Tommy Black and the Staff of Light

by Jake Kerr

  “We wait,” he said. A moment later, with us both sitting still in the boat, and the sound of nothing but lapping water, the boat moved. There was a slight tug as the boat broke free from the stone landing. It slowly gained speed and headed toward the tunnel that led out of the room.

  The boat didn't turn, but floated rear-first toward the tunnel. I looked over my shoulder and squinted into the darkness. I heard a whooshing sound and then the sound of creaking iron, as if a gate was being raised or a heavy door was being opened. A rush of air hit my face. It felt wet and smelled fresh and clean. After being surrounded by the stale air of the room, I felt myself drawn to wherever the breeze came from.

  We glided into the tunnel, and the boat sped up. The light from the cane illuminated everything, but the tunnel curved, and I could not see very far ahead. The room behind us fell into darkness as we moved further and further down the tunnel.

  The tunnel itself did not appear to be man-made. The water went right up against the walls, which were rough and dry. Whatever watery erosion had formed them millennia ago had not touched the walls or roof again. The roof was low enough that Mister Ali could have touched it with his hands if he were standing. The river flowed gently, but our boat moved faster and faster.

  Mister Ali remained silent as I looked around. He had a calm look on his face, but he was tapping his foot. “Is there a problem, Mister Ali?” I asked.

  “No, Tommy. I am just preparing myself for the river.”

  “This isn’t the river?” I looked at the water. Sure, it was probably too small to be considered a river, but we were underground, and I assumed new rules applied. I looked at Mister Ali.

  “This is,” he paused, as if looking for the right words, “an entrance to the river.” He nodded to himself. “This water exists solely to bring someone to the river. It has no other function, and that is why it smelled the way it did. It is not a spring, a tributary, or a stream.”

  I couldn’t quite understand what Mister Ali was saying, but by now I had learned to just file away his explanations and move on. If I asked about everything I didn’t understand, we would be buried under stone in the restaurant far above. I looked over my shoulder to see the tunnel the boat was backing its way into. The light from the cane glinted off of something ahead. I noticed the water getting a bit more choppy. Still, the boat didn’t jostle at all as it glided forward.

  “I see something, Mister Ali. The light reflected off something near that turn ahead.”

  Mister Ali squinted and then nodded. “It is the gateway to Nar Marratum, the bitter river which will bear us on our journey.” I was about to ask why he called the river “bitter,” but we were moving quite fast by now, and I focused on the approaching gate. Beyond it the tunnel straightened and continued as far as I could see.

  The gate was a large iron portcullis. The bottom spikes hung from the ceiling, and I could see deep grooves down each side of the tunnel which were worn by the raising and lowering of the gate. We were just past the gate when a screech of iron grinding filled my ears. I watched as the gate steadily lowered into the water.

  “There is no going back now, my dear Tommy. We are at the river’s mercy.” He smiled, but there was a grimness to it rather than the mirth I was getting used to.

  The water was moving quickly and getting quite violent. The boat remained as stable as if it were on dry ground, and I found the contrast unsettling. “What if we are thrown from the boat! How would we get back in?”

  Mister Ali reached forward and took my hand, a comforting smile on his face. “You need not fear violence from the river, Tommy. It is a wicked thing, but it won’t drown you.” He paused, as if considering his words, and then continued, “Let me explain it this way: The river won’t hurt us, but it will deliver us to a spot that very well may be dangerous. As I said earlier, the river will put us where it will cause the most mischief. Sometimes that is in the middle of grave danger. Sometimes it is where it will change our lives in ways that perhaps death would have been preferred. And, sometimes—” Mister Ali paused again. I noticed that he was much more careful with his words than his son. “Sometimes it will put you somewhere that seems innocent enough but will have a great impact on your life later, even years later.”

  Mister Ali pointed over my shoulder. “And here it is, young Tommy. The mighty Nar Marratum!” I turned around and faced the rear of the boat, which was still moving backward through the water after backing us out of the landing. The boat shot out of the tunnel into an immense body of water. It flowed right past us from my left to my right, but I couldn’t see the other side of the river, even in the bright light of the cane.

