Tommy Black and the Staff of Light

by Jake Kerr

  “Introduction to domestic magic.” She practically spat the words. “Do you know how many other magicians were in the class with me?”

  “None?”

  “You got it.” I couldn’t quite believe what I was hearing. She was already practically at master level, and they had her working on magic to do chores? It made no sense. “So what’s your story? They have plans for you to illuminate Big Ben for tourists?”

  “Eleven years ago my parents died in a subway crash in New York.”

  Naomi sat up straight, stared at me for a moment, and then lowered her head. “Oh, Tommy. I’m so sorry.”

  “My grandfather raised me.”

  “The Pehlivan.”

  “Yes, but I didn’t know that. I barely knew about magic at all until days ago.”

  “But you’re the Archmage. How could you not know?” Naomi stared at me, fully engaged in my story.

  I then outlined the events of the past week. I described the attack from the Shadows, the attack on the restaurant, and how my grandfather had given me the staff and how Mister Ali was to protect me as we escaped. I described the river, the golems, and finding ourselves at the Way Station. Through it all I outlined the underlying story of my grandfather wanting to keep the staff and Mister Ali wanting to get rid of it.

  “You mentioned that on the train,” she replied, and I nodded.

  I then outlined my meeting with Cain. Her jaw dropped as I described his illusions. “Illusion is not my speciality, although I can perform a few of them.” This did not surprise me at all. In fact it wouldn’t have surprised me if her few illusions were near master level. “So let me assure you that what he did sounds impossible. No one could be that skilled with magic. Illusions are simply too complicated to do what you describe. The coordinated body control it would take…”

  I thought back to Cain’s spastic body movements and wondered if that was related to his abilities. Was his entire body prepping spells while I watched? I thought back to the pain of my arm on fire and replied, “I assure you he is that skilled.”

  I then discussed how Mister Ali and I went to meet with Lord Gort. I then described the conversation, ending with Mister Ali’s betrayal. I clenched the staff in my hand. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Naomi stared at me. “How could he betray his friend like that?”

  “I don’t know.” I looked at Naomi, and the sympathy and concern on her face removed any doubts I had. She cared about me. I didn’t know what to say, and the silence lingered. I considered what she had gone through as well, and I realized that all we had was each other. I lowered my head and whispered, “I’m sorry about your mother. She sounds like she was an amazing woman.” It felt right to say it.

  Naomi didn’t reply, and I glanced up to see if she was perhaps mad at me. She was crying, so I looked away. She cleared her throat and then whispered, “Thank you.” I glanced at her, and she was wiping her eyes. She looked at me, smiled, and added, “We’re both alone now.”

  I nodded. “The domestic mage and the streetlight.”

  Grinning, Naomi replied, “So what do we do?”

  “We will save my grandfather.” I said the words with an unexpected force.

  “Absolutely.” Naomi nodded. “He’ll be able to use the staff to make everything right.” As soon as she said the words, I could tell she felt bad. She covered her mouth with her hand and added, “I’m sorry, Tommy. I didn’t mean it that way.”

  I smiled. “It’s okay. I know he’s more powerful than I am. I’m kind of useless, actually. I just don’t want to be alone anymore.” And as soon as I said it I felt bad. She had just lost her mother. Could I be any more insensitive? I broke the awkward silence that followed by saying, “But first we have to get out of here. We can perhaps get beyond the walls, but then were do we go? You can be sure that someone will be chasing us.”

  Naomi smiled and stood up. “You forget that I’m the granddaughter of a legendary Waymaster. I know all the train stops in England. Once we get our bearings, I’ll find a stop and we can flee on a train.”

  “Will that work?”

  “Trust me,” she replied.

  I stood up and for some reason Errol Flynn popped into my head. “The grandchildren of legends. Alone without family. Unwanted despite our power.” I meant to be inspirational and said the words as if I were narrating a motion picture. I smiled and held out my hand. “We make a good team!”

