As with most things in life, learning magic did not go the way Alvar thought it would. He had not exactly expected it to be a smooth ride. But it turned out that it was neither that, nor was it an arduous climb up a mountain--but a very slow walk across a never ending plain.

For the first few weeks in the lessons, all he was told to do was to meditate.

“You need to focus your mind,” Lars said. “Calm the intrusive voices in your head so you can begin hearing the sounds of the world around you.”

“I do hear the sounds of the world around me,” said Alvar, as he sat upon the edge of a crest overlooking the forest, legs dangling off its edge. All around him, birds sang and insects buzzed. Wind whistled through rustling leaves and creaking branches. The waning winter chill foretold the coming of spring. Behind him on a rock, Lars sat and sketched birds in his journal. Scratch scratch.

“What if I tell you there's much more to hear than that?” he said, taking out a small blade to sharpen his charcoal pencil. “Magic, you see, is an energy that flows all around us. It's here in these woods, there by the sea, all over the world, and also in you and me. We're ever drowned in its vast ocean.”

Alvar moved his fingers through the air as though he'd just catch a fistful and be done with this tricky business. 

Lars let out a soft laugh. “To learn magic is to learn to swim through that ocean. You may choose to harness the power of the waves, or simply give in and go with the flow,” he said.

Alvar sighed and looked hard at a rock by his side, focusing with all his might to set it into motion. After this much of sitting around and concentrating, surely he should have absorbed some of this sea of sorcery Lars so loved to talk about.

The rock seemed to shake just a little.

He got excited and was about to shout out to Lars when he saw a large beetle crawling by it, fluttering its wings which gave it the illusion of movement. His heart sank.

But Lars was the most enthusiastic of teachers, because he shuffled up to him happily. “That's a good start,” he said. Then he saw the beetle and he beamed, now happier.

“Would you look at that?” He lay down a hand to the grass, and the beetle skittered along his long pale fingers. “A spotted Copperstar in this region? Fascinating!”

Now Alvar really looked at the tiny creature. It was glittering black, with reddish spots gleaming on its wings--an adorable little thing. “Why? Are they rare?” 

“They are now. They were native to this forest and the grasslands along this shoreline. But ever since the flood, they've grown scarce.”

Alvar remembered it well, the storm that churned up the sea a few years ago. Thankfully, the folk of the village weren't hurt, but the great waves swallowed up the fields near the sea. When the water level went down, they were but barren wastelands, covered in salt.

Lars placed the beetle in the case where he kept his monocle. “Ilaira will be pleased to see this.”

“Ilaira?” Alvar was sure this was no one from the village, or he would have recognised them.

“Yes, a friend of mine,” said Lars. “I'll introduce you when we meet. I think you're gonna like her. Come on, now. Let's head home.” 

He gathered his things and put them in his satchel. Alvar picked up Gran's journal from where it lay upon the grass. And that marked the end of the morning's session.

Alvar loved how things were going.

He liked waking with the sense of having something to look forward to, hurrying to tend the garden so as not be late, even if Lars didn't really mind some delay, even if Aunt Elena would send him knowing smiles as he would rush to get ready. Sometimes she would come up and ruffle his hair which he'd worked hard to tame into something presentable.

And then sometimes she'd slip some sweets into his pocket before he could complain. “Say hello to him for me, will you? And don't you eat it all by yourself.”

Of course he didn’t, because she would give him enough for both of them. Where she acquired such an endless supply was anyone’s guess, because her sole defence when confronted about her crates full of sweet treats was, “It’s not like it’s against the law.” Which was quite a solid reasoning in his opinion.

However, she'd forgotten her usual routine this morning.

Alvar found her rummaging around in the living room, searching for something rather anxiously.

“What's the matter?” he asked as she turned one of her satchels inside out, spilling all its contents over a side table, trinkets and odds and ends. 

“I can't find my magnifying glass!” she said, “that brass-rimmed one. Remember?”

Alvar remembered. “We can always buy another one,” he said.

“No, no, my lad. You won't find a thing like that in any markets around here. It was an ancient thing, looted from a ruined tomb on an abandoned island.”

“You've been raiding tombs?” Alvar said, raising a brow.

Aunt Elena grinned. “Oh, I wouldn't dream of it. I won it in a bet. Ol' Jimmie was real mad when he lost. Shoulda seen his face!” 

