speak, please listen. This city is destined to be great. You do not have to risk death. It will be hard at first, but in a generation things will ease, and in three generations you will be one people. I fight because my destiny is beyond the battle with Porto. I must fight fate to achieve my destiny."

Lindern asked, "What is the difference between fate and destiny?"

"Fate wants to decide your future. Others want to decide your future. Your destiny is the best you can possibly be to serve your loved ones, your neighbors, your community, and yourself. Fate would have me die at Porto's hand. Or fate would make killing Porto my goal. Then I would be a killer or perhaps even a murderer. It will be with sadness that I will kill Porto, wishing he had come to do us good. But kill him I will, if nothing else that day. My destiny lies beyond killing him."

Constantia had been standing by Willen, holding his hand all of this time. She spoke up, "It is my destiny to stand by Willen for the rest of my life. I embrace that destiny whether it is for many summers to come or whether it ends... sooner. It is the finest life I could ever want."

"It's fate that wants my child to live under the rule of a man like Porto and these selfish Celts," said Conlander as he walked to Willen's side and locked arms with him. "He or she will be born free, even if I can't be here to see it."

Jamin's voice cracked with emotion. "Fate has made my mother less than she was. I'll fight, or do whatever I can to prevent that from happening to anyone else's mother... or father." A tear came to more than one eye at that moment.

All came forward solemnly and hugged Willen or locked arms with him.

"What do we do, Willen?" asked Vanch. "How do we prepare?"

"Go talk to all that have trained with bow, blade, or spear. Go quietly. I do not think Caedric betrayed us, but someone did. I don't want the archers to talk to the swordsmen, and I don't want them to talk to the spearmen - at least not at this point. We will bring them together as late as possible. We will postpone meeting as a large group until the night the faire ends, if possible. Don't let anyone know how many are prepared and equipped to fight. It may be only a few, but if anything gets back to Porto I want it to be that we are few in number. I want him overly confidant. He'll make more mistakes that way.

"We still have to prepare for the harvest faire. That has to go on for the good of Loundon's Towne and the people coming to the faire. Conlander, you have the few swords hidden that you showed me. I do not want anyone facing a Celtic warrior with a blade unless they've had some training. Talk to those you have trained with and see who is still willing.

"Make sure they know it is a choice, everyone we talk to about fighting has to know they have a choice and they'll not be asked to leave if they don't fight." "Do we give swords or spears to those who have not been trained, if they want one?" "No, I would rather have a Tiller wield his familiar pitchfork than an unfamiliar spear. Also, Conlander, how many spear heads can you make between now and then, and still be prepared for the faire?"

"I believe ten or twelve, more if I don't sleep much."

"No, you're still recovering. I know how important sleep is at this stage. You're eating as much rare cow meat as you can, aren't you?"

"I never thought I would say this, but I'm almost sick of it eating it. Its all I have been given since this." He held up his left arm. "I'll keep eating it, though."

"Good," said Willen. "Who makes spear poles?"

"We do," said Vanch, advancing with Lindern. "Twelve poles will be half a day's work. We have the wood. What about bows? My lads can make plenty of arrows in the time we have and prepare for the faire, but a bow takes time, with the coating and drying and wax applications."

"What happens if you do not coat them?"

"They dry out, but... wait, we could probably produce several additional bows if we do not coat the last ones we make. They will dry out, but they won't for several days if we prepare them properly. We could also give them a coat of wax to slow that process. They'll be good for the fight, but too brittle a couple of days afterward."

Willen said, "Make what you can properly, and then as time draws near, make the short life bows. We will plan and prepare later for the future battles after this one. I guess you are using ash wood, half heartwood and half sapwood, with the heartwood facing the archer? Then you coat it with heated flaxseed oil and soot, correct? Perhaps beeswax with soot after that, and every so often?"

"Yes, Willen. You have examined one of the bows, then?"

"No, it's just what I would have picked after thinking about it."

Willen did not see the look of amazement, and a little frustration, that passed between Lindern and Vanch. They had spent so much time finding the proper combination. Constantia had always said that Willen would've known what materials to use and how to do it.

Willen said, "Constantia, please approach all of your archers and ask the same questions that Conlander is asking the swordsmen. No one here has actually fought in a battle, have they?"

"I believe Dorgelt has as a young man," said Meala. "What do you want the rest of us to do?" Several nodded with her.

"To start, you can make sure the faire goes well, it is important to Loundon's Towne. Try to take some of the load off of Conlander and our Coopers if you can, so they can prepare weapons.

"I will talk to you after you find out who is still willing to fight. I am not a trained warrior, but I have lived through a number of battles, and have had training in swordplay and battle tactics from the view of the blade. I will find Dorgelt and talk to him. Please tell me if you have ideas or observations that we have not discussed about the way the Celts and Druids have come and gone, and attacked.

"I am going to take a day or two to sit and think, and probably try to develop a new spell that will help us fight. We can't just wait for them to come; we have to prepare to try to distract them. They want gold and women, but we cannot tempt them with that. The only Druids I met on my travels were only after.... Ahhh."

"What is it, Willen?"

"I think I know how to distract Porto and his brothers at the proper moment, maybe two different moments.... Well, if I haven't been by to see each of you during each day, please come look for me. I'm staying in Stellan's hut with Caedric."

"Yes, and I can't believe you trust him," said Stellan. "He could slit your throat as you sleep."

Willen said, "Only one person has ever tried to slit my throat in my sleep, and I trust him like a brother, now."

Stellan looked stunned. He swallowed, hung his head, and gulped out, "You knew?"

"I did not know then, and I didn't know for sure until just now, Stellan. But when you walk alone, all day long, for a number of seasons, you ponder on everything that has ever happened in your life." He looked the Fisher in the eyes until he returned the gaze timidly. Stellan was obviously embarrassed to have this conversation before all of those he most respected in Loundon's Towne.

"You had only known me for half a day when you tried to take my goods and my life. Over the days that followed you more than made up for it by teaching me to find my way by the stars. You came here and have become a trusted member of this community. You braved your fears of sailing off of the end of the earth when you came to get me."

He turned to address everyone present. "Who here does not have something in their lives that they are ashamed of? I know I don't want everyone to know all I have done. I don't believe Caedric betrayed us, but I may be wrong. Regardless, he's too timid to attack me and too afraid of me, and most of you, to do anything to damage our efforts. At worst he will sneak off and tell them we plan to fight. So be it. But I don't think so. He is barely able to walk after his beatings."

It was a quiet reflective group of people who slowly made their way back to Loundon's Towne to complete their various preparations.

______________________

Willen believed he could trust all seven of the archers that still wanted to fight. Constantia believed in them, and that was enough. Conlander had six with him that he had trained with the sword, but Willen knew they were poorer skilled than the three Celts he had fought. He had encouraged all of them to fight in twos and not leave their partners.

Dorgelt had refused to canvass his spearmen to find those willing to fight. The Hunter believed it was foolish to resist, and said so loudly and often. Vanch, Stellan, and Willen had finally approached him three days before the faire and had asked him to stop expressing his views. He wasn't seen after that.

So, Conlander talked to Trotan, who had trained under the Hunter with the spear. Trotan's father, Baijan, had chosen to be called the Houser, but Trotan, who had passed his apprenticeship training the summer before and was now a journeyman, wanted to be known as Trotan the Houseman. The young Houseman told of their training with the Hunter.

"The first day, Dorgelt showed us how to hold a spear to jab and how to throw it. After that all we did was throw at targets until our arms were tired, and thrust at each other. Dorgelt told us there wasn't much else to the spear."

No one knew what else could be done with a spear either. Trotan found nine people who had trained with Dorgelt who were interested in fighting, but he felt like the fear spread by the Hunter might have influenced their reliabilities. Willen hadn't seen Dorgelt for several days before the harvest faire, but he was so busy that he could have easily been missed. The Hunter had never had any part of the faire, all of his foodstuffs and skins provided by his traps and spear, had been gratefully consumed by the Loundon's Towne community.

The early afternoon of the day before the harvest faire started, the old Hunter came to Stellan's hut. Caedric saw him first and whimpered as he hid in the back of the hut. Willen greeted Dorgelt at the door and walked around to the sun-shaded side of the hut to talk. "I haven't seen you for several days, Dorgelt."

"Willen, I owe you an apology for not supporting your efforts. I traveled out into the woods, a day's walk, to a favorite spot for deer. The entire day that I waited, not one came by. I had a lot of time to think, and I couldn't escape the fact that I should be helping you. This is my towne and even though the Celts could use a good Hunter, I don't want them over me. If it is not too late, I will join you in this fight. I never taught the spearmen how to fight in a battle, just how to throw a spear and thrust with it. If you want I could teach them, or I will just stand in their ranks."

Willen smiled. "Why don't you meet with the spearmen to tell them what you know? Trotan has been working with them, but he is also helping his father with harvest faire preparations. He'll tell you who wants to fight, and you can meet with them."

Dorgelt said, "The spear fighting tactics are not that complicated, but they work well. I could go to each person separately, and discuss it with them, when they have time, Willen. Telling of the simple tactics will only take about half as much time as it takes to eat lunch. The best spearmen I had are likely the ones very busy on this last day. I have nothing to do for the faire and can meet with them at their convenience."

Willen and Dorgelt chatted for a few more long moments, and then the Hunter went looking for Trotan. Willen went back into the hut.

"Willen, is he gone?" Caedric spoke in a hissed whisper.

"Yes, Caedric. You can come out. Did you hear the good news, Dorgelt is with us in this..."

"Willen!" Caedric still whispered. He was so fearful from his beatings that Willen had wondered if he'd been addled by the punishment like Shulla had been by her husband's death. "You asked me once who it was that came to me at night and beat me to get me to confess that I had betrayed Torban. I am not positive, but I am pretty sure it was Dorgelt."

Willen looked at the cowering little Fisher with pity. Perhaps his mind had gone a bit. "Caedric, he was angry for a long time after I insisted we still fight. You were a part of that anger. He's changed his mind and wants to help. I have to believe you no longer need fear him, IF he was the one to treat you this way. Just stay away from him, and we'll sort this out after the faire and the battle."

________

After giving his initial orders for battle preparation, during the days before the faire began, Willen tried to spend as much time as possible sitting in the woods with his Latin scrolls and a unicorn hair embedded carved olive wood stick. (He still thought there had to be a better, shorter name for them. Everyone else called them olive hands.) He'd kept searching for possible spells that might be used by the weak wielders of the Touch in Loundon's Towne without involving them in too much danger. He'd always chuckled at that last thought. Just being alive in Loundon's Towne over the days to come was going to be dangerous enough to lead to their possible deaths.

Eirran's owl, Beemy, found him poring over his writings one day.

     Willen,

     Your fight draws near, and I wish I were there to stand with you. Instead, I can only send you information - and I cannot guess how it will help you, but it seems important.

     Some from the new wave of Celts from the homeland have started "visiting" us again. We do not like it and are very careful with what we let them see. One old Druid, Klanger by name, came alone with only one young lad as his assistant. We greeted him and dined him and spoke of inconsequential matters - irritating old fool - but not a complete fool. Finally, almost as an after thought while preparing to go, he asked about our source for olive wood sticks. He did not seem to know about the embedded carved sticks or even our use of a wrapped unicorn hair stick, but he knew we had at least a few olive sticks. This tells me that they have spies here in Remers, but not too close to the group of us learning of magik.

     I write you because he let slip that their source for olive wood sticks had ended. Apparently he believed the suppliers might have died in their travels to an exotic land that he was unaware of. I asked him if he owned an olive stick. He said he did but that he was not a killer just a, well, he used a word in the Old Way that means a kind of weaker one with the Touch.

     Perhaps only a few are as powerful as Porto. Perhaps their numbers are limited just like only a few are really powerful here with your magik sticks. (You are right, I hate that name for these devices.) Perhaps you have ended the lives of the only ones providing power concentrators to these that besmirch the name of Celt and Druid.

     We have our spies also, and we work to find out who they are. If the olive wood stick killers are few in number, we will act to stop them.

     I am not sure how you can use this information, if at all, but I offer it in hopes that it might be of some small help.

     Fulfill your destiny, I want to tell my grandchildren tales of your victories and exploits into my dotage,

     Eirran

Willen found himself wishing he could ask Eirran about the types of fighting spells known in the Old Way. He did not want to use them, but he needed to know what types there were, so he could discover or create spells in magik that did the same things or similar.

Shulla, in her grief, had risen and taken over all aspects of preparing the pottery goods for the faire. She had insisted on doing everything herself. Her two youngest sons stayed with her, but Jamin sought out Willen whenever the Olive Hander was in the village.

Willen felt odd being called that, but he liked the title better than Dragonslayer, or the other names that spoke of deaths he had caused.

That title, in the model of Miller, one who mills grains, Tiller, one who tills the soil, and Houser, one who builds homes; Willen was called the Olive Hander - one who makes olive hands. Willen did not know if it was a trade that could support a family, but he would have plenty of time to explore the possibilities - or not.

Jamin was about as powerful as anyone with one of the olive hands. He made a good test subject to try out spells. He was able to perform the Fire Starting spell from almost a man's length away. He could do the Body Bind Spell if he was right in front of Willen, but the temporary petrification lasted only a few moments. But in battle, a few moments could be a lifetime. How close Jamin had to be to cast the spell worried Willen much more than the short time of immobilization.

