About the Writing
This took
some time. Like a year. I’ve been playing with this idea for about that long
but did not put anything into writing until this assignment. Now the topic was
supposed to be about failure; this is more a perspective on failure as a matter
of varying expectations. One might be very successful from the own point of
view, but a failure from another’s viewpoint. It might be a skirting of the
topic or of the topic as I had first thought of it, but I’ll allow it.
The form was
supposed to be a short story introduction. This might be something larger than
a short story, but strictly speaking, until the rest of the story is written,
that can’t be said. Continuing the story, I would likely break this into two
parts and expand both into a prologue and first chapter.
Am I “this is
final draft” happy? No, but I like it and I am really happy with the progress
after a long time toying with it though.
Let me know
what you think. I hope you enjoy it.
The Hunter
Anyone
that would have noticed James MacDougal sitting on a bench on the Ogden
platform of the Frontrunner commuter train would have thought he was either
homeless or some type of cosplayer heading to Fantasy Con. He was enveloped in
a gray robe buttoned from just below his throat to mid-thigh where it opened
over his legs and fell to the pavement. His pants were of the same material and
tucked into calf-high, leather boots. He sat hunched forward, his elbows on his
knees and his hands resting left over right on the silver wolf head pommel of a
walking stick. His face was hidden in the shadow of the floppy, wide brim of a
hat, also made of the same dark gray. Though he was there under the pretense of
business, his heart was not in the task set before him. He had boarded the
first northbound train out of Salt Lake City this morning and had not left the
bench in the four hours since arriving in Ogden. He should have been watching
around him, but he was completely inside his own head.
It
had started with a meeting two months ago; James MacDougall was called to the
Regional United Orders of Magic offices. The UOM is divided both geographically
and functionally. There are nine primary disciplines or Orders. These Orders
are divided into three groups called Wings. MacDougall’s Wing, the Keepers,
consists of Gardeners, Healers, and Hunters; he is a Hunter. Geographically
there are precincts, districts, regions, and areas which answer to the global
command or UOM Glo.Com. MacDougall’s region was relatively small covering a
portion of the western United States and Canada. He typically operated out of
the Salt Lake valley, but the offices of North America West, Regional Command,
or UOM NAW Reg.Com. is in northern Nevada, safely hidden in the middle of
nowhere. The trip was short and only difficult because he knew he was not going
to like what was said. He had been tipped off by four words in the summons:
“don’t worry; nothing serious.”
When
he arrived at the UOM NAW Reg.Com. building, he was immediately asked to follow
a young administrator down a long corridor. Everyone he saw at the office
complex was in there business version of approved robes: suits with jackets and
slacks or skirts in color denoting the order of the wizard and a matching cloak.
MacDougall’s was the Hunters’ dull gray, bordering on military in both cut and
fabric. On the right breast of each jacket were white rectangles approximately
five inches long and two high. Vertical lines spaced at half inch intervals
were filled with color based on discipline mastery certified by the various
orders. Border braiding denoted one of three ranks within one’s order: a braid
of the order’s color for an apprentice, a black braid for a wizard, and black
braid with an added line running horizontally through the center, behind the
mastery marks denoted a master wizard. Each order had its own bylaws that
marked the requirements for advancement, but the UOM only allowed master wizards
to vote in elections or hold command or administrative positions within the
structure with other requirements in place dependent on geographical level and
station. The center line could have other colors or symbols added depending on
UOM office, but the standard for a master wizard was black.
MacDougall
had always found it odd that the other orders, far less military in operation
than the Hunters, might concede to such a mark. Nonetheless, it was useful in
making quick evaluations of a wizard upon first introductions. Knowing a bit
about the other’s experience and knowledge base at a glance allows a quick
understanding of others view of the world. It was as if they had a label
declaring what languages they spoke.
At
the end of the corridor, they came to a door with a plaque:
United
Orders of Magic
North
America West, Regional Commander
Robert P. Sutherland
Beneath the
writing was the white rectangle showing Sutherland’s masteries; no gray stripe
from the Hunters or yellow from the Benders, the other seven were filled in.
The middle mastery mark was indigo meaning he was of the Scribes order of the
Protectors wing. The black master wizard line was edged in silver marking him
as a UOM Regional Commander.
As the administrator ushering
MacDougall knocked on door, James looked at his own rectangle. It was unique in
the wizarding world: black braid around white field, all nine colors, filled
but no black center line. He was a master wizard, but not a Master Wizard; a
master Hunter but not a Master Hunter.