Before he could further enquire into the sort of things she'd been doing at sea, she ushered him out. “You get going, now. You're already late for your magic lessons. And while you're at it--ask Lars if he can find that glass for me.”

Alvar cleared his throat. “Excuse me, he's a wizard. Not a finder of lost treasures,” he said, all high and mighty.

“I bet he'll do it for chocolate,” said Aunt Elena, wiggling her brows.

“I bet he won't,” said Alvar. He liked to believe Lars was beyond such bribes.

“Sure, I'll do it,” said Lars when Alvar asked him on the way back home.

Alvar grumbled, and wondered if this was how Ol' Jimmie felt when he lost that bet.

Strangely enough, quite a few people around Frostspire came up to Lars today, asking if he could help find their lost belongings--necklaces and earrings and even silverware. One young man ran up to them, wailing that he'd lost the gold ring he'd bought for his beloved with all his life savings.

“You up for a little treasure hunt?” Lars asked Alvar.

When it came to tagging along with him on these small quests, he was always up for it, but not before finishing all his chores first.

He'd watered the plants, weeded the garden, cleaned up at the shop and done the washing. He ticked them all off on his fingers.

“Yes,” he said. “I think I'm ready for an adventure.”

Despite all his attempts to calm the intrusive voices in his mind, a thought nagged Alvar as the two made their way back to the village. He felt he was making little progress.

He could only grow the seasonal flowers, and they withered soon after they were sold, which was normal for ordinary flowers, but coming from the shop where one could get even the rarest, most outlandish blooms and keep them fresh for a long time--it would be considered disappointing. His regular customers reassured him to no end, but Alvar just couldn't shake off the feelings of inadequacy.

There were so many spells in Gran’s journal, so many wonderful things he wanted to explore, but he would never get to those interesting pages unless he mastered what he was now learning.

Every day after lunch, he took the journal to the garden, lay there on the grass and looked at the pictures Gran had drawn. Flowers and plants there were plenty, and strange symbols he could not make sense of yet. There were a few pages dedicated entirely to things from the sea: illustrations of beautiful merfolk with their fish-like tails, a dozen different kinds of seashells found on the shores of Frostspire, and descriptions of deep sea fishes that looked like horrid monsters and carried little lanterns with them to lure in prey. 

Alvar's favourite pictures to look at were the Ocean Stars. 

They were precious gems, said to have formed from chunks of the Bridge of Stars. The pieces had broken off and fallen into the sea when the spirits of a crew of a sunken ship jostled one another in their haste, trying to cross the bridge all at the same time.

The gems were a deep blue, with swirls of lighter shades within them like foams upon waves, a tiny bit of the vast ocean entrapped inside and frozen in time. The text claimed they were magical, and when worn upon a ring, their light would lead the wearer to their destiny. Some nights Alvar dreamed of diving into the water by the docks and finding one such gem. Then he dreamed of many other things he could not remember upon waking up.

“One thing at a time,” Lars used to say. “Don’t get so caught up with the future that you fail to focus on the matter at hand.”

But Alvar’s mind still wandered in the uncharted lands of the pages of her notes, and stumbled upon something he thought would certainly interest a wizard like Lars, considering the sort of work he did for the village folk. He’d been looking for the perfect moment to raise the subject, until opportunity presented itself on their way back from the forest, as today’s session came to an end. Lars was still examining the beetle in his monocle case when the village blacksmith came up to them. 

She was named Sigrid, only a few years older than Alvar, but several times taller and well-built. She hurried up to them, hands tucked into her sturdy leather apron.

“How is he?” Lars asked her without a preamble.

“Father doesn’t wanna admit it, but the pain is getting to him again, I can tell. And he wants to repair the roof in this state, can you imagine?” she said. “Would you please come by and have a look?”

“Of course.” 

By now Alvar had a fair idea about these visits, and he even knew the vial he would choose from his shelf, which soothed the pain of many a people and brought relieved looks on their faces. 

The blacksmith’s father, a kindly old man with hair white as snow, was no exception. His aching joints eased up, and he stood up again with the renewed energy of a much younger man.

“Oh, thank you, thank you!” he exclaimed, but then had to be restrained by all three of them when he rushed to climb the roof to repair it.

