by C. M. Lance
Meredith heaved a sigh and nodded.
Grampa Thor looked down at the floor for a moment then looked up. “Yes, you saw magic upstairs. I have old magic, from before the world changed. Sig also comes from old magic. I sensed his magic the first time I held him, before magic changed in the world.” He looked at her. “I never sensed magic in you or Edward, though I wished for it. Perhaps I was mistaken about you dear. My only excuse is that your magic differs from what I’m used to.”
Grampa continued. “If a man in our line has magic, they can use Aðalbrandr, as Sig has.”
Sig got up and handed it to his Mom.
She took the medallion in her hand, and then almost dropped it, reacting as if it had shocked her.
Meredith recovered, looked between them, and said, “It feels funny, like it’s vibrating.”
Sig and Grampa looked in surprise at each other. Grampa turned back to Mom. “I should have had you hold it years ago. Then I might have known about your magic.”
He looked apologetic. “With changes to magic in the world, I'm not certain of things. Sig never demonstrated any magic… until today. Because of that, I didn't expect what you saw upstairs.”
Mom smiled wryly. “Upstairs was impressive. Sig could revolutionize the position of power forward in the NBA, but what does it really mean to him?”
Grampa looked intently at Sig.
Growing uncomfortable, Sig said, “Does that mean it’s time for me to leave the room so the adults can talk?”
Grampa blinked and then chuckled. “Sorry, lost in my thoughts. No. If anything, this would be when your mother left the room, while you and I talked. I wonder what it does mean to you. Normally, I would train you, until you’re ready.”
He steepled his hands and pressed them against his lips. He looked from under his thick eyebrows at Meredith. “I've told Sigurd and I need to tell you. The little bug in my chest is more serious than I led you to believe.” He exhaled a deep sigh. “I don't have much time left. I've recruited someone to train Sig — if I can't finish – someone at Northwestern University. I've established a trust for Sig to attend Northwestern. I know I'm interfering again, but it's in the boy's best interest.” He looked at Sig and smiled. “Sorry… the man's best interest.”
Grampa took on a pensive look. “Battle Wizards oppose dark sorcerers. This problem,” he patted his chest, “is caused by black magic. The zombies — more black magic. A dark sorcerer had to command them. Martin died by the cemetery, the probable source of those zombies. There may be a connection. We need to be on the lookout for more of the dark sorcerer’s minions.”
Mom looked grim. “What can we do?”
Grampa Thor pursed his lips and thought. He looked at Sig. “Sig must prepare. There's a lot of work to do, more of what you saw upstairs. We must keep it hidden — here on the farm. Can you support that? No bragging about your son, the Battle Wizard.”
Meredith looked at him and nodded, emphatically. “We'll do whatever we need to. We're Lutherans. We’re not known to brag.”
Grampa turned to Sig. “Are you ready to work your ass off?”
“Ready and willing. I hope I'm able.”
“Why don't you change once more, now that there's some ceiling room? Let's get a good change accomplished. It's like falling off a horse; it’s best to get back on and try again.”
Sig looked doubtful. He glanced at his Mom. “What do you think?”
She pursed her lips and closed her eyes. “Maybe Grampa is right. If this must happen; I should get used to it.”
Sig nodded, inhaled deeply, and exhaled as if preparing for a deep dive. He inhaled again, clutched the amulet, and said “Aðalbrandr.” Everything blurred, his mother appeared to shrink, the ceiling plummeted toward him, he ducked, and then everything stabilized.
He looked around. Mom and Grampa were so little and the ceiling was close. He started to reach toward the ceiling when Grampa bellowed. “Watch out! Don't forget you've got that bloody big sword in your hand!”
Sig looked at the sword in his right hand. He hadn't noticed it; it felt like a part of him. Its tip reached to within inches of the sloped ceiling. He looked down at his Mom. She gazed up at him with wide eyes and parted lips.
He raised his left hand. “I'm sorry. I didn't mean to frighten you.”
She laughed. “I won’t be able to think of you as my little boy anymore.” Grampa joined in with laughter. Sig stood there for a moment, afraid to move. Everything looked so different. He began to laugh with them; then stopped, startled by the deep booming laugh.
