by Manfred Koehler

Stef swung his jo stick at the pinecone high above his head, shattering it. Then he looked for something else to smash.

He was mad.

For months he had traveled with his uncle’s circus, performing as a jo stick master. Stef was the youngest trainee to ever reach that rank. Hundreds had come to watch him in a whirling display of skill. With three more months of training, Stef would have been a grand master, just like his uncle.

But his uncle had sent him home.

“Your skill with the jo stick is unquestioned,” his uncle said. “But your spirit is angry. You are like a wolf that has no food. Your mouth drools. Your teeth show. Perhaps with time you will learn control. We shall try again in a year.”

Stef had wanted to scream, but he held it in and began the long walk home.

Stef snarled at the woods around him, his jo stick bobbing loosely in one hand. Flakes from several broken pinecones fluttered to the ground. Looking through the trees, Stef realized it was getting dark.

Time for a fire to keep him warm and to keep the wolves away.

Meeting a Master
The fire was crackling nicely when a wagon approached. Stef grabbed his jo stick. He had heard rumors of bandits roving the forest. Stef wished he had built his fire farther from the road.

An old man in a cape appeared in the firelight, a long staff in hand.

“Hold right there, thief!” Stef barked.

The old man laughed.

“Sit down, youngling. I won’t hurt you.” The old man poked at the fire with his staff, his white hair shining. “I’ve been called old wart and Bible babbler, but no one’s ever called me thief.”

Stef slowly sat beside him. The two began to talk. The old man’s name was Gaedaran, but friends called him Gade. Stef told the old man about his days with the circus. When he finished the part about almost becoming a grand master, Stef went silent.

“Grand master,” the old man said. “Other than your uncle, have you ever met another?”

Stef shook his head.

The old man had a smirk on his face.

Stef took another look at Gade’s staff.

A jo stick! Stef’s mouth fell open. Jo sticks were to be kept pure. But the old man was using his to poke hot coals. Stef grabbed the stick, pulling it free from the flames.

“What are you doing?” he shouted. “Does a jo stick not merit any honor?” His uncle had asked the same question many times.

“Find yourself some ice, youngling, and cool your head,” Gade chuckled. “My jo stick has long since lost all honor.”

Stef wanted to ask what that meant, but he didn’t have time.

Wolves had surrounded the camp.

Wolf Attack
Silent as the darkness, the wolves lurked. Stef counted eight of them. Grabbing a burning stick, he threw it at one. The wolf jumped to the side, unblinking. Pacing back and forth, the wolves waited.

“Do that a few more times,” Gade said, “and we won’t have a fire to protect us.” The old man stood, his jo stick ready. Its tip followed the nearest set of eyes.

“Got any better ideas?”

“Yes. Step away from the fire with me.”

“What?” Stef couldn’t believe his ears.

“Watch my back, I’ll watch yours. When they come close, start swinging. We hit two or three, and they’ll disappear. If something goes wrong, run for the fire.”

Stef still had doubts, but he obeyed and tightened his grip. He and Gade moved together. Staring into the darkness, Stef saw more than green eyes. Moist teeth glinted in the firelight.

Your mouth drools, your teeth show . . . like a wolf that has no food. Stef remembered his uncle’s words. He closed his mouth. Never again.

Suddenly, one of the wolves lunged. Stef thrust his jo stick stopping the charge. Other wolves joined the first. Stef’s jo stick whistled through the air, spinning, jabbing. The wolves twisted, avoiding each blow. Their jaws snapped.

A loud yelp told Stef that Gade had struck. Stef shortened his grip on the stick, hoping to thrust more quickly, but the beasts continued to elude him. Worse still, the wolves had surrounded them, cutting off escape to the fire.

Three wolves attacked from the right. Stef swept the air. All three ducked. Turning, Stef saw another beast running toward him.

It jumped.

In desperation, Stef knelt and aimed the butt of his stick at the eyes flying toward him. Stef fell. The wolf landed on top of him. A set of claws raked his face. A choking howl cracked the air, then the beast rolled and ran.

It was over.