“You ever heard of Ursanthus?” asked Alvar on the way back. 

“Ah yes, the Witch’s Apple,” Lars said. “Only in theory, I'm afraid. The plants are extremely hard to find, even harder to keep alive.” 

Alvar didn’t even need to elaborate as to why this would be of interest to him, because Lars was already intrigued. “Why do you ask? Do you know where they’re found?”

Alvar gave him a shy smile, clutching Gran’s journal to his chest. “She did. And now so do I.”

Upon returning to Lars’ house, he flipped to the page with the illustration of an Ursanthus tree on it. It was a gnarled, ancient thing, with long branching limbs and bright red fruits peeking from behind dark green leaves. Gran was quite the artist.

Below, she’d explained all about it. Nicknamed the Witch’s Apple, the extracts of its fruits served as an excellent painkiller, although overdosing could lead to unconsciousness and coma--therefore taking a big bite out of the fruit was most definitely lethal, no matter how alluring they looked. Its leaves, flowers and even roots possessed excellent healing properties.

“I think she had one such plant in the garden, too. I may have uprooted it along with all the other dead ones,” said Alvar, his eyes downcast.

Lars placed a hand on his shoulder. “We’ll plant another in its place. Look here, she must’ve mentioned somewhere how to acquire its seeds.”

“Aye, that’s exactly the problem,” said Alvar, who had already read all Gran had to say on the matter of Witch’s Apple. He turned the page and showed it to Lars.

“Seeds of such a plant are not found freely in nature,” he read, “they are protected by the true guardians of the forests, for such a plant is too powerful to risk it falling into the wrong hands. That which heals can kill as well. Thus to acquire a seed of the great Ursanthus, pray to the forest nymphs and state your intentions, so they may deem you worthy. They alone can grant one such a wish, for they are the guardians of the trees.” 

Lars put down the journal and smiled quizzically at him. 

“What?” asked Alvar.

“If only I’d known this sooner,” said Lars. 

“Whatever do you mean?”

“Well, I do happen to know a forest nymph. I’m even friends with her. But never had I thought she could’ve helped me find the fabled Witch’s Apple all along, you know? Not that I’d ever asked. I suppose now’s the time to ask! Let’s go.” 

On went the green cloak, fluttering, and back again to the forest they hurried, the treasure hunt temporarily postponed.

With a rustle of dry leaves underfoot they scurried through narrow, winding trails that twisted and turned through the trees that grew taller and darker around them as Lars took a path scarcely trodden, leading deeper into the forest. Alvar had never dared to venture this far in, but with Lars by his side he had no fear. Neither was it a grim place with dark shadows and crooked branches and glowing eyes, like he’d often imagined it must be. Instead sunbeams streamed through leaves to dapple the forest floor and birds sang from perches unseen. A small stream rushed through a bed of rocks and passed out of sight beyond some bushes. 

“Almost there...” Lars followed its course, picking his way carefully, using his staff like a cane. Alvar settled for a broken branch, a much ordinary alternative, for he was no wizard.

A cool wind brushed Alvar’s face, and as they rounded the corner, the lake came into view, rippling in the tiniest caress of the wind, dry leaves the shade of gold floating upon its crystal surface. Reflections of the great trees quivered within.

“I see no nymphs around here,” said Alvar, looking around. “Should we sing a prayer or something?” 

“Shh!” Lars brought his finger to his lips and motioned him to follow. Now that he listened, a rustling noise reached his ears. Then a soft voice, grumbling under its breath.

There, beneath the shade of a cluster of trees by the lake, where one of the many small streams flowed, they saw her, searching for something among the bushes.

Clad in nothing but air she was, except for her long, flowing dark hair that cascaded down her back, and a golden circlet that adorned her head. Alvar blushed furiously and covered his eyes. 

Lars was very much unbothered. “Good day!” he said.

She paused and turned around, the great mane of hair floating behind her on the water. A smile broke on her lovely face. “Oh, it’s you.”

He returned the smile, and set his satchel and staff aside to sit on a rock near the water. He made an introductory gesture between them. “So this is Ilaira. An old friend of mine.”

Alvar didn’t know what was considered the right way to greet an ancient spirit of the forest, so he settled for a courteous bow as one might offer to a mighty ruler, for the last thing he wanted to face was her wrath.

