‘How is Jason faring?’ Mother asked Lee with some concern.
‘He’ll live,’ Samuel’s brother replied bluntly as he drew a great flour sack down from the wagon into his arms. His mother seemed worried for a moment, then rubbed her brow with her sleeve and turned to her younger son.
‘Perhaps you could do some chores for me today, Samuel,’ she suggested as she gathered up the string of fish and stepped down to the ground.
Samuel hopped from the cart. ‘Yes, Mother,’ he answered, nodding. He did sometimes do chores, but with his brothers and sister to do all the real work, he knew he was not really needed. Besides, he was far too small to do anything very useful.
Watching Lee carry the great sack of flour into the house, Samuel wondered what it would be like to be grown. He wanted to be as strong as his brothers—as strong as Lee—but he also noticed how they had considerably less time to play. Perhaps this was not entirely a fair trade. When he was grown, Samuel was sure he would still play games and wander through the woods and spend as many afternoons as possible lying on his back by the river, bathing in the sun, then running and splashing in the water as he pleased. There was something wrong for grown-ups to take matters so seriously and leave such little time for adventures. It just didn’t seem to make sense.
Dragging the apple basket from the seat, the daydreaming boy waddled inside. The wooden floor creaked as he stepped through the doorway. Their house squeaked a lot and made all kinds of other noises, especially at night and especially when it was stormy. Father was forever fixing one part of it or another and Samuel supposed it was just the way of old things to be so noisy and easily broken.
Mother was putting all the bought things onto the shelves and into the cupboards, while Lee could be heard grunting out the back, carting the sacks of dried corn they would give to the chickens through the winter. Mother turned from her chore and sighed as she looked towards the bedroom, where Jason lay soundly sleeping. She walked over to his side, brushing Samuel’s hair absently as she passed, and placed a palm to Jason’s brow, thoughtfully. After a moment, she sat on the very edge of the bed and took Jason’s limp hand in hers with a gentle squeeze.
Jason looked ever so dull next to Mother’s healthy shine. That’s what Mother had called it a few days ago when Samuel had asked why Jason looked so dim, while she was so bright. A ‘healthy shine’, she had said. Samuel remembered people saying that quite often, especially Tom’s father. He had told Samuel that he was a glowing lad several times, and once he had told Tom’s mother that she looked as radiant as the sun itself. Samuel did not think she was that bright. She was as bright as a star or a distant candle perhaps, but not like the sun at all.
Jason slept peacefully as Mother bent and whispered in his ear, then kissed him softly on the forehead. Then she turned her attention to Samuel, still standing in the living room with the basket in his arms.
‘Why don’t you go and feed the chickens then, while I finish putting these things away?’ she asked. ‘And then help Lee in the barn. Did you hear that Lee?’ she called out a little louder through the window. ‘Samuel is going to help you in the barn.’
Lee’s response was an audible moan of disappointment.
Mother gave a stern look at Samuel. ‘Don’t leave your brother to do everything, as usual. It’s about time you learned to be responsible.’
He nodded and pushed the apple basket up onto the table, then trotted outside, rubbing his nose on his sleeve. His mother watched him leave and smiled. After a few long moments of staring into empty space, she lowered Jason’s hand back to his side and came out of the bedroom to return to her task. As she passed the table, she absent-mindedly plucked up an apple from Samuel’s basket and was surprised to feel something soft and wet underneath. She turned the shiny red fruit over in her hands and smiled knowingly as she spied the ugly-looking bruises that had been hidden skilfully underneath.
Lee was still unhitching Aaron from the cart, so Samuel grabbed up a heavy bucket of scraps from beside the water trough and set off towards the barn. He had to grasp the vessel tightly in both hands and lean right over towards one side just to keep from tipping over and it thumped his leg with each step as he walked, making it all the more difficult. Being big must be one reason why the grown-ups did all the work. Everything was much harder for small hands and small legs.
The chickens snapped up the scraps eagerly before the pieces had even hit the ground. They clucked and flapped their wings with great excitement, frantic to peck up the tiny morsels. The geese were far less excitable, instead carefully picking up the scraps that almost landed on top of them, raising their long necks to the sky as they swallowed. When the chickens came too near, however, the geese would hiss and stretch out their wings until the chickens darted away again. They were funny birds, the geese, but Samuel liked to feed them the most.
When the bucket was empty, Samuel set it down and watched the birds peck up the last pieces and then begin scratching at the ground. His gaze moved slowly from the dark brown soil to the sunlit treetops up on Miller’s Hill where so many of his adventures had been born. There, the trees made stairways with their trunks and bridges with their branches. Leaves became walls and gaps became windows. Outstretching roots formed cells for prisoners or mysterious caverns where adventures were waiting to be had. Only scant moments passed before any thoughts of chores were long gone and Samuel’s legs had carried him beyond the edge of the woods, where he vanished amongst the trees and shrubs.
Over by the emptied cart, Lee scratched his head quizzically, surveying the empty space where his little brother had been standing only some few moments before.
Deep in the woods, each and every narrow and crooked path had its own destination that Samuel knew as well as Mother knew her kitchen cupboards. On his right, he passed the dark, almost-hidden tunnel that he had forged through the thorny blackberries, which led to the deer glade. He wandered past the wide, stony path that wound its way up to the lookout on the rocks where he could survey the barren gully. He even went past the rain-scoured path that led to the wild orchard, which only he and Tom knew about, where they could sit and eat their pick of fruits all day long, even if many of them were bird-pecked and wormy.
Today, however, he had just one destination on his mind. He continued ever on, inwards and upwards and deeper into the woods, taking the long, narrow and difficult path on which he had to scale rocks as high as himself and duck under the mossy, fallen trunks of giant trees and then push through masses of cool and shady ferns. It was the most difficult path of all, but by far the most rewarding.
At last, panting and tired, he stepped up onto the great shattered stump, ten times as wide as he was tall. A giant of a tree must have stood there at one time, but now its shattered stump was all that remained. The forest had very few such trees remaining, but Father said that further into the mountains, in the hard-to-reach valleys where tigers and bears still made their homes, such trees grew abundantly.
Here, the woods were below him and he could look back down onto the farm far below. Tom’s house sat beside the snaking, dark line of the river and other farms and cottages peeped out from beneath the trees all the way to the village. He turned his back on them all, however, to see what was immediately below.
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 attem
pt 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 excite
d.
‘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.
The Young Magician (The Legacy Trilogy) Page 2