Mom said, “You still look like you. Your hair and eyes are still the same dark brown and blue.” She gestured with a hand in front of her face. “And now I can see that the features are the same, but different.”
Grampa stood up. “Remember, 'Koma aftur' to return.”
Sig nodded and said “Koma aftur.” Through a blur, his surroundings grew, until he stood next to Grampa, holding the amulet, looking him eye-to-eye.
Grampa gave him a big proud smile. “Welcome back Shorty.”
His Mom got up and wrapped her arms around him. She whispered, “Welcome back son.”
Chapter 10
Pounding on his door startled him awake. “C’mon hoss. You’re wasting daylight.” Sig rolled over and peered at his clock through morning-glazed eyes — 6:30 a.m. He jerked upright in bed, clutched at his chest, and found the medallion hanging at the end of its gold chain. He held it inches from his nose. Yesterday wasn’t a dream.
He brushed hair from his face with both hands and then glared toward the door when the pounding resumed. “I’m awake, come in.”
Grampa Thor hobbled in already dressed, shaved, and combed. “Yesterday was a lot to absorb at once, but today is a new day. There’s work to do.” Fetching Sig’s robe from a hook by the door, he tossed it to him. “Breakfast will be ready by the time you get downstairs. After yesterday, you should be hungry. I’ll meet you in the kitchen.” He gestured with his thumb over his shoulder, turned, and left, shutting the door behind him.
Sig glanced up at the holes and the dented beam in the ceiling. What an amazing experience. “Wow.” He shucked off the covers and shambled to the bathroom, tugging on his robe.
Back in his room, he stood indecisively in the center of the room. What’s the proper attire to train as a Battle Wizard? He shrugged and pulled on jeans, a wool sweater over a thermal shirt and his waterproof kangaroo leather boots over thermal socks. Grampa long ago told him to care for your feet. He said he learned it in the war, but didn’t say which war. Sig never thought to ask.
He realized he was famished. It felt like he hadn’t eaten in days. Hopefully, there would be mass quantities of breakfast.
Grampa stood facing the stove when Sig strolled into the kitchen. There were two frying pans where sausage, bacon, and hash brown potatoes sizzled while he poured pancake batter onto the griddle. A stack of pancakes sat on a plate. Grampa glanced over his shoulder and waved a spatula over the food, “Help yourself.”
Sig filled his plate and dug in. By the third plate, he decided he could make it through the day. Grampa watched the process indulgently while he prepared food for Sig’s Mom. “You’ll find that you’ll eat more when you change shape, although for you, it my not be noticeable.”
Sig nodded while he shoveled food in and chewed.
Meredith entered the kitchen and observed the activity with surprise.
Grampa waved at the food he had prepared. “Good morning. Sig and I already ate. I cooked up some fresh for you.”
She smiled. “This is very nice. It’s not often I get to eat someone else’s cooking.” After she had a few bites, she looked up with a smile. “Wonderful, I could get used to this. How long are you staying?”
Grampa chuckled. “You deserve to be waited on, but I’ll be busy with Sig for a while. I’ll see if I can handle breakfast while I’m here.”
Meredith looked apprehensive. “Is training dangerous?”
&
nbsp; He shook his head. “Meredith, he’s already been in training with his martial arts, riding, football, and basketball. It’s no more dangerous than that.”
Sig watched their exchange while he mopped up the eggs on his plate with his last bite of pancake. Grampa turned to him. “Are you ready?”
Sig startled out of his bystander role. “Yes sir. Ready when you are.”
“Let’s head to the covered riding arena.”
†††
Grampa Thor spent an hour and a half with Sig, trying out various magics. He brought a number of items to the arena; a pan of water in which he could view distant scenes— Sig could see the bottom of the pan. Grampa’s magic made unlit candles burst into flame — when Sig tried, he felt like his head would burst. Crystals that Thor used to sense magical flows and heal wounds were only clear lumps of rock to Sig. He couldn’t work dowsing wands, read cards, or affect various potions and amulets.