“Pleased to make your acquaintance. I am named Alvar. A gardener by trade,” he said, still trying to keep his eyes upon his feet.

Ilaira didn’t seem one for such formalities. She pulled her arms out of the water and placed her chin atop them, watching him with a relaxed smile and a nod of approval. “So dear Lars is finally going out there and making friends, eh? Good, good.” 

The wizard averted his eyes immediately, sensing something in her words that Alvar did not. An inside joke perhaps. Heaven knew how long they'd been friends.

She peered at Alvar curiously. “Luna's grandson, if I'm not mistaken? I see the resemblance. It's the eyes.”

He was surprised. “You knew her?”

“I know a lot of wonderful people. She was one of them. I hope I get to know you too. All in good time.”

Now her face took on a more serious look as she turned to Lars. “Alright, out with it then, because I’m a bit busy right now. Surely you aren’t here to simply pay a visit to an old friend?”

He cleared his throat. “And what if I am?”

“Oh, I know your lot. Wizards. Always going about some business or the other. Always up to something.”

“Very well,” said Lars with a grin. “You caught me. We do have a favour to ask of you. But before that, maybe this will mellow your heart?”

He took out his monocle case, and set it open before her. The little beetle crawled out of it and began climbing up Ilaira’s arm, who looked delighted. 

“My, I haven’t seen one of these ever since the flood. I thought they disappeared!”

“Apparently not,” he said. “Alvar found it just this morning. This land is healing.”

“So it is,” said Ilaira, and raised the beetle in her palms joined side by side. “I’ll keep her safe. Thank you.”

Now that she was reasonably pleased, it was time to get to business. She listened to all they had to say and gave a thoughtful nod at last. 

“Ursanthus seeds, eh?” She gave them a playful smile and tapped her chin. “Very well. I can give you one. But first, you must do something for me. A favour for a favour.”

“And you say wizards are always up to something,” said Lars, but he agreed. “What will you have us do?”

“Find me my silver mirror,” she said. “You know which one. I’ve been looking absolutely everywhere since this morning, but can’t find it.”

“I thought this was supposed to be a test of character,” said Alvar, already tired of people asking them to find lost things. “You’ll have us running errands?”

“Which is a good enough test, if you ask me,” said Ilaira. “I’ll be judging your patience and endurance and all that, and it’s actually a very complicated process before I can declare you worthy of the gift you seek. Be quick now!”

The task turned out to be harder than he thought, because the forest was vast and the nymph could provide little lead, for she could not remember where she’d last put the mirror. After a quick search along the shores of the lake revealed nothing, Alvar and Lars decided to split up and search the forest floor around the periphery of the lake, since Ilaira didn’t stray much far from that, being a water nymph. Lars even put on his monocle to look more thoroughly.

Alvar searched under drooping leaves and behind gnarled roots, scrambled through the undergrowth and upturned stones. Insects skittered away from beneath them, clearly displeased at having their peace disturbed. But there was no sign of the mirror. An hour or so later he found himself by the lake shores, back where he’d started, having run a full circle of the place. The bushes to one side trembled and a blond head poked out of them.

“Any luck?” asked Lars.

Alvar shook his head and sat down on the soft, damp soil of the lake shore. Perhaps he was failing this test after all. Lars extricated his long limbs from the bush and shuffled over. He too looked exhausted. He sighed and went ahead to splash some water on his face, taking off his monocle and placing it on a nearby rock. The sunlight gleamed upon the glass.

“Watch it for me, will you?”

Alvar nodded, though he doubted there was anyone this deep inside the forest to try and pocket the thing. 

A rush of wind. A flutter of wings dark as night.

Before Alvar could so much as turn his head, a dark shape swooped in from above, and the monocle was gone, and so was the thief--a great raven soaring high with a deep, guttural croak.

He gave a cry of warning, but by then the bird was beyond the reach of Lars’ magic. 

“Looks like we’ve found the culprit,” said Lars, already breaking into a sprint, “let’s go!”

Keeping up with a bird flying through the forest was hard, but what Alvar found even harder was keeping up with Lars. When the wizard ran, he was like a shadow, a mere shape flitting through the trees, slender and graceful. Swiftly he jumped from rock to rock, leapt over streams and over branches that stuck out in their way. Alvar, though the smaller of the two, was not built for such a chase, and it did not help that the branches kept getting caught in his hair.