Granted
entrance, he found the UOM Regional Commander in the indigo robes of a Scribe seated
behind an expansive desk that was bare but for a few sheets of paper. Funny for a Scribe James thought. In
chairs facing the desk MacDougall could see a wizard in the leafy green robes
of a Gardener and another in the same gray that James wore himself. These would
be the regional heads of his wing and order respectively. They stood and turned
towards him as he entered. He recognized Carol Johnson, NAW Regional Chief, Keeper
Wing and Finn Williams, NAW Regional Chief, Order of Hunters.
“Chief
Johnson, Chief Williams” MacDougall nodded to the two chiefs whom he knew well.
“And you must be Regional Commander Sutherland” he said to the man rising from
behind the desk.
“Good
to see you Hunter MacDougal. This is a semi-official meeting so I’d like to
keep it casual. Please, call me Bob instead of that Regional Commander nonsense?”
“Okay,
Bob. Does that go for Carol and Finn as well?” This received a bit of a smile
from the Keeper Chief, but Finn Williams, tight-lipped, would not meet MacDougall’s
eyes.
“Of course, of course; please have a
seat. What do you like to be called? I hear some people call you Wolf but how
about James? Or is it Jim or Jimmy?”
“James is fine or Jim or Mack; no
one living calls me Jimmy.”
“I understand. My mother used to
call me Robby, drove me crazy. Mack, huh? Alright, Mack it is. Mack, we have a
problem. I’m going to let Finn start off. But like I said, this is
semi-official; it’s not a discipline tribunal so relax.”
“No an official tribunal would require
at least one ranking member outside of my chain of command. But if this is
serious enough to warrant regional review, a tribunal can’t be far behind.”
“Let’s be candid, that’s what we’re
trying to avoid here.”
“If I may, Bob,” Finn interjected,
“the reason this is regional is my fault. Wolf, we’re having major trouble
around here, the Hunters I mean. We need more people to cover the activity. The
precincts are asking the districts for help. The districts are asking me. I
tried to cover the gaps with some creative planning, but I finally had to take
it up the ladder. Wolf, they didn’t come back with reinforcements. They said as
long as we had a fully trained Hunter in our region who refuses to take an
apprentice, we get nothing.”
“Refuse
is harsh; I haven’t found a proper prospect.”
“They’re
not interested in reasons. They said that you should have produced three
apprentices by now. They said we’re coddling you.”
“I’ve been busy, Finn. You know
that. I work for several precincts and consult with multiple orders where
assignments overlap. It’s not like I’m not pulling weight.”
“James, no one thinks you’re not doing
your part” the Carol Williams said putting her hand on his arm. “You need to recognize
we’re your friends. You’ve known Finn and me for a long time. We’re on your
side. We’re just the messengers here.”
“So what the area chiefs have
decided that the middle of a crisis is the time to start playing hardball with
those of us that get stuff done?”
The two chiefs flanking MacDougal
looked at Bob Sutherland. “Worse than that, Mack. This came from GloCom.”
“What does Global Command care about
this?”
“We’re not sure” Finn said “but
listen, when I asked for reinforcements, I didn’t get the standard ‘let’s see
what we can do’ or ‘we’ll look into it’ their response pointing at you was
immediate. I think they were waiting for the request. They expected it.”
“Mack, we Scribes don’t respond to
records requests in any hurry. Shoot, you know how we work. Most of our
requests come from the Travelers and they don’t care about time anyway. This
had to have been planned. I can’t think of another explanation. They knew to
the day how far you were out of regulations the moment they were asked.”
“The bottom line is I need to
restrict your active work” Finn said looking down at the floor. “It kills me doing
this because it really puts us in a bind right now and you’re the best we have,
but if you don’t get a recruit within two months, well…”
“Well, then it will be a tribunal,
and it won’t be in this office. We haven’t worked together before, Mack, but these
two people sitting next to you came to me when they thought you were being set
up. To hear them talk you would think you had trained Merlin. We don’t need you
to train the next Merlin, but we do need you to find someone.”
“Anything we can do, James. Just
ask.”
A month later, he had still not
found a prospect. Finn came to see him and took him completely off of field
work; finding a prospective apprentice was now his full time occupation. The
day after the two month deadline expired, he received a summons to appear
before a tribunal at Global Command in outside of Edinburgh. The tribunal was
tomorrow and although he had come to Ogden hoping to spot the prospect that he
had not found in Salt Lake, he just was not there. His career was at stake; someone
with political power in the United Orders wanted to end it.
His reflection was broken when he
became suddenly aware that his view was now blocked by a white cotton skirt of
a woman standing directly in front of him.
“Hello Jimmy.”
No
one living calls me Jimmy.
He looked up and met a pair of
emerald eyes on a face that had not aged a day in fifty years.
“Hello Sis.”