Grampa demonstrated and Sig failed. Grampa talked him through each spell several times. Nothing worked. Grampa Thor watched Sig carefully.
Finally, Thor threw his hands in the air. “I see changes in your aura whenever you try. Lots of churning, then sparks, but nothing happens. It’s as if your magic shorts out. That’s the best way I can describe what I see.”
Sig’s frustration and disappointment grew as failures piled up. “I guess those tests were right. I don’t have any magic.”
Grampa Thor snorted. “OK, let’s try a change to dispel that ridiculous notion. You have the amulet don’t you?”
Sig reached into his shirt and pulled it free. He let it drop against his chest.
Thor motioned with his hand. “Go ahead and grab it.”
Sig looked down at it and then back up at Grampa Thor. “What if it doesn’t work today, like all the other things?”
Thor looked straight at him, and his eyes narrowed. “Now is a good time to find out. I expect you to face up to things. A Battle Wizard moves forward.”
Sig looked back at him levelly in turn. “Like you did with that sorcerer and the demon that’s eating your magic?”
Thor clenched his jaw and exhaled deeply. “Yes, but learn from that. You need to think while moving forward. For example, if you think it through, this is the safest place to change. Do you have any thoughts that tell you that now may not be a good time to try?”
Sig shook his head and took the amulet between his index finger and thumb. He looked at it, and breathed out “Aðalbrandr.” The arena shimmered. Sig looked up and the roof fell towards him. He flinched, but the roof stopped.
He looked toward Grampa Thor, but he was gone. Wait, down there. He’d shrunk. Sig realized that Grampa hadn’t shrunk. It was disorienting. Everything around him appeared smaller except the amulet in his right hand. It had become a six-foot long sword. He asked, “How long does it take to get used to this?”
Grampa Thor snorted. “In five or ten years it’ll be like falling off a log. Now why don’t you start getting used to that body? Can you touch the ceiling?”
Sig looked up to the peak of the sloping tin roof twenty-five feet above. At its lowest point, the support truss hung eighteen feet over the surface of the arena. He looked back down at Grampa with a skeptical look. “You’re kidding, right?”
Grampa looked at him levelly. “Go ahead; at least get a feel for jumping.”
Sig looked around, searching for a place to put the sword.
Thor pointed. “There’s a holster on your back. Reach over your right shoulder.”
Sig reached around, found the top of the holster, and slid the sword in. Then he took a step and leapt, grabbing the roof truss with both hands. He hung for a moment as the beam creaked. Releasing his hold, he landed back on the dirt floor with a thud and a cloud of dust. What an amazing feeling.
His amazement reflected in Grampa’s face. “I was joking when I asked if you could touch the ceiling.” He blew out a big breath and shrugged, then said “Why don’t you do some Kendo warm ups? After you’re done stretching I’d like to watch how you move.”
Grampa started counting for Sig’s warm up “ichi, ni, san, shi”; Sig continued emphatically, “go, roku, shichi, hachi”; building his ki or energy while going through the warm up stretches and then into an exercise routine. It included pushups, squat jumps, sit-ups, and sword movements.
Sig finished in an hour. A light sheen of sweat covered his body. Grampa looked him over. “You look fresh. I think I’m more tired than you are and only counted cadence. How did it feel?”
“I feel great. You’re right; I feel fresher than when I do the routine in my regular form. I think I could do this for hours; it feels so good. I feel like a machine.” He held up one of his arms and looked at it. The size of a tree trunk, it swelled impressively when he flexed.
Thor nodded. “It can be addictive to have that much power, speed, and grace all under your control. A typical Battle Wizard is a match for five to ten men. You probably are worth twenty men, given your martial arts training. However, I used the word addictive purposely. There can always be too much of a good thing. Too long in that form and you will exhibit anger, hostility, and unreasonable rage. “
“I’ve heard about ‘roid rage from steroids. Is it anything like that?”
“Something like that. You have to pay attention and learn your limits. You also have to learn to control it when the situation doesn’t allow you to switch back to your normal form.”
Sig took a step forward and roared, “What do you mean hostility?”
Grampa took a step back.
