text: Thornmallow's real name was Henry. He was a small fellow, thin as a reed, with fair, unmanageable hair the color and shape of dandelion fluff. His eyes were a gooseberry green and hard to read. There was always a smudge or two on his nose as if the nose led him into trouble. But actually he was a quiet boy, shy and obedient to a fault.
  
  He had never wanted to be a wizard.
  
  As a youngster he'd fancied being a linewalker or a tree warden or a juggler, mostly outside work. But he'd outgrown each fancy in turn, as children often do, moving on to the next with hardly a backward glance.
  
  One day, when he was eleven, he mentioned wizardry to his dear ma. He didn't mean it. Not really. It was just a passing thought.
  
  She looked up from her butter churn and smiled.
  
  "That's the job for you (Whomp!)," she said. "Steady work and (Whomp!) a good place in the world. That's the one." She gave one last Whomp! to the churn, got up from her stool, and with her kerchief wiped a smudge off Henry's nose. Then, stretching to get the knots out of her spine, she walked into the house to help him pack. She was never one for delay. She stuffed the bag with a change of shirts, a pair of woollies for the cold, a packet of rose petals for the sweetening, and hard journeycake for the road.
  
  "That's the one!" she repeated with even more enthusiasm. "You had a great-uncle on your father's side—bless his soul—who took to wizardry." She hesitated, then shook her head. "Or was it card playing? Whatever."
  
  "But what if I have no talent for it, Ma?" Henry had asked, somewhat sensibly and not a little nervous that she was packing him off so quickly.
  
  "Talent don't matter," she'd answered, closing the bag. "I didn't know I had any talent for mothering until you came along. And look!" She gestured to him as if he were proof enough. "It only matters that you try."
  
  Then she kissed him three times, once on each cheek for love and once on the forehead for wisdom, wiped his smudgy nose one last time, and closed the door behind him saying, "Don't forget to write."
  
  Henry stared at his house for a long minute and bit his lower lip until tears came to his eyes. But he was a good boy and used to doing what he was told. So, wiping his eyes and leaving a brand-new smudge on the right side of his nose, he waved goodbye to his ma. Her smile shone out of the window at him like an off-center crescent moon. Then he turned. He could feel her smile warming his back and her kisses protecting his cheeks and face as he started on the road. Indeed, he didn't know if he had any talent for wizardry. Or for card playing. Whatever.
  
  But he certainly knew he could try.
  
  The way to Wizard's Hall was no secret. It was just over the Far-Rise Hills, turn left until morning. Every child in Hallowdale knew that. There was even a jump-rope rhyme about it:
  
   Tell me the place where wizards dwell,
  
   Tell me each step and turning,
  
   Over the mountains, under the hill,
  
   Turn left and walk till morning.
  
  That certainly didn't rhyme as well as it might, but it fit the tip-taps of a jump rope perfectly. And of course, there ahead of him were the Far-Rise Hills, a day's journey away.
  
  Henry needed no map.
  
  It was late fall, and the last of autumn's colors had faded to a steady rust carpet beneath bare trees. Short bursts of wind hissed and hooted and whistled down the valley, pushing Henry onward from Hallowdale as surely as his dear ma had pushed him out the door.
  
  The walk to the foothills was easy—a smooth and gently turning path lined with trees. Henry dodged a scallywag and two highwaymen along the way, but that was just in case. He doubted they had any interest in his poor goods. The journeycake was crumbled, and the woollies were well worn. But still he hid behind the trees, for his dear ma had always cautioned, Better take care than need care.
  
  He also spent an hour up one of the taller beeches when a family of wild boar rooted by. Henry was no hero. Being small and thin had practically guaranteed that Besides, he'd no practice in the art of being brave. To make up the time lost shivering amongst the leaves, he forwent both lunch and dinner until he was within sight of the hills.
  
  "And isn't it a marvel," he whispered to himself as he chewed the crumbly cake, "just how good a dry meal can be. No wonder my dear ma always says, Hunger is a great seasoner."
  
  At the mountain's foot was a sign to make the passage simpler still:
  
   THIS WAY TO WIZARD'S HALL
  
  ...it announced in bold lettering. There was also a gold-leafed arrow, picked a bit raw by passing villains, pointing to the left. And sure enough, the path continued right up the mountain's face, with little yellow ribands marking every fifth tree, just as a reminder.
  
  Clearly no one could get lost along the way.
  
  Henry walked all night long. His only companions were the owls who swooped silently above him, for the crickets and frogs were long gone to their early winterings. Henry was actually glad of the quiet.
  
  In the morning both sun and moon shone together, and right below them Henry could make out the towers of Wizard's Hall, standing tall and jagged against the sky. He knew there would be gardens, rosebushes, and trees. Everyone knew magic made things grow. Like manure. But the towers reminded Henry of the teeth of a great beast, and suddenly he was quite sure he didn't want to study wizardry at all. He knew with certainty that he'd make a better farmer or fisherman or even a cook.
  
  He tried to turn and go home.
  
  But as if the road itself knew it was Henry's fate to go to Wizard's Hall, it wouldn't let him turn. No sooner did he lift one foot to go home than the other was stuck fast. He could only move forward toward the Hall, not back.
  
  It was magic for sure—and he was part of it.
  
  He ran his tired fingers through his hair and remembered his ma's smile at the window. He remembered some of her last words.
  
  "It only matters that you try."
  
  Shrugging the pack higher on his shoulders, he sighed once out loud and thought he heard an answering sigh in the wind.
  
  "To Wizard's Hall, then," he whispered.
  
  The road loosed both his feet at once and tumbled him forward at a run toward his new home.