Summon the Elven Mage Read online

  Other Books by Barbara Ferrier

  Kalendra Chronicles – Book One

  Hidden Magic

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  Kalendra Chronicles – Book Two

  The Ancient City Emerges

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  Kalendra Chronicles – Book Three

  Broken Magic

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  Kalendra Chronicles – Book Four

  Ancestors Return

  Copyright 2021

  Barbara Ferrier

  All rights reserved.

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  This is a work of fiction. Names, Places, characters and incidents are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. All Rights reserved. This book may not be reproduced in whole or in part without express written permission of the copyright holder.

  * * *

  Book Cover: SelfPubBookCovers.com/ Joetherasakdhi

  Editor: Leonora Bulbeck

  Formatter: Nola Li Barr

  To my three daughters, whose support and

  Encouragement has made all the difference. Thank you.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Thank you for reading my books!

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  Kris looked at the clock. Midnight. He had to leave for work in six hours. As he lay down, Kris closed his eyes and felt himself fall for an exceptionally long time until he landed in a deep sleep. He stood in the hallway of his childhood home.

  Eight-year-old Kris was dressed in his most formal clothes.

  “My young lad,” his father said, with a welcoming smile. He wore his finest silk vest over a crisp white shirt, the sleeves rolled-up. “Please come in. We have important business today.”

  Kris walked into his dad’s large, round office that overlooked the lake.

  “Please.” His father gestured. “You are my guest of honor today.”

  As Kris sat at the solid walnut desk his dad filled two tumblers with iced tea. He passed one to Kris. Then he raised his glass into the air.

  “The world is waiting for you, Kris,” he said with a sly grin. “I understand you are still a boy right now. I know you can keep a secret and a promise. For that I am immensely proud. I trust you will remember your promise when the time comes.” His father looked him in the eyes.

  Kris nodded enthusiastically with wide eyes.

  “I need to make an important request. You see, life gets demanding and we all get caught up … which is good … but” he said pointing his index finger into the air, “danger lurks. You can get so caught up you forget to live. I promise you, my son, your life will change when you travel alone and meet people from many backgrounds. You’ll learn to see the world through a variety of lenses and know what’s possible in your own life.”

  He stood and walked across the room to the view window overlooking the lake, then spread his arms broadly to present his office in a gesture of pride and excitement.

  He knelt and met his son at eye level. “May I tell you a story?”

  Kris nodded.

  “I did everything that was asked of me. I was as dedicated as I knew how, absorbed as much opportunity as I could. By the time I finished my education, I had choices. No sooner had I blinked than I was offered the chance to become partner … but inside something was wrong. I should have been as happy for myself as other people were for me, don’t you think? I wasn’t excited, not even a little.”

  He and Kris met eyes.

  “My opportunities were a privilege, and I couldn’t complain. But I knew I was going to suffocate like a fish out of water. I felt pressure to ignore all personal costs involved.” He turned to his son in despair. “I didn’t know what to do, Kris. I didn’t want to burn bridges, but every time I considered the offer, I felt intense dread. Nightmares whenever I slept.”

  “I didn’t have a confidant—you know, a friend I could trust to talk. I finally spoke to a gentleman I knew on the bus. He was older than me, and thankfully, he understood my dilemma. He suggested I forecast the consequence of each choice and then make your decision. ‘No one can do that for you.’

  “I packed my suitcase and got ready to leave. My bag sat in the front hall closet for weeks. I avoided making a commitment and weighed my decision, then made my choice. I traveled alone for eleven months, allowed the winds to take me wherever they blew. After a while I knew what I wanted. I was ready to go home.”

  He refilled Kris’s iced tea. “You see, I had discovered pieces of what I wanted, and that was enough. I was kinder and more patient. I didn’t have regrets.

  His dad took an old carved wooden box off his bookcase and placed it in the middle of his desk. “I have a special present for you,” he said. Kris’ eyes were wide.

  He opened the lid slowly, then lifted the one-way ticket stub to London from his trip and held it up as if it were as fragile as glass. It flashed brightly in Kris’s eyes.

  “This ticket is your invitation to create a new chapter in your life when the time comes. I heartily recommend it.” His father smiled broadly at him, then became solemn and placed the ticket stub in his son’s hand. “It’s never too late, Kris. Promise me you’ll remember.” Then his father looked deeply into his eyes and raised his glass. The two toasted.

  Kris woke, looked at the clock, and saw he’d overslept. Frantically he raced to work, grabbed a bagel and coffee on the way into the office, ran to his desk, and closed the door. He sat in his chair and closed his eyes, trying to recall his dream.

  Did my dad ask me to intervene in my future? He sat back.

  As he finished his coffee, Kris realized he felt different inside. He witnessed his hands typing the words “plane ticket to Paris.” He couldn’t go now. He had two proposals to finish and his calendar was booked solid. His hand reached into his pocket and took out his wallet. Then his fingers typed his credit card number on the screen.

