As Shon sat in the dark dungeon and considered his current situation, he couldn’t help thinking about Conetail Jelly Soup. He doubted it was the kind of thing that most people would think about while conversing with the soul of an ancient necromancer trapped in a prison of magical crystal. But then again, Shon had a mind that didn’t work the same way as most people, so there he was, thinking about Conetail Jelly Soup.

Shon wasn’t really craving the soup, although he certainly was hungry. After all, he hadn’t been fed since he was captured by the vampire Laronius. He didn’t even know how long he had been a prisoner there in the dungeon. There were no windows, and none of the doors let in sunlight, so it was hard to track time. However long it had been, it was long enough for Shon to become hungry. Just not hungry enough to want Conetail Jelly Soup. Not yet, anyway.

Conetail Jelly Soup was a meal that his uncle Grodin had served for dinner several years before, back when Shon was very young and his uncle had just recently taken him in. Uncle Grodin had used the meal to try to teach Shon a valuable lesson, but the lesson didn’t really stick at the time. Uncle Grodin seldom made Conetail Jelly Soup, usually just once every couple of years. The ingredients were very hard to come by where they lived, and it tasted bland and disgusting, even for Uncle Grodin who was so proud of it. Yet on rare occasions, always to Shon’s utter shock and dismay, Uncle Grodin would make the unsatisfying soup when he wanted to take another shot at teaching the very valuable lesson that was always served alongside it.

“The best and harshest teacher I ever had,” Grodin had said, “was hunger.” Grodin had always begun the lesson this way, serving Shon a bowl full of the hot, disgusting soup. Uncle Grodin would then always recount an experience from his days as a young man, traveling in the wilderness. At the time when Shon heard the story told, he had still believed that his uncle was nothing more than a plain and ordinary gardener, rather than the skilled magic-wielding druid that he later revealed himself to be. So when Uncle Grodin talked about “wandering the wild places of the world to learn its secrets,” Shon had thought he just meant collecting seeds and learning about different kinds of dirt. In hindsight, Shon was beginning to realize that his uncle had dropped a lot more hints about his true identity than Shon had ever imagined.

During one of Uncle Grodin’s first journeys into the great forests alone, he had underestimated how much food he needed to pack, and around the time that the food ran out, Grodin had realized that he was completely lost. During his first day without food, Grodin had been very conservative in his efforts to find food. He had mostly looked for berries and nuts to gather, but he found neither. He had told Shon that when he set up camp to sleep that night, he realized that with the winter months almost upon him, he wasn’t likely to find any nuts or berries the next day either, and the thought had gnawed at his stomach before going to sleep.

Grodin had awoken the next morning more determined, more daring, and much hungrier. Rather than limit himself to looking for what he typically thought of as food, he forced himself to focus and remember back on what he had learned as a young boy about the types of food the forest might offer. He had found cattails growing in a nearby marsh, and after wading in the cold murky water, he had pulled them out, stripped the skin off the roots, and ate the fleshy starch inside. He found parasitic groundcones growing off nearby tree roots, and ate them too. They weren’t very tasty, but they were enough to keep him alive and take the edge off his hunger.

As Uncle Grodin had continued his story to young Shon, he had explained how it was a week after eating his first groundcone that he had found the final ingredient that would make the long winter in that forest bearable. While searching around a dead tree for some firewood, Grodin had spotted something small and yellow. It was a golden-colored fungus that was partly translucent and squishy like jelly. When Grodin had tried a bite, he found it to be totally flavorless and not enjoyable, but when he tried cooking it in boiling water he had found that it would dissolve and thicken the water into a liquid with the texture and substance of a broth.

After adding in some cattail roots and groundcones to the broth, Grodin was proud to call Conetail Jelly Soup his first original recipe. And even though the soup was far less appetizing than most other meals that Shon could think of, Grodin had explained that the nutrition, reliability, and comforting warmth of Conetail Jelly Soup was enough to sustain him and keep him going until he managed to find his way back to civilization the following spring.

Grodin had also explained that on top of all that, the soup ingredients had not only kept him alive, they had expanded his understanding of how the different parts of nature all connected with each other. He had looked closer at them and gave them much more thought than he would have otherwise. His hunger had forced him to not only look, but to really appreciate, and sometimes even obsess over, those three key ingredients. Grodin had told Shon that after that experience, he had tried to look at all other parts of the wild with the same careful attention.

