The Wizard and the Cunning Man

Long ago in the morning of the world, a wizard fell down the stairs of his high tower and broke his arm. While he was wise in many things, healing was not one of them and so, groaning with pain, he betook himself to the local cunning man.

Now the cunning man could feel that the bone was utterly shattered and no ordinary healing would work. He told the wizard the truth of it, that he knew only one thing that might help, which would be if he could bind muscles and bone and sinews together with tree root fibres. The wizard agreed.

'This for you and what for me?' asked the cunning man.

The wizard thought a while.

'Without the use of my hands, my art is greatly curtailed,' he said, 'but I can bring you the sound and image of things craved if you wish. Each night of my healing for one hour at twilight, I can conjure you a glamour so real you will believe it.'

The cunning man agreed to this very readily, for he noted the gift would be given throughout the treatment which meant it could not be taken back if the healing failed. He set to work and arduous enough it was, cleaning the breaks and seeking out new sinews from kindly trees. He took fibres from the beeches, for books were made from such trees and he thought they and the mage would have affinity. As to the wizard, he was faint with pain but he kept his word. At the end of the first days healing, when the sun had set he asked the cunning man what he would like to see.

'I should like to see my wife,' he said, 'I lost her long ago and have missed her every day of my life.'

Holding his staff in his remaining good hand, the wizard drew a magical circle on the ground, chanting while he did. Sure enough, a woman suddenly stood there and the cunning man rushed to her and held her in his arms. They talked and kissed and danced together until the hour was done, when she disappeared.

So it continued. Each day the cunning man worked on the wizards new arm, and each twilight for an hour his wife would return.

He was very happy, though the wizard warned him not to become too enamoured of the being.

'She is but a dweomer,' he said, 'not the love you knew. Do not lose sight of the real, my friend.'

But this advice came too late for the cunning man, who could think of nothing but keeping her by his side for longer and longer. Alas, his healing was too powerful. The wizard was recovering fast, new fingers moving deftly, muscles stronger than before, and the cunning man dreaded the moment all would be complete for he knew the wizard's payment would end. So he broke the taproot serving as an elbow, and the wizard was incapacitated again.

'An unfortunate accident, this work is so delicate. It will take longer than I thought,' he told the mage, who looked at him keenly and nodded as though he understood.

That twilight the cunning man's wife appeared again. But this time as he reached out to hold her, his hands passed through air, and the beloved apparition shimmered into a dancing blue flame.

'The weaker I am, the weaker my spells,' the wizard explained.

Then a great rage fell on the cunning man for it seemed that one way or another he could not keep his love. He grabbed the mage's staff and smashed him across the face with it. The staff shattered with a thundering sound and took the wizard with it, showering into beech tree seeds that the wind scattered across the land.

Time came when those seeds grew into a forest where scholars meandered in good weather, some bringing their books with them. But they always left before twilight for all knew of the madman who roamed at dusk pursuing the blue marsh flames. It was only when his skull was found amidst the tree roots of the swamp that they realised he had died many years before.