Arcane Essence - Part Two

The Throne Room

The throne room appeared deserted as Boch made his way to the “Living Throne”. The throne was another construct of the Arch Mage and was rumored to consist of the body parts of the failed students. Boch shook his head to try to dismiss the thought.

The slight breeze on the back of his neck was the only warning he was no longer by himself in the room. A dry cackle reverberated throughout the throne room.

“Welcome, Nephew.” came whispering from the shadowed corner of the room.

“Hello, Uncle. To what do I owe the privilege of being summoned to the Throne Room?”

“I do believe it is past time for your Tempering.”

“But Uncle, the other teachers don’t think I’m ready.”

“Be that as it may be, I will not have one of my own ridiculed in this hall as an incompetent.”

“The next test is in six months. I can take it …”

“Enough with your excuses and promises, my boy. Your teachers have concluded you are a hopeless waste of time. Look closely and see how we may salvage something yet.”

The Arch Mage held out his hand and pointed to his robe. Boch shuddered when he realized the various brooches, rings and pendants contained the arcane essence of his kin who had obviously failed the tests.

“Please take a seat,” his uncle said, pointing to the throne.

“But uncle, that’s your throne!”

“I insist. It will be a bittersweet taste of what could have been. It will bring a certain vibrancy to your essence as it drains away.”

Boch reluctantly sat down on the throne. The throne’s arms grew skeletal hand and seized his wrists in a death grip. Again, the cackle reverberated through the room.

“Uncle, please, you don’t know what I can do.”

“No, my sweet, simple, Boch, I do know your abilities. You are the last, weakest child of my brood. Even your younger siblings have at least gotten to the testing stage. You will never have the ability to step into the room for the test. You have no supporters among the teachers or apprentices. It is time for you to meet your fate.”

With that, the Arch Mage tossed his scepter at Boch. The Scepter of Control floated just inches from Boch’s reach, both the arcane and physical. The blood ruby blazed with an unnatural fire from within as the Arch Mage started casting the spell to forcibly remove Boch’s arcane essence, or as some might call it, his soul.

Arcane Essence - Part One

The Summons

“Apprentice Boch, attend the Arch Mage in the Throne Room.”

The announcement echoed off the walls as it issued from the green, glowing mouth suddenly appearing on the dull, grey walls. Even though he had been living in the castle with all of its special traits and quirks for the last couple of decades, he was still startled when the arch mage used a portal mouth to summon him. At least he was not being forced to enter the portal to make his appearance. Stepping through the mouth was too reminiscent of the Giant Wyrm episode from his childhood, which he had absolutely no desire to repeat. If the Arch Mage had truly desired Boch’s presence, Boch would have felt a compulsion to enter the portal. The portal allowed the caster to send a verbal message to the recipient and leave an arcane tunnel open for either the recipient or any non-lethal responses. Besides, walking through the warren of passageways to the throne room would give him time to lock away the memories and abilities he had been working so diligently to acquire.

He was the last remaining “Untested” of the Arch Mage’s brood. Through careful maneuvering, and a little dumb luck, Boch had been passed over for the last couple of Tempering Tests. All the students were required to take the tests once they had reached a certain skill level. It was the manner of progression through the school. If you passed, you were elevated to the next level. If not, you were stripped of your magic and sent away. No one ever saw the failed students again.

Boch took his time putting away the scroll he had been studying. As he put the scroll away, he scooped up a couple of his more potent rings. Walking to the throne room, he cast a collection of spells into his holding ring. When he finished, he cast a final spell on himself that would only activate if a trigger word were said or a set of circumstances happened.

When he arrived at the throne room, the Arch Mage’s guard constructs parted to let him through. The constructs were magical creatures loyal only to the Arch Mage. As Boch passed through their ranks, he felt the glare from fifty sets of eyes digging into his back.

Ballad of the Code Warrior

Wakes up to the alarm clock
Starts a drip bag of coffee
Eats a breakfast of sugar and caffeine

Finds his virus protection
Verifies the search engines
Starts his development environment

Needs to build the window
Into the corporate data
So they can get the information

Decisions, decisions, decisions
Will it be web or will it be Windows
Doesn't really matter to him

For he is the Code Warrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

The requirements and the design
Have already been laid out
All he has to worry about is the code

He is extremely skilled
With that tool set of his
There isn't anything to stand in his way

For when ever a bug raises its head
He knows the tool to use
To stop it dead before it rampages

As the program takes shape
And the bugs have been estimated
The phone rings, it's the sponsor

At the very last-minute
They found a few more things
To add it to the project

No matter, for he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him

The Code Warrior extraordinaire
It starts with the design they change
The requirements no longer matter
But the timeline stays to say
As he reviews the changes
A fresh pot of coffee brews
And a pizza is ordered

It can be done no doubt about that
He has the tools in his library
The Internet if it comes to that

