Written by Isabelle Portis

For seven nights in a row, screaming matches in his parents’ bedroom kept Oliver awake. The weight of their war threatened to crush him as their words struck one another and the debris fell upon his shoulders. He knew that something had to be done, and felt certain that only magic could help him. It was time to find the Wizard. Years ago he had seen the Wizard once when he fell ill, red spots speckling his skin. He remembered how his mother had carried him in her arms and pressed his hot, sticky cheek against her face, whispering in his ear: “The Wizard will heal you. He has magic. And magic always fixes everything, Olly.”

He hoped that was still true.

One afternoon, Mother gave Oliver permission to hunt faeries in the woods. He had received a bow and arrow for his eighth birthday two years ago, (not that Father had taught him to use it), and often explored the forest, practicing by striking the pesky faeries that devoured flowers and squirrels and birds and everything beautiful. Grasping the slender, curving wood in his left hand and a container of arrows in the other, Oliver let the door slam shut behind him and thudded down the steps, the noises distracting him from a sarcastic remark aimed at his mother and her shrieking reply. His heart pounded faster than his footsteps as he walked away. The grass felt soft beneath his boots and birds twittered above him, flint specks flitting across a gray sky.

As he moved into the forest, he left behind the cottage and entered a realm of wood and green and quiet. He walked along a well trodden path, fingers gripping his bow, ears alert for the tinkering giggles of faeries.

Rain began to drizzle on leaves red and still, the paralyzed starfish pinned against the forest floor. Pulling his hood up, he walked for another several minutes before he reached the tree. It was larger than he remembered. The tree trunk was thick as ten men spaced an arms length apart. It soared skyward with branches zigzagging across the clouds. Oliver paused, glanced up, and rain dripped on the tip of his nose. He sniffled, using a sleeve to swipe at his wet cheeks and the raindrops, too. He lifted a hand to knock on the bark when the tree opened and Oliver flung his hand over his eyes, momentarily blinded by the yellow light.

“Ah, Oliver. Just in time. Please, do come in,” said a voice.

Oliver stared at the small figure silhouetted by the light shining from the tree.

“Come in, come in,” the voice said again, and Oliver saw a hand swallowed by a navy robe waving at him.

He took a step forward, nearly asked how the Wizard knew his name (but remembered that a Wizard would know everything about him), and as the Wizard shuffled back, Oliver walked into the yellow tree light and the door shut behind him. A smell like a sunsoaked, cloudless sky filled his nostrils. And then the sweet hot smell of baking cookies wafted toward him. He blinked. Oliver’s head moved back and forth, staring, mouth agape. The Wizard’s home was smaller than he thought it might be, given the size of the tree. Tall, curved shelves filled with dark red, green, gold, and black volumes lined half of the room. A quarter featured the kitchen, a haphazard flour-dusted area with egg shells on the counter top and chocolate crumbs spilled onto the floor. And then his gaze fell upon the last quarter, populated by fantastical creatures: tiny mermaids swished about in a large glass tank filled with water; pegasuses the size of pigs chased enormous butterflies around the ceiling; and two beautifully dressed squirrels sat cross legged on the bookshelves, sipping from teacups, engrossed in conversation. When his gaze at last fell upon the creatures, he gasped, and they all stopped their activities to stare at him. A squirrel in a tweed suit dropped his teacup, and it thudded onto the carpet lined floor.

“It’s alright, everyone,” the Wizard said. He placed a hand on Oliver’s shoulder. “This is the boy I’ve been telling you about: Oliver. Say hello.”

Oliver locked eyes with the squirrel who had dropped his teacup. The squirrel clung to his fluffy red tail, a slight tremor in his body.

“Ehm, Oliver, would you mind putting down those splendid bow and arrows? I think it’s making Reginald nervous.”

Oliver glanced down at his weapons, quickly placed them on the floor, and stepped back. Reginald relaxed, dropped his tail, and waved his paw weakly at him. Oliver heard a sigh of relief from the other creatures, who nodded or waved at him before resuming their activities.