Perhaps the best spell in Jamin's list of skills was a simple tripping spell. The boy could cast it confidently and fairly accurately up to a man's length away.

The night before the harvest faire started, Willen spoke with the different battle groups. He still held them in separate groups, and told them they would meet together the night the faire ended. Porto always arrived on the day after that for his tribute. It had been reported that Porto and Bonderman were infesting a disreputable village a little over a day's hard walk from Loundon's Towne. Whoever had betrayed them would be able to relay to the invaders a full account of the fighting assets if they all met any sooner.

He told each one basically the same message. "We will divide into fight groups with an even number of swordsmen, archers, and spearmen in each. We will arrange ourselves to protect as many people as possible by drawing the attackers to us, and away from everyone else. Hopefully, almost everyone will be able to leave early in the morning and hide in the woods, and up and down the river.

"Stay away from the Druids. Meala tells me Porto and his brothers still dress like he first did three harvest faires ago. They wear robes not unlike my dragon skin robe, but they are black instead of the green. They also wear those pointed hats. They should be easy to spot, so stay away. They kill within the distance of just less than two man lengths. They also use that spell that tortures people from about the same distance, we think.

Archers, aim for them once if you get a chance, just to see if the legend that they cannot be killed is false. If you cannot kill them maybe you can wound them, but do not send your arrows to them one after another. I don't want them coming after you specifically." Willen said this with Constantia in mind in particular.

Each group asked how Willen planned to fight the Druids himself when they could not die. His answer gave them no comfort. Those listening were actually more upset afterwards. "They can be killed by someone they have already tried to kill and failed to do so. Porto tried to kill me that first day he rode into our towne, and obviously failed. I will get his brothers to try also so I can kill them."

One in each group asked in some way, "You will use your olive hand to kill them?"

"No, I cannot use magik to kill, it would make me like them."

All three groups degenerated into a sputtering bunch of hopeless mutterers. Willen personally talked to each of them to give them hope over the days of the faire, but that night he was angry and upset.

Constantia said, "I could have strangled Yergoin in that group of spearmen, he helped our enemy this day. I am just glad Dorgelt tried to settle them, even in his half-hearted way. Willen, why are you so bothered? I am angry but you are upset."

"Because I failed them, I failed you tonight. I had hoped to give them courage, they would not have to face the Olive Hand killers, only the Celts who will be bad enough, but instead they think I will fail in killing the three. And besides, why do I think I can do it anyway? I have never fought Druids with olive sticks."

"You will win, Willen, and do you know why I know you will?"

He looked hesitantly into the eyes he loved so well.

"I know because I know it is my destiny to live a long and happy but difficult life, as your wife. I believe in you, Willen. That is as sure as the sun comes up tomorrow, even if the clouds block the view. Mother has a supper waiting for us. Please come, eat, you need your strength, as do all those you lead."

He was quiet through most of supper. He thought about her last words. He thought of men like Torban and Stellan as leaders, not himself. But then it occurred to him that he had been acting like the leader, and people were following him. He guessed that the simplest definition of a leader was someone with followers. He decided to think about that later.

Willen went back to Stellan's hut late that night. He'd stayed at Meala's with the mother and daughter until long after most were probably asleep. After eating they went out and sat by the summer community fire right outside their hut. All of the wounded had returned to their own homes. Conlander and Naelly had moved in with her parents so they could help the two continue their recovery. Janks the Tiller's wife was spoiling him with all of his favorite foods, and the Herdsman, Dailet, kept all those who had lost so much blood supplied with free. fresh cow's meat each day.

Willen, Meala, and Constantia had talked about Torban that night at the fire's edge. They had been given a wide berth out of respect by any others wanting to sit as they were. They were good memories that they shared, happy memories. Meala told of how Torban had proposed to her. Constantia told of a walk in the woods she and her father had made in her tenth summer. Willen shared of the few moments he had spent with Torban as the city father had outfitted him for his travels, and had given him words of encouragement that had helped sustain Willen through the hard times.

Willen walked to Stellan's hut with a torch. He needed to sort out a few items from his travels. He thought there might be things he could sell or trade among all he had collected along his way, particularly the clothing that no longer fit him.

He greeted Caedric who still slept in the same hut. Stellan was at peace with the little Fisher, but still slept on his boat. Pholx alighted on his wall opening and Willen spoke to him. The sunbird had been gone for two days and Willen always wondered where he went on such occasions.

Willen leaned over the bundles and stacks of items from his travels. He told himself once again he would arrange things more orderly after... well, afterwards. He pushed some of the dragon hides over to a pile of goods he might trade. He thought of the scroll of his most precious items.

He unrolled it. There were the unicorn hairs, which were not leaving his possession. There were the phoenix feathers from before Pholx's burning. He held one in his hand. He picked up the original olive stick that Willen had used from the trees guarded by bowtruckles in Aldertani Keep. As he leaned over, his holly wood carving of Constantia fell out of his smock. Willen tried several times to put it back but it kept falling out, so he took it off.

He held the carving of holly in his left hand with the largest Phoenix feather he had. He held the olive stick in his right hand. A light breeze entered the hut and caused one of the veela hairs to drift up off of the unrolled parchment. Willen reached for it with his less occupied right hand. The olive wood and veela hair touched in a similar way like the phoenix feather and holly wood touched.

Flash! The torch on the holder flared to light up the hut like the noonday sun. Caedric pulled back in fear for an instant, and then Pholx began the most complex and beautiful song Willen ever heard from the bird - if he heard it at all.

Constantia was almost asleep but she was awake in a moment. Lindern, Taleena, Pandan, Conlander, Bengt, and Meala all sat up in their beddings and knew they needed to make their way to Willen immediately. Something wonderful was happening.

Shulla sat up, looked Jamin in the eyes, and said with a very rare smile, "Go to him."

Stellan was awake on his boat and suddenly looked in the direction of his hut when something caught the edge of his eye. The light did not look quite like fire, and he knew he needed to go at once. He jumped over the gunwale and ran as fast as he could. He saw Caedric's back as he ran towards the fields. He saw Conlander running towards the light source as he saw Constantia enter the painfully lit hut. Others were running that way. Everyone felt great courage because of Pholx's song.

They saw Willen standing in the midst of a cloud of the red sparks, similar to those that occasionally came from the end of a power concentrator. All crowded in the edge of the doorway and looked in through the two wall openings not used by Pholx.

Stellan said over the song, "Should we... Do you think he is in danger?"

"No, Stellan," said Constantia. "I can't explain, but something wonderful is happening."

In spite of the splendor of the song, and the brighter than bright light, no one but Stellan and those Willen thought had the Touch for magik were there to witness this moment that none of them would forget, and that none them could explain.

After a time too wonderful and enthralling for any of them to measure, the red sparks dimmed and died. Willen slowly sank to his pallet, fast asleep, as if it was the most natural thing to do. Stellan tried to speak but all of the others held their fingers to their lips and ushered him out of the hut. They went to their beddings. Stellan stood guard at the hut entrance in joy and confusion for most of the rest of the night.

_____________________________________________

The next morning Stellan woke with the first rays of sun. What woke him was Willen. "Good morning, Stellan. Did you sleep there last night? I bet your back hurts. What are you going to do during the harvest faire today?"

Willen kept talking as he strode purposefully out of the door. Stellan jumped to his feet, and nearly fell. His back did hurt, and his left foot was asleep. He limped, bent to the side, trying to catch Willen.

"What happened last night? You were surrounded by red sparks like... well, like nothing I've ever seen - unless, those were the same sparks that shoot out of your olive hands when you test them. Willen! Slow down. Tell me, please, what happened last night?"

"I am not sure, Stellan, but I have to do something today that may... well, it may mean nothing, but it may mean everything. You can go with me if you like, it will be boring for you probably. I am going to make two new power concentrators."

"Is that the most important thing you can do today? Don't you have...?"

"It might be the most important thing I do in my life," he said quietly.

"What?"

"Nothing, Stellan. Would you do something for me? Would you please tell Lindern that I'll want to talk to him a little later? And ask Vanch to try to find a way to release Lindern to help me during the next day or so."

"Yes, Willen, of course."

_______

It was as if he had been there yesterday, and not, in some ways, in a previous life - the Willen of three summers before. He stared at it for the longest time. It was waving at him and calling him, but Willen only waved back and then went on a search.

Fortunately, this didn't take all day. In twice the time it took to boil water, Willen found a fallen tree with wood lice infesting the trunk where it had split from a lightning strike.

He walked right up to the mound of bowtruckles and called out to the tree. He heard the tree louder than he had ever heard a tree. It was singing with joy, reaching out. The carved piece of wood around his neck was singing back.

It was a homecoming - for both the piece of wood and for Willen. It had all started right here. Yesterday evening he would have said that it had started when Constantia had trembled at Bonderman's advances. Or he would have said that it had started when Porto had tried to kill him, or when Willen had asked the Druid what type of wood was in his hand.

But now he knew that it had all started when he'd found the small log of holly after the bowtruckles gorged themselves on wood lice.

The bowtruckles were sated, and Willen found another fallen branch, as wide around as the piece he had cut the carved piece from. This log was about as long as his arm and hand. It was perfect. The grain would split perfectly and carve well. Some other time he promised himself to try to discover why this holly was different from other holly trees, and why the bowtruckles guarded this particular tree, but there was not time today.

He had a short conversation with the holly tree, and they enjoyed getting to know each other better. The tree had bent over to talk to him, but there was no one there to be upset. There was a song in the woods that day, and Willen heard it. He even hummed along with the piece of wood around his neck and the tree.

Lindern was waiting for him when he came out of the woods. Lindern had such a look of expectation that Willen laughed at the puzzlement on the boy's face when he saw only the small log. They went to the Cooperage. Lindern took a saw and cut off the rough ends. Willen sharpened his small blade and stripped the bark from the log. Lindern took the drawknife and halved and quartered the log very quickly but very carefully. Willen agreed in his mind that Vanch had been right about Lindern having the Touch for cooperage.

Lindern's face showed nothing but varying degrees of amazement for the rest of the time Willen spent working in silence.

Willen studied each quartered piece carefully and chose one. He shaped its cross section into roughly a circle. It was perfectly straight. Willen split it lengthwise and then cut a groove in each half.

When Aldertan, the retired Keeper of the Aldertani Keep, had Willen's dragon cloak made, the seamstress had included a marvelous new innovation in its design. She had taken an extra piece of thinner dragon skin and had placed it on the inside of the cloak. She had then sewn it to the inside of the cloak on the bottom and on both sides. The top remained un-sewn so that in this attached inner sack as she called it, you could place items for safekeeping - items you did not want to carry in your hands or in a regular sack. This attached inner sack was on the inside left of the cloak, and when Willen had seen it, he had asked that she place a long and thin version of the inner sack on the inside right of his cloak. This was where he kept his carved unicorn hair embedded olive stick. But it would never reside there again after one more day.

Willen reached into the larger inner sack and drew out two phoenix feathers. He placed the largest feather, the one he had held during the previous night, on the worktable. He took the second one and held it in his left hand with the chosen split quarter piece of holly wood. He closed his eyes for several long moments and then used his small blade to cut along the shaft of the feather on each side, removing the flat vanes of barbs.

He then held the stripped shaft in his left hand with the split pieces of holly. He closed his eyes again and began to smile after only a moment.

He looked at Lindern and said with the same smile, "Good, I don't know how I would have done this if that had not worked." Lindern did not ask any of the dozens of questions on his face. "Lindern, I need a strong glue. I use horse hoofglue. What do you use?"

"Horse hoofglue is the strongest. It is what we always use."

"But it takes too long to dry. I wrap my rejoined strips of wood with rawhide strips and then they take a day and a night to dry completely."

"You use too thick a paste, I would wager," said Lindern. "A coating of the hoofglue, a little more thinned with water and heated before applying it, will dry right after lunch for coating. You have to place the pieces together quickly for bonding, but you should have enough time. You are going to coat it, aren't you?"

"Yes, Lindern. I use heated flaxseed oil and soot. I understand you are a master at preparing such a concoction."

Lindern was pleased that Willen thought so, and knew it was Constantia who had told him, which added to his delight at the compliment.

As Lindern prepared the mixture from ready supplies, and added wood to the small metal fire holder Torban had built for the bow makers to heat their coatings, he asked, "Willen, how many different coatings did you try before you discovered heated flaxseed oil and soot?"

"Oh, that was the only coating I tried. It just seemed right. Why do you ask?"

"Oh, no reason."

Lindern watched him take an already rounded, smoothed, and split strip of olive wood from his inner cloak sack. Willen said to Lindern, but actually to no one in particular, "I prepared this stick over a season ago. I knew it would be special, but I never knew why I had to stop manufacturing it when I did, or who it would be for until last night."

Willen then took a small bit of wood with a bright white hair wrapped around it out of his inner cloak sack.

"Is that a unicorn hair, Willen?"

"No. It's a veela hair."

"What's a veela?"

"That's a long story." About the time the olive wood and veela hair combination had been glued and wrapped in rawhide Willen had finished telling Lindern of his experiences with the young veela.