He Googles and types and pastes
The new project takes shape
The bugs are dead it is time to deliver

On time, as always, for he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

But wait, the last one still lives
It has scurried and hid
It just won't die this last bug of his

Hope quickly fades
Of meeting the deadline
With all changes accounted for

This one last bug
Has taken its toll
All his tools are of no avail

Oh the shame, for he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

As the last glimmer starts to fade
A light and icon appear
From the mightiest of all

A wizard from the land of SysAdmin
Has logged in early and is offering to help
The CodeWarrior sends the message to him

The wizard casts his spells
Tells the warrior it's OK
It's not a code bug, it's an IP bug

The wizard traces, pings and fingers
Tracking the bug through the system
Finding the offending line
No jealousy here, for he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

The warrior and wizard review the code
Compile and run and verify
The bug alas is still not dead

They are thrown for a loop
From which they cannot break
For what they can see it is always true

There is a knock on the door
The warrior opens into his amazement
Sees the most rare and cleverest, the DBA

For while both the warrior and wizard are skilled
The DBA is the cleverest and quickest
One who can turn code from bits to program

Grateful for the help, for he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

He looks at the code
Finds the bug
It's as simple as ABC

The warrior makes the change
He compiles the project
It runs without fail

The sponsor is happy, blissfully unaware
Asks the warrior if he's ready
For the project's Phase Two

The warrior agrees with no hesitation
For that is the way and means
Of his chosen career

For he is the CodeWarrior
Web or windows, no matter
They are all the same pay to him
The Code Warrior extraordinaire

Spirit Ring

The waves of his tears finally subsided after threatening to overflow the dam of his determination. Searching through the mug books had finally brought it home. How could anyone by so callous? Karen had tried to comfort him in her own, cold way. “It’s only a lump of rock in metal,” she said after he had told her about the robbery. Technically, she was right, he thought. Nevertheless, she would never understand the ring was more than turquoise and silver. It had been passed down from his grandfather and was more than a simple ring.

Whenever he wore it, memories of the grandfather he barely knew, but felt an incredibly strong connection to, would flood through him. The times waiting by the front door for Boppa to come home and pick him up. There were the times they would go to the store and his grandfather would drive back with his knees as he fixed his cigar. They would also sit on the porch in the middle of winter bundled against the cold, biting wind, as Boppa would smoke his ‘icky gar butts’ since Mimi did not let him smoke inside the house.

“WHAT RIGHT DOES SHE HAVE?” he thought. Her comment still rankled him. Just because she does not understand, she has no right trivializing the theft. After the fourth mug book, the officer told him they were at the end. He was thankful because all the faces were morphing into a single collage of features leering and laughing at him, telling him he was wasting his time. Most likely, the thief had already hawked the ring and it had been melted down.

The officer drove him home where he spent the next hours remembering the other aspect of the ring. Not only did it bring the memories, but his grandfather was part of the ring. It had become his lucky charm. He wore it the night he went out with JD to the pool hall. He was untouchable on the table that night. He had his first cigar and first taste of 25-year old scotch.

Then there was the dart tournament. He did not win his match, be he threw the best game of his life and scored just enough points to move his team into first place. His tears finally overflowed the dam. He realized he would not be able to pass the ring to his children. The family chain had been broken by the senseless act of a lowly thief. “May Boppa bring swift vengeance!” No, that would be against his grandfather’s beliefs. “May Boppa twist your luck!”, he wished instead.

On the news that night, a story ran about the unfortunate circumstances that befell a pickpocket on the EL train. He had just taken the wallet from a lady’s purse when she noticed something awry. As she turned to see what happened, her bag knocked into the pickpocket who slipped off the platform. As he was scrambling on the tracks, he inadvertently touched the third rail and was immediately electrocuted. Maybe it was his thief, so it served him right.

As the story finished, he thought about the time he was riding through New Mexico on one of his cross-country motorcycle trips. As he rounded a corner, he found himself staring at what had to be the largest coyote in the region. In a split second, he had choices. The first was to hit the coyote and fight to keep the motorcycle from spilling. The second was to veer into the oncoming lane and hope no one was coming around the bend. The third was to take the shoulder and pray there was not much debris. He took the shoulder option and played a game of pinball with the guardrail. As he was hitting the guardrail, he felt Boppa’s hand on his shoulder steadying him so the motorcycle would not go over. After he came to a stop, he looked back at the coyote who gave him a wink and loped off over the hills. As he sat and recovered, he looked over the rail at the 250-foot drop. “Now, was it the bag or Boppa?” he thought.

Over the course of the next couple of months, he came to realize the theft might have been Boppa’s way of saying congratulations on becoming a man. He no longer needed an ever-present guardian angel, just one he could call on in times of need. There was no need to keep the ring because the angel would be in the item he held most dear, his heart