The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (16 page)

‘Now we’re gonna have to
kill
you,’ the bully snorted, still holding his nose. ‘No one hits me!’ Blood ran through his fingers. He tried to sound menacing, but sounded more as if he had a bad cold.

The boys began scooping up river stones and moved to encircle Samuel. Samuel stood his ground and waited for their first move, for he knew he could not outrun them all. He watched closely as one boy drew his arm slowly back and then the missile came hurtling forth. Samuel stepped neatly to the side, but an awful pain bit him in the back of the head. He spun around in time to catch another stone with his face and was blinded by the pain. The boys all started laughing.

‘Stone him!’ the bully yelled and rocks began pelting Samuel from all directions.

Samuel dropped to the ground and covered his face with his hands as the boys all laughed at him, blasting him with stones. It only lasted a handful of moments, yet when they were done, Samuel had wet, salty blood in his eyes and his body rang with pain where the stones had struck bone. He climbed to his feet while the boys were still laughing and watched them groggily, defiantly. The boy closest to the bully scooped up one last rock, just to squeeze one last laugh from his mates. His throw was hard and true and it was aimed directly at Samuel’s face.

There was a ringing in Samuel’s ears and everything suddenly seemed to be moving at half-speed, getting slower. The bully was caught laughing with his eyes half-closed and his mouth wide open.

Samuel’s hand came up as the stone crawled through the air towards him and he plucked it from the very air as if it was hanging still. All Samuel could focus upon were all the boys’ laughing faces, as if they were frozen in time, deformed and twisted. It fired Samuel with contempt and hatred. It filled him with blazing venom.

Time flashed back to its normal rate as, with a grunt and all his might, he threw the stone back towards them. The stone narrowly missed the bully’s ear and whizzed past him so fast that it was halfway across the river before any of them could even turn their heads. It struck the slow river and flew up again with a great hiss and spray of water. They heard it strike a withered tree on the far bank with an almighty bang and a crack that echoed back towards them. Then, to the disbelief of them all, the tree shivered and shook and then toppled over, crashing down the bank and rolling into the river with a thunderous clatter.

The boys slowly turned gape-mouthed back to Samuel and then looked at each other blankly. The bully trembled, finally remembering to close his mouth, and looked wildly at his colleagues. Samuel thought the gang was about to flee, but his glimmer of anticipation was abruptly dispelled.

‘Get him!
’ the big bully yelled, and with a cry all the boys charged in and leapt on top of Samuel.

Samuel immediately fell beneath their weight and grunted as their bodies piled on top of him. His head spun and his eyes fuzzed and he thought he was going to die, until, without warning, the bright sun was again in his eyes. A tall black silhouette was clubbing at the fleeing boys and shouting like a devil.

‘Be away with you, you little dastards!’ the voice shouted after them. A hand was offered and Samuel gingerly took it, being pulled to his giddy feet. ‘Not quick enough again, Samuel,’ the man spoke. ‘I saw you passing through the markets with your lady friend and thought I’d let you two be alone for a time, but when I saw her hurrying back in such a dither, I thought I had better come take a look. Lucky for you, I think.’ The man was Mr Joshua. ‘What an awful mess we’d both be in if I let you get injured or worse.’

Samuel nodded and tried to agree, but his throat would not make any sound. Mr Joshua tucked his cudgel again into his belt and led Samuel back towards the town.

‘Let’s see to these cuts,’ he said and took Samuel back into his office.

The men there regarded the beaten Samuel with a mix of curiosity, concern and laughter, although a scornful glance from Mr Joshua quickly stopped all that.

In his office, Mr Joshua cleaned the cuts and grazes himself and picked over Samuel until he was sure he had seen and treated every little sore.

‘I can’t have my best man killed so young now, can I?’ he said as he worked. Samuel shook his head. ‘So, what news do you have for me? Anything?’ Mr Joshua asked as Samuel, trembling, drank from the cup Mr Joshua offered him.