"Sun and Moon, Willen, has anyone led as exciting a life as you?"

"I hope not. This life has almost killed me, one, two... four... seven, eight times so far, I think. And it's not done trying yet. Don't envy me my fights and my experiences. Learn from my mistakes and the few things I have done right, but don't envy me." Willen stopped and looked at the young lad for several moments.

Lindern shivered slightly in the hot cooperage.

Willen said very seriously, "You will have enough of your own chances for fate to try to keep you from your destiny."

Lindern stared into his eyes and seemed to muster his courage. "Willen. I need a weapon. I promise to do whatever you say. I'll stay away from the battle if you wish, or go wherever you need me to help you, but I... well, I can't swing a battle blade and I cannot pull back a bowstring far enough yet. I can use the tripping spell you developed but I can't do anything else. Please, how can I...? What more can I do to help?"

Willen understood and felt like he owed this lad much for all the helped he had given Constantia in the many past seasons, and for preventing her from being at the towne when Porto had come recently. Again he reached into his mysterious sack attached to the inside of his cloak and pulled out an odd bit of green skin wrapped in some sort of green string. "Do you know what a sling is, Lindern?"

The boy shook his head, and Willen unraveled the dragon heartstring and dragon stomach hide sling Kwildas the Dragonslayer had insisted be made for Willen the Dragonslayer.

"Let me show you how it works." They walked out in back of the cooperage, and Willen picked up a small stone. He placed it in the piece of stomach skin and held the two straps in his left hand. He pointed off to the west, swung the sling around two complete revolutions, and let the stone fly. The stone hit a rock about the size of a person's head, five man lengths away.

"Excellent shot, Willen! I'm impressed."

Willen turned red and said, "I was aiming for the boulder." The boulder was the size of a large dog and was nearly two man lengths to the right of the stone he had hit. Willen offered the sling to Lindern.

The boy swallowed his embarrassment for Willen's poor performance and took the proffered sling.

He got an odd look on his face. "It's hot, Willen."

"That's a good sign. Take a stone and try to hit something with it."

Lindern chose a stone. He placed it in the center pouch of the sling and swung it like Willen had. He hit the same small rock.

"Is that what you aimed at, Lindern?" When the boy nodded, open-mouthed, Willen said, "Well, I'm through teaching you about that. You'll want to practice with the sling when you can, but you obviously have a Touch for that as well. I've seen it before. I once saw a blind lad about your age use a dragon sling to hit a Celtic warrior in the forehead. Killed the big brute about to kill the lad's sister. So do practice, but it should be enjoyable because you'll hit most everything you aim at.

"But for now, I'm hungry, and I'd wager you are too. Let's go see how the faire is going and get something to eat. Does Meala still make those baked bits of dough sweetened with honey?"

That afternoon, after Willen had finished carving the rejoined embedded sticks into their final shapes, and had smoothed them with stones, he and Lindern coated them with the heated flaxseed oil and soot.

The next morning, before the faire started, Constantia, Lindern, and Willen went out to her private archery field. They came back after the faire was underway. Now it looked like Constantia and Willen had a younger brother tagging along after them - either a younger brother or a puppy dog. All three were extremely happy.

Lindern received permission from Vanch to work with Willen for most of the rest of the day. Jamin received similar permission from his mother at the pottery display.

Willen had finally discovered the basic understanding of what designates a tree that can donate a piece of wood to be made into a power concentrator, how it needed to be combined with magical core materials, and how he might be able to feel or tell ahead of time, in some cases, who, or what type of person, might be chosen by the magik stick he had manufactured.

Willen had also realized he indeed had one more weapon to use against the wicked Druid brothers.

The day ended with ever increasing hope and increasing fear for others - for Caedric had not been seen since he had run out of the hut.

_______________________________

At lunchtime on the third and final day of the faire, Ludno's haphazardly repaired boat sailed up the Tameas River and grounded on shore. The boats of his three brothers had been burned by the Celts. When Ludno had not returned, he was feared lost in the terrible storm that had delivered Stellan and Willen to Loundon's Towne in such a quick passage.

Ludno's boat had been damaged and barely run aground on a barren coast for repairs. They had trouble finding the needed materials for the most minimal repairs to go back to sea. The boat could eventually be repaired to full seagoing shape, but most important to their return: Ludno had delivered another entire crew that had blades and weapons for fighting, and they were not afraid to use them. They had no training in land battle tactics, but they had experience in fighting, something most of those ready to fight in the community, save Willen, did not have.

The bulk of the numbers of those willing to fight the Celts were from the boat crews of the three burned and two surviving fishing boats, and quite a few Tillers with their pitchforks, and wood cutters with their axes.

As the faire ended, everyone began to prepare their minds for the fight the next day. Willen was about to send everyone to a quick dinner and then regroup for a meeting. But then there was a shout from a distance. Everyone looked that way.

One man was running in an exhausted manner across a field into the towne. He fell and got up, and ran on with a slight limp.

It was Caedric.

He was shouting Willen's name hoarsely, and as he approached, Dorgelt stepped out of the crowd and punched Caedric in the stomach. The Hunter shouted, "Traitor!" as loud as he could and raised his spear to pin the little Fisher to the ground. Caedric had the breath knocked out of him by the punch, and he struggled vainly to avoid being killed.

Dorgelt raised his spear and a pile of leaves nearby burst into flames. Willen had cast the Incendio spell from over four huts away. It was a feat of magik unseen thus far in history. Trotan grabbed Dorgelt's spear with his good right hand and the two struggled until Willen, Stellan, Constantia, and many others arrived.

Willen, his blade drawn, commanded Dorgelt to cease trying to kill Caedric.

"But, Willen, he has gone and betrayed us again. I'll wager he has warned Porto of our renewed efforts against him."

Constantia and Meala had Caedric up on his feet. His ribs hurt and the puffing from his running had been compounded by his breath being taken from him by Dorgelt's fist.

"Puff, Willen, I am a coward, huff, but that night in the hut, puff, the night of the, of the lights and the song, puff, I gained courage. I cannot fight. But I have spied for Torban. Gasp. You and Stellan did not think I knew, but I am a good spy. Puff. No one sees little me. I left that night to find out when Porto is coming. It was the only way I could help you. They come now!

"They will be here in less time than it takes to eat a meal. Probably sooner. I did not betray you, Willen. Please trust me like Torban did. I went to find him - Porto - to warn you."

The shouts of the crowd were mostly of panic, but then Willen shouted and brought some order out of chaos.

"Everyone fighting, go get your weapons and come back to the square. Everyone not fighting, please run to the woods or somewhere out of the way. Shout as you leave to the remaining visitors that the Celts are coming, but we cannot worry about them now. GO!

"Lindern, Jamin, you know what to do."

Pandemonium was produced by those fleeing the fight. The fighters knew fear to varying degrees, but there was silent, determined purpose in their activities. Most of the visitors made their way out of the towne unscathed, but a few came running back from one direction, reporting in terror, that the Celts were right behind them.

Porto's band of brigands all came riding into the towne in one group. There was no subtlety in their efforts - it was full frontal arrogant arrival right into the west end of the square. There was no attempt to gather anyone fleeing their advance. The three Druid brothers were in front. Porto had a look of anger on his face, and Portan and Portag were sneering at the villagers and ogling the young women. However, instead of the ten men of their previous visit, they now had thirty Celtic warriors with them, all following Bonderman.

The tables, exhibits, and displays left from the faire formed an obvious barrier where both parties met.

As Porto brought his horse to a stop, Willen stepped out in front of those in the square to meet him.

"Welcome, Porto, we have had a had a good faire, your tribute is not ready, yet, but we should be able to have it gathered for you by dark, or at least a good bit of it. Or you can return tomorrow and we will give a full accounting." Willen kept moving so that he was not within range of the olive sticks. He also moved to keep the Druid brothers' horses' heads where they might interfere with their aim.

"And who appointed you spokesman for this city? Porto City, I fancy it." The eldest Druid brother was very delighted with himself, and the commotion and clamor he had created with his sudden and unexpected arrival.

Willen looked around and then said, "I guess you did, Great Olive Hand, when you killed the founding father of Loundon's Towne." The use of the real name of the community was on purpose.

"I've not come to Porto City to receive tribute; I have come to take over. What is your name, young fool?"

"My name is Willen."

"You are the Willen? You are the one who is supposed to have traveled all the way to the south of Gaul for olive sticks? Well, I don't see any. I heard you do not want to kill me with your sticks." Porto was sitting there, filled with arrogance, delighted to disconcert Willen with his knowledge. However, his brothers had drawn their olive sticks.

"Yes, Druid from the homeland, I arrived here after your recent visit. As you probably know, you will receive no more olive sticks from the usual source." In return, Willen used information from his own intelligence sources to try to unsettle his opponent. "So, I offer you this gift to encourage you to leave our community alone. Lindern! Jamin!"

The boys ran out with a covered half barrel and stopped with a couple of tables and displays between them and the invaders. With a flourish they placed the barrel on a sturdy table, removed the cloth, and took several steps back and behind two men. But they did not stay there.

"What is this? A barrel of sticks... are those...?" There were over a hundred olive sticks, though no strips of olive wood, arranged in the barrel. In his Druidic circles, the olive sticks before him would be a wealth leading to power with little to compare, if they came from the right source in southern Gaul. They would be most valuable, and could outfit a legion of killer Druids he could control.

"Now that you present me with this, gift, what is to keep me from taking them and still taking over Porto City?"

By this time all of the invaders had dismounted and a few had taken all of their horses back out of the way. Those dismounted stood with a gap of nearly a hut's length between them and the makeshift barrier debris from the faire.

Porto stepped forward and shouted for effect, "You cannot kill me or my brothers. No one can kill a Druid..."

"No one, except," Willen interrupted, "someone who that Druid has tried to kill and failed. You never mention that, I'm told."

"True," said Porto with a look of curiosity and confusion on his face. He obviously wondered how this Willen knew so much about Druids. "But I have always achieved every death I have attempted."

"Almost every death, Porto. You may recall a lazy-eyed youth who you thought you had killed the first day you rode into Loundon's Towne. I was that boy. I fell over with a stomach cramp and your Killing Curse missed me. Your arrogance did not allow you to check your kill.

"Of course you are not the first Druids I have killed." Willen had decided to make an educated guess to further discompose his enemies. "I killed Bordo and Bordan, and their dragon, Grang. Oh, I also killed three of the six Celtic warriors with them, all at the same time." Willen knew a new meaning to Willen's Luck that very moment when he saw the looks of shock on the three brothers' face. The barrel of olive sticks had just become even more valuable. The warriors murmured amongst themselves, wondering at the truth of Willen's claims.

Who would act first was decided by the most unlikely occurrence. Dorgelt stepped forward and shouted, "Now, spearmen!" With a bit of hesitation the nine spearmen raised their spears in a ragged fashion and threw them at the mass of warriors.

The warriors spread apart and easily used their swords to bat down any spear that would have hit them.

Dorgelt then yelled, "We have lost, lads RUN!"

The nine, shy of Trotan, turned and ran through he crowd. Some of the Tillers with pitchforks joined them, and the few foolishly brave faire visitors who had decided to join the battle, ran also. However, those defenders who had hidden their swords and bows under cloaks and coverings drew them out. Constantia swept off her outer shift and joined Willen at the front. He had tried to talk her out of taking such a prominent position, but his words had gone unheeded.

Bonderman shouted, "So, my future wife does wear leather like a man, and carries a bow."

He had stepped up near Porto. The little man turned and whipped the tip of his olive stick across the large man's face, splitting his cheek.

But everyone from Loundon's Towne had their eyes on the man now standing, with his spear raised, at the forefront of the Celts on the other side of Porto.

Standing by Bonderman, Dorgelt said, "Yes, Willen, and all of you. You fools can die. I have joined the ranks of the new order. I will become the first citizen of Porto City."

The traitorous Hunter hurled his spear at Willen, and for the last time our hero was stunned into inactivity. The spearhead struck hard and deep in bone and muscle.

Right in Caedric's chest.

The little Fisher had thrown himself between Willen and death.

Willen fell to his knees and heard the Fisher's last words. "I'll go keep Torban company..."

Willen stood and began to draw his sword. Dorgelt had already picked up another spear and had prepared to throw it. "I have nine more to use...." Thwack!

An arrow had pierced the Hunter's heart. Constantia brought another out of her quiver and was notching it.

The battle had begun in earnest.

Following the Celtic manner of battle, the brigands spread out to give each other fighting room. Their enemy would then have to come to them in an equally spread out fashion. Celts shunned the bow and arrow as a weapon. It seemed appropriate to them that there were several women archers among the towne's defenders.

But the Celts had not become known as legendary fighters because of their stupidity. They knew the archers were a major threat, so a third of the invaders ran as a group into the fight with the purpose of making their way to the archers and killing them as soon as possible.

