Jack Hueson’s Jeep rattled along the cracked asphalt, each bump a reminder of the burden he carried. Next to him, wrapped carefully in a worn brown leather bag, lay the shattered remnants of Kocy Ressled’s helmet and the ashes of the player who had turned to dust in an instant. Jack’s eyes were fixed ahead, but his mind replayed the events of that fateful game, the shocking moment of Kocy’s disintegration still fresh and raw.

Next to the other stuff was a plate of Pickle Bill's crab legs wrapped in tin foil. Hueson hoped the lid of the clarified butter stayed sealed. He'd need the crab and butter both to complete his quest. The Cleveland Clinic had done all it could, to no avail. This was his only hope.

The coach fell back into silent reflection. His team had lost a quarterback, a great one. While it was true that Jack Hueson was an offensive mastermind that could mold any quarterback into a winner, the weight of responsibility for Kocy Ressled pressed heavily on his shoulders. Jack had promised him he was invinicible as long as he wore a helmet filled with pure Lake Erie water. And it proved true, just until the moment it didn't.

Now the landscape began to change. A foreboding fog hung thick in the air. The air came alive with sounds – distant calls of unseen birds, and the occasional splash of water. It was here, in Mentor Marsh, where Jack had come for an answer. It was here that Poda resided.

Jack parked the Jeep and made his way through the water and reeds, each step purposeful yet cautious. In a secluded clearing, he found Poda, the saber magician, seated on a stone, deep in meditation. Poda’s presence was otherworldly, his eyes opening slowly to reveal a depth of knowledge. He greeted Jack without preamble, his voice a series of clipped phrases.

"Coach Hueson. Purpose brings you here?"

Jack presented the helmet and the ashes, his voice tinged with desperation. "I need your help, Poda. The healing waters of Lake Erie... can they restore Kocy?"

Poda examined the remnants, his expression unreadable. He shook his head slowly. "Waters heal much. But not this. Restoration from disintegration, beyond their power."

Jack's heart sank at Poda’s words. The hope he had clung to slipped away like a wave retreating from shore. "But you promised... You said that helmet would protect him!"

Poda sniffed the air. "Offering you have brought? Yes, good food."

Jack handed over the Pickle Bill's - by now a soggy base of stacked paper plates topped with rumpled foil.

"Crab legs, they are nature’s puzzle," said Poda, his hands mimicking the delicate task of cracking open a shell. "Effort to eat them, not simple. One must be patient, precise. Much like coaching, yes? Reward, sweet, satisfying."

"The helmet!" Jack demanded.

For a long time, Poda ate. Eyes closed, slowly cracking, dipping in the butter, waiting for the drops to slow before quickly flipping the meat to his mouth. "Kocy's disintegration was revelation, not mystery. Helmet protected against ill intent. Guilty conscience dissolved the protection, like acid burning through armor."

Continuing with his crab legs, Poda's tone lightened into a singsong lilt, "Crack shell, piece by piece. One goal, many steps. Focus on prize within."

Jack's chin fell to his chest as sadness and frustration welled within him. Guilty conscience? What did that have to do with Kocy? He didn't have time to puzzle it out now; next week's game wouldn't wait.

Poda licked his fingers clean, and then drew a sword from thin air. "Something to take with you," he said as he threw it directly at the coach's chest. As Jack instinctively flinched, the sword transformed in mid-air to a whistle. It thumped against his chest and fell into his hands. "Whistle of the Winds. Carved from the wood of an ancient tree that stood by the first football field."

"Whistle holds great power," Poda intoned, his voice low and steady. "But with power comes caution. Use only in dire need, when fate hangs by thread. Trust in your team first."

Advance Regress