Fezdon's Mistake

Fezdon's Mistake

  by

  Dan Absalonson

  * * * * *

  PUBLISHED BY:

  Fezdon's Mistake

  Copyright © 2011 by Dan Absalonson

  All rights reserved. Without limiting the rights under copyright reserved above, no part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the above publisher of this book.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, brands, media, and incidents are either the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously.

  * * * * *

  Dedicated to the Every Photo Tells podcast for accepting this story as a submission. They post a new photo every month and invite people to submit a story inspired by it, and then podcast the accepted submissions. A big thanks to Katharina Maimer and Mick Bordet for producing the podcast. They have many great stories, go check them out!

  * * * * *

  Fezdon's Mistake

  * * * * *

  Fezdon was a wizard; at least that's how he thought of himself. The trouble was, no one else in the village agreed with him. He had to do something big to convince them. It was the only way he would be left alone to pursue his passion of mixing potions. He'd borrowed books on the subject from the royal library, but never had enough time to practice. He was always out in the woods collecting herbs and spices, or selling them in the village market. If everyone believed he truly was a wizard then they would stop bothering him for herbs and spices. He could start spending more time developing his craft. He had been thinking over it for sometime, but still had no idea how he could win the respect of the village. He had to make some kind of potion that would be useful. If he mixed a batch of love potion, or something that, he knew it would just cause trouble.

  There were another problems. Fezdon didn't have a cauldron big enough to make much more than a few very simple potions. On top of that, his shack was not an ideal location for potion production. Every time he made something the neighbors would complain of the smell and smoke which poured from his tiny windows. Couldn't they understand that he was a wizard? No one appreciated that fact. He needed to spend more time learning how to make potions if he was ever going to claim that title. The only way he was going to pull it off, would be to use the community pot in the center of the market to make something big. It was known as the beggars' boil; an enormous cauldron that people tossed their extra food into for the beggars to eat. Everyday it was some new conglomeration of whatever people could spare. It was for this reason that many wanderers ended up making the royal village their home. The king's wizard had even come down from the castle to cast a spell upon the cauldron; which kept it's contents at an even boil.

  The beggars' boil was a great addition to the market, showcasing the kindness of those who sold there, but it did cause problems. It was the ungrateful beggars who partook of the boil; they were always complaining that the dust of the ground made up the main ingredient of the pot. The generous people of the market who added food to the boil would not listen to the complaints. The grumbling beggars were constantly told to go and find free food elsewhere if they didn't like it. Fezdon wondered if there was a way to keep the large pot free from the dust of the ground. People had tried to construct a lid for it, but anything large enough was much too heavy for the weak beggars to lift. When something lighter was put on the pot, it would eventually weaken from the boiling brew beneath and fall in or off. Also, it was so frequented, by those adding and taking from it, that a lid was impractical. Perhaps a spell or potion could solve this problem, Fezdon thought. If he could stop the complaints of the beggars, he would make everyone happy. All would praise him. That is it! Fezdon thought. He had his idea.

  He sat in his small shack, pouring over the few potion books he had acquired from the royal library. They were the only books he could find on the subject, and he had kept them for much longer than he was supposed to. He looked for anything that might help him, but a late night and two candles later he had found nothing. His eyes burned and his hair felt greasy. He needed to get some sleep. He vowed not to give up on this plan, but closed the books, blew out the candle, and went to bed.