At last, to his relief, they came to a stop. He hoped Lars had kept track of the raven, because he had no idea where on earth that little thief went.

“There!” Lars pointed with his staff.

They had come upon a cliff. There stood a withered old tree, one long branch jutting out far over the edge like a gnarled finger, pointing at the sea of green tree-tops down below.

The branch forked at the very end, and there hung a nest where the raven sat, looking at them with curiosity in its dark, glimmering eyes. The raven did not deem them worthy of much attention, clearly, and went back to pecking persistently at something inside the nest.

Lars tapped his chin in thought. “Telekinesis, perhaps?” he muttered. “Ah, that could work.”

He swung his staff. Nothing happened. All Alvar heard was a faint swish. Lars cursed under his breath.

“Why isn't it working?” asked Alvar.

“The branch is out of the range of my powers! If I could just bring the nest closer--” and when he tried to lean over the edge, Alvar had to stop him.

“Leave it to me,” Alvar said, and took off his scarf and handed it to Lars. He rolled up his sleeves and climbed up the tree. 

It was much easier than running and Alvar had plenty of practice. There was once an apple tree in the garden when he was little. He would climb to the highest branch, and from there he could see all the way to the bridge over the Icewater Creek. When the apples were ready to pick, he would go home with as many of them as his small arms could carry. The pies Gran made from them were absolutely divine.

But now was not the time to think about pies. Alvar had a snug grip on that long branch, the forest several feet below him.

The raven squawked at them, wings spread threateningly.

“Careful!” cried Lars, “you've made him angry.”

“Didn't know you could speak raven,” said Alvar dryly.

“I speak many languages,” Lars yelled back, “but you needn't be an expert to know that trespassing on someone's property is wrong.”

“So is stealing.” Securing his grip on all fours, Alvar climbed closer to the end of the branch, an arm stretched towards the nest.

The raven took flight, and the next moment, the fluttering of black wings was all he could see, and angry croaks were all he could hear. Blindly he groped through the contents of the nest and his fingers closed around something round and disk-like.

“Found your monocle!”

And then something flat and large, with a carved handle that was cold to the touch. He picked it up, and saw his own panicked eyes staring back at him.

“Here it is!” he cried. “Found the mirror!”

The raven's talons found Alvar next, the screeches deafening his ears. Again and again the bird poked at its reflection in the mirror.

“What's he saying now?” he yelled.

“Hmm, interesting,” answered the wizard. “He thinks it's his mate, that reflection in the mirror. He's trying to get her out before you steal it from him, poor fellow. Hold on. I'll see if we can come to an understanding.”

Then Lars uttered such sounds he hadn't thought could emerge from the throat of a human. He nearly fell off, it surprised him so, but caught himself at the last moment. The raven answered, and flew back to where Lars stood at the edge of the cliff.

The nest was before him now, unguarded, and its contents glimmered, a hoard of things such as necklaces, rings, a piece of metal wire, a coin, a nail, a fishing hook, and-- “Aunt Elena's magnifying glass!” He took the whole nest off, bundled it up and tucked it beneath his arm.

That was when he heard a crack behind him.

Panicking, he clambered back, but the withered branch gave way beneath his weight. The rotten wood splintered and broke with a snap.

Now the only way was down, down, down.

He let out a cry and reached out.

His hand closed around something like a piece of wool. A tug came from above, and up he went, instead of down, feet dangling in mid-air. 

It was the scarf. The half-finished one that Gran left behind. It did not seem so half-finished now, but instead it stretched and coiled around itself, taut like a thick red rope, strong like a ship's rigging.

He held onto it for dear life as Lars pulled him up.

“Sturdy stuff, this,” said Lars once Alvar was safely back on solid ground. 

Alvar watched in awe as the rope uncoiled and shrunk back to its original form, the soft woolly thing that kept him warm.

“It seems not all enchantments wear off after the caster has passed away,” said the wizard with a sad smile. He wrapped it around Alvar's neck once again. 

And now came the time to interrogate the thief, who now sat primly perched on Lars' outstretched arm. There was a bunch of croaking back and forth, between bird and man, of which Alvar understood little. Honestly, he felt a little left out. He needed not say it, because Lars caught on that pretty quickly.

