Tommy Black and the Staff of Light

by Jake Kerr

  The attack seemed to increase in intensity the moment the staff fell out of my hand. I watched as more projectiles shot toward Mister Ali, who was now rolling around and avoiding them with a feline grace. A blow hit me in the thigh. Scrambling to my knees, a cloud of dust exploded next to me, leaving a track in the dirt. It was from a rock. A rock? Who attacks someone with rocks?

  I turned to crawl behind a boulder for cover when I noticed the staff. I grabbed it with no other thought in my mind than I needed it. I wasn’t pulling it to safety. I wasn’t keeping it from an attacker. I clung to it like I clung to my grandfather’s sleeve, and like my grandfather the staff led the way.

  I stood tall and held up the staff. From somewhere behind me I heard Mister Ali scream “No!”

  Another rock hit me, this time glancing off my foot, but I barely felt it as I looked up at our attackers. A projectile flew toward me, and I swung up with the staff. There was a “thunk!” and the stone flew off into the distance. Two more rocks whistled toward me, and with a spin I knocked them to the ground. Thud. Thud.

  It was me, but it wasn’t me hitting the rocks. I swung with the skill of Ted Williams hitting baseballs, but the staff was assisting me in some way. The rocks were flying so fast that the staff moved in my hands like a blur.

  “Flee, Tommy!” Mister Ali yelled out. I looked up and saw a path to the top of the hill above the entrance to the mine. I continued to effortlessly knock away stones as I considered Mister Ali’s words and then disregarded them. No. I wouldn’t flee. The world was stripping away everyone from my life, while I sat by and did nothing. My parents. My Grandfather. Even Mister Ali, who I had just met, was now in danger. I strode toward the path.

  I scrambled up the hill, barely paying attention to the rocks as I warded them off with the staff in one hand. At the top was a large outcropping of stone directly over the mine entrance. It was the perfect spot for an ambush, and standing behind it were three figures made of rocks and sticks. They had arms and legs but otherwise had little semblance to a human. I watched as one of them grabbed a rock with an hand made of a broken branches. It twirled and the rock flew at me. I swung the staff, and the rock flew at one of the other figures, hitting it square in what looked like a chest. It exploded into a cloud of dust.

  The other two figures paused as they turned toward me. They were alien and horrific looking. Where their eyes would be were dark holes between intertwined sticks. Rocks filled gaps between the tree limbs and sapling trunks that made up the body, and it all came together in a human-like shape. However horrifying they looked, I wasn’t afraid. I was hot and angry and, more than anything, ready to finally no longer live a life alone in a secluded townhouse or a private school. I was Errol Flynn! I was the bearer of the staff! I twirled it in my hand and walked toward them.

  I knocked away a stone and swung the staff at the second figure, and it also exploded into dust as the end of the staff pounded into its side. The third figure got off a throw, but I was too close, and while I didn’t knock it away, it glanced off my side to little effect. Shortly afterward it was also little more than a pile of sticks and rocks.

  I looked over the promontory but couldn’t see Mister Ali. Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder, and there he was standing behind me. His face was covered in blood, and he was bleeding from various other locations where the rocks had hit him. In his right hand he held a knife. The hilt was colorful and decorated with gems, but the blade was all business, curved and sharp and shiny from many sharpenings.

  “Well done, Tommy. Your facility with the staff was unexpected.” He looked at the heap of sticks and rocks next to us. “I think I understand.” He leaned down and examined it more closely. As he held up and peered at a stick, I noticed that one of the boulders near the edge of the outcropping had indentations all over it. It looked like someone had taken an ice cream scooper and had pulled out hand-sized scoops of rock.

  Mister Ali stood up and kicked the heap, sending dirt and twigs flying. “It is as I expected. They were golems created out of the material around here.” He waved his arms around the clearing. “I’m guessing that all of the known exits from the river have similar golems guarding them.”

  “Golems?” It was a creature I was only vaguely familiar with.

  “Yes. Magical animations. They are simple-minded but can be mighty opponents if made of the right material. Luckily, these were made of sticks, dirt, and rocks.” He nudged the pile with his foot.