Samuel told of the many frantic comings and goings of the Burning Oak recently, and of the ancient-looking old man who stayed whom they called ‘Grand Master’. He told of the man who had offered him money and Mr Joshua cursed, saying it was no man of his, but some upstart trying to steal some of his business. Samuel even mentioned the lights around the old man’s head, and Mr Joshua nodded and looked concerned, but Samuel said nothing of his attempts to copy them.

‘Are these men devils, Mr Joshua? People say that only devils can use magic. But they seem so nice for devils.’

Mr Joshua laughed softly. ‘No, they’re not devils, as far as
I
know.’ His tone then became of a serious nature. ‘Don’t worry about the man who met you today. I think I know who he is and I’ll talk to him for you—let him know you don’t like to be bothered. Just keep doing as you have and one day you’ll be a rich man. There’s something special about you, Samuel. I’m sure of it.’

Samuel nodded and, with a pat on his back from Mr Joshua, he left and returned towards the Burning Oak, suddenly dreading his lecture from Kans upon taking so long. At least the cuts and bruises were evidence for his tardiness.

Samuel thought he would be too sore to get on the roof that night, but after unsuccessfully trying to make the light in his hands, Samuel could not resist. He clambered onto the roof when he saw the faint glow of the candles shining out the high window and waited for whomever it was—Mr Took, it turned out—to practise his movements.

Samuel hoped to find some clue as to what had happened to him on the river-bank. What strange power had filled him for that instant?

As Samuel watched on, entranced, a shout from below nearly brought him tumbling from the roof.

‘Samuel!’ Kans called from below. ‘Where are you, boy?’

The sound of Kans walking through the stable and calling his name continued until he came out into the yard again and began calling there. Samuel flattened himself to the tilted roof and lay perfectly still, in case Kans should look up. It was a bright night, after all, and Samuel suspected he was perfectly visible if someone should look directly towards him.

Kans eventually gave up his calling and returned around to the front of the main building. Samuel took advantage of the opportunity and shimmied down from the roof and scampered back into his room. He dived into his bed and waited to see if Kans would return.

‘There you are,’ Kans said, striding angrily into his room. ‘Where have you been?’

The boy sat up and tried his best to yawn and look tired. ‘Oh, I was relieving myself, Kans.’

Kans nodded. ‘Why are you dressed like that?’

Samuel looked at himself and had to subdue his panic. He was still in his grubby working clothes. ‘I...I was working late and was so tired, I must have forgotten to change.’

Kans scoffed and shook his head without any attempt to conceal his disdain for such behaviour. ‘Quickly, then. Get up and ready Mr Copperpot’s and Mr Sloan’s horses. They are leaving within the hour.’

Samuel nodded and leapt to work. He had the horses ready well within time, before the two men came rushing out and clambered onto their animals. They galloped out the front gates, barely pausing to give their goodbyes. Kans pushed the groaning gates closed behind them and then rushed back inside the inn.

Samuel returned to his room and changed into his more comfortable bedclothes. He crawled into his bed and closed his eyes tightly, hoping for a restful few hours’ sleep before dawn when his chores began again. He had no idea what was causing this recent stir amongst the men of the Burning Oak and his inability to find out was becoming more and more frustrating.

Weeks passed uneventfully after that night, with no further comings or goings and Samuel had plenty of spare time to spend with Jessicah, for Mr Kelvin had felt terribly guilty after Samuel’s beating and now allowed him to go to town three times a week.

Samuel spent every evening practising the movements and the breathing exercises he had learned. Most nights, he could get the glow between his hands and sometimes even send it floating away to dissipate against the wall with a slow, blue splash. It exhilarated Samuel to see the lights he could create, but he wished to know more, to be able to do more. He never dared to try and make the light during the day, only when he was sure it was late and he would not be discovered. He was sure he would be punished for spying on the men and learning their secrets. Perhaps they would even lock him up or do something terrible to him. When magic was involved, who knew what strange things the men could do?

‘Lomar?’ Samuel asked, as they both sat in the boughs of the Oldforth tree that stood amidst the gardens. ‘Do you believe in magic?’