“As your uncle and your guardian, I would never make you go hungry on purpose,” Grodin had told Shon all those years ago. “It wouldn’t be right for me to do that. But I believe there will come a day when you’ll find yourself on your own, feeling hungry or desperate or both. And if that day comes, I don’t want you to waste your time complaining about it or holding yourself back, like I did that first day. And I certainly never want you to give up.”

At this point in the lesson, Grodin would always look directly into Shon’s eyes with an ardent expression. “Instead, I want you to remember that hunger is a powerful teacher, Shon. So focus on what you can learn.”

***

As Gravine continued his dark ranting in the corner, threatening to steal Shon’s cloak and goading him in the darkness, Shon realized that the day of desperation that Uncle Grodin had predicted had finally come. And the lesson finally stuck.

“Thank you for your patience with me.” Shon said the words aloud, but he wasn’t speaking to Gravine. He was saying what he wished he could say now to his uncle. “I know I was difficult before and it was rude of me to refuse to listen. But that’s all changed now, and I’m ready to listen and pay attention. I believe I’m finally ready to learn the truth.”

“Ah, that’s more like it,” Gravine said with self-satisfaction. “I knew you could be properly trained as soon as I found the key to properly motivating you.”

“Motivation can be a powerful teacher,” Shon said with a nod. “A wise man once told me that.” Shon removed the hood from his cloak, opening his mental senses as far as he could, and looked straight ahead at the green jewel that held Gravine prisoner. “So tell me, what motivates you? Why spend so much time and devotion to mastering necromancy? Surely someone like you could still have a great destiny pursuing the study of anything. Why all the death and decay?”

If Gravine suspected that Shon was being overly generous with his flattery, he didn’t show it. “True as that may be,” replied Gravine, “the very nature of necromancy is what motivates me. After all, is death not the great equalizer of all mortals? Whether rich or poor, nobility or a peasant, all must eventually die.”

Shon nodded his head. This tactic was already going better than he had hoped. Now that Grodin’s lesson had gotten his mind in motion, he needed a chance to think. He needed time to figure out what he was supposed to learn from this situation that he would’ve overlooked if he wasn’t hungry enough and desperate enough to focus on it.

Shon figured the best way to get a break from the constant menacing and manipulating assault of words from Gravine was to get him talking about himself. The fact that he had succeeded so easily at it was perhaps the first lesson his hunger had taught him. But he couldn’t just ignore the sinister rock now, or he would realize what Shon was up to and go back to harassing him. He would have to divide his attention just enough to keep Gravine talking.

“So with the chains of death binding us all together,” Gravine continued, “why are there still wars and borders? If everyone must die, young wizard, doesn’t that mean that all are one? So why is there no unity? Why is there no lasting peace?”

For a moment, Shon was tempted to give sarcastic and derisive reply, like, “Maybe it’s because sometimes there are jerks who go around raising undead armies and ruining things for everyone else?” For a moment, he was tempted to actually engage Gravine in debate and give an honest attempt at replying to the question. But he realized that both of those options would eat up the precious time to think that Shon had given himself. And he was so ravenously hungry for that time, that he ignored both temptations.

“Tell me,” Shon said simply, and hoped it would be enough.

“It is because of work!” shouted Gravine. “Without plowing and harvesting, we starve. Without building and repairing, there is no shelter. Fairies may spend their days flitting from leaf to flower, but mortals cannot survive without hard work and toil. And because work is hard, there will always be those who seek a way to conscript others to do their work for them. The only true division among mortals is the division of servants and masters. All other divisions and conflicts are merely appendages to it.”

“But what if necromancy could finally cure the world of this division? What if every mortal was a master while alive, and a servant in death? Let the living enjoy mortality while they can, and use the bodies of the dead to…” Gravine was growing louder, and his crystal prison was glowing brighter than ever, but Shon was already shifting his focus away from the madman. He could tell that the invitation to Gravine for an explanation had worked perfectly, and now he could ignore the actual words, and instead simply half-listened to Gravine’s tone enough to know when to nod or hum thoughtfully.

Shon quietly took a deep breath and tried to consider his situation the way Uncle Grodin would want him to. What had hunger and desperation taught Uncle Grodin? Conetail Jelly Soup. Hunger had taught him how to make Conetail Jelly Soup, and how to somehow enjoy it enough to survive for a winter in the wilderness.