Willen had discussed with the archers, swordsmen, and the few who would fight with olive hands, the idea of fighting in pairs. Meala fought beside Conlander. She would use the Body Bind Spell on a man and then Conlander would strike him down with his blade. The Smith also protected Meala while she tried to get close enough to a Celt to cast the spell. Her range of effectiveness was less than an arm's length. The huge Smith fought with his single good hand holding his sword, and an olive hand lashed to his wrist. In practice, his power concentrator had worked in this manner, while he focused all of his attention on the magik, but he could not fix all of his attention solely on casting spells in this melee. He quickly became a swordsman only. Meala hit several warriors with a Body Bind with little effect, so she started setting them on fire. That spell worked. Conlander finished a number of her flaming victims.

Panden went down very quickly. He had cast an effective Body Bind on one Celt. As he watched his archer place an arrow in the petrified warrior, another Celt cleaved the Tiller nearly in two. His archer was killed while she threw up at the sight of another dead founder of the towne.

Bengt the Miller was also dispatched after he had petrified his second warrior, but his partner swordsman ran and joined two others with battle blades and fought on through his tears. That swordsman was Bengt's son.

Trotan the Houseman had hurled his spear with the others. He pounded a table to pieces with his good hand, and used a table leg to bludgeon three Celts to death before the end of the battle. Trotan's father, Baijan the Houser, died while attempting to make a second kill with one of his hammers. Baijan's first swing had killed a warrior who had just killed one of the many Tillers with pitchforks.

Porto snarled his rage at the onset of the fight, and melted back into the press of his warriors. He feared the truth of Willen's claim on his life. However, Porto's brothers came forward. Portan went straight after Willen.

"I haven't tried to kill you and failed, Lazy Eye."

Using the name, Lazy Eye, obviously meant as an insult, puzzled Willen. He no longer had a lazy eye, but bigotry needs no basis in fact.

A Celt helped him dodge the Killing Curse. Just as Avada Kedavra left Portan's mouth, the warrior struck Willen in the back with his blade. Willen went down and the curse hit the Celt in his face. Willen was bruised but unhurt. The blade had hit Willen's dragon skin cloak and had not penetrated as it would have any other article of clothing. Kwildas the Dragonslayer had been right, the dragon hide gave protective powers to the wearer who had slain the dragon that gave the skin.

Willen rolled forward and came up onto his feet, right in front of his attacker - much closer than men stood talking to each other. Willen said, "Thank you. You are now mine."

Instead of cursing Willen, Portan looked back so he could step back without tripping, and then turned to face his opponent. Before Portan could curse him again, Willen stabbed his blade into the ground and raised his right hand in the well-known signal to halt. "But first let me show you this."

Willen drew out his carved holly wood and phoenix feather power concentrator. He raised it up into the air. He shot a tremendous explosion of red sparks into the air that caused all on the field to look up. The burst of red sparks made an impressive and distracting display; however, all of the defenders still alive had seen Willen do this before. They recovered from this distraction before their opponents, and in their individual battles, seven more invaders fell to sword and arrow in the next moment's time.

Portan looked back down at Willen and was about to ask how he had done that.

Willen said, "Surprise!" as he brought his blade around in a mighty swing and took off Portan's head.

Bonderman roared and hacked the bow out of Constantia's hand, destroying it. He had snuck up on her from behind and moved to disarm her. "My wife will never take up arms against me. I will be Keeper and you will serve me with a limp to slow you." Bonderman swung his sword at Constantia's legs in an attempt to maim her. Taleena, the wife of Vanch the Cooper, had joined Constantia after her husband had died. Vanch had made two small barrels and filled them with sand. He had run arm's length rope handles through them and used then as battle maces after a fashion. He had crushed the skull of one Celt and broken the sword arm of another - that one pulled out a small blade with his unbroken arm and had slit the Cooper's throat.

Through her tears, Taleena had joined Constantia, and had momentarily petrified one warrior and set fire to two others. Constantia had placed arrows in all three, ending their lives. The bow was a distance weapon, and rather awkward to use at this close range, but use it she did. Then Bonderman broke her bow. Willen's intended had only wanted to fight with her bow, even though the olive wood and embedded veela hair magik stick Willen had made her had sung to her and shot out red sparks. Now the power concentrator was her only weapon - almost.

Constantia rolled right and then left away from Bonderman's strikes at her legs, and found a moment to cast, Confundus! Willen had taught her the spell to confuse people, and it did stop Bonderman in his tracks momentarily. Constantia dodged the sword swings of another before Rezala hit that warrior with an arrow from over a hut's length away. Constantia waved her gratitude and turned back to Bonderman.

The big oaf had cleared his head and ran towards her; there was murder in his eyes. He appeared to have no further plans to cripple her. Constantia shouted, Incendio! and Bonderman rolled on the ground covered in flames. Though rolling to put out the flames, he still lunged towards her. Constantia skidded back on her hands, barely keeping out of the flaming berserker's reach.

Most of his body was still on fire as he stopped crab-walking forward. His singed face looked up at her as he came to his knees. Constantia's bow was broken, but she still had two arrows in her quiver. Bonderman looked into her eyes and she said, "Your wife waits for you in the pit of death." Then she drove an arrow through each of Bonderman's eye sockets.

Taleena helped Constantia to her feet. Though still teary-eyed, the newly widowed Cooper's wife pointed to Constantia's magik stick and said, "I want one like that." The two re-entered the fight.

Rather unique in history is the fact that Celtic women were quite often a part of their warrior bands. This group, however, viewed women as property, and therefore, viewed killing a woman not as much of an achievement as killing a man. This protected a number of the women of Loundon's Towne, and made the Celts ignore the women defenders to a certain degree. The oversight cost a number of them their lives.

Jamin and Lindern came running out from their hiding places and started tripping the Celtic warriors. They were both very adept at the Tripping Spell. They headed in different directions. Jamin was responsible for several warriors falling so others could stab, slice, or bludgeon them to death.

Lindern tripped one Celt and ran into the side of Portag. Portag had foolishly spent most of his time using Crucio to torture the defenders instead of killing them. He noticed that the battle seemed to be turning in favor of the towne's combatants, so only then did he begin to kill in earnest. He had killed his sixth, one of Ludno's sailors, when he was almost knocked down by Lindern in their collision.

Lindern was small and fast. And he was scared out of his mind. The boy ran in and out and under several tables and displays from the faire that had been damaged in the fighting. The Killing Curses caused an exploding sound when they hit the wooden objects, and splinters flew everywhere. As he chased Lindern through the debris, and after he had missed the lad with his fifth attempt, he ran across the head of his brother, Portan.

Portag forgot the lad and went after Willen - the only one who could have killed his brother.

Willen spotted Porto across the battlefield at the same time that Porto found him. Their eyes locked from over two huts' length away, and they fought their way towards each other. Willen killed a Celt with his blade on the way to this confrontation, and Porto sent a Killing Curse into Rezala. She dropped her bow and went down noiselessly.

Willen purposefully went to his left as he moved toward his ultimate foe. Porto unknowingly followed him in that direction. While still out of Porto's death range, Willen sent a Body Bind Spell and a Fire Starting Spell at the Druid. Porto easily used a method from the Old Way to block the spells. Willen wished he had thought of trying to discover a blocking spell. Too late now.

Porto stopped and laughed. "You have power, boy, I grant you that. But you're too soft hearted to rule - and too soft headed. That's why it will be called Porto City."

The Druid was still out of his range to kill Willen. Our hero raised his holly and phoenix feather concentrator and Porto prepared to block him again. But Willen turned to his left and shouted, "Incendio!" The barrel of olive sticks burst into flames.

Porto was stricken. His new prize, the means to rule an empire made up of all the Celtic tribes, burned before him. He ran to the blazing barrel, trying to remember the water producing words of the Old Way. He looked up and saw that Willen ran towards him. The spoiler of his dreams was now in range and Porto wanted his death.

The Druid stopped and faced Willen as they converged. Constantia saw it and wanted to shout. Conlander and Meala looked on in horror. Stellan tried in vain to close his eyes. Trotan wished for a spear to hurl.

Willen knew he would not reach Porto in time with his blade, so he considered the Killing Curse. He remembered the words he had tried to forget. He raised his holly stick.

Lindern had circled around when Portag had stopped chasing him. He came out in a place where he could see Porto about to kill Willen. The stone would just not settle in his sling in time.

Constantia placed her hand holding her olive wood and veela hair power concentrator over her heart and said, "I love you, Willen. I believe in you."

Willen's decision was made. He threw his power concentrator high into the air for Porto to catch. Porto released his own olive stick and caught Willen's device in mid air. It only took an extra moment to catch Willen's olive hand, which had amazed Porto during the entire battle. Porto caught it, held it up, and shouted, Avada Kedavra! at Willen who was only a man's length away.

Such a highly developed magikal power concentrator has to be matched to the individual - so much so that the more powerful and advanced the design, the more the device itself has to choose its owner. This device had chosen Willen. In addition to that, even though Porto had a strong affinity for olive wood, he had no compatibility with holly. The green light Killing Curse went a hand's length from the end of the carved stick Porto held and dissipated into nothing.

Willen came down almost from the sky it seemed, with the blade that Torban had lovingly made with his Touch for metalcrafting. All of the defenders left alive with the Touch for magik, heard the song of the blade. Meala felt a wholeness in her heart that she had not felt in a fortnight. Constantia told her father that she loved him. One wounded sailor from Stellan's boat swore for the rest of his life that he saw the corpse of Caedric smile at that moment.

Torban's blade came down from the sky and Willen cut off Porto's arm holding the carved holly stick just behind the wrist. Using the momentum of the blade, Willen turned in a complete circle and took off Porto's head.

Willen bent over to take his power concentrator from Porto's lifeless hand, and the green light of a Killing Curse sizzled just over his back, missing taking our hero's life by a fraction of a moment. The dragon hide cloak protected him from what would have been serious peripheral damage from the curse, but the green light still drove Willen to his knees.

Portag stood triumphantly over the temporarily defenseless Willen. With a wild-eyed look on his face he started to say, "Avada Kedav..."

Lindern used the dragon heartstring sling to sink a stone deeply into Portag's forehead, ending the curse half spoken. Portag had tried and failed five times to kill the lad.

At that moment, Pholx appeared over the battlefield. His phoenix song brought courage, hope, and joy to the hearts to the remaining defenders. The two unwounded Celtic warriors ran in fear as their impure hearts clawed at their minds.

Quiet descended on the scene of carnage. Only the sound of the few Celtic horses marred the stillness. The towne champions, those still standing, and those still alive but on the ground with their wounds, surveyed the detritus of the battle. Broken displays, tables, and wares were interspersed with severed limbs and bloody mud - and corpses.

There was no joy in victory or delight in the success of battle. There were twenty-nine dead invaders.

And forty-two dead defenders. Nine were wounded seriously, and two of them would die from their wounds during the night. No one who fought came out of the battle without cuts, bruises, or scrapes to show for their efforts.

Willen felt like such a failure.

_______________________________________

"And now I place the wreath of union over your entwined arms. This is my first official act as chosen leader of Loundon's Towne," said Stellan, "and I know I will never have a happier duty."

Naelly did not stand at her friend Constantia's side at her union with Willen. Instead, she sat in a chair specially built for her by Barlint the Cooper. His oldest living friend, Stellan would have been Willen's choice to stand with him, but the Fisher had to preside over the union ceremony, so Conlander stood with Willen instead. The Smith had been surprised when he had been asked, but he had also been galvanized into action.

After the battle, Willen had time to think about olive hands, power concentrators, whatever you call them; and he remembered he had made a dragon heartstring and olive wood carved stick for the Metal Forger of Loundon's Towne. He had felt all along that if would be for Torban. It did not occur to him that it might be for Conlander until after the battle. Willen had showed him the device he had thought was Torban's. Willen heard the same familiar song when Conlander first held it in his hand, and the familiar red sparks came out of the end.

Another one had chosen its owner.

Conlander and Willen quickly discovered the Latin words for a sticking spell so the Smith could work his trade. The first two items he crafted were gold and silver finger wreaths for Constantia and Willen.

When the battle had ended, the victors - who had felt anything but victorious - stood, dumbstruck, among the carnage. Those left standing staggered to Willen and Lindern. They had been the focus point of the last moments of the battle. They all embraced for just a moment, but then they heard one of their fellow defenders weakly crying for help.

From an unknown resource, with the fever of the battle draining strength from them rapidly, the defenders went to the aid of the wounded. Most had cuts, scrapes, or some sort of damage from the fighting. The nine defenders seriously wounded but still alive from the battle, were moved to Meala's hut, which had barely been remade into her home after its previous use as an infirmary. Willen tried to use the healing spell he had showed Haana in the south of Gaul, but he seemed to be only slightly effective with it. Meala had better results with her unicorn hair and olive wood carved stick, even though it had not chosen her. A Tiller and one of Ludno's sailors died in that hut during the night.

The wounded Celts were dead before half of the wounded of the city's defenders had been moved to the hut. These enemies had been dispatched by angered loved ones of those killed before Willen even thought about that possibility.

With the quiet after the battle painfully obvious, many of those who had hidden during the fighting had tentatively at first, and then joyously come out to greet and congratulate the victors. They came from the edge of the woods and their huts where they had hidden. They saw the last of the Celts cowardly riding away in haste.

Their desire to celebrate with the successful defenders was strangled in moments. They found their protectors dazed, muddled, speechless for the most part, and dizzy. Many shivered with the shock, and a few shook terribly.