  I nodded. “At least we are safe now.” I was disappointed that Mister Ali didn’t say anything about the battle. I had beaten the golems and was hoping for more acknowledgement than “well done.”

  Mister Ali walked over to the ledge and looked out to the horizon, nothing but harsh sun, dry rocky plains, and half-dead vegetation as far as the eye could see. “I’m afraid not, Tommy. While the golems did an admirable job for their master in hurting us, their primary role was to raise the alarm. Right now, I’m sure that whoever is after us knows exactly where we are and is preparing to send something a lot more dangerous than a pile of sticks.”

  Mister Ali limped away from the outcropping, and as I went to follow him, I realized I was injured more than I had thought. My hip hurt badly, and I had to limp, too. I found it depressing that a stupid creature made of sticks doing nothing more than throwing stones had nearly defeated the duo of a mighty magician like Mister Ali and me, the Archmage. Defeating them didn’t seem quite so special anymore.

  I winced, and Mister Ali twirled to look at me, alarm on his face. “You are hurt.” He shook his head. “I’m afraid we are in very poor circumstances—we are injured; we don’t know where we are, and we have no way to get to either safety or healing.” Mister Ali sheathed his knife and looked at me. “Do you have any ideas?”

  In other circumstances I would have been honored at Mister Ali asking me for assistance, but I ignored him and stared at the top of the hill. A sliver of smoke rose up in the distance.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  I MEET NAOMI, WHO HATES ME

  “There is smoke in the distance,” I stated, pointing over Mister Ali’s shoulder.

  He turned, and after a glance spun back to me, his grim visage replaced with a broad smile. “Perhaps a fireplace or a stove!” He turned and limped a few steps while waving me forward. “Come, we must reach it as soon as possible!”

  Mister Ali sounded excited but looked concerned. I wasn’t sure, however. Between my bruised leg and the heat I had little energy to do more than worry about walking without falling. The cane was helpful, but not in its magic. It was a much needed support as I climbed the hill. In fact, ever since the attack the cane seemed particularly normal in my hand. Granted, I didn’t think much of using it for light or any other kind of assistance, but it still felt too normal.

  I decided to see if I could connect again with the cane while also helping myself. I lifted the cane as we climbed, and focused my mind on a single thought: Heal my hip and leg. I strained, but the staff remained silent.

  Mister Ali glanced back at me and asked what was wrong. “Nothing. I’m sorry, I was just trying to see if the staff could heal me.” I lowered the cane to the ground and leaned on it.

  Mister Ali nodded, walked back, and held my elbow as we continued up the hill. “Alas, Tommy, that is a rare talent with the staff, indeed. There have been Archmages who were mighty healers, their skill at a level to bring someone from even the brink of death back to health.” Mister Ali shrugged. “Perhaps someday.”

  We reached the top of the hill and paused at the crest. I looked down, focusing on the source of the smoke. It floated up from the chimney of a building at the base of the hill. It appeared to be some kind of rail station, as it stood alone next to a rail line. There weren’t any other buildings. Not even roads. In fact, it looked like this wasn’t a town at all but little more than a railroad maintenance stop.

  Mister Ali stared at the building next to the rail line with a broad smile on his face. “We have the luck
of Aladdin, Tommy!” I had no idea what Mister Ali was talking about, and it must have shown as when Mister Ali looked back at me he quickly added, “A train! It is the fastest magical transport we have.”

  Mister Ali started walking, a new jump in his step brought on by enthusiasm. “I will tell you more once we board the train. But this is great news! We will find shelter and safety soon!”

  Despite his injuries, Mister Ali set a vigorous pace down the other side of the hill. I had to stop a few times when the pain in my hip became too great. Mister Ali would walk back to me, concern in his voice and face, but I could tell that he was nervous and wanted me to keep moving.

  “Can we pause for a moment, Mister Ali?” I asked at one point. My leg and hip were hurting. By now we were on flat ground, but the rugged descent and our pace was too much for me.