Stef stumbled to the campfire. Blood oozed over one eyebrow. Gade pulled out a kerchief and held it to Stef’s head.

“You did well.”

Stef nodded numbly and sat down. He had jousted with many trainees, but he’d never before faced wolves.

Uninvited Guests
When the bleeding stopped, Gade headed for his wagon and returned with water.

“Drink.”

Stef took a long swallow, wiped his mouth, then asked, “What did you mean by your jo stick having lost all honor?”

Gade gazed into the fire. When he lifted his head to speak, no words came out. Instead, he stared at something in the shadows. Stef turned and saw four men in dark clothing. One carried a jo stick, the others held curved swords. Their crooked smiles gleamed through unshaven faces.

Stef jumped to his feet, his jo stick brandished.

The four smiles grew bigger.

Stef stabbed the air. A grunt passed through his lips, spit ran down his chin.

The bandit with the jo stick laughed, apparently the leader.

“A dwarf with a jo stick, and an old man with a wool head. Close your mouth, dwarf. You drool like one of those wolves we just heard howling.”

Stef went blind with anger. Stepping forward, he swung.

What happened next was so fast, Stef could only blink. Gade lifted his jo stick, blocking Stef’s attack. At the same time, three swords flashed, their tips stopped inches from Stef’s neck.

“Sit down, youngling,” Gade commanded, gently pulling the jo stick from Stef’s hands. He propped it against a tree, then took off his cape and laid it before the fire.

“Join us, men,” he said, his hand inviting them. “I was about to answer an important question. I’d be happy for you to listen.”

Stef sat down. He couldn’t believe his ears.

The four men looked at each other. Then the chief bandit leaned his jo stick next to Stef’s. Sitting on the cape, he held his hands to the fire, his men standing behind him.

“Entertain me, old man. If you do, I’ll only take your wagon, not your life.”

Gade smiled and began.

Meeting the Master
“My young friend here wants to know why the jo stick of an old grand master has lost all honor,” Gade began, looking past Stef toward the bandits. “It is quite simple. I once used it in anger. Annoyed by a barking dog that disturbed my sleep, I chased it into a barn, my temper on fire. As the dog scrambled from manger to stall to hayloft, I swung my jo stick without care. A lone lantern hung on a nail, its light guiding my attack. One of my reckless swings shattered the lantern. Burning oil splashed. The dog escaped unharmed, but the barn quickly burned, destroying all the harvest and livestock inside. I have yet to fully repay the friend with whom I was staying.”

Stef bowed his head, his face red from more than the campfire. He knew such anger. What he didn’t know was how to control it.

“There is a moral in my story,” Gade continued. The bandits looked restless. “Man’s anger does not bring about the righteous life God desires.”

Stef watched as the ringleader’s eyes narrowed.

“But God’s anger is holy,” Gade said. “It is righteously vented upon all who choose to ignore Him.”

The three men stepped forward, their swords menacing. Stef wanted to grab his jo stick and fight.

Gade ignored the swords. From a bag strung over his shoulder, he pulled out a small, black book.

“Each of you will face the fury of God’s anger unless you give attention to this book.”

Gade held his Bible in the air for the thieves to see.

A Bible babbler, Gade had said. Stef could not understand the old man’s courage, but he desperately wanted to hear what Gade had to say.

Gade waited. The ringleader finally nodded, waving off his men.

Calmly, Gade opened the Bible. He spoke of a Savior, God’s Son, who suffered all of God’s righteous anger on a cross. In so doing, this Savior secured God’s pardon for all who trusted Him. More precious still, God’s Son now lived in the hearts of His followers.

“God’s Son can free men from lives of desperate crime,” Gade said with conviction. “He gives life purpose. Honor is found serving Him, not in accomplishments or skills.

“And God’s Son can free a person from uncontrolled anger,” Gade added as he looked at Stef.

Four dark shapes drifted into the night. The old man and Stef unharmed, Gade’s wagon still waiting by the road.

Stef couldn’t wait to hear more.

	Q: How do you spell mousetrap with only three letters? A: C-A-T. Ashley M., 12, Virginia Clubhouse Jr. Click here to subscribe