Through the Urania Wand, he had foreseen the ruins—the aftermath of some horrendous calamity. The nightmarish future that would come to pass if he did not succeed in stopping it. These were the thoughts that motivated him.

He firmly believed in everything the Wandmakers’ Guild stood for. His only desire was to see mankind into a better future and to thwart the evil that tried to do otherwise.

Coralis.

Randall loved the old man dearly, but was constantly frustrated by his lack of attention to the world around him. The final straw had been when he refused to believe in Randall’s discovery of the evil that was about to unfold. He knew he had to take drastic action to wake Coralis from his malaise.

It was no accident when he transformed into a falcon. It was no accident when he located Henry and forced a connection between the old man and the boy. He could only hope that Coralis had followed through.

His feathers ruffled at the thought of Coralis digging in his heels and wrapping himself within the safe confines of his castle in ignorant bliss. He became agitated with anger and felt pressure building in his brain.

Coralis!

“Hello, Randall.” The old man’s voice sounded faintly in his head. He thrashed violently, fearing hallucinations that could compromise his mission. No!

“Calm down, boy!” He stopped, suddenly still as a statue. Would a hallucination answer him? Did the old man anger him so much that he now invaded his subconscious?

I am not hallucinating. Randall decided to play along. If this was what it took to keep him awake, then he had nothing to lose.

“Hello, old man,” he silently spoke through his thoughts. “Long time, no see.”

“Still a disrespectful lad, I see.”

“I find it hard to respect a dream.”

“This is not a dream and we have no time for idle chatter.” And with that admonishment, Randall understood. It was indeed the voice of Coralis. He must be using an ancient art to communicate with his thoughts.

“Coralis, where are you? Please tell me you’re not eating a bowl of Gretchen’s stew at the castle.”

“Yes … Gretchen’s stew. What I wouldn’t give for a piping-hot bowl of it. No, unfortunately I am far from that. I am effectively following the trail of bread crumbs you’ve been dropping. And the fact that this connection is coming through loud and clear means we are fairly close—geographically, that is. But we have no time to waste, so listen carefully. I am on a train with Henry and his sister.”