  We continued to move backward across the river rather than along it. The water slammed against the boat, spraying over the side and into our faces. Despite the pounding, the ride remained as gentle as a leaf floating on a serene lake. I looked past Mister Ali toward the way we entered the river, but we had already traveled so far that the tunnel we exited was lost in the darkness. The roar of the river was overwhelming as it echoed within the enclosed chamber. I looked up but couldn’t see the roof.

  “Are we going to the other side?” I shouted toward Mister Ali. He shook his head.

  “We will get to the center and then our travels begin.” I turned back toward the rear of the boat and looked into the distance. I marveled at how wide this river must be. We had covered a great distance and apparently weren’t even halfway across yet. Mister Ali tapped me on the shoulder.

  I turned to see him removing his many-colored robe. He handed it to me, and said, “Cut it in half,” making sawing motions with his hands in case I couldn’t hear him over the roar of the river. I took the robe but didn’t know why I should cut it in half and, for that matter, how to cut it in half. As if reading my mind, Mister Ali pointed and shouted, “Use the staff.”

  I remembered my grandfather unsheathing the sword from the cane, and I repeated his actions. There was a slight hesitation, and then the sword slid out of the cane easily. I lifted the robe, and began cutting it into two even parts as well as I could. The robe was thick, and I expected quite a bit of hacking at the material, but as the sword touched the cloth it sliced through with ease. It was as if the cloth itself was parting out of respect for the blade.

  I handed the pieces to Mister Ali, asking “What are these for?”

  He handed one half back and leaned toward my ear. “We need to make the boat comfortable. This may be a very long journey.” The boat slowed, and then the prow slid around, facing downstream. After a slight pause, the boat shot down the river.

  Mister Ali laid his robe on the bottom of the boat, rolling up one end into a small pile. He took his shoes off and placed them under his seat. He sat on the robe and leaned on the rolled up part. He motioned toward me, pointed toward my feet and said, “Sit.”

  I placed my portion of the robe on the floor of the boat and sat upon it. The sides of the boat shielded us from the air rushing by, and the river was much quieter as we moved downstream than when we were moving across it, but it was still loud.

  Mister Ali didn’t say anything. He looked relaxed. Surrounded by the noise of the river and the tumult of the water, the boat remained calm, and for the first time since I walked into the alley with my grandfather, I had the time to consider what was happening.

  I thought of the grandfather I knew, sitting in the theater with me and smiling at my delight as Errol Flynn acted the hero. I thought of the grandfather I hadn't known existed, holding off frightening creatures of the dark and smiling as he destroyed others with a wave of his cane. Both of those grandfathers were gone. The thought as to who would raise me entered my head, absurd as it was. Certainly I had more pressing problems than wondering where I was going to live when school was out.

  I stifled a laugh for focusing on something so ordinary while I was sitting in a magic boat on a dangerous living river but the suppressed laugh somehow came out a sob. I was embarrassed and tried to hide my fear and sadness
. I wiped my eyes so no tears would fall while trying not to bring attention to myself, but Mister Ali was looking right at me. He reached forward and put his hand on my shoulder. He didn’t smile, and he didn’t say anything. He just squeezed my shoulder.

  I turned away and gripped the staff in my fist. Wherever the river took us, I would rescue my grandfather. I was an Archmage, as Mister Ali said, and I could at least make light. That had to mean something against the Shadows. I turned back to face Mister Ali, hoping he could see the determination on my face, but his eyes were closed.

  I considered resting, but the light from the staff reflecting off the river caught my attention. It was impossible to tell if the turbulent water was clear or dark, as its surface was impenetrable. I squinted into the distance, but there was nothing but water as far as the light shone. I couldn’t see the banks of the river or a roof above us.

