*In Search of a Beard

Intro: I took my story Free Time to writing group and received critiques back this week. Overall the story was really well received. One of the members in my group suggested writing a collection of wizard fables. I thought it was a pretty good idea. So here is my second attempt at unraveling the secrets behind wizards. So this time I look at why many wizard mentors are similar physically. Old men with beards. For example: Dumbledore, Gandalf, Belgarath, Merlin, and even Obi-Wan Kenobi.

Shawn straightened his coat and looked in the mirror one last time to make sure everything was absolutely perfect. Neatly parted, well kept hair. Shined boots and pressed trousers. Spotless shirt and lint free jacket. He hadn’t even nicked himself shaving this morning. Meeting with a new client always set his teeth on edge, though speaking honestly, this was only the third client and everyone set him on edge. He lifted his chin and nodded firmly to his reflection. Not only had he been studying for dozens of years but he’d also apprenticed with another wizard for a few more. Absolutely no reason in the world existed for the dread he felt, but he still clutched his hands trying to keep them from shaking.

Instead of using a transportation spell, Shawn walked to the tavern, enjoying the spring morning. The wind rustled his hair and he furiously patted it down trying to keep it in some semblance of order. It helped a little but to be on the safe side, he took a few moments outside of the tavern to check his appearance over once again before stepping inside.

He waved to the owner, a childhood friend, and walked over to the only occupied table.

“Greetings, I’m Shawn.” He held out his hand and the young man looked up from his drink.

“Who?”

“Shawn,” he repeated. “You asked to meet me regarding a quest.”

“Oh—you’re the wizard?”

“Yes,” Shawn hung onto the word a moment longer than he should while a little of his enthusiasm leaked out. He pulled himself together and sat down resting his elbows on the table. “I want you to know that you won’t regret coming to me with this assignment—”

“How old are you?” The man asked, leaning forward and eyeing him in the dusty light coming through the window. “I mean do you have much experience with this kind of thing?”

He blinked at the man for a few seconds. “How old am I? I’m nearly forty.”

“Really? Hm.” The man took a swig from the tanker and looked at him again. “I would have guessed younger.”

“I assure you, I’m old enough for what you need.” Everyone thought he was younger than he really was. “I was going over the research—”

“But how much experience do you have? You never answered the question.”

Shawn rubbed his forehead and stared at the table. “I’ve been doing things like this since I was a boy. You won’t find many who have more experience than I. Now,” He straightened his back a little and tried to keep a non-strained smile in place. “Shall we discuss the particulars?”

“Since you were a boy? I just don’t see that.” The man rubbed his bristled chin thoughtfully.

“What’s wrong now?” Shawn tried to keep the whining from his voice and almost succeeded.

“If you have been doing this for years I would expect you to be more, more—”

“Distinguished? Commanding? Stronger?”

“Decrepit. Old. Scarred.” The man replied. “Sorry. I just don’t feel like you are cut out for the position of mentor.”

“Decrepit? Honestly?”

The man stood and moved his chair back. “Good luck.”

Shawn remained where he was as the tavern owner sauntered over.

“Another rejection?”

“Yes. So in the three interviews I’ve been told I need to be more distinguished, commanding, stronger, mystical, severe, solemn, decrepit, old and scarred.”

“What now?”

“My grasp on adjectives has doubled this week. If I ever wondered what they were before I know now.”

“That’s not what I meant. You are cut out for this job. We both know it.”

He chuckled as his friend sat down. “Right. So what do I do? Trade in my clothes for the oldest robe I can find and dye my hair gray.”

“Growing a beard always adds a view years, too.”

“You can’t be serious.” He rubbed his clean shaven jaw. “That doesn’t look respectable.”

“Why not? This is nothing more than customer feedback. I get it all the time. Why do you think I wear an apron even though I never touch the food?” His friend smiled and rubbed his hands together. “And I know exactly where to find a knarled stick for you to use.”

“Why do I need a knarled stick when I have a perfectly good one?”

“Goes with the image.”

“Makes me want to hit something,” he muttered resting his head on the table. “This is ridiculous.”

“That’s the best part. In their image you can hit them. They’ll probably just take it as a learning experience.”

Shawn groaned but it turned into a laugh. He wiped tears of laughter from his eyes as he left the tavern, in search of a beard.