Now Oliver turned to look up at the Wizard, who had dropped his hand from his shoulder and instead stood grinning at him. The Wizard was not much taller than Oliver. He was a thin man with long, thick white hair rolling down his back. A large, wide smile engraved wrinkles into his cheeks and forehead and revealed even, white teeth. His long, crooked nose rested beneath large, dark brown eyes. An enormous navy blue robe nearly swallowed the Wizard entirely; bell sleeves hid all but the tips of his fingers.   

“Welcome back, Oliver. The last time I saw you, you were only a wee little lad and terribly sick,” he said, and tsked. “You’re very fortunate to have a mother who loves you. Is she coming, too? Have you run ahead of her?”

“No,” Oliver said. His cheeks reddened. “It’s just me.”

“I see,” said the Wizard. “Well, that’s alright. Come, sit down; you’re just in time for cookies.”

With another look back at Reginald and the others, who no longer paid him much attention, Oliver followed the Wizard into the kitchen. With a flick of his wrist and something muttered under his breath, the Wizard cleared his mess and brought forth a small round table accompanied by two cushioned arm chairs.

“I try not to rely on magic to clean up my messes,” the Wizard said, and Oliver thought he saw that his cheeks flushed, “but today, I think it’s alright. Please, sit. Would you like a cup of milk?”

Oliver accepted a mug and sat down in one of the chairs. The Wizard placed a plate piled high with chocolate cookies as big as his face. “Thank you,” he remembered to say.

“Now. I’m sure we have more important things to attend to than cookies,” said the Wizard, sitting in the chair across from Oliver. “Tell me how I can help you.”

Oliver gripped the mug handle more tightly. He sucked in his upper lip and stared down at the table. The Wizard waited. When the silence disturbed Oliver more than the embarrassment of his request, he finally said, “I need you to make a potion for me.”

“Potions happen to be one of my specialties,” the Wizard said, and nodded. “What kind? I should warn you I’ve stopped making love potions at least a hundred years ago after—”

“No, thank you,” Oliver interrupted and reddened again. “I want a peace potion.”

“Peace?” The Wizard sat back in his chair and began to stroke his beard.

“Yes. I need one. Now,” said Oliver. “I can’t pay you much, but—”

Now the Wizard interrupted. “No, no, I want nothing from you, dear Oliver. But what you want from me…I’m not sure anyone has ever asked me for that. Let me think. What is in that recipe…”

Oliver leaned forward. “You mean, you can do it? You can make a peace potion for me?”

The Wizard rose from the table. “Yes. But I’ll need your help to find the ingredients. They’re around here somewhere.” The Wizard paced the kitchen, tapping his forehead, then announced, “I remember! Ah yes. This is what we will need. Ahem: The Sweat of Sacrifice, a Listening Ear, three cups of Chocolate, some Vulnerability, and a handful of Compromise.”

Oliver stared. “What do you mean, an ear?” he asked.

“A Listening Ear,” the Wizard repeated. “But it sounds like you don’t have one, my boy.” He laughed at Oliver’s white face and wide eyes. “Don’t worry! I’m just teasing. Look, this will do,” and he reached into one of his sleeves and pulled out an ear of corn. “It’s been listening to us since you’ve arrived.”

A smile reached Oliver’s lips for the first time in seven days. “Oh,” was all he managed to say.

“Now. I’m going to get my cauldron, but in the meantime, please ask Reginald about the Sweat of Sacrifice. I’m sure he could give you some,” said the Wizard. “Take this handkerchief with you.”

Oliver rose to his feet and accepted the lacy white handkerchief from the Wizard. He turned toward the squirrels but curiosity got the better of him. He turned back toward the Wizard, who looked unsurprised by Oliver’s furrowed brow. “Why,” he asked. “Why do you have so many creatures here, living with you? Where did they come from? I’ve never seen them in the forest. Except for squirrels.”

“That’s because I’ve rescued them,” said the Wizard, “from those blasted faeries. They hunt and eat everything beautiful, you know. Now please hurry and ask Reginald for the Sweat of Sacrifice. I should like to send you home before dark.”

Oliver twisted the handkerchief in his hand, then walked over to Reginald and the squirrel sitting next to him. He had retrieved his cup, and was sipping and chatting with his companion until he saw Oliver approaching. The squirrel dropped his cup again and began to tremble.