  “Of course. Do you need to sit down?”

  “No, I just need to rest my leg a bit.” I didn’t dare sit down. I didn’t think I would be able to get up again, and the thought of an old man like Mister Ali carrying me was too embarrassing to bear. I still wanted to impress him, and I really wanted to grit my teeth and barrel through this short journey to the rail house. So I leaned on the cane and did my best to stretch and massage my leg.

  Mister Ali leaned back into a mighty stretch. He let out a loud grunt of “Ahhhhhh,” but it got cut short when he jerked himself back up to his full height. His sudden stop and the intent look in his eyes caught my attention. He was staring where the rail line disappeared into the hills in the distance. I turned to follow his gaze.

  “Do you see that, Tommy?” I squinted into the harsh light, and after a moment I saw what I thought was a dark dot on the horizon.

  “I’m not sure. There’s a dark spot on the horizon. Is it smoke?”

  “It’s not smoke.” Mister Ali continued to stare.

  I did my best to look, but all I could see was the dark spot. It was perhaps a bit more visible now but still tiny. “A zeppelin?” Mister Ali shook his head. “A flock of birds?”

  He continued to stare in the distance, but grabbed my arm and tugged me gently forward. “Tommy, we need to get to the rail station as soon as possible.” He started to walk briskly toward the house, half supporting me, half pulling me. I could tell something was worrying him, as he would glance over his shoulder and then push the pace even more. By the time we got to the house, we were half running, half stumbling.

  He pounded on the door, which was locked. As he shouted, “Waymaster! Unlock the door now!” I was finally able to look back. The dot had turned into a dark cloud of black that spread across a large swath of the horizon. I had no idea what it could be, but it was clearly not good.

  A woman opened the door. She was dressed in khaki coveralls and had flowing dark hair with a white streak on one side. She looked unhappy. “Who are you and why are you here?”

  “Shut up, woman. I need to see the Waymaster,” Mister Ali replied. He started to push his way past the woman when she gave him a firm shove that sent him flying backward.

  “I’m the Waymaster.” She held up a pistol and pointed at Mister Ali and me. “And who are you?”

  Mister Ali looked shocked. As he regained his balance, he looked up at the Waymaster angrily. “That’s not important right now. Look!” He pointed in the distance. The Waymaster glanced over, and her eyes went wide.

  “What is that?” I looked back to the direction that Mister Ali indicated. The black cloud was clearly visible on the horizon.

  “Djinn!” Mister Ali’s anger disappeared and was replaced with urgency. “And it looks like dozens, perhaps even hundreds of them.” He turned to me and put his hand on my shoulder. “They are after the staff, Tommy. I’m afraid I did not have the opportunity to discuss this with you on Nar Marratum, but perhaps it is time to give the magical creatures the staff and return it from whence it came.”

  I looked at Mister Ali, aghast. “No! Grandfather risked his life for me to keep the staff safe.” Mister Ali’s face fell, and I immediately felt bad for dismissing his idea out-of-hand. But I was also confused. He and Grandfather had argued about this at the restaurant, and my grandfather strongly disagreed with Mister Ali. Was he perhaps trying to use my ignorance and youth to get his way? I didn’t want to feel that way. Mister Ali was Grandfather’s friend and was looking out for me. So I replied, “I mean, I understand that it will put me in danger, and I understand that there is much that I don’t know about magic, so perhaps this is foolish of me, but I can’t.”

  Mister Ali nodded. “Of course, Tommy. It was unfair of me to ask.” He turned to the Waymaster. “We will have time to discuss this later, but I have no choice but to trust you and you to trust me. You see what we are facing.”

  The woman nodded. “There are no trains near, but I can summon one.” She turned and strode into the building. I glanced back at what was now a black stain spreading across the horizon before following Mister Ali and the Waymaster in.

  I shut the door and almost ran into Mister Ali. The Waymaster was stabbing him in the chest with her finger. “I heard you mention the staff. Is the Archmage with you? I will not summon a train if the Archmage is here. Are you playing some game?”