Sig laughed, “Just kidding. I’m still in the happy place I guess.”
“Wise ass.”
Sig grinned bigger.
Thor chuckled and shook his head. “Why don’t we try some of the magics in this form and see if there are different results. First, why don’t you try lighting a candle? That’s one of the easier ones. Pick a candle and concentrate on it like we talked about.”
Sig picked the small candle on the right end and focused his concentration on the wick. He frowned and stared at it. He clenched his jaw and imagined it bursting into flame. He raised his hand and gestured, placing four fingers against his thumb and flicking them out; trying to simulate a fire bursting. He concentrated until sweat beaded his brow.
Ferocious barking outside the arena door broke his concentration. Grampa said, “Sounds like Czar is back from chasing whatever moves. Why don’t you let him in, but don’t change back. Let’s see how he reacts.”
Sig went to the door, bent down, grabbed the door handle, and opened the door. Czar, the family Borzoi charged in then stopped as he looked up at Sig. He trotted over in the fluid bouncing gate typical of the breed. Borzois or Russian Wolfhounds are one of the biggest sight hound breeds. Czar stood thirty-five inches at the shoulder and weighed one hundred and fifteen pounds. His dense double coat was perfect for Minnesota winters. Like most sight hounds, he operated in two modes; stretched out sleeping, or full speed, chasing anything moving. Full speed was close to forty miles an hour. Unfortunately, sight hounds’ attention span made training difficult.
Sig received a sniff inspection then Grampa called Czar to his side and motioned for him to heel. Czar set up obediently on Grampa’s left side.
Sig chuckled and shrugged. “You’re the only one he always obeys.”
Grampa Thor said, “Why don’t you try it? I’ve always been able to do it and I don’t know if it’s my magic, the latent Battle Wizard, or my intense natural charm. I want to see if he obeys you better now that you’ve changed.”
Sig pursed his lips. “Mmm, Ok I’ll give it a try. Czar, come, heel.”
Czar bounded over to Sig and stood on his left side facing forward, then sat at Sig’s hand signal. “Wow, he obeyed better than ever before. Let’s see how it works when we get him out of the arena.”
Grampa nodded. “Change back first and let’s see if he has the same reaction. It’s time for lunch; I’m hungry even if you aren’t.”
“I hoped you’d be ready. I’m starving.” Sig reached over his back to clutch the sword hilt. He rumbled “Koma aftur” and everything around him grew. Back to normal, he looked down and Czar still sat by his side, looking up; tail wagging. Sig raised his eyebrows. “Wow, maybe it will work. Czar, heel.” He turned to his right and the Borzoi swung around him to remain by his side. Outside, the dog paced obediently next to him as they walked to the house. A squirrel dashed across the yard, toward a tree. Czar’s ears perked forward and he tensed. Sig said “Heel.” Czar relaxed and continued at his side.
Sig looked to Grampa Thor as the three of them went up the stairs to the house. ”If nothing else comes out of this, at least Czar pays attention now.”
Grampa smiled. “I think you’ll find that you get that response from more than just Czar.”
As they left the arena, a wisp of smoke rose from a blackening spot on the wick of the small candle on the right.
Chapter 11
Sig and Grampa Thor practiced every day with no discernable improvement in Sig’s magical capabilities. His physical capabilities were another story. Even Grampa Thor expressed amazement at what Sig could do in Battle form.
For every failure in magic, they could celebrate at least one new accomplishment in his physical training. Grampa Thor and Sig were both surprised, but not nearly as much as Bjørn, when Sig lifted him as easily as he used to lift Czar.
The biggest problem was control. The new strength and speed at his command took getting used to. Several items around the farm ended up broken, including the tractor, when Sig pulled on the backhoe to haul it out of muddy ditch. He had to repair a pasture fence, after he playfully lifted the corner post out of the ground and ripped the cross members loose in the process.
Sig chased horses around the pasture. After he caught them, they cautiously sniffed the strange new being in their world. Czar didn’t know what to do when Sig caught him from behind and picked him up before his teeth snapped shut on a fox running full tilt across a barren hay field.