Instead of a joyous commemoration, those who did not fight organized themselves to deal with the aftermath - relieving the fighters of the task. Several of the vanquishers stood there seriously bleeding while staring at nothing. They were led to Meala's hut to be tended and sent home.

Graller the Tanner was too old to have fought. He had offered to join the battle anyway, but all of the city founders had asked him not to. Now, Graller took over those others who had not been in the fight, and formed them into three groups. One group carefully took the dead defenders to the river, where they would be prepared to be sent on their journey in the morning. A second group transported the dead invaders to a field to be burned in good riddance. A third had started cleaning up the debris of the faire and the fight.

Graller asked, "Willen, please excuse me, but what do we do with the Druids?"

Willen wiped his face and turned from Constantia, and Meala. They had been in a silent, mind-numbed loose embrace. "Erm... tomorrow I will deal with their bodies. I do not know what I will do, but I don't want them burnt. They will not join their dead to be so quickly sent on. Just gather all their... that is, please place all of them near the speaking platform, cover them with one of the abandoned cloth coverings from the faire, and I will deal with them in the morning."

Few woke with the crowing roosters the next day.

At midmorning, Willen staggered out of Stellan's hut. Stellan had collapsed there the night before, too drained to walk the short distance to his boat. Willen found the Fisher sleeping on his carryall.

"Stellan." He shook him. "Stellan, what are you doing sleeping on my carryall?"

"Huh, uhm, uh, I thought you would use it to dispose of the Druids. I didn't want you to have to do it alone."

Willen nodded after a too-long moment, and they staggered off to their task.

They had dug the grave about three man lengths west of the tree - the holly tree that had started Willen on his path to his destiny.

It was one grave, but it was wide enough for all three brothers' bodies, side by side. Willen had used the shovel last. In their exhaustion the two had taken turns, and Willen made a mental note to himself to try to develop a digging spell.

The bodies were arranged and Stellan moved to begin to cover them. Willen stopped him. "I want to say something first."

Stellan nodded and Willen cleared his throat and began. "I bury you rather than burn you so you can think on your lives and the waste you made of them before you are released to go beyond. Ending your bodies now, by fire, would not give you enough time to learn. While you wait for release, think on this tree. It gave me my olive hand. Think of what might have been had you wanted friendship and cooperation, instead of aggression and domination."

Willen grabbed the shovel and started to cover the bodies.

"I wondered why you wanted to bury them rather than burn them in dishonor. You are wise to send them beyond after they have paid for their crimes by waiting."

"It is not that, Stellan, though honestly that is a reason too. But I might have ended up just like them, and I wanted them to have a chance to change for their own good, as well as the good of whatever lies beyond."

As the dirt completely covered the last bit of Portag's robe, Stellan hesitantly asked, "How could you have possibly ended up like them?"

"That tree," Willen pointed at the tree he had been talking about all this time, "has the same power for magik as I call it, for me, as the olive trees had for Porto and his brothers. It is not the type of tree that is powerful. Certain specific trees within many types of trees, apparently, are protected by bowtruckles. Those protected trees are the ones that produce the wood that can become power concentrators. In addition, certain trees work with certain people with the Touch, and other people work better with a different type of wood. I work well with holly wood, Constantia and Conlander work well with olive wood, as did these three. Jamin will probably work with an olive wood and dragon heartstring magik stick, but I have not manufactured it yet, and I do not know if I can on purpose, unless I feel it while making it. I have made olive hands with certain people in mind at the start. I have made them for a type of person by trade. And I have made them with no one in mind, and have had them call to me when the opportunity arose. I have even had power concentrators I have made choose people I have never met in a city I have never been to.

"Also, I have used as magik stick cores unicorn hairs, dragon heartstring, phoenix feathers, and veela hair. Although, I had a funny feeling about the veela hair embedded carved stick even while I made it - it works well enough for Constantia though. But who knows what else will work? They are all magikal creatures, I guess, but what other creatures are magikal? And what parts of them will work? Feathers? Hair? Heartstring? Skin? Bone? Claws? What else don't I know?

"Then there are the spells. I know almost a dozen - is that it? Are there a dozen more, or a dozen dozen more?

This is my new quest, Stellan. I must find the different types of trees protected by bowtruckles, the different magikcal cores, the different types of spells needed, and whatever else there is to discover. Of course I will start near here with short day trips and sail with you to different parts of Albion, and beyond, but that is why, when they come to me today and ask me to be the new leader of this towne, I will decline the offer and tell them to appoint you in my place."

"But... but, Willen. I - you - but I can't--"

"You can and you will, because in some ways you already have been a towne leader, and should step up to the primary role. Meala, Vanch, Bengt, Pandan, even Caedric recognized that you had been a valuable advisor to Torban and the founders of this community. You had the idea about bringing people here with your boat. You had the idea of selling our excess goods by shipment all year around, and to build the new goods transporting boat. You just made contact with the copper miner. Frandit the Miner told me at the faire that he plans on making all of his ore shipments with you once that boat is completed. We need to start another such shipping boat right away - and there is the fishing boat fleet to rebuild. Distant trade and the sea will be a major part of Loundon's Towne's future - and who knows that better than you? You'll be wealthy and bring much more wealth to our community. We can build more ships, more row makers, and who knows what else. We can support an ever-expanding city with what you have done so far, and what else might you think up next season, or next summer, or ten summers from now?

"And who better will know how to help others with new ideas to help our community?

"No, Stellan, you should be the leader of this community, and I will help you in any way I can, but I want to make two requests."

Dumbfounded with the possibilities, Stellan just nodded.

"First, I would like to be the head of your defensive forces. We have not seen the last of the Celts or these selfish evil Druids. Freedom is not purchased only once. We will have to pay again and again."

"Willen, I wouldn't want anyone else in charge of our defenses. What else?"

"Second, you must proclaim the union between Constantia and me. For some reason, she insists it should take place seven days after the battle day. That is not too soon for me, so I agreed. Will you do it?"

"It will be my great joy, Willen. So this is going to be what you will be doing for a trade now that you are back with us? Is there pay enough in it to support a family?"

"I have a number of gold bits and other valuables from my travels as a peddler. There is income promised from a number of Torban's investments over the years. One of the visitors to the faire offered me a purse full of gold bits if I would agree to help his son find a power concentrator that chooses him. The lad has almost finished his apprenticeship as a Weaver, and apparently has the Touch for it.

"There are plenty of people with the Touch as you know it, Stellan, that may be chosen by an olive hand of known design and composition, but many won't with either olive wood or holly, so I feel my future trade lies in discovering all that I mentioned before so I can help empower as many good people with the Touch for magik as I can."

"How will you know if they're good, Willen?"

"I'll try and succeed, and I'll try and fail. I knew you were good when you had just halted trying to kill me. I knew Caedric was somehow good, and he certainly proved that in the end. I felt sure Dorgelt was good, and that belief almost got me killed. How else would you do it?"

Stellan said nothing. They finished covering the grave. Willen said, "I will bring Meala and Constantia out here to spit on their graves, this afternoon or tomorrow. They will want to give water to speed their enemies on the way to their slow trip beyond."

"Willen, how could you have been as bad as these three? I still can't believe that!"

"Imagine, Stellan, had I discovered before my travels the power of the wood from this holly for me. I would have used it on Porto the next time he came to Loundon's Towne, and I might have killed him, particularly if I had surprised him. Remember, I knew the words of his Killing Curse. In that I would have killed with the Old Way. My soul would have become poisoned, and I would have become drunk with my power eventually. How soon would it have taken me to become as callous to killing as these three were? I would have been worse than them, Stellan, I know it."

Stellan took over the narrative. "So, instead, you go on a journey longer than anyone has ever been on that I have heard of. You fight dragons, wolves, Druids, and Celtic warriors. You are nearly killed on any number of occasions and you spend most of the time in a dungeon with a man most considered mad.

"You make friends with a phoenix and a veela; you discover a major new form of the Touch called magik. You set people free from bondage, convert a crotchety old sailor from his thieving ways, and turn him into a city leader. You lead a whole towne into a major battle on a moment's notice and win at great cost. You kill not one, but two impossible to kill Druids and teach a boy of fourteen summers how to do it also.

"You save the towne, marry the beautiful girl of your dreams, and do so, not with the object of the quest that you sought for all of those seasons, but with the wood from a tree you could have walked to in the time it takes to boil an egg.

"Willen! How do you explain all of that?"

The boy turned man who had experienced all just described and so much more, looked at his oldest friend and smiled.

"Willen's Luck."

 

_____________________________________________________________________

 

 

Epilogue

 

"And that, Mr. Potter, is the story of how my family's business was founded in 382 B.C. Of course Willen did not know that number designation system for the summers and cycles that he wrote of then. It wasn't until the institution of the Julian calendar and the Gregorian calendar, that the year was actually set at the number 382 B.C."

Harry was dazed by these words for a second, but then said, "And so Willen and Constantia lived happily ever after?"

"Why, of course not, Mr. Potter. I mentioned that their love story could be a model for a fairy tale, and so it was and is, but real life is not a fairy tale as you know all too well."

"Sir, I know we've finished the inventory, but could you please tell me a little about their lives? And you also mentioned a final battle with the Druids, and, well, how did the name Olive Hander evolve into Ollivander?"

Ollivander looked at his pocket watch and said, "We close in nineteen minutes, and I daresay I have kept you from your studies long enough, but in the time remaining, what can I briefly tell you...? Hmmm.

"Well. You asked about happily ever after. No, it was too violent a time, and two Celtic warriors did escape to tell the others of what had happened, and of the riches of Loundon's Towne."

And one last time our story continues...

With Meala's blessing, and with the general agreement of all of the remaining prominent and oldest residents of the community, Stellan declared the name of the City on the Tameas River to be changed to Loundon Towne. It was a fine distinction, but the intent was to change the name from an acknowledgement that Torban had led them to the location, to actually naming the city for him.

Though one of the world's great cities for hundreds of years, it is still referred to as 'London Town.'

That very next spring another band of Celtic brigands approached Loundon Towne. The two survivors had attached themselves, fortunately, to Flidag, son of Krido, the young underlord who Porto had embarrassed in the port tavern.

To try to re-establish the family's tarnished honor, Krido had purchased a position of overlord for his son in Albion, and had sent him a number of Celtic warriors for his use in conquest. Flidag was just as Porto had surmised. He was arrogant, bold, overconfident, and stupid. He delighted in the story of Porto's death and ignored every shred of evidence that Loundon Towne would be formidable to conquer - including the means of Porto's death.

Fifty Celts and four weak olive hand Druids rode straight into Loundon Towne, and Flidag had made sure that the two who had escaped that first fight were in the front echelon. By the time of the attack, Flidag had convinced himself that the myth of a Druid killer named Willen, wielding an especially powerful olive hand, was just that - a myth - and the two had been cowards.

Noting the effectiveness of the one weak spy, Caedric, Willen had developed a spy network that had worked well. The towne was forewarned and had plenty of time to prepare. The arrows flew from a distance this time. The spears were thrown correctly. The final battle ended with a massive fire for the dead Celts in the same field of dishonor. Six of the defenders had been wounded, none seriously.

This victory was better because of the one sided butcher's bill, but Willen and the rest of the towne did not want to kill anyone.

Willen had corresponded by Pholx with Nerta and Ninato. The two had perfected their methods of subtlety, subterfuge, and hiding in plain sight, to the point where they were ready to teach other magikal couples - it took two married magikal ones.

After their first son was born, Stellan took Willen, Constantia, and the baby on a sea voyage. The three spent two moons in Hirel and the baby returned, spoiled and fattened by Nerta's attention and cooking. Willen and Constantia conceived their second son on this trip. He would be named Torban.

Hiding Hirel, a village of less than a hundred with no geographic distinctiveness had been one thing. Hiding the largest city in Albion in a prominent place on a key river tributary was another. But Ninato had a theory that might work - the bigger and the grander the lie, the bigger and better would be the fall of the gullible.

What if the Celts who landed at the white cliffs didn't go north along the coast and up the Tameas and into the more populated regions? Instead, what if they went due west and avoided most of the places where the natives of Albion lived? Good idea, but what would make them do such a thing?

A party of twenty-three arrived at a flat piece of land that was nowhere near the inhabited regions of Albion. They had traveled about a three-day's walk with their carts, tools, and devices, and this was the perfect spot. Below the surface there were a number of huge splintered rocks. Perfect for the largest subterfuge in all of what would be known as Europe.

Taking into account the fact that those in this last wave of Celts from the homeland were very superstitious, and very ignorant of the Old Ways, those of the party that could do magik began to help the rest take the large rocks and prepare them. They cut the stones very roughly and applied spells to make the cuts look like they had occurred many years before - hundreds, thousands of years before.

They raised some stones on end and stacked other stones on top of them. They made a giant circle out of them. All of this was aged to look like it had been there for centuries upon centuries. Not far away another group with woodcutters were creating huge circles of wooden poles and stakes. Easily discoverable tombs were created at each site and instead of skeletons, they were filled with old parchments. Some were real Druidic writings in disrepair that had been copied already. Nerta and Ninato, and Eirran had donated a number of such scrolls and scroll bits. To this was added the subtleties.