                “Hello,” said Oliver. “The Wizard told me that you might be able to help me find—”

“Stay back!” cried Reginald. He stood on two shaky legs and the tweed suit beneath his arm pits grew dark and damp. Swiping an arm across his forehead, Reginald lifted a shaking hand and moved in front of his companion, a lady squirrel in a lovely white dress. She looked amused.

“Do. Not. Come. Any. Closer,” Reginald said.

“But I just need—”

“STAY BACK!” Reginald shrieked. “Don’t even think about it. I know all about your voracious human boy appetites and I promise you, squirrel meat is disgusting, but I won’t even let you try it! I won’t let you hurt my Lucy!”

Lucy took another sip from her teacup. “I don’t think he wants to hurt us, dearest.”

When Oliver took another step forward, Reginald flung himself on Lucy, who gasped and dropped her teacup. “Just take me, you ugly little monster! Please! I beg you!”

“I don’t want to eat you!” cried Oliver.

Reginald lifted his head and squinted his eyes. “You don’t?”

Lucy gently pushed Reginald off of her. “Dearest, thank you for your willing sacrifice, but I think the child would like something else from us.”

“The Sweat of Sacrifice!” Oliver blurted before he could be interrupted by Reginald’s antics again. “Please, might I offer this handkerchief to you? For your, uhm…sweat? I need some for the Wizard. He’s making me a peace potion.”

Oliver slowly handed the handkerchief to Reginald, who took it warily, tail twitching. “Oh,” Reginald said. “I suppose. If that’s all you want,” he said. He dabbed the handkerchief across his forehead and under his arms, looking terribly embarrassed to have overreacted. Handing the handkerchief back to Oliver, Reginald stammered an apology, while Lucy kindly patted her companion’s back. Oliver stooped down to collect their teacups and placed them on the bookshelf for the squirrels.

“Sorry to disturb you,” Oliver said, then quickly walked back to the Wizard.

The Wizard stood next to a small black cauldron that had replaced the table in the middle of the kitchen. He smiled and clapped his hands when he saw Oliver approaching. “Excellent! Toss that directly into the cauldron, please, Oliver.”

Oliver did. He leaned over the cauldron, which came up to his waist, and peered within. The ear of corn and white handkerchief rested on the bottom, as well as a pile of chocolate pieces. “I took the liberty of adding the chocolate myself. Chocolate makes everything better,” said the Wizard. “Now, Oliver. For the next ingredient, Vulnerability, I need you to tell me why you want this peace potion.”

Oliver sucked in his upper lip. He looked into the Wizard’s eyes, then quickly back down at the cauldron again. “I don’t think I want to talk about it.”

“Alright, how’s this for a Handful of Compromise?” the Wizard asked and his eyes twinkled. “Don’t tell me, then. Whisper your reasons into the cauldron.”

Oliver felt a lump in his throat as he remembered the shouting that kept him awake at night, the words he never wanted to hear. He didn’t want to go back to live, eat, and sleep in a cottage with two adults who hated one another. This potion was the white flag. The weight he carried, his failure to end the war, the potion would fix it all: they would drink and be satisfied, they would drink and be a family. Father would teach him how to be a proper huntsman. Mother would make waffles again. He could ask for a little sister. Magic always fixes everything. He believed her. Gripping the edge of the cauldron, he took a deep breath and leaned forward. “I want my parents to make peace,” he whispered into the cauldron. “I want the fighting to stop.” A tear slid down his nose and splashed onto the corn. “I want a family and a home again. Please.”

Oliver stared into the cauldron and waited for it to bubble, gurgle, smoke, something, anything, but the ingredients stared back at Oliver, motionless. Oliver’s head snapped up and he locked eyes with the Wizard. “Why isn’t anything happening? Is it working?”

A pause. Then the Wizard came around the cauldron and rested his hands on Oliver’s shoulders, turning him to face him. “No, Oliver,” he said. “I’m afraid it’s not going to work.”

                “…Not going to work?”

“My dear Oliver,” said the Wizard, hunching down to meet his eyes, “all I can give you today are some of the ingredients for peace. Forgive me, my boy, but I had to show you that no one can make this potion work. No one. Not even me.” His voice was soft and gentle. 