  Naomi looked at me quizzically and hesitantly took my hand. It was the hesitation that killed me. As soon as I shook her hand I realized how stupid it was. She was beautiful and powerful and smart and we were about to travel alone together and I pretend we’re in a movie, and, even worse, I shook her hand? Who does that?

  I quickly pulled my hand away. My heart was racing from anger at myself, and I knew that if I didn’t get away for at least a little bit I would die of embarrassment.

  “I need to get my old shoes. These boots don’t fit,” I lied. “I’ll meet you here after I go grab them from my room.”

  “Uh, Okay,” she replied. She tucked her hair behind her ears again, and I turned away. Did she have to be so pretty?

  I walked out the door and down the steps. I tried to forget the handshake, but I couldn’t. All I could think about was that her hand was warm and soft and that she had gripped my hand tight.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  PLAN C

  I alternated between trying to focus on hiding myself and making sense of how I could deal with Naomi. I would dodge a group of soldiers and then nearly run into another group while imagining that when I wasn’t annoying Naomi I was embarrassing myself in front of her. I somehow made it to my quarters without being seen and opened the door only to run right into Felice. Her eyes went wide.

  “Did your meeting with Cain go okay?” She practically whispered the question.

  “Well, he questioned my ability to wield the staff, and then he lit my arm on fire, which was intensely painful. Other than that, it went great.”

  Felice nodded, as if she expected my response. “That’s not so bad. I’m sure he won’t light you on fire next time.” I almost laughed, but she was serious. Not so bad. The thought made me even more desperate to leave the Citadel. I thanked Felice for her concern and made my way up the stairs to my room.

  I opened the door, planning on switching from the boots to my shoes and then rushing back to Naomi so we could escape. I took one step into my room and stopped cold. There was an old man sitting in the reading chair looking over the illusion textbook.

  He looked up at me. “Is this yours? A waste of time if you ask me.” He tossed the book on the floor. He was ancient. The small amount of hair he had was white and slicked back in an attempt at style. He had grey eyes, and as they peered at me they were the only part of him that looked young. His skin was thin and wrinkled, and he looked very frail. I couldn’t even guess his age. Yet he looked regal. He wore a nice suit that somehow fit well despite his inability to fill it. The shirt was pure white and his navy blue tie was tightly knotted and perfectly centered. I stared at him.

  He scowled at me. “Well, don’t just stand there. Let me see it.” He held out his hand.

  “I’m sorry. Who are you?” He obviously wasn’t some soldier sent here to hold me until Cain could get his hands on the staff. On the other hand, he had the same dismissive demeanor of Cain himself.

  “I’m Plan B.” He laughed a scratchy high-pitched laugh.

  “Plan B?” I worried that perhaps the old man was insane and had wandered into my room.

  “Yes. Plan B. If Cain can’t get you to follow his orders, he’s going to take the staff from you and give it to me to wield.” I stared at him. “For whatever good that will do him.” He scratched his head. “Actually, I might be Plan C. Plan B is probably Cain trying to use the staff himself.” The old man looked at me, and when I didn’t respond added, “Fine. If you must know, I am also the Royal Gardener at Balmoral.” His expression didn’t change, but he open
ed and closed his hand in a reminder to hand him something. Did he mean the staff?

  “Do I know you?”

  “Unfortunately not.” He sat up straighter but still didn’t stand. “Or perhaps fortunately. Give me the staff, and I think that may clear some things up.” I pulled the cane against my chest.

  “I’m afraid I can’t do that.”

  He shook his head and nodded. “Ah yes. I expected this.” He waved his finger at me. “My son said the same thing after I gave it to him and asked him a few years later if I could use the staff for some particularly difficult topiary work.” He shook his head. “It would have made things much easier.” He sighed. “The selfishness of youth, I guess.”

  He gave the staff to his son? My staff? My grandfather’s staff? Before I could ask any questions, the old man laughed. “Maybe you aren’t as stupid as my son. You are starting to understand now, are you not?”

  “Who are you?” I whispered the words, although I had started to put things together.