The grand lie went as follows: A mythic and ancient Celtic wonder world awaited them on an island on the west coast of Albion. All true, believing, pure Celts needed to do to release the riches, power, and grandeur of that world was to go there and rebuild according to the ancient texts. As the wonderful world neared completion, the ancients would come back to life and bring their power and riches with them, filling what Celts and Celts alone had built with the wealth and splendor had been before.

Only pure Celtic hands could do the building. Only Celts could be faithful enough. They must cast off their contact with the polluting native population, and never soil themselves with mating or raping or even killing the natives.

Special routes were mapped out and sacred pilgrimages described that took the Celts on a circuitous path to a western island of past and future wonder. Many other rock and wooden circle formations would lead them on this path.

Of course Willen and Constantia had made up all of this with Nerta and Ninato. Willen's best spies wandered into Celtic strongholds, told of their visions of the ancient rock and wooden circle structures appearing out of the mist. They told where the structures could be found, and then somehow vanished to go to the ancient island.

Most Celts followed the path and went to the Isle of Anglesey off of the coast of what would one day be known as Wales. The major destructive force of the Celts was diluted with the desire for the new city of the faithful Celts. The migration/invasion paths went away from all known native cities, and Loundon Towne was spared having ever increasing numbers of brigands assaulting them. Roughly once a generation those in Loundon Towne would experience some attempt at conquest at the hands of the greediest of Celts led by Druids, but the potential for an overwhelming, unified, mass attack had been thwarted.

Loundon Towne continued to grow. In 376 B.C., right after Willen and Constantia's third son, Egorn, was born, the five of them and Stellan set out on a voyage to Remers. Stellan took his new bride with him, Meala. She had been the woman that he'd spoken of to Willen; the woman he loved, who loved another. They had shared leadership of the city together, and had done so much more together to advance his goods shipping and fishing business, and all of the businesses of Loundon Towne. However, Stellan would have never said a word to her in memory and honor of Torban. But Torban had always said to Meala that he thought Stellan would make a good husband for a good woman, and Meala felt like she could never marry anyone who wanted her to forget her first husband. Stellan would never be like that.

Willen had taught all of the economic principles and practices he'd learned from Eirran, as well as responsibilities, to Stellan, Conlander, Lindern, and every other tradesman in Loundon Towne who had been interested. This set a basis for an economy that would last for thousands of years. It was responsible business working hand in hand with responsible government, both providing opportunity for prosperity for all, based on merit, ability, and effort. Of course the lazy and greedy did not like the system, but that had not been newsworthy even in 382 B.C.

Willen taught about magik there in Remers for three moons, and experimented with the magikal ones on advancing spell and wand tekhnologi.

Finally, a simple and elegant name had been determined for the carved and embedded, power concentrating, magikal-one-choosing, olive hand magik sticks.

Wand!

The perfect name.

The family of Eirran and the family of Willen would be life long friends. Stellan spent that summer opening up trade routes and relationships with all of what would be northern Europe. In just over two millennia the expression "Rule Britannia" would be a global catchphrase for commerce and empire. It would exist because of sea power - trading and military sea power - all dating back to the non-magikal magical seagoing mind of Stellan the Fisher.

Two years later, after their fourth son, Vanch, was born, Willen, Constantia, and their sons joined Stellan and Meala on a voyage around Gaul and Iberia to the southern coast of Gaul. Trade was established and a visit was paid to the Aldertani Keep. Willen had never known that part of the lands of the Keep touched the sea there at a tiny fishing village known as Massilia. Meala and Constantia consulted with Haana about her healing spells. She was the only one in their generation to ever have developed spells other than Willen. They had much to teach each other. Stellan now had sailing routes and trading contacts throughout this region as well. Initial trading was even established, covertly, with the new Roman Empire.

All trade was established in a surreptitious and covert manner, unless friendships likes those with the good people of Remers and the Aldertani Keep were in place. It was policy for Loundon Towne businesses and leadership, that the only ones that would know about them were those who understood magik, and the special responsibilities accompanying such power. This is why Muggle history records that nothing existed but a few small fishing huts on the banks of the Tameas before the Roman invasion, even thought a huge community had existed there for centuries.

Everywhere Stellan went, even covertly, contact was made with those identified as trustworthy magikal ones. The network of magikal ones existed through the owl (and one phoenix) system of message carrying birds. Trustworthiness was determined and relationships initiated. Then, someone would visit the new contacts by way of one of Stellan's goods trading boats - and soon many people with the Touch and the promise to use magik only for good, were receiving by boat or bird a power concentrating wand.

Conlander and Neally had not been idle while Willen discovered more spells and bowtruckle guarded wand wood sources, and Stellan had been opening trade relations throughout the western half of the known world.

The forge had been untouched by the battle, so Conlander immediately began developing his ideas of metal crafts with broad appeal. His work leaned towards the more practical items. The battle blades, forever to be known as swords, were a difficult item to manufacture, but they brought a great price. Every non-Celtic warrior and Keeper of Land wanted a sword. Most wanted a longer blade with a one-handed grip, or an even longer blade designed for two hands. So the benefits of the Torban design, a shorter, two-handed sword, remained a fighting secret of those trained in Conlander's and Willen's style.

Conlander also developed the utility blade and sheath, and advances in metal parts used for boat building and agriculture. Finding metal workers had been difficult for Torban, but now those who wanted to be Smiths by trade, came to Loundon Towne in increasing numbers.

Naelly made her contribution to the metal working industry of the community in two ways. She bore Conlander seven sons, all who became Smiths in name as well as trade, and three daughters. All three daughters married sons of Willen and Constantia.

Naelly also contributed to her husband's business in more practical ways. Stellan's trade in shipping copper to ports in Albion and Gaul caused Naelly to wonder why Conlander did so little with copper. Copper alone, and its amalgamations with other metals, were too soft for most of the products Conlander was interested in - he primarily worked in iron and iron mixtures. But one of the new journeymen metal workers had spent time making copper jewelry in his previous village, which had been overrun by Celts. His name was Awert, and he did not fancy himself a Smith. Naelly designed the jewelry she wanted and Awert made it. They experimented with combinations of copper and zinc to make brass candleholders, and worked with copper and tin to make bronze mirrors. Soon this aspect of their business rivaled the iron works in profitability. Naelly and Conlander, and their following generations, provided opportunity and employment for many.

Lindern co-managed the Cooperage set up by Vanch with Cinko. The lad's arm held a mighty scar, but he recovered almost all of his use of that arm and hand. Over the years Lindern spent less and less time in barrel making, and more time with bow and arrow design. His basic design for the bow, and a modified arrow, proved to be an excellent hunting weapon. Lindern took on the trade name, Bowman, and the ever so many great grandson of the bow he and Vanch developed, became the famous English Longbow, heroic weapon of the Battles of Cercy and Agincourt, and many others.

After Constantia and Willen's fifth son, Pandan, was born, Willen began a tedious tour of Albion. He tried to avoid Celtic areas that were strictly Celtic because of the subterfuges he had created, but he intentionally went into areas held by Celts where natives of Albion also lived. He visited all other native settlements and communities he could discover.

He hunted for those with the Touch. He wanted them to come to Loundon Towne to train in magik with the magikal ones there. It was good for his business, but it was much better for those with the Touch and their communities. It took three summers on foot to cover all of Albion, but during this three year sojourn, he was able to arrive back home by late autumn, where he wintered with his family before setting out the next spring.

At the end of all of this traveling, Willen rested. No one had been where he had been or had seen what he had witnessed. He began to write. His sixth and last son, Bengt, was born.

Willen's sons all grew up strong, wise, and powerful in magik. The two eldest trained to carry on the traditions and business of the family, wandmaking. All were trained in the basic family abilities.

Porto had a younger cousin, who had a son. In the next generation he convinced the powers that be among the Celtic nobility in Albion to attack the city of Loundon Towne. It was known by all Celts as a poor little village and no one ever went there because if it. Porto's cousin once removed, renamed himself Porto and declared he had risen from the grave to fight Loundon's Towne again.

Though getting older, Willen was much younger looking than anyone his age without the Touch - all magikal ones who had trained and used magik with one of Willen's wands experienced the same youthfulness and longer lives than average. After setting up the defensive systems, training cadres, and his spy network, Willen had handed over defense of the towne to Lindern before his trips throughout Albion. Lindern had maintained the same sharp edge on the defenses, but his successor had not.

When the self-proclaimed resurrected Porto attacked with his new army of nearly two hundred pillagers, the towne was surprised and many died before Willen and his six sons, Lindern and his four sons, and the fourteen Potters arrived. They were all excellent swordsmen or spearmen and the battle turned quickly in favor of the defenders. The still powerful Conlander and his huge sons all cut a wide path through the attackers. In a few more minutes a rain of arrows fell from Constantia and the wives and sisters of the four families of warrior magikal ones.

Few Celts survived, and they were all captured. Torban, the second son of Willen and Constantia, had been working with early memory charms. He could only erase all memories or nothing at all, so all of the warriors that survived ended up as simpleton farm hands with native farmers throughout Albion. They came with a small bag of gold bits to help ease the transition of the memory-less warrior into the pastoral life.

No good deed seems to go unpunished.

At any time there were significantly more non-magikal people in a towne or village than magikal ones. The number without the Touch was very large in Loundon's Towne, and a number of troublemakers did not like the fact that the magikal ones seemed to be wealthier and lived longer than everyone else. Plenty of people began to complain about these disparities.

What Eirran had said so many summers before in the dungeon came back to Willen's mind: Those the magikal ones helped would become jealous and fearful of them.

Slowly but surely homes and businesses of the magikal ones became shabby looking; no one was ever seen going into those shops. Most of their huts and places of business seemed to be arranged around and near the Diagon.

Soon, no one thought there was any reason to go to the Diagon area. No one ever came from far off to see what had once been a major monument of resistance against the Celtic invaders.

______________________

321 B.C. A little old man was walking down the street from the main warehouse district of the towne. Several young teens thought it would be good sport to throw apples at him. They always missed him, and they hardly ever missed anyone else, so they began to chase him. He ran in such a crippled manner that the teens laughed all the way. They never asked themselves why they never caught up to him.

They were stopped by a cane, which tripped the first boy. He stood up to fight, and then fell to his knees with the others.

"Mr. Stellanson, I didn't see you, sir. Please forgive me for running into your cane like that, sir."

"You didn't run into my cane," said Willen Stellanson, only son of the shipping genius, the Great Stellan the Fisher, and the man who employed these boys' fathers as sailors. "I tripped you. How dare you chase after a little old man like that. What would you have done if you had caught him?"

The lads said nothing and just shivered in place.

"Well, off with you. To your homes and never let me see you being disrespectful of your elders again. I recognized the man you were chasing. He fought valiantly in the last major battle with the Celts. He stood with the Olive Handers. You will never know who you might be mean to, so only be kind and respectful to everyone, especially your elders."

The boys ran home and he watched them. When they were well out of sight and earshot, Stellanson said, "Where are you, Uncle Vanch?"

After a moment, a man who was obviously there but had not been obviously there a moment before said, "I'm not your uncle, I'm your cousin."

The speaker was four summers older than the one he called his cousin, Willen Stellanson, but he looked much younger out of his old age Illusionment, which had made him look forty summers older than he was. Stellan the Fisher and Meala had surprised everyone, particularly themselves, when she'd told Stellan the news that she was with child.

They fell into a comfortable walk towards the ramshackle Diagon part of towne. Stellanson said, "Actually, I am your mother's half brother, so you should call me Uncle. You have been out spying again, haven't you? On Loundon Towne or the Celts?"

"The Celts for the last moon, but I always walk back through Loundon Towne and see what I can see, and hear what I can hear."

Willen Stellanson had not inherited from his mother, Meala, any of her magikal abilities discovered by his half brother-in-joining, Willen the Olive Hander. Stellanson had been upset as a youth, but his father had instilled in him a love for the sea, and a greater love for business. So he was more than happy with a successful business and a big family of his own.

Vanch the Olive Hander said, "Nice idea telling, them I fought with the Olive Handers, not that I was one. Reduces their curiosity that way."

"My thoughts exactly."

They walked through the gloomy terribly run down-falling down buildings. Then they shimmered as they came out of the gloom and into the thriving magikal Diagon Square. Vanch visited his two older brothers at the wand shop and Willen Stellanson joined his wife, Lindern's daughter, Rezala, for dinner.

__________________________

43 A.D. "Trotandius, are you sure you want to do this? No one has seen anyone claiming to be a magikan in a several dozen years."

"It was your spies, Caedricius, who alerted us to the danger. The Romans will arrive and find a Latin speaking city of over ten thousand that no one in their empire has ever heard of, and how will we explain it?"

"Trotandius, we exist. That does not mean that the Olivehanders still exist, even if they ever did. We must deal with what we know. It is a legend that they became tired of having us dislike them for their powers and longer lives, and so they hid themselves in the Diagon district. The first thing the Romans will do is burn it to the ground so they can build something like an aqueduct, or a bath house, or maybe a bridge. I hear they like bridges. This area is a mess. Why haven't we torn it down before now?"

"I have thought to propose it to the Londinium Council, but I have never remembered to do it when we were in session."