  Kris realized he’d lost control of his limbs. His eight-year-old self finished buying the ticket for a plane leaving in two weeks and three days. Get ready to go, he heard in his head. Kris’s eight-year-old self stood and walked to the middle of the office, where people were gathering for coffee on their way into the morning meeting. He said:

  “Hey. General announcement. I’m going to take some time off. One year, to be exact. I already have my ticket … so this is my notice.”

  Kris felt his younger self ready to do some high kicks. He worked hard to keep his feet on the ground and quickly returned to his office, so he didn’t fall on his face.

  “I’ll talk to the board this afternoon, maybe take a sabbatical,” he said to his executive secretary. “Start delegating my calendar.” She nodded.

  Kris closed the door, leaned back in his chair, and stared in shock. Tears welled in his eyes, and he began laughing uncontrollably. Thanks, Dad.

  Chapter 2

  Kris grabbed his bag off the conveyor belt at the Paris airport and began looking for ground transport. He could do whatever he wanted, something he hadn’t considered in years.

  An elderly woman struggled to take her heavy bag off the conveyer belt. Her coat was caught, dragging her along and she was about to fall. Kris ran over and gave her his arm to steady herself as he grabbed the coat and bag off the conveyer belt.

  “Are you alright? Do you need more help?”

  The rattled elderly woman steadied herself, released Kris’s arm and got her suitcase situated again. “You’re so kind. I’m okay n
ow,” she smiled.

  Kris took the train into Paris from the airport and got off at the station near his hotel. He passed three restaurants and was hungry for dinner. He hated decisions. He walked inside one restaurant and saw a waiter serving scallops and asparagus in some yummy French sauce. He got the waiter’s attention, pointed to the dish, placed his order, and sat down.

  Wandering cobblestone streets and exploring back alleys, Kris watched people live their lives. Fishermen, shopkeepers, physicians. He wondered how many felt satisfied. Some people visibly thrived. They glowed as if surrounded by a warm light. Kris saw people thriving from every walk of life.

  Then he noticed gray-looking people. They scowled, complained, and made excuses. As Kris listened to passersby, he discovered the gray people demanded control, felt like victims, and saw few options. They did not believe in possibility, like the people who glowed. Kris was intrigued.

  What makes a person glow or go gray? Even the children were different colors. Was it the jet lag? Did his eight-year-old self see colors on people?

  He lay on his hotel bed surrounded by maps and books, wondering where to start this great adventure. He poured through guidebooks and wrote down places that sounded interesting.

  Then he stopped and lay back on his bed realizing he had absolutely no idea what he was doing here. “Dearest eight-year-old self,” Kris wrote on his paper. “What are we doing? Please, write it down so I can make a decision.”

  He looked up and smiled. “I’m officially nuts.”

  He watched his hand write on the page: “Train station.”

  Kris packed his small bag and got ready to leave, then set the alarm for an early morning.

  He arrived at the train station to find it was crowded. He stared at the list of places he could go. There were so many to choose from. He had his notes organized, but still felt uncertain.

  Out of the corner of his eye, an exceptionally small man caught his attention. The man wore a little green vest, black plaid pants, and a tall top hat. He also had a crystal-clear stone in his vest pocket. The light from the stone flashed in Kris’s eyes. The man stepped forward and beckoned him. “Pssst,” he said. “Down here.” He had the brightest orange glow yet. Kris wondered if he’d lost his marbles completely as he knelt.

  “These are your instructions. Listen carefully,” he said. Kris saw the man’s wrinkles around his eyes and mouth. “See that reader board with all the station names?” Kris looked and nodded. “I want you to stare at it. You see? Look at the whole list at once. Then wait.”

  Kris looked over at the list that hung on the wall next to the booth.

  “Tell me if any standout. Stare until they pop off the list. Those are the ones.”

  Kris continued to stare at the list. “Oh. Yes, I see. One popped.”

  “It has winked at you,” the old man said solemnly. “Those are the places you must go.” He said excitedly. “You will have a better experience if you travel this way and accept the invitations presented,” he said. “This works in all of your decision-making. Efficient ... You don’t want the gray people to control your life, do you? If you go with the winks, you will always be surrounded by those who glow. You’ll rediscover your own glow.” He smiled and bowed.

  “My glow?”

  “Of course. We are all here to find our glow. You’ve noticed that some are covered in gray film. Have you seen them try to steal light from others? It’s a bit disturbing. Protect yourself from the gray ones. They are energy takers. Stay in the warm light.” He smiled broadly.

  Kris nodded. “Okay, I’ll go to that town that popped and wander through the side streets.” He smiled. “I’ll go there for dinner tonight.”