                “What? Why?” Oliver’s tears hadn’t stopped dripping down his cheeks. “You said you could make it. You said we had everything we needed. You said you could help me.”

The Wizard squeezed his shoulders slightly. “I know, my boy, but—”

Oliver pushed the Wizard’s hands off and stumbled back. “I’m not your boy. And you’re not a wizard. You’re a liar. You told me that you could help. You’re a liar!”

The magical creatures stopped from their activities once more, glancing at one another. Lucy lifted a hand to cover her mouth (and Reginald muttered something related to being right about ungrateful human boys).

“Oliver, I don’t know why you asked me for a peace potion, but I can’t give it to you,” the Wizard said. “Magic doesn’t make peace.”

Oliver trembled, his fingers curling into fists. “But you said—”

“I am sorry I cannot give you what you want, or what you think would help you,” said the Wizard. He stepped toward Oliver and raised his hand to his chest. “I set a bad example. You saw me clean up my mess with magic but that’s not the way it works with people, I’m afraid. Magic can’t change people.”

“I never should have come here,” Oliver said. He lifted a shoulder to wipe his eyes. “You promised you could help me but you can’t. You’re a terrible wizard.”

“Perhaps,” said the Wizard. “Oliver, I know you want a peace potion for someone else. But that is a journey they will have to take. I gave the recipe to you, Oliver, but it’s not magical. It’s only a step in the right direction. One day, it might even help you make peace with someone else. But not for them.”

The world looked blurry and he couldn’t stop his shoulders shaking, shaking, shaking.

The Wizard took one last step toward Oliver, opened his arms, and swallowed Oliver in a blue embrace. The smell of a sunsoaked, cloudless sky surrounded him. Oliver wept. The Wizard placed a hand on top of Oliver’s head. Lucy leapt down from the bookcase and bounded toward them. Oliver felt furry arms wrap around his ankle. A butterfly lighted on his shoulder. The muzzle of a horse nuzzled against his calf, the pegasus wings brushing against his back. And eventually, another pair of furry arms tentatively wrapped around his other ankle. Soon he was surrounded by nearly every beautiful creature for whom the Wizard had at one time provided a safe haven.

The Wizard drew back to look Oliver in the eye again. “In time, if you would like to share your story, we will listen. We love to be Listening Ears, and I’m always happy to provide Chocolate,” he said, and winked. “But for now, I’m afraid you will need to head home. Your parents will be missing you.”

Oliver winced. “I-I don’t want to go back.”

“Come as often as you would like. Wizards don’t sleep, you know. We stay up all night, thinking and talking to the stars. But out of respect for your mother, I’d ask that you don’t leave your home in the middle of the night, unless it is an emergency.”

Oliver sniffed and offered a small smile to the Wizard and the creatures. The fantastical beings began to release him and again disperse themselves throughout the room. “I’m sorry I said that you’re a terrible Wizard.”

“You’re forgiven. I’m glad you came. I’ll see you again soon, Oliver. Don’t forget your bow and arrows and take a cookie for the walk home. Keep a sharp lookout for those faeries.”

Oliver walked over to where he had dropped his bow and arrows and picked them up again, slinging the container of arrows over his shoulder. He walked to the door, then turned and faced the Wizard.

“Thank you,” he said, his voice soft and crumbly from crying.

“You’re welcome, Oliver.” Smiling softly at the Wizard, Oliver opened the door and stepped into the forest again, closing the door behind him. The rain had stopped, and he heard birds cooing. The sky was beginning to darken as he started along the path home, breathing in the earthy smells of a freshly watered forest. He knew that his mission had failed; he would not be bringing home any peace potion that evening. Yet as he prepared to walk back into a circumstance that even magic couldn’t fix, Oliver imagined that he didn’t walk alone, that he carried the beautiful creatures and the Wizard’s embrace with him. That he had made friends, and they wouldn’t leave him, but might even care enough to listen one day, if he ever told them about his home. To his surprise, that thought produced in him the faintest feeling of peace, one that grew stronger even as distance grew between his footsteps and the Wizard’s tree.