  Mister Ali sighed. “Here is the new Archmage.” He moved out of the way and nodded toward me.” I saw a dawning comprehension on the Waymaster’s face as she looked at me and then the cane and then back at me.

  “There’s a new Archmage?” Mister Ali nodded, as he adjusted his armor. “His powers…?”

  “He can make light,” was Mister Ali’s succinct reply. “Now I ask you again, Waymaster, as our lives are probably in the balance. Can you get a train here quickly?”

  The question pushed the Waymaster to action. “Yes. Yes, of course.” She ran over to a box that was on a work table in the corner and started tapping on it. It was a telegraph machine, and as she tapped on the small metal arm I heard her mutter, “Light!” loudly under her breath, sounding disgusted.

  Mister Ali didn’t say anything else, but sat in the middle of the floor and began chanting in Farsi. He would occasionally move his arms in precise movements. At one point he winced, as his bruised arm acted up, and a stream of curses came out of his mouth. He immediately began again, however, his face a mask of calm.

  “We should reinforce the doors and windows while he casts his shield.” It was the Waymaster. She was standing beside me.

  “Okay. I’ll do whatever I can to help.” I took in my surroundings. The station was long and thin, and we were in the center. On the far end in front of us was a plain closed door. Behind me was an open area that contained a waist-high solid wood divider with a swinging door at the end. Beyond it was a large area that looked like it was a mess of random train-related materials. There were wooden boxes, some closed, some open. There was equipment of every size and shape, from a large wheel that must have weighed hundreds of pounds to a pile of railroad spikes that looked freshly cast. On the near side of the divider was a long wooden table with loose papers, folders, and mugs with pens and pencils in them. It also contained packages waiting to be delivered. Dominating the center of the room opposite the door we entered was a pair of huge metal doors that faced the rail line. They were latched closed and looked like the doors you see on a freight car. It was clearly the point where things were moved to and from the building and the trains.

  The Waymaster pointed at the front door. “We need to defend that.” She then pointed to the double doors that led to the track. “And we need to clear that. Our only hope is to get on the train and then get moving. That means we need to defend ourselves for a long time and then when the train arrives battle our way out to it “I am Waymaster Bergeron,” the woman added as we started to stack wooden crates and chairs in front of the door and windows.

  “Tommy,” I replied, grunting as I pulled a desk along the floor, “and that is Mister Ali, my teacher and protector.”

  “So the new Archmage needs a protector?” She snorted.


  She was about the age of my English teacher at Andover, and I knew I should treat her with respect, but her attitude bothered me. “I am new, but you should not underestimate me! It is foolish to judge others on their size and age.”

  The Waymaster paused and looked at me. “You, a child, are going to presume to tell me not to judge? I bound the Marid Prince Aafez and my reward was this.” She spat out the words. “A shack that is barely a Way Station. And do you know why?” I shook my head. “Because I am a woman.” I thought to Mister Ali’s comment at the door, asking the woman to take him to the Waymaster. “So please, Archmage, tell me about judging others based on something other than ability.”

  I was about to stammer a reply when Mister Ali opened his eyes. “Is a train coming?”

  “It is about five hundred miles away.” The Waymaster returned to piling things in front of the windows.

  Mister Ali stood up gingerly. “Five hundred miles? How long will that take to arrive?”

  “An hour, give or take.”

  “My shields won’t last a portion of that. What defenses do you have?”

  Waymaster Bergeron shrugged. “This is an outpost, barely a Way Station. There are elementary shield spells, but nothing intended to hold off Djinn.” She walked over and looked out the front window, which I was in the process of blocking with stools and chairs. “They are maybe twenty minutes away at most.”

  She then turned to me. “What of you Archmage? Do you have any ideas?” Mister Ali and Waymaster Bergeron stared at me; was it hope in their faces? Concern? Sadness? Perhaps it was all of those things.

  “I’m afraid not, Waymaster Bergeron.” I looked at the staff, which I held tightly in my right hand. I added apologetically, “I still have a lot to learn.” The Waymaster sighed and turned, probably as disgusted with me as I was with myself.