Trotandius started shouting, "Olivehanders! Great Olivehanders! We need you. I am Trotandius Houseneum, and I am head of the Council. It is our wish, no, our request, on our knees if need be, to ask for your help!"

"Trotandius. Are you sure you want their help if they answer? They steal people's minds, they say."

"Caedricius, they do not! My ancestor was Trotan the Houseman. He learned Latin from the Great Willen himself, the first Olivehander, the one who brought Latin to our city, and all of the other wonderful things he did, too numerous to list. Willen would never do anything to harm us, and he would ensure that his Olivehander heirs would never hurt us either. I will stand here and offer my life if need be to prove I am serious about saving Londinium. We have our defense forces to fight off these occasional stupidly persistent Druid-led attacks, but we cannot stand against the might of Rome.

"We need the Olivehanders and their subal-teeth, subtertudes, and hiding in plant-slites."

"You are sure, Trotandius? You will guard their secrets, and convince the citizens of Londinium to obey without question? You know how pig-headed our citizens can be sometimes."

"Yes! We have to have their subal-teeth..."

"It's subtleties, subterfuge, and hiding in plain sight, Trotandius."

"That makes more sense, but how do you know that?"

"Old friend, you have never heard my full name and I have made sure you haven't. I am Caedricius of the Olivehanders." He put his hand on his friend's shoulder. "Look at the Diagon."

Trotandius stood slack-mouthed in awe. It was like an unknown land existed right there, not even a league from his own home.

___________________________

47 A.D. "Governor Aulus Plautius, all of Rome sings your praises. Just four short years ago you came here and found a small village on this spot, and a willing populous, and now you have a city of over five thousand Brittons, and they all speak Latin. Industry is thriving in all aspects, and taxes are flowing to Rome as well as copper and other raw and manufactured goods. I am impressed. How have you done all of this?"

"Publius Ostorius, I am honored by your praise. I am sure you will rival and exceed my accomplishments in your reign as governor. There is still much to be done, and many hostile inhabitants of Britannia to subdue. As to my success, I cannot say any one thing has made the difference, all of the circumstances were right. But the bridge has helped immensely. It was as if commerce was waiting to explode once the two sides of the river were connected. I am glad Rome, and you, are pleased with Londinium."

"It is a very impressive sight, but I, like many, want to know why you have called it Londinium? It is not the usual name given to a city in the Empire."

Aulus Plautius looked confused and sputtered a bit.

The new governor asked, "Governor, is it from 'longinquus' for a long distance or time, and from 'dinumero' to count money? Are you saying we had to come a long way from Rome to count a lot of money?"

"Uh, yes. Yes, Publlius Ostorius, that is it.

"Now, I want you to meet the local civic leaders of the Brittons. But before you do, I must tell you a few things about the people of Britannia. The natives here in Londinium are very welcoming, and have proven over and over again their loyalty. They are the original inhabitants of what was once called Albion.

"But there is another part of the populous of this island that are near open revolt. They are called Celts and are related to peoples we have fought before in many places - They come from the same root as the Galatians, the Celtiberians, and of course the Gauls, who Julius Caesar had to battle so hard and long to finally subdue. We Romans have fought them for over four hundred years in one form or another. The problem here is that they are not in easily defined regions. Our friends, and the rebellious Celts, are interspersed all over this island. Londinium is the strongest city not part of the Celts. Yet, not a day's ride away, in Caulodunum, the population is almost entirely Celtic, and hostile to my every action and proclamation.

"Where we have gone before, Spain, Galatia, or Gaul, the people have fought bravely, and then become good citizens of Rome. Here there is a difference. Their religious leaders are called Druids, and they are much more powerful and hideously evil than any other Celtic shaman we have encountered. Their unspeakable practices, the human sacrifices, and the atrocities against their own people - well, we do this island and the Empire a kindness every time we kill one. The rumor is that they perform magicae, and I fear we may have to root them out and destroy them."

"Surely you are wrong, Aulus Plautius, there is no such thing as magicae. They are the usual band of tricksters. We always let the local religions exist in peace as long as they do not foment rebellion. Surely these people will calm themselves once they know we will not tamper with their beliefs."

"Whatever the outcome, I leave for Rome tomorrow, and the Druids are yours to handle as you see fit.

"But, I keep you from those most anxious to meet you. You will find out more than you ever need to know about this in the years of your governorship. Let me take you and introduce you to the civic leaders I mentioned earlier. They know all about the Druids and Celts, and they willingly help us.

"Governor Publius Ostorius, may I introduce Caedricius. He is a local, but has purchased Roman citizenship. He has proven his loyalty time and again. He has taken my most trusted centurion with him to spy on these Druids. His family has fought the Celts and Druids for centuries, and his council has been invaluable. Please consider carefully his advice.

"And this is the head of the local city council, Trotandius Houseneum..."

____________________________________

61 A.D. "Mealalia, this is Portanata. Our son Willenium plans to marry her when he returns. I am so glad you are safe. Londinium has been sacked and burned, but I am thankful that you are safe, and the Subtleties and Illusionments have kept Queen Boudicca's army away from the Diagon. Governor Suetonius was a fool to leave her army unchecked by a blocking force. But I am home now to stay. Finally our battle is over. It was horrible. But our son is safe, and sends his mother his love."

"Bentgium, my husband," Mealalia's formal tone forecasted a gentle reprimand. "You return from half a year of siege of that evil island. You stand there in the rain with your wand at Lumos, and you feel you must explain all of this before entering your own home? Come in, you will have our new daughter-to-be think me inhospitable. Come in, my child."

The three walked into the main chamber. Bentgium said "Nox" as his wife cast "Incendio" to start a blaze in the fire grate. The girl was in rich Roman brocade, and her hair and face were completely covered.

"Come here, my dear, and let me look at you." The girl walked slowly towards her.

"Your son loves her, my wife, and I love her as a daughter already..."

"Husband, you act as if she is...shriek! A Druidess!"

"Mealalia, my wife whom I love, please calm yourself. We have had terrible information, and as head of subterfuge for our people I am to blame. It was the Roman spies that had infiltrated Ynys Mons, what the Romans call Mona Island. Their spies are usually so good that I did not think they would be fooled by the subtleties of the Druids, crude as they are. The name Druid no longer includes those of the Old Way. Over half of those on that island dressed and arranged their hair and appearance like Druids, but they have no powers from the Old Way. Some of them were bred solely for the sacrifices."

Portanata had put her hood back up to hide her distinctively Druidic hair style, and only her beautiful face showed. His wife for once, was stunned to silence. He needed to explain quickly.

"I swear on my family name as Bentgium Olivehander, direct descendant of the Great Olive Hander, Willen, we have all made a grave mistake. We saw an opportunity, I saw an opportunity to end the Druid influence once and for all, and we all agreed to take it.

"For almost four hundred years we have seen selfish Druid after evil Druid after insane Druid rise up and cause the populations still primarily Celtic to fight us. They had that foul island where they kill children and adult alike, almost for sport. And all of the rumors of other practices are true! So it still makes good sense to join the Romans. They wanted to attack, and finally we had a trained assault army to use, not just a defensive force, so we surreptitiously added our magikal ones into their midst acting like the comic tricksters the soldiers love so well. We were in position to stop the killer Druids from devastating the Roman squares, and we were successful.

"We fought and destroyed the craven ones as had to be done, but we did not know. Mealalia, there were hundreds, probably thousands of innocent women, children, and even a few men on the island. It was their overlords that had evolved into such ruthless killers of innocents, and now..."

"My wife, the Romans began a slaughter of all - every single creature on the island. They were killing people, children, even pigs and horses - everything. We had given our bond, so we would not betray the legions. Yet we did all that we could do.

"I gave orders for all of the magikal ones to spread out and hide every person they could. Many of us have died trying to distinguish the extremists from the innocent. We just threw up the Illusionments haphazardly and tried to calm all inside. The Romans were too numerous, we were only able to spare perhaps one in four of the innocents. I have given orders to spread them with the magikal ones throughout Britannia, but most will come here to Londinium. The death toll from Boudicca's attack will cover the increase in population. We will work among the non-magikals to ensure those we have rescued are well situated and acclimated.

"Our son loves Portanata, because she saw us immediately for what we were, not wanton pillagers but people trying to save whomever we could. And here is the miraculous part of all this. She has the Touch - not the Old Way, but the Touch for magik. The Celts have been here long enough to become a part of Albion. She saved our son's life when one of his hiding barriers broke down.

"She and a few others helped lead us to pockets of those in hiding from the Romans. They are responsible more than we are for the number of those spared. One day she had heard of a large group on hiding right in the path of an advancing Roman legion. She led our son to the place where they were. Portanata had watched him cast spells. When the rampaging Romans broke through Willenium's hastily cast Illusionment because a babe was crying, he was knocked unconscious. She took his wand and stopped the Roman soldiers with Body Bind Spells. For the last fortnight she has led us into areas we would have never found to rescue the innocent, but the legions scouring that island would have. We would have never saved so many without her help.

"Mealalia, I have thought long and hard on my ride back. I had charmed the horse to recognize the way. After we settle these innocent Druids into our city and elsewhere, and after we help rebuild Londinium, I will face the Diagon Council and propose that we resume the course the Great Willen the Olive Hander had set. We must let the non-magikals go their own way and make their own decisions. We must make the Diagon area fade into nothingness again. My uncle, Caedricius, diverted us from that path for all of the right reasons. He did right to help the city, but we must extract ourselves from involvement with the non-magikals. We must become a mythical memory."

His wife rose from her seat and walked to Portanata, who also stood to meet her. She pushed back the young woman's hood. She was beautiful if you ignored her hair. "My child, welcome to our home and our family. You're so lovely, and I cannot wait to see how beautiful our grandsons will be. My son did tell you that Olivehanders only have boys, didn't he?"

__________________________________

"And that, Mr. Potter, is definitely the end of the story. You have heard the life of Willen and Constantia. You know how London and my family's business were established, as well as Diagon Alley. You have heard about the final battle with the Druids, and you know how we finally separated from the Muggle world once and for all. You also now know that we must always look for the good in the midst of the bad, or we will destroy that which is redeemable in the midst of horror.

"Now, as for my name: you already know that my ancestor who negotiated with the goblins at the inception of Gringotts was named Kelden Olivhander. How that 'e' was lost we do not know.

"The English propensity to drop the letter 'h,' a cockney affectation at this time, began with the Norman invasion. Vancimere Olivander dropped the 'h' in 1071 A.D. to welcome the French wizards and witches to Diagon Alley. It became an Alley sometime before that, once again for reasons of subtlety and subterfuge.

"As to the double 'l' in our name. Ichabod Ollivander was the most, shall I say 'frugal' of the Ollivanders in our family history. In 1437 he bid a contract to paint our shop sign with never wear paint. The lowest bidder was a drunken wizard house painter, and he put the second 'l' in because he said that he could see two 'l's' on the piece of paper. Ichabod refused to pay to rebuild the side of the building to remove the never wear misspelled sign, so he had our name legally changed to save money.

"In 1622, Caedric Ollivander finally rebuilt that part of the shop to remove the old sign. Caedric has been a very popular name for Ollivanders throughout the centuries. It was my grandfather's middle name as a matter of fact.

"Mr. Potter, I have asked you to not repeat this story to others, but I particularly do not want you to reveal my ancestor, Ichabod's miserliness."

Harry nodded. He understood the idea of relatives that you did not want others to know about. Harry said, "Well, sir, it's closing time, so I'll leave you and walk myself back to the Leaky Cauldron."

Mr. Ollivander looked at him with a far away look for several long seconds, and then said, "If you have a few more minutes, Mr. Potter, I would like to show you something, actually several things."

Harry followed the wand maker to the back, after he had locked the shop door. Harry had not noticed the stairway to a cellar, which he was sure had not been there that morning. Down the steps and around several corners sat a walk-in vault. Mr. Ollivander flicked his wand wordlessly, the tumblers spun in rapidly alternating circles to the proper positions, and the door creaked open.

As they walked in, a small torch flamed over in one corner. Harry noticed other unlit torches over other draped tables with different shapes under the cloth coverings. As they approached the largest of these tables, the covering rolled back on its own, and the light became brighter.

Harry was wide-eyed and breathless with the realization. "Is that...? Are they...?"

"Yes, Mr. Potter, the original wands that belonged to Willen and Constantia, and the carving of Constantia that Willen made so long ago.

"The veela hair and olive wood wand has not been touched in over seventeen hundred years. That was the first and last workable wand of its kind that an Ollivander-, that is an Olive Hander, has ever made. All other attempts with a veela hair combined with any type of wand wood has been, well, unreliable at best.

"But Willen's holly wood and phoenix feather core wand - the same materials as in your wand, Mr. Potter - that wand can still perform magik, though we rarely use it. Actually we rarely come down here; it has been decades..."

The wands were much bigger around and longer than any Harry had ever seen. They were roughly sanded and showed many imperfections. There were several tiny specks of flaked flaxseed oil below Constantia's wand, but there was no debris under Willen's.

With a handkerchief, Mr. Ollivander very carefully, almost reverently, picked up Willen's wand in the middle and brought it around to hand to Harry.

"I don't have a handkerchief, sir."

"No, Mr. Potter, take it in your wand hand."

