The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) (3 page)

At the great stump’s far edge, where it was green with moss, the ground fell abruptly away. Down there was Bear Valley; he had named it after once seeing a great brown animal below. It had been wading in the shallow waters and had raised its head towards him and sniffed the air before turning and lumbering into the trees. How the great creature had clambered into the gorge, Samuel still did not know, even after launching an exhaustive investigation. The treacherous route that led down from the great stump was the only way into the valley that he could find, despite his many hours of searching and scouring the slippery rock faces. Thin trees forced their way from cracks in the sheer stone and stretched up, like gesturing arms towards the sky, but it would be a dangerous route to attempt to climb these almost-vertical walls—for a bear
or
a boy. Father had said bears were more nimble-footed than they seemed, but surely not even they could mount those treacherous surfaces. Samuel had asked a few sly questions and Father had said that such wild animals did not live around here any more as people had hunted them for their meat and fur and they had enough sense to keep away from the homes of men. Father had not seen one in Stable Waterford for many a year and only occasionally would one of the wild huntsmen emerge from the mountains with a pelt or a claw to sell.

Samuel counted this as his special place, for no one else he knew had seen a bear and
no one
knew of Bear Valley. No one had probably
ever
been here before, beside himself. The thought made him feel special and exalted—he was the King of Bear Valley and what adventures he would have!

As he carefully descended to the valley bottom, the skies gave a sour rumble from far away. Samuel stopped his descent for a moment to eye the great stained rock face at the head of the gorge. Down this dribbled a tiny stream which fed the pond on the valley floor. Far above, the icy mountaintops were hidden in a veil of frost, and the pale clouds had begun spilling over the rises and creeping down into the forested valleys, obscuring all that lay beyond them. There was no hint of the existence of the peaks and spires that watched the valleys tirelessly from their eternal heights—just a solid, greying curtain that was slowly enshrouding the sky.

With a gulp of dread, Samuel hoped it would not rain today, as there was still much adventuring to be done. He hoped the mountains would keep it to themselves for once, for looking out over the village the sky was still fine and blue, with the barest hints of curling, white wisps here and there.

It took some time to carefully climb down and, with a grunt, Samuel leapt the last step onto the pebbled floor. His feet crunched with each sandy footfall as he crossed the fallen moss-covered trunk to the other side of the stream.

He spied a long, black eel twisting sinuously in the shallow waters below; it made a shiver ran up his spine. Samuel did not like eels. They looked as if they were just waiting for someone to fall in so they could gobble them up. It took an especially hot day and a total absence of eels before he would even dip his toes in the water here. He often swam with Tom behind their house where the river was large and dark, but he had never seen any eels in those waters—just a few small nipper-fish and they were not scary at all.

He sat on the rocks and watched the water trickle down over the natural ledges. Occasionally, he plucked up a stone and sent it flying into the pool’s centre, or set sticks to float like boats down the various tiny waterfalls until they vanished into the cracks under the great stones that blocked the valley’s exit.

After a time, as Samuel sat squatting on his heels, throwing handfuls of tiny pebbles at his floating sticks, he noticed something curious seemed to be happening. At first, he thought it was his imagination, but the skinny cascade of water dribbling down into the valley appeared to be growing. As he observed, the water began making fresh paths, falling faster and splashing louder as it slapped down into the pond. The sky boomed again far off, and Samuel realised that it must be raining hard up on the mountain. Down here in the narrow valley, all he could see was the greying sky rolling above. The thought occurred to him that he should be going before it began to rain here, too, but he quickly forgot the idea upon spying the fascinating sight of the growing, gurgling waters. Even if it did start raining, he was so fleet-footed and so nimble-toed, he was sure he could get home before his shirt was barely wet.

The waterfall was running ever more violently with each moment—more than Samuel had ever seen it—and it crashed down from far above with ever-increasing vigour. The rock face was now hidden behind a sheet of white water that bubbled and gurgled and hissed as it fell. It plunged into the pond with a noise that was quickly becoming a roar. Samuel noticed that his clothes had become all wet from the mist that was being thrown up and his skin was covered with a sheen of water. The little stream running from the valley was growing too, now surging against the exit stones, and Samuel had to step onto the higher rocks as the water quickly grew. All the pebbled and sandy spots were now underwater and only the higher, dark stones that jutted up between the valley walls still remained dry.

It was then that the mist all around became much heavier, settling on his skin in clouds of vapour, and Samuel realised that it was beginning to rain here, too. In a panic, he remembered that it would be much harder to climb from the valley. It had been fun throwing rocks and watching the waters grow, but he thought he should like to be back out of the valley before it filled with water entirely.

He hopped from rock to rock and hurried across the fallen trunk, waters lapping at its base, and began up the crumbling slope. Rocks and soil became dislodged under his feet and fell away, bouncing into the pond. The slim trees and branches he used to help him balance were wet and slippery, sliding through his fingers, making the ascent all the more treacherous. His heart was pounding against his ribs when, exhausted, he finally reached the great stump and pulled himself onto it. He could see the stream that fell into the valley from up here. It now resembled something more like the river behind his house than the trickling brook he was accustomed to. The water crawled slowly to the cliff’s edge where it leapt in enormous volumes to far below. The valley floor was now invisible amongst the mist and waters that billowed into the air. He then had a dreadful thought. No one knew where he was at all. If he should slip and fall into the valley below no one would ever find him—or his bones. The thought made him shudder.

The rain was falling heavily and Samuel dreaded his punishment as he lowered himself from the great stump and began to hurry home, cold and wet, in the dull afternoon light. Somehow, everything he ever did always turned into trouble. Mother would be very angry indeed.