‘Of course I do, Samuel,’ Lomar returned, raising a quizzical eye from his drawing. He had a charcoal marker in one hand and a piece of thick paper in the other, sketching a scene of the garden. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You tell me all those stories of other lands and myths and fairies and goblins, yet I have never seen any of those things. Do they really exist, or are they just stories? Is there really such magic?’

Lomar balanced his implements beside him, next to the row of coloured chalks that wobbled on the branch, and thought a moment. ‘There is often a little truth, and a little mistruth, in everything that is said,’ he began. ‘What is true in one circumstance may be false in another. I have never seen fairies or goblins, but that is not to say they do not exist. I thought dwarves were mere tales until I first saw one with my own eyes. It is not unusual to see a small-person, as they prefer to be called, born to full-sized parents.’

‘How is that so?’ Samuel asked, curious.

‘It is just something that happens,’ Lomar replied with a bob of his shoulders. ‘Just as sometimes people are born with notable differences, some are born with unusually short stature, but they are normal people, just as you and I.’

‘Do they like to dig underground?’

‘Not overly, no,’ Lomar returned with amusement. ‘So you can see how a fable has been created from truth. There are, indeed, dwarves, but they do not congregate in underground cities and spend their lives whistling and digging for precious gems. I think, too, that many other legends have had some root in truth.’

‘And magic?’ Samuel asked persistently with a glint in his eye.

‘People sometimes like to discuss whether or not magic actually exists. You have seen my tricks, but that is not magic; it is merely a skill. My hands are adept at hiding things before the eye can notice. People cannot fly upon broom handles or turn others into toads, but, given practice, a man may accomplish tasks that seem absolute miracles to others. Using talents that others find rare, men may name themselves
magicians
and call what they do
magic
, but it is all an extension of natural gifts which they have finely honed.’

Samuel’s brow was furrowed. Lomar always answered with riddles and more questions. Samuel had seen magic and he
knew
it existed. He had even done some himself and thought he was getting quite good at it, too.

‘There are many magicians in the Turian Empire,’ Lomar added, having noted Samuel’s discontent and the boy then looked up with expectation. ‘Mostly, they are welcomed and openly accepted, but here, in Marlen, we are quite far from the great capital and people still hold age-old contempt for magic. The magicians that live here tend to keep to themselves.’

‘So there are magicians!’ Samuel spurted out with excitement and Lomar hushed him furiously with a wave of his hands. Finally, Samuel had managed to squeeze the admission out of someone! ‘Are
you
a magician?’ Samuel then asked, hoping for a continuation of his good luck.

‘You have seen my magic,’ Lomar returned with a grin, snatching up his brush and then making it vanish in his hands. ‘So, obviously, I must be. Now, enough of the matter. I want to finish this drawing before I lose the sun, for tomorrow I must leave once more.’

Samuel felt as disappointed as ever. Lomar had evaded him once again. One day, he would have his answer. These men were obviously all magicians. Only making them admit the fact was proving difficult. Creating lights and igniting candles was obviously magic and couldn’t be explained away as something else. No amount of twisting of words or slyness of tongue could dissuade Samuel of that. He only wondered what other amazing things they could do and how he could trick them into letting him know their secrets.

On one particular night, creating the glowing ball was especially easy and Samuel set it to rest just above his head, where, instinctively, he knew it would stay. He summoned several other such glow-balls and placed those beside the first, so that they cast a ghostly blue-white light over his room as they slowly bobbed up and down. Then, however, Samuel found it particularly hard to summon a fifth ball. He had never done so many before and he decided stubbornly that tonight would be the night to do it. He caught the sensation he needed in his mind and groped at it blindly with all his will. The sensation of magic was as slippery as soap in a washtub and he fumbled after the elusive feeling as best he could. Each time he nearly let it slip, he changed his approach slightly and pinpointed the energy once more. Finally, with an almost tangible click, Samuel found the mindset he needed and he knew the magic was coming. His hands vibrated with the resonance of his thoughts and he felt another glow-ball on the verge of manifestation. The other glow-balls blinked out and vanished without warning and Samuel chastised himself in the back of his mind for this, but he forced himself to keep his attention on the task at hand, else all his practice would be for naught.