  He laughed a bitter laugh. “Maybe you are as stupid as he is, after all. I’m Joseph Blacach. Declan Black, your grandfather, is my son.” I felt my knees go weak, because I knew that he was telling the truth. I saw it immediately. Not just in his eyes, but the shape of his face, and even his gruff demeanor, which if I were honest, was a big part of my grandfather’s personality. His smile, fleeting as it was, reminded me of my father’s smile. I took a step forward.

  “You’re my great—”

  “Grandfather. Yes. I’m also an Archmage. I’ve borne the staff. Blah. Blah. Blah. That’s why Cain used his infernal connections to get me sent here. He thinks I’m a loyal citizen and will wield the staff for him, but the truth is—“ He leaned forward and lowered his voice. “—I just came here to hold the staff one more time before I die.” He held up a finger. “But I did not lie. I am the King’s gardener in Balmoral.” He shrugged. “As it were.”

  I walked over to him, and as I approached he held out his hand again. “If I’m to be totally truthful, I also wanted to see you, my great grandson. But don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation for being decidedly unsentimental.” He laughed.

  “Plan C,” I said as I held the staff up.

  “As you wish, although one might think ‘Great Grandfather’ would be more appropriate.” He looked at the staff. “Ah, still a cane. My foolish son never could figure out how to change it back I see.” His eyebrows furrowed, and his jaw clenched. He looked both sad and angry. I didn’t move, and he added. “The staff, boy.”

  I handed it to him.

  I knew I shouldn’t have, but I did. I cannot explain why other than to say that I knew it was the right thing to do. The staff said as much to me in its arcane and unfathomable language. He held it up and it transformed into a living branch of some flowering tree. It bloomed with white flowers, and petals fell as he pulled it close to his eyes.

  Joseph—I still had trouble thinking of him as my great grandfather—smiled, and his face transformed. He breathed in deeply, his nose among the flowers. The happiness made him look years younger. He lowered the staff and it transformed into a cricket bat. He looked at me. “You are a young boy. Would you prefer this?” I didn’t answer, and he quickly added, “Ah, you are American. Perhaps this is better?” The cricket bat transformed into a baseball bat. “Or this?” In short order he changed the staff into large stick, a flower, a wand, and a wooden knife.

  Before he could do any more I interrupted, “I prefer the cane.”

  He frowned. “Making it a cane was a joke I played on my son as a reminder of his feeble ego.” The staff remained a wooden knife, and Joseph tapped it on his palm. He stared at me, and again I felt uncomfortable in his gaze. His presence was at once exciting to me, but his mannerisms and attitude were disturbing. He took joy in the staff and what it could do, but he did not seem to care about me much at all.

  The more I considered him, the more it bothered me that he was dismissive toward my grandfather, his own son. “I prefer the cane,” I repeated, a bit more forcefully this time. “And you can give it back to me now.” I held out my hand.

  He didn’t say anything for a while, just stared at me. When I refused to avert my gaze, he smiled my father’s smile and held up the staff to me, which without my noticing had turned again into a cane. As I went to take it, he pulled it back. “Are you not curious what my mastery of the staff is?”

  “I’m afraid I don’t understand. What do you mean ‘mastery?’”

  Joseph shook his head. “How much do you know of the staff, boy?” He hadn’t offered the staff back to me, although it still held its shape as a cane.

  I looked at him, and all my questions, all my confusion, tumbled into my head. What did I know? What did Mister Ali teach me? What did my grandfather teach me from those few moments when he gave me the staff? The answer scared me. Nothing. I knew nothing of the staff. And then it hit me. He knows, I thought. He is the only one who knows.

  Before I could say the words, my great grandfather pointed to the other reading chair. “Have a seat, Thomas.” His voice was wistful but also kind. “I know too little of your situation to expect so much. My disappointment over Declan should not poison my view of you.” He pointed at the illusion textbook lying on the floor, and it turned into rectangular piece of rich dirt. Grass grew out of it and turned it into a small piece of lawn. “Sit.”