Harry wiped his right hand on his breeches and very gingerly took the wand.

A small tune seemed to enter his head. Then it rose in volume. Then red sparks began to shoot sporadically out of the end of this, the most ancient of wands. Harry felt as he had when he'd first heard Fawkes sing.

The sparks died down, and the tune ended. He moved to hand it back to Mr. Ollivander who stood stock still.

After a moment Harry said, "Would you call that 'curious,' sir?"

"No, that would be interesting."

They walked out of the vault, and Harry heard it close and the tumblers spin behind them. Mr. Ollivander walked him to the Leaky Cauldron, and paid Harry for his time helping with the inventory. Harry tried to refuse, but the wand master would brook no argument.

Mr. Ollivander Apparated to one of the most secluded homes still in the middle of London. In the evening sun, while a house-elf finished his dinner, he sat down at an outside table under the oldest holly tree in England. The bowtruckles jumped down out of the tree and chatted with Mr. Ollivander for a few minutes. Then he took quill and parchment to write a letter.

     My Dear Dumbledore,

     As I wrote you yesterday, Mr. Potter has been helping me with my inventory, as you had so kindly helped me in the summer of 1853, before the start of your third year at Hogwarts.

     As you may remember, I took you downstairs to our vault and showed you the wand that was owned by my ancestor, Willen the Olive Hander. You examined it and handed it back, and we left.

     Today I followed the identical steps with Mr. Potter with one exception - an exception not of my design. When Mr. Potter took the wand in his hand, the song and red sparks so aptly described by Willen in his journals, occurred. It is known only to the Ollivander family, that this has happened with only one other wizard since Willen himself.

     That other occurrence happened in 1032. My ancestor, Caedrillion Olivhander placed it in the hand of Godric Gryffindor and...

 

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Epilogue to the Epilogue

Magical Historian's Research Note - - Mr. Ollivander believes the story of Willen ends as he has told our young hero, and it does in the archives of his, the oldest magical family. But one fact is missing. One question goes unanswered, and it would not let the research for this story come to an end.

As stated, the answer to the question came not from the journals or writings or parchment or scrolls of the multitudinous great Olive Hander/Ollivanders. The answer was found in the most ancient parchment uncovered by the International Wizarding Archeological Society in their digs at the ancient site of Remers. The parchment found is believed to be a part of the journal of the first headmaster of the Remers Lyceum de Magikae, the Seer, Eirran.

Here is a small excerpt from this priceless tome:

     Eirran,

     I so enjoy writing to myself each day. In this I am always
ensured an attentive and appreciative audience.

     Today was the day I have been writing to you about for so
long. Willen and his family finally arrived. Of course I had
every magikal one in Remers, and the important non-magikal
leaders there for a special welcoming ceremony. But Willen's
boat arrived earlier than we had expected, so I had time to
visit with our guests on board Stellan's marvelous goods
transporting boat.

     My young friend, Willen, had never exaggerated the beauty
or the charm of the fair Constantia. Their new baby, Egorn was
fat and healthy, and my seven daughters could not stop fighting
among themselves to see who could hold him - even those
with children of their own. The other two of Willen's young
lads were as handsome as you could want.

     After such hardship and such sacrifice, and with his future
struggles as sure as life itself, I am overjoyed that my friend, Willen,
has such a happy family life.

     It was time to ask the question I had asked several times in
my correspondence, and that Willen had never answered. About
three summers before, the confusion over what to call the power
concentrators was finally settled. I had always liked olive hands
until the perfect one for me - that is, the one that chose me, turned
out to be birch wood and unicorn hair. Embedded carved stick
was also too much to say. Well, the discoverer of magik, none
other than Willen, finally wrote that they should be called wands.

     Wand. What a perfectly elegant, concise, appropriate name.
Of course, it is no surprise that the discoverer, developer, and
inventor of magik, spells, and the devices themselves, would be
the one to name them, but I still wondered how Willen came
up with the name.

     I met Willen and Constantia at the part of the ship that touched
our new extended platform designed to load and unload such
goods transporting boats. After a moment of greeting, Constantia
went to the hold to bring up her sons. With so much to say, I did not
know what to say, so I just blurted out the first question that popped
into my head. I asked about the origin of the word, 'wand.'

     Willen smiled the same sheepish smile he'd used so often in
his early days of learning Latin. He looked to where Constantia had
gone, and we saw a young boy of what would be five summers come
up on the deck. Willen called his name, "Caedric."

     A light breeze could have knocked me over. I said, "You named
your first born, Caedric?' He had always used the name Torban
for his second son, and the name Egorn for his third, but he had
always written calling his first son his first. My wife, Glanis, had
always harangued me to inquire as to this boy's name but I always
forgot when writing.

     Willen explained that he had fought and nearly been killed
many times protecting others, and that a number of people had,
and continued to name their sons, Willen. He blushed at this.
He then said that several people had saved his life, but only one
person, Caedric, had died, willingly sacrificing his life for no other
purpose but to save him, Willen. He said that he and Constantia
had agreed readily to the name. They had both decided separately
before discussing it together, that Caedric should be the name for
their first child if he was a boy.

     The lad walked over tentatively and we were introduced.
Willen then asked him who had named the wand, the wand.
The handsome lad beamed and said that he had, and
ran back to his mother.

     I looked up at Willen, and the child's smile had transferred
to his face. It turns out that when young Caedric was learning to
talk, he was fascinated by his father and mother's power concentrators.
Since everyone in Loundon Towne referred to the devices as olive
hands, that was the name they were teaching him as they taught him
to speak. Well, olive hand is quite a lot for a child to get his
tongue around, so instead of olive hand, young Caedric would say
"owov and." Because of his fascination with the devices he of course
wanted one. His first sentence was, "want owov and." As children
of this age often do he said it over and over and over, day and night
and day. In saying the phrase constantly, it evolved from "want
owov and" to "want wov-and' to "want wvand" to "want wand"
to "wand wand." The child finally walked around all day chanting
"wand, wand, wand."

     Finally, Willen made him a small "wand" of his own with mahogany
wood and an owl feather core. The olive hand maker - now wand maker -
had already discarded owl feathers as a core material because it was too weak,
it could only produce a few red sparks, and nothing else magikal.

     So the mystery has been solved. The wonderful, perfect, elegant,
name that will surely last forever - the wand - has been discovered not
by the inventor, developer, and discoverer of the devices and magik and
spells, but by his ranting son at two summers in age.

     Life's ironies can be so delicious sometimes.

     I will tell you more, later, most attentive Eirran, but tonight I must sleep,
for the excitement of Willen teaching my students begins tomorrow,
and I must be fresh.

     Eirran

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And now our story really ends.

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My gratitude goes out to all of those who have read and all who have reviewed. Thank you for enduring what it took to get Latin into the magikal world and Willen back home. Thanks for reading one of the longest chapters in HP fanficdom- Chapter Eight. My two beta readers, Ninkenate and Ozma have been wonderful, and most of the ease of reading comes from their interception of my written and grammatical errors. Ozma also insisted I write a "life after the end" for Conlander and Naelly - so thank her if you are fans of theirs.

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Author's Historical Notes - -

Britton - (with two 'tt's') is the Latin form of Briton.

Crucio - Crucifixion as a means of slow painful death was first mentioned in ancient history, in use by Darius I, king of Persia, in 519 B.C. But the Persians did not name this method of cruel execution. Crucio is the Latin word for torture or torment, and the root of the word 'crucifixion.' Did the word come from the Celts who had sacked and pillaged northern Italy for well over a hundred years before finally being driven out?

Druid Dress - According to the Malkin's Book of Magical Fashions Throughout the Ages, the classic witch and wizard garb of a black floor-length robe cloak and black pointed hat dates back to mourning wear from end of the Dark Ages, when the Black Death had ravaged magical and Muggle populations indiscriminately. Research for this work indicates that this classic Druid look, had been appropriated for those magikal ones spying on the Druids. Also, when the innocent Druids were brought back to London and made a part of the community, they were dressed in this manner. The look became very popular. After all, black is most slimming.

Massilia - This fishing village, later port of the Aldertani Keep, is now the site of the French port, Marseille. It was this link in historical research of ancient texts that finally helped Wizarding Archeology find the Aldertani Keep, home of magical healing.

Stonehenge and Woodhenge - The success of the subtleties and subterfuge at these and other sites, created by the Great Willen the Olive Hander to distract and confuse the curious away from the magikal community, continues to be effective to this day. Muggles have conjectured the most absurd dating systems and explanations for these mysterious locations - everything from ancient giant races to space aliens. Most assuredly Willen chuckles from the beyond.

Phoenix Feather Wand Cores - Madam Lupinia of the Institut d'Francais d'Gaulish Magikae asked a very important question. How could Willen's wand be made from a phoenix feather core if Fawkes has only given two tail feathers for wand use? Fawkes has only given two feathers, but there is no record as to how many tail feathers Pholx gave.

Magikal Ones and Magikans - The word "magikan," now spelled magician, denotes a slight-of-hand artist with explainable magic tricks. This contrived occupation was a clever subtlety devised to cast doubt on non-magikals (pre-Muggles) attempting to discover the existence of magikal ones. It still is effective today.

Caulodunum the ancient name for the British city, Colchester.

The Romans and London - Muggle history tells that there were only failed fishing villages at the site of present day London until Aulus Plautius, Roman general and first Roman Governor of Britain, built his bridge across the Thames River to aid in troop movements. His bridge was built only a few yards from the current London Bridge. Muggles continue to say that the bridge provided a location for a vital crossroads and this explains the rapid growth of London.

Londinium - Londinium is not a typical Roman name given a conquered or established city in the Roman Empire, even though it is Romanized in its spelling. Though used as the Roman capital of the province and as a port, Londinium was not liked by native Romans because it was such a city of commerce and financial activities. Need you guess who made sure the name London, not Londinium, is used to day.

The Governors of the Roman Province of Britannia - Aulus Plautius was the first governor and governed from 43 to 47 A.D. Publius Ostorius took his place and ruled rather poorly from 47 to 52 A.D. Suetonius Paulinus was the fifth Roman governor and ruled from 59 to 62 A.D. Suetonius crushed the Druids at the Isle of Anglesey, let London burn because he had insufficient forces available to stop it, and then defeated the forces of Queen Boudicca at the Battle of Watling Street.

Watling Street - This was the great Roman road leading into to the Midlands. The Battle of Watling Street actually took place just off of this road, and is believed to have been fought in a wood near the modern day town of Atherstone in Warwickshire.

Ynys Mons - The present day Isle of Anglesey in western Wales. The Romans called it Mona Island. Translated, it means cow island.

The Romans, the Celts, and the Druids of England - In brief here are the historical facts about the Romans leading up to the slaughter of Druids at Ynes Mons/Mona Island/Isle of Anglesey. History here is very incomplete, quite often gruesome, and obviously tainted to a limited degree by Roman prejudice - but all evidence points to these facts being true:

- The Celts invaded, pillaged, and settled across most of Europe from 600 to 300 B.C.
- The Romans drove them out of the Italian peninsula, better known as the Apennine peninsula, but no other native population did.
- The Romans encountered Celts and their Druids (called Druids rarely except in England and Ireland) and fought them everywhere the Romans found them. (Caesar's Gaulic Wars are perhaps the most famous of these battles.)
- The Celts and Druids invading England in 400 to 300 B.C, were disconnected by over two hundred years from the Celts and Druids sailing to Ireland from Spain starting in 350 B.C.
- Other than its well known persecution of the early Christian church, which failed, nowhere did the Romans attempt to destroy a religious group of any type because of their beliefs and practices, except the Druids in England. The Romans completed this annihilation at what they called the battle of Mona Island. (The Romans did nearly succeed in destroying the Hebrews in Israel in 70 A.D. and following, but that purge was for political, not religious, reasons.)
- The reason given by the Romans for the assault on the British Druids was the barbarity of their religious practices.
- Human sacrifice was not uncommon through out the Roman Empire, and was also practiced by the Celts to various degrees in these many lands. Perhaps the British Druids were more brutal and barbaric than the Romans had ever encountered.

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Why did the Romans destroy the Druids in Old Albion? History is tragically laced with such brutalities and mysteries.

 

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Disclaimer--- What belongs to J K Rowling is J K Rowling's. Everything left is mine, I guess, but remember the old adage: "There is nothing new under the sun."

However, that which is mine is copyright 2006 Aaran St Vines.

 

For discussions please go to FanFicAuthors Forum.
If you would like to receive notice when the next chapter is posted
please go to the "Email Alert" text link at the top of this page.

 

 

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Author's Final Note for This Story - -

Thanks also go to Mrs. St Vines - the model of love and patience. She helps me through all life sends my way.

"I am so grateful, my dear. I love and adore, cherish and treasure you, and have done so, ever since I promised to on our wedding day, nearly twenty-five years ago."

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  The End

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• Chapter One - Mr. Ollivander Tells of Willen's Luck Chapter Two - "Accio Magik!" Chapter Three - "Mah-ghee-kahl!" Chapter Four - Dragonslayer? Who, Me? Chapter Five - The Ongoing Choice Chapter Six - The Wand Chose Him Chapter Seven - Final Battle and Epilogue
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