  “Pick your restaurant the same way.” He grinned.

  The old man with the green vest took his top hat off and placed it over his heart, then gave an elaborate farewell bow. The crystal he wore flashed again as he disappeared into the crowd.

  Chapter 3

  Kris became comfortable with the old man’s advice. At first he had to pay close attention, so he didn’t get lost. His senses became more refined. He consistently found what he was looking for and realized trusting his instincts was a muscle he could strengthen.

  Kris woke up as the sun was rising, packed his bag, and left the hotel. He went to his favorite bakery and grabbed a cup of coffee. He glanced at the morning newspaper across the room, and words jumped off the page. “Travel south.”

  Walking down the familiar cobblestones, he glanced into a small alley. Graffiti on the wall said, “Travel south.” Kris blinked and looked again. There were no words in the alley. I saw it. I’m losing my mind.

  He went to the local park, sat on the bench, saw two young boys playing. They reminded him of his nephew Jaime. He tossed his pastry bag away and saw a sticker on the trash can: “Southbound now.”

  He ran from the park to the train station, stopped at the reader board, and looked at the choices. The final station popped out with an orange halo.

  The train arrived as Kris stepped onto the platform. He grabbed a window seat and watched as the city gave way to suburbs, farmland, and villages that dotted the countryside.

  Kris got out his journal and began writing. Maybe if he wrote it down, his trip would make more sense. Had this strange new mindset crept in through the dream? Somehow, he had the feeling of déjà vu.

  It was late when he arrived at his destination. The port station was bustling and filled with commotion despite the late hour. He picked up his bag and walked outside, where he saw a late-night marketplace across the street. He purchased a few things for the road.

  As he walked out of the market, Kris wondered which way to go. It was late enough to find a hotel, but when he looked at the list, none popped. Outside the market he felt tension in the night air. He walked back inside.

  A lit corridor in the back of the market caught his attention. He looked to see if anything was written in English. There was no sign. Walking down the corridor, he saw a man packing bags of food. He had enough food to feed a small army. Kris assumed he owned a restaurant.

  “Looks like you have a big job there. Do you have a restaurant?” Kris said.

  “You could say I feed many people,” he responded.

  Kris smiled. “Kris Campbell.”

  “My name is Edwardo. How do you do?”

  “Do you need help? I am wandering, taking a break from a job that has too many responsibilities, and now I seem to have too few.” He chuckled.

  “That’s kind of you. Would you please help me take these bags to the ship outside? I am getting ready to board.”

  “Absolutely,” Kris said.

  The two walked out of the market together, across the street, and down a back stairway to the dock with many bags of food. The large ship was boarding.

  “Where are you going?” Kris asked.

  “To visit a few small villages,” Edwardo said. “I love spending time with people there. I worry they don’t have enough food. It’s my greatest pleasure to cook a feast and create a party, then leave them days of food … I found these people when I was just wandering, like you are now, four years ago. Now I check on them and learn from them. I have a route that I follow. I’ll return here in one week. They live in a different world altogether. Would you like to join me? You’re more than welcome. Maybe it will help you find whatever it is you seek.” He smiled broadly.

  “Sounds good,” Kris said, shrugging. He liked Edwardo.

  The two got the rest of the heavy bags of food and loaded them onto the boat. Kris bought a one-way ticket, glad for an adventure and a traveling companion.

  When they got off the boat, Edwardo’s Jeep was waiting. The two put their bags in the Jeep, then stuffed the back with food.

  As they drove, the land became more arid. Edwardo turned off the main highway onto a dirt road.

  “I love their stories,” Edwardo said. “I feel a kinship with these people that I can’t explain. I think their stories help me see t
he world differently. I would hate for our ancient world to lose its knowledge. They must have done something right.” He shook his head. “There are many kinds of wisdom in the world, I have found. You will feel the same, I think.”

  Kris nodded, thinking of the old man at the train station who had taught him how to travel. He doubted he’d used his brain like that before.

  “I start my trip out here,” Edwardo explained, taking the map from the dashboard and pointing. “We’ll surprise them with a feast. Do you love to cook? Or play with children? It brings pleasure to my heart every time I watch the people come from over the hills to Edwardo’s party. That’s what they call it. I want to capture the elder’s stories before it is too late. And they agree. They want their wisdom written down.”

  “I look forward to Edwardo’s party.” Kris smiled.

  “They tell their stories by writing them in the sand. This is how the lore is passed down through the generations.”

  Edwardo smiled and laughed. “Your bag is so small. That’s unusual for a tourist.”

  “I brought my pencils and journals and personal stuff. I like to write and draw, depending on my mood. I had a bunch of travel books I didn’t need so I left them. At the market, some old carvings had the look of an archaeological site. I’ve always loved museums that show life thousands of years ago—wondered what their lives were like.”