  I sat down and looked at the grass. It was rich and lush—and appeared real. “Are you an illusionist?”

  Joseph looked aghast. “Good Lord, no. Illusion is the creation of the unreal and thus it is weak.” He sneered. “A useless magic.” He turned and looked at me. “The staff in my hands manipulates the innate bits of life that are hidden in practically everything.” I didn’t say anything, and he sighed. “To your grandfather, the staff was wasted on me. I was little more than a gardener.” He touched the table top, and twigs and branches grew up from the wooden surface.

  “That’s amazing!” I said. I wondered at this power of his. Could he create massive tree houses? Could he make animals grow, too? Could he touch the sea and fill a net with fish? If he could manipulate life could he also bring someone back from the dead? Could he heal injuries? There were so many things that I could imagine he could do with his power that it overwhelmed me.

  “It is kind of you to say, but, unfortunately, I was ordered to give up the staff because my mastery was not quite as valuable as that of my son, who could destroy things.” He ran his hand over his head, and it was the exact same movement I had seen my grandfather make over and over again as he tried to tame his wild hair.

  “Is there anything you can’t do with the staff?” I replied in awe.

  “We don’t have time for us to discuss the missed opportunities of my youth. Let me just state that the most powerful Archmage since the staff was brought to Britain is sitting in this room.” I thought of his words. They didn’t sound like the boastful comments one would hear from a boor. Nor were they filled with the bravado I heard attached to those that described my grandfather. My great grandfather could manipulate life itself. Yes. I agreed with him. That was power of a frightening magnitude. I nodded. He was the most powerful Archmage in history.

  “You nod, but I have not finished.” The second most powerful Archmage in this room is the one that currently holds the staff.” He smiled, and the cane turned into a large intricately runed staff.

  It took a moment for the words to sink in. “But I can only make light.”

  “So I heard.” He didn’t add anything, and the silence became uncomfortable.

  “You mentioned that the staff came to England. I thought that the staff was our family’s legacy. Were we not always from England?” I was thoroughly transfixed with the opportunity to learn more about the staff and our family’s history.

  “The origin of the staff has nothing to do with our family.” He turned the staff back into a cane and handed it to me. “Our family are thieves.”

  “Excuse me?” H
e said it so matter-of-factly that I couldn’t quite believe what I heard.

  “During the First Crusade, one of our illustrious forefathers traveled far to the Southeast and came back with a powerful magic item. How he got it is lost to history, but you can be sure it involved murder, torture, or probably both. Ha!”

  “The staff…”

  “Yes. How the fool escaped Persia with one of the few icons of power left in the world is beyond me, but he did.”

  “I thought the staff was one with our family and that only we can use it.”

  “Well, that story certainly stops people from asking embarrassing questions.”

  “So we aren’t the only ones who can use it?”

  “Of course not.” As he spoke, my great-grandfather appeared nothing more than to be annoyed with the whole story. At this point, however, he looked me in the eye and held up a finger to underscore the point: “Here is your first and only lesson about the staff: Its power is its own. Not mine. Not yours. Not our family’s. Different people can use it to different effect. Thankfully, very few people can get it to do anything. Hell, it sat on a mantle for decades a couple hundred years ago.” He shrugged. “Perhaps the staff got bored with our family and hoped we’d pass it on to someone else.” He laughed. “Of course we didn’t.”

  “But Mister Ali’s family is from Persia, and he said it was destined only be held by one of our family.”

  Joseph frowned. “Another reason to be rid of that staff! That we have deluded the very people we stole the staff from through lies is a stain on our family!” He waved his finger at me. “I’m too old to make a difference, but know this, Thomas. If you tell Ali or his family or anyone from Persia that the staff belongs to anyone but them, then you are party to their oppression.”

  The history of my family and the staff, which so thrilled and inspired me just minutes before, now made me uncomfortable. I could not believe that we stole something and then used the very thing we stole to convince those we stole it from to serve us. The idea of destroying the staff seemed to make much more sense now. “I should return it to Ali’s family and tell him the truth,” I said quietly.