  I noticed Mister Ali watching me. Without the robe hiding his clothing and body, I could see that he was dressed for battle. The colorful vest that I always took as simply a costume or uniform on the staff of the restaurant was actually reinforced leather, decorated with jewels and stitched with bright thread—but it was still armor. His legs were in the loose fitting clothing that reminded me of the sheiks I saw in the movies, but I was certain that it was hiding leather armor covering his legs, as well.

  Mister Ali also looked more impressive without the folds of his robe distracting me. His arms were thick with muscles, and although he was clearly old and a bit stout around the middle, he reminded me of my grandfather—a mighty warrior well past his prime but still a warrior. He nodded, as if reading my thoughts, and leaned close. “There is much to discuss, young Tommy.” He sat up and crossed his legs. I did the same.

  “So I understand that you have no practical experience with magic.”

  I paused. At first I was not sure if I wanted to tell him anything but then I remembered that Grandfather himself trusted Mister Ali. So I answered him truthfully. “Well, that depends.”

  Mister Ali raised an eyebrow. “Depends upon what?”

  “On how you define ‘experience.’”

  “Why don’t you tell me, and we can go from there.”

  So I did.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  I BATTLE A RIVER

  I explained to Mister Ali that Grandfather would take me to Coney Island a few times every Summer, and one time during the previous Summer we passed a street magician. I couldn't remember ever seeing one before.

  I quickly found out why. The musicians and dancers were much more popular. Even the fortune-telling gypsies did better than the magician. As we approached I could hear that the magician was being heckled by several boys my age. I heard one boy say, “I’ll give you a dime to disappear!” which generated laughter from his friends.

  Grandfather changed direction and strode directly to the magician, his cane tapping out the warning of his approach. While Grandfather was often difficult to live with, I knew he was a good man and couldn’t stand injustice. I looked forward to him quieting the hecklers with some sharp words or even a thwap from his cane. I had experienced both myself.

  He shoved past the boys who quieted in his presence. The magician had a folding table with some glasses on it, and Grandfather smacked his cane onto the tabletop, making the glasses shake. “So what’s your game, young man?”

  The magician was wiry and looked about college age. He had black curly hair and a small face that fit his small frame. He was dressed in a shabby suit that gave him the look of a struggling poet or other artist.

  “My game? I’m a magician, old man.” The magician crossed his arms.

  “That remains to be seen. Show me.” Grandfather lowered his cane directly in front of himself and leaned on it with both hands.

  The magician rolled his eyes and grabbed a pitcher of water from behind him and poured it into a glass. He then smiled at my grandfather and made a gesture with his fingers. The clear water turned blue. He moved his fingers again and the water turned red.

  I had never seen magic before, and the change was so fast and complete that I found it rather impressive. Grandfather, however, snorted. “An illusionist, eh? But what good is an illusion that science can replicate?” He lifted his cane and pointed it at the young illusionist, who backed up a step. “Sorensen could do that with chemicals.” He then stood up straight. “Show me a real illusion. One that science hasn’t ruined.”

  “That’s the only one I know,” the magician replied, anger rising in his voice. “And I don’t know who Sorensen is, but these aren’t stupid chemicals. This is magic.”

  Grandfather leaned forward, and I could see that he was losing his temper. The magician’s audience was enthralled, but it was clear that they were more interested in the old man assaulting the magician than the magician himself. I tugged on my grandfather’s sleeve. He looked down at me, and I nodded over my shoulder and said, “Coney Island.”

  He nodded and tapped the table with his cane. “You are wasting your time.” He then turned and started walking.

  The magician didn’t reply and returned to turning the water into colorful mixtures. I could tell Grandfather was troubled. He muttered about never finding a real magician in America, which surprised me since I didn’t think there were any real magicians anywhere. Sure the water thing didn’t seem very complicated, but, as magic went, I thought it was pretty neat.

  Mister Ali nodded his head as I finished. “Yes, it would not surprise me that Declan would investigate even a hint of magic if it was put in his path. He has seen the decline in magic and I am sure that your experience was not his only disappointment.” He folded his hands together. “But he understands that magic is coming to an end. His comment on science spoke volumes.”

