My Dooda

My Dooda, he’s old. Really, really old.

They say that when you get older, your magic slowly leaves until one day, it’s gone. But not my Dooda. He’s the oldest active wizard. And his powers might not be what they used to be, but he still has some magic left in him.

See, my Dooda is my great-great-grandpa and he was one of the original wizards. I know. You read that and you’re thinking there’s no way any part of that sentence is true. It’s hard to believe, but that doesn’t make it untrue. You’ll just have to trust me.

In school every wizard is taught that it all started with Grace, Red, Zoe and Mark. My Dooda, he’s Red. He’s one of those four kids who realized, back more than 100 years ago, that he had powers. And he was lucky enough to find Grace, Zoe and Mark so they could work together to understand their magic and get stronger together and build the whole wizard commune, and well, you know the rest. It’s literally history.

I think that because my Dooda was one of the originals, one of the ones who started it all, that’s what made his magic so powerful. And that’s why he still has a little left. Even though he’s easily 50 years older than other wizards who have no magic left at all.

My Dooda, everyday, he practices. Even now. Somedays, it looks like he’s just muttering to himself and making weird gestures. But if you watch and listen closely, you know he’s practicing. Going through the motions of a spell in his mind and with his body, even if he doesn’t actually cast the spell. 

That’s the other thing that’s helped my Dooda keep his magic. Other wizards take it for granted, just assume they won’t lose their powers. Then, before they know it, their magic is slipping away. And even if they start to practice then, it’s too late.

For most wizards, their power starts to fade when they get to be about 60. Many know to practice and work at it every day so their magic will last longer. But even in the ones who practice every day, things are usually gone by the time they hit 80, if they live that long.

My Dooda is 127. He can’t do all the spells anymore, but he still has magic in him.

And that’s what today is about. He asked me to help him today so he can try one last time to fly.

He asked me because out of all his living kids, grandkids, great-grandkids and great-great-grandkids, I’m the best flier. He said my great aunt Mallory was a better flier than me, but she died a few years back. That’s why my Dooda thinks I’m so good. I was learning to fly right around the time Aunt Mallory died and he thinks she somehow transferred her powers to me. He’s not sure how, but that’s his theory. That’s the thing about our magic and our commune - 105 years is really not that long in the grand scheme of things. We still have a lot that we’re learning about our magic, about ourselves.

So that’s our task for the day. I’m taking my Dooda back to where it all started. To The Hill. Where he, Grace, Zoe and Mark first started practicing their magic together. My Dooda says he always feels strongest there, most connected to the other originals.

Grace, Zoe and Mark have all died. But like my Dooda, they kept their powers for a longtime. Zoe had hers right up until the end. She just died a year ago. It’s been tough on my Dooda. They would practice together most days. They would reminisce about the early days, or talk about theories - like transferring powers.

Right now, we’re walking there. To The Hill. We’re almost there. My Dooda doesn’t talk much while he’s walking. I know he’s trying to conserve his energy, so I don’t push him. Even though my mind is full of questions.

How can I help him fly? What if he can’t fly? What if he flies a little then falls?

I know my Dooda hasn’t flown in more than a year - since before Zoe died. But I’m not sure if he’s tried to fly since then or not. I don’t think he has, but I’m not sure why I think that. Or why he wouldn’t try. I know I would be curious if I were him. About whether or not I could fly. I guess that’s what today is about. To find out.

The commune is basically inside a forest. The rest of the world doesn’t super approve of us, so we keep to ourselves for the most part. We’ve just gotten to the edge of the forest. It’s just a little clearing and then we’ll be at The Hill.

“Almost there,” I say to my Dooda.

He just nods. I stay quiet. Let him save his energy.

The Hill isn’t much of a hill, really. I mean, it’s a bit higher than the ground around it, but not by much. If you were just walking along, you’d barely notice the gentle slope. But there’s a big cairn at The Hill so it’s marked for us. The cairn is just four rocks stacked on top of one another, to represent the four originals, but it’s almost as tall as me. My Dooda said it took a lot of people to find the perfect rocks, then to haul them, get them into place and stack them. I guess it should take time and lots of people and lots of work to create something meaningful.

We’re at the base of The Hill when my Dooda pauses. I stop alongside him. He looks up at the cairn, squinting into the bright sun. Then he reaches out to gently touch my arm and closes his eyes for a few breaths.

Then he looks at me, smiles, holds his arms at his sides with his hands parallel to the ground and says in a clear, confident voice, “Alta vola.”

It’s more like a giant jump than flying. But he does it. In one swift graceful move, my Dooda has gone from standing at my side, into the air and landed gently next to the cairn.

I imitate his move, repeat the spell myself and land right next to him on The Hill.

My Dooda smiles at me again, the skin wrinkling next to his eyes and all across his face. He very deliberately moves his arms and hands into position again and nods at me. I prepare myself too.

“Alta vola,” we say. And we’re off into the sky.