The next morning found Samuel and his mother again bouncing towards the village behind Aaron. It was sunny now, but the trees and grass were still glistening and the air carried the fresh scent of the recent rain. A few small threads of cloud still lingered here and there and even above the mountain tops the sky was a perfect blue. Samuel had been in sore trouble when he had come home the night before, saturated from head to toe and covered in mud and muck. His bottom stung with each bump on the road after the spanking that Father had given him.

Samuel could tell that Mother was still in a bad mood after all his mischief. She had missed her women’s meeting and every time she looked over at him, she just sighed and shook her head.

Stable Waterford was much quieter than it had been yesterday. Market day was the only time when the village was really exciting. Other days, there was no one to see and nothing interesting to do. He almost wished he could be at home doing his chores.

‘I just have to talk to a few of the ladies, so you wait here,’ she told Samuel.

‘Can I go see Tom?’ he asked as she tethered Aaron by the trough.

‘Very well,’ she replied, much to Samuel’s surprise, ‘but we won’t be here very long, so don’t get into mischief. I’ll come and get you when it’s time to leave.’

Samuel gave a cheer and skipped down towards the basket store, trotting down the road and in through the front door. Tom was sitting beside his mother on a small, three-legged stool, helping her weave some small containers. Tom’s mother’s fingers moved so quickly, Samuel wondered how she did not make mistakes. Tom’s father had said it took years of practice to become so good at weaving things. Even Tom could make quite impressive things, given time.

Upon seeing Samuel, Tom smiled and looked expectantly towards his own mother.

‘Go on, then,’ she said, nodding towards the door, and the two boys were soon frolicking out into the street.

The village was virtually deserted compared to the previous day. A few carts and horses were tied before stores, but otherwise, they had the street to themselves.

‘You have to see something!’ Tom gasped.

‘What is it?’ Samuel asked, suddenly excited.

‘Follow me! I hope we’re not too late!’ Tom said and led the way towards Old Mr Keen’s Inn, where, curiously, a small commotion was in progress. ‘Look!’ Tom called as he pointed.

They both stopped dead in their tracks as they came before a strange-looking man sitting on a small rug before the front door. Some people had gathered and were waiting expectantly. The boys pushed to the front to observe.

The man sat cross-legged and wore a purple, pointed hat with a tiny bell at the top. His brown, bony chest lay bare and he wore great baggy, purple pants, with bells on his purple shoes. He had a chestnut tan, but most surprising to Samuel was that the man had a
healthy shine
like no other he had ever seen. It was so clear that Samuel felt he could almost touch it, like a curtain of sparkling water that surrounded the man. Most people had a normal shine, while the old people and the sickly people had a dull shine. This man must, indeed, be healthy to appear so bright.

‘Look at that!’ Samuel declared with awe.

‘I know,’ Tom agreed. ‘He’s amazing. Wait until you see what he does.’

Everybody gathered around. Suddenly, the man’s eyes popped open and he leapt to his feet. There was a gasp from the audience. Without a word, he somehow produced a shiny, red ball from the very air and held it out for all to inspect, raising one eyebrow as if to reinforce just how mysterious he was. The audience was gape-mouthed. Another flash of his hand and there were now two balls. He began to juggle them in one hand with his other hand tucked behind his back as he grinned mysteriously for all to see.

Now there were three balls leaping between his hands. He threw the balls behind his back and under his leg without a pause and even balanced one on his nose, smiling wildly and making exaggerated expressions all the while. A fourth ball, then a fifth appeared and they all formed a circle that seemed to rotate between the man’s hands all on their own. All at once, he pulled open a great pocket in his baggy, purple pants and the balls all dropped neatly inside and disappeared one after the other. The small crowd clapped their hands and called out their appreciation and wonderment, as did Samuel, but the man was not finished yet.

He produced a long, sharp knife and made a show of jumping around with it and cutting the air, shouting as he did and looking somewhat savage. The crowd took a step back, unsure, while Samuel and Tom both giggled. The man then produced an orange with a twirl of his wrist and, before Samuel could blink, he had thrown it up and sliced it in quarters. Then, motioning dramatically for silence, he dropped to one knee and, bending his head back, pushed the blade inside his mouth and down his throat. Gasps came up from all around. Withdrawing the blade again without so much as a squirt of blood, he bowed, to the cheers and congratulations of all. He held out his purple hat and revealed his thick, short, curly, black hair. Each person took their turn to drop in a coin or two. When they were done, Samuel and Tom stepped forward.

‘Well, now,’ the performer said, reaching down and touching Samuel lightly on the head with the palm of his hand. ‘Who do we have here? And who is your friend?’ he then asked, looking at Tom.

‘Are you a magician?’ Tom asked before Samuel could reply.

The man laughed and smiled mysteriously. ‘I am merely a humble vagabond—a traveller and student of the world and entertainer of curious children.’ He towered high above the two small boys and their mouths hung open as they crooked their heads back to look up at him.

‘Do you make a lot of money?’ Samuel asked as the tall, dark fellow began counting all the coins from his hat.

Again, the man laughed and now bent over to roll up his little rug. ‘Very little, actually, but just enough to make it worthwhile. Just be sure not to try my tricks,’ he told them with a warning finger and a stern eye. ‘I learned everything I know over many years. It takes much practice and doing anything with knives can be very dangerous, especially in little hands.’

‘What happened to your skin?’ Tom asked, scratching his nose with the back of his hand. ‘Why are you so brown?’

At this, the strange man squinted one eye shut and opened the other wide, eye-balling Tom closely, as if in fascination. ‘Why are you so pasty and pale?’

Samuel was a little worried by the remark, but Tom only giggled at the man’s exaggerated expression.

‘How do you throw those balls?’ Tom asked enthusiastically. ‘Can you teach us?’