“Ah, let me explain,” he said. “It did strike me as odd that a grown raven like this would go stealing things like that, like some young ones tend to do. But see here--” He beckoned Alvar closer and gestured to the bird's eyes. They looked swollen and watery, and a bit red.

“He's got an eye disease, I reckon. Can't tell the difference between these objects and food. And that mirror...” Lars stroked the raven's head. “He's lost his mate recently. I suppose he wanted some company. Poor thing's sick and lonely.”

Alvar sighed, looking at his beady little eyes. “Well, tell him that if he gives up the mirror, I'm going to plant a tree that'll help cure his illness.”

Lars did the honours of translating. “And perhaps I can take him home and give him some actual food. Do we have a deal, my friend?”

The raven said nothing, but neither did he make any attempt to fly off when they began making their way back to the lake to see Ilaira. Alvar was no expert, but he took that as a yes.

“Well, well,” said Ilaira, “so here's the thief.”

The raven croaked, a silly, high pitched sound like a laugh.

“I'm going to keep him,” said Lars.

“Keep him in a prison, while you're at it,” said the nymph.

“And I'm going to cure his disease,” Alvar added.

Her eyes halted upon him. “Now that's too great a promise. Can you really deliver on that?”

He smiled. “If you grant my wish, I can.” He placed the mirror in her hands. “Did we pass the test?”

She only smiled, and with an elegant dive, disappeared under the surface. A moment later she emerged, and a bright golden light filled the clearing.

Her slender hands closed around Alvar's, and she placed a seed of Ursanthus in his shaking palm. Roughly the size of an almond, it gleamed like gold, a red tint from where the roots would emerge. The droplets of water upon it shimmered. When he closed his fingers around it, beams of light spilled out from between his fingers.

When she spoke, she did not sound as carefree  as before. Her voice was solemn.

“Be just and wise when you put it to use, for the fruits borne by Ursanthus hold great power,” she told them. “Otherwise, the magic will run out and die.”

“But unwise decisions are sometimes made, even by the wisest,” said a grinning Lars, “how about I ask you for another one as backup?”

“How about I turn you into a toad?” said Ilaira, mirroring his grin, only tenfold terrifying.

Next, she dived again and brought up two shovels, one of silver, and one of gold, and turned to Alvar. “Now here's a little something for you.”

Alvar was no fool. He remembered all the tales Gran used to read to him. He took several steps back. 

“Oh, no, Lady! I ain't falling for that!” He shook his head. “I didn't drop anything in your lake. Those aren't mine--not even if you bring up an iron one.”

Ilaira laughed. “I know, sweet one. I know. These I give to you on purpose. The golden shovel is an essential tool you'll need for preparing the soil for the Ursanthus seed.”

“And the silver one?” he asked meekly.

“That's just a gift. Use it to turn the soil before sowing, and the plants that grow from it shall yield to no disease, rain or frost. Take them now, before I change my mind.”

And at last when he took wary steps forward, she placed them in his arms. The golden light flickered away. A soft splash, like a pebble hitting the water. Ilaira vanished from sight, as sudden as she had appeared.

By the time they came back out of the forest, lunchtime was long past. A lazy afternoon descended upon the village, the shadows growing longer at their feet. Still the raven accompanied them, perched on Lars' arm.

“I think I'm going to name him Snatcher,” said the wizard. “What say you?”

“A befitting name for a distinguished gentleman, no doubt,” said Alvar.

“No doubt. Have you thought of a good place to plant the seed?”

Alvar thought of the dead Ursanthus in Gran's garden, all shrivelled up and dry. “In the place where the old one used to be.”

Lars nodded. “Very well. Let's get to it then.”

Alvar would love  to do that, for he could not wait to see the new tree take the place of its predecessor and bloom into something beautiful. But there was still much to do.

“I'm afraid that has to wait.” He removed the bird nest from beneath his arm and held it up for Lars to see. “We ought to return all this to whom it belongs.”

The wizard smiled at the hoard of stolen things, then at the raven.

“Now's the time to repent for your crimes, Snatcher.”

The raven cackled.

What followed next was a cheery evening of people all around Frostspire reuniting with their lost treasures.