  “But that is not what he said at the restaurant, Mister Ali. He said that magic was needed to defend us against the magical creatures.”

  “That is not exactly what he said, Tommy. He said the staff was needed to protect us. He knows magic is dying. The only difference in opinion is how to handle it.” Mister Ali yawned, and that led me to yawn. “Are you tired? Do you need to rest?”

  At the mention of rest, a wave of exhaustion hit me, as if it had broken through a barrier and was rushing through to my bones. It couldn’t have been more than early evening, but I felt like it was late into the night. The light on the cane dimmed a bit, and my eyes were heavy with drowsiness.

  “I feel very tired, Mister Ali, but I want to know more about magic.”

  Mister Ali shrugged. “I’m afraid there’s not much to say. There are powerful magicians in the world, very powerful magicians, but they are incredibly rare and becoming rarer with every generation. The magician you saw is probably not unlike the other magicians across the globe—performing magic to disappointed crowds that know scientists can do better.”

  I was not surprised at Mister Ali’s words. I hadn’t mentioned it to him but there was a magic club at my school, Phillips Andover. The members were the unpopular freaks that no one liked. The radio and flying clubs were more popular. Heck, even the physics club was more popular, and none of its members had girlfriends. More than anything, the magic club was an easy target for teasing.

  I closed my eyes, and Mister Ali spoke up. “Lie down and rest, Tommy. Let the staff go dark, and I will watch over you.” I opened my eyes, and Mister Ali pointed to the floor, where my half of his robe lay folded up.

  I didn’t even have the energy to reply. I unfolded the robe, curled over a corner for my head, and lay down. The cane went dark as I closed my eyes and loosened my grip. I cradled it in my arms and let sleep overtake me.

  I was back at Andover and for some reason I was at a meeting of the magic club. I was in the front of the room giving a lecture on contemporary magic creatures. I was so nervous that I could do no more than stare at my notes and read them. I described fiery Ifrit and flying Djinn, doing my best to describe them using my own experience of seeing them. I glanced up when I got to Shadows
and saw that I was alone in the room.

  Not a single desk was occupied. On one hand I was relieved, as I had never been comfortable speaking in front of others, but on the other I was embarrassed—the lamest club in the school, and I was presumably the only member. I was unsure of this, however, and spoke up, “Is anyone there?” The lights flickered, and I felt a deep dread.

  I was alone, and I had to escape. The certainty of this was absolute. I stumbled down the narrow gap between a row of desks, heading for the door. I stopped as the lights went out. When they came back on they were now candles, and the classroom looked like a stone room in an old castle. The flickering shadows started to congeal and form into magical Shadows. They were all around me, and I pushed aside desks as I looked for a gap to escape.

  But there was no escape. I shouted for help, but no one answered. The blackness surrounded me, and I shouted again, screaming for someone, anyone, to help me. A voice, metallic and deep and ominous replied from the depths. “You are alone.” Another voice and then another repeated the words. “You are alone.” “You are alone.” “You are alone.”

  The blackness was about to overwhelm me when I heard Mister Ali’s voice in the distance. “I’m here, Tommy. You aren’t alone.” I felt someone shaking my shoulder. I opened my eyes, and there was Mister Ali, his entire body illuminated in the blinding light of the cane, which had never shone brighter. “Tommy, you had a nightmare. Everything is fine.”

  I sat up. Mister Ali watched me, concern filling his face. The dread of the nightmare was still fresh in my mind, but looking upon Mister Ali scared me more. He looked exhausted. His eyes were red, and there were dark circles under them. Even his toothy smile couldn’t hide the fact that he had pushed himself close to the limit.

  “How long have I been asleep?” I asked. It must have been hours.

  “Long enough, Tommy. The staff burns bright, and a nightmare is of little concern to those awake.” He smiled, but it appeared forced. “I need but a couple hours to regain my strength, and then we can talk.” His eyes closed, and I left Mister Ali alone while the boat sped on through the darkness. The time sped on, as well, for I spent every minute examining the cane—staff, I kept reminding myself, not cane.