Weather Wielders

By Morgan J. Manns

Esteemed Master Librarian,

In case you are unaware, I have retired from my scholarly pursuits. However, something unexpected has occurred. Please accept this first-hand account as proof that Weather Wielders exist, and I have the key to unlocking their potential.

It began last summer, when an elf knocked on my door, disturbing my mid-day tea. As a seasoned Boffin mage, I had grown accustomed to adventurers seeking my expertise. However, since declaring my retirement, my cottage remained quiet. The unexpected knock nearly caused me to sputter my chamomile.

Nevertheless, knowing his skin wouldn’t survive the desert sun, I invited the Riverlander in. No sooner did he step across the threshold, than he announced his request for me to sing a sapphire into detecting water. It seemed straightforward, but achieving the perfect enchantment would require strenuous guesswork.

“Wouldn’t two metal rods work?” I asked, removing my gaze from the tiny blue stone he’d placed atop my desk.

“Like calls to like,” he shrugged. “A magic-infused gem will uncover magically-concealed water.” He rummaged through his sack. “Will you accept a trade as payment?”

I raised an eyebrow at his assumption. “Do you understand the energy this will take?” I waved him off. “No, I am retired. There’s nothing…”

He handed over a scroll.

Foreign, gilded script met my gaze. I peered closer, unable to contain my eagerness. Either the ink was made from genuine gold or some trickery to make it appear so. If it were real, only the elves themselves could afford such luxury.

I looked at the elf. “Can you read this?”

“Gibberish to me.”

His gaze was steady, but the lie danced behind his forest-green eyes like fire. So, he could read it… This was genuine golden ink.

I regarded the scroll again. Perhaps it was merely a mundane list of items or something of that nature. That certainly would lower its value. Even so, I twirled my beard, imagining it displayed next to my treasured manuscripts. It would be beautiful.

Despite my hesitations, I agreed. He left, promising to return in a few days.

Getting to work, I started with a simple brass ring, replacing its ordinary stone with the brilliant blue gem. Next, I hummed an intricate melody with rising crescendos. The vibrations should have heated the ring, but it remained frustratingly neutral.

Sweat beaded across my brow. I tried again, changing the pitch in hopes of finding the right combination. Nothing changed.

Tapping my fingers, I realized I had only attempted the higher registers. Drawing deep power from the back of my throat, I hummed low. The ring turned ice-cold. Unexpected, but, sensing progress, I dropped into an even lower register. The ring shot toward my cup of magically-heated tea, shattering it.

It worked.

I made notes on the curious creation, eyeing it warily. I’d never sung so low.

As rare clouds began to form outside, a flicker from the scroll caught my attention. Sliding the parchment toward me, my world, quite literally, exploded.

Sometime later, I was dragged from the rubble by the elf, the gemstone ring fixed upon his finger.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “I wasn’t sure you could be trusted. The scroll was supposed to alert me once you completed the task, not destroy your home.” He left with hurried apologies, muttering to himself about needing to practice his calligraphy.

I hummed mournfully, picking through the wreckage, and experimenting with my voice’s low register. Something wet spattered against my cheek.  I peered upward, incredulous. Rain? The Drylands never rained, certainly not in summer.

Eager to investigate, I moved to a friend’s cottage and watched the sky’s unusual weather patterns grow. Grass began spotting the desertscape. Grass!

Months later I received a letter with familiar gilded ink, this time in a language I could read. Fortunately, it never exploded. After reading the request, I promptly boarded a carriage toward the Riverlands.

A land of cascading waterfalls and lush greenery met my awed gaze. As I entered the capital city’s golden gate, a wanted poster heralding a recognizable face stared back at me. I hesitated. Should I return home rather than seek a criminal? No. I had to know…

I found the tavern and waited with a warm cup of tea. Folk muttered about the changing skies. All due to that, “idealistic elf.”

A hooded figure slid into the chair opposite mine.

“You!” I whispered. “Y-you destroyed my entire life’s work!”

The elf’s head dipped. “I’m very sorry, Mr. Boffin.”

“I should turn you in, not offer my expertise! You’re a criminal.”

Fingering the sapphire ring, he said, “With this, I can track secret underground springs through the Riverlands, redirecting water to the nearby villages.” He sighed heavily. “Yet, the ring can’t detect the deepest sources of the Riverland caverns. I need your help, Mr. Boffin. I want to send water farther across the land. Everyone deserves water. Not just the elves.”

I imagined rain dispersed across the continent and Drylanders having tea in lush gardens. The elf was persuasive.

“You have a deal, as long as you teach me the scroll’s magic.” It still baffled me.

He grinned. “Of course, Mr. Boffin.”

I worked with the elf, redirecting water into Drylander skies. My theory proved true, you see. The ring could find water, but the power of my song—an ability granted to Boffin mages—brought it skyward. A monumental discovery!

***

All these years we believed the Weather Wielders to be a myth. But they’re real. I’m real. In conclusion, Master Librarian, I would like to publish my findings under a pen name as to not alert the elven authorities. There may be more like me, and we need their power.

When you are finished reading, the script will vanish. Please respond using this parchment. I will receive your answer immediately. However, please be mindful to cross your t’s and dot your i’s. I would rather not have to rebuild my home once again.

May the Drylands become bountiful.

Yours,

Mr. S. Boffin

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Morgan J. Manns is a speculative fiction writer who firmly believes that the world needs more stories filled with magic and wonder. Captivated by the realm of intricate world-building since composing her first fantasy tale at the age of ten, she now ventures beneath the endless Canadian prairie sky with her supportive husband and two hobbit children, all while eagerly contemplating her next literary creation. While her current occupation is that of an elementary school teacher, her dream job will always be dragon rider, soaring through the skies of her imaginings.

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