No, Shon realized that wasn’t really true. Hunger couldn’t teach anyone how to make soup. Conetail Jelly Soup was invented by Uncle Grodin, and hunger can’t create something that doesn’t already exist. But it did help him discover things that already existed, and consider them differently. So Shon needed to consider what existing resources he already had that he might be able to consider more carefully.

What did he have? Not much. In the dim light provided from Gravine’s glowing crystal, Shon could see that his cell was practically empty. Not even a cot to lay on or a blanket to keep him warm. He did have his clothes though. And oh, how grateful he was to have his cloak back. So he had the gift from his father.

But what about the gift from his mother? Shon’s hand reached for the pocket near his left shoulder to see if his familiar egg was still there. At first he experienced a thrill of panic when he couldn’t seem to find the lump where the enchanted stone should be. He couldn’t even find the pocket where it was supposed to be.

Shon pulled the hood of his cloak over his head and took some deep breaths to try and calm himself. Am I sure it was in that pocket? Shon thought to himself. He began quietly patting the sides of his cloak, hoping to find some pocket that he had forgotten. That familiar egg must be around here somewhere…

No sooner had Shon thought this than he felt a heavy lump near his left shoulder. He reached up again, and found that the pocket had somehow returned, and by the size, weight, and warm pulse coming from the pocket, he could tell that the familiar egg from his mother was still inside.

It was then that Shon remembered something that Uncle Grodin had told him about his father’s cloak. How his father had loved pockets, and he wouldn’t be surprised if hidden pockets showed up every now and then, depending on the situation.

OK, dad, Shon thought to himself. Let’s see if you’ve left me some presents to make up for all those birthdays you missed.

Shon thought for a moment about what kinds of thoughts might cause a pocket with something useful to appear. I need help, thought Shon. He patted around the cloak, but couldn’t find any extra pockets.

Alright, I guess that is pretty vague. Let’s try again. Shon considered more specifically what he needed. He thought of the Conetail Jelly Soup. Then he tried to shake that thought from his head, afraid that he might find a pocket full of the slimy soup.

I’m hungry, Shon thought, and he felt a pocket open up near his right hip. He slowly reached down into the pocket, unsure of what he might find. Feeling with his fingertips, he could discern the shape of a fork and spoon, with a small flat saucer next to them. Well it’s no snack, thought Shon, but I suppose I could stab a hand with this fork if I really needed to. I doubt that would do much more than surprise somebody though. Not enough to injure someone, let alone get past a strong opponent like Laronius.

What I really need, thought Shon, is a way to call for help. At that thought, Shon felt a smaller pocket open up inside the one he already had his hand inside. Within that inner pocket, he could feel a small metal tube with three holes at the top and a pinched end on one side. A whistle perhaps? He could also feel the rough surface of a miniature flint and steel kit.

Shon supposed those objects may have been useful to call for help if he was lost in the woods, or needed to start a signal fire, but he wasn’t sure if blowing a whistle would do him any good down in the dungeon. If anything, it might just alert Gravine to the fact that there was more to the cloak than he had realized, and he’d try to steal it back.

Better keep those hidden for now, Shon thought, and the opening of the inner pocket closed itself up again, its contents disappearing in the thick fabric.

Shon knew that the best chance he had to call for help was using his own magic. But without the focus and clarity he achieved by wielding Stick, he figured his range would only reach a little beyond the room he was in. I need Stick, thought Shon.

When nothing happened, Shon realized it was a pretty ridiculous request. Not only was there no reason for his uncle’s staff to be hidden in the pockets, Shon couldn’t even imagine a pocket being large enough to hold the staff that was nearly as tall as he was.

Shon was beginning to lose his patience, and the same fear that he was experiencing earlier began to creep up on him again. Then he felt the gentle warm pulse of the familiar egg in his shoulder pocket, and he took a deep breath to steady himself.

Look at it deeper, Shon thought to himself. Like Uncle Grodin taught me, think about it like I’m hungry for it. Shon considered the kind of desperation and open-mindedness that must have been necessary for his uncle to look at a conetail and think that it looked anything like food. He tried to open his own mind the same way.

It doesn’t have to be Stick, Shon thought. It doesn’t even need to look or feel like Stick. I just need it to do what Stick does for me. Shon considered for a moment what exactly that was. I need something that can help me focus my magic. Something that can be a conduit of magical energy and channel my energy back through it.

A pocket opened up on the inside of the cloak, right next to Shon’s sternum on the right side. Shon slowly reached up, feeling keenly aware of how long he had been ignoring Gravine’s rant, and how if he was called out now, there was no way he could fumble his way through pretending he had been listening.

As his hand reached the pocket, he found that it was the smallest of all the pockets he had found since the cloak had been given to him. Inside it was what felt like a spool of thread. Shon pulled it out, trying to keep it concealed beneath the folds of his cloak. Something twisted around the spool, but it wasn’t thread. Not exactly.

It was metal that had been spread out thin and even into a kind of flexible wire. The metal was light and it would bend to Shon’s touch, but it was also sturdy enough to hold its shape when he let go. He also found that it seemed to tingle whenever his fingers touched it.

Under his cloak, Shon straightened out a length of the wire as he tried to mentally reengage with whatever Gravine was saying. He had something now. He wasn’t sure how to use it, but it was something he could try to figure out. It was something he could focus on to keep from panicking.

After shaping a portion of the wire into a straight line about twice the length of his hand, Shon maneuvered the wire through the sleeve of his cloak, trying to hold it behind his back, hoping that Gravine wouldn’t notice it.

The moment that the wire was outside of the dampening effect of the cloak, he realized that his father’s ingenuity had come through more than he had expected. The tingling in his fingertips became an electrified buzz where his hand touched the wire. This thin metal conduit lacked the firm, gentle grounding qualities of Stick, but what it lacked it subtlety, it more than made up for in sheer scope and magical conductivity.

Shon could pick up magical energies that seemed to come from every direction. Up, down, forwards, backwards, right, left, and even some directions that he didn’t have words for. He could feel his own ethereal magic emanating out from the opening in his hood, and bouncing all around the surfaces in room, giving him a mental picture of things he had failed to see with his eyes in only the dim light available.

And there was something more. There was something in the wall behind him. There was someone in the wall behind him. Shon realized that he had sensed the strange individual vaguely before, but now that he held the wire conduit in his hands, the thoughts of the eavesdropper broadcast out like a trumpet. It was a rat, but somehow it wasn’t. It’s thoughts were that of a man, but with a strange animal twinge to it. But that strangeness was no problem for Shon now. With the volume of input he received while holding the wire, Shon suspected he would’ve been able to make sense of even his old friend Piggy’s wild and unintelligible thoughts.

So Shon held still. He held the wire. He listened to Gravine enough that he could pick the conversation back up without arousing suspicion from the egocentric necromancer. And as he did, he paid the majority of his attention to listening to the rat man inside the wall, until a full picture began to come together in Shon’s mind.

Suddenly, not only did Shon feel that he would be able to survive his stay in this dungeon, but that he may have figured out the key to unravel the tapestry of deceit that kept this whole cursed stronghold bound. All he had to do now was make his choices very carefully and pull on the right threads.

Shon thought about what this victory would mean for him. Not only survival today, but a whole new way of looking at the challenges and dangers he faced, and how he could use his magic and wits to solve them. It was like a whole world of possibilities was now open to him, thanks to the great teacher of hunger.

But hunger wasn’t done teaching him just yet. Don’t celebrate the victory until the meal has been finished, Shon thought to himself. Hunger doesn’t look kindly on students who congratulate themselves too early. So Shon put away his thoughts of someday and focused on now. He took a deep breath and chose his next words carefully.

He could hear the rat man, who he had discovered was his old foe Mutt, ranting and raving in his own mind, scheming schemes and planning dark deeds. Shon had tested the effectiveness of the wire at picking up thoughts and ethereal energies, and now it was time to test how effective it was at directing his own energies outward at a target.

He focused intently on Mutt, hoping that the signal wouldn’t fizzle or redirect to Gravine or some other target. There was no need to worry though. The message came through to Mutt so sharp and clear that for a moment Shon almost felt sorry for the rat man. Almost.

“You know what I love about self-absorbed scoundrels?” Shon said inside Mutt’s head. “They’re like the best teacher and narrator anyone could hope for when you have the ability to listen to minds.”

Shon gripped the wire in his hands and stifled a laugh as Mutt nearly fell out of his hole. Try as he might, he couldn’t manage to keep the grin off his face, and for once, he didn’t care if Gravine could tell that he was up to something.

After all, it was time to stop acting like a scared and hungry